Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland

by Melody Carlson

“Whatever I tell you today,” he begins, “I tell you in confidence. Can I trust you to keep this confidence?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ian is a friend of mine,” he says. “And it’s not so much that he has asked me to remain silent on his account. But I do worry for the boy. He has old connections, connections he has worked to sever, but connections that remain, just the same.”

  “To the IRA?”

  He shrugs, but I can tell that I’m right. “Ian has been involved in Peace House for many years now. He first came to us as a volunteer. And then he came again. And again. He said Peace House helped him to find his way out….”

  Out of the IRA, I’m thinking. But I don’t say this.

  “And for the last ten years or so, Ian has been an important benefactor to Peace House. A very generous benefactor.”

  I nod.

  “But there are people who would not take kindly to this information.”

  I remember the quote from the taxi driver today. “For every Irishman on the fire, there will always be another ready to turn the spit,” I say.

  He nods. “You understand how some of the Irish think.”

  “Hopefully its only a small minority.”

  “Aye, lassie. And I’m sure it is. But we must look out for one another.”

  “Thank you for telling me about Ian,” I say. I can’t believe how relieved I feel right now. Thinking that something was wrong with Ian was really eating at me. And remembering this reminded me of how he mentioned coming to Antrim on the day Ryan’s dad was killed.

  “Can I ask you one more thing about Ian?”

  “You ask, and I will decide if I can answer.”

  So I ask him about that day, the day Ian’s brother and Michael were killed by the bomb.

  “’Twas Ian’s second summer here at Peace House,” he tells me slowly. “’Twas driving a load of children up from Belfast that day, Ian was. He’d tried to find another driver to replace him but without luck. Or perhaps ’twas with great luck. Or, more likely, it was the good Lord watching out for one o’ his lambs. Driving those children out here ’twas the only reason Ian himself was not killed that day.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ian says Peace House saved his life.”

  I nod, still taking this in. Everything actually adds up. “You told me I can’t tell anyone,” I say. “Does this include my aunt and Michael’s son, Ryan?”

  He seems to think about this. “I’m not concerned about your aunt, lassie. But does Ryan have any connection with the IRA?”

  I shake my head.

  “You’re certain o’ it?”

  I consider this. Ryan seems to know a lot about the IRA as well as the RIRA. But I seriously doubt he has any real connection with them. On the other hand, I remember how he’s shown sympathies for their cause from time to time, and knowing the history of his father, well, who can be sure?

  “I guess I don’t know with absolute certainty,” I tell Murphy. “So I promise not to tell Ryan about any of this unless I am one hundred percent sure.”

  “Thank you, lassie. I’m sure you wouldn’t want Ian’s blood on your hands.”

  I feel my eyes open wide. “No,” I say quickly, “of course not.”

  For the second time, I thank him and tell him I should go. And, once again, he reminds me of the need to be discreet. “For Ian’s sake,” he says as he shakes my hand.

  I nod. “For Ian’s sake.”

  As I retrace my steps back toward Peace House, I feel torn. On one hand, I have permission to tell my aunt, but what will this information do to her? On the other hand, I’m not supposed to tell Ryan, but he’s the one who really needs to know. What am I supposed to do?

  And so, as I walk, I ask God to help me figure this out.

  Seventeen

  What’s up?” Ryan asks when I find him sitting on a stone bench outside of Peace House.

  “Didn’t you go out on the lake?” I ask as I sit down beside him.

  “The boats were all being used,” he says.

  “Oh.”

  “So, did you meet the old dude? Did you ask him about Ian?”

  I’m trying to decide how to answer him when my aunt walks up.

  “Hey, you two,” she says, “I just finished my interview.”

  “How did it go?” I ask, standing up to meet her.

  “Great. I think I can complete my article now.”

  “With a happy ending?” I ask.

  She smiles. “For the most part. And then I can use a separate article to tell the rest of the story.”

  “So, are you ready to go?” I ask, thinking this will be a good distraction from the conversation I’m trying to avoid with Ryan.

  “Actually, I thought we’d spend the night,” she says. “They have rooms for rent upstairs.”

  “Cool,” says Ryan. “Maybe I’ll get to take a boat out later. They said they’re all available after five today.”

  “Well, why don’t we just stick around and enjoy the place then?” she says. “Maybe I can get some photos while the light is still good.”

  “Want me to get the bags out of the car?” Ryan offers.

  “Thanks,” says Sid. “I’ll go check us in.” She glances at me. “Why don’t you come along and get the keys for Ryan?”

  So I follow Sid back into the office and wait as she makes arrangements with Glenda.

  “Did you have tea with Murphy?” Glenda asks as she hands us the keys.

  “Yes,” I answer, wishing she hadn’t said anything.

  “Murphy, the old groundskeeper?” asks Sid.

  “That’d be the one,” says Glenda.

  “I can’t believe he’s still here.”

  Glenda nods, then turns her attention back to me. “Was he able to answer your questions, dear?”

  “Yes. We had a nice chat,” I say. “I’ll run these keys to Ryan, Sid.”

  “Great. Let’s meet up again at dinnertime.”

  “There’s a separate dining room for guests,” Glenda starts telling us before I can leave. “Just to the right of the main dining hall. But you’re welcome to eat with the children if you like. Just be warned: it can be a bit noisy in there.”

  “Would it be okay if I took some photos of the children?” my aunt asks.

  Glenda hands her a form. “You’ll need permission if you want to use photos for any publication.” When she starts explaining how to fill out the form, I make a quick getaway. Hopefully Sid will be distracted enough to forget about my conversation with Murphy.

  Ryan has already unloaded the bags, and I help him carry them back into the building. Our rooms are on the second floor, but we noticed the service elevator, located in the back of the building, in our earlier exploration. As we ride the elevator, I tell him about the dining hall and the separate place for adult guests, taking more time than necessary to explain these details, filling up all the empty spaces in our conversation lest he ask me about Murphy again. Then, to my relief, we are standing outside of our rooms.

  “I’ll put Sid’s things in her room,” he tells me, and I drop the things I was carrying for her on the floor.

  “Thanks,” I say as I rebalance my stuff and go into my room, shutting the door behind me. I’m out of breath and can hardly believe I made it here without telling the news about Ian to anyone. Neither my aunt or Ryan. Whew.

  Okay, I tell myself as I dump my biggest bag on the floor, Ryan is not a, member of the IRA. That’s totally ridiculous. Even if he is slightly sympathetic to the republic’s cause, he would never consider joining their ranks. Besides, I remind myself, the IRA is almost nonexistent now anyway. And Ryan, like Sid and me, knows that the RIRA is bad news. I’m sure he has absolutely no sympathy toward them. So why am I being so paranoid? Then I remember Murphy’s concern and the way he mentioned Ian’s blood on my hands. Maybe I do need to be careful.

  So I decide to lay low for the evening. I’ll make sure I’m not around Ryan by myself. And, okay, this is kind of a bummer since I’ve g
rown to really like this guy and wouldn’t mind spending more time with him. And I think maybe he likes me. I mean, beyond just being happy traveling companions that my aunt has thrown together. And I’m well aware that our time in Ireland will soon be over. Don’t think about it, I tell myself.

  So, to distract myself, I play my penny flute for a while. And then I write in my journal. After that, I read a little from an Irish novel I picked up in Belfast. But the story is so depressing that I realize it’s not helping my state of mind at all. Finally I decide to wander downstairs and see if there’s something I can do to occupy myself until dinner, hopefully something that won’t involve Ryan or my aunt.

  “So, are you guys sticking around then?” says the red-headed guy we met down by the lake. He’s carrying a small box through the lobby.

  “Yeah. Just for the night,” I tell him.

  “I’m Stewart,” he tells me, shifting the box with one hand as he sticks out the other to shake mine. “I’m from New Jersey.”

  “Maddie,” I say. “From Washington State.”

  “So what brings you here?”

  I explain how my aunt was a volunteer here during the troubles and how she’s writing a follow-up article now. “This is such a cool place,” I tell him. “I might even look into volunteering here myself. Maybe next summer.”

  “Cool.” He gets an I-have-an-idea look. “If you’d like a taste of what it’s really like to work here, I’ve heard they’re short-handed in the kitchen this week. One of the girls has tonsillitis.”

  “Really?”

  He nods. “You interested in giving it a go?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  So he walks me back to the kitchen and introduces me to Megan, the kitchen boss, a woman in her thirties. She gives me a quick tour, then hands me an apron and a peeler, and soon I find myself standing over a big stainless.-steel bowl of potatoes. Okay, it’s not exactly glamorous, but it’s the perfect escape from this Ian dilemma with Ryan and Sid.

  Megan seems pleased with my work and even more pleased when I offer to help with the serving as well as the cleanup later tonight. “Can you stay for the whole summer?” she asks in a pleading voice.

  “Sorry,” I tell her. “But maybe I can help you with breakfast tomorrow.”

  “Hey, I’ll take anything I can get.”

  I let Sid and Ryan know what’s up with me and KP. They look at me like I’m a little crazy, but that’s fine. It buys me time. But somewhere between dinner and dessert, Ryan catches me as I’m carrying a tub of dirty silverware back into the kitchen.

  “Hey, are you going to tell me about your little talk with Murphy or what?”

  “Later,” I call over my shoulder. “I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

  He seems to buy this, and I manage to keep myself “busy” for another couple of hours. Finally Megan tells me that I’ve worked harder than anyone on kitchen crew and that if I really want to volunteer here next summer, she will personally recommend me for the job.

  “Thanks,” I tell her.

  “Thank you!”

  I hang up my apron and take the back staircase to the second floor. I’m practically tiptoeing to my room in fear that I’ll run into Ryan and he’ll demand to know everything about my conversation with Murphy. Somehow I make it to my room, take a nice long shower to remove all the layers of kitchen scum, and then crawl into bed. It’s only eight thirty, but I feel like I’ve just put in a long day at the farm. Before I turn off my light, I make sure to set my alarm for six. Prep work for breakfast begins at six thirty, and I don’t want to be late.

  Peace House is much quieter than our last hotel in downtown Belfast, and as a result I sleep soundly and nearly jump out of my skin when the alarm goes off in the morning. It takes me a few minutes to get my bearings and wake myself up, but I’m back down in the kitchen and ready to go by 6:27.

  “You’re early,” says Megan as I grab an apron.

  I grin at her. “I’d say it was from growing up on the farm, but the truth is, I’m not that much of a morning person. Although I have been getting up earlier than usual here in Ireland.”

  “Good that someone is.” She shakes her head. “Most of my kitchen crew seem to be coming in later and later. It’s about time I gave them the ‘talk.’”

  She puts me to work cracking dozens of eggs into a big aluminum bowl. Before long the rest of her crew stumble in. They look a little bleary-eyed, and I notice some of their eyes are bloodshot.

  “Looks like they’ve been hitting the Guinness again,” she tells me in a hushed tone. “Glad you could make it, people,” she says more loudly, then starts assigning jobs.

  I find it surprising that the camp staff would be out drinking, but then I remember that I’m in Ireland, and while peace camps have a light Christian influence (they pray before their meals), its nothing like the Christian camps I attended as a kid. Anyone caught with alcohol at those camps would’ve been in serious trouble.

  The focus here is more on people and accepting differences and living in peace with one another. I can tell by conversations I’ve picked up on with the kitchen crew that they aren’t exactly Christians. I mean, they’re not bad people, and they are volunteering their time. But I can tell some of them have issues. Still, I think it’s cool to be here. And if I do come back next summer, I hope my walk with God is a little stronger than it seems now. Although, curiously enough, I feel like it’s getting stronger each day. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I’m praying more.

  As I move from task to task in the kitchen, I begin to strategize a way that might allow both my aunt and Ryan to find out the truth about Ian. I get so obsessed with my plan that I almost don’t notice my arm’s getting sore as I stir a big bowl of pancake batter. (Megan’s big mixer is on the blink.) I start stirring with my left hand and say a silent prayer that God will help this crazy plan to work.

  Finally breakfast is served and cleaned up, and my job in the kitchen comes to an end. Megan thanks me again and reminds me that she’d be happy to have me on her kitchen crew anytime. And I promise to keep that in mind.

  It’s almost ten by the time I find my aunt and Ryan. They’re downstairs in the lobby, discussing their plans for the day.

  “I thought I might write for a couple of hours,” she tells us. “Then we can head out and grab some lunch in Antrim before we shoot on down to Dublin.”

  “Why Dublin?” I ask, thinking this throws a significant wrench into the plan I’ve been concocting all morning.

  “Why not?” She looks at me.

  “Do you have an interview down there or something?”

  “No, but I thought you two might enjoy seeing it.”

  I glance at Ryan now, hoping he’ll support me in this. “I was thinking it’d be cool to head back toward Malin,” I tell her.

  “Malin?” One of her brows lifts slightly. “Why?”

  “Well, it’s where Ryan’s family came from, and he barely got to meet his aunt, and he might want to get to know her better. And I actually had a really good time there. Besides that, I’ve heard that Dublin is a really big, busy city. And, well, Belfast was like that. I guess I just prefer the quiet Irish countryside.”

  “Really?” Sid doesn’t look convinced.

  I toss Ryan a glance now. Like, Hint, hint, help me out here.

  “I wouldn’t mind going back to Malin,” he says. “I was sort of wishing I’d done that bike trip around Malin Head like Maddie did. It sounded pretty cool.”

  Sid considers this. “Yeah, I was sort of wishing I’d done that too.”

  “And Malin’s on the way to Galway,” I point out. “It’s not like it would take any more time to go that way.”

  “No.” She nods as if she’s getting into this. “Actually, it would probably take less. To be honest, I’m not that crazy about driving through the big cities either. But are you sure you guys are okay with this?”

  “Better than okay,” I assure her.

  “I think it’s a good
plan,” Ryan adds. “I like the idea of going back to a place I’m sort of familiar with. It’s kind of like going home.”

  “And Malin is kind of like home,” I say. “I mean, it’s your ancestors’ home.”

  So it seems to be settled. Sid heads up to her room for some writing time, and then Ryan confronts me. “What’s up, Maddie?”

  “I can’t tell you just yet.”

  “Does Malin have anything to do with whatever this is you’re not telling me yet?”

  “Sort of.” Now I realize I’ll need Ryan’s help to accomplish this crazy plan, so I have to divulge a little more. “It also involves Derry and a certain restaurant there.”

  “And Ian too?”

  I nod. “Listen, Ryan, if you help me pull this off, I promise to explain it all later. Okay?”

  He nods. “I’m in.”

  “We need to look at a map.”

  Ryan produces a small fold-up map from his pocket. “Will this do?”

  “Perfect.” I point to where we are now. “It looks like it could take about an hour and a half to get to Derry,” I tell him.

  “That sounds about right.”

  “But I want us to get there around dinnertime.”

  “We’d have to hang out in Antrim until four or later. That’s a pretty long lunch, Maddie.”

  “I know. So we need to find some place along the way where we can kill some time. A castle or something. Something we’re both dying to see. We stop there and manage to spend a couple of hours or even more so we arrive in Derry around six or seven. By then we are both starving for dinner and can’t wait until we reach Malin to eat. Then we’ll discreetly direct Sid to Ian’s restaurant, like, ‘Hey, why don’t we eat there?’ She has no idea of the name of Ian’s restaurant. And then, of course, she will have to meet with him.”

  “What if he’s not there?” he asks.

  “I’ll call ahead and make sure that he is.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to see Sid?”

  “I’ll admit I thought that could be the case. I mean, he never mentioned her or anything while we were in Malin. But I got to thinking that she’s the one who refused to see him in the first place. So maybe it’s his pride—you know, the male ego thing.”