Spellbound

by Jeanette Baker

  “Probably not until tomorrow,” Emma replied. “He hasn’t slept in a while. He needs to catch up.”

  “When will they find Uncle Sean?”

  Mollie’s heart thumped in her chest. She felt dizzy, and her breath shortened. Gripping the edge of the side-board, she stared out the window. What did one do when brought up against such a question, plainly asked, without the softening of polite language? Powerful words, Mollie decided, were plain words. Polite people said “passed away” instead of “dead,” “discomfort” instead of “pain,” “substance abuser” instead of “drug addict” or “wino,” “unflattering” instead of “ugly.” It took a child to lay the truth out before them, the horrifying reality of what might be. Mollie waited for Emma’s answer, for the reassuring denial that would give them all hope.

  The silence stretched out, connecting them with invisible threads. Mollie turned to face them, two little girls and a woman who’d aged a decade since she’d returned to Inishmore, all of them waiting for her answer. She wet her lips and spoke gently. “Soon, I hope. You can be sure that everyone is doing all they can to help.”

  “Mabry says sorrows come in threes,” said Marni.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Emma sputtered, “Mabry is an interfering old—”

  “If she’s right,” Mollie cut in, “we’ve already had our three. First your mother, then your father and the oil spill.”

  Marni brightened, “You’re right. Mr. Greene will find Uncle Sean, Caili. We’ve already had our three.”

  Mollie changed the subject. “Why don’t we take a short holiday, just for a day or two, while there’s still time before school starts again?”

  “Where shall we go?” Caili asked.

  “Dublin,” replied Mollie. “Have you been there?”

  Marni scrunched up her face and thought. “Perhaps, when I was a baby, so I’ll not be remembering it.”

  “I’ve been there,” Caili volunteered.

  “You haven’t,” Marni corrected her. “Neither of us has.”

  Emma hesitated. “Do you think it’s appropriate, Mollie, at such a time?”

  “We can wait in Dublin as well as here. The girls and I can catch the plane this very evening and be there in less than an hour. We’ll shop, walk around, take in a change of scenery, and be home the day after tomorrow.”

  “This is a small island,” her mother warned her. “What might be acceptable in Newport may not work here. It may appear disrespectful.”

  Mollie smiled at her nieces. “There’s ice cream in the freezer. Why don’t you two dish up four bowls and bring them back here for dessert?”

  Both girls slipped from their chairs and raced into the kitchen.

  Mollie waited until she heard the refrigerator open.

  “Is it disrespectful to give two little girls a few hours of happiness before their world caves in again?”

  “I don’t think so, but others may.”

  “If Sean is—” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word dead. “If he isn’t coming back,” she amended, “we won’t have to worry about anyone’s disapproval. The children will go back with you to Newport, and I’ll finish out the school year and come home.”

  Emma sighed. “You’re right. It’s not as if Dublin is on the other side of the world. Take the girls and try to forget all this for a bit. It certainly isn’t helping Sean for us all to be sitting on pins and needles for the phone to ring. I’ll watch the baby and look after Russ. If anything develops, I can always call you.”

  It took less than an hour to make the arrangements, another to pack, and by three o’clock, Patrick had arrived with his pony trap to carry them to the small commuter airfield. The pilot was the same one who had flown her to Galway before Christmas.

  He grinned. “So, you’ve conquered your nerves, have you?”

  Mollie laughed. “I have.”

  “Shall we go, then? The flight should be a smooth one.”

  Mollie buckled the girls into their seats and sat down in the row across from them.

  Caili’s eyes widened, and she stared at her aunt in alarm when she heard the engines turn over.

  Mollie smiled bracingly. “I brought some coloring books and crayons. As soon as the plane is in the air, you can pull out your tray and color. It won’t take us long.”

  The plane lifted. Mollie held her breath. “My ears feel funny,” complained Caili.

  “Hold your nose and blow.” Mollie pulled a pack of gum from her purse. “Chew on this. Sometimes it helps.”

  Within minutes the plane had leveled, and both girls were chewing and chatting happily. Mollie leaned her head back against the cushion and stared out the window. Only a few minutes, and Inishmore and its tragedies would be behind them. By the time they returned— She wasn’t delusional. Two days meant everything. If Sean’s boat was still missing, the search would end. He would be lost at sea, and those who were left would adjust.

  For Luke and the girls the changes would be enormous. For herself... she wouldn’t go there, not now, not on this tiny plane with nowhere to hide.

  Number 31, the guidebook-recommended bed-and-breakfast near Saint Stephen’s Green, was spacious by Irish standards. Two connecting rooms with a balcony looked out over a tree-lined garden, empty now that it was winter but no less welcoming. Downstairs a modern living area with sofas covered in a royal blue material, arranged in a square, faced a large fireplace glowing with peat. Shelves filled with books lined the walls, and a huge vase of pink and blue azaleas dominated the rectangular coffee table in the center.

  The girls were hungry. After consulting a map, Mollie tucked an umbrella under her arm, took them each by the hand, and led them out the door toward the Temple Bar area, where Gallagher’s Boxty House offered rolled potato pancakes filled with meat and vegetables, fish and chips, hamburgers, and whatever else would never be found in Kilronen.

  Within minutes she’d found Grafton Street. The pedestrian boulevard was a shopper’s paradise. Street musicians sang and danced while fingering whistles, fiddles, harmonicas, and a kind of bagpipe Mollie had never seen before. Vendors hawked the Big Edition. Shops, catering to those with Christmas cash, were brightly lit, frocked in ribbons, bells, and holiday finery. Bewley’s, a larger and far more grand tea and coffee house than Galway offered, fairly swelled with people.

  Mollie followed the street around Trinity College Green and turned left on Aston Place.

  “Look, Auntie Mollie.” Marni pointed to their destination with her free hand. “Gallagher’s has a queue.”

  “That’s because the food is delicious,” replied Mollie. “You can wait a few minutes, can’t you?” She lifted Caili’s chin. “Can you wait, Caili?”

  The child’s eyes were huge and round in her small face. She nodded. Mollie knelt down beside her. “Are you all right, love?”

  Caili whispered something unintelligible.

  Mollie picked her up. “Tell me again, in my ear.”

  Again Caili whispered. Mollie smiled. “Dublin is the largest city in Ireland. Most of these people live here, and a few, like us, are visiting. By tomorrow afternoon you’ll be used to crowds.”

  “We’ve never been farther than Galway,” Marni explained.

  “Galway can be crowded, too,” said Mollie.

  Marni looked dubious.

  Setting Caili on her feet, Mollie led them to the end of the line. Around them conversation, laughter, and cigarettes were passed back and forth. Mollie listened intently. The city atmosphere, the people, and the lights energized her. Accents were different here in Dublin, crisper, more English than those from the west of Ireland.

  Inside the restaurant was dim, warm, and boisterous. Service was pleasant and efficient. Marni groaned with delight when she bit into her bacon and cabbage boxty. Caili’s awe had disappeared, and she managed to eat half of her hamburger and a good number of chips before pushing her plate away.

  “May we have a pudding, Aunt Mollie?” she begged.

  �
��You can’t possibly still be hungry.”

  Caili shook her head, and her curls danced. “No, but I want a different taste in my mouth. May we have a pudding, please?”

  “I’ll have to roll you back to the hotel.” Mollie signaled the waiter. “Let’s see what they have.”

  Mollie ate two bites of the trifle Marni couldn’t finish and watched in amazement as Caili licked her ice cream dish clean. “You’re amazing. One would think you’d never had ice cream before.”

  “We didn’t have it much at all before you came,” Marni said. “Da said it was too dear and not at all necessary.”

  Not for the first time, Mollie wondered if she would have had anything at all in common with her only brother. “Are we finished?”

  Both girls nodded in unison.

  The streets were not quite as crowded as they had been earlier in the evening. Mollie stopped to let the children watch a puppeteer, then gave each of them half a punt to drop into his cap.

  They continued down Grafton, around Saint Stephen’s Green to Lower Leeson Street and Number 31. Mollie inserted the key into the wooden gate and held the door for the children to step into the courtyard.

  Mrs. Flannery, a narrow woman with an angular haircut and features that belied her cheery demeanor, greeted them. “Did you have a lovely meal, my dears?”

  “We did,” replied Caili. “Marni and Mollie had boxties, and I had a hamburger and chips.” Her eyes rolled, and her voice dropped conspiratorially. “We even had a pudding.”

  “My goodness.” Mrs. Flannery’s hands flew up in mock amazement. “You lucky girl. I’m sure you’re filled up to the brim.”

  “I am,” replied Caili, “and Marni, too.”

  Mrs. Flannery laughed and patted Caili’s cheeks. “Will you be wanting the tea tray sent to your room later in the evening, Miss Tìerney?”

  “Tea, all by itself, sounds perfect. I’ll call down after I put the girls to bed.”

  “What would you like to see tomorrow?” Mollie asked after tucking the covers around Marni.

  “I want to see the General Post Office where the revolution started and the bullet still in the wall. We’ve heard it so often in school.”

  “What about you, Caili?”

  “The zoo.”

  Mollie spread out the map. “The post office is on O’Connell Street. It looks like the zoo is on the west side of the city near Phoenix Park. We’ll take a taxi.” She looked up and smiled. “We’ll have plenty of time for both.” She kissed Marni first, then Caili. “I love you. Good night.”

  Caili, her thumb wedged into her mouth, was nearly asleep. Leaving the door between their rooms slightly ajar, Mollie switched off the light and sat down in the chair beside her bed. She looked at the phone. There were no messages. Her mother hadn’t called. Nothing had changed on Inishmore. Once again despair swept over her. Here with the children, eating out, visiting the city, she could manage because she could forget for a while. What would it be like all alone on the island until June, with her mother and the children gone?

  Clouds, the color of dark ash, rolled in during the night, threatening rain. Undaunted, Mollie pulled out her umbrella and, after a full Irish breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausage, tomatoes, toast, juice, and tea, bundled up the girls and headed for the taxi queue.

  The old-fashioned black automobile that pulled up was a treat in itself. Caili’s gasp of delight when the car rolled forward and moved with the flow of traffic startled Mollie until she remembered that her nieces hadn’t ridden inside an automobile more than half a dozen times since they were born. Outside of minivans, there were few cars on the island, no repair shops, and only a single gas station. What would they make of California freeways and seventy-mile-an-hour speed limits?

  The west end of Dublin wasn’t the usual tourist haunt. The zoo was virtually deserted, and the three of them were able to work their way quickly through the snow leopard compound, the penguin and ape exhibits, the reptile house, and the aviary. By one o’clock Mollie was more than ready to stop for food and rest her feet before venturing down O’Connell Street.

  The post office was a functioning government building as well as a historical monument. The front window, complete with its embedded bullet, carried a description of the 1916 battle that resulted in independence for the twenty-six counties of the Republic of Ireland. From there Mollie pointed out the statue of revolutionary David O’Connell, presiding over the junction of the bridge, before making their way over to Lower Abbey Street and a taxi queue back to the hotel.

  “Look.” Marni pointed to a large, colorful poster behind glass on the wall behind them. “Isn’t that Uncle Sean’s play?”

  Mollie turned and froze. They were standing in front of the famous Abbey Theater, the National Theater of Ireland, where works by Synge, O’Casey, Friel, and Leonard had premiered. There, among the famous portraits of past and present writers, was the marquee advertising an evening performance of The Rose of Tralee by Sean O’Malley.

  The Abbey Theater. He was accomplished enough to have his work performed at the Abbey, the theater of William Butler Yeats and Lady Augusta Gregory. Never once had he implied that he was more than marginally successful. He’d been reluctant to stop and show her his home in Galway. He worked in a cramped bedroom office in his sister’s tiny cottage on Inishmore. Mollie was confused. Why would he allow her to believe he was no more than a starving artist when only the greatest of Ireland’s playwrights had their work performed at the Abbey?

  Another thought occurred to her. When had she ever asked him if she could read something he’d written? When had she expressed more than a cursory interest in his work? The answer to both questions shamed her. Suddenly it was very important that she see his play.

  A taxi pulled up beside them. Mollie slid into the back seat beside her nieces. Tomorrow they would fly back to Inishmore. But there was still tonight. The play started at eight o’clock. After dinner she would tuck the girls into bed and take Mrs. Flannery up on her offer to babysit.

  The children were exhausted. After Mollie kissed each soft little cheek, she pulled Caili’s thumb from her slack mouth, closed the door to their room, and dialed the phone number of her cottage on Inishmore. All lines were down because of the storm.

  Frustrated, she hung up, buttoned up her coat, and ran down the stairs to tell Mrs. Flannery she was leaving.

  CHAPTER 29

  Sean O’Malley waved to the pilot, pulled up the collar of his jacket, and ran into the terminal of the commuter airfield. Twenty-four hours of straight rest and a hot meal had completely revived him. All that remained of his ordeal was a slight headache from the blow to his head and an aversion to water that he didn’t believe was temporary.

  It amazed him that everything had suddenly become so crystal-clear. The possibility of losing his life had a dramatic effect on his perspective. Mollie’s face was his first coherent image when he’d regained consciousness. It stayed with him, sustaining him, throughout the hours he’d waited for rescue.

  He loved her. He’d always loved her. Forty-eight hours clinging to half a boat in a heaving ocean had clarified that emotion for him. Now all it took was for him to tell her, to convince her that he’d been foolish, to explain the reasons for his caution, to woo her, if she was skeptical, into his arms and his life, permanently.

  Emma had wanted him to call immediately, but there was no phone service off the island, a result of the storm. He decided to fly to Dublin and call from a phone booth near the Green. Number 31 was on Lower Leeson Street.

  A woman with a pleasant voice answered on the first ring, “Miss Tìerney is out for the evening,” she said. “Shall I tell her you’ve phoned?”

  “This is Sean O’Malley. She has my nieces with her. Would you mind if I stopped in to wait?”

  “Sean O’Malley?” The woman’s voice rose an octave. “The playwright Sean O’Malley? The one missing in the storm?”

  “The same.”

  “My goodness, Mr. O’M
alley. We’re very glad to have you back with us. You’re certainly welcome here at Number 31. Miss Tìerney has gone to the Abbey Theater to see your play. You might want to catch her there. I’m caring for the girls, but they’re asleep now.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

  He needed no introduction at the Abbey. The theater was dark and the play well into the third act when Sean took his seat in the back row. His eyes adjusted, and he looked around. The room was nearly three-quarters full, not bad for a play that had premiered nearly two years before. He settled back to wait for the curtain call, the lights, and, now that the blinders had been removed from his eyes, the sight of Mollie’s face when she first recognized him.

  Mollie stared at the stage, completely immersed in the story, the characters, and the rich humor of the dialogue that surrounded and enhanced the tragedy of the plot. It could never have been anything else but an Irish story. She felt foolish, selfish even, caught up in the idea that there were more Irish in America than in Ireland and that immigration was a way of life for them. Why hadn’t she seen that Sean was connected to his country in the same way as any of the authors who made the required reading lists in Irish literature classes? He needed the inspiration of Ireland and the world where he’d grown up to do what he loved.

  Mindlessly she clapped as the actors took their first and then their second bows. The auditorium lights were on, but they were still dim, in keeping with the old-fashioned tone of the restoration. It was soft light, friendly light, very like the candlelight of the eighteenth century, flattering to the hair and complexion.

  Still caught up in the complicated structure of the play, Mollie collected her program, purse, and coat and turned to walk up the aisle. She was one of the last to leave. Casually, accidentally, her glance fell on a lean, dark-clothed figure standing in the last row. Her heart jumped. It couldn’t be. She shook her head to clear her vision.

  He walked toward her. Mollie dropped her program. Her purse and coat were next. Pulse racing, she stood frozen, her breathing forgotten, until he held out his arms. Finally, daring to believe, she ran up the aisle and threw herself against his chest. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gathered the wool of his pullover in her hands and clung.