Chapter One
October 1866
The wind ripped through the sails as thesteamship,Algonda, swayed and rocked along the waves. Gliding easily through the watersof the Celtic Seawith a swift speed, the vessel was oblivious to everything in the rest of the world except for getting to its destination. It seemed to mock the open sea in its quest to reach land once again.
FallonO’Malleystood at the railing as the wind ripped through herlonghair and wished that she couldfeela similarfreedom.After herweek-longjourney from Carraroeto Dublin by coach andthen by shipacross the Celtic Sea,she would be stepping onto English soilfor the first time.She was leavinghersafe havenin Ireland, the land of her birth.All of that was behind hernow,fora new journey was beginningina countryshe had alwaysconsideredasthe enemy.
Clutching the railing even tighter, Fallon exhaled deeply and reflected on the days before her voyage. They had gone by in such a blur as she’d prepared for her journeythatshe’d seldom had time to take a breath. Theonethingshe’d knownfor certain was that shewould soon be docking inSouthamptonto live withan auntshe’djustrecentlydiscoveredhad even existed. It wasn’t until hergrandmotherhad diedthatshe received the letterwhichwould change everything. Her verylife seemed to be unraveling before her eyes and she didn’t like it.
Shehad always considered herself to be a strong, independent womanwhohandled any problem that came her way.She had survived the great potato faminewhen she was just five years old. It had struck her hometown of Castlebarin 1851with all the strength of a plagueandshe hadwitnessed more painandsuffering in theaftermath to span several lifetimes. Everyone she knew had succumbed to starvation or typhus, and yet,for some reason,she had been sparedsuch horrorswhen hundreds of thousands had perished.Until that point,Fallonhad led a happy life, but unfortunately for her parents, it had been the end of theirs.
AfterEoin and Moira O’Malleydied, Fallonwas scared and alone, butsomehow,she managed to findacourage deep inside of herselftodowhat she could tohelp the villagers around her, bringing water to those in need orsitting with the sick to hold a hand in comfort. She picked food from the garden and spread ointment on wounds for those who begged for mercy and wished to die, theirsoletie to earth remaining by a single thread of hope.
Weeksturned into monthsuntil finallythe death count began to falter. When the infectionappeared to no longer be athreat,the Crown lifted the quarantinethat had been in placeand hergrandparentshadarrivedtoretrieveher.Michaeland AbigailO’Malleysaid little about the trials she’d faced as theytook herhometotheirfarm in Carraroeon the coast.Fallon never knew if it was because they couldn’t speak of thegrieftheyhadover losing theironlyson, or because they didn’t want to upset her further by discussing it.
Either way, it didn’t take long for Fallon to adapt to her new life and the terrible things she’d witnessed eventuallybegan tofade, although the loss of her parents would bekeenfor the rest of her life.She loved her grandparents, but unfortunately,more misfortunewould befall her family.
For years, Ireland had tried, and failed, tobecomean independent republic from British rule.From the United Irishmen who were inspired by the Revolutionary War in America to the establishment of the Young Ireland movement, to the Irish Republican Brotherhood founded by the radical James Stephens, her beloved homeland had suffered its share of unrest. Together with his cohort, John O’Mahony, they fled to Paris in exile to avoid arrest after the last uprising attempt. Afterward,O’Mahonyleft for America to try and gain support from their fellow Irish Americans in what he called the Fenian Brotherhood, named for the warrior Fianna ofGaelic folklore.
During this time, Stephens eventually made his way back to Ireland and upon arriving in Dublin, began what many would refer to as his 3,000 mile walk where he reconnected with fellow loyalists. Over the years,he had regained a strong following and even started a paper in Dublin entitled,Irish People, a call for continued rebellion, for which her grandfather had gladly joined. He was a courier for the paper and distributed it all over Ireland.
AndMichael O’Malleywasn’t theonlypatriot who wanted to see an independent nation fromthe Crown’srule andthe wealthy landownerswhocontinued to fatten their purses and belliesfrom the endless hours of hard labor put upon theirpoortenants.The Brotherhood was meant to be a cause for equality and freedom, buteventuallyturned out to be a cry forrevengefor many.
Fallon was always concerned when her grandfather left their cottage, butit wasn’t until the Royal Irish Constabulary, the Dublin police force under Crown rule, finally seized the paper’sofficethe previousautumn, resulting in the arrest of several leading figures of the Brotherhood, that her grandfatherhad beencaught in the crossfireand killed.
With a deep sigh, Fallon closed her eyes as the salty sea breeze caressed her face.She had mourned her grandfather’s loss, and his demise still caused her chest to ache painfullysix months later. However, it was a sensation she hadgrown accustomed to andher eyes welledwith tears as thecombination of grief andhomesicknessfellupon her.
Fallonclosed her eyes and picturedherself near the ramshackle cabin on that grassy hillsidefor the last time, standingin front of the grave thathadbecome the final resting place of AbigailO’Malley.She found it difficult to breathewhen she realizedher dear confidantewould no longer be there tooffer a hug, ortogive advice.
Inan instant, Fallonhad become an orphan without family.
Or so she’d imagined.
“Fallon?An bhfuil tu go maith, lass?” Father Grady O’Leary’scalm,Irishtonguehad been sympathetic, as he paused beside herthe day of her grandmother’s funeral, concern etched upon his features.
No doubt he wascontemplatingtheyoungwoman standing so quietly and staring at thefreshhump of dirt with such solemn featuresand how she didn’t even resemblethesamespirited girl he’d always known.
Lookingup at him with bleak eyes, Fallon’sheart had swelled with emotiontoward the cleric. Hehad been like asecondgrandfather to her all these years.Michael andAbigailO’Malleyhad beenactive in the Catholic diocese in Carraroewhere he presidedand after news ofhergrandfather’sdeath, the priesthad become a frequent visitor to their cottage, offering what aid he could after such a devastating blow.
Over the years, his hair had grown more gray and thin, but he was still as kind as she’d ever known him to be.
“Taim ceart go leor, Father.” She attempted to reassure him, returning thegaeilge tongue with a smile. It was still native for many Irishmen, even though the Crownpreferred the growingneed foranEnglish-speakingpeople. “Itruly can’t expressmy gratitude for all that you have done for my grandmother and I. I am indebted to you.”
Father O’Leary had taken Fallon’s hand in his and patted it gently. “You owe me nothing. IadmiredMichaeland Abigail.” He paused as if he wanted to say more, but in the end all he said was, “I’ll leave you to your solitude.”
He started to leave, butwas interrupted by hoofbeats as amessengergalloped toward them. Fallon had recognizedStewart Parnellas one of theformer couriers for the paper, for he had visited her grandfather on occasion. However, most of his time was spent in England delivering messages to fellow Irish supporterswhiledividing his time between a crumbling estate in County Wicklow on the other side of the island and attending Magdalene College in Cambridge.
Parnell reined in the horse, which danced in a circle, tossing its head amid snorts before finally settling.“Good day, Miss O’Malley. Father O’Leary.”Henodded to each of them respectfully.
“Good day, Mr. Parnell. Have you come to pay your respects?” Father O’Leary asked.
Parnellhad the grace to appear slightly chagrined, although he took a letter from his pocket. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss O’Malley, but I fear I’m here on another matter. I’m taskedwith delivering an urgent messageto you. It’s a telegram fromSouthampton.”
He handedthemissiveto her and for a moment, Fallon was taken aback. She quickly scanned her memory for any reason she might be contacted from someone inEngland of all places, butthen she recalled hergrandmotherspeaking about Moira’s estranged sister shortly after Fallon hadcometo live in Carraroe. It sounded as though the relationshiphad beenstrainedfor many yearsand since it was seldom mentioned after that,Fallon had nearly forgotten of her existence, having pushed this faceless woman out of her mind.
But now, curiosity caused Fallon to accept the missive andonce the courier had gone, she took adeepbreath and ripped it open. Scrutinizing the perfect script carefully, she felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her lungs.
She glanced up at Father O’Leary andsaidwoodenly, “It’s from my aunt,FrancineShaw. She writes to sayshe has just received word ofAbigail’sdeath and has sent me a ticket of passage toboard theAlgonda.It sails from Carraroewithin the week.She wishes to offer me a home,andI’m to join her, andher daughter, Eliza, inSouthampton.”
