Chapter Seven

The Lord is my light, and my salvation; whom shall I fear?
-Psalm 27

Whatever our creed, we feel that no good deed can by any possibility go unrewarded, no evil deed unpunished.
-Orison Swett Marden

She dreamed of him that night. Dreamed of him as the man who had come to her aid and comfort after her mother had passed from this world to the next. Except this time she was not a little girl, but she was grown and weeping for the loss of another in her family. For herself, something kept telling her. This time it was not the feel of leather she felt against her palms or the heavy smoke of cigars, but thick wool and cigarettes. He had held her there, standing over her own death, letting her cry into his shoulder until she could weep no more, until the tears would no longer come and she could only draw a shuddering breath. At that point he held her away from him at arm's length, looking at her in the dreamscape of moonlight and blood. She sought his eyes, trying to find his soul.

'Who are you?' She asked, a six-year-old's voice replacing her adult soprano. And just as the man he had replaced did, Connor shook his head, unable to give her an answer. For the first time in years, Aislinn screamed out in anger, lashing out at him.

'Why won't you answer me?!'

She awoke with a start, the last of her voice still bouncing back to her off the walls. Nothing moved in the still of the night, and there was still a sliver of moonlight crossing her bedroom, illuminating the cross on the wall. Aislinn rubbed her eyes and glanced ruefully at the alarm clock on the dresser. Once more it was too early for her own good. A trip down to the bathroom, a drink of water and an avoidance of her face in the mirror, and then she was back in her bed. Tomorrow she'd have to talk to Maggie, to get some answers. No more games, the same games they'd been playing since they were children. What did Maggie know that she didn't about this man? Why was she in that courtroom when he killed Yakavetta? Aislinn twisted the sheets in her hands and closed her eyes, troublesome questions carrying her back into her dreams.

.-.-.-.

Aislinn appeared at the church looking as she always did, a peasant skirt swirling about her ankles and a cotton tee shirt that hid nothing tucked into the skirt. She slipped silently into the church, settling into a pew mid-way back on the right, quietly kneeling and crossing herself. Father Macklepenny watched from the rear of the church, just inside the doors. Why she drove clear across town when she could do the same thing in her own parish was something that he never understood. In the silence he could hear the rosary beads slipping between her fingers, and knew that she would be finished before morning mass begun. It was a Friday, so she would slip downstairs to the basement before mass, to begin preparing the day's activities for bible camp. Suddenly, in the midst of her prayers, she stopped and looked around the church. Assuming that no one was there, Macklepenny watched as Aislinn rose and stepped from the pew, easing down the aisle to the baptismal font. Curious, he stepped through the doors, and keeping to the shadows, tried to get a closer look. She bowed and crossed herself before stepping to the statue next to the font, Mary holding an infant Jesus, a modern sculpture of the Madonna. She knelt before the saint and kissed its feet, then looked up into its face. Father Macklepenny suddenly felt a weight of sadness and fear permeate the church and stared wide eyed at the woman. What had happened to her in her life to cause such pain? Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, he swiftly left the church, not daring to look back until he was in the foyer, the door closed behind him. Poor soul, he thought, stepping out into the sunshine and looking up. What did she do to deserve this? He asked silently, not fully expecting an answer.

.-.-.-.

Connor crossed himself and stood, tucking the rosary inside his shirt and stepping out from the pew, leaving his brother behind, head bowed earnestly in prayer. He left the church, walking next door to the rectory office where he knew he would find the Monsignor. Although he had never spoken to the man about anything he had done, Connor felt sure that the Monsignor knew what he had been doing with his life, and whether he approved or not still remained to be seen. The St. Patrick's Day sermon still echoed amongst Connor's memories, and he could hear the old man clearly as he reached for the door.

'But there is another kind of evil we should fear most, and that is the indifference of good men.'

Oh, he had been anything but indifferent in the years of his life, anything but. Connor went inside, and knocked lightly on the door to the monsignor's office. There was a touch of surprise in the man's features when he opened the door to admit Connor. He looked back for the other MacManus but didn't find him.

'I was sure that when you finally came to me it would be the both of you.' He told him, holding the door open and permitting him entrance to his office. Monsignor McNamara waved Connor to a chair, but the younger man shook his head, preferring to stand. The monsignor thought he looked like a gallowglass standing before his desk, an Irish mercenary soldier doomed to a short and dangerous life, but ready to give all that he could before the Almighty called him home. He seated himself in the large leather chair and looked Connor MacManus over. 'You want to know if what you're doing is right.'

Connor blinked, wondering if he were really that transparent. 'Aye, well, I suppose. Its more as if what we were doin' fell under the theology of self defense.'

'Self defense?' That surprised Monsignor McNamara, and he had to stop and think about it for a moment. 'Are you suggesting that killing all those men was out of self defense? Killing them before they could possibly kill you?'

Connor shrugged and finally fell into a chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Now he no longer looked the part of a mercenary soldier, but a man who was struggling with his own sense of right and wrong. 'If there were an invading army threatening the lives of our women and children, wouldn't it be permissible to defend ourselves against them? Under those circumstances wouldn't it be right to defend ourselves?'

The monsignor shook his head. 'In uncivilized societies, which we are not. We have the police, federal agencies; laws, the court system, all designed to deal with such threats.'

'Aye, and still, the wicked continue to rise and kill the innocent, even in our so called 'civilized society', Monsignor.'

McNamara did have to admit the boy did have a point, but he refused to concede to it. 'He who lives by the sword shall die by it.' He cautioned. Connor shook his head.

'I've no fear o' dyin', Monsignor. I just want to know if we are justified in the eyes o' the Lord in what we are doin'.' Monsignor McNamara sighed and shifted in his chair.

'The conditions in moral theology are quite clear,' even if theology doesn't always work, he told himself, 'Self defense of the lives and physical well being of the innocent is licit when there is no other way to protect legitimate rights.' Connor nodded, and the monsignor continued. 'So long as one practices blameless moderation.' He fixed a stern gaze on Connor MacManus, who looked as if he were questioning the meaning of 'blameless moderation'. 'You don't go any further than needed to protect yourselves or those you are defending.'

'We don't, Monsignor.' Connor murmured, the events of yesterday morning running clearly in his mind's eye. 'So ethically we are justified in what we have done?'

'In theory, in practice things aren't so clear cut. Ethically, yes.' Monsignor McNamara drew out the words, as if he were afraid to sanctify what these men were doing. 'Its not just Catholic theory, Connor, its traditional Western ethical theory: protect those you love by any means necessary.' Within reason, he almost added, but felt that it would be a moot point in this case.

Connor nodded and began to rise from his chair. He could see his brother standing outside, smoking a cigarette in the sunlight and waiting impatiently. 'I'll be sure to keep that in mind.' He assured the Monsignor, who rose to see him to the door. Monsignor McNamara stopped Connor just outside his office door.

'Tell me, Connor, you would never hurt an innocent, would you?'

Connor shook his head. 'Never, only evil men. Destroy all that which is evil so that good may flourish.' He nodded his goodbye and went out into the morning with his brother. The monsignor stood at the window for a long time, watching the brothers until they were out of sight. He looked heavenward, and watched the clouds race across the sun, dappling the world in light and shadow.

'Forgive me, Father.' He murmured.

.-.-.-.

Aislinn was surprised to find Maggie standing in her living room when she came home. The girls were watching PBS and talked between themselves on the couch. Aislinn took it all in, raising an eyebrow at her sister, who offered her a cup of tea.

'Good morning, Linn.' Maggie smiled, sipping at her own cup. Aislinn took the cup warily and sipped at it. Too much sugar, but that was what Maggie liked. Aislinn pulled a stool out and sat down on it, glad to be off her feet. She had taken some Aleve that morning to take the edge off her pain, but it was still there, following her like an ominous shadow. She set the cup down on the counter heavily after another sip, and looked into her sister's green eyes.

'You want something.'

Maggie wrapped her long fingers around the cup and set it on the counter, staring into the tea as if she were divining something. 'I need to borrow the car.' Aislinn opened her mouth to object, but Maggie plunged forward. 'Its only for the weekend, Linn. Ryan and I thought it would be a good time for me and the girls to get away for a bit.' She tried to look pitiful, trying to guilt her younger sister into letting her have the car.

'Ryan's not going and why can't you take yours?'

'He has business to see to at the office.' Maggie waved the questions away as if she'd answered both and they weren't that important. 'Five days at the maximum, Linn. Me and the girls will drive up to Maine, stay in York, have some fun on the beach. They need to get away from all this… violence.' Aislinn felt there was something odd about the whole situation, but agreed with the logic of getting the girls away for a bit. She bit her lip and nodded.

'Take the car,' Maggie began to thank her but Aislinn held up her hand. 'But on one condition, you tell me what you were doing in that courtroom five years ago. I know you weren't just there for fun.'

'I can't.' Maggie spat out immediately.

'You can, you will.' Aislinn replied.

Maggie's temper began to shine through in her eyes. 'Don't push, Linn. Believe me when I say I can't.'

Aislinn stood from the stool, planting her hands on the counter and leaning towards her sister. She wasn't about to scream in front of the children, but she was going to make her point to her sister. 'You watched a man be murdered by three men in a court of law and you can tell the mass media about that but you can't tell me why you were there in the first place?' Her voice was low and dangerous, and her sister knew that she meant business. Maggie lowered her voice too, and met her sister's gaze.

'No, Aislinn, I can't. Believe me, if I could tell you I would in an instant, but its not something I can talk about.'

Aislinn glared at her a moment longer, then looked away, frustrated. 'Margaret Brigid Maire, you are incredible.' She muttered disgustedly. Maggie, was shaking her head, as if that would make Aislinn understand. 'Take the car. Bring it back with a full tank. This isn't done.' She waved a hand at the keys which hung on a peg by the door. She turned her back on her sister and went to visit with the girls.

Maggie felt cold as she came out of the kitchen to get the keys. She really wished she could tell Linn everything, it hung like a weight around her neck. But, it would only make things worse if Aislinn knew the entire story. She tucked the keys into her pocket and went to collect her daughters, the family sharing hugs before they left Aislinn alone in her apartment. After they had left Aislinn went back to the kitchen, sipping the overly sweet tea her sister had made then dumping it down the sink. Why wouldn't anyone give her a straight answer?

.-.-.-.