Walking over to the window, she crossed her arms against her chest and looked out onto the street. The world was a veil of gray with swirls of smoke from the turf fires of a dozen chimneys, and windows ablaze with lamplight and false cheer. Were they happy, these women who pattered about from table to stove and back again, buttering toast, frying chips, preparing tea for men too dizzy and swaying with drink to want anything more than a bed and a hot water bottle?
The more naive of her friends pitied her when Sean died. A woman without a man to provide for her lived a life of drudgery in their eyes. And yet were their lives any better than hers? When she came in from long days in the store or the pub to lock the door behind her, she had no one to answer to, no loud snoring to keep her awake, no toilet seat up in the bathroom, no mess on the floor, no arguing over money or the children or whether to take a holiday. She was an independent woman with her own business, her own money, answerable to no one. Loneliness was a problem but it wasnt a new one. Shed been lonely long before she was widowed and didnt know many women who werent. The truth shed come to know was that men didnt marry for companionship. They married for sex and children and to make their lives easier. When they wanted companionship they took themselves off to the nearest pub to share the craic with other men like themselves.
Brigid Keneally knew what it was to be in love. Shed found it on a day that had ended much as this one would, after the exchange of forbidden words, the touch of a hand on hers, the blinding brilliance of a smile that changed a mans face from handsome to approachable.
But love, she could have told anyone who listened, wasnt a constant. It changed daily, ascending and descending, between need and desire and doubt and heartbreak, finally settling into a level of comfort where doubt and heartbreak went by the wayside along with what remained of passion and need.
A draft of cold air pierced the wool of her jumper. Knowing who had entered the shop, she turned to greet him. To Brigids surprise, Caitlin called out his name first.
Good afternoon, Father, her daughter said pleasantly. Ive made tea. Would you care to join us while Mr. Malone measures Annie?
I would like that very much, he said, seating himself on a low stool. He drew up his legs to accommodate the small chair. His cassock pooled in folds on the floor.
He looked like a vulture dressed all in black with that beak of a nose, thought Brigid uncharitably, turning back to the window.
Mum. Caitlin held out a cup of tea. Come over here and join us.
Reluctantly, Brigid crossed the room and sat down opposite the priest.
How are you, Brigid? he asked.
Very well, thank you, Father.
Caitlin stirred milk into her tea and glanced at her mother. Brigid felt her daughters curiosity.
At last, for lack of anything better to say, Caitlin stated the obvious. Annie will be attending Saint Patricks on Monday. Mr. Malone is measuring her for a school uniform.
Father Duran smiled approvingly. Im glad to hear it. Does that mean well be seeing your entire family for Mass on Sunday?
Caitlin laughed. You know perfectly well it does, although this week Mum will be taking the children alone. Ive an appointment in Galway with a veterinarian.
Ill be sure and save my most entertaining homily for your return.
Caitlin lifted her cup. Do that.
Brigid stared at the two of them. Could she be hearing them correctly? The tone of their conversation was light-hearted, jovial, as if theyd been friends for years. When had Caitlin become so cozy with Father Duran?
She cleared her throat. Which will be Father OSheas Mass? she asked.
Nine oclock as usual.
Ive been meanin t attend that one. She felt her own rudeness and hurried to soften the words, to make it seem to Caitlin as if the time was the issue. It will be better for the children t go a bit later.
The priest nodded. Either way Ill look for you. I always assist at Martins Masses.
Brigid nodded and drained her cup.
Later, after the children were in bed and Brigid was busy with the supper dishes, Caitlin joined her mother in the kitchen. Picking up a towel she began to dry the plates. The silence stretched out between them. Brigid could stand it no longer. Whats on your mind, Caitlin?
I thought Deirdre would visit more often, she replied.
Brigid gave a deprecating laugh. Your sister has six children and another on the way. Besides, livin in the Six Counties is like livin on the moon. She would have to cross the checkpoints and I dont want her riskin it. She writes occasionally.
Will she come for Christmas?
Anne and Deirdre usually make it home.
Brigid scrubbed a greasy pan vigorously. Why the sudden interest in seein your sisters? Youve missed fifteen Christmas dinners.
Caitlin ignored the question and continued to wipe the same plate shed started with. You never told me how you met my father. Why is that?
Brigid sighed, pulled the plug and watched the water swirl and drain in the sink. First Deirdre and now your father. Whats this all about?
The plate forgotten, Caitlin stared at her mother with eyes that were wide and dark and accusing. Id like to talk with you, Mum, the way a mother and daughter should talk. Why wont you meet me halfway?
Brigid dried her hands, pulled out a chair and slid wearily, bonelessly, into it. She was tired, too tired to be defensive, much too tired to hold out against the onslaught of her daughters probe. This is about you, isnt it, Caitlin? What is it that you want t know? This is as good a time as any.
It doesnt really matter what we talk about. Why dont you tell me about my father.
Staring into the earnest, dark-eyed face of the woman who should have been Sean Keneallys daughter, Brigid knew she had met her Rubicon. This moment had been written in destiny, waiting like a simmering cauldron for that extra bit of heat to boil over its sides. What child, especially one as different from her mother as Caitlin, would not want to know of the man who had sired her. Brigid folded her hands and closed her eyes briefly. Ordinarily she would have prayed, but this was not the time for prayer. Not all the penances doled out within the darkened confines of the confessional would absolve the lie she had lived.
Sean Keneally was born on Inishmore before there was plumbin and electric lightin, well before the tourists started comin over in droves. With only eight hundred people on the island, he was related in some way or other t nearly everyone there. His father was fond of the drink, as was his father before him, but that wasnt so unusual for a place where winter darkness sets in at three in the afternoon and the rain and the sky and the sea all run together in an endless blanket of gray.
Caitlin was listening intently.
A woman who married a Keneally man knew what her life would be: up before dawn to walk her man down to the fishin boats, wave him off prayin he didnt drown, gatherin the seaweed and haulin it back to a field so rocky even the crows refused t bother pickin out the seeds. Brigid shook her head. The worst of it was the waitin. Sometimes the men wouldnt come home at all until the next day. I was sure Sean was dead, washed over into a ragin sea after a bout with the drink.
I tried t stay, Caitlin. But I couldnt bear it, what with the wind lashin the cottage and the rain comin sideways, poundin against the back wall, water seepin in under the door until the flagstone looked like a toilet had overflowed. Not that we had plumbin, mind you, just an outhouse in the back. It was so dark. I was always cold, always damp. The wind howled across those stones. Nothin ever dried. I got sick. My cough wouldnt stop, and thats when he said we could leave.
This part of the story was new to Caitlin. You never told me you lived on the island.
Brigid shuddered. I wanted t forget. It wasnt the place for me just as this wasnt the place for Sean. Sometimes you cant take a person from where he belongshe wont survive the leavin.
Is that what happened?
Brigid thought for a minute. I think so. He was never happy here. Theres somethin about island people. Th
ey can never quite manage anywhere else.
I heard that he died of alcohol poisoning.
Brigid nodded. That, too.
Did you love him?
This was the question for which she could not lie. In the beginning, I loved him. Later, I didnt.
Why not?
Sometimes it happens. You should know that.
Caitlin looked beyond her to somewhere across the room. Brigid doubted that it was Sam Claiborne who brought that look to her face.
How did the two of you meet?
Brigid looked at the clock. It was already half past nine. Caitlin had pulled out a chair and sat down at the table across from her. Resurrecting ancient history was something Brigid did not enjoy. She was not one who believed that dredging up and examining painful secrets was necessary for healing. The least said the better, was her motto. Still, there had been a few good years between Sean Keneally and herself, years when the annual rainfall had been unusually light, when there had only been two daughters to feed, when the thought of her waiting at home for him in a well-scrubbed cottage with a red door and a thatched roof had been enough to keep him out of the pubs.
She felt Caitlins eyes on her and knew there would be no respite tonight, not unless she wanted to damage the small inroads theyd made toward closing the misunderstandings in their relationship. More than any of the others, Brigid wanted this daughter to be settled within herself. If talking about Sean Keneally would accomplish that, she would do it.
We met when I was on holiday in Galway, she began, on a clear spring day. I thought Id never seen anythin so beautiful as the blue waters of Galway Bay, the blue sky above it, and the green islands sittin like sleepin whales in the sea. I wanted t see them desperately but I hadnt the money for the ferry so I pawned my watch and bought a one-way ticket. I cant imagine how I could have done such a thing with no regard for gettin home. All I could think about were those lovely green islands and the stories Id heard about silkies and mermaids and people who spoke Irish and lived by the old ways. She held out her hands and stared at the thin skin and high ropy veins. Everything had changed. I know its hard t imagine, Caitlin, but I was something of a romantic in those days.
There was no misunderstanding Caitlins expression. Brigid rather enjoyed bringing that look of wonder to her daughters face. It occurred to her that Caitlin had never known her as a young woman, not the way Anne and Deirdre had. Perhaps this purging that had been forced upon her would bring the girl closer.
Sean was standin on the cliffs below Dun Aengus, spreading out his fishin nets when I first saw him, Brigid remembered. The sun blazed down, colorin him, capturin the blue of his shirt, his hands and face burned dark from the sun, his hair shiny and dark as a birds wing. Her voice went reverent and soft as she called up the beauty of him, that deceptive archangel beauty that had knocked her off balance and swept her away as easily and surely as the reversing tide had sucked the sand out from under her feet.
She laughed self-consciously. He stayed in my mind like a photograph, the spareness of him, the sure capable movements, the liftin of his hand t wave in the ferry, his smile as we sailed by. I was sure hed smiled for me.
Perhaps he had, Mum. You were beautiful. Ive seen the pictures.
Brigid shook her head. There were quite a few of us on the boat. I doubt he could even see me. We met later that afternoon. I couldnt afford to rent a bicycle so I walked the five miles to the old fort and climbed to the top. It came back to her so clearly that the room tilted the same way the sky had that day when shed stood on the precarious edge of the Celtic fort and looked down at the crashing waves. One slight misstep, one brief moment of dizziness on that treacherous point and it would all have ended right there. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply until the sick feeling disappeared and she could speak again.
He called out a warnin when he was still a distance away, worried that he might startle me. I turned and waited for him t close the distance between us. He walked with that loose-limbed, toe-turned-in kind of walk that islanders have. I remember thinkin he was the most beautiful man Id ever seen and that I wasnt nearly good enough to have him. Not that I was hard on the eyes as far as women went, but nothin like him. Her mouth twisted. I suppose that was my undoin. If he hadnt been so handsome I might have looked more closely at other things. As it was, no two people could have been less alike.
Caitlin challenged her. Am I like him?
No, replied Brigid fiercely. Youre nothin like him. He couldnt say no t a pint if he was fallin down drunk, and there are a good many women who still cant look me in the eye because of his shenanigans. No one on earth had less character than Sean Keneally. Be grateful that you have none of him in you.
A troubled frown appeared above Caitlins eyebrows. I dont understand.
Theres nothin t it, said her mother, hastily. Youre a hard worker, Caitlin, and honest, never mind the pranks you played in your youth. There isnt anyone living or dead who would call you dishonorable. Sean was another story. He couldnt settle on anythin. He was always lookin for an easy way t make money. The years went by. We bought the pub with money left t me by my mother. His heart wasnt in it. We grew apart and then he died.
And then I was born, Caitlin finished for her.
Aye, said Brigid, avoiding her daughters gaze. You were born.
It must have been difficult for you, a widow with a new baby.
Brigid didnt miss the catch in her voice. Actually, she lied, it wasnt as difficult as you might expect. People helped. Assumpta and John OShea were wonderful friends. I have no regrets, Caitlin, if thats what you think.
Im sorry, Mum.
Brigid lifted astonished eyes to her daughters face. Whatever for?
For intruding on you like this, for failing at my marriage. She dropped her head into her hands. Maybe I shouldnt have come home. My degree isnt worth anything here. Im not trained except to work with horses and the only experience I have was at Claiborne Farms. She laughed bitterly. Somehow, I dont think Sam will give me a good job reference.
Theres no need t worry about that now. You can always stay here, you know.
We need a home of our own, Mum. Annie isnt used to this. Maybe, when were on our own, when we can keep the horses with us, shell settle in. Of course, theres the possibility that the horses wont bring in any money at all.
Thats unlikely, replied Brigid.
Caitlin lifted her head. Brian thinks the colt has a diseased voice box that will prevent him from racing. Because its inherited he wont let me breed Kentucky Gold here at the stud.
Good Lord. Brigid looked properly horrified. Is that why youre goin away together?
Of course. What other reason would there be?
Brigid stared into her daughters troubled eyes. Could a woman reach the age of thirty-one, marry, bear children, and still retain the naivete of a school girl? She reached across the table and patted Caitlins hand. No other reason at all, love. None at all.
15
Twenty years from now what would Annie think of her, Caitlin wondered. Would she consider her mother a failure or would she recognize that it took a fair amount of courage to come back to Ireland? The question hit Caitlin full force in the sitting room of Robert Farlows white-washed cottage with its narrow stairs and thatched roof, its red door, its tiny windows that framed the sea, and its open hearth fire showering sparks on the icy flagstone floor.
It was in Spiddal, a town in the heart of the Gaeltacht, that she realized how great was the leap between what shed been taught and what she now believed. Catholic girls from Kilcullen were told that it was up to a woman to shape her husband into a man she could bear to live with for half a century. If a man had no woman to refine him, to polish the edges of his gruff and blundering ways, he would live alone like this man did, this man who was the best equine veterinarian that Ireland had to offer. Or he would find another woman, and another after that, like Sam and her own father had, and the blame would be the womans. Caitlin was more than a Catholic girl fr
om Kilcullen. Shed fallen into the trap but she was free now. She would make sure that Annie never fell at all.
The veterinarian had left abruptly for an emergency call, a call more life-threatening than the diagnosis of a Claiborne coltone among many promising, long-legged, high-stepping, well-muscled colts from a rich mans stables. Only, what Caitlin hadnt had time to explain was that this colt was different. This one belonged to her and if Brian Hennessey had his way, it might be the only one that ever did.
She rubbed her arms against the chill and stared out at the Atlantic. Brian had gone out for food nearly an hour ago. The quiet was unsettling. Perched on a hill overlooking the sea, the cottage windows faced west, framing the ocean and the three Aran islands in the distance. The sun was sinking fast and the light, that unusual soft glow that only the finest artists could capture, was fading so that the land and sky, now leached of color, blended together in a swirl of twilight gray.
Here where the boundaries between heaven and earth were not so clearly defined, she could see why villagers saw faeries and wee people along their paths, and why those who needed repairing of the spirit returned time after time to this fey land far enough to the west and remote enough from reality to seem another world. Here, in the absence of city dust, anything was possible and yet nothing mattered, nothing but the comfort of a warm fire and a full stomach and a brown-gray sea that rose to meet the sky.
The lights flickered and came back, dimmer than before. Fear of a black-out spurred her into action. She searched the kitchen and found two thick candles, a book of matches, and a package of fire starter. Banking several pieces of turf so that it formed a pyramid, Caitlin struck a match, lit the starter, and buried it in the middle of the pyramid. Then she added several more pieces to the top, burying the flame completely. There was more than enough turf in the basket by the hearth to keep the fire going through the night, and the doctors cupboards had a plentiful, if dull, supply of Campbells tomato soup and saltine crackers. If only Brian would come back.
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