An Irish Love Story

by Russ Durbin

  I pointed to the tall reeds along the bank. “There’s the other one.” The swan’s mate was sitting on a nest. As we came closer for a better look, we were sternly warned away by the beating wings of her threatening mate. Taking the warning seriously, we give the nest a wide berth.

  Another day we spent in Cobh, watching the large ships enter the Cork harbor, followed by dinner in a small Greek restaurant down the hill from the cathedral. The nights were spent in her bed in each other’s arms. It was as if we couldn’t get enough of each other or know each other as well as we wanted to.

  Our love-making was slow and gentle, but exquisitely intense. Somewhere in all of this a resolve began to grow in my mind.

  Chapter 14

  FRIENDS

  “Padraig, we have an invitation to dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, why, how and who?” I asked, in my best reporter fashion.

  “Mary Kate has invited us to her home to have dinner with her and her mother. Her sisters are going to a dance somewhere.”

  “Do you want to go?”

  “Oh, yes. You’ll love her mum!” she declared, adding, “and she is a great cook.”

  “Then, by all means, accept.”

  “I already have.”

  “Oh.”

  Not sure what to expect, I went with a small concern. After all, Mary Kate had not been exactly friendly, but had seemed to warm to me after our together day in Kinsale. The night turned out to be a pleasant surprise.

  Mary Kathleen’s mother was a tiny woman with her gray hair in a tight bun. She was bright, cheerful, and full of wonderful stories of Maggie and Mary Kate and their many escapades over the years. While Maggie and her friend were washing the dishes after supper, Mrs. O’Hanlan took the opportunity to get acquainted with me. I found myself sharing stories of my work, of my newspaper career, and of my family with her.

  As we prepared to leave, Mary Kate’s mother patted me on the cheek and made a special point of inviting us to visit anytime. Mary Kate walked to the car with me while Maggie was saying good-bye to her mother.

  “My mother liked you very much, Patrick.”

  “Thanks, I liked her too. She is a lot of fun…and a great cook. That seafood casserole was great. And her bread pudding was tops!”

  “And I want you to know that I like you, too,” Mary Kate said softly, putting her hand lightly on my arm. “I was afraid when Maggie was so taken with you so quickly. I was afraid you would wind up hurting her. I couldn’t bear that. She has suffered so much over the past few years.”

  “Thanks for saying this, Mary. I would never deliberately hurt Maggie. I love her.”

  “I know, Padraig. I know.”

  “Hey there, what are you doing with my Yank, Mary Kate,” called Maggie. “You are not making a play for him, are you?”

  “Why, what a thing to say, Margaret Frances!” Mary Kate fired back. “Of course, I am! What do you think we were doing out here, wasting all this moonlight? ” Laughing, we all kissed, hugged, said good-bye and headed home.

  Chapter 15

  FAST FORWARD

  The day I had planned for Maggie’s surprise couldn’t have started more ideally. It ended in a way I had not imagined.

  Maggie had made arrangements for Fionna to take care of the boarders, and we left Cork early that morning. It was one of those spectacular Irish mornings with bright sun and blue sky, no clouds in sight.

  “Where are we going?”

  I smiled and said nothing.

  “Oh, you Yank! Tell me!”

  Silence.

  As the car wound through back roads west and south of Cork, she leaned back and enjoyed the fresh air through the open windows.

  At Shipool Wood, she sat up and exclaimed, “We’re going to Kinsale!”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Oh, you beast! Tell me.”

  I chuckled as I slowed for a farmer aboard his tractor that blocked most of the road. At a lay-by, he pulled off and waved us on.

  As we drove along the winding road beside the Bandon River, I turned onto the bridge before coming into the outskirts of Kinsale.

  “Where are you taking me, Yank? Are you lost?”

  “Nope!”

  We began climbing a gravel road that wound up and around the hills finally arriving at the summit, from which we could see the entire bay at Kinsale. We were high up, across from the old fort opposite the marina. The deep blue water was calm and the sailing boats were tacking in and out of the bay, making a picture perfect for an artist. Unfortunately, I couldn’t paint or draw worth a damn.

  “Is this where you were taking me?”

  “Nope. I just thought we’d enjoy the view before going on.”

  She twirled around, her full skirt making a circle around her shapely legs. “It’s lovely,” she said, throwing her arms up as if to catch the sun. “I love it. I’ve never been here before.”

  I just stood and watched as she darted about, picking some early wildflowers that dotted the hill.

  “Come, we still have a short way to go.” I started toward the car.

  Reluctantly, she followed me and, settling into the seat, sighed contentedly.

  The road was narrow as it skirted the hill, curving around the next two hills to the south. As the road dipped into a small valley, I pulled to the side and stopped.

  “We’re here.”

  She looked around. “Where?”

  “Here. Get out and I’ll show you.”

  Eagerly, she hopped out and I pointed up toward the crest of the hill. As we topped the rise, there was a cliff, dropping precipitously to a small cove where the waves from the ocean curled and sprayed the grey walls surrounding the tiny harbor.

  “Oh, how beautiful,” she said, again drawing out the word in a way that I can’t duplicate, but can never forget.

  “How did you ever find this place?”

  A farmer with whom I had become acquainted owned all the land over these hills, I explained.

  “Come, sit with me,” she motioned as she dropped to the ground. We sat for a long time, basking in the sun and listening to the waves crashing into the cove. I draped my arm about her shoulders, and she leaned her golden-red hair against me.

  Finally, taking her hand and drawing her up, I kissed her lips as she rose and looked into my eyes. Turning, I drew her along as we walked toward the meadow.

  “Do you like it here?”

  “Oh, yes Padraig. Very much.”

  “Good, because this plot will soon be mine.” I was looking away, as if surveying the property.

  “What? Oh, you Yank, you’re joking.”

  “No joke, Maggie. I plan to buy the land and build a cottage.” Turning to look at her, I said softly, “I will build a cottage for us.”

  The color drained from her cheeks. “What? What did you say?”

  “I said I would build a cottage here for you and me. We can live here when I move to Ireland.”

  “Oh, Padraig, don’t talk so! That canna be.”

  I nodded my head affirmatively. “It can be and will be, if you will have me. I love you Margaret Frances O’Callahan.” It was the first time I had said I loved her.

  The stark white of her face made her freckles stand out as she stared at me with widening eyes.

  “Oh, Padraig.” The green eyes that I had come to adore filled with tears and spilled down her face. She crumpled to the ground, covering her face with her hands. Her bowed shoulders shook with silent sobs.

  As I reached out and touched her shoulder, she brushed my hand away and shook her head. She waved her hand as if to say, “Go away; leave me alone.”

  Confused, I stumbled away. I thought she would be ecstatic; instead she seemed destroyed by my declaration. I wandered back to the cliff, staring at the crashing waves below. What did her reaction mean?

  Looking back, I saw this tiny figure, slumped and shaking, and shook my head. Who can figure a woman? I had thought this would be the happiest day of her life.

>   How long we were there, I know not but the sun was low in the western sky. On the horizon, dark clouds were forming. A storm coming, I thought.

  Looking back, I saw a lonely figure sitting with her arms encircling her drawn-up knees and staring off into space. Should I go back? No. Give her a little more time.

  The grey sheet of the fast moving storm was heading in our direction, and I guessed that we would be feeling some wind and rain in the next few minutes. Maggie was still sitting as if carved from stone as I jogged back.

  “Maggie…,” I began, but she cut me off.

  “Take me home, Padraig.” She wouldn’t look at me as I took her hand and helped her up.

  The storm caught us before we reached the car, and instantly drenched us. We tumbled into the car and started for Cork. The wipers were hard pressed to clear the windshield. Making a u-turn I pulled to a stop in front of her home and shut off the engine. We sat there with no sound but the rain beating on the car. Maggie’s eyes were dry and her face composed, giving no hint of her thoughts. I wanted desperately to speak and to have her talk to me, but wisely I kept my silence.

  Finally, she turned toward me, and taking my left hand in hers, she said in her low voice, “mo gra, forgive me for ruining your day. You caught me totally by surprise, and I wasn’t ready for it.”

  She paused, laying a hand tenderly on my cheek. “You, my dear old Yank, have given me a gift I had not expected. Thank you.” Her green eyes were pleading now, “But, I’m all at sixes and sevens at the moment, and I need more time to think.”

  “Do you prefer to be alone tonight?”

  She shut her eyes, a tear sliding down her cheek, and nodded.

  “Very well. May I see you tomorrow?” I didn’t say it but all I could think about was the short time we had left before I returned to the states.

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  “I’ll ring you before I come.”

  She nodded and then dashed through the pouring rain to the door. Turning, she sketched a small wave before disappearing inside.

  I sat there for several minutes, rain beating down upon the car. Turning the keys, the car came to life and the wipers resumed their efforts to beat off the rain as I drove back to Jury’s. It was a very long night.

  Chapter 16

  THE PILGRIMAGE

  Maggie was composed when I called the next morning. “Padraig, I have given a great deal of thought about what to do today,” she began. No mention of yesterday.

  “I want us to go on a pilgrimage,” she said.

  “A what?”

  “A pilgrimage.”

  “Do you mean like a religious trip?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Where?

  “To a remote place in West Cork called Gougane Barra. It is such a lovely peaceful place.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll explain when we get there.”

  Puzzled and confused, I agreed, all the while wondering what emotions this trip would bring. We started off once again heading west on Western Road. This time we took the main road to Macroom. Westward from Macroom the landscape began to change from the rich deep green of the fields to rolling hills of heather. Passing through the village of Inchigeela, we skirted a series of small natural lakes as the road wound gradually upward. Arriving at the village of Ballingeary, I saw no signs in English; all were in Gaelic. In reply to my questions, Maggie informed me that we were now in the heart of the Gaelic-speaking district.

  The trip was made mostly in silence and I was becoming more and more uneasy despite the magnificent scenery. This was not like Maggie. She seemed lost in her thoughts.

  Much of our journey was in sight of a river, or more accurately a swift moving mountain stream, as the road continued to rise. When asked what river, Maggie replied absently, “That’s the Lee.”

  “You mean the same river than runs through Cork and into the harbor?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s so small here, and the river in Cork is big and deep enough for the sea going boats to dock near downtown,” I observed.

  No immediate response. Finally, Maggie turned those intriguing green eyes to me and apologized. “I’m sorry, Padraig, that I’ve been such a poor companion today. I really am very happy that we are making this trip. We’re almost there.”

  Continuing, she explained, “The River Lee begins at the lake at Gougane Barra. That is the headwater of the Lee.”

  Rounding a hill covered with heather in bloom, we spotted the lake and the tiny church on a small island.

  “That’s our destination,” Maggie cried.

  I pulled into the car-park for what appeared to be a small inn or hotel. As we got out, Maggie grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction of the lake. Connecting the island, on which the tiny chapel stood, was a small causeway suitable only for walking.

  As we crossed to the island, Maggie pointed to the plaque and the openings in what appeared to be a small mound. “This is where St. Finbarr lived and built a monastery before he started his journey down the Lee to build a larger one in Cork. In fact, he built the Cork monastery where St. Finbarr Cathedral now stands.”

  Pausing at the red doors of the chapel, Maggie drew out a lace scarf and tied it on her head. “Let’s go in.”

  Inside was an altar and crucifix. On the wall behind the altar were two stained glass windows, one depicting St. Finbarr and the other the Virgin Mary. Before the altar was a small kneeling rail.

  “Pray with me, Padraig,” said Maggie, kneeling still holding my hand. I knelt beside her as she bowed. Moving her lips, she began reciting the rosary. ‘I believe in God, the Father Almighty….” In her other hand, a silver cross with the beads.

  “….Hail, Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us…..”

  I bowed my head and closed my eyes as she continued with “Our Father….” As a child, I had gone to a protestant church with my parents and to a Catholic church with a friend, but as an adult I had not darkened the door of a church in many years. Yet, I felt sharing this moment with Maggie was special and even a bit “sacred,” if I can use that word without seeming blasphemous.

  We were on our knees for a long time. Outside, we could hear the birds singing. As I opened my eyes, Maggie was crossing herself.

  Stepping into the sunlight from the dark chapel, we took a moment for our eyes to adjust to the sunlight sparkling on the lake. Swans were swimming peacefully nearby.

  “Thank you, my darling,” said Maggie. “Oh, what a glorious day!” she exclaimed. “Now, let’s go to the inn where we can sit by the windows and eat our lunch. After, we will walk through the forest and talk.” I could see that my Maggie was back, refreshed and alive to the moment. Her green eyes were sparkling.

  “Yes, let’s,” I laughed, grabbing her hand and running toward the inn. Her laughter floated over the water as we raced to the door.

  It turned out that we were a bit early for lunch, but the hostess pleasantly served us some hearty soup and coarse Irish bread.

  “The walk through the park is lovely,” said Maggie. “I was here once before with Fionna. Did you know that this was the first national forest park ever established in Ireland?”

  “I do now.”

  Holding hands, we strolled down a path into the forest, climbing a hill that gave us a splendid view of the lake and the chapel.

  As we sat on a rock outcropping, Maggie fixed me with a direct look and said, “We must talk about yesterday.”

  “Thank goodness. Frankly, I have been frantic wondering what was going on,” I confessed. “I thought you would be happy.”

  “As I told you last night, you, my love, have given me the greatest gift and honor of my life. You love me enough to give up everything you have now and to come and live with me. No one could give me anything more wonderful,” she exclaimed, adding, “But, don’t you see, that is also the problem.”


  I shook my head. “What is?”

  “You cannot leave your wife and family. To do so would destroy them as well as you…and me.” Maggie reached for my hand. “Don’t you see?

  I nodded as I looked into those loving green eyes. “I do see. But, Maggie, I love you deeply.”

  “Oh, my dearest, I know, I know,” she said as she put her hands on each side of my face. “Is tu mo gra,” she said, “I love you, too!”

  “Then why….” She put her fingers to my lips and shook her head.

  “It’s because we love each other that you must go back to your wife and family, and I must stay here,” she said. “The Padraig O’Connor I fell in love with is an honest and honorable man. He is too good to abandon his family.”

  “Maggie, you are attributing to me a goodness I don’t deserve,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “If I was as good as you say, I wouldn’t even have looked at you.”

  “No one is perfect, mo gra, but you are the most decent, kindest, and loving man I have ever known. To know that you love me is enough for me. And today I feel that we are as united as any married couple could be.”

  She paused, looking down at the island chapel. “But you must get on the plane, go back to America, and never see me again. You must never contact me.”

  At this, I started to rise, only to have her pull me down beside her. “Further, you can never speak of me to anyone…ever! Do you understand?” I had never seen Maggie more intense. Her words cut deep into my soul. To never see her again or even speak of her was something my mind refused to accept.

  “But, Maggie, I love you. How can I….”

  She cut me off with a kiss. “Oh, mo gra, I know how it hurts. It hurts me deeply. But I have Mary Kate to talk to about you and about us. You can talk to no one about me and our love. That is something you must carry in your heart. If you let it be known that you fell in love—I suppose the world would call it “having an affair”— during your time in Ireland, that information made public would surely destroy your marriage, your family and eventually you,” she finished.

  “And, Padraig,” she added, “It would destroy me to know I was the cause of tearing your family apart.”

  I had no answer and no argument. Her logic was impeccable. She was right, and I knew it. My mind was a whirl of jumbled thoughts as I stared at the quiet little lake and the peaceful little chapel on the tiny island. Absently, my hand sought hers. Her strong little hand gripped mine and I could almost feel her thoughts and emotions.