was flabbergasted at her father’s words. If they had been uttered by anyone else she would have dismissed them as boastful idle talk, and to be taken with a grain of salt. But she knew her father meant every word, and she trembled inwardly for Ryan. Her brother was terrified, and with good reason; she tightened her embrace, drew the boy closer to her.
She said, ‘But Ryan doesn’t want to be a politician, Father.’ She could never bring herself to call him the more affectionate Da, as Ryan did.
Patrick glowered. ‘What?’ he demanded in a low tone that was ominous, even threatening. ‘What did you say?’
‘Ryan doesn’t want to be a politician. He wants to be a painter,’ Katharine replied in a quiet but resolute voice. Her father might strike terror in Ryan’s heart, but not in hers: She was not one bit afraid of him.
‘How dare you tell me what my son wants, Katie Mary O’Rourke!’ Patrick shouted, leaping to his feet. His face was brimming with dark colour and there was a dangerous glint in his steely blue eyes.
‘But Ryan is so gifted. Look at this watercolour,’ she cried, undeterred by his displeasure.
‘I don’t want to look at it! I’ll have no more of this sissy stuff in my house. You and his mother! Filling his head with artistic nonsense. It’s going to stop, and right now.’ He strode to the table, struggling with his anger, and snatched up the watercolour. Without glancing at it, he tore it in half, and threw it to the floor.
Ryan stifled a tiny cry, like a small animal in pain, and brought his fist up to his trembling lips. Katharine flinched, and gazed at their father in fascinated horror. With one furious gesture of his large hand, Patrick swept the paint box, the brushes, the jar of water and the sketching pad off the table. He stamped on them, crushing them under his heavy feet. Katharine’s face reflected her disgust, and she thought: He’s a dreadful man. Vulgar and uncouth. He thinks he’s a gentleman with his custom-tailored gabardine suits and hand-made shoes and soft silk shirts, but he’s not. He’ll never be anything but an ignorant peasant. Shanty Irish.
Patrick pointed a long bony finger at Ryan and exclaimed excitedly, ‘Now listen to me, son. There’s going to be no more of this painting. I forbid it, do you hear me. It’s not for a great lad like you. It’s not masculine enough. You’re going to be a politician, Ryan O’Rourke, even if it kills me in the process. And the President of these United States one day. Furthermore, you’re going to start training for it immediately, with dedication and discipline and single-mindedness of purpose. Just like a boxer trains. Do you understand me, son? Have I made myself clear?’
‘Yes, Da,’ said Ryan meekly, still quivering with a mixture of fear and shock, and swamped with unhappiness.
Patrick turned to face Katharine, glaring at her. ‘As for you, young lady, I want no more interference. I’ve had quite enough of you lately. You’re a real troublemaker, not to mention a little liar, Katie Mary O’Rourke. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the unspeakable things you said about your Uncle George. Scurrilous. Disgusting. I never thought a daughter of mine would have such filth in her mind!’
Katharine felt as if the blood was draining out of her, and her legs wobbled. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick, and her large eyes became larger in her face. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead, and she had to clench her fists to control herself. How could her father be so cruel and mean, embarrassing her by saying such frightful things in front of little Ryan. She took a deep breath to control herself and said, in a voice that was surprisingly steady, ‘George Gregson is not my uncle. He’s only your business partner. And I didn’t tell you any lies!’
‘Go to your room immediately!’ Patrick thundered, harshness and fury bringing a rasp to his voice. ‘How dare you answer me back. You’re impertinent as well as a liar, it seems. And don’t venture downstairs for dinner, my girl. I don’t want to look at your face tonight. Annie will bring a tray to your room later.’
Katharine was rooted to the spot, and automatically, with a sense of protectiveness, she tightened her hand on Ryan’s shoulders. Her father observed this gesture, and commanded imperiously, ‘Stand away from your brother! Stand away! You’re always slobbering over him. It strikes me as you’re turning him into a girl like yourself. Now, go to your room.’
‘I will,’ Katharine retorted with some spirit, walking rapidly across the floor. ‘But not before I’ve looked in on Mother, to see if she wants anything.’
Patrick seemed about to explode, but he said nothing. When she reached the door of the nursery, Katharine stopped and turned her head. She looked directly at her father, and said with cold deliberation,’ I took a message for you earlier. It’s on the desk in the library. It’s from a Miss McGready. She said you can call her at the usual restaurant. In the Loop.’
Patrick’s jaw went slack and he stared at her, momentarily stupefied. His mouth tightened into a slit and his eyes hardened, and it was then that she saw the naked hatred on his face. Katharine recoiled, aghast. But she recovered herself at once and stared back at him defiantly, her eyes challenging, and she knew that he knew that she knew exactly what kind of man he was. Something rose up in Katharine like bile, gagging her, and with the child’s wisdom that springs from instinct and blind perception she understood that she was confronting evil. Her blood ran cold, and it was then that the first seeds of bitter purpose were sown in her. She vowed to herself that she would fight her father for Ryan, and for Ryan’s soul, if it took all the days of her life. She did not know that her own hatred blazed out from her young face with such intensity and force that Patrick was staggered by it.
That night Katharine lay in her bed, listening to Ryan’s sobs through the wall. They had started almost immediately, when he had returned from dinner, and they had continued unabated. Her heart ached for him and she longed to go and comfort him. The only thing which prevented her from doing so was the thought of her father’s wrath if he caught her. It was not that she was afraid for herself, for, in all truth, she was not afraid of anything. Her concern was for Ryan. Instinctively, she knew that if she attempted to protect her little brother, her father would take drastic measures, would remove him from her care. With a prescience rare in a girl of her age she understood that things would never be the same in this house ever again. She would have to watch her step, for Ryan’s sake.
But in the end she could not bear to listen to the racking sobs any longer, and she got out of bed and crept to the door, opening it quietly. She peered out. The corridor was dark and silent, and no light filtered out from her father’s room, to her enormous relief. He was either downstairs or he had gone out. To meet Miss McGready perhaps. Holding her breath, she ventured forth into Ryan’s room and tiptoed over to the bed. ‘It’s me,’ she whispered, sitting down on the edge. She took him in her arms, and stroked his hair and made gentle hushing sounds. Eventually he calmed a little, and nestled against her, his small arms clamped tightly around her neck.
‘I’m scared, Katie,’ he whispered in the darkness, his body still heaving with dry sobs. ‘I don’t want to be a politician. I want to be an artist. What will I do? I’m so scared of Da.’
‘Hush, honey, don’t get upset again. We’ll think of something.’
‘Why did Da tear up my beautiful painting? I was going to give it to Momma.’
‘I don’t know. Well, perhaps he was angry with me. But you’ll do another for Momma, Ryan, real soon.’
‘No, I won’t,’ he wailed. ‘Da has forbidden it. I’ll never be able to paint again, Katie.’
‘Please, honey, don’t
