That's the sort of dreams I have when I make a save. I cannot even imagine the turn my dreams would take if I stood around and watched people die. I know it's not my responsibility to save everyone in the world, but I would feel like a murderer. There's no doubt. I can't live like that.
I find myself in the decidedly odd mental state of hoping my particular brand of many-tailed fox is not a fairytale. As crazy as it seems, I need the Sidhe to be real. I also need them to help me, which might be the difficult part. From the way my grandmother spoke about the fair folk, they might prefer killing me to helping me.
When my Irish cousins call me in for dinner, I have a whirling mind and a heavy heart. My depressed mood doesn't last for long in such a happy home. We sit down for a dinner of corned beef with all the trimmings and two loaves of freshly made soda bread.
"How do you like Ireland so far?" My young cousin Dennis asks while he butters his third piece of bread.
"I think it's one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen in my life."
"You better be watching yourself," Molly says, and then laughs. "Once the Emerald Isle gets her hooks into you, she doesn't let go."
"What's it like where you live?" Bethany has a short tug-of-war with her brother over the butter.
"Well, I live in the city, but Indiana has some very pretty places. The southern part of the state is great. It's all hills and lakes and forests. It's gorgeous after a hard frost in the fall when all the leaves turn color. Closer to where I live there are lots of farms. The land is a little flatter than it is here, and there are less sheep and more corn, but it's pretty."
"We'd love to take the kids across the pond for a vacation." Robert ends the butter war by taking it for himself and raising his eyebrows at his children until they look suitably chastised. "And I know Hugh would like to see his brother again. Wouldn't you, Da?"
"That I would. That I would."
"I expect we'd fly into New York and stay there for a few days to let the kids look around. How far is it from there to Indianapolis? Could we rent a car and drive?"
"You could, but it would take you a couple of days unless you like the idea of…I don't know…maybe fourteen hours in the car." Daphne accepts the butter from Robert and then hands it to the suddenly very well-behaved kids.
"I can't say as I want to be in a car so long," Hugh says. "My old hip gets powerful stiff after a long drive."
"I didn't know it was quite that far," Robert says. "We'll fly then. I'd rather visit with family than sit in the car that long."
"When do you think you might be able to make it?" I ask. "The entire family will be thrilled to have you come."
"We might be able to swing it this summer when the kids are out of school," Molly says.
"It would be wonderful." I tell them about my sister's house on the river and how we love having family gatherings there. I also tell them about the amusement park and the drive-in movie theater. The kids are grinning by the time I'm done and begging to go visit Indiana.
At this point, I suddenly remember the persimmon syrup I've brought and I excuse myself from the table to fetch it. Molly is pleased by the gift and immediately cracks one of the bottles open so we can all try it on bits of soda bread. It's good stuff; sweet but with an interesting spicy taste.
"Oh, now that's lovely, that is." Molly pours a small puddle of the syrup onto her plate so she can dunk another bit of bread. "We've got persimmons in the market here, but I've never had a syrup like this."
I'm enormously pleased my gift has been a success and Daphne is all smiles at my side. For a little while, while we are safe and snug in my cousin's home, it's easy to forget the fantastical task which brought us to Ireland.
Twenty-One
Saturday dawns bright and clear. I have been awake since the first rays of the rising sun hit the windowsill. Travelling made us exhausted enough we went to bed quite early last night and I'm paying for it now. Daphne sleeps beside me, her arms and legs akimbo in a charming sprawl, and I envy her.
I tried to go back to sleep, but the pure weirdness of the task at hand has left me too anxious to relax. The corner of the sky I see outside the nearest window is a startling blue and fat white clouds mosey by. The view should be calming. I could count fluffy white clouds and pretend they are sheep. Nothing works. Whatever this day holds for me I'm going to have to meet it with less sleep than I wanted.
After several hours of fretting, I creep out of bed and prepare for the day. Showered and shaved, I find myself staring into the closet. What does one wear to try to impress the fair folk? In the end, I can't imagine the fair folk give a damn what a human wears, so I grab a pair of jeans and one of my new polo shirts.
By the time I'm dressed, Daphne has dragged herself from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. I sit on the bed, staring out at the bright blue sky until she's ready to head downstairs.
The plan is a late breakfast with my cousins and then Great-uncle Hugh will take us out to the old family farm. It's Saturday and my cousins have guests, so they do breakfast good and proper and treat us to our second "full Irish" of the trip. In addition to the usual Irish fare, Molly and Bethany make tiny crisp pancakes to have with the persimmon syrup we sampled at dinner last night.
Everything is delicious and my cousins tease me about the mountain of food I tuck away. It's so much like being with my American family that breakfast does much to quiet my nerves. The gentle teasing and everyday small talk is a balm to my soul. I leave the table feeling more refreshed than I did when I woke up this morning.
Shortly after the table has been cleared, Daphne and I pile into Hugh's truck and head out for the farmstead where my great-grandfather grew up.
"Will it be all right for us to wander around the place?" Daphne asks. "I know it's not a working farm anymore, but will the owners be upset to have us tramping around?"
"They're happy to have you visit as long as you like." Hugh pauses for a moment as he turns the old truck into a narrow road. "The Meyers are good people, they are. Old Thomas owns the property, but he's in a home in Kilkenny now. Ninety-six, he is. He's got three strapping grandsons he's given the place to. I expect they'll end up selling the farm, but they won't do it while Tom's still around."
Another turn onto another small lane and Hugh brings the truck to a stop in the middle of the road.
"See the hill there? The field on the near side of it is where your great-granddad ran from the bull. Such a sad thing to have happen. The bonny lad never quite walked right after the accident. It were no fault of your granddad's, he did the best he could. The neighbor should have warned the boys he had a new bull, and that's a fact."
Hugh drives us a little further down the road and then pulls the truck into a dirt driveway more ruts than road. We come to a bouncing stop and step out into the sunshine.
The rutted drive ends in a large square of lawn which hasn't seen a mower in a few weeks. There's a white barn with a bright green roof a short distance away and I see some old bent fruit trees to one side. There's one large tree, maybe an oak, with a tire swing that looks like it's ready to fall apart.
"The farmhouse is long gone," Hugh tells us. "The foundation is over near the swing, so don't fall in. They've kept the barn in good repair if you want to see it. The Meyers used to run sheep here, but the grandchildren aren't interested in farming. It's hard for me to watch the old places die like this, but this is fine land. I dearly hope the next owners will fix the place up…maybe build a new house here."
Great-uncle Hugh takes his leave and goes to visit his friend at the local garage. He insists his truck is making a funny noise, though I didn't hear anything out of place on our way over. We've got a couple of hours to kill before he returns to pick us up.
We walk over to the big oak and check out the remains of the farmhouse first, and then we walk over to the barn hand in hand. It's as if neither one of us wants to face the task ahead of us. The barn is an old-fashioned delight. It has horse stalls inside which a
re closed with wooden slats that fit down into grooves in both sides of the doorway. There are larger pens with wooden gates for the sheep. A wooden door hangs open in the ceiling, and I imagine it's where they dropped bales down from the hay loft.
Back outside in the sunshine, we pause a moment to simply enjoy the rustic beauty around us.
"Okay. Let's do this." Daphne takes my hand and tugs me across the lane toward the field where my great-grandfather went looking for mushrooms and ended up running from a bull.
The field has a stone wall around it and there are wooden stiles. We climb the nearest stile and we're in the meadow. There's no bull to threaten us today, but I still have a feeling of impending doom.
When we reach the hill where my grandmother insists the Sidhe live, we climb another stile and stand at the edge of the hill.
"Now what?" I'm at a complete loss. We're here. There's no reason to put our mission off any longer, but I'm not at all certain what to do.
"Well, why don't you just say out loud why you're here and what you hope to accomplish?"
I feel like an idiot, standing here, talking to the hill. What else can I do?
"Fair folk, many years ago my great-grandfather, Ronan Brennon, offended you. I have spent my adult life trying to repay that offense. I ask you to look at my years of service and decide if the debt has been paid."
We stand there like idiots for about fifteen minutes and nothing happens. I try again and repeat my speech. Nothing. We've flown across the ocean to come to this place and talk to mythical beings about my crazy life and all we get in return is silence.
I feel like a complete douche.
I'm about to start my third repetition when I'm interrupted by a squealing screech of tires and a thundering crash of metal. Back in the lane, a car has hit the stone wall of the field we crossed to get to the hill. Daphne and I share an exasperated expression and then hurry back to the lane.
A young man is behind the wheel, and he gestures to us with both hands to come closer.
"I am so happy to be seeing you." The relief on the boy's face is apparent. "My phone is in the back seat, and I can't get this blasted seat belt to unhook."
I open the passenger side door to fight with the stubborn seatbelt while Daphne fetches the boy's phone.
"What happened?" I ask.
"Oh, it was a fox, and such a cheeky little fellow he was too. Dashed right out, he did, and I was trying not to hit the wee thing."
"I'm afraid this belt is not going to budge."
"Not to worry. Hand me my phone, Miss, and I'll call my Da."
A short conversation between the boy and his father, and he's going to call a tow truck and meet it here. We stay with the young man to keep him company.
The boy's name is Sean, and he was on his way to visit his family when the cheeky fox interrupted. He works in Kilkenny and drives back every weekend for church on Sunday.
"They have some fine churches in Kilkenny, that they do, but it gives me a chance to see my family and the rest of the parishioners."
"Have you lived there long?" Daphne asks.
"A couple of years now. I wanted to stay closer to home, but there's more work in the city. I work in a restaurant. If I make a go of it, I might open a little café here in Tullaroan. That's my plan, anyway."
Sean's father arrives. After introducing himself and thanking us for our help, he uses a kitchen knife he brought from home to cut Sean's seat belt and free him from the car.
A horn honks, and I look up to see Hugh's pickup following the tow truck. I suppose I should have expected his arrival. Hugh's friend probably owns the only garage in the small town.
The tow truck is large, painted orange and yellow, and has "Kilkenny Recovery Services" painted on the side. It takes the man little time to get the car hooked up and taken away. We say goodbye to Sean and his father and climb into Hugh's truck to return to my cousin's house.
Alone in our room to rest and freshen up before dinner, Daphne and I have our first chance to discuss what happened--or rather failed to happen--on the hill.
"I don't know what I was expecting." I find myself pacing back and forth in the small room and force myself to stop by sitting down on the bed. "I mean, this whole idea there's some race of mystical beings living under our noses is pretty nuts."
"I know how you feel." Daphne sits beside me and pats me on the knee. "It does seem odd, but I don't think it's crazy. Scientists talk about other planes of existence being close to our own. The idea that the barrier between planes might be thin in areas, or there might be doorways between one universe and the next is pretty prevalent in literature and movies. I think it's possible."
"So why didn't something happen today?"
"Maybe we did it wrong. We don't know anything about the fair folk. We should do some research…maybe ask Hugh."
"Really? I can see how the conversation will go. Say, Hugh, we were trying to contact some fairies today but it didn't work out. Got any advice?"
She laughs at me before she speaks again. "Maybe not quite like that. I think you should leave it to me."
Dinner is another Irish favorite of mine. Honest to goodness shepherd's pie. My cousin Molly is a fine cook and I tell her so, repeatedly. Along with the pie, there's salad and plenty of homemade bread. Molly has a bread machine and while she bakes the loaves in the oven, she says it's a godsend for mixing and raising the dough.
"I used to only make bread for special occasions, but the machine makes it so easy I bake two or three times a week now."
"I can't even remember the last time we had store-bought bread, and that's a fact." Robert emphasizes this statement by waving a piece of the bread while he talks and then taking a huge bite.
"Even with the machine, I couldn't have managed it when I was working full time in the city. Now I work part time from home, it's a piece of cake."
"Do you miss working in Kilkenny?" I ask.
"The folks in the office were grand. But it's easier for me and the family now and I certainly don't miss the drive every day."
Robert works in an office which does advertising. Molly worked for a customer service firm but now does the same job on her computer at home. I can see how working at home would be easier with three children as well as their grandfather at home.
"Did you have fun seeing the old homestead today?" Robert asks.
"Oh, it was amazing to see where Nick's family comes from." Daphne wastes no time jumping into the conversation. "It really is a lovely place. We were curious about some of the local folklore. I've heard there's fair folk about."
"You mean the Sidhe?" Dennis says loudly and then giggles.
"Now then, young man," Hugh begins, "if I've told you once I have told you a million times. It's not at all polite to be talking about the fair folk in such a manner. You say their name out loud and you might be having an unpleasant surprise."
Dennis rolls his eyes at this, but answers politely, "I'll stop, Sir."
I catch my cousins smiling, and it's clear to me they are only humoring Hugh and don't believe in the fair folk.
"I'd like to learn more about the old stories of the fair folk." Daphne is like a dog with a bone. She's determined to take advantage of this opening. "How should I go about it? Are there books about the local tales?"
"There aren't any book I know of," Hugh says. "At least, not about this area specifically. There's books about the fair folk, to be sure, but if you want local legends, then you should talk to old Teagan."
"That's a great idea, Da." Robert butters his third piece of bread. "I'll give the old girl a call before we go to church in the morning."
"Do you think she'll mind talking to us?" Daphne asks.
"She'll love it," Molly is quick to assure us. "Teagan is one hundred and twelve and still smart as a whip, but she doesn't get out of the house much these days. She loves having folks to visit and will simply talk your ears off about the fair folk if you get her started."
"It sounds wonderful." Da
phne pats my knee under the table. "I can't wait to meet her."
After dinner, everyone heads for the living room and the remainder of the evening is spent chatting and playing cards. By the time Daphne and I head to bed, I'm feeling more positive about my situation. If anyone knows something about how to approach the fair folk, this Teagan O'Meara does.
I slip into an easy sleep. If I have any nightmares during the night, I can't remember them at all.
Twenty-Two
My cousins go to church in Kilkenny. After a continental breakfast, they pile into the SUV and off they go. Daphne and I have an appointment to visit Teagan in the early afternoon, but we've got some time to kill until then. The cemetery where my family is buried isn't too far away and we have another lovely day. A walk along the country roads seems a perfect way to pass the time.
While the countryside seems pleasantly simple with its fields and hedges, we see something new around every corner. We surprise a fox and it rushes through a small break in the hedge. I am left wondering if it's the fox that caused a car wreck yesterday. On one side of us is a small herd of black and white cows. Their front ends and rear ends are black and they have a white stripe around the middle, which leads Daphne to name them "Oreo cows."
We are surrounded by birdsong and see a few of the music makers as we pass. There are many of the local robins, far tinier than our giants and they have soft brown backs with orange faces and chests. A pretty dove with a small black band around its neck reminds me of the mourning doves back home. Another bird looked a little like a chickadee with a punk rock hairstyle.
At one point, it looked like there was a group of sheep running down a hill towards us, but it ended up being a small herd of fluffy white dogs. Giant dogs ran up to the stone fence and put their front paws on it, all the better to stare at us. If they hadn't all been wagging their entire bodies and grinning at us with big doggy smiles, I might have been worried. We spent a happy few minutes petting shaggy heads and telling them all what good lads and lasses they were.
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