After our last failure I offered to let Bobby go, divorce him or file for an annulment.
Allow him to find a woman, a real woman, who could give him what he wanted. What he deserved.
That was the only time he’d become angry, really angry. “Don’t you know, Caro? Don’t you know how much I love you?”
I was an empty husk at that point, past caring about anything. I’d stared at him like a zombie. “Why? I’m nothing. I don’t have a career, I’m not much to look at. Don’t you see how women look at you? You would have no problem finding someone new.”
“I don’t want someone new.” He’d pulled me into his arms. “You’re my life, Caroline, you’re my life.” After a long weekend in East Hampton he’d convinced me not to lose hope, to try again. For all the good it had done.
The phone rang. I grabbed it, hoping against hope it was Dr. Feinberg calling back to apologize, to tell me the test results had been mixed up and that I really was pregnant. It was a telemarketer. I took the phone off the hook and retreated to my bed.
Later, I stared out the window and watched the evening parade of taxis fly by. I didn’t even hear Bobby walk up behind me. He encircled me with his strong arms and nuzzled my ear.
“I missed you, sweetheart.”
In a voice still rough from my earlier sobs, I choked out, “I missed you too.”
He spun me around. His green eyes were filled with concern. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Dr. Feinberg called. It didn’t work. We’re out of options.”
“No, don’t say that, Caro. We’ll try another doctor.”
“They’re the best. It’s no use. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to have my own baby.”
“Caro, you’ve done all you could. When I think about what you’ve put your poor body through... Maybe the doctor’s right. Maybe we need to stop.”
I turned away from him and looked out the window again. “I’ll die, Bobby. I’ll die if I don’t have a baby.”
“Would it really be so bad if it was just us? We have a wonderful life and you’re all I need.” His arms encircled me again and he buried his face in my hair. “Aren’t I enough for you?”
Years later, I would torture myself, remembering my response. How I wished I could go back in time and say to him, “Yes, my love, you are all I need. All I’ll ever need.” But I was caught up in my quest for a baby. As if in a fever, the desire burned through me. Instead of pledging my love to him, I broke out of his arms. “If I don’t have a baby, I don’t want to live.
* * * *
A week later, my mother stripped the covers off my bed and flipped on the overhead light.
“Get up, miss. It’s after eleven o’clock.”
I pulled the sheet over my head. “Give me ten more minutes.”
“You’ll get up, and you’ll get up now.” She pulled the sheet off me. My mother was wearing her typical going-to-the-city outfit: skirt, heels, lipstick. I was wearing a grubby old nightgown that hadn’t seen a washing machine in I didn’t know when.
I rubbed my eyes. “How did you get in here, anyway?”
“I spoke to Bobby last night and he left a key for me down with the doorman. Have you any idea what you’re putting that poor man through?”
“Oh, now you’re a Bobby fan?”
“Caro, you know I’ve never blamed him for his family. Once you’d decided to marry him, I tried to make the best of it. In a way, I’m quite fond of Bobby.”
I came out from under the sheet. “You’re right, Ma. I’m sorry.”
“I know I’m right. You insisted on marrying him, despite the risks. Now you have to pay the price.”
I sat up. “How is it Bobby’s fault my ovaries are the size of raisins?”
“Oh, nonsense. My mother had ten children. I could’ve had ten if your father was up for it. You’re not the problem, love.”
“The New York Infertility Institute would disagree with you there.”
“Doctors don’t know everything. Now get up. I cooked bacon and eggs in that showplace you call a kitchen. It’s a thing of beauty. Aside from warming up take-out, do you people ever cook in there?”
“Hand me my robe,” I said in defeat.
I hadn’t eaten much the last few days. I hadn’t drunk much either. I’d slept as much as I could and intermittently popped the mystery pills one of my fellow Wanna-Be Manhattan Moms had dropped off after she heard my news. Unable to face Bobby or the seeming emptiness of my life, sleep had become my best friend.
I shuffled into the kitchen, wearing Bobby’s too big slippers. My mother had invaded my sterile kitchen and filled it with the thick smell of bacon. Despite myself, my mouth watered and I soon found myself polishing off a second helping of eggs.
“Bobby wants to take you to Ireland,” my mother said in a tight voice.
I poured myself another cup of the strong Irish tea she’d brought with her from Westchester. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to do anything.”
“He wants to take you to Kilvarren, to the Mountain. Thinks the fresh air will do you good.”
“Absent an ovary transplant, nothing will do me any good.”
“You’re disappointed.” She took my hand. “You must feel desperate. Caro, I know what it’s like to be desperate.”
I snatched my hand away. “What would you know? You had five children in eight years.”
My mother lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. After a few moments, she said, “I may not have shared your troubles, but I had more than a few of my own. I’ve never told you this, but I was desperate once. To marry my boyfriend, Jimmy O’Roarke. But he had left for New York and I was stuck at home. No money, my Da refused to give me the fare. He didn’t believe any of us should leave the shadow of the Mountain and go any farther than Kilvarren village. I know what it’s like to see everything you love and ever dreamt of slip away from you.”
My mother seldom mentioned her life in Ireland or the years before she met my father. I put down my tea. “What happened?”
“I made a deal with the devil, that’s what happened.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “I asked Roisin Devlin for help. Dot begged me not to but I didn’t know what else to do. I wrote a letter, asking Slanaitheoir for a way to New York, sealed it with my blood and wrapped it in a five pound note. I handed it to Mary Devlin after Mass to give to her mother. A month later Jimmy sent me over the money for my fare and asked me to marry him.” My mother’s eyes began to water.
“Go on.”
She wiped her eyes. “Six days before the wedding, a crosstown bus ran over my Jimmy.”
“My God, Ma. That’s terrible.”
“It was terrible. I wanted to die, Caroline. Just to die. Do you know what Roisin said when she met Dot down the town? She said, ‘when He gives, He takes.’ Not a bother on her. No remorse. Can you imagine?”
“Who, Ma? Who takes? What is a Slanaitheoir?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is, you don’t ask Mary Devlin for help. Don’t stay in her house, stay with Dot in Kilvarren town. Don’t wear any charm she gives you or accept anything to drink other than plain tea. Don’t let your desperation drive you to make the same mistake I made.”
I took her hand. “I’m sorry you lost your fiance and that you still feel guilty, but what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. Your fiance had an accident. I don’t see what some old woman on a mountain had to do with it.”
“Remember, whatever He gives, He takes from you tenfold. Not having children is a hardship. I’m sure it hurts more than I can imagine. But there are worse things, love. Much worse things.”
“I don’t expect some witchdoctor to help me. No one can.”
“Be careful. Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Ma, I don’t believe in any of that nonsense.”
“Promise me,” she demanded.
I sipped the strong tea and stared at my mother’s thin, lined face. “I promise.”
* * * *
It was impossible to sleep past eight, since Brendan woke the small house every morning. After a full Irish breakfast that Orla cooked us each morning--sausages, rashers, fried eggs--Bobby and I would leave the house and explore Dublin on foot. The Dublin Literary Tour, the Book of Kells at Trinity College, the Guinness Factory, we did it all. If Dublin had a Biggest Ball of Twine exhibit, I’m sure Bobby would’ve dragged us to it. With the constant motion and Bobby’s perpetual good cheer, I had begun to feel a bit better, less numb.
Our bags were packed and we had finished yet another one of Orla’s breakfast extravaganzas. Brendan clung to Bobby’s leg.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer? You’re more than welcome,” Orla said.
“Thanks, Orla, but we should see Mam as well. Plus, I want to show Caro the Mountain,”
Bobby said.
Orla rubbed her heavily pregnant belly. “Who’d want to see that godforsaken place?
Honestly, Caro, it’s so dreary and it’s always raining, You’ll hate it. I hate it. I always have. I only go when Mam’s, uh...well, when Mam’s under the weather.”
“You still blame the Mountain for your spider bite?” Bobby laughed. “Caro, Orla wandered off when we were visiting our Granny and was bit by a killer spider. It was very traumatic.” He playfully ruffled her hair. “We’ll be careful and we’ll watch out for spiders.”
“Seriously though, why are you dragging Caroline there?”
“I’ve always loved the Mountain. It’s quiet and restful, exactly what we need right now.”
“And there’s no shopping, Caro, except for that tiny town, where I think the most fashionable thing you could find there is a pair of Wellies.”
“The last thing Caro needs is more shopping, right, sweetheart?”
I rubbed his arm. “I’m looking forward to seeing it, actually. My mother grew up near the Mountain and I still have family in Kilvarren.”
Orla looked surprised. “You never went back, then?”
“No. My father never wanted to visit Ireland. Most of my mother’s family made it out to visit us, so it’s not like I don’t know them. I always meant to take a trip to Ireland. For one reason or another I never made it.”
“If you change your mind, we’re here.” Orla removed Brendan from Bobby’s leg. “And if Mam’s, well, if Mam’s not up for visitors, you’ll come back, right?”
“Mam will be fine,” Bobby said stiffly.
“You know what I mean, brother.”
“I spoke to her last night. She’s looking forward to seeing us.”
Orla gave him a conciliatory kiss on the cheek. “Right, then, off with you before you hit traffic.”
I hugged her and kissed Brendan. Bobby put our bags in the rental car, and we were off.
* * * *
Four hours later, Bobby turned our rental car off what I’d say was some type of secondary highway and onto a small dirt road. Tall overgrown hedges made a tunnel of the narrow lane and scraped the car. My makeup case fell off the back seat and crashed to the floor as the little red Opel bounced along the pitted road.
“Bobby, are you sure you’re going the right way? I didn’t see any signs.”
“This is the right way.”
“But--”
He laughed. “And your mother’s one of the five families? Isn’t your heart singing to be back on the Mountain?”
“My heart is half Connecticut Yankee, so no, the only organ that is speaking to me at the moment is my stomach. If you don’t slow down you might meet its contents.”
He reached over and rubbed my tummy. “Oh, my delicate little flower. Not to worry, we’ll be there soon. I’m sure my mother will have something to settle your stomach.”
My mother’s warning echoed in my head. “A cup of tea will probably do the trick.”
We drove another ten minutes through the tunnel of brambles. Although it was still early, the afternoon sun couldn’t make it through the thicket overhanging the lane. Bobby switched on the headlights. A large pothole almost engulfed the poor Opel. Bobby ground the gears and drove on. The lane eventually widened, the hedges thinned and carefully tended fields soon surrounded us. I sighed in relief. Based on my mother’s stories and the forbidding lane we’d just driven through, I half expected “the Mountain” to be the stuff of fairy tales, all dark and dreary woods, but these green fields were soft and inviting, and thankfully, ordinary. In the distance was a white cottage trimmed in dark blue.
Bobby pulled into a gravel driveway next to the white fence surrounding the cottage; the poor car seemed to groan with relief. A small sheep ambled up to my car door, as if to greet us.
Bobby turned to me and smiled. “This is it. Ready?”
I tried to smile back but I was suddenly gripped with a massive headache. “Oh,” I moaned as I pressed my fingers into my forehead.
“Caroline, sweetheart, are you okay?”
It was as if a fire engulfed my brain. I had never felt such pain. Bobby touched my face, but his fingers scalded me. I couldn’t bear it and turned away, leaned my forehead against the Opel’s cool glass window and stared out. The sheep’s eyes, two black pools, met mine. I stared and felt like I was being drawn into a dark abyss, yet couldn’t look away. The sheep seemed to be laughing at me, mocking my pain. Just when I thought my head would explode, the sheep turned its head and walked away. The pain left me.
“Caro, sweetheart, talk to me. Are you okay?”
Poor Bobby, his green eyes were filled with concern. He’d spent months worrying about me, and he needed this break as much as I did, maybe even more so. I forced myself to smile.
“These bumpy roads. It was nothing. I’m fine now.” I squeezed his hand.
He leaned over and kissed me.
Chapter 4
Mary
“Cup of tea, love?” I called out the window.
My Bobby sat in his usual spot beneath the window, long legs stretched out, soaking up the summer sun. “Yes, please,” he said.
I put on the kettle to boil and cut two generous slices of the brown bread Bridget Griffin, Seamus’s wife, had brought up this morning. Bobby had looked tired when he’d first come home. These three days on the Mountain had done him good. Spending his life behind a desk had to be a strain on him. It was fine for Paul and for Orla--they were Dubs through and through. But Bobby was more like my people. The Mountain was in our blood.
And that of Caroline as well. The poor thing had looked wrecked when she got here. Car sick, she’d said. She seemed to have perked up since, though. She and Bobby roamed the Mountain for hours, hand-in-hand. It seemed to agree with her: her skin was clearer and even her hair appeared thicker and less mousy, if that were possible. Sure, anything’s possible here.
Caroline had offered to pick up my shopping at Dot Collins’s shop. She’d said she wanted to spend time with her auntie. I think she wanted me and Bobby to have an afternoon together. She’s considerate, I’ll say that for her.
I carried my Granny’s tray to the garden. Something soft rubbed against my leg and stopped me cold. He couldn’t get past the ring of protective flowers, sure He couldn’t? I looked down and saw it was only Seamus’s cat. Oh, thank God. He’d been scarce since Bobby had arrived. I’d pay for it later I supposed, but the last thing I wanted was for Him to make an appearance and ruin Bobby’s holidays. Things had been so good, so calm and peaceful. Bobby was nervous around me the first few days, but he finally relaxed and was treating me like a normal person, as he used to. Like they all used to.
Bobby looked up and said uncertainly, “Do you need help, Mam?”
“No, no, stay where you are.” I pushed the cat with my foot and then set the tray on the side table. I handed Bobby a mug of tea.
“Ah, Mam, you spoil me.”
“
It’s only tea.”
He took a sip. “Best tea in the world. Nothing like it in the States.”
I smiled at him, my beautiful son. “Do you like it there?”
“It’s exciting, and work is going phenomenally well, but it’s not home.”
“No, sure it’s not.”
“But it’s Caroline’s home, and wherever she is I’m happy.”
“Of course. And does she like living in Manhattan?” I asked pleasantly, very much like a normal person, I thought.
A shadow passed over his face. “She does, yeah. But things have been hard on her. On us.”
I said nothing.
He put down the mug on the rickety table. He looked up at me, his mouth tight. “She can’t have children.”
“Sure, you’re young and--”
“No. She can’t have children. Ever. And I’m losing her, Mam. She’s drowning. She’s been a bit better these past few days, but it was bad before we came. She wouldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t eat. She said she wanted to die.”
“It was the shock, love. Once she gets used to the idea, she’ll get better. Maybe you could adopt.”
“You weren’t there. She said she wanted to die and I believe her. I can’t lose her, Mam. I can’t.”
My son, who had lost so much. His once close relationship to his father. The solid, competent mother he had known in Rathfarnham. For some reason, this plain girl had a hold on his heart. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I’m so sorry.”
“Mam, can you...” He looked at me for a moment, and then down at the ground. “Can you do anything for her?”
No! I screamed in my head. No, don’t ask this of me! But I took his hand and said as gently as I could, “Sure, love, what do you think I can do? I’m not a doctor.”
He looked up at me, his green eyes as clear as glass. He knew. I’d tried to shield him from the knowledge of the Mountain, from the gossip, from the stories. Somehow, he knew. The blood of the Mountain coursed through his veins as strongly as it did through my own.
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