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Back A Man of Honor
Chapters (71)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. Part One
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Part Two
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Part Three
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Part Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Part Five
  61. Fifty-Four
  62. Fifty-Five
  63. Fifty-Six
  64. Fifty-Seven
  65. Fifty-Eight
  66. Fifty-Nine
  67. Sixty
  68. Sixty-One
  69. Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
  70. About the Author
  71. Newsletter Sign-up

It had been terrible to lose first his da, then his mam and Niall. He and Bronagh had tried to keep going for a year after that, but after Bronagh’s death he had vowed to himself that he would make his life different, whatever he had to do to attain this. Mrs. O’Malley constantly called him the poor wee bairn under her breath. That was how she saw him. Yet he knew he would grow up to be strong, a man of steel. He understood he could erase the past, create a new future for himself. Who could stop him? He had the time. He was just thirteen.

The drizzle started as Blackie was walking down the dirt road that led into the little hamlet where he had been born and brought up. “Just my luck,” he muttered under his breath, and started to run.

The drizzle became rain and, in seconds, it was a downpour. He was wet through as he jogged ahead, his eyes fixed on the first cottage at the edge of the hamlet. That was where Mrs. O’Malley lived.

He glowered at the leaden sky. Thank God for Mrs. O’Malley, he said to himself. She will come to my rescue. As she had many times.

He slowed down as he entered the hamlet. Within a minute, he was coming to a stop at her cottage. He was not a bit surprised to see Mrs. O’Malley herself standing on the doorstep in front of her open door, a look of expectancy on her face, worry in her eyes.

Two

“Well, just look at yerself, standing there, dripping rain and on me clean floor, Blackie!” Mrs. O’Malley exclaimed, after she had beckoned him into her cottage.

Blackie, looking down at his feet, murmured, “Very sorry, Mrs. O’Malley, swear I am. If ye give me a cloth, I’ll clean it up.”

“Nay, come on, lad; I can do that. Take yer coat off, and then yer boots. That’s how a lad gets a cold, standing around in wet shoes, ye knows.”

Moving toward him, she took his coat, which was soaked, and carried it to the sink. After laying it across the top, she went for his boots.

“Go and sit near the fire,” she instructed, “while I stuff newspaper in yer boots. Best thing there is for helping to dry ’em.” She didn’t say that they wouldn’t survive if she didn’t, as cracked and worn as they were.

“Thanks, Mrs. O’Malley, for looking after me like this.”

“Been doing it all yer life, lad, to my way of thinking. Best take yer socks off as well.”

Mrs. O’Malley spoke the truth. Ever since Blackie had been born to Ellen O’Neill and her husband, Mick, she had been on hand to help them. He was their youngest child, and Ellen was already run-down, exhausted by housework, cooking and looking after her family.