Secrets and Shamrocks

by Phyllis Gobbell

  He took a moment to answer. “My bloodwork came back showing my cholesterol was out of whack. Though it wasn’t that high.”

  “Would you mind if I looked at the meds?” I asked.

  Alex was looking a little irritated, that wrinkle between his heavy brows. “I suppose if you think it’s necessary. I really don’t need you to play nursemaid, Jordan.”

  There it was, but we’d gone this far so I wasn’t giving up. I reached for the plastic bag. “A lot of pills for somebody who wasn’t taking any medicine before you went to the doctor.”

  I recognized a couple of brand names but not the generic ones. There were over-the-counter pills, too, for allergies, the hay fever that always kicked up in the spring, Alex explained. And over-the-counter cough syrup. I held up the bottle and remarked that I hadn’t heard him cough. He said, “It’s only a problem when I lie down. The antihistamine has that drying effect and I wake up coughing. For heaven’s sake, Jordan, I’m not a drug abuser!” He pushed back from the empty plate and cup on his desk, the frustration obvious in his face.

  I put the bottles back into the plastic bag and zipped it. “Don’t be mad at me, Alex. I just wonder about possible drug interactions.”

  “I wondered the same thing.” He began to look a little smug now. “I called the doctor’s office and they had me back in for a follow-up.”

  I had to wrench it out of Alex that he’d experienced some light-headedness that had caused him to contact the doctor again, and the “young fellow” had changed his blood pressure medicine. He was adamant that the doctor went over all the prescriptions again, but he also admitted that he simply hadn’t thought to mention the cough medicine or antihistamine.

  “I think you ought to make an appointment with Reuben when you get back,” I said.

  Alex rubbed his face. After a moment, he said, “I’m not anxious to tell Reuben about this. He may think I should have been more discerning. But that young doctor seemed so trustworthy.”

  I said, “He was probably well meaning. If you did a survey of your friends, I’ll bet you’d find most of them taking these prescriptions. Didn’t you say doctors have a pill for everything?”

  “Not Reuben—no, he’s very conservative. Several times I’ve asked him to prescribe something to help me sleep, and you know what he says? Warm milk. What adult drinks warm milk? But I suppose—he is my primary physician.” He grunted. “I’ll make an appointment.”

  I set the plastic bag back on the night table and asked what he had in mind for today.

  “I think I’ll just stay around Shepherds,” Alex said. “No excitement, no drama. I think a day of quiet will do me good. Feel free to go sightseeing without me if you like, Jordan.”

  Fine with me to stick around Shepherds, too, I said. No excitement, no drama.

  We made an exception and drove into town for a late lunch at one of the many small, cozy eateries. It was located on a side street, between a bookstore and an Internet café. Alex was up for browsing in the bookstore for a while after lunch. He purchased a book written by a local author on the history of County Tipperary and was eager to get back to Shepherds to read. We drove by the Cathedral and I mentioned what Grace had said about the building’s history. Father Tierney would be a good one to talk to, she’d said, and she’d offered to give the Father a call. Alex said he’d enjoy it, but not today.

  The scene at Shepherds was not exactly as it had been the day Alex and I had first arrived, but it felt like déjà vu when the screen door banged and Grace rushed outside, followed by Enya, with her cell phone to her ear.

  “It’s Jimmie,” Grace said. “Bridget has taken Jimmie again.”

  It was easy enough to persuade Grace to let me take my car. I remembered the other time Jimmie had disappeared, just over a week ago, and Helen’s description of Grace—not worried as much as bothered. This time Grace was clearly worried; perhaps it was that the stakes were higher now, with all that had happened in the past week.

  She said Colin had gone to buy a mower from Davin Callahan’s father. Grace had reached him at the Callahan farm, some ten kilometers from town, and Davin had offered his all-terrain vehicle for the trip to Red Stag Crossing. “They’ll have to load it on Davin’s lorry and unload it, but in the end it should save time in the woods,” she said.

  “And make it easier to bring Jimmie back,” I said, trying for an optimistic note.

  “And Bridget,” she said. “We will bring her home. This can’t go on!”

  She had put Little Jimmie down for his nap, she said, and a while later, she couldn’t say what it was, but something had made her go check on him, to see that he was all right. He was not in his crib. “Not Enya’s fault this time,” she said with a bitter laugh. “My watch, this time.”

  We made the first turn onto the narrow, twisting road, and soon came to the place where we had to park the car. It was quite a hike from that point, as I remembered. On this journey, I paid little attention to the flora and fauna. I focused on the uneven path in front of us, the roots and rocks that made our trek difficult. Grace was quiet, so I remained silent, too.

  A few minutes had passed when we heard the soft roar of an engine, growing louder. “It’s the ATV,” Grace said with her arm out, pushing me to the side of the path. It was a good thing. They came roaring toward us and lurched to a stop just short of where we stood.

  Colin jumped out and said, “Get in.” He gave Grace a hand as she climbed in next to Davin, the young man I recognized from that first evening at Mitchel House. Colin helped me as I squeezed in beside Grace. “Don’t put your foot out if you feel it’s about to topple,” he said, and leaped behind us into the cart that was part of the vehicle, like a small truck bed.

  It was a bumpy ride, but Davin maneuvered the four-wheeler with skill, and in less than five minutes, we were at Magdala’s cottage. The sunny morning had turned into an overcast afternoon. We did not need rain to complicate our mission, but it looked like we might get it.

  Davin pulled across the hardscrabble ground, up to the doorstep, before shutting off the engine.

  Grace didn’t knock at the door of the cottage. She went inside, with Colin just behind her, calling, “Bridget? Are you here, Bridget?” I held back a little, standing at the open door, taking in the room with one sweeping gaze. Everything was reminiscent of our visit the past Sunday, except that no one lay on the low bed. It was a jumble of covers. Magdala sat in a rocking chair, her hands folded, looking not at all surprised to see her visitors.

  “Where is she, Magdala?” Grace said. No answer, just the squeaking of the rocker. Grace hurried to her and knelt down. “Magdala, please tell me where Bridget is. She has the baby, you know. Little Jimmie.”

  Colin didn’t wait when it appeared Magdala was not forthcoming. He went into the side room where Magdala must have slept and looked around. I followed. The room was so sparsely furnished that I couldn’t see how anyone could have been hiding anywhere in it.

  “I’m begging you, Magdala. Tell me!” Grace continued. “You’re not helping Bridget or Little Jimmie. You may think you are, but you’re not.”

  I saw that Colin was climbing a short, steep ladder, and I went to see where it led. Colin was peering into a small loft, in a dark corner. “Nothing here,” he said.

  “Is that a sleeping loft?” I asked.

  “Maybe. For a child. Not long enough for a man.”

  I imagined that in the centuries since the cottage was built, there were times that it was full of small children, for whom the loft made a nice, warm bed.

  We returned to the other room. Grace had stopped pleading with Magdala. She was opening a cabinet, peering at the dishes. No one could have hidden in the small cabinet, but Grace’s desperation was taking over. She said to no one or to all of us, “I know they’re here. I know they are. They have to be somewhere around here.”

  The door was still open to the outside, and I saw that Davin was looking around in the edge of the woods. Good idea. There just
weren’t that many places in the small cottage that Bridget and the baby could be.

  Colin came to Magdala’s side. Glaring down at her, he struggled to keep his voice modulated. “Bridget is very ill, Magdala, I’m telling you, and she might hurt Little Jimmie without meaning to. Mother of God, woman, don’t you have any concern for the baby?”

  Magdala stopped rocking. She looked up at Colin, her wandering eye more evident than it had been, and spoke for the first time in a hiss. “He’s hers!”

  Grace rushed back to Magdala, wailing, “Bridget gets it in her mind that Little Jimmie is in danger, but she’s confused! He’s in danger now, wherever she’s taken him!”

  “She’s not able to take care of her baby,” Colin broke in. “If she could, don’t you think she’d be back with us right now, acting like his mam? No, she’s running about like a madwoman! Doesn’t that tell you something? Won’t you help us, Magdala?”

  Something in the old woman seemed to shut down. She took up rocking again.

  Colin threw up his hands and marched to the door. “I’ll look around outside,” he mumbled, and then he called to Davin, “See anything out there?”

  Grace went into the side room and climbed the short ladder, as Colin had done.

  “Can you think of some other place she might have gone?” I said, trying to think of anything that might help. “Could she have taken Little Jimmie into town or to a friend’s house?”

  “She has no friends,” Grace said. “She did, when she was in school. Davin is the closest to a friend she has. No, she’s here somewhere. I feel it. Trust me. Magdala knows.”

  As Grace tried once more with Magdala, I climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft myself, for what reason I couldn’t have said. Back at the door to the outside, I took another long look at the room, from the low futon-like bed around to the fireplace. The stone hearth and inlaid mantelpiece. The big fireplace seemed so out of proportion for such a small cottage, but as the only source of heat, it probably was no different from others built in that time period.

  Grace said, “If harm comes to them, Magdala, you can be sure you’ll answer to God.”

  We left the cottage. Colin and Davin returned to the ATV, and we all stood around it, looking at each other, helplessly, for a moment.

  “Let’s go,” Colin said. “My phone won’t work here. I need to get to a place where I can call the Guard.”

  A light mist began to fall. Davin, Grace, and I were in the enclosed part of the little vehicle, but Colin was in the back, unprotected from the rain. We couldn’t have been far from where my car and Davin’s truck were parked when Davin brought the ATV to a stop and Colin jumped out and stood beneath a leafy tree with a purplish hue—an alder, I remembered—to make his call, to keep his phone dry, I surmised.

  Grace had not spoken since we left the cottage. She sat between Davin and me, her shoulders sagging, her expression unreadable. I could only guess. She’d been so sure they would find Bridget and Little Jimmie at Magdala’s cottage. She’d said she felt they were there. I went over and over the room—both rooms—in my mind. There was nowhere to hide.

  And then a thought began to take shape—several thoughts bumping into each other like gathering clouds. Secret chambers. The place on the Underground Railroad that Drew had mentioned. What had he said about a hidden staircase? Ian’s story about the priest, how Cromwell’s men had searched for him in the cottage. Where had he hidden? Memories of long-ago studies about artfully contrived spaces where priests could be concealed for days.

  “Did you ever hear of priest holes?” I said.

  Grace looked up, suddenly attentive, as if recovering from a daze. Davin said, “Of course. It’s part of our history.”

  “In a cottage as small as Magdala’s, would it be possible—no, let’s say it is possible—where would a priest hole be?” I said, feeling my heart beat faster.

  Hope sounded in Davin’s voice. “Sometimes behind a false wall. Or a place around the chimneys.”

  Colin was back, squinting as the rain picked up. “The Guards are on the way,” he said, climbing into the cart.

  “We need to go back,” I said. “We missed something.”

  Davin turned the ATV toward Magdala’s cottage.

  CHAPTER 17

  Magdala was standing at the cottage door when Davin shut off the engine and we climbed out of the ATV. The expression on the old woman’s face was a giveaway—or maybe I was just hoping. She’d remained so calm, even detached, when we’d arrived earlier; now anxiety danced in her eyes. “Why’d you come back? You’re not welcome here! Go away!” she spat.

  The thought skittered through my mind that we should have left the ATV in the woods and returned in silence, but we’d been so eager to get back that no one had considered how the engine noise would alert Bridget to hide again—assuming she’d come out of hiding after we left.

  “We know about the hiding place, Magdala,” Colin said with great confidence, incredibly convincing, “and we’re going in to get them, so move out of our way.”

  “No!” She spread her arms. “You can’t have the gold!”

  “What’re you talking about, woman? I’m not looking for any gold.” Colin pushed her to the side. He could have exerted much more force, but he didn’t need to. She looked confused and continued to babble but she didn’t try to stop us as we filed into the cottage.

  “The little men will get you! It’s their gold!”

  As we’d come back through the woods, we had discussed where the priest hole might be. I was almost certain that it was somewhere around that huge stone fireplace, but I didn’t know how to get to it. How did Bridget get into it? I took a long, deep breath, trying to clear my head. Was I delusional—was this some fanciful notion? Colin and Grace believed I was right, that Bridget was here. Grace had said once again that she’d felt it, and Colin had said, quite seriously, “Not a good thing to argue with a mother’s intuition.”

  Colin and Davin began sounding the wall around the large mantlepiece.

  I looked up into the dark chimney, even crawled inside the fireplace, into the soot and ashes, examining the flue. No sign of a way someone might gain access to a hidden chamber unless it had to do with removing bricks, a task I couldn’t see Bridget accomplishing.

  “If there’s a hollow space, it has to be behind here,” I said, “and the access would have to be from the other room.”

  Colin hurried past Magdala, who was beginning to shriek. Grace took her by the arm and led her to her rocking chair. I was surprised at how easily she managed. Magdala put up no resistance. Her shrieking turned to wailing and finally died away into unintelligible mumbling about little men and gold.

  Colin was pounding on the paneled wall behind the fireplace when I looked up again to the dark sleeping loft. What if the access was up there, a trap door? I hadn’t thought of that when I’d checked out the loft before. One would have to have a way to lower himself—or herself, in Bridget’s case—into a small space between the fireplace and wall. It was possible.

  I went up the ladder, climbed into the flat loft, and began sounding the boards.

  “Listen!” Grace called, raising her hand to halt us. “Did you hear that?”

  All of us froze, holding our breaths, the four of us that had gathered in the small room, but Magdala’s mutterings from the other room were so distracting, I couldn’t hear anything else.

  “I’ll take the old woman outside,” Davin said.

  We didn’t have to wait for complete silence. The sound Grace had heard grew louder and more persistent. It was a baby’s cry.

  The next minutes were heart-rending.

  We knew it was Little Jimmie. We knew he was there, somewhere, in the wall, but how to get to him? Colin kept up his examination of the wall just behind the fireplace. He shouted, “Bridget! Come out! For Little Jimmie’s sake, girl, please give it up! I know you can hear me!”

  Grace called to Bridget, too, wiping tears all the while. “How can you do th
is to your baby? Can’t you tell how terrified he is? You must be terrified, too, Bridget. Please come out!”

  “If we don’t get anywhere soon, I’m going to find an ax and break the wall down,” Colin said. “I don’t want to risk hurting them but we’ve got to get in there.”

  “Why won’t Bridget answer? What if something has already happened to her?” Grace said. “Oh, Colin, I think you have to risk it! Get them out.”

  “Are you finding anything up there?” Colin called to me.

  “No,” I said, and then, “maybe—yes, I think so.”

  The panel was so skillfully concealed in that dark corner that I might have missed it entirely if we hadn’t heard Little Jimmie’s cries, if we hadn’t known we had to keep on looking. By the time Colin had come up the ladder, I had removed the panel, such a small rectangle that it seemed impossible an adult could squeeze through. Bridget was tiny, but a priest? Not a well-fed one. “Ask Davin if he has a torch!” Colin called down, and Grace rushed outside.

  A few minutes later, Colin shined the flashlight into the secret chamber. He closed his eyes for one anxious moment, and I feared the worst. But then his face altered, like the sun breaking through dark clouds, and he said in a lilting voice, “It’s your Grandda, Jimmie, come to get you. You can quit your crying now.” And Little Jimmie did.

  We were soaked and chilled to the bone when we made it out of the woods. The temperature had dropped. None of us had dressed prepared for this sudden shift in the weather. We’d already found Bridget and Jimmie when the Guards appeared at the cottage in their own all-terrain vehicle. In the flurry of activity, Magdala disappeared into the woods beyond the cottage. The Guards said they would stay and look for her, as they couldn’t very well leave an old woman out there, exposed to the elements, though Garda Mallory declared, “She’s a tough old bird, she is.” He told Colin, “We’ll find her. We’ll take her to the A&E. You take care of your family.”

  The rest of us piled into Davin’s ATV, Grace holding Little Jimmie as if she would never let him go, Bridget wedged between her mother and Davin, Colin and me in the back. We’d gathered up all the covers we could find at Magdala’s cottage. Bridget and Little Jimmie were both wrapped in blankets. Colin and I pulled quilts over our heads as rain pounded us.