The Husband She Never Knew. Cynthia Thomason

      He nodded. “A sad time for Ireland. And there were bombings and deaths and more heartache than a mother could measure. And through the middle of it all wound the crooked pathway chosen by Frank Junior and Cormac, my brothers. Of all the skills my poor mother imagined her boys acquiring, bomb-making wasn’t even on the list.”

      “What happened to your brothers?” Vicki asked.

      “They applied their talents to the destruction of Catholic churches and schools. And any number of cars and store windows, which they blew up as a sort of Malone calling card. Luckily only property was damaged, but it was enough for the Outlaw Malones to make a name for themselves.”

      Vicki shook her head. “And you, as well, I imagine. You shared their name.”

      Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. After all this time, the memory was still as painful. “There were some problems along that line. I was questioned often by the authorities, who were trying to make an example of the Malones. But they couldn’t pin anything on me, and Frank and Cormac could never be found. Most times I couldn’t find them myself, the underground network was that good. Two men could bomb a market, slip down an alley and not be seen for weeks.”

      Vicki shook her head, evidence that she bore some of his sadness. “So what eventually happened? Why did you leave Ireland?”

      “Because Frank and Cormac came out of their dens at precisely the wrong time. They were caught in a street brawl, of all things, for once their pockets empty of explosives, though fire was in their hearts. My mother heard about the fight and knew the police were going to arrest everyone involved. She sent me to warn my brothers. The rest is a miserable piece of history. We were three Malone men with blood on our clothes and fight in our eyes. And though I hadn’t thrown a punch, to the police, we were each one as guilty as the other.

      “Frank hollered at me to run even as they put the cuffs around his wrists. I did. Hard and fast. The last I remember about that night was Cormac on the street, his face in the concrete, and the black boot of a policeman in the small of his back. That same night I got to know the secret network myself. Men proclaiming themselves friends of my brothers came to the door, talked to my mother and took me from the house. The next morning I was on a fishing boat to the Isle of Man where I caught a plane to the French coast. Within hours I was in the United States. And Frank and Cormac were awaiting trial.”