Bury the Living (Revolutionary #1) by Jodi McIsaac Read Free Book Online Page B

younger than you, so I did. I don’t know why any sane person would want to stay.”
    “Love of their country, I suppose?” Nora said with a wry smile.
    “Ach, well, there are other ways to love your country than blowing people up. Our family has a long history of warring with our countrymen, ever since O’Reillys were kings of Breifne. Some thought it was treason for me to leave the way I did, like I was turning my back on generations of O’Reillys. Anyway, you didn’t come here to talk politics, I’m sure.”
    “Actually, I’m interested. Ma never talked much about Da’s side of the family. I barely remember my grandparents and don’t know much about them.”
    Margaret cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you want to open that can of worms? I have to say I wasn’t surprised when your da signed up, nor young Eamon. Rebellion is in the O’Reilly blood, so it is. Maybe your ma didn’t tell you the stories because she didn’t want you following in their footsteps.”
    “What stories?”
    “The O’Reillys have been Volunteers for a long time, to be sure. The 1916 Rising, the Tan War, the Civil War . . . You name it, we were there. And we paid for it in blood. We’ll need another pot of tea for this. I’ll put the kettle back on.”
    Margaret bustled back into the kitchen. Nora stood and stretched, then crossed to the bookshelf. She’d never looked closely at it before, but her fingers trailed the spines of the books as if they were searching for something. She stopped on an old leather-bound photo album on the bottom shelf. A small burst of dust erupted when she drew it off the shelf.
    “What’s that you’ve found, now?” Margaret said, coming back into the room with a fresh pot of tea.
    “I saw it on your bookshelf,” Nora said, embarrassed she’d been caught snooping. “Mind if I have a look?”
    Margaret peered at the book in her hands. “Ach, I haven’t looked at that one in years. I inherited it from one of my aunts. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen some of these faces.” A wistful look flickered across her face.
    Nora sat down beside Margaret and opened up the photo album. Black-and-white faces stared up at her as she leaned in closer. “Are these all O’Reillys?” she asked.
    “Some of them, aye. This here is my aunt Sheila. She married a Moynihan.”
    “What is she wearing?” The photo was of a young blond woman dressed in a stiff dark jacket with shining metal buttons and a brimmed cap. A leather strap crossed her chest, and she wore a brooch in the shape of a rifle.
    “She was Cumann na mBan, the women’s branch of the Republican movement. This was during the Tan War, you see.”
    Nora squinted closer at the picture. Every Irish child knew about the Tan War, the bloody War of Independence against Britain that followed the failed 1916 Rising. It was called the Tan War after the Black and Tans, a particularly barbaric auxiliary group recruited in England to help the British-run police force in Ireland. The entire country had descended into guerrilla warfare, and the fighting had only stopped after a treaty was signed with Britain. Rather, the fighting against the British had stopped, and the fighting between the Irish had begun. The Anglo-Irish Treaty had given Ireland Free State status—meaning it was still part of the dominion of Great Britain, but with its own government. For some, this was enough. Others would settle for nothing short of a completely independent Irish republic. Nora suspected which side the O’Reillys had been on in the Civil War that followed the signing of the treaty.
    “What was her role in the war?” she asked, pointing at the picture.
    “Oh, she never said. Not to me, anyway, or my parents. Most Cumann na mBan were dispatch carriers who helped move arms, care for the wounded, things like that. But some fought right alongside the men. After the Civil War, Sheila got married, had five children, and, as far as I know, never breathed a word of her