The Emerald Isle

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  Despite my misgivings about traveling with Taylor and Maddie, part of me was terribly excited at the thought of visiting a foreign country. In my twenty-seven years, I had never traveled outside of the United States—unless you count the time my parents crossed the Canadian border so I could see Niagara Falls from a foreign perspective—which really didn’t seem all that foreign. There were as many tourists and souvenir shops on the Canadian side as on the American.

  So it was with a great sense of exhilaration that I stepped off the plane and into the open air of Ireland. For a moment I just stood on the tarmac with my eyes closed, breathing deeply as the wind blew off the sea and set my blouse to billowing above my jeans. I thought of Aunt Kizzie and all my friends in the English department who’d give their eyeteeth to stand in my shoes. Ireland was mine to explore for two full months, and I had my good friend Taylor to thank for it.

  And thank you, Aunt Kizzie, for convincing me to come.

  “Kathy, are you going to stand there all day?”

  My eyes flew open at the sound of Taylor’s voice, then I hurried to join him. Maddie’s short legs were moving like pistons, and she and Taylor had almost reached the terminal already.

  I ducked my head into the wind and hurried to catch them.

  Ballyshannon was a working farm, Maddie informed us when she hung up the pay phone, and her dad wasn’t able to take the time to fetch us from Shannon. So we would take a bus from Shannon to Ballinderry, where Maddie’s parents would meet us.

  I must confess, I was so entranced with the sights of Ireland and the Irish that I scarcely heard what Maddie was saying as we went through customs. I walked slowly through the airport, listening to snatches of delightful lilting conversation while smiling at fresh-faced youngsters, curly-haired men, and more shades of red hair than Clairol ever imagined.

  On the bus, I took a seat across from Maddie and Taylor and didn’t even think about intruding in their conversation. While Maddie pointed out landmarks, I sat facing the window, delighted by the unusual aspect of riding on the left side of the road. As traffic signs, other vehicles, and landscapes whizzed by, I wondered if everyone who came here felt as though they had fallen asleep and awakened in some sort of parallel universe. Everything was similar—people wore pretty much the same kinds of clothes you’d see in rural America, and for the most part they spoke English—but everything seemed delightfully skewed.

  Some of the traffic signs made me smile: Mind Your Windscreen, Road Calms Ahead, and Dead Slow Turn. I laughed aloud when I saw one that read Acute Bend Ahead, then leaned over the aisle to nudge Taylor. “Look at that,” I pointed to the sign. “Do you think they’d point it out if it were an ugly bend?”

  Taylor laughed, but Maddie only frowned in exasperation.

  Shrugging, I left Taylor to explain the joke and turned back to the window. Irish roads are amazing—they twist and turn according to the impulsive lay of the land, and the native drivers plunge fearlessly over them with little regard for speed limits, turn signals, or the right of way. We drove through small villages with colorful names like Bunratty, Castleconnell, and Birdhill, then we left the four-lane highway and moved out into even twistier narrow lanes that took us through the villages of Puckane and Borrisokane. We stopped in many of the settlements to accept or disgorge passengers, and finally the diesel bus churned and choked its way into Ballinderry.

  I don’t know how I got the impression that Maddie hailed from a bona fide city—perhaps from her sophistication and the carefree way she handled the challenges of New York. But Ballinderry was definitely a village. Two main streets intersected at the heart of the town, and two colorful pubs stood kitty-corner from one another. Stucco-faced buildings housing a food store, a bank, and a half-dozen homes crowded cheek by jowl together on what appeared to be the main street, and a black-and-white sign pointed the way toward Saint Jerome’s Church.

  “We’re home!” Maddie squealed in delight, threw her arms around Taylor’s neck and kissed him, then practically pushed her way over him in her hurry to get off the bus. I waited to let Taylor gather their things, then I picked up my small bag and followed, amazed that Maddie O’Neil had found her way from this quaint village to the city that never sleeps.

  I couldn’t help but admire the picturesque town. Bright shades of green, blue, and red adorned the plastered buildings, and the streets were clean and swept, even if people tended to park their cars helter-skelter on both sides of the road, on the curbs, even on the sidewalk. Several faces peered through windows at us, and I felt the scrutiny of curious eyes as I collected my luggage from the belly of the bus and thanked the driver. He tipped his hat, murmured something too fast and fluid for my tourist’s ear, then climbed back aboard the bus and left us standing in a blue-gray cloud of diesel fumes.

  Maddie moved toward one of the pubs, her high heels clicking over the stone sidewalk. “I’ll call Mum,” she said, smiling at us over her shoulder. “She’ll be but a minute—the farm’s not far. I’ll have you home and in my kitchen before you know it.”

  Taylor leaned toward her as if he would follow, then he thrust his hands in his pockets and looked out at the village. I waited until Maddie disappeared into the building, then I grinned up at him.

  “Is it what you expected?”

  Taylor drew a long, deep breath. “Well, she said it was small.”

  “It reminds me of EPCOT. I expect Mickey and Minnie Mouse to come around the corner at any minute singing ‘It’s a Small World after All.’”

  Taylor shushed me as a pair of women approached from a small house. Overcome by an inexplicable wave of friendliness, I nodded at them and smiled. If I had been wearing a hat, I would have swept it off in greeting—not exactly a New York thing to do, but I was feeling a little giddy.

  Did Ireland affect everyone this way?

  The women nodded back and moved on without speaking. Taylor was still staring at the main street, probably wondering if he would be able to hang on to his sanity in this quiet place for two entire months.

  “What did she tell you about the farm?” I asked, hoping to divert his dark thoughts. “Is it a big place?”

  His watery eyes held absolutely no expression. “Ballyshannon is a hundred-acre dairy farm. Not big by Irish standards, really. Nothing but cows and hay and green hills.”

  I tilted my head. “Perhaps there’s a library nearby. I’m sure there’s one in Limerick, which isn’t too far. And I read that Waterford and Cork are really big cities, and they’re only a few hours drive to the south.”

  Taylor sighed again, then gave me a rather sad smile. “I just hadn’t realized it would be this…archaic. Maddie’s been encouraging me to begin work on my doctoral thesis, but without a decent library at hand.…”

  He drifted off, and I gaped at him, surprised by this unexpected bit of information. Taylor had never mentioned getting his doctorate before. I had always thought he was content with his master’s degree and his work at the college, but apparently Maddie had ambitions for him.

  “Well, there’s the Internet,” I pointed out. “And I’ll be going to lots of libraries to research my Cahira project. You’re welcome to come along.”

  The line of his mouth tightened a fraction more. “I don’t know if Maddie would exactly approve of that. You were right about one thing, Kathy—she doesn’t seem as enthusiastic about our friendship as she once did.”

  I looked away, not knowing how to respond. Part of me wanted to proclaim indignantly that Maddie was behaving like a jealous child, but another part of me knew I’d feel the same way if the situation were reversed.

  “Well, let’s not borrow trouble,” I said as the pub door opened and Maddie made her way out into the sunshine. “Let’s just take each day as it comes, okay?”

  “Right.”

  Five minutes later, a small blue sedan coasted into town, straddled the curb, then braked to a halt. Almost immediately three doors flew open and an enthusiastic trio fell upon Maddie en masse, welcom
ing her with bear hugs, tears, and squeals of congratulations.

  James, Maddie’s father, was the first to detach himself from his daughter’s side and shake Taylor’s hand. He was a short man with lively blue eyes, ruddy cheeks, and dark hair that gleamed in the sunlight. He greeted Taylor with sincere warmth, slapped him on the shoulder, and welcomed him to the family. He appeared to be in his middle fifties, and though I looked for some sign of weakness caused by the cancer, I saw none. For a man who might soon be on his deathbed, James O’Neil looked surprisingly fit and trim.

  Finally, he turned to me. “Sure, and you’re the friend,” he said. I put out my hand, intending to spare him the awkwardness men sometimes feel when first meeting a woman, and he shook my hand with gentle firmness. “I hear you’re the one who brought these two together.”

  I gave him a careful smile. “Something like that.”

  “Well, you’re a bonny thing yourself, so why didn’t you nab him?”

  Maddie turned on her father in a rush. “Dad, what a cheeky thing to say!”

  The Irishman didn’t apologize, but lifted a brow and grinned at me. “Is he not your type then? Or is there something wrong with the fellow?”

  “James O’Neil, I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head!” Maddie’s mother whirled on her husband, then turned directly to me—a rather odd move, I thought, considering that so far she had ignored Taylor altogether. Her dark auburn curls were windblown, and her bright blue eyes stared out at me from the face of a determined middle-aged woman. “So, you’re the lass who wanted to come to Ireland and work on a book. I think it’s wonderful of you to come along with these two.”

  I murmured something like a thank-you, then watched Mrs. O’Neil reach out and take Taylor’s hand. “The name’s Fiona, love, but you can call me Mum, just like Maddie does. ’Tis pleased and happy we are to welcome you to the family. We’ve been so eager to meet you.”

  Coloring fiercely, Taylor bent to accept the woman’s embrace, and I stepped back, allowing more room for the intimate family scene. Standing across from the O’Neils, Maddie and Taylor endured a barrage of questions about the flight and the bus ride, while the third passenger in the car, a very pretty girl of seventeen or eighteen, stood aloof and silent.

  I felt her eyes upon me even before I turned, and when I smiled at her she neither blushed nor looked away. As slim as a pleat and fragrant in her summer dress, the girl favored neither Mr. nor Mrs. O’Neil, but that wasn’t surprising since Taylor had told me Maddie had no sisters, only a brother.

  “Erin, ’tis good to see you.” Maddie pulled out of the family clique and moved to embrace the willowy beauty. “Were you at the house when I called?”

  “Of course.” The girl gingerly accepted Maddie’s hug, then stepped back, apparently as reluctant as I to intrude in the intimate family gathering. “Your dad said I could ride along.”

  “Want to see the new brother-in-law, aye?” Maddie grinned, and an answering smile found its way through the girl’s mask of uncertainty. “Well, we’ll be sure to find a place for you at the wedding. We can’t have our favorite neighbor just sitting in the church when we could use you for something special.”

  Maddie slipped an arm around Erin’s waist and drew her into the family circle. “Speaking of Erin, what’s the latest word from Patrick? Is he coming home this weekend?”

  Mr. O’Neil’s mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “Not this weekend, love. He says he’s working on a big project. But he’ll come home to meet your Taylor, never you mind. We’ll get him home if we have to send Erin to Limerick to fetch him back!”

  A deep flush rose from the neckline of the girl’s sundress, and Mrs. O’Neil turned on her husband. “Hush with that talk, James. We’ve had enough matchmaking for one day. Help us get these bags in the car, will you? There’s no way we can take all this baggage at once, but we’ll do what we can.”

  I had been wondering how six people plus luggage would fit into a sedan built for four, but within a minute Mrs. O’Neil turned me to me and announced her plan. “We’ll take Maddie and Taylor first, then come back for you and Erin and the bags.” An expression of pained tolerance crossed her face. “I hate to leave you here on the stoop, but there’s Erin to keep you company. We’ll just be a bit.”

  “I don’t mind,” I lied.

  So while Maddie and Taylor slipped into the backseat of the car like a pair of newlyweds, Mr. O’Neil and I piled luggage into the trunk. Then I stood on the curb next to the silent Erin as the burdened car roared to life and rattled away.

  I sank to the edge of the curb and rested my crossed arms on my knees.

  “So,” Erin said, gracefully lowering herself to the curb beside me, “have you a boyfriend in America? I hear American men are real dotes.”

  “I have no boyfriend.” I propped my chin in my hand and gave her a benign smile. “And what’s a dote?”

  Erin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why, it’s someone to dote upon, a real love.”

  “Oh.” I looked down the road, where the sedan had just disappeared behind a tall hedge. “Well, some American men are dotes, I suppose. But the good ones are getting harder and harder to find.”

  By the time I reached the farm and my assigned bedroom, I felt completely drained. Knowing that Taylor and Maddie would want to spend some time alone with her parents, I locked the door, lowered the window blind, and stretched out beneath a spotless Irish counterpane to lose myself in sleep.

  Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke, sat up, then convinced myself to go back to bed. All the travel guides had told me that the fastest way to combat jet lag was to acclimate as soon as possible to the new time zone, so I lay down and prayed I’d wake up at seven to a big breakfast featuring pots of coffee and caffeine-laced edibles.

  “And though I’m not sure what I’m doing here, Lord,” I whispered to the darkness, “I’d appreciate it if you’d guide my steps. Ireland may be an island of rock, but now I feel like I’m walking on quicksand. So guide my path and guard my tongue—and help me see why it was so terribly important that I come on this trip.”

  I heard no answer from the blackness and no inner Voice, only the moan of the wind over the night-blackened emerald hills.

  When I opened my eyes again, bright summer light had highlighted the edges of my window blind. I looked at my watch—8:00 A.M. Time to get up and begin a new day.

  I pushed myself upright and looked around the room that would be my home for the next few weeks. Last night I had been so tired I barely took notice of my surroundings, but sixteen hours of sleep had reenergized my body and awakened my curiosity. The room I slept in was small, neat, and clean, with a pair of faded floral prints on the wall over the bed and bureau. My suitcases occupied most of the available space in the center of the floor.

  I climbed out of bed and walked around the suitcases to a tall wardrobe standing near the window. I opened the mirrored doors and found only a half-dozen hangers on the rod inside.

  If I hadn’t already known, I might have guessed this was one of the rooms the O’Neils offered to their bed-and-breakfast guests. There wasn’t a single personal memento, knickknack, or photograph in sight.

  Sighing, I raised the window blind, then gasped at the sight of a window box brimming with bright flowers—bleeding hearts, petunias, and peonies. I leaned onto the windowsill and drank in the morning air. Aunt Kizzie would have loved this.

  Beneath my window, a door opened and closed. A brown-and-white Jack Russell terrier ran out, barking as he sprinted toward a group of buildings beyond the house. Looking down, I saw Mr. O’Neil step forward, pause for a moment to light his pipe, then tuck his hands into his pockets, puffing on his pipe as he followed the dog.

  A feeling of guilt swept over me as I leaned back into my room. If Mr. O’Neil was up and about already, chances were good that Maddie and Taylor were up too. They’d think I was a layabout if I stayed in my room much longer.

  I dug for the tiny luggag
e key that would unlock my suitcases, flung them open, and took a moment to hang a few wrinkled blouses in the wardrobe. I arranged them, from right to left, in the order I thought I’d wear them. One thing I learned from my mother is that a woman who wears a well-rotated wardrobe always seems to have more clothes than she actually does. And since I had limited myself to two suitcases for this two-month trip, I intended to rotate my few sweaters, blouses, and jeans extra carefully.

  I pulled clean underwear and a pair of jeans from the bottom of one bag, then plucked a summer sweater from my second suitcase. Cracking my bedroom door open, I glanced down the hall. The bathroom that served both bedrooms on this landing stood just to my right, and from the open door to the room next to mine, I guessed that I’d have the bathroom and shower to myself. I darted into the bathroom and locked the door.

  After showering and dressing, I combed my wet hair, applied a light dusting of makeup, then pulled on my socks and hiking boots. I stepped out into the hall again and double-checked the room next to mine—as I suspected, it was unoccupied. I passed another hallway as I made my way to the staircase, and saw doors to my left and right, one open, one closed. Occupied? As I made my way downstairs I heard the rumble of voices, but there was no one in the sitting room to the right of the staircase or the dining room to the left. Not knowing where else to go, I followed a hallway off the foyer to a swinging door marked Private.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed it open and saw Mr. and Mrs. O’Neil sitting at the kitchen table. They looked up, startled into silence by my approach.

  “Um—good morning,” I said, feeling more like an interloper than ever. “Am I early or late for breakfast?”

  “Our guests eat at nine,” Mrs. O’Neil said, pushing back her chair. “If you’ll go into the dining room, I’ll make your breakfast.”

  “Please don’t go to any special trouble for me.” I stepped closer to the table and let the door swing closed behind me. “I just wanted to say that I appreciate your allowing me to stay here. I know the bed-and-breakfast is your business, and I’m sure you’ll lose some income by having me take up one of your bedrooms. So I’d like to help if I can. I can do my own cleaning, and I’d like to help with the cooking if you want me to.”