The Troubles (The Jessica Trilogy Book 2)

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  Jessica, eyes rimmed and red, only gave a simple, “Thank you.”

  Their time was done, and her messages of love and acceptance delivered. She held Jessica’s hands, faced her, and looked into the eyes of a fractured soul. No more comfort could be offered. The next meeting was far more important than any stories she could tell. She touched Jessica’s elbow lightly and escorted her into a room off the main foyer.

  Reverend Mother did not enter, but backed away slowly, closing the door as she left.

  The room was untouched by modern conveniences. An electric bulb hung in the middle of the room on a long chain, its brown cord interlaced through the links. Windows, barely more than long slits in the stone walls, allowed enough light to reach the center of the room, leaving corners shadowed. With nothing to distract, the space was perfectly designed for mediation and quiet contemplation.

  The air inside cooled, creating its own world in a way that defied all time. Bridget had also stood on the same floor. Jessica closed her eyes and willed whatever memories the room had to become hers. What were Bridget’s thoughts then? Past and present teetered with the realization she had been in this room before, too, when she and her mother were still one.

  Cautiously, she let herself feel, aware that she could withstand the pain. Only a few days ago she wondered if she had it in her to continue. Finding her place in the world as a whole person seemed too huge, too high a mountain to climb. The thought that she could be accepted, welcomed, loved, and safe all at once was foreign. Yet, the Reverend Mother made her feel that all she had to do was simply exist and this would be true.

  Feet braced and back straight, she fingered the satin pouch and a faded parchment document. She took a deep breath and waited.

  Jessica felt his presence even before he stood up from the prie dieu, blessing himself and kissing his rosary with fluid motions. She remained standing and waited until he walked over to her. For a moment, she was self-conscious in her simple blouse and skirt as she looked at her father dressed in a cassock with a purple cincture around his trim waist. But his eyes flinched away, and he nervously smoothed his hand down the placket of buttons. The thought that the confident and charismatic bishop might feel equally awkward relaxed her.

  They absorbed the presence of the other without speaking. She looked up from the cassock to the caplet surrounding his shoulders. His hands and head were uncovered and very tanned, facts that caught her off guard. Why would she be surprised that he enjoyed the outdoors? Even without asking, she knew his love for the water and for hiking and that he felt most connected to God when surrounded by nature, not packaged in stained glass and incense. His smile was easy and warm and he looked at her with unquestioning love.

  With no more feints or blinds, Kavan closed the space between them, hugged her, and kissed her forehead, saying her name under his breath as if committing the moment to memory. He held her at arm’s length, unsure about what was proper or wanted or needed. “The very image of your mother,” he said, remarking more to himself than addressing her.

  Did he wonder if it was his eyes or Bridget’s that looked at him, so much a part of him that he could not tell where he ended and she began? An awkward moment passed as they sorted through features and emotions. Like a schoolboy remembering his manners at his first dance, he motioned to a low bench and waited for her to sit before he sat beside her. She managed a whispered “Hi,” stumbling over what to call him.

  He sensed her unease. “Let’s start with you calling me Kavan and go from there.”

  “Kavan,” she said softly. Any preconceived ideas of what this day could be vanished, but there was one thing she needed before she could move on. She smoothed her birth certificate out on the bench beside her. From the pouch, she placed the curled fragment and pressed the papers together. She needed to hear his voice and to see his eyes. “Is this true?”

  He didn’t rush to speak, using the quiet to mark their history. “You are my daughter.” He smoothed the two parchments together. “I did not dream I’d ever see you with my own eyes. Once I did, I had to meet my Bridget’s girl. You never would’ve left Norn Iron without us speaking.” He released their tension with a smile that touched only half of his mouth. “I would’ve found you quickly. Rest assured at that.”

  His words flowed into every crevasse and hollow, filling her. A catch in her throat made her speechless. Without effort, he was too imposing, too controlled for her to question him, even when he was trying to put her at ease. She resisted an urge to stub her toe into the ground and twiddle her hair in her fingers. Along with the pull of her own emotions, Kavan struggled to overcome his own.

  “How does one start to sum up the parts of a life?” He surprised her by drawing her hands around the box and placing his over hers, pausing to reflect as the warmth between their hands increased. He marveled. “This is the first time I have ever touched you. You have your mother’s hands and your mother’s will, and I am sorry you have been so sorely tested. All that your mother and I tried to protect you from has come to be. I hope, in time, you’ll find it in your heart to forgive us.”

  Learning of his ache was not something she expected, but understood. Her rages and anguish faded as her new life unfolded. “There’s nothing for me to forgive.” She shrugged. “It just is.”

  She started to say more, but Kavan stopped her. He pressed the box into her lap as if he feared it would slip away. “For me, this box is the sum total of my life. Not one day has gone by that I’ve not thought of you. There were times I sat alone in the cathedral, reading and re-reading Bridget’s letters. In between the joy and awe of being so loved by a woman as remarkable as your mother, I’ve been withered by shame and guilt for the same. But I have also felt God’s grace, and with Him I have rehearsed a thousand things to say to you. The moment has come, and I am at a loss.” He looked into the distance, shaking or nodding his head in silent deliberation. After a few moments of contemplation, he began again. “Sharing a love with your mother helped me understand the power of my faith. Even as children, we found a world in each other that nothing could touch.”

  “I understand her diary better knowing who you are. I always sensed an acceptance in her writings. She never betrayed anything about you. Her love for you didn’t end at the love for others. It was all the same thing. She loved you forever.”

  “Aye, and I her. She never wanted of me, she only gave. Perhaps because we had been lovers before I became a priest, I fooled myself to thinking our love was acceptable. I had a crisis of faith. I was torn between my love for her and my vows, but our relationship helped me see that even the strong can be weak and even the pious can falter. Our love also helped me understand humility, for I cheated God from my singular devotion.” He looked into her eyes with an intensity that made her want to shrink. “I cannot escape the knowledge that you were in God’s plan. Your very existence changed us by making us fearless. Since the day you were born, I have striven to live in perfect devotion. Please understand, her demand of me was to be a priest. She needed to go into hiding and asked me to arrange for her to be here. Her plan was never to tell me the child was mine.”

  “But didn’t you suspect?”

  Kavan’s mouth firmed a split second before he caught himself. A relaxed smile graced his face. “These sisters are known for their help to women. I knew enough about them not to assume anything about Bridget—including when her child would be born. Those were horrible times and seeking shelter here for many months made sense.” He wept freely when he told all he knew about the attack that maimed Bridget, her imprisonment, and how hard he tried to free her.

  She blinked back tears. “Did Gus know?”

  His manner changed from one of open sorrow to struggle. He picked dust off his immaculate cassock. When he looked at her again, something inside him had chilled. “Gus and I shared the heart of a remarkable and modern woman. I wasn’t alone in being kept in the dark by Bridget. For anyone who guessed, Bridget let them believe you were Gus’ child.
He was my best friend and the most loyal man and soldier I have ever known... and the most discrete. He saved her life, and yours. Gus knew the day you were born you were not his child, but mine, and never spoke to me again.”

  Listening to her mother’s story and hearing Gus’ name stirred a slurry of emotions. There would be time enough to decipher them, but she wanted to focus on her father.

  “You were her Gean Cánach.”

  His face opened in a huge grin as he laughed, a reaction so effortless and pure Jessica found herself smiling along with him. “And she was my Cliodhna, queen of the Banshees and goddess of love and beauty.”

  They made for an odd family sitting there, having lifetimes to catch up on and not knowing where to begin. Their conversation started with a stiff back and forth that proved that they knew very little of each other or, rather, that Jessica knew next to nothing about him, and he seemed to know every milestone in her life. But chronological events only give a skeleton’s clue and do not expose the core of the person’s feelings or essence.

  The learned reticence Jessica had for openly answering slowly thawed. What had been the habit of mulling over a question before responding—double-checking which narrative to use and making sure to cause no gaps or slips—loosened. When Kavan asked her a question he listened, his remarkable eyes not flinching in judgment.

  Soon, their conversation flowed as if they had been together all their lives. No more stilted interview, the conversation rolled around them and through them, expressions exchanged in lieu of words and nods given in silent acknowledgement. The worlds that kept them apart became revealed and understood. The pain she had once felt about being a child unloved and unwanted no longer glowed with the white-hot heat of rejection and bewilderment but cooled with the understanding of impossible times and the reality that Bridget made the decisions she did to protect her. If Bridget’s plan had worked, Jessica would never have known any abandonment, fear, or want. But Bridget lived a life carved by more than protecting her daughter. Long before Jessica, there was Kavan. As she looked into the same eyes her mother had loved, she began to understand Bridget’s deep devotion to him.

  “What about you?”

  Kavan’s face creased, revealing the strain of a secret long carried. “Long ago, I made peace with my sin and will accept whatever consequence I must. A few inside the Church know of my paternity. I yield to them the decision of what should be done. Anyone outside will still be led to Gus.” His voice cracked as he spoke Gus’ name. “Even in death I still receive the benefits of his friendship.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered. A tear slid down her cheek.

  He wiped it dry using a corner of his sleeve. They sat in solemn contemplation of their friend.

  The sun was still high, but its angle had shifted so that the shadow cast by the convent was long enough to eclipse the rocky shore. The shade of the cross on the main peak touched the water. The sisters who had spent the afternoon enjoying the fine weather walked back up the lawn. The slight breeze brought with it smells of the evening’s meal. A darker expression crossed over his face.

  “The hardest part of today is coming. We must say our good-byes.”

  Animosity edged her words. “You’ve heard I’m being deported.”

  “I know. I fear it’s because of me. I am in close contact with a Deputy Minister in the Security Branch. He knows of my friendship with Gus Adams and sussed a connection with you.” Straight lines of anger planed his face. “The government of Northern Ireland does not have the luxury of deciding who its enemies are. The word came from Britain. Your U.S. passport was issued on documents that claimed Margaret and Jim Wyeth as your parents, but a search of hospital records proved it false. They were very thorough.” His brow furrowed. “They, er, they traced your mother’s identity through your Aunt Margaret’s lineage. Knowing Gus was a link helped them uncover... uncover...” His voice trailed off as he searched for the right words.

  “They uncovered another document that shows Gus is my father.” She had no compulsion to discuss this version of the story. Jessica would not be the one to expose the Reverend Mother for something done so many years ago.

  Kavan was unable to look her in the eye. She could see his despair in the lie, but understood his silence for it. She wouldn’t question him.

  He continued. “I helped your mother get out of prison based upon her promise to leave Northern Ireland and never return. The fact that her daughter returned with falsified documents was too great a threat for the government to ignore.” He pressed his clasped hands against his forehead. “I am so sorry.”

  A stab of empathy went through her. “It’s time anyway. I want to get back. I belong in the States more than I belong here.”

  A barely perceptible groan escaped Kavan as he acknowledged her wish. “I need to hear about this young man. Michael Connaught.”

  The use of Michael’s family name put her on edge. She pressed her lips together and looked at a point on the floor. “What about him?”

  “What kind of man is he?”

  She stammered, unable to respond. The question threw her. She had been asking herself the same thing and didn’t have the answer. After a few moments, she blurted out, “I’m not sure if I can trust him.”

  “But you love him.”

  She nodded, eyes closed.

  Kavan remained silent, deep in thought. “Trust is a funny thing.” He took the box from her hands, reached around his neck, and pulled out the key on a woolen cord. Without a word, he looked at the burred lock, placed the key inside it, and opened the lid. The familiar assortment of letters and pictures secured with rubber bands or string was now joined with the addition of the Reverend Mother’s neatly tied package. He placed the furled parchments on top. “I only ever trusted one person with this, and I consider it the sum total of my life. Then Father Storm entrusted it to someone else. A breach of my trust, yet he was doing the best he could. Fate had that it was the right thing to do.” He replaced the box in her hands and kissed her forehead. “I trust you to do what’s right. Go to your young man. You’ve been denied happiness. Go to him. Allow yourself to be happy with him.”

  “His father was, um, he inherited...” She hunted for the right words.

  “I knew his father and I know of what he’s trying to do. Be happy, my daughter.” He bowed his head in prayer.

  They said their goodbyes but the promises to keep in touch were complicated. Kavan left, separating his departure from hers in the ritual of discretion.

  Reverend Mother retrieved Jessica from the reception room and escorted her through the enormous front doors. Approaching midnight, stars filled the night sky and the moon rose over the ocean.

  Empathy softened the lines of her face as she looked at Jessica. “Your young man is here. He sat with me as I gave my evening prayers.”

  Jessica’s shoulders were slumped with emotional and physical exhaustion. Every detail of her meeting her father stayed with her. She forced herself into the present. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  Reverend Mother spoke in a hushed voice. “At times such as this I understand our vows of silence. What words could be found to uplift a soul so broken? Solace and comfort are energies that help heal from within.” Her fingertips gently touched Jessica’s cheek. “A mere presence is more powerful than any word. The vow of silence taught me that listening with my whole self gives me a greater perception of a person’s being than any spoken answer might. Being silent allows the other to be heard. Your young man is here,” she repeated. “For you.”

  Jessica looked into eyes filled with total acceptance and love. It was up to her to accept them or not. “I have to leave.”

  “I know. Take the time you need to be still. You’ll find your answers.”

  Reverend Mother was right. Jessica needed her own silence and solitude. She needed a home to go to where she could make sense of the new shape of her life. What other journeys were ahead of her, her time in the Irelands had come to an end.
Good-byes were said. Hugs and blessings given. Jessica’s emotional control was challenged, but did not fail her, as she kissed Reverend Mother. There would be miles between them, but the bond that had been created would never weaken.

  The sleek BMW was parked in the sweeping drive of the convent. The car door opened and Michael stood up, stiff and uncertain. His smile was genuine but restrained. Aoife had told her many tormented men had stood on the same spot knowing they were on the brink of losing the woman they loved. This was a world of sisterhood, where men faced their consequences and prayed for second chances. Meeting Michael at the convent after all they had gone through would be a test of his metal. Aoife said the men wore a look of desperation unlike anything else.

  Michael wore that expression. The muscles around his mouth and eyes struggled to maintain a neutral position, but the entire gravitational pull was down. His pain was different from the other men. His was not a simple pain of hindsight in seeing all the things he could have done differently. The past was not the only thing he yearned to change.

  Jessica walked down the steps and over to his car. They stood silently in front of one another, searching for any hint of a future together. His eyes smoothed over her skin, pausing at her bruised cheek and flinching at what had happened since he last held her. He put the box in the car and gently placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her to her seat. His touch was questioning and unsure but clear in saying he was at her side and always would be. She turned to him and embraced him, and he responded by tangling his fingers in her hair and searching for her mouth with his. The kiss lasted bare seconds, and it answered questions that had burned for days.

  Michael drove to a spot overlooking the Irish Sea. The stars shone in the blue-black sky like pinpoints of white lights, and the full moon rose high enough to cast shadows almost directly underfoot as they walked along a rocky point. The air was cool, and she shivered in her light silk blouse. Michael wrapped her in his arms, taking every opportunity to hold her and touch her, as if doing so would alter fate.