“You look ready to collapse. It’s okay to sit there.”
Awaiting her fate, she sank onto the seat.
He stepped away and reappeared with soft cloth. “Dry your face and hair with this towel. Mom will probably have dry clothes you can use.”
What manner of place was this? There were no candles or lanterns, yet the place was light as sunshine. Every surface gleamed, but Deirdre had no idea what many of the items were. Hints of lavender, garlic, and something tangy teased her nose.
One thing she knew for certain, she’d keep her second sight a secret. Visions had brought nothing but heartache to the women in her family. No, here in Purgatory—or wherever this place was—she’d try to fit in and prepare herself to move on when the opportunity came. She wasn’t sure how the afterlife worked but if allowed to do so, she’d find a spot of her own for herself and Cathbad.
A beautiful older woman came in. She had blonde hair and her body showed slightly rounded curves. She wore what looked like a priest’s robe—except it was lavender with lovely purple and gold braid trim. Her blue eyes had crinkles at the corners, as if she smiled most of the time. Surely she must be an angel and posed no threat.
When she saw Deirdre, though, concern showed on the angel’s face and she hurried over. “Oh, my, what’s happened? You poor dear, that’s a nasty bruise.” She spoke in the same funny accent as Brendan but didn’t she touch Deirdre’s forehead with a softness that reminded her of Ma?
The man smiled. “Deirdre, this is Blossom Hunter, my mother.”
His mother? Mayhap he wasn’t a demon then, for how could a demon be the son of an angel? “Mrs. Hunter, it’s sorry I am to trouble you.”
“Call me Blossom, dear. Now let’s see what we can do for you.” She smiled at Deirdre. “Why don’t you let your cat down while I get you something dry to wear and put some antiseptic on that bruise?”
“H-He’s not used to this place. I don’t know if he’ll behave himself. Cathbad’s quite independent.” And likely he’s as confused as I am.
Blossom turned and opened a cupboard door. She took out a colorful green cylinder and put it against a strange machine that whirred as the container turned. Cathbad meowed and leaped down to stand at Blossom’s feet. When the whirling stopped, the lid popped off the circle and Deirdre smelled fish. Blossom dumped the cylinder’s contents onto a dish and set it onto the floor. Cathbad ate as if he hadn’t had a bite in weeks.
Blossom smiled up at Deirdre. “Cats love tuna, don’t they? Now, dear, let’s take care of you.”
Deirdre didn’t want to leave Cathbad but he looked happy. With a glance back, she let Blossom lead her away.
Chapter Two
Brendan picked up Deirdre’s pack and spilled the contents onto the table as soon as she and his mother were out of the room. He felt inside the canvas to make sure nothing was sewn into it. Unfolding each garment, he examined it. Odd clothing, and not much of that.
The oiled cloth pouch he unrolled carefully. Aha! He spilled out packets of substances. He thought he’d found drugs and sniffed them, but snorted in disgust when he realized they were herbs. After years of his mother’s herbal remedies, he even recognized most of them.
Deirdre’s brush and comb didn’t interest him, other than the fact they looked like antiques. A decorated metal box held what he thought must be old-fashioned hairpins, a pair of fancy tortoise shell combs, and a locket. No makeup, none of the junk women usually carried in a purse.
That left only a small sack. He held it in his hand and kneaded the soft leather. Coins. No ID, no cash, no credit cards, no checkbook. He replaced everything as he’d found it and tossed the bag back onto the table where Deirdre had left it.
The cat finished eating and stopped washing himself to glare at Brendan.
“Don’t push your luck, BadCat.”
The doorbell rang, and Brendan went to the front of the house. Deputy Sheriff Jim Graham waited at the door. Brendan had known Jim seven years and trusted him, even counted him as a friend. They chatted briefly then Brendan launched into his story of fishing Deirdre out of the lake.
Jim shook his head. “Third time this summer we’ve had a jumper. Don’t know why folks want to go off that cliff.”
Brendan pulled the rock from his pocket. “This landed in the boat at the same time the woman hit the water.” He peeled back the cotton handkerchief. “You see where there’s blood. She has a mark on her forehead to match.”
“Unusual rock.” Jim examined it. “I can take this in. Don’t see how it’ll do any good, though. Need to ask her some questions.”
“She doesn’t have ID with her. Must have lost it in the lake along with her shoes and who knows what else?”
Brendan started to summon Deirdre, but she and his mom returned. He recognized his mom’s rose caftan, but the way Deirdre filled it out was anything but matronly. Her pale skin looked as if she avoided the sun. With her black hair dry and shining, she looked like a fashion model. Maybe a little too busty for high fashion, but striking enough for any magazine cover. She sure perked up Jim’s attention.
“Ma’am.” Jim appeared too awestruck to say more.
“So good of you to come by, Jim.” Blossom acted like he’d unexpectedly dropped in for a friendly visit instead of official business.
Deirdre stared at Jim and edged closer to Blossom.
Blossom patted Deirdre’s shoulder. “There now, dear. Sit here while I get you a nice cup of tea.”
Looking dazed, Deirdre sank onto the chair. The damned cat leaped onto her lap and she grabbed at the animal as if she feared he might disappear.
Brendan reached into the cupboard and took down cups and saucers. “Mom has a tea for any occasion or ailment.”
“S-Sure and I could use a cup.” Deirdre relaxed her hold on the cat but didn’t take her eyes from Jim.
“No tea for me, Mrs. Hunter.” Jim rested his notebook on the table and poised his pen over the paper. He looked at Deirdre. “Ma’am, tell me exactly what happened. How many people chased you?”
She took a deep breath. “About ten or twelve I think. I-I didn’t stop to count.”
Jim nodded. “Course not. Did they rob you?”
She shook her head.
“Do you know what started all this.”
She clamped her mouth tight and looked down.
Blossom stopped to give Deirdre’s shoulder another pat. “Tell Jim all you can, dear. He only wants to help.”
Deirdre chewed at her lower lip and stared at Jim.
“Ma’am, I notice you have a heavy accent. Does this have anything to do with you being from Ireland?”
“No.” Deirdre still hesitated, but a reassuring grin from Blossom did the job. Brendan had seen his mother’s smile work magic countless times.
“It was because they thought I cursed them.” Deirdre looked at each person. “But I give you me word I didn’t.”
Jim frowned. “They tried to kill you because you cursed at them?”
She shook her head. “Not at them. They thought Ma and me put a curse on them.”
“On them? What kind of curse?” Jim stopped writing. “Weird,” he muttered under his breath.
Brendan crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. He should have known she’d be nuts.
Deirdre shrugged. “So their crops would rot.”
“I’ll be damned. Um, beg pardon, ma’am. Why didn’t they chase your mother too?” Jim tapped his pen against the notepad.
Her lips trembled and Brendan thought she might cry.
Instead, she sniffed and swallowed a couple of times. “They were mean enough, but Ma died. Her funeral was a week ago. Besides, they were afeared of her. But since her death, they’ve been even meaner to me than usual.”
“Sorry about your mother. A mob attacking a lone woman is low down rotten.” Jim shook his head but flashed Brendan a telling look. “So what did you do when they chased you?”
“I ran, of course.” Deirdre glared
at Jim. “Do you think I’d stand there and let them kill me and me cat? They were gaining on me, and there was no place to hide. I’d no choice but to jump off the cliff.”
Blossom set the teapot on the table. “And she has nasty bruises on her back and shoulders, as well as the one on her forehead. I expect she needs to rest after her tea, Jim. Surely you can wait until later to ask her more.”
“Yeah, um, yes, Mrs. Hunter.” He snapped his notebook shut. “I think I have what I need for now.” He slid the rock into the clear plastic bag Brendan had given him. “Odd looking stone, isn’t it? Guess I’ll take this with me since you saved it. I’ll get back to you later.”
Brendan wondered what Deirdre was hiding. She’d visibly slumped, obviously relieved, when Jim left. Now her hands shook as she cradled the cup.
She took a large swallow of tea and closed her eyes.
“Mmmm, I’ve never tasted anything this wonderful.” She blinked, as if suddenly wary. “W-What is it?”
Blossom poured herself a cup now that she’d served Deirdre and Brendan. “Black cherry. I thought you needed the sweetness to overcome the shock you’ve been through.”
“You’ve no idea how much.” Deirdre drained the cup.
“Here, dear, have more.” Blossom served a refill.
Brendan sipped tea that was too sweet for his tastes and watched his newfound refugee. She seemed more at ease since Jim had left, but she still cast furtive glances around the room. Probably looking for an escape route, or sizing up what she could carry away. Or both.
But he was keeping an eye on her. He wasn’t about to leave his softhearted mom at the mercy of a weirdo. Worse, what if she wasn’t nuts and it was all a ploy by those who’d shot at him and killed Larry? Did she plan to finish him off, or maybe just set him up for others?
Which was she—psycho or killer?
Either way, he was watching her closely.
Chapter Three
His mother insisted Deirdre rest in a guestroom. When Blossom returned, he waited for her comments. She was the champion of any hard luck story and he wondered what she’d make of this beautiful woman.
His mom patted his arm as she glided by. “Oh, son, I thought you might have gone back to town.”
“Not until we know more about this loony who’s in your guestroom.”
“Don’t be unkind, son. Surely you sympathize with her story—isn’t it the saddest thing? Her mother only buried a week. Did she tell you the people who chased her had burned her home?”
“No, she didn’t mention it.”
“Such a beautiful girl, too. Don’t you agree?”
Damn, he should have seen that one coming. His mother was always trying to play matchmaker. “Sure she’s pretty, but obviously not quite right. That is, unless she’s putting us on.”
“Brendan, what a mean thing to say. That glorious black hair and perfect skin would make any woman envious, yet she doesn’t seem to realize how attractive she is. And all the poor dear has is her cat and what’s in that pack.”
Brendan set down his cup and tried to temper his mother’s reaction to Deirdre. “Mom, she’s not a stray puppy you can take in and find a home. Besides, I checked out her things.” He opened the canvas tote and shook out the contents. “There’s no ID of any kind. And take a look at the clothes.”
Blossom held up the ugliest black dress he’d ever seen. “Good heavens, this is as awful as what she was wearing.”
She put that aside and searched the remaining items. “Bloomers in this day and age. Poor dear. Lucky she could wear a few of my things, even though she’s thinner in most places. And she’d never heard of shaving legs or underarms.”
His mom brightened, as if she’d had a brilliant idea. “You know, I’ll bet she’s from a commune.”
Brendan looked upward. Lord, give me patience. “Mom—“
“Not like the nice cooperative farm we lived on, son, but one of the primitive places where there’s no plumbing or electricity.” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “You remember that odd fellow from the farm?”
“Which one?” Every person Brendan remembered from his days in a California commune—his mom could call it a cooperative farm if she wished—fit that description.
She snapped her fingers. “Moonshadow. That was his name. He left to start a back-to-nature group of his own. Hmmm, in Montana, I believe, or was it Arizona?”
“Mom? Focus—“
She waved a hand. “Never mind, this poor child must be from a place like that. She was so startled by the shower and the hair dryer. Didn’t even know how to flush a toilet, as if she’d never seen anything like it. I believe she grew up in a primitive commune.”
“You’re not serious? You heard her speak. Mom, she’s obviously Irish, and just arrived from the sound of her. Probably came illegally, and ended up in the wrong place.” He unrolled the oiled leather bundle.
His mom picked up one of the packets and sniffed. “Mmm, feverfew. This is useful. How lovely that she carries herbs. That says good things about a person, you know.” She looked at the top paper of the stack. “Oh, a poultice. I’ll have to ask her about this.”
Brendan rolled his eyes, but kept his opinions to himself. He loved his mother and wouldn’t change her—most of the time—but she trusted too easily.
He didn’t.
In spite of his uncommon early childhood with a group of leftover flower children, he had both feet firmly planted in reality. His father’s parents had seen to that. Thanks to them, Brendan knew for a fact that most people were no damn good.
***
Deirdre lay on a bed more luxurious than she could have imagined. Like a cloud it was, and the soft sheets smelled of lavender and roses. The coverlet must have taken a year to weave. Cathbad was busy sniffing everything.
In spite of the beauty and comfort of the room and its furnishings, Deirdre curled up and fought for her sanity.
Where was she and how had she come to be here?
How she missed her little cottage in Ballymish. Why did people have to be so mean? She harmed no one, yet her neighbors hated her enough to want her dead. Hated her simply because she was different.
She thought of all she’d seen since she’d landed in the water. The man who said his name was Brendan—though she doubted anything here was as it seemed—said she’d landed at Hell’s gate.
“Isn’t it strange, Cathbad? I don’t feel dead.”
Her cat answered with a meow and leaped up beside her.
All her life she’d tried to be good, but those in the village feared her and Ma and called them witches, the same way they had treated Gran. And all because they had the gift of sight, as if the Good Lord Himself hadn’t given it to them.
Like the other women in her family, Deirdre had the gift of healing with herbs. Didn’t the villagers come round soon enough when they needed help? Aye, but let anything bad happen and then Ma and she got the blame—like the rotting potato crop.
She stroked her cat. “If I truly were a witch, I’d have made them all sorry for the misery they caused.”
Cathbad bumped her with his head and she sighed. “No, you’re right, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t bring meself to hurt anyone, not even those who chased me intent on killing us. And thinking on it won’t help me figure out what’s happened to us or what to do about it.”
***
A loud clanging noise startled Deirdre awake from her nap. It took her a few seconds to recall where she was. Dread filled her at the memory of her race from the mob, her jump, and her rescue by the man from her visions.
“How could I have slept with so many questions spinning in me head?” She stroked her cat’s head. “What should I do, Cathbad? How can I find a place for us when there’s so much I don’t understand?” She’d steeled herself to rise and face her dilemma when she heard a rapping on the door.
Brendan called, “Deirdre?”
“Yes.” She’d resolved not to jump or scream again when things surprised her.
She’d be brave and face her fate, whatever it was. And she’d start by sitting up.
He opened the door. “Figured the phone woke you. Are you recovered enough to ride over to the cliffs? Jim wants to meet us there.”
She didn’t understand. Could people travel back and forth from the mortal world to the afterlife? She’d vowed to be strong, though, so she’d best start right away. For now, she’d go where Brendan and Blossom bade her.
“I hope your mother is coming.”
So much for being brave. But Blossom radiated tranquility, which calmed and steadied Deirdre. When Brendan was near, her mind jumbled.
“I’ll see. Here, she wanted you to wear these clothes of hers. The jeans may be a little large, but Mom thought they’d be all right. She’s looking for a pair of shoes you can wear.” He tossed some clothes onto the foot of the bed.
“W—Will it be all right for me cat to stay here?”
Brendan glared at Cathbad. “Sure, BadCat can sleep where he is. We won’t be gone long.”
She raised her chin. “His name is Cathbad, after the famous Druid priest in our Irish myths.”
“CatBad then.”
From his half grin, she knew he’d deliberately mispronounced her cat’s name but she didn’t correct him again. At least he didn’t look so fierce wearing an almost-smile. In fact, smiling or no, he was the most handsome creature she’d ever seen. She smiled back, wondering what she should say to Himself, but her tongue tied in knots.
“You’ll be ready soon?” He nodded at the clothes.
“In a few minutes. How long could it take to change clothes?”
“Minutes, huh? I guess that depends on who’s doing the changing, but I’ll let Jim know.” He chuckled and left.
Deirdre didn’t know what was wrong with the lovely priestess’ robe she was wearing. She felt like a queen in it. She unfolded the things Brendan had left. The top was soft as eiderdown and the color of heather. The other piece of clothing was a pair of britches. Surely they didn’t expect her to wear a man’s clothes?
She remembered standing under the stream of hot water, shaving her legs and underarms, and having the hot air blow on her hair. Those were short penances, but perhaps the rough britches were reparation she’d have to endure for a longer time.
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