Sin Worth the Penance

by M. J. Schiller

  “Yeah.” He noticed my dirty pan. “Did ya make one of those skillet thingies?”

  He loved them. “Aye. Ya hungry?”

  He smiled, rubbing his stomach. “I’d eat the door buttered.”

  “Well, there’s no need for that. If you want to go to my room, you’re welcome to a plate. I’m stepping out for a while.”

  His eyes twinkled. “You’re going to Bridey’s, ain’t ya?”

  I picked up a towel and threw it at him. “Go eat your skillet.”

  I convinced myself Bridey panicked when she realized she didn’t have any clothes to wear and snuck back home. But as I walked the couple of blocks to her gaff, I started to think about the previous night. Why did she come out in the middle of the night, in a storm, and to stand in the center of a field? Why did she seem like she didn’t want to get intimate in the afternoon, and in the evening made love to me in the rain out where God and everybody could have seen us? Things weren’t adding up. Then, an odd detail of the evening began to gnaw at me. The look she gave the grocer when he came in. And the look he gave her as well. I quickened my pace. Something definitely didn’t feel right.

  When I reached her place, the door was cracked. Fear gripped me, remembering what happened to her before. I ran the rest of the way and threw the door open.

  “Bridey?”

  There was no reason to shout in the small area. My gaze was immediately drawn to the table. A manila envelope was pinned to the table with a knife. When I got closer, I recognized the pearl-handled pocketknife Bridey owned. With an effort, I plucked it out of the wood and opened the envelope. It was empty.

  The only other clue I had was the comforter on one side of her bed was pulled up. I got on my knees and searched under the bed. A suitcase was under there and a cardboard box. I slid them out. The bag was empty, and the box held small mementos. I removed an old First Communion program. I searched for her name and didn’t find it but remembered Flatery was her married name. I ran my finger along the list scanning for Bridgets. Three were listed, but I was pretty sure Deirdre said Bridey’s dad’s last name was Donovan and there was a Bridget Donovan.

  Next, I withdrew a worn sepia-toned picture. After studying it, I realized it was a photo of the house I was in—newer in the photo—and a man with a white T-shirt and sturdy work pants stood next to two boys, one a head taller than the next. Beside them was a little girl with dark braids who must be Bridget. I smiled. So cute. The boys wore T-shirts like their da’s, one with jeans, one with brown pants. Bridey’s frilly dress stood out in contrast. I rummaged through the box some more. A Bible, rosary beads, a birthday card from an Aunt Ciara, some homework assignments, and at the bottom I found a yellow piece of paper folded several times. I opened it. A dance program from a daddy/daughter dance. She’d kept it. A shot of pain stung me.

  All of this is interesting, but it hasn’t told me a thing about where Bridey is.

  When I went to slide the box of keepsakes back in place, I noticed a clean area outlined by dust. It was rectangular and about the size of a small suitcase. I rose and went to the dresser, dread now pressing down on me. I stared at it for a beat, gripped one of the drawer’s knobs, and yanked it open. Empty. I moved to the next one. Empty. I jerked one after another open. All empty.

  She was gone.

  What had spooked her? Did I do—say—something wrong? I walked home slowly, reviewing all of our recent conversations for a clue. When I found her above the cliff during last night’s storm….

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I needed to see you.”

  Why? Why did she need to come to me in the dark? The more I thought about it, the more I thought how strange she’d acted…shaken.

  Her voice drifted to me again. When I asked her why she came, she said, “I need you to know I love you.” Then, “Make love to me, Killian.”

  Was I that wrapped up in sleeping with her I missed the obvious clues something was wrong?

  I returned to the pub and wearily climbed the stairs to my room. I lowered myself on the side of the bed then glanced at the other side, running my hands along the sheets, hoping to feel her heat still, but they were cold. I could smell that fragrance, though. The fragrance I knew was going to haunt me. My head hurt with thinking. I swung my feet onto the bed and lay on the pillows without bothering to take my shoes off. After a few moments, I reached to switch the light off and knocked a scrap of paper off the bedside table. It fluttered down and I froze when I went to pick it up. It was a receipt she’d written on.

  I love you, Killian. Always.

  The ink was blurred in watery splotches. She’d been crying.

  Why did she fly? And where did she fly to?

  The “always” at the end bothered me. It sounded so final. Was she planning on never coming back?

  Months passed with no sign of her. Oddly enough, getting over her was proving harder than the loss of my wife. Not because I loved Jo less, but because I knew it was well and truly ended with Jo. She would never return. I was able to mourn her and move on. But the idea that Bridey was out there, somewhere, without me, it plagued me night and day.

  Once again, I threw myself into my work. Oddly enough, it was my days off that tortured me. I helped around the bar at first, but Deirdre and Paddy insisted I take the time given to me and not work.

  My cliff was no longer a place of comfort to me. We danced there. We made love there. So I took to traveling on the days I didn’t work. Short trips. To nowhere particular. Just some other cliff, overlooking some other bay. Mizen Head. Bantry Bay. Even as far as Dingle. I wish I could say they brought solace, but they didn’t. I wish I could say I wasn’t hung up on a girl, but I was. It frustrated the hell out of me.

  She left ya. She’s gone. Get over it. Move on, for Gawd’s sake.

  Those are words I told myself often. From outside looking in, I found myself a pathetic craiter. My life shouldn’t be defined by the absence or presence of another. But the honest truth was, I missed her sorely.

  My little side trips did become a comfort, though. It seemed every mile away from the place I’d been with her was a deeper breath, a lifting of weight, and I’d return renewed to Old Head and life would be easier for a bit. Today landed me in a town called Skibbereen. A beautiful song was written about the town. In the ballad, a blight ruins the potato crop and an Irishman is forced to leave because he can’t pay the rent. The landlord drives him away and sets the roof of his cottage on fire. The song was playing in my mind as I strolled along the street. It was a sunny day, and lots of folks were out. I ate lunch in a church that had been changed to a restaurant, then walked to my car parked near another church, on the opposite side of town. As I passed a storefront window, something caught my eye, and I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at it for a moment.

  I rushed into the store and searched until I found the display of wooden birds. They had to be Bridey’s; there was no mistaking it. I picked one up and flipped it to see the bottom. “BD” was carved into the wood. Bridget Donovan. I brought it with me to the cash register. The salesperson was ringing a lady in. The two were going on about this and that and by the time I got to the front of the line I was about crawling out of my skin. The customer finally took her bag and I edged in front of her while she collected her purse and such.

  “Where did you get this?” I blurted out.

  “Pardon me?”

  “The bird. Do ya know where I can find the artist?”

  The customer she was talking to was still there, and they exchanged a look.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I have no idea who did that.”

  “Would anyone know?”

  “Perhaps the owner. She’s in the back.”

  “May I speak with her, please?”

  “Certainly. I’ll go get her.” She turned to the other customer. “Have a nice day.”

  She gave me the once over, then smiled at the clerk. “Thank you.”

  I waited, cartwheeling the bird in my hand. Wh
at if I did find her? What would I say to her?

  I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

  Out of a door in the rear of the store came the saleslady I spoke to earlier, and a woman the spitting image of Deirdre Murphey. I was so gobsmacked at first, I had trouble responding to her.

  “Afternoon. I’m Ailey Kane, the owner. Can I help ya with something?”

  She sounded like Deirdre, too. “Aye. Umm…I’m sorry. Ya look incredibly like a friend of mine. I’m Killian Murphey.”

  “Killian, is it? Any relation to Paddraig? From Old Head?”

  I blinked. “Aye. He’s my uncle.”

  “Ahh. That’s it, then. His wife Deirdre is my sister.”

  “That explains it. I didn’t realize she had relations in Skibbereen.”

  “You Desi’s son, then?”

  “Aye.”

  “From the States. I heard ya had a tough row. I’m sorry for that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I knew your parents. Cutest damned couple. I kinda had a thang for your da, but once he met Nina, it was all over for him. No other held a candle to her in his eye. ’Twas a shame what happened to them.” She seemed lost in thought for a moment, then stirred. “I haven’t been down to see the Murpheys in ages. Give Deir’ my love, will ya?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ya know, you’re the second person I met in recent days from Old Head. The other was actually the woman who carved that bird you have.”

  “Bridget?”

  “Aye. Do ya know her?”

  “I do. Would ya have an address for her, by chance?”

  She shook her head. “I wish I did. The stock she left me’s been going ninety for a dozen. I’m about sold out, I am.”

  “Do ya think she’ll come back?”

  “Ahh. Your guess is as good as mine, but I doubt it. Pulled up roots, she did, and left town.” She frowned, looking at the statue in my hand. “Like that bird there, she’s flown. Seemed a mite troubled. She worked at O’Malley’s, too. Ya might try there. Shea might be in the know.”

  “Thanks a million. I’ll do that. Can I purchase this?”

  “Of course.” She moved behind the register.

  “I believe I’ll get one for Deirdre, too.”

  “Ahh, now. That one’s on me. Only tell her I want my green sweater she stole. She’ll know what I’m talking about.” She winked and rang up my purchase.

  She wrapped my birds in tissue and sent me on my way. I found the pub she was talking about, but the owner of O’Malley’s was out. His wife said the same thing as Deirdre’s sister did. Bridey disappeared a few months ago, and no one knows where she went.

  “Crying shame, too. Gal was the best waitress we’ve had in ages. And a lovely singing voice besides. She seemed desperate lonely, that gal. And sad, as well. If ya find her, she’s got wages due her.”

  She left without being paid?

  “And tell her she’s welcome back anytime.”

  “I’ll do that.” I shook her hand and left.

  On the walk to the car, though, I asked myself why I was searching for Bridey in the first place. Clearly she had no interest in me. But…if she were in some sort of trouble, no matter what her feelings were for me, I’d want to help her.

  When I got to Old Head, instead of turning right into the pub, I went left into the market. Mr. Hennehan looked up as the bells above the door rang.

  “Evenin’.”

  “Evenin,’ Mr. Hennehan.” I thought out how to frame my question.

  “Can I help ya with something?”

  “Umm. I have a question, actually. Do ya know Bridget Donovan, or her married name is Bridget Flatery?”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  I tilted my head. “Is that so? I’d the feeling ya did.”

  “Oh. Why?”

  “Uhh…you’ve been in ta Murphey’s, have ya not?”

  He eyed me warily. “On occasion.”

  “And ya never met Bridey?”

  “You mean the dark-haired one?”

  “Aye.”

  “Oh. I met her all right.” He snapped the newspaper he’d been reading, folded it, and walked away.

  Strange.

  I wasn’t about to give up. He went through a curtain to a back area, and I waited. When he didn’t come out, I had a thought. I crossed to the door, opened and closed it. The jangle of the bells caused him to pop out.

  He frowned. “Still here, are ya?”

  “Aye. And I’m not leaving until ya tell me what was going on between you and Bridey.”

  He took a step closer to the counter. “Listen. I don’t want no trouble. I know nothing of that gal, I tell ya.” He turned but muttered, “Other than she cost me a knock on my noggin and a fair amount of hot chocolate.”

  “What the hell are ya talking about?”

  “Are ya with those other fellas? The ones that were in here with her?”

  “I haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about.”

  He grunted, studying my face.

  “I’m not here ta give ya any trouble. I only want to know what happened with Bridey. That’s all.”

  He wet his lips and glanced out the front windows. “They told me not to tell anyone.”

  My heart beat quickened. I leaned in. “You tell me what happened, and it goes no further. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Will it get ya out of my store?”

  “Aye.”

  He rubbed his chin then glanced around. “Is anyone else here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He came out from behind the counter and checked each aisle himself. “All right. The gal came in here several months ago, and these two fellas followed her in. One held a gun. They didn’t take anything but they were interested in your gal.”

  “Interested?”

  “Aye. I think they were threatening her, but she brained one of ’em with a can of tomato paste. Good shot, too. Hit him right on the ol’ noodle.”

  “And how did he take that?”

  “Well, he weren’t exactly pleased as punch, if ya know what I mean.”

  I grimaced. “Then what happened?”

  He scratched his head. “I couldn’t tell ye hi. It’s all sort of a blur now. He said something to her, she brained him…then she ran. He caught her, dragged her back to the aisle, and slammed her against a shelf.”

  I scowled. “And you just watched this?”

  “The other one pointed a gun at me. What did ya want me ta do?”

  I frowned. “Then what happened?”

  He furrowed his brow. “She was crying…and they told me to keep my gob shut and thwacked me on the temple. When I came to, she was….” He threw his hands up. “Well, I guess she was trying to help me, but I told her to get the hell out.” His frown deepened. “And now I’m saying it to you. I run a clean business here, and I’m not wanting for any trouble. So you and your gal can stay the feck away from here.” He spun on his heel.

  “Wait. One more question.”

  He turned again to face me and made a show of crossing his arms. “What?”

  “What did the men look like?”

  “I didn’t get much of a gander at them. It all happened so fast.” He uncrossed his arms. “The one with the gun was tall and thin. A good lookin’ kid, I guess. The other one was shorter and fatter. Balding, he was. They wore dark clothes. And that’s all I remember.” He began to walk away again. “Oh,” he held up a finger, “and the one with the gun had some kinda quare accent. Irish, he was, but like big city Irish. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t need to hit me,” he muttered. “I was being as cooperative as a country whore.” He continued around the counter.

  “Did ya report this to the guard?”

  He snorted. “And end up six-feet-under? Not on your Nelly. Believe me, mister, these aren’t the kinda guys ya fool around with. They come in here in broad daylight and do what they did? They weren’t your average hooligans. These men were connected. I’ve no death wish.” He th
rew out a hand in a shooing motion. “Now get ya gone. I’ve work ta do.”

  And that was the end of our little interview.

  His descriptions of the men sounded like the thugs who beat Bridey. So they came back. But if they were giving her trouble, why didn’t she call the guard? Or at least come to me for help?

  Then again, if they could scare the grocer shitless, after what Bridey went through—I’d run for the hills, too.

  Later that evening, when I’d turned in and went to switch the lamp off, I caught sight of Bridey’s bird on my table. It comforted me to have something of hers near me. But as Aisley Kane said, like the bird, Bridey had flown, and I might never see her again.

  Chapter 18

  Killian

  It was one of those cool, rainy, early autumn days that reminded me of why I liked summer. I’d taken many side trips in my time off, but only found Bridey’s birds in one other spot, Ballinspittle. What made me crazy about that was, it was only about fifteen miles away from Old Head. She was that close, and we didn’t know it. This also reminded me that something horrible could have happened to her, and we’d be none the wiser, so I kept my eyes to the papers, in case I might catch something there. Thankgodandhisholymother I saw nothing.

  The rain running through the gutters was depressing earlier, but by eight in the evening the crowd picked up, and being busy took my mind off the spirit-dampening weather.

  At about nine, Nolan Duffy walked through the door and shook himself off like a dog, making his exclamation sound like a cross between “brr” and a motorboat. He peeled his coat off and hung it on the rack by the door. “Killian, my man. Let me buy ya a drink.”

  “What? Are we celebrating?”

  “We are.” He clapped. “My Tara’s gone and got herself engaged.”

  “Well. That is a reason to celebrate. Who’s the lucky fella?”

  “Nate Standish. That American yacht owner. Remember him?”

  I nodded.

  “Apparently he owns half of Texas, too. Or so he tells me.”

  I grinned. “Congratulations. Maybe now there’s one less mouth to feed at home, the missus can get herself some more quilt fabric.”