‘Nuala, what you’ve managed to do for Philip is nothing less than a miracle,’ she said softly. ‘I can only thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
‘’Twas your son that did it,’ she answered. ‘Goodnight, Lady Fitzgerald.’
Nuala walked home that night not even feeling the cold wind that whipped at her cheeks. All she could think of was the look on Philip’s face when he had stood by himself, unsupported for the first time since his injury. And felt determined to help him find the peaceandsense of pride that he so longed for.
As autumn held West Cork firmly in its grip, the war for Irish independence went into high gear. While the British continued to ride into villages and burn down farms in reprisal for the many successful ambushes, so the IRA volunteers thwarted them as best they could, blowing up bridges, moving signposts and cutting telegraph cables wherever they could find them. Finn was away at night regularly, and Nuala busier than ever, delivering or collecting dispatches or arms.
Lady Fitzgerald had arranged for the groom who worked in the stables at Argideen House to construct a frame with two wooden bars, so that Philip could hold on to them while he practised walking on his wooden leg. The frame had been set up in Philip’s sitting room, and he allowed Nuala to subject him to a rigorous exercise regime to strengthen his leg muscles.
‘I’d say ’tis time for you to come off those bars and try walking a few steps on your stick,’ she said one misty October afternoon.
‘If I had known what a slave driver you were, I’d never have convinced Mother to employ you,’ Philip had said as, his arms trembling and sweat beading his face, he held himself up on the bars and hobbled up and down the carpet.
‘We’ll try tomorrow, shall we?’ Nuala said as she sat him down and unstrapped his leg.
An hour after she arrived home, Finn, who’d been out on Flying Column activities for the past few nights, appeared through the back door, looking exhausted.
‘Hello, darlin’, that smells good,’ he said as he embraced her, then sniffed the pot hanging over the fire.
‘And you look as if you need the stew inside you, Finn Casey. You’re after losing more weight.’
‘’Tis all the marching around the place that’s done it. I’ve never been fitter, I swear. I’m all brawn now, Nuala.’ He winked at her.
‘Any news?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, and ’tis good for a change,’ he said as Nuala passed him the bowl of stew and he ate it hungrily. ‘The Column opened fire on the Essexes at Newcestown – we’ve killed two officers and wounded three. Finally, we’ve had a victory!’
Nuala crossed herself and sent up a prayer for the dead men. Finn saw her do so.
‘Darlin’, the last thing we want is to cause death to other souls, but...’ he shrugged, ‘’tis the only way. It’s either the British or us. Some of our volunteers have been rounded up and their homeplaces have been raided and burnt to the ground. Nuala, they’re arresting women too – I know of three Cumann na mBan girls that have been sentenced to jail in Cork City. I’m worried about you here alone when I’m away at night, and it’s going to become more frequent. You’d be safer away up with your family at Cross Farm.’
‘I’ve Christy across the road who’d protect me and—’
‘No one can protect a woman alone from the British, especially at night. There was a report only this week that came down from Kerry, about a woman who’d been terrorised and molested by two Tans. So, from now on, you’re to go up to the farm if I’m away overnight, and not return until you have word I’m back.’
‘But, Finn, what will the neighbours think if both of us are gone?’
‘I’ve talked to Christy, and Principal O’Driscoll. Both of them are sure there are no spies in the village, only support for us volunteers and the women who are working for the cause.’
‘Maybe, but we can’t be endangering my position with the Fitzgeralds. If it becomes known—’
‘It won’t, so. We can trust O’Driscoll and our friends in the village. And, darlin’, if it comes down to it, I’d have you leave your position if it means you can be safe.’
‘But I don’t want to leave,’ she protested. ‘You said yourself what I’m doing is valuable – it saved Tom Barry and his men in Bandon!’
‘It did, though you’re not the only spy we’ve got, Nuala, but you are my only wife!’ He took her hands in his and softened his voice. ‘We might be past trying to pretend to be a normal couple, but it’s still my duty to protect you. Now then, let’s eat up this stew before it gets cold.’
As October turned to November, Finn was away so often that Nuala was spending at least half her nights up at Cross Farm. Nuala noticed that Philip rarely asked after her husband, perhaps because he was kept so busy strengthening his legs. They had finished readingLe Morte D’Arthur. The story of the British king had turned darker towards the end of it, although Nuala had approved of the knights’ final mission to obtain the Holy Grail.
‘And what is your Holy Grail, Nuala?’ he had asked her as she’d finally closed the book.
Freedom for Ireland, she had thought, but instead had said, ‘For you to be free of your wheelchair, so I haven’t got to push you around any longer.’
Philip had chuckled and rung the bell for tea.
As Nuala lay in bed next to Hannah because Finn was away again, she thought how she’d never dreamt she’d be back here as a married woman. But at least she was kept busy: as the fighting had stepped up, volunteer casualties had grown, so she, with Hannah’s help, had decided to organise a first-aid training day at Cross Farm for the women of Cumann na mBan. Aoife, one of her friends from her time nursing up in Cork, was travelling down to help her teach the basics of dressing and cleaning a wound, how to deal with an unconscious patient, and even how to extract a bullet. The women had been asked to collect as much antiseptic, bandages and basic medicines from the local pharmacies and hospitals as they could. They duly arrived and the haul was laid out at one end of the barn, with Aoife sorting it into a field kit for each woman to take away.
‘I’m enjoying this,’ said Nuala to Hannah as, after the first-aid training, they portioned out the stew that would be served in the barn.
