Connor MacManus bent before the statue of the Virgin Mary, bowing his head. When he realized his brother, Murphy, wasn't right beside him, he glanced impatiently over his right shoulder. The black shirt sleeve there was torn, soaked in blood.  It was only the first of many unusual sights the Monsignor had become used to seeing when the brothers were involved.  Murphy was there, moving more slowly and with a drawn step.  He favored his left leg, but was doing his best to put on a valiant bravado in the presence of God.  Connor allowed him to go through with his personal form of penance, knowing there was more to the way Murphy thought than he let on. 

             Finally, Murphy managed to take to his knees, and together they crossed themselves in perfect synchronicity.  Connor took an incense stick from a crystal jar on the altar and passed it to his brother, then took another for himself.  They lit the sticks over the mother flame together, then they each selected a candle and lit it.  Connor set his incense aside, then took Murphy's from him and placed it with the other.  Connor spared a glance to his right side, where Murphy always walked.  His brother seemed more troubled than he let on, but Connor said nothing.  It was often this way with Murphy when he got into one of his moods.  Murphy met his eyes, half-cocking his head as though reminding his brother of the task at hand.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee;

Blessed art thou amongst women,

And blessed is the fruit of thou womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners,

Now and at the hour of our death.

Amen."

Both bowed their heads reverently, whispering personal prayers to the Virgin.  After a slight nod from his brother, Connor rose to his feet, taking Murphy under his arm and hauling him to his feet.  The curious eyes of the sisters followed their backs as they walked slowly up the red carpet in the aisle and paused at the door. Connor pulled the wrought-iron handle, causing the door to creak slightly on its aging hinges.  "You dinna tell me ya actually took that shot to yer kneecap, Murph," Connor scolded as they blinked the sun from their eyes and put on sunglasses.  Connor smoothed his brown-blond hair with a tattooed hand.

"Just a flesh wound," Murphy retorted in a bemused tone. 

"My arse!"  Murphy smiled crookedly. 

"Always saving me arse, aren't ya?"  Connor cuffed his brother across the cheek, and they both burst into laughter.  Papa MacManus met them at the street corner, his graying hair covered with a leather hat. 

"What kept ya?" he asked them, smiling that same half-smile both of his sons had been gifted with genetically. 

"Murph's got himself a bad leg, Da.  Dinna say a word about it, neither!"  Both sons pulled cigarettes from their pockets and lit them, wreathing the street sign in smoke. 

"Let's go 'ome and have a look, then.  There's much to be done tonight."  The boys nodded mechanically.  They accepted their father's word without question. 

"Does that mean you've found some dirt, Da?" Murphy burst out excitedly.  He seemed less aware of the pain in his leg when there was work to be done.

"'O course it does," Connor answered for him, shaking his head. Sometimes Murphy

could be so childish.  "What did ya find out, Da?" Connor asked reluctantly.  It seemed like they were pulling a job every other night.  It made Connor sick to think that there were that many evil men in the town of Boston.

"Somethin' less serious than you'd think.  Yer cousin Brighid is comin' out this way.  Yer Mam called and asked fer us to collect her at the train station.  All work and no play has made ya too serious.  It'll be a nice change to have women around brightening things up.  Nae doubt she'll have news from the Isle."

Murphy remembered the last time he had played with Brighid and two of her friends.  It seemed that the trio was inseparable.  One of her friends, Ciara O'Fallon, had been a whole year younger than her sister, Kiley, but one could have sworn the three of them were triplets born.  Even though his mother had threatened to tan his backside, he had often snuck off during recess around the corner to the girl's side of the school, meeting Brighid and her friends and sharing sandwiches with them.  Connor, of course, was the good son, and only ever showed his face around the girls outside of school, and even then only when appropriate. This thought brought a smirk to Murphy's face, bringing to mind Connor's failure to speak with women. 

He remembered running through the streets with the girls, hiding behind stacks of crates and diving into back-alleys to keep from being seen.  They had just turned down such an alley, gray mixed with wetter shades of gray from the rain, walls rising up to bite a cloud-covered sky threatening to pour down more rain.  Murphy had glanced over his shoulder to see if they had managed to stay behind him when he ran smack into someone.  He tumbled ungracefully head over heels into a pile of garbage, booted feet squelching in the mud as he tried to catch his footing.  A loud, belly laugh greeted his ears. 

"Slow down, Murph!  Look where yer going, ya silly arse!"  Connor stood over him, mud-soaked from the collision but still cheerful.  Connor glanced up as the girls caught up to them, smiling slightly.  "Ya may wanta get home before yer da finds ya here, Kiley, and take yer sis wi' ya.  I hear he's mad flaming that yeh've gone missing again."  Kiley glanced at Ciara, tugging at unruly tangles of red-blond hair.  Ciara just blinked, then nodded slowly.  Kiley led the way back out of the alley, not waiting for her sister to follow.  Ciara smiled shyly at Murphy, watched him get to his feet, and then took off after her sister. 

"And what of me?"  Brighid asked.

"Yer mam has news as well.  Ye'll be movin' tonight, I expect.  They've transferred yer da to a new town to lay the railroad."  Murphy had left part of his heart back in the alley.  It was the last time he had ever felt the euphoria of childhood innocence again.  It had been that very night that their father had disappeared without a trace, leaving behind him rumors and theories that Murphy was certain still held to that day.

"Ya feelin' okay, Murph?"  Connor asked, worried by his brother's stone silence. 

"I'll be fine," he replied, shaking his head.  He tugged his pants off one leg at a time, revealing a very nasty bruise across his left knee. The Russian Mafia Soldier had scored a hit with that crowbar, but he had paid for his evil with his life.  Murphy sank moodily on the bed in his boxers, clutching his head in his hands.  Connor sat down on his own bed, pulling his shirt over his head.  He looked unconcerned as he wrapped his arm.  Papa handed Murphy a clear plastic bag filled with ice and slumped down next to him. 

"That one certainly did do a number on ya," he said matter-of-factly. Murphy winced as he applied the pack to his swollen joint, but said nothing.  "I hear yer cuz is bringin' someone along.  Yer mam would hear nothin' of her goin' alone."

"When does the train get in?" Connor asked, looking up at the water dripping from the concrete ceiling.

"About an hour, give or take."

"How much does Brighid know?"

"Everything, I suppose.  At least as much as your mam."  Murphy shook his head. 

"Ya can't expect yer mam to keep her mouth shut.  She's your mother, after all."  Connor managed a chuckle.  "This will be good for both o' yeh."

Ciara O'Fallon sat across from Brighid and her sister on the train, clever fingers clutching her rosary and stroking the blue beads.  Her red-brown hair fell across her dark eyes as she glanced up at them.  The steady rock of the train was becoming slower, more irregular.  They were slowing down.  Kiley smiled at her, hands folded over her own rosary in her lap.  Kiley had the same hair, but her eyes were fair blue, the color of the lakes in summer.  They were both dressed simply, Ciara in worn-in jeans and a black tanktop, and Kiley in a green skirt and white shirt.  Her hair was partially hidden by a blue scarf.  Ciara had been scolded often for her style of dress, but it had never stopped her. 

Next to Kiley, Brighid slept.  She was so fair in complexion compared to the freckled tans of the sisters, like a porcelain doll.  Her hair was red, but close to strawberry-blond in its lightness.  Like the brothers, she had a crooked smile which stayed on even as she slept.  She had on a conservative dress of blue and a spotless apron.  Her hair was covered, braided in child-like plaits down either side of her face.  All the girls were considered above average pretty, but none had decided to do their duty as women and settle down.  Kiley would never admit it, but Ciara knew Kiley was saving herself for Connor.  Ciara hadn't decided herself what she wanted, but knew that she valued her freedom above all else.  Brighid was still sheltered by her mother.  It had taken both sisters and a very large push from Brighid's aunt to get her mother to allow her to travel to Boston. 

As the train ground to a halt, Kiley shook Brighid gently.  "Coom on, love, ye'll miss everythin' sleepin' like that," Kiley said.  Her voice was musical to American ears, as her accent was still thick with the sounds of home.  Ciara ignored the stares from some of the men in the car with them, getting to her feet.  She reached into the overhead storage space and pulled a pea-green duffel bag down, slinging it across her shoulder.  She waited patiently as her sister gathered her things together and hooked Brighid by the arm. 

Ciara hadn't seen Murphy since they were six years old, but she could still pick him out of a crowd.  He and his brother leaned casually against the wall of the platform, pulling deep drags off of their cigarettes.  She nudged her sister, who pointed them out to Brighid.  It was as though a sudden transformation overcame her when she finally saw Connor.  Brighid pulled her arm free of Kiley's grasp and rushed over to her cousin, throwing her arms around his neck.  Kiley ran after her, laughing as Murphy picked her up and twirled her around.  Ciara hung back for a moment, watching them with a slight smile across her face.  She grinned broadly as Connor embraced her then held her at arm's length, studying her.  Murphy finally realized she was there, and stood across from her, just meeting her eyes.  "Hello, Ciara," he muttered softly.  He kicked his foot like a naughty child.  Something twisted in her chest when he looked her over.  He seemed interested in the small tattoo of a Celtic cross which twisted along the muscle of her upper left arm.  Finally, he crushed her with one of his famous, companionable hugs, which she returned with enthusiasm.  Papa MacManus just smiled as the girls greeted him.  "You three are a sight for sore eyes," he said softly.  "Ciara, yer mam actually lets you wear that?"

"Mam dinna like it, but, it's hard to persuade Ciara to be anythin' but different," Kiley answered for her.  Murphy and Connor laughed aloud. 

"Never changing, are ya?" Murphy asked. 

Brighid engaged Papa in a conversation about the state of the relatives, leaving the brothers free to show their guests a few of the sights.  Kiley laughed often, a pretty, feminine laugh, making Ciara regret she wasn't more ladylike.  Her sister seemed to hold the boys' attention.  But what was she worried about?  Men would only make her a wife, and she wanted freedom.  She fingered her rosary in her pocket, stomping out her own spark of self-criticism before she could get started.