The Girl Who Came Home

by Hazel Gaynor

  “So will you come with me then?” Jimmy asked as they strolled back to the parking lot, arm in arm.

  Grace continued walking, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible.

  “Come where? Where are you going?”

  “Ireland. Well, Ireland and the rest of Europe. I’m traveling this summer after graduation. You always said you wanted to go there, to find your Irish roots—remember, we’d sort of planned it?”

  Grace laughed, remembering the naïve, romantic, carefree conversations they’d had about traveling the world together. She also remembered how impulsive Jimmy could be.

  “Seriously? You’d want me to come with you?”

  He stopped and turned her to face him.

  “Well, only if you want to. I figured it might be a good way for us to spend some time together, you know, get to know each other again. What do you think? Unless you’ve got other plans for the summer?”

  She smiled, a beaming smile that seemed to spread through her entire body.

  “It sounds like a great idea! Of course I want to go with you. I want to more than anything in the world!”

  While her mother fussed over the dinner later that evening, Grace sat in the swing on the back porch, enjoying the relaxing, rhythmic sensation, thoughts of Jimmy and the wonderful words he had said dancing around her mind. Maggie sat on the bench opposite, smiling at her.

  “What’s got you all excited then?”

  Grace sat up. “Excuse me?”

  “What’s got you so excited?” Maggie repeated. “Because something certainly has. You’re practically fizzing.”

  Grace laughed at her great-grandmother’s perceptiveness. “Good Lord, Maggie, nothing gets past you, does it? Are you sure you’re nearly ninety years old?”

  Maggie chuckled. “Sadly, yes, although some days I don’t feel a day over seventeen, up here,” she added, tapping her head. “So are you gonna tell me or am I gonna have to guess?”

  Stepping down from the swing, Grace sidled over to sit beside her great-grandmother and clasped her hands in hers. “Oh, Maggie, it’s just amazing. I just can’t believe it. I met Jimmy today.”

  “Jimmy? Your Jimmy?”

  “Yes!” Grace laughed. “My Jimmy!”

  “Well, go on then. Tell me all about it. I can tell by the twinkle in your eye that you were definitely pleased to see him.”

  Grace had barely been able to believe everything that had happened since she’d spoken to Jimmy on the phone, but she was desperate to tell somebody, and she knew that Maggie would listen without judging her. So she told her all about the note she had written to Professor Andrews along with the newspaper article, and how Jimmy had called her and how they’d arranged to meet for coffee earlier that day and how it had been amazing, as if they’d never been apart. She hardly stopped for breath. Maggie listened patiently as she sipped her cup of tea.

  “And you’ll never guess what, Maggie.”

  “What?”

  “He’s going traveling around Europe this summer and he wants me to go with him. To Ireland! I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.”

  “And are you going?” Maggie asked when Grace eventually stopped talking.

  “Yeah. I think so. What do you think?”

  Maggie put her cup and saucer down purposefully and stared Grace straight in the eyes. It was a look she gave people when she wanted their full attention; wanted them to sit up and take notice and not be distracted by anything else.

  “You don’t need to know what I think, Grace. It’s what’s in here that counts,” she said, tapping her chest. “There are probably a hundred and one reasons for you not to go rushing off around Europe with a young man whose heart you’ve already broken once, but if there is just one reason why you should, then perhaps that’s the reason you should listen to. You’ve been cooped up here in this sleepy town for two years longer than you’d ever planned to be. I think only you can truly know if now is the right time to move on, and if that includes traveling the world with Jimmy, then so be it.”

  She nodded after making this speech, as if to reinforce her words.

  Grace sat and thought for a moment. “You’re right,” she sighed. “It may look crazy and rushed and foolish to people on the outside, but I’ve got a good feeling about this. I don’t think I can go for the whole summer, though—I’ve got a lot of catching up to do before I go back to college in the fall. But he’s planning on visiting Ireland first, so I thought maybe I’d just go there with him and then come back.”

  “Ireland, huh?” Maggie smiled. “D’you know, I never went back. I’ve never set foot on Irish soil since the day I stepped onto the tender that took us out to Titanic where she was moored offshore. I was too afraid, you see. I made a promise to myself while I sat in that lifeboat bobbing around on the great blackness of the Atlantic Ocean—I promised myself that I would never sail again. And it’s a shame, because I often think that it would be nice to know what happened to that little cottage, to know whether anyone living in Ballysheen now knows about the fourteen of us who left that spring day.” She sighed and laughed a little. “I wouldn’t think the people living there now would have any notion of what happened to us all. They’ll be too busy watching that awful MTV nonsense and doing that silly Rubik’s Cube thing.”

  Grace chuckled. “Probably,” she agreed. “Quite probably.”

  A silence fell across the porch then as the two sat in thought and watched the cat chase a bee among the camellia bushes.

  Grace’s mother gave her absolute blessing for Grace to travel with Jimmy to Ireland. Grace had been putting off mentioning it to her, worried about her mom’s reaction, wondering whether she would be okay with being in the house on her own.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea, honey,” her mother said. “And I’m delighted that you and Jimmy are finally patching things up. He’s a good kid; I always liked him—and your father was fond of him too. Anyway, your aunt Martha’s moving closer, so she can keep an eye on me. I’m gonna have to get used to being here without you when you go back to college in September. Imagine, all that laundry I won’t have to do—whatever will I do with myself?”

  Grace and Jimmy spoke every day on the phone, the love she felt for him growing stronger with every conversation. Within weeks the travel arrangements were made and the flights were booked.

  It was over a cup of tea and a slice of apple pie in the Cherry Tree Café that Maggie made her surprising announcement.

  “By the way, I was wondering if you kids wouldn’t mind too much if I came to Ireland with you.”

  “What?” Grace exclaimed, bursting out laughing. “You’re not serious?” She looked across the table at Maggie. She could tell immediately that she was deadly serious. “Are you?”

  “Of course you can come with us,” Jimmy interjected. “It would be our honor to escort you back there, wouldn’t it, Grace?” he continued, kicking her under the table.

  Grace was stunned. “Well, yes, of course, but . . . well, are you sure you’d be up to it, Maggie? It’s a really long flight, and there’d be lots of traveling once we arrived in Ireland.”

  “Well, I figure I’d only have to sit in an airplane seat the same as I sit in that old chair of mine at home, and I don’t reckon you’d be asking me to do any of the driving—so what’s the difference, apart from a few hours here and there with the time of day?”

  Jimmy and Grace stared at Maggie in shock.

  “Seriously,” Grace asked one more time, “you really want to come?”

  “I’ve never been more serious,” Maggie replied. “I know, I’m nearly ninety years old and I don’t really like to leave the house too much and I’ve never been on a plane before and all the other reasons why it sounds like absolute nonsense, but ever since you two got back together and decided to go to Ireland, I’ve been thinking about coming with you. I’ve tried to forget about Ireland all these years, but it won’t leave me. I’m part of it, you know, and I think I’m ready to go back now
, at long last. I doubt there’ll be another chance, and I’ll admit I would like to see the old place again, before it’s too late. So, I figured, why not? Maybe it’s time for me to finally go home.”

  “Well, I think that’s fantastic, Maggie,” Grace said. “Really fantastic, and we’d love to take you back. But are you absolutely sure? It won’t be too upsetting, will it?”

  “Hmm, probably. But I figure you don’t get to be my age without being able to cope with a bit of upset now and then. I think it will do me good to see the old place again. I can travel back to Chicago with you, Grace, while Jimmy goes off exploring Europe. If an old lady won’t cramp your style too much, I’d really like to come with you.”

  It was settled. Maggie would travel with them to Ireland, back to Ballysheen. The girl who had left all those years ago was coming home.

  As the plane thundered down the runway and took off, Maggie closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of speed and of being pushed back into her seat. She felt more alive than she had in years. She smiled as the land she had called home for most of her life faded beneath the clouds. She patted the pocket of her coat, which was carefully folded up on her lap. Yes, it was still there. The packet of letters was still there.

  CHAPTER 37

  Ballysheen, Ireland

  July 2, 1982

  The journey took a lot out of Maggie. She was exhausted by the time they landed at Shannon Airport, and was glad that Grace had insisted they stay overnight in a hotel before continuing their journey to County Mayo.

  Sitting in the passenger seat of the rental car the next day, she watched, mesmerized, as the Irish countryside flashed past the window. Her mind wandered back to the train journey she had taken all those years ago from Castlebar, the great whistle of the engine startling her as they’d pulled out of the station with a groan and a jolt, slowly building up speed down the track toward Claremorris and from there to Limerick and then Cork. Eight or nine hours they’d traveled before they finally reached Queenstown. The salty sea air of that town had made her feel queasy—she remembered it now as if it were yesterday.

  Jimmy drove through small town after small town, stopping here and there so they could have a cup of tea or a bowl of soup and some homemade soda bread. The vivid colors of the houses and shopfronts delighted them all; the smoke from the fires burning in the grates of the houses snaked skyward from narrow chimney pots, filling the air with the smell of turf. It was a smell Maggie recognized immediately and one that transported her right back to the small cottage she’d called home for seventeen years.

  They drove out then into open countryside, past lush green fields, dry stone walls, and crops of wheat and barley. Maggie already felt oddly at home, at ease, at peace.

  It was approaching noon as they reached the familiar landscape of County Mayo, and Maggie sat in silence as she surveyed the scenery around her. And then she saw it. The majestic, distinctive shape of Nephin Mór. It was still lightly snowcapped from the harsh winter.

  A few fluffy clouds passed lazily across the sky as her gaze settled on the fields where she used to watch the men gather the potatoes at harvesttime. She recalled herself as a young girl staring at another failed harvest, the crops blighted. She remembered her mother telling her how there had been a time when those same fields were lush and green, all the food they could wish for ready to be gathered. It thrilled Maggie to see those same fields lush and green again, bursting with life and with food to feed the community ten times over.

  Everything rushed back at her, memory after memory, season after season spent in this countryside; conversations, laughter, tears, heartache—it was all still here, all still hidden among these timeless stone walls and the enduring landscape. As they approached the village of Ballysheen, Maggie asked Jimmy to take her to the lake first.

  It was exactly as she remembered it, as if she was looking at a snapshot taken seventy years ago. Nothing had changed since the morning when she and her thirteen fellow travelers had departed—it was as if time had stood still, as if these fields, mountains, and lakes had been waiting for her to return.

  Jimmy and Grace watched from a short distance as Maggie picked her way steadily through the long grass, brushing the dandelion fluff from her skirt, using her cane for balance where the ground undulated beneath her. She stood at the edge of the lake, lost in a lifetime, breathing in the fresh, clean air, filling her lungs with the goodness and life contained within it. She watched the water as a breeze sent a flurry of ripples skidding across its surface. Snippets of past conversations skipped through her mind: Peggy and Katie laughing about life in America, Séamus asking her to dance, her aunt telling her in clipped, purposeful tones that she was taking her to a better life in America. She felt her own hesitancy and dread as she’d climbed up into the trap. She sensed his presence, felt him standing next to her, his arm slung protectively around her shoulders.

  After a while, Grace and Jimmy joined her, and they sat for a time by the lakeside on the coats Jimmy had brought out of the car, listening to Maggie’s memories, the young couple entranced by the silence and beauty of the place.

  “For seventeen years I called these hills and fields home,” Maggie told them, wistfully. “For seventy more I’ve called somewhere else home, but this is where I really belong. Now I am truly home.”

  A single cloud drifted momentarily across the sun, casting a shadow over the ground. As it passed, Maggie closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth flooding her body. She felt in her coat pocket for the small bundle of letters held together with a frayed piece of string and smiled.

  “Are you ready to go into the village?” Grace asked, helping Maggie to her feet.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied. “Perhaps it would be nice to go to the church. St. Patrick’s it’s called, if I remember right.”

  Grace noticed Maggie wipe a tear from her cheek—she looked vulnerable. She could almost see the seventeen-year-old girl Maggie had been when she’d last set eyes on this place.

  Jimmy parked the car, and they strolled together up the main street, the locals going about their business, laughing and chatting outside the post office and the butcher’s, unaware of the significance of the old lady walking among them.

  St. Patrick’s church looked just as it had all those years ago, with its high, arched windows and soaring spire. The cool, hushed interior was a welcome relief from the bustle and noise outside. Maggie looked around, remembering the many times she had stood here at Mass, remembering the faces of those who had stood beside her: Peggy and her twinkling green eyes, Katie and her pretty smile, Aunt Kathleen and her look of steely determination.

  She stepped forward to light a candle before saying a quiet prayer. Jimmy and Grace waited toward the back of the church, giving her some privacy.

  “Hey, Grace, look at this,” Jimmy whispered, pulling her toward a stone slab set into the wall by the door. The two of them stood and stared, amazed by what they saw.

  Dedicated to the memory of all those who left this parish on 10th April 1912 to sail on the Titanic’s maiden voyage to a new world and who perished when she sank in the Atlantic Ocean on 15th April 1912. We will never forget them. And to the only known survivors, Maggie Murphy and Peggy Madden, we welcome you home. Always.

  “Oh my goodness,” Grace whispered. “They remembered them. They remembered them all. This is what she always wondered. Whether they were known and remembered. She’ll be so pleased.”

  When Maggie had finished praying, they took her to the inscription. She stood silently, reading all the names of those she had traveled with and loved, reaching out to feel the lettering etched into the cold stone, running her fingers across each name as if she were running her hand across the cheek of the person it belonged to.

  Kathleen Dolan, 44 years

  Ellen Joyce, 33 years

  Katie Kenny, 24 years

  Patrick Brogan, 22 years

  Maura Brennan, 35 years

  Jack Brennan, 37 years


  Eileen Brennan, 32 years

  Michael Kelly, 17 years

  Mary Dunphy, 29 years

  Bridget Moloney, 23 years

  Maria Cusack, 22 years

  Margaret O’Connor, 26 years

  The priest, who had been watching their interest in the plaque for some time, wandered over to tell them something of its history. He explained that for several years Titanic and the loss of life from the area were not talked about, but that over time, descendants of the travelers had come to feel it right and proper to acknowledge the event and remember, every year, those who lost their lives on April 15, 1912. He pointed then to a grassy area to the right of the church, where there stood a bell that was rung once a minute for fourteen minutes, every April 15 at 2:20 A.M. to mark the moment when Titanic sank.

  Maggie didn’t tell him who she was, preferring to remain, as he imagined her to be, nothing more significant than a passing American tourist.

  They walked then, through the village. Much had changed: the shops were new, the road was paved, and the cars and diesel farm machinery hummed past them, blowing out their choking exhaust fumes. Yet many things were reassuringly unchanged: the pub, the stone bridge, the old school building—albeit now converted into somebody’s home. What struck Maggie most was that there were only two cherry blossom trees standing; park benches and flower beds now filled the space where the other trees once stood.

  “But there used to be fourteen,” she exclaimed. “Whyever would they have chopped them all down? They were so beautiful in the springtime.”

  She walked to one of the two trees still standing, the blossoms finished for the season, the vivid green foliage casting a pleasant shade on the pavement underneath.

  “I’d just like to take a moment,” she announced, touching the bark of the tree, circling it and glancing through the dappled shade to the branches above. She sighed. And then she noticed an inscription carved into the wood. MM SD. Saying nothing to Grace or Jimmy, she smiled as she recognized her and Séamus’s initials.