Page 65 of Road Trip
“Thatiscomplicated,” Christy agreed. He scratched his white crew cut. “I seem to remember that raid. It was all in the news back then. Daring daylight robbery, and all.”
“Supposedly, all the paintings were recovered not long afterward, but if that’s true, why isn’t the portrait of Lady Geraldine hanging in the portrait hall at Tarrymore? Or as part of the collection that Lord Rossington donated to the National Gallery, in the aftermath of the robbery?” Maeve said.
“Christy,” Therese said, “you’re such a wizard with your databases, is there any way to find newspaper stories about the IRA robbery from back in the day?”
He glanced at his watch and winced. “I would if I could, I’ve another appointment coming, right about now.”
“Okay,” Therese said, her expression clearly reflecting her disappointment. “Thank you, Christy.”
A middle-aged couple approached the desk, looking expectant.
“Just another sec, and I’ll be right with you,” he told them.
He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a business card. “You’ve got me intrigued now. Let me know what you find out about your Lady Geraldine, or if there’s any other way I can assist.”
CHAPTER 29
Therese took a long swig from her bottle of Guinness and pointed at the pile of Kathleen’s letters strewn across her bed. “I tried to put them into consecutive order, but some of them aren’t dated, or the envelopes with postmarks are missing.”
She picked a letter from the top of the stack. “Read this one to start.”
July 1928
Dear Tommy:
Happy birthday, dear brother. Thank you so much for the photograph in your last letter. You are so grown now, I can hardly believe it has been two years since I saw you last. You look so tall and handsome, quite a young man, and I know our mum and dad would be so proud. I’m quite sure you are a blessing to poor Mrs. Boylan and the girls.
I have some news of my own! Your sister Kathleen is a married lady. I am now Mrs. Brendan Fahey, and for the first time in my life, I am living in a home of my own, here in Geneva.
I met Mr. Fahey last year when I was traveling from New York City to Geneva. He was the conductor on our train, and he was so very kind.
When he came through the railway car and asked for my ticket,he immediately recognized my accent, because he is also Irish, although living here in the States for many years now. The first Sunday I was working in my new position, I went to Mass, and there he was, sitting in the pew right in front of ours. Afterward, we spoke, and he boldly asked if he could walk me back to the Kaufmanns’ home.
I suppose ours was a whirlwind courtship, but Brendan is a man who knows what he wants, and to my surprise, he wanted me. He is quite a bit older, forty-two, and as good a solid husband as any girl could want. We have a small but lovely cottage here in Geneva, and I have been growing flowers and vegetables. How our mum would love the hollyhocks and peonies we have here.
Mr. Fahey’s work for the railroad means he is away a good bit, but I don’t really mind. We have the sweetest little dog. I named her Delia, and she is wonderful company. Soon, I pray, we will start a family of our own.
I will close this letter now because I want to put it in the post so you will have it by your birthday. I’ve enclosed a small gift of money. It’s not much, but I hope you will put the money by to come visit me here in Geneva.
Your loving sister, Kathleen
Maeve looked over at Therese, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed. “Brendan Fahey? But according to Frannie’s family tree, Kathleen married a man named Murphy.”
“Keep reading the letters,” Therese said, shaking her head. “Our great-grandmother went through some shit…”
December 1928
My dear brother:
I have sad news to share with you. I am weeping as I write this, but my darling husband, Mr. Fahey, is deceased. I suppose I should content myself with the notion that he is in heaven, safe in the arms of our Lord, but selfish girl that I am, I cannot find it in me to rejoice losing my one true love, my anchor.
It all came about so suddenly, I still can scarcely catch my breath. Brendan came home from work early a week ago, which was very unlike him. He was complaining about sharp pains in his stomach. He was feverish, and vomiting, and I was quite frantic and unsure of what to do. One of our neighbors had a telephone, and she called a doctor, but it took hours and hours, and my poor darling was in agony.
When the doctor finally arrived, he insisted we take Brendan to the hospital straightaway, but sepsis was setting in. Only a day later, he passed away, of a burst appendix.
Tommy, I feel lost. I thought that all my girlhood dreams had finally come true. A husband and a home of my own, and a secure future here in America. Now I feel I am in a nightmare and will never awaken.
Without Brendan, I have nothing. While still a bachelor, Brendan had made a will which left everything to his older brother Stephen. Unfortunately, Brendan never thought to update his will after we married, which means that Stephen, who is truly a villain, has forced me from our home, and also inherited Brendan’s life insurance money and his railroad pension, all of which was intended for me, as his widow. This brother is as heartless as Brendan was good.
