by A. L. Knorr
I scanned more letters: Faith offering moral support to Liz, inviting her to come back and live at home. Suggesting they could raise me together in Ireland. She admitted to being lonely, to having a few suitors but none were 'the one.'
Leaning against the kitchen counter, I was feeling drowsy when Faith finally wrote something interesting about witnessing a medical miracle. A patient had died in childbirth, but the baby had been saved.
Never have I seen such a thing, she wrote. By all that is medically sound, this child should not be alive. His father christened him Jasher.
There he was - the first mention of my adopted cousin. If he had a father, how did he end up with my aunt? I read on, supposing that a tragedy had claimed his dad as well. But there was no mention of Jasher for the next several years. I scanned, looking for his name.
The next letter dumped two photographs into my lap. The first was of Faith squatting on the lawn and holding a small boy in her lap. On the back of the photograph was written Faith & Jasher, summer 2006. I studied the boy. He was lean and lanky, dark skinned, dark eyed, and dark haired. In spite of all the sun he was obviously getting, he looked like someone had just shot his puppy. Haunted expression. No smile. Circles of sleeplessness under his eyes.
The second photograph was of Jasher alone. A little older, he was standing next to a fountain. Taller, still scrawny, and still with those tortured eyes.
I know you'll be shocked to your core, Liz. But I've taken the decision to adopt Jasher. His father never really recovered from the loss of Maud, and seems now incapable (by his own admission) of raising the lad. He and I have yet to settle the paperwork, which will be arduous, but Jasher is already living with me, and seems to be in better spirits. Faith's tone was formal, always skimming the surface.
I continued to read, sniffing for clues like a hound. Jasher had a hard time in school in Anacullough. He didn't make friends easily. He wasn't sleeping, and he faced every day with dread. Faith finally took him out of school for a year and hired a tutor to home-school him while she continued to work. She wrote that Jasher's health improved after that, and he slept better and seemed happier. She admitted to being concerned about his reclusive tendencies, as he never liked to go anywhere. He was always outdoors, working in the yard, but he didn't like to leave the property.
I finally hit the last letter in the stack. My eyes were taken by a picture of a fairy on the back of the envelope. It had yellow hair and yellow wings that looked damp and crinkled. I peered closer, and ran the pad of my thumb over it. The drawing had been done by hand, probably with pencil crayons, and it was very well done. The little fae face was sleepy and realistic, not cartoonish in any way. Interesting. Faith had some artistic skill.
What I had learned so far was that Jasher was a social recluse but as he had grown, he had found his stride. He had a taste for horticulture, landscaping, and carpentry. He was as outdoorsy as they come. Faith's words in the last letter oozed with motherly pride. Another photograph fell out from between the two pages and landed face down on the floor. Scrawled on the back in Faith's neat handwriting was Jasher Sheehan, Summer 2013. He was officially sporting the name Sheehan. In 2013, he would have been sixteen. I picked the photo up and turned it over.
I'd like to think that I can see deeper than a pretty face, but I'll admit that I dropped an inadvertent 'Holy wow.' Faith and Jasher posed in front of a wooden gazebo, his arm around her shoulders. For the first time, there was a smile on his face. The man in the photograph looked like a completely different person than the boy in earlier letters. He towered over Faith. He wore a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Bare feet poked out from under the frayed denim hems. His shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt. The other arm not around Faith’s shoulders was propped over the railing of the gazebo. A tanned hand curled around one of the posts, the fingers square and the nails bluntly cut. A baseball cap turned backward covered thick brown curls and his head was tilted up toward the light. His dark eyes were half closed. His grin and white teeth shone starkly from his tanned face. The shadow of a black beard played about his jaw. He looked twenty-five, not sixteen. He looked like a toothpaste ad, not a hermit. He looked like a hale and hearty farm boy, not a recluse.
This was the guy I’d be spending the summer with? I gulped. He was too perfect for words.
This photograph was three years old already. What was he like now? Leaving out the most recent photo of Jasher and Faith, I stacked the letters as they had been. I found a fresh elastic to bind them. After throwing them into Liz's office drawer, I went back to my room. I tucked the photo into the corner of my corkboard and looked at it thoughtfully. I was swept through by a desire to know these people, and maybe figure out why my mom had distanced herself from her family so much.
Knowing Liz, Faith would have not had a single reply to any of those letters. Maybe a couple of the early ones, but certainly none since she'd made partner. If Faith was lucky, she would have received a digital Christmas card…but that's about it.
Jasher knew I existed for sure, but he'd know hardly anything about me. How did he feel about having his cousin come and stay with them for the summer? Was he still painfully shy, the way Faith had described him in his youth? Would we get along?
I turned back to my packing. I picked up a pretty teal summer dress which I had tossed into the 'no' pile because I thought it was more for a tropical destination. I held it up thoughtfully. It did look cute on me, maybe even sexy. I folded it and put it on the 'yes' pile.
Chapter 3
I stepped off the train and onto the warm stone platform at the Anacullough station. The air was humid and rich with the smells of green things. I rolled my luggage out of the way of the sliding door to make sure I wasn't blocking passengers wanting to get off. Then I noticed that I was, in fact, the only passenger getting off the train.
A bright shaft of sunlight slanted down between the train and platform roof. I pulled my sunglasses out of my purse and propped them on top of my head. Apparently, I'd need them. Sun in Ireland, who knew? I folded the rain jacket I had been carrying and stuffed it into the front pocket of my carry-on.
Ana's station was a cute, old-fashioned affair with lacquered iron benches and matching iron posts, wrought with leaves of ivy. Except for a roof overhanging the platform, the station was open to the air. A delicious breeze smelling of freshly cut grass lifted the hair gently away from my forehead.
I looked around for Aunt Faith. A man sat on a bench hiding his face behind a newspaper. A station employee swept dust, gum wrappers and dead leaves into a portable dustbin. No Aunt Faith yet. I took a deep breath and stretched the stiffness from my hips.
I remembered my promise to Targa, Saxony, and Akiko and pulled out my cell phone to fire off a text to the group. Saxony was in Italy already, so that put her an hour ahead of me. Akiko was in transit to Kyoto, and Targa was in Poland, so also an hour ahead of me. I tapped out a text to the group.
Middle of nowhere. Irish country-side. Population - Me, some ruins, a lot of green stuff, and a bunch of old farts who talk weird.
Targa wrote back almost immediately: Glad you've arrived alive, now stop complaining and enjoy it.
Saxony’s response came in a few minutes later: Well lookee who it is. Send me pix of your cousin or ur dead meat.
Me: Adopted cousin.
Saxony: Whatevs. I want a shot of him cleaning the pool, please. Thank you. That is all. Now go away. Do you have any idea how early it is here?
Me: Isn't it lunchtime?
Saxony: Exactly. Shoo.
Me: LOL. Gone.
I snapped my phone case shut and slipped my phone into the front pocket of my purse.
"Georjayna?" A soft, Irish-accented voice startled me from behind.
I jumped, clutching my chest with one hand and catching my sunglasses with the other as they slid off my head. "Sweet baby Jane!"
My aunt looked exactly the way I remembered her. A wide grin sandwiched between soft cheeks and a
kerchief covering her curly blond hair. She reached up to hug me and I caught of whiff of something herbal and pleasant.
"I didn’t mean to startle you," she said. Her Irish lilt was music to my ears. "Heavens! You're so..."
"Tall?"
"I was going to say bonny, but yes, that too. How was your journey?"
"Good, thanks." We made our way to her hybrid vehicle as we got all of the niceties out of the way. I'd taken to staring at the thick foliage swallowing station. I had forgotten just how lush and green Ireland really was. You don't tend to notice these things when you're a kid. I folded myself into the passenger seat, my knees jutting up as high as the glove compartment. I closed the door, cracked the passenger window, and inhaled.
"Do you mind if we nip to the market on our way home? I need a few things," Faith asked as she turned on the car. It was so quiet I couldn't even tell it was running.
"Not at all."
"I might as well let you know right away," Faith said. "I'm taking a course in Aberdeen for a couple of weeks at the end of July. You and Jasher should know each other pretty well by then. Think you'll be okay on your own? I already told your mom and she said you're used to being on your own." Her mouth pulled down just a little.
"Yeah, I am. No worries, Auntie. I'm sure we'll be fine. What's the course about?"
"It's a reflexology course. I studied it nearly a decade ago. I need a refresher."
"Last time I was here, you worked as a nurse, right?"
"That's right."
"What do you do now?"
"Oh, I'm still a health care practitioner, but I transitioned out of nursing and into holistic care. Herbology, some meridian work, but mainly reflexology. I guess your mom never told you."
"What's reflexology?"
"It's a therapy that uses the reflex points in the body. By applying pressure and stimulating these points, I can help someone to heal. Mostly through points in the feet." She looked over at me, her eyes lit. "Did you know that your feet are a gateway to the rest of your body? It’s really good for you to walk in the grass and dirt in bare feet, all the energy and helpful bacteria in the soil boosts our health.”
Helpful bacteria? I squirmed in the passenger seat. "I didn't know that, Auntie," I said politely. The last thing I’d be doing was rooting around in the dirt in bare feet. Just the thought made me want to pull my sensitive feet up underneath me and swaddle them in bubble wrap.
Faith slowed the car as we entered town. "Here we are." She pulled into a parking space in front of a grocery market. "Want to come in with me?"
"Sure." I unbuckled my seat belt. "I've been sitting too much anyway."
I followed my aunt through the market, scanning the gossip rags and fashion magazines. Faith was through the checkout with her bag of groceries quickly as there were no other customers.
We headed out into the street and nearly bumped into a huge man in a black newsboy cap. A loaf of bread fell out of Faith's bag.
"Scuse me," said the man as he bent to pick up the bread. He held it out for Faith, and for a moment, it seemed like she wasn't going to take it. I looked at her curiously, but couldn't read her expression. She seemed a little paler than usual.
"Ta," Faith said finally, taking the bread. "How are you, Brendan?"
"Good as can be expected," he said. Brendan had a close-cropped gray beard and marionette lines bordering his mouth. He nodded at me.
"Did I hear rightly?" Faith asked. "You bought the old O'Brien place?"
"News travels fast," Brendan answered in a thicker accent than Faith's. "I did."
My aunt visibly paled. "I had hoped it was just a rumor."
"The price was right." He said it a bit sharply, I thought.
"I imagine so," Faith said, half under her breath. "Are you planning to live there?"
"Of course, why else would I have purchased it? I can't live in my ma's spare room for the rest of my life."
I hoped I hid my surprise well. The man looked well dressed and at least mid-fifties. Why was he living in his mother's house?
"I know, but...there's bad energy there, Brendan. You can tell just from looking."
I looked at Faith, intrigued. Liz had always quashed the notion of good or bad energy, but if I were pushed to say what I believed? Well, it was easy to feel that the energy between Liz and me wasn't so much on the positive side any more. So, bad energy? Sure. I knew what that meant.
"I don't go in for all that nonsense, you know that," he groused. "It just needs some fertilizer and some proper care. It's been neglected for seventy-some years.”
"When do you take possession?" Faith asked, hiking the groceries. I reached to take the bag from her and she gave me a grateful smile.
"Two weeks," Brendan said, already moving away from us.
"I see." Faith looked as though she didn't see at all, not a bit.
"Well, I'll be on my way." He put a fingertip to the brim of his cap and went into the store.
"Who was that, Auntie?" I asked, opening the door to the hybrid.
She sighed and opened the driver's side door. "No one you need to know, Sweetpea."
A word to the wise: When someone says somebody is no one you need to know...you probably need to know.
Chapter 4
Twelve years ago, the large Victorian house was bare and stark white with fresh paint. Now it was buried in foliage. A small wooden sign with the words Sara Rugadh above and Sarasborne below greeted us at the corner as Faith steered the car into the driveway.
“What’s Sarasborne?” I asked Faith, not bothering to try and pronounce the Gaelic version.
“It’s quite literal. The first child born in this house was Sara Sheehan, in 1823. If the story is to be believed,” she added with a laugh, “the house wasn’t even finished before the wee thing made her appearance. She came with so little warning that there was no time to shoo the workmen. She was born amid the sounds of hammers and saws. Sara Rugadh means ‘born before.’
“Two hundred years of ancestry,” I said, more to myself as I stared up at the huge structure. And I hardly knew a thing about my family.
“Yes, this place has a lot of history,” said Faith.
Greenery crawled over every surface. Windows peeked out from between thick curtains of ivy. A three-car garage stood alone and it, too, was buried in a tangle of vines and leaves. Little white and orange flowers dotted the side of it. It was Ireland, over-jacked on chlorophyll.
Faith pulled the car into the garage and killed the engine. I got out with some difficulty - I swear cars in Ireland are smaller. I walked out of the garage and looked around, struck. A stone terrace coming off the rear of the house was lined with arches dripping with purple blossoms. Fronds hung down in elegant cones like fragrant chandeliers. The perfume of flowers filled the air.
"Wow," I said as my eyes scanned Sarasborne. "I've never seen a house that looks like nature is holding it up more than timbers and beams." A small pond containing koi and green buds that promised to become flowers sparkled next to the terrace where wicker patio furniture had been arranged on the flagstones. Beyond that was the gazebo made from iron gray barn board. It too would be swallowed up with greenery soon. Already ivy was creeping up the bottoms of every post.
"Do you like it?" Faith came to stand beside me.
"As long as there are no bees, I love it," I said.
Faith gave me a puzzled look.
I cleared my throat. My phobia was an embarrassing topic. "It's beautiful. Did Jasher make that?" I asked, pointing to the gazebo.
"He built everything, except for the house of course. He was cleaning away an old barn for one of his landscaping projects and the fellow allowed him to take whatever was worthy of being reclaimed. He made the gazebo over a weekend. Marvelous, isn't it?"
I nodded. "It all looks so wild and alive."
Faith laughed. "Your grandparents would have used the word 'wild,' too. I think they'd turn over in their graves to see it now." She popped open the trunk and pu
lled out my luggage. I went to help. "After Mum and Dad passed away, I just let things go, preferring to let nature take its course. Now, Jasher at least keeps the yard mowed." She closed the trunk and picked up my carry-on bag. "Let’s get you settled."
"Where is this mysterious cousin-in-law of mine?" I asked, rolling my suitcase along the flagstone path.
"He's at work. He'll be home a little later. He’s almost always done by three."
Good. I could take a nap. Tendrils of ivy grazed the top of my head as I ducked inside the house. Just beyond the mudroom was the kitchen. An intoxicating herbal scent filled the air. "What's that smell?"
She gave me a look of disbelief. "You don't recognize the scent of lavender?" She pointed to a potted plant on the breakfast table in the nook. Spikes of purple flowers topped a cluster of small-leafed stems. "Honestly, has your mother taught you nothing about healing herbs? She and I grew up using herbs. I'm surprised she didn't pass on that knowledge to you."
"Nope." I couldn't say I'd ever been interested, either. "Smells great though," I said as we shuffled past the kitchen with my bags.
She took me up to the room on the second floor that had once belonged to Liz. Situated at the rear corner of the house, it overlooked the backyard. Like most of the rooms in Victorian houses, it was huge and had its own fireplace. A worn carpet protected the hardwood floor and a four-poster bed was the centerpiece of the room. An antique writing desk sat under one of the three large windows, the perfect place to do my coursework.