The Legends

by Robert E. Connolly

  “I see what you mean,” the Inspector said, obviously perplexed. “Was the child dowsed in sunblock?”

  Evelyn touched the baby’s cheek and forehead and raised him up to her nose. “Not unless they have invented a totally invisible product that cannot be felt or smelled.”

  “So do you have any ideas as to how the baby arrived at the site?” he asked.

  “Believe me,” Cathal answered, “I think I have considered every angle but I am at a complete loss. Particularly considering the weight of the crib, the only thing I could think of was that for some reason a helicopter lowered the crib, child and treasures but we were out for a couple hours and we certainly didn’t see or hear anything.”

  Evelyn added, “You know Paddy, you are a professional and no matter how careful Sherlock Holmes here has considered the matter, maybe it would be better if Cathal took you out there so you could have a look for yourself. The crib is still lying in the field and it isn’t that far away. Maybe you will have to cordon off the area for forensic study, or whatever it is they do.”

  “And what of the baby?” Paddy asked.

  “Well, little Brian is certainly safe enough with me, at least until we have sorted this out,” Evelyn replied. “I bought a few things for him and I am sure it is time to give him something to eat.”

  “Brian, is it?” Paddy said rose from his chair.

  “Sure we had to call him something,” Cathal replied. “Hold on a minute while I put on a pair of dry pants. And while I’m at it, it might be a good idea to take my camera along.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Evelyn O’Sullivan pushed her baby-buggy through Margaret O’Neill’s gate. The old woman, forewarned by the happy barks of her good friend Molly the wolfhound, was waiting, a welcoming smile on her wrinkled face.

  “Hello Molly,” she said scratching the big dog’s ears as she had so many times. “Aren’t you a grand girl looking after the little fellow so?”

  Addressing Evelyn, she continued the words coming in rapid succession, “You are very welcome… come in, come in – before the heavens open up. The water’s on the boil.” Reaching into the buggy she touched the infant’s cheek forgetting for the moment any thought of impending rain. “So this is the little fellow I have heard so much about.”

  “It is indeed,” Evelyn replied happily, “Brian Boru O’Sullivan, allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Margaret O’Neill.”

  “So pleased to meet you, Mr. O’Sullivan,” the old woman replied taking his little hand in her own. “I’m sure we will be great friends.”

  Molly gave a short bark, reminding Margaret of her tradition of providing him with an appropriate treat, and they all walked through the yard and into the kitchen. The dog was presented with a fine bone and settled under the kitchen table to enjoy her treat, while Margaret prepared the tea.

  “Sit down there,” she ordered directing Evelyn to a chair. “You must be exhausted altogether and you up all hours taking care of the little one.”

  Evelyn did as she was told, and replied, “In truth, he is no problem at all.”

  Margaret placed a slice of freshly baked slice of apple pie before her guest and proceeded to pour the tea. “You should know that I am a little cross with you. Here you are with a fine little baby boy and I didn’t even know you were expecting. Usually I’m very good at noticing such things,” she concluded with a raised eyebrow.

  “I am sorry about that,” Evelyn said slightly flustered. “You know I’m a bit large at the best of times so maybe that’s it. You also know that I am not as young as I once was – and you never know. Anyway, we didn’t tell anyone, even our families, so everyone was surprised, as you can well imagine.”

  “And a very pleasant surprise it was,” Margaret said. “Tell me know, what did your family think?”

  “Like you they were very surprised but also very happy for Cathal and me. You know that we have dreamed about this for years but we had long since accepted that we would not be blessed with a child. Believe me when I tell you, Brian came as quite a shock to us as well.”

  “May I hold him?” Margaret asked.

  “But of course,” Evelyn replied as she reached into the buggy, removed the baby and passed him to the older woman, “he is amazingly good with strangers.”

  Margaret accepted the child holding him in the crook of her left arm. Her actions reflected an expertise that was, without question, not lost in the years since she held her own children. She reached out and pulled the shirt, which had ridden up, away from his chin. “Now so then, let us take a good look at you,” she said as she looked into his remarkable blue eyes. Margaret was quiet for a several seconds as she studied the baby. Perhaps she had intended to make the type of comment that most woman make when presented with a new baby, but instead her words came as a surprise, even to herself. “I know this may sound peculiar, but as I look at this child, I feel that I know him, perhaps I have always known him.”

  With that, Brian smiled brightly and reached out his hands toward the old lady as if he were asking to give her a hug. Margaret responded to his request and as the child gurgled happily, Evelyn looked at the pair in amazement.

  While the child clung to her neck, Margaret closed her eyes as if she was dreaming and a look of perfect contentment came over her face. Evelyn had, by then, become accustomed to strange occurrences where the infant was involved, but this had to be the strangest since his discovery. “Perhaps,” she said tentatively, “Brian reminds you of Cathal or me, or one of your grandchildren.”

  “That may be,” Margaret replied doubtfully. When the child released his hold on her neck, she returned him to her left arm and thoughtfully traced his face with her hand. After a short time, she looked up at her guest and said. “I hope you will not think me strange or a victim of what do they call it, “senile dementia,” but I am going to tell you something that I would not have dreamed I would mention to a living soul.”

  Evelyn put her cup down and studied the old woman waiting for what Margaret had to say with mounting curiosity. She decided that the last thing in the world she would suspect was that this old woman was senile in any shape or form. To the contrary, Evelyn wished that she were as sharp as Margaret.

  “For the last few weeks,” Margaret began, “I have had the strangest dreams. Well let me correct that, dreams while I sleep, yes, but also visions while I am awake, usually while I am out walking these hills. I see myself in those dreams and visions, just as I appear today, an old woman who, perhaps, has outlived her usefulness.”

  Evelyn protested, “Now Margaret, please don’t say things like that. You are very important to me and any number of people in this community…why just…”

  Margaret put her hand up and Evelyn stopped speaking. “I am not complaining my dear, just stating facts. At any rate, although I am old in my dreams and visions, I do not see myself in today’s age but rather in an age that must have been long, long ago. In my dreams there are no houses, as we know them, no cars or even roads, no electricity, no running water, and absolutely none of the conveniences of the modern age. I am dressed in rough clothing as is everyone else, and I am at some kind of feast. I am eating, with my hands, lumps of meat that have been taken from an animal that has been boiled in a pit and I am drinking from a wooden goblet.”

  She stopped for a moment to wipe a bit of spittle from Brian’s chin, then Margaret took a sip of tea and continued, “There are many people present, women with long unkempt hair some holding or nursing infants and men dressed in robes with long moustaches and beards. There are also wealthy kings and nobles with finer robes wearing beautiful golden jewelry. There are also children present, barefoot and dirty, dressed in homespun robes that fall to their knees. I look into each person’s face searching for someone I recognize, but no face is familiar to me.”

  “After a time, a big man with a great long beard, perhaps a king because he is dressed in the finest robes, delivers two infants to me and it is clear that I am, in some way, respo
nsible for these children. I hold each child, speak softly to them, and sing songs in words that I do not recognize but I am at peace. Even though this dream is very strange, I do not find it at all disturbing and, in fact, I find it quite comforting. Although it is completely surreal, I have experienced this dream so many times that it is now familiar to me, almost part of my life. Do you not find this very strange my dear?”

  Evelyn sat, her tea going cold, infatuated by the story. It took her a moment to realize that she had been asked to respond. “Strange, perhaps,” she replied, “remarkable, certainly. Tell me Margaret, do you believe in reincarnation?”

  “Reincarnation?” Margaret said. “I don’t think so. That would be the kind of thing that would not sit well down at the parish church. Still and all, if there were such a thing, perhaps my dreams show me as I was in some prior life. Do you believe in reincarnation?”

  Evelyn replied, “I don’t know whether I do or not. You know my Cathal is a professor of Celtic studies and he greatly respects their way of life. Apparently the early Celts were strong believers in some cycle of life in which a person returns to the earth in another time. And of course I’m sure you have heard many stories about people who have had premonitions about being someplace before when they knew that was not the case. I have never had any such experiences but, perhaps, you were an early Celt. Undoubtedly, they would have roamed these hills.”

  “Well I don’t know about that,” Margaret responded with a smile, “You know that when I was newly married, there was an old man who lived in a house not far from here, which has long since fallen to ruins. We used to visit him and he was full of stories and legends about the people who lived near here. He could tell you about every fairy fort in the country and he had a remarkable collection of tales about encounters with the little people. I often wish we had recorded his stories. I doubt that he had read all the legends about Celtic heroes like Finn MacCool, Cúchulainn and the Red Branch Knights but he certainly knew them line and verse and we spent many a long winter’s evening listening to his tales. Maybe, after all these years, I am inserting myself into those stories but you would think that I should at least be dreaming that I was a fetching young maiden rather than a great-grandmother. Just my luck,”

  Margaret laughed. “It seems strange though, that these dreams should come to me after all these years, and then, only in the last few weeks.”

  Evelyn agreed, “It does seem strange. Do you ever remember having such dreams before?”

  Margaret thought for a moment and answered, “Definitely not that I can remember. And definitely not with the frequency of these dreams. But the strangest thing of all, my dear—one thing about which I have no doubt in my mind—one of the infant children that I held when I dreamed of myself in that other world, is this child, your son Brian.”

  Evelyn sat in silence for a moment considering what Margaret told her. And then, her eyes went wide, she placed her hand over her mouth and her eyes teared over.

  Margaret was shocked at the younger woman’s reaction and hurriedly apologized. “I am so sorry for causing you pain. And you after just having this baby. I do hope that you will forgive me and not think that I am unstable and not fit to visit with this darling boy. Sure it’s only an old woman’s ramblings and it means nothing.”

  This time it was Evelyn who put her hands up asking Margaret to stop apologizing. Evelyn collected herself and said, “Please Margaret, nothing you have said has made me think any less of you, rather, as amazing as it may seem, you may have confirmed something that is even more difficult to believe than what you have just told me. I am only sorry I was not a bit more forthright, but then maybe you will understand once I explain.”

  The old woman seemed genuinely relieved but also intrigued. She returned Brian, who was asleep in her arms, to his buggy and asked her guest if she would care for a bit more tea.

  “I think that might be a good idea,” Evelyn replied. “Or maybe something a bit stronger if you have anything.”

  “That bad?” Margaret replied, even more intrigued. “I do have a drop of sherry.”

  “That will do nicely,” the younger woman said. “I don’t think what I have to say is bad but I would say very difficult to believe.”

  “As difficult to believe as my reincarnation?” Margaret asked.

  “You can be the judge of that,” Evelyn said with a smile.

  “In that case, perhaps I will have a small sherry as well.”

  Margaret poured the two glasses while Evelyn tucked a blanket around the baby. When the old woman regained her seat she raised her glass to her young visitor and toasted, “To strange stories.”

  Evelyn clicked her glass against Margaret’s and sat for a moment thinking about what she was going to say. Ultimately, she decided to get the hard bit out of the way quickly. “I guess I have been less than completely honest with you Margaret,” she began. “Only three people in the world know about this and you would be the fourth. Well, technically Brian and Molly are also in on the secret but anyway, here goes. While I accept that young Brian is, without question, my child, he was not born to me.”

  Margaret did not appear particularly shocked by this revelation but she listened quietly as Evelyn continued.

  “In fact,” she continued pointing out the kitchen window, “I found him in the middle of that field a couple of weeks ago when Cathal and I were walking along. Well actually Molly found him and Cathal and I accepted responsibility for him. What was completely remarkable was that it appeared that he had been placed in the field minutes before his discovery. He was clean and well fed and despite the heat of the morning sun he did not have even the slightest touch of sunburn. Even more strange, there was no indication that anyone walked through the long grasses for at least several hours before we arrived.”

  Margaret nodded her head understanding what was said, “I do seem to remember seeing you and himself walking along below with Molly one sunny day a few weeks back, but it must have been before you came upon the child,” she stated.

  “Well it doesn’t exactly end there,” Evelyn continued. “You see, in addition to Brian we discovered a bundle of what appeared at the time to be excellent gold reproductions of Celtic jewelry as well as a replica of a great sword from the same era. We took everything home and, of course, immediately contacted the Police Department.”

  “Yes, yes – the police,” Margaret said obviously agreeing with her decision.

  “Well, actually it was my brother Paddy Rice who is an inspector at the Drogheda station,” Evelyn admitted sheepishly. “He is the only other person who knows about this. His immediate reaction was to call in the social welfare people but I convinced him that the child was undoubtedly traumatized by his experience so perhaps it was better to let him rest a bit before moving him again. I suppose, being a good big brother Paddy was used to agreeing with my suggestions so he and Cathal and Molly, of course, returned to the hillside to inspect the scene of the crime, as it were.”

  “So anyway,” Evelyn continued, “I settled the baby and the two of them went off. By that time it was mid-afternoon but since very few people are likely to tramp those hills, neither Paddy nor Cathal thought that the site would have been disturbed. As it turned out they were correct. Oh, yes… I forgot to mention. The one thing that we didn’t bring off the hillside was a massive granite rock that had been carved out in the middle. This rock was lined with feathers and cloth, a little mattress almost, and that was where the baby was lying when we found him. Anyway, this crib was too heavy for even two or three people to carry any distance so we left it down there marking the spot.”

  “Paddy reported that they had no difficulty following our tracks, which were clearly visible in the long grass. Molly seemed to know exactly where they were headed and lead the way directly to the hawthorn bushes where the baby was found. Of course, the granite crib remained just where it had been earlier in the morning. Paddy carefully inspected the area for at least fifty feet in each direction b
ut could detect no trace of anyone. He also asked Cathal to take more pictures confirming his investigation.”

  “Although he was a bit cynical when we first told him our story, Paddy undoubtedly had a change of heart after examining the place where the child was found. Cathal told me that it was not necessary for him to say anything to my brother because Paddy was even more baffled than we were. He is, after all, a professional dealing with all measure of mysteries and even though Cathal might fancy himself a modern day Sherlock Holmes, he is not a trained police officer.”

  Margaret sat on the edge of her chair, completely absorbed by the story. “When you told me your story was even stranger than mine,” she said, “I had my doubts, but while mine was all in my head, you have a child to show for yours.”

  “Anyway,” Evelyn continued, “it gets better. Out of pure frustration, Paddy took the little mattress from the crib and called Molly over. Holding her collar, he put the mattress under her nose so that she could fully inhale its scent. Then he let go of the collar and ordered Molly to fetch.”

  “Now, according to Cathal, Molly, who is a bright dog as you know, looked for a moment at Paddy like he was a bit crazy. But then she apparently began to move, nose down, in concentric circles around the area stopping only where our path to and from the site crossed the circles. Eventually she moved closer to the crib and began to sniff in the immediate vicinity. Apparently she caught a scent right in the thicket of hawthorn bushes and began to growl and push her nose in and among the bushes. They were too thick for her to penetrate so Paddy and Cathal bent down to take a closer look. All they could see was a pile of old rocks around which the bushes had grown so Molly was called off.”