"We are very lucky that we have not had to journey in the rain," said Jean Michel, as he built a fire.
"And if it rains?" asked Darcy.
"We find a cave."
Darcy did not like the sound of that, but she decided she would not worry about it until the time came. After dinner Jean Michel opened his pack and took out a book.
The entire day he had struggled within himself as Darcy walked in front him on the trails. As he watched her dark tresses spill down her back, he wanted to pull her close a thousand times, but he could not risk rejection again. He needed no more reminders that she did not want him. He had revealed too much by asking her to leave her hair down earlier in the day.
Darcy watched Jean Michel as he lay on his side, reading a book, wondering why he had suddenly turned so cold and indifferent. She was angry with herself for wanting his attention, but she had looked forward to talking with him by the fire. It was also disappointing that she had left her hair down for him all day, and he never even acknowledged the gesture.
She walked over by him and took a peek at what he was reading. "Oh, you're reading Othello, Are you sympathetic to him or do you believe he was a fool?"
Jean Michel looked up from his book and said, "Hmmm? Oh, definitely sympathetic. He was a victim of Iago's treachery."
Suddenly he blinked, "You have read Othello?'
"I have," said Darcy matter-of-factly, as she poked the fire. He did not see the smirk on her face, as she stirred the ashes. She relished the amazement on Jean Michel's face. She knew now that she had his attention for the rest of the night.
He demanded, "How is it that you can read?"
"Oh, does it surprise you that an Irish convict has a mind?”
"No, but--well, what else have you read?"
"Many things," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "The Bible, of course, but my first work of fiction was The Arabian Nights. I've read most of Shakespeare's works and Milton, Dante--"
"Who taught you to read?"
"A priest."
Jean Michel was sitting up now cross-legged, staring at Darcy, trying to comprehend what he was hearing. He was simply astounded. He had met few women in his life who could read, but what was even more amazing was that she was well-educated. All his life he had longed to have a woman who could meet him on his own intellectual ground and it had been this mysterious Irish woman all along.
They talked late into the night. Jean Michel marveled at Darcy's ability to debate his opinions and offer her own impressions. He realized she had endured not only physical hunger but intellectual starvation.
Darcy was delighted as well. She had always found Nathan’s impressions of literature to be flat and uninteresting. They always reflected his narrow, elitist views, and when he did ask her opinion, which was seldom, he dismissed her ideas as pedestrian. She hadn't realized how much she had missed talking with someone who treated her as an intellectual equal.
Jean Michel watched Darcy's face, as she talked about Odysseus and Penelope, and suddenly he interrupted saying, "It is a cruel twist of fate that you are bound to another, Darcy."
Their eyes locked a moment, and then Darcy looked down. "I don't want to go back to Nathan, Jean Michel.”
She knew she had revealed too much, so she stood up abruptly and announced, “It’s late.”
As they took out their bedrolls for the night, Jean Michel asked, "You said that you were educated by a priest. I thought that they were not allowed in Ireland?"
"You're right. They are not, but we smuggled a Jesuit into our town. He befriended me shortly after he arrived and taught me how to read."
"What did you say the name of the town was in Ireland?"
"Kilkerry, it's in County Kerry on the west coast."
Jean Michel frowned. He lay in front of the fire for a long time, staring at the flames until he was certain that Darcy was fast asleep. He stood up and went to his pack, pulling everything out and throwing it onto the ground. When he reached the bottom of his bag, he yanked out a long leather pouch holding letters. His hands shook as he stood by the fire, reading the words. When he finished, he looked up and gasped, "It can't be!"
Jean Michel sat down heavily onto the ground, shaking his head. It was too impossible. She couldn't be the same woman. Ireland was too large, and there must be hundreds of women like her living there. But he knew in his heart that there was only one woman who could be described as Pandora. It was Darcy McBride.
Gradually and with complete astonishment, Jean Michel admitted to himself that the Jesuit who had educated Darcy was his own brother, Etienne Lupe'.
Chapter 27
Jean Michel kept the news from Darcy at least for the time being. It was too soon after making his own discovery, and he was still recovering from the shock of it himself. As the morning wore on, he found himself eager for news of Etienne, so he decided to tell her when they stopped to rest on the Kensington River. As they approached the broad expanse of water, Jean Michel told Darcy that they would be headed north from here to an abandoned settlement, and it was there that he would begin the survey.
After climbing a large flat ledge overlooking the river, Jean Michel swung his pack onto the ground. He sat down on the edge of the rock letting his legs dangle freely over the water, and Darcy sat down beside him. They ate some biscuits and watched the water tumble across the rocks beneath their feet.
"This spot reminds me of a place where I sat with a friend a long time ago. In fact it was the man who taught me to read," said Darcy. She looked up at the sky, squinting in the sunlight, and took a deep breath. "Only it smells different. The last time was by the ocean. We sat on a ledge like this and ate strawberries in the sunshine."
Jean Michel saw his opportunity. "Etienne liked strawberries, didn't he?" asked Jean Michel.
“Yes, he--” As if a lightning bolt had hit her, Darcy jumped to her feet and cried, "How do you know his name?"
He took her hand and said, “Sit down, Darcy. We must talk." Mechanically she sat down, her eyes on him. “Darcy, your friend Father Etienne is my brother."
She stared at him, struggling to comprehend the news when suddenly she cried out, "What! This is impossible. You shall not use my fondest memories for your sport! How did you find out about him?"
Jean Michel reached inside his shirt and pulled out Etienne's letters for her to read. "He referred to you as his little Pandora, but I knew it was you."
Darcy yanked the letters out of his hand and opened them. There before her eyes was the lovely penmanship of Father Etienne. When she read the words my little Pandora, she gulped back tears. She had no idea that he had given her that name, and it broke her heart to read it. She read and reread the letters describing her life, as Jean Michel watched her. She shook her head and asked, "How can this be?"
She looked up into Jean Michel's eyes and saw the evidence she needed. There was the same look. “How could I have not known?" she blurted out. "So much makes sense now! Your brother being educated in France, your love of books, and both of you insisting on bathing!"
"He was the one to convince you to bathe regularly, wasn't he?" said Jean Michel.
She nodded her head. "That was so like him. He was on a personal mission to clean up Europe!"
Darcy couldn't take her eyes off Jean Michel. She studied him as if she had never seen him before. There was little physical resemblance, but he had the same dignity and sense of humor.
"We don't look alike, do we?" he said.
"Not really. You are younger for one thing."
"Yes, he is eight years my senior."
"If only I had known from the start who you were. It all could have been different."
"Didn't the name Lupe' give you a clue?"
"I never knew your brother's surname. To me he was always Father Etienne."
This connection with home was the best news Darcy had received since her arrival in the Colonies. She hadn't realized how homesick she had been. She shook her head and said, "Looking at
you, Jean Michel is like having him alive again."
The smile dropped from his face. "What did you say?"
Darcy did not move.
"What did you say?" said Jean Michel again, and he grabbed Darcy and shook her. "Tell me!"
Darcy's eyes grew wide with horror, and she swallowed hard saying, "You--you didn’t know? Your brother slipped and fell on the cliffs of Kerry over a year ago. I thought you knew."
Jean Michel blinked then stood up abruptly, looking out over the river. Darcy was horrified. What had been a celebration a moment ago now turned to agony. They stood in silence for a long time. Darcy expected to see tears in Jean Michel's eyes, but his face was hard and cold. He reached down for his pack and mumbled, "We must move on now."
They resumed their journey following the Kensington River northward. Silently he walked in front of her, inviting no conversation and asking no questions.
Mid afternoon they stopped on the shore to rest. When Darcy reached out to touch him he jerked away and barked, "Don't!"
Gone was the engaging companion from last night and left in his place was a cold shadow. Darcy wound her long, dark tresses back up into a knot and pinned them tightly. The intimacy had vanished between them.
As the day wore on Darcy became angry. It all seemed like a terrible twist of fate. She believed that Jean Michel blamed her for the death. After all, if Father Etienne had not come to Ireland to help her and her people, he might still be alive.
By late afternoon the warm sunshine gave way to dark thunderclouds, and rain. Drenched and tired, they followed the Kensington River northward until evening. When the rain continued, Jean Michel chose a cave in which to spend the night.
The cavern was high above the river, and it was difficult traversing the slippery rocks with their packs. When they reached cave the Darcy felt short of breath and her heart started to pound. The palms of her hands began to perspire, and a sense of panic washed over her. She bolted to the mouth of the cave to gasp for air. I must not allow him to see that something is wrong. He does not need to be comforting me tonight. She squared her shoulders and built a fire near the opening.
She walked over to the pile of firewood to gather some kindling, but when she straightened up Jean Michel was gone. Instead two boys squatted near the fire. She rubbed her eyes and stared. Who were these boys?
She walked around the fire to see their faces, and her mouth dropped open in horror. Sitting on the floor of the cave, warming themselves by the fire were Liam and Bran. They were no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Their bodies were thin and emaciated, and they were bald. They were oblivious to Darcy, and when she opened her mouth to speak, she was mute. The boys were busy cracking shells with bony shaky hands putting slimy bits of seafood into their mouths. Darcy noticed green stains on their fingers and lips from the kelp.
They were dirty, and their clothing hung on them like scarecrows. Overwhelmed by her memories and by her grief, she reached out to touch Liam. He crumbled instantly into a pile of rags. The bile rose in her throat, and she rushed to the mouth of the cave to retch. She stood up, pushed the hair from her face and looked back into the cave. Jean Michel stood in the firelight looking at her. "You're ill?"
Darcy wiped her mouth and straightened her gown. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath, and reentered the cave. He offered her some food, but she refused.
Realizing that her dress was wet and filthy, she stepped to the back of the cave to change clothes. It was a difficult task pulling the sodden material over her head, and as she stood in her white shift gathering up her wet gown, she heard someone call her name. Thinking it was Jean Michel, she looked out to the fire, but he was gone again. In his place was a little girl. The child walked over to the mouth of the cave and looked over the ledge expectantly as if someone had just called her name. When she turned around, Darcy recognized herself as a child.
She too was dressed in rags and what little hair she had was dirty and matted to the scalp. Her eyes seemed too large for her body, and her skin hung in loose folds over her small skeleton.
Darcy closed her eyes, trying to shut out the image. She thought that she had locked these memories away forever. Hot tears rolled down her face, as she choked back sobs. Years of anguish surfaced, and she stood alone at the back of the cave drowning in despair.
Suddenly, she felt someone hug her and stroke her hair. Jean Michel whispered, "I have been very selfish. I was so absorbed in my own pain that I didn't realize the agony you must be going through being in a cave again. I'm very sorry. I'm very sorry.”
The warmth of his embrace, and the kind words calmed her fears. At long last she had been able to cry, and some of the horror of the famine could now be left behind. Darcy stepped away from him, wiping her eyes. "How could I ask you for help, Jean Michel? You had your own grief to bear."
He led her to the ledge, and the cool breeze following the storm helped revive her. "You have many ghosts haunting you," said Jean Michel. "I see you drift off and go places I will never understand. Who visited you tonight?"
Darcy took a deep breath and rubbed her forehead. "I saw my brother and Bran during The Hunger, and I saw myself. It was nothing more than my foolish imagination."
Darcy took a deep breath and said. "Please forgive me for the death of your brother."
Jean Michel frowned and he said, "What?"
"It's my fault that he is dead. If we hadn't been on the coast that foggy night he would still be alive."
He put his hands up. "Wait a minute. Slow down. What are you talking about?"
"After telling the British of our smuggling ring, Bran needed to clear his conscience, so he went to your brother to confess his treachery. Realizing that we would all be killed if he didn't warn us, Father Etienne set out that night in the dense fog. He lost his footing and fell to his death off the cliffs of Kerry trying to save our lives."
Jean Michel sighed. "There is nothing to forgive, Darcy. He died doing his life's work, and you are testimony that it did not go in vain."
She looked down and said, “Thank you.” Then she loosened the clasp of her necklace and placed the cross and charm into the palm of his hand.
"I want you to have this. The cross was given to me by my mother. It saw me safely through the famine. The charm of hope belonged to your brother, and it has seen me to you."
Jean Michel searched Darcy's eyes. He knew with this gesture she admitted there was a bond between them. As his fingers closed around the necklace he murmured, "You have forever changed the lives of the Lupe' men, Darcy McBride.”
* * *
The following morning they arrived at the abandoned settlement for the survey. It consisted of a trading post and the remains of five log cabins all in decay, most with roofs open to the sky. Nature was reclaiming the site, and every structure was covered with vines and moss.
Darcy thought the cabins looked lush and cool, and her romantic imagination had her speculating about what human dramas might have unfolded here. When she asked Jean Michel about the settlement, he told her that he had been here as a boy. At that time the settlement had shown promise, but two severe winters, and an outbreak of smallpox had driven the residents back to Acadia. "The settlers were French. I was here with my father. He was trying to buy the trading post."
He shrugged and said with a sly smile, "I paid little attention. I was more interested in the little girl with the big, brown eyes. It was over there by that oak tree where I received my first kiss.” He smirked and said, “She was completely taken with me."
"Arrogant!" said Darcy rolling her eyes.
She was pleased to see that Jean Michel was in better spirits today. She noticed that he was wearing her chain under his shirt.
"It may have been here that Etienne met Father Rale,” he said. “He was a Jesuit missionary in these parts. Some thought him fanatical, but he guided Etienne to his calling."
Jean Michel was lost in thought for a moment then said, "Come. We must get started."
&
nbsp; He opened his pack and pulled out all kinds of technical-looking equipment for the survey. Darcy picked up a small brass instrument and examined it. It appeared to be a circle within a circle, and she carefully turned it over in her hands.
"What's this?"
"A ring dial, it's a timepiece similar to a sundial but very accurate."
Next he pulled out a mahogany box and opened it. Inside was another round brass object, with a glass face. Jean Michel told Darcy it was a vernier, also called a surveyor's compass. He showed her the tripod on which it rested, and after assembling a long pole, he handed it to her and said, "Here's a perch pole. Take that and those chains and follow me."
Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry Page 25