“Mr. Andrews, do ye have a minute?” Sloan stood stiffly, with an offended air.
Tom thought of the figures waiting out of sight. “I suppose I do. What can I do for you, Mike?”
“Were ye aware, sir, that your wife has been visiting a Catholic church?”
Tom’s face scrunched in confusion. “What on earth are you talking about? I assure you we spend our Sundays together.”
But Sloan shook his head. “Not services, sir. During the week day. People noticed her a couple of times going into St. Patrick’s. Always alone, she is.” Sloan moved a step closer to Tom, who stood rooted to the spot. “Now I won’t suggest she’s working for Home Rule or anything like that. But she meddles, and if you’re honest sir, you’ll admit that. If ye weren’t already aware of it, we think it might be a good idea if you remind her of her place. For her safety, sir.”
Tom’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the man. “You’re coming to me with hearsay about my wife? You’ve no real proof it was even her. You call her a meddler? You are the meddler, Mike, never leaving people to live in peace.”
“There’s people willing to say it was her, sir.”
“I don’t care, Mike. You can come up with fifty people who’ll say what you want them to. Casey would not do something like that without discussing it with me. And my family, Mike,” Tom pointed a finger at him, “is not under your jurisdiction. You will not tell me what rules my family may or may not follow. Is that clear?”
“Aye, sir.” Sloan nodded briefly and stepped to the side. “Perfectly clear, sir.”
The problem, Tom knew, is that the situation was perfectly clear to him, too. As Sloan intended.
It was not in Tom’s nature to shout in anger, although he had done it at times. But he had never known anything to drive him to that state faster than Casey admitting she’d been to the Catholic church three times, and had talked on the phone several times with Father McCarrey. It wasn’t just anger that clinched at him, but fear, too. Did she not understand the danger?
He stood in their bedroom as she sat on the divan, her face pale and stubborn, feet tucked up under her, dressed only in her camisole and bloomers, the pregnancy pushing against the material. Her hands were folded under her stomach as she stared at the floor in front of her.
It was late, and he was exhausted. He’d said all the desperate, ugly things people say at times like this: how could she, why did she sneak around, how long had she been doing it, what was she doing? And the part he kept coming back to: Why didn’t she trust him enough to come to him, first?
He stood and stared at her, shaking with tiredness and anger and fear. And love. Weary, he sat next to her, joining in her investigation of the floor. His voice was hoarse. “I guess I’m done.”
She stirred then, her hands stroking her belly in an upward motion to rest there, as if to comfort the baby. She looked at him and he saw her flinch to do it. All the love between them, and they had still come to this.
“I was afraid you’d tell me I couldn’t go,” she said. “And I had to go. It’s one thing to do something on my own, even if I think you won’t approve. But it would have killed me to do it once you’d said not to.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Casey.”
“It’s the truth, though.” She ducked her head. “It shouldn’t be a crime to talk to a priest.”
“It’s not a crime,” he pointed out. “Just very unwise. I would have gone with you.”
Her eyes jerked up to his face and color flooded her cheeks. She looked like she might be sick. “You would have?” Her voice squeaked.
He nodded, feeling his heart break further that this had never occurred to her. “It’s the sneaking around that causes the trouble, Casey. People see you and they wonder what you’re up to. They expect betrayal, you see. They’re looking for it. And they punish it very swiftly. If you and I had just gone in the open and talked to the priest, and everyone knew you were handing over the plans—they’d have been unhappy, but it would soon be forgotten. This way…” He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the pictures there.
“They’ll believe what they want.” His face was bleak. “You could be tarred and feathered. Beaten. Stoned. They might burn our house. All of that could still happen, if they decide you’re actively working against them. My name and my family can protect you against a lot, Casey. But we can’t protect you forever if you keep…doing…these things…” he ended in tears, choking out the words. “They’ll find a way to get to you. Even if we went away, to England or America, if they feel there’s a debt, they’ll find us.”
She stared at him, cheeks flaming, breathing deeply, before abruptly racing to the chamber pot in their room and was sick in to it. He went to her, holding her until she was done, then carried her to the bed. He brought her some water, which she tried to drink, as sobs shook her body.
“I would never put my family in danger,” she said through the tears. “I would never hurt you or Jamie or the baby or any of your family. Those things… what you said, those are illegal in the future. It’s wrong,” a spark of her anger returned, slowing her tears. “It’s wrong that the people I have to be afraid of are the ones who are supposed to be my people.”
He stroked her hair. “I know. And I’ll take care of it, Casey. It’s not gone so far that there’s no hope. Just let it go for now, all right? You’ve given them the plans, now just let it be.” His hands went to her belly. “You’ll have another baby, soon. You have Jamie, and our garden, and the harvesting and canning coming up. You always do a lot to donate food to the poor at that time. Just stay busy here, and at Ardara. We’ll still have music nights, and it will be all right. Just give it time.”
“All right,” she whispered. “But what will you do about Sloan?”
He gripped her hands. “I’ll talk to him. I’ve had to handle this kind of thing for other people. I know what to say to him, although it’ll be different since it’s my own family in trouble. They’re just looking for certain reassurances.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe I’ll ask Uncle Will to talk to him. His reassurances might carry a lot more weight than mine in this situation.”
“Sloan hates me,” she murmured, her eyes haunted. “He hates me all out of proportion to what I did at the shipyard. He always has. Because I’m an atheist.”
Tom nodded. “Aye, that’s exactly right. And Casey, I know he’s wrong about it. But you still have to live as if he’s a danger to you. You have to stay on your guard and for now, at least, not give him any ammunition.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Her fingers caressed his cheek, her face splotchy and tear-stained as she gazed at him. He thought she looked fragile and beautiful. “I’ve done something incredibly stupid this time. Can we recover from this? Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
“ Ah, lass.” He returned her touch, his fingers gentle on her cheek. “It’s not in me to stay angry at you. You are my life, and every year you grow more precious to me. The reasons to love you are beyond count.” He kissed her forehead and lay down next to her, cradling her in his arms. “We’ll get through it.”
Lord Pirrie’s talk with Sloan, along with Casey’s voluntary isolation, bought them some peace. The Pirries had begun to work for Home Rule, but on the whole, the Andrews family were all loyal advocates of Unionism, and Casey was not important enough to tip the scales away from that. Tom knew she chafed at being confined though, so he spoke to his father and uncle about arranging for her to have safe time to work with the Catholics. In the large scheme of things, gardens were fairly harmless. They promised it would happen eventually.