“Thank God you were saved.” Maureen knew now, she just knew, she’d seen the wave that almost took Paudeen. It had been terrifyingly big. That was what she’d seen moments ago. Wasn’t it?
Paudeen’s voice was low. “I mean no blasphemy, but I don’t think it was Himself I needed to thank. By the time I’d got my breath and looked out to sea, it was calm as calm, and near to where the wave had taken me was a seal. The animal lifted one flipper and slammed it against the surface. But when the spray cleared, the seal was gone and I never saw her again.”
“And you think it was a Selkie?”
“Maureen, I know it was.” He took her by both shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You asked me if I believe in the Shee? If there’s Selkies in the sea, there must be faeries on the land.”
“Not too many men today do believe. And few men would confess to a girl that they had been scared of anything. Thank you.”
“There’s no shame in being scared for the right reasons, and none in the telling of it to someone you trust. And how many men have been rescued by a Selkie? I do believe in other powers.” He laughed. “Now you know I do, will you tell me what happened here? Did the Shee have something to do with it?”
“They did. Connor MacTaggart, who lived in this cottage, did not believe in them.”
“Lived?”
“Aye. He’s gone now. He did a pigheaded thing. Even though he’d been warned, he cut down a blackthorn on the eleventh of November nearly four years ago. The Shee tormented him for weeks, and then he was lost in a blizzard that Saint Stephen’s Day.”
Paudeen whistled soft and low. “Poor divil.”
“He’s that, all right. For his ghost haunts this place. He has found no rest. The Shee took him.”
“God, have mercy,” Paudeen said quietly.
She pointed out beyond the wall. “The branches of the tree he cut are lying on the ground where he left them up there,” she said. “Over in that field. Nobody wants them.”
“And sensible too. I’d not touch them.”
“Those branches,” she said, “will lie there until Connor has done a deed that pleases the Shee. When he does, they’ll let his spirit go, and the branches will turn to dust.” She smiled at Paudeen. “I hope he does his good turn soon. I’d like to see him at his rest. He was a good man and . . .”
She stumbled over her words because leaning from a window frame, an elbow on the sill, oblivious to the broken glass, was a man’s upper body and a face she knew. He had a dudeen in the corner of his mouth, and he was staring at Paudeen and back to Maureen, and smiling and nodding his head.
“Mother of God,” she whispered, as her hand flew to her mouth.
Paudeen had his arms round her at once. “What is it? What are you seeing?” His gaze followed hers.
She shook her head. “Nothing.” And it was the truth, for now there wasn’t anything but the peeling red-painted frame and the broken glass. “Not a thing. Only a ruined cottage.” Hadn’t Ma told her never to tell anyone about the sight?
“Are you sure you’re all right? Do you want to go home?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. We’re less than a mile from the crossroads. We’ll go on, but let’s sit for a minute or two longer. I think it was remembering Connor upset me. I liked the man. Indeed, for I was only fourteen when it happened, and I was half in love with him. Fidelma was in love with him.”
Paudeen pulled her closer, kissed her, and said, his voice husky, “And I’ve been trying for weeks to find a way to tell you . . . I’m in love with you, Maureen O’Hanlon.”
Maureen kissed him right back, hugged him to her, and then laughed and said, “It’s taken you a brave while to get round to it, so. I know you’re a bit shy and use the humour to hide what you’re feeling, but you needn’t have worried. Sure haven’t I known you’ve loved me since Lughnasa when you kissed me for the first time?”
He tipped his head to the left. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“And am I not allowed a bit of modesty too, Paudeen Kincaid? Am I not a woman? And haven’t I been in love with you, you great amadán, since that kiss too? Now put me down.” He’d lifted her off her feet and was spinning round with her in his arms, yelling at the top of his voice, “Maureen loves me, and I love her, and I don’t give a gutted herring for who knows. I want the whole world to know. I love her.”
“Put me down.” Maureen could hardly stop laughing. “It’s decent of you,” she said, “to cry it to the world when there’s nobody around to hear, except that vixen sitting on the wall over there grinning at you. Now put . . . me . . . down.”
She wondered if Connor had heard them too. He’d have approved, and even though Maureen couldn’t see a woman’s face this time, she was sure the queen of the Doov Shee approved too. This time the fox didn’t scare her. Ma had said the faeries would watch over her, and Maureen was pleased their queen had seen her with the man she loved.
Paudeen set her gently on her feet, held her at arm’s length. His cornflower-blue eyes saw through to her soul, and he held her gaze with his own, never blinking as he said, “Maureen, I love you as I’ve loved no woman before, and as I’ll love no woman after. I love you now, and I’ll love you forever.” Then he kissed her.
His kiss didn’t stop her remembering the Pavee and her cards, the cards she’d been thinking about so short a time ago. The woman had been right about the sea, and her card, the Two of Cups, foretold love. Maureen’d been in love since Lughnasa, and now Paudeen had finally plucked up the courage to tell her it was returned.
“Maureen,” Paudeen said, “I’ve seen a lot of your part of Cork. I told you once I’d take you out in my boat. I want you to know everything about me. How’d you like to come into Ring soon, and I’ll let you see what I do with myself.”
The card, the Wheel of Fortune, had foretold a journey. “I’d love to,” she said, and wondered, if the fortune-teller’s cards had been right three times, what of the other two? There was no way to prove or disprove the prediction of a long life, but what did the Death card mean? A real death or a huge change?
A thought came on her. She knew he loved her as much as she loved him. Unless something completely unexpected happened, he’d soon ask her to marry him. And that could be the transformation the card told.
He interrupted her thoughts by asking, “It’ll have to be a Saturday, won’t it, like the way it is now?”
She looked at him, his young face, his calloused hands, his blue eyes.
The more she thought about him asking her to marry him, the more she liked the idea.
“Yes, Paudeen, it will, so.”
She’d say yes to the other question too. Yes, Paudeen. Yes. Yes. And he’d love her so much he’d encourage her to finish her schooling and go on and be a teacher. That shift in attitude could be the kind of change the tarot predicted. Couldn’t it?
He frowned. “It could be a while before we go. Next month’s the start of the ling season. My busiest time.”
She kissed him and said, “I’ll wait for you, Paudeen Kincaid. You’re a man worth waiting for.”
26
She’d said she’d wait and so she did. Maureen had no chance to see Paudeen until it was nearly November. October had been a very long month because he was at sea every day fishing for the ling.
She missed him, and exchanging letters didn’t make up for not having him near.
In his last note, scripted in his strong copperplate, he told her he’d be free on Saturday the thirtieth, and he asked her to meet him on the Ring pier at ten in the morning. Eamon and Fidelma, who often went into Clonakilty on Saturdays, were going to give Maureen a lift in the MacVeighs’ lorry.
“Eamon’ll not be here for at least another ten minutes,” Fidelma said. “I know you’re busting to see Paudeen, but telling me to hurry up and finish my breakfast won’t bring Eamon any the quicker.”
Maureen laughed. “Well, it’s lovely out, so. I’m going to wait in the barnyard.”
“Enjoy your day,” Ma called from near the kitchen range, where she was ironing Da’s shirts.
“I will, Ma, and don’t let that cup of tea get too cold before you come out, Fidelma,” Maureen said sweetly, as she opened the door.
“Get on with you, girl,” Fidelma said. “I’m not rushing. I’d get heartburn. I’ll be along in a shmall minute, so.” Fidelma sipped her tea and buttered another slice of toast.
Maureen closed the door. Outside, it was one of those autumn mornings when the crops were long harvested, the leaves well on the turn. The sky had lost its brassy summer sheen and was a delicate blue like a robin’s egg, the clouds as fragile as puffs of bog cotton. The crisp air nipped her cheeks, and she was glad she’d worn a heavy sweater over her thick, ankle-length tweed skirt.
At nine thirty to the minute, Eamon MacVeigh put-putted into the O’Hanlons’ yard, waved at Maureen, and honked his horn.
Fidelma came running out, still struggling into her cardigan, climbed into the lorry, and gave a grinning Eamon a kiss. Maureen followed her into the cab. She noticed that Eamon had lost some of his girth. Even his cheeks seemed thinner.
“Right,” he said. “All aboard for the MacVeigh sharabang ride. First stop: Ring Harbour.”
“You don’t mind going that bit further, Eamon?” Maureen asked.
“Not at all. Fidelma and me’ve all day, so.” He patted Fidelma’s knee. “Haven’t we, pet?”
“We have. Once we’ve seen to our own shopping and got the messages Ma wants, we can do as we please.” She smiled at Maureen. “I told Ma I’d do her errands, for you’d be too busy.”
“Thanks, Fidelma.”
“Och, sure it’s no bother, so.”
“Once they’re done,” Eamon said, driving out of the farmyard, “we’ll get a bite, and after I’m taking your sister to the matinee to see Ramon Novarro and Francis X. Bushman in Ben-Hur.”
“Who’s playing Messala?” Maureen asked.
“How do you know his name?” Eamon said.
“I’ve read the book.”
“You and your books, Maureen O’Hanlon,” Fidelma said with a smile. “If it’s not schoolbooks or tomes of Irish history, it’s novels. I’m surprised you make time for Paudeen at all, so.”
“I’ve my Leaver’s coming up next June, and I’m still for trying to do what I told you I would.”
“Good for you, Maureen. Get your exam. Keep away from the mill.” Fidelma leant over and whispered, “I’ll be out of there soon.” She nodded in Eamon’s direction.
For a moment Maureen didn’t understand. Then her eyes widened. “You mean . . .”
Fidelma, smiling broadly, nodded. “Aye, so. We’re shopping for the ring today, and Eamon’s going to see Da tonight.”
“Fidelma.” Maureen wriggled round on the bench and gave her sister an enormous hug. “And you too, Eamon. I wish you both every happiness, so.”
“Och,” said Eamon, “it’s only right and proper I make an honest woman of her.” Maureen saw the grin on his open, ruddy face. “And,” he said, glancing across at her, “we’re beginning to wonder when Captain Courageous is going to—”
“Wheest now, Eamon MacVeigh,” Fidelma said. “That’s none of your business. Don’t embarrass Maureen.”
“Och—”
“You concentrate on your driving, boyo. I’m going to have a chat with my sister.”
Eamon swerved violently to avoid a cow that had ambled onto the narrow winding road, and Maureen grabbed at the lorry’s side, feeling Fidelma pressed against her. It wasn’t until Eamon had the lorry on course again and she and her sister had got themselves settled comfortably that Fidelma said quietly, “Paudeen’s not said anything yet, has he?”
Maureen shook her head, then put her lips close to her sister’s ear. She didn’t want Eamon to overhear. “But he’s told me he loves me, and you know how shy men can be.”
Fidelma chuckled and nodded her head in Eamon’s direction. “Casanova here had to have a couple of stiffeners in him before he could tell me, and with the stutters of him he hardly got the words out at all, bless him.”
Maureen could hear the affection in her sister’s lowered voice. She glanced at Eamon, who appeared not to hear their conversation. She said, “Paudeen hadn’t had a drop in him, but I know it cost him a great deal to get up his nerve.”
“I’m sure he thinks you’re worth every penny of it. I’ve watched the pair of you, even before you danced with him. I saw magic then and I’ve watched it grow.”
“What kind of magic?”
“The kind I had with poor Connor . . .”
Maureen heard Eamon clearing his throat loudly. Maybe he had heard everything, but she realised it really didn’t matter.
Fidelma was quick to reassure him. “And the sort there’s between your man here and me.” She kissed Eamon’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, love?”
“True on you, Fidelma O’Hanlon,” Eamon said, and for no good reason honked his horn.
Fidelma laughed. “Amadán,” she said, then kissed him again.
Maureen said, “I’m so happy to see you’re so happy, Fiddles.”
“I am, so. I’m looking forward to being a married lady.” She hesitated. “What’ll you do if Paudeen does ask?”
Maureen wasn’t entirely sure. In the excitement of his confessing his love, she had certainly said to herself she’d say yes. But she’d had time to think since, and a question still remained: would he let her teach?
She didn’t want to answer Fidelma’s question immediately, and so she said, “He told me he’d be down on one knee with a diamond ring.”
“So he’s a romantic fellah?”
“He brought me a bunch of flowers the day he told me he loved me.”
Fidelma shook her head. “You’re a lucky girl.” She raised her voice. “Eamon here, his idea of romance is to let a girl help him with the haying and then have her cook his tea. Isn’t that so, Mr. MacVeigh?”
“And what’s so wrong with that?” Eamon asked. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Fidelma chuckled. “No. The way to a man having a fat belly is through his stomach.” She kissed his cheek. “Eamon’s been watching his grub. He’s lost a fair bit of weight, nearly a stone, and I’m very proud of him, so.”
Eamon grinned.
Maureen felt warmed by how comfortable they seemed to be one with the other.
“Maureen,” said Fidelma in a lower voice that Eamon probably couldn’t hear, “you didn’t answer my question. What will you do?”
“If Paudeen proposes?”
“Yes.”
“Fidelma, I love him. I love him to my bones.”
“So you’ll say yes?”
Maureen spoke quietly. “I’m not sure, Fiddles. The night I met him I told him I wanted to teach. Him being a good story-teller’s not the only way he’s like our Da. He said he doesn’t believe a woman should go on working after she’s married, and he seemed pretty fixed about that.”
“He’d get no complaints from me on that score,” Fidelma said, “but I know you have other notions.”
“We had a row about it that night. I didn’t tell anybody. Sure for all anyone knew there was nothing between us except tea together, a couple of dances, and a walk in the moonlight. Nobody even knew I’d let him kiss me. But I knew how I felt, and thought I’d lost him then, and my heart did nearly break. It was so wonderful when he came back I haven’t dared raise the subject since. I’m scared to. I’d die if he went away again, so.”
Fidelma drew in a deep breath. “I know what you mean.” Maureen heard a catch in her sister’s voice. Fidelma looked over at Eamon, then back to Maureen. “But there are other fellahs. I’ve been lucky.” She touched Maureen’s arm. “A chara,” she said, “I don’t want to interfere, but . . . but do you not think maybe . . . maybe you should have a word with Paudeen? Let him know where you stand?”
“I know I should. Soon. But not today. It’s nearly a mont
h since I saw him. I just want to be with him today, Fiddles. I want to have a bit of craic.”
“And I hope you do.”
“I will. I’m certain sure.” She took a deep breath. Just thinking about seeing Paudeen could make her a little breathless.
“But don’t you leave the talking too long, girl. It’s got to come up sooner or later.”
“I know, but I’ll wait for the right opportunity.”
“Have you two finished your heart-to-heart yet?” Eamon asked. “You’re not even noticing the world going by. These cottages round this five-road-ends are Ballinascarthy.”
“And what’s so special about that?” Maureen asked.
“Henry Ford,” Eamon said reverently.
“Who?” Maureen shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
Eamon shook his head. “You would have if you liked motor cars. He builds thousands of them in Detroit in America. His Da was born in Ballinascarthy.”
“Oh. That’s very interesting,” Maureen said, even though as far as she was concerned it wasn’t, but she was pleased to see Eamon smile.
She smiled back and glanced ahead. “Would you look at that copper beech? Did you ever see the like?”
The massive tree’s russet leaves made a cheerful blaze against the sullen dark of the ploughed field behind it.
“The only other thing I’ve seen that colour,” Fidelma said with a wicked grin, “were your cheeks, Eamon MacVeigh, the night you got a skinful of Archie Bolan’s poitín, you gurrier.” She made a face at him and laughed.
Eamon laughed so hard Maureen could feel the seat shake, and then Fidelma kissed his cheek, and the pair of them were lost in their own conversation.
Maureen didn’t want to intrude. She sat back. Fidelma was right. She should have it out with Paudeen. No, that was too harsh a way to think of it. They would talk things over. But when was the “right opportunity” going to be?
Eamon drove past Lios na gCon, and she remembered how slighted she’d felt there three months ago when Paudeen questioned her wish to teach, to go on working after marriage. He seemed to have accepted it more that day he’d come to see Tiernan and she was churning butter. But he hadn’t said so. Not out loud.
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