“Listen,” Julian said, “the Mayor sent Jimmy over here last night to get a fire going. Mayor Cahill told me to look through my things, as Jimmy was known to, well, borrow items from time to time. I did take a quick look around and I honestly didn’t notice the knife was missing. Even if I had, I don’t know that there was anything I could have done.”
Julian made a gesture of haplessness. “Where is he? I’ll just wash up some and go see him right now,” Julian continued. “Maybe we can take him to a local hospital where he can get the right kind of care.”
“Not another step will you take,” she stated with force, but the fire was gone. Still, something he said rankled. She could see it all clearly now though. Jimmy had stolen the knife. It was just the sort of thing he would do and had done many times and probably would do all his life.
She looked at the target of her rage. He was perspiring and seemed short of breath. She noted that and intensified her examination.
She saw a tall man with dark hair shot with gray at the temples. His deep set eyes were a silvery blue tending toward gray, warm and kind. He seemed the sort of man one could confide in and who could be trusted to keep confidences. She noticed his high cheekbones, straight strong jaw and sensuous lips.
She was near enough to see that when he gestured his hands were strong and expressive. The woman felt a long forgotten warmth wash over her as her gaze continued to take him in.
She shouted silently to herself, “What in the name of God do you think you’re doing? You must be mad. These are not the thoughts to be having now of all times.”
Julian’s visitor said with less intensity than before, “You will keep your distance from him and I shall advise every family in this village to keep their children away from you.” This last was added for effect. She had no intention of following through on the threat, but she’d reached a point where there was no graceful way of extricating herself.
This stranger was innocent of all the things of which she had just accused him. She knew it and she was pretty sure by now he knew it too. Still, he wasn’t innocent of everything and judging by the shortness of her own breath, she wasn’t either.
She walked to the station’s wooden desk. The knife was in her hand and the blade open. She buried the tip of the blade in the desktop, turned, and strode through the doorway slamming the door behind her. She felt mortified as she walked down the fieldstones and into the street. She decided since Jimmy Grogan hadn’t died of his wounds she would kill him for putting her in this awkward position
***
Julian studied the closed door and wondered what had just happened. He reflected, “A bit volatile but damned attractive. Even an eejit can see that,” and he exhaled heavily remembering he had sworn off women forever – for the time being. “Time for a cold shower or to go for a walk,” he said aloud.
***
More than anything, Julian wanted to know if the woman in the doorway would make good on her threat. At any moment, he expected mothers to rush their children indoors at his approach.
It didn’t happen. A sizable number of young children followed him at a discreet distance. Not as discreet as yesterday, but still an acceptable distance.
Father Fahey met Julian along the way, greeted him warmly, and walked with him up the main road and through the warren of cottages.
“Jimmy Grogan was injured last night,” Julian said flatly.
“So Oi understand. He stole the knife and hurt himself foolin’ around with it. There t’wasn’t anything you could have done. Doctor Dwyer stitched him up and now we have to wait and see if there will be any nerve damage.
“Still, I shouldn’t worry, Jimmy has nerves of steel and will be back to his thievin’ ways before long,” the priest said as he gave Julian a sidelong look. Father Fahey’s blackthorn walking stick matched his pace perfectly as it struck the ground precisely at every third step.
“Don’t you think it would be worthwhile taking Jimmy to a town with a hospital and top notch surgeons?” It was a mistake and he knew it as it left his mouth. He had said this to the woman who had been breathing fire in the police station. This time it sounded much worse.
Father Fahey cocked his head to one side and said, “Do you want your head handed to you boyo? If anyone in this village but me heard you say that, your teeth would be on the ground about now.
“Dr. Dwyer is like a saint to these people and they will not hear a word otherwise.”
“I am sorry, Father. I meant no disrespect.”
Before he could finish, Father Fahey cut in, “Oi know what you meant. You wanted the best for Jimmy, as do we all. What we know and you don’t is that he has the best right now. Dr. Dwyer is top notch. There is not a hospital in all of Ireland, and a few outside too, that have not tried to add our good doctor to their staff. A finer physician and a finer person you will never meet.”
“I’m sure that is true and I look forward to meeting the doctor. I’m sure he is an excellent physician.” As Julian said this he glanced at the priest and noticed an odd, nearly cunning look about him, but having impugned the reputation of the village doctor, he didn’t feel it would be wise to go looking for other hot buttons to press.
The two men continued to walk slowly through the village. Children would, from time to time, run up to the old priest and grab his cassock so that they could have their hair tousled by him or a cheek pinched.
Julian encouraged the priest to talk about Cappel Vale and its citizens. It was with melancholy and pride that he obliged.
“The village is dying. Farming and livestock here have been a way of life for many hundreds of years, but that is all changing. Cattle, sheep, crops and pigs are all expensive ventures and lack the lure of technology.
“The young people want to get away from here and the sooner the better. Many of these farms have been passed from father to son since time out of mind. Those days are finished now, I’m afraid.”
“There is nothing to be done? There is always something,” Julian said gently.
“Oi believe you are a kind man, Mr. Blessing, otherwise you would not ask a question you knew the answer to as clearly as I do. You did it politely and it did buoy my spirits for a moment, but sadly, the village of Cappel Vale will soon be no more.
“There simply is nothing to sustain it. But there’s more. The people here are troubled in their minds. They all know the village will fall away soon enough, but that process is being hurried along.”
“What do you mean?” Julian asked and concern etched his face.
“We’ve had a sudden spike in crime and some of it violent. Unusual for this part of Ireland. Acts of vandalism, mysterious digging in the area no one seems to understand. We’ve had a couple of rather vicious assaults and something else, but…” The priest considered.
“But?”
“Ach, it makes no difference to a man who is only visiting now does it? No matter, it will pass in time. All things do.”
The priest talked of people he knew as no one else knew them. He talked of the gentle and the dull, the bright and the bold, the angry and the agreeable. There was no one in the village who could escape his acquaintance. With real warmth and depth of feeling, the priest painted a picture in broad strokes of the inhabitants of his portion of Ireland.
He talked of his early days, those he knew then and of those whose graves he tended now. He spoke of the living and the dead in a way only one who approaches life from the spiritual viewpoint can do.
All the time, Julian knew no real secrets were being given away. Everything he was being told was common knowledge. No violation of the confessional seal would take place today and Julian knew it never would. Secrets, real secrets, were safe with Father Fahey. Julian felt for the first time in his life he was talking with someone who could be trusted.
Julian was walking beside an old priest for whom trust was his world. He was no innocent though. Father Fahey knew people. Through his faith, he knew that people were at once frail and strong,
dauntless and timid, calculating and innocent. He knew people and he managed with equanimity to love them all.
Julian asked about the woman who had accused him of giving Jimmy Grogan the knife, but received little information. A widow with a son who came from Dublin was all the priest would say.
“Tell me about the Hagan,” Julian said and watched as a shiver passed through the priest.
“She is a witch of course, but then everyone knows that. If they didn’t, the poor woman would be posting a signboard outside her door stating the fact. They say she practices the old religion and has the knowledge and powers that entails.
“Although Oi’ve never been able to confirm it, Oi believe she comes from one of the ancient families of Ireland. There’ll be no ‘Ach’ and ‘Oi’ coming from one of those. She is frighteningly intelligent and well bred. She does everything in her power to hide it from view, but that kind of mind is impossible to hide – except in a place like this.” The priest raised his eyebrows and smiled.
“Here there is almost no distance a’tall between a nimble mind and magic. We are funny that way.”
“She knows things? Has powers?” Julian prompted and his eyes narrowed in concentration. He knew someone else like that. He would not have attached the title witch to Bridget Bragonier though. He would not have associated her with ancient religions either. “The Hagan,” he thought to himself. “She fits the bill to a tee, I just haven’t seen her caldron yet – but Bridget?” Things were falling into place in ways he did not want them to fall at all.
“Oh, know things she does. Oi wouldn’t go so far as to say she predicts a thing will happen, but at some basic level, she simply knows it will. Oi have watched her from time to time as Oi watch any of my little flock. It isn’t as though she ‘sees’ things either. Oi don’t know what to call it really. The villagers say ’tis the Darna Shealladh. Oi don’t hold with such things meself.”
“You mean Second Sight,” Julian said and knew instantly he had made another misstep.
The priest’s face was darkened in deep concentration. “Mr. Blessing, Oi find it passing curious a man like you would know a thing like that.” The priest’s eyes were narrow and penetrating as he looked up into Julian’s face.
“Oh,” Julian began to back peddle. “I talked to a man once who knew something about it. I’ve probably also seen some mention of it in a book or brochure or something.” Julian held his breath to see how far that explanation would get him. “Note to self – admitting to any knowledge of Second Sight is a distinctly bad idea you eejit. Admitting to knowledge of anything else doesn’t seem to be working well for you either,” Julian thought to himself.
Sarcasm dripped as Father Fahey said, “Or something, Mr. Blessing? Would that be the best you can do? Oi’ve been after hearin’ confession for more years then you have teeth. You don’t think Oi know when someone like your good self is being economical with the truth? Oi tell you, sor, you will have to improve mightily. Oi know school children that can out-lie you.
“No matter, that is something we’ll discuss during your confession. Hopefully, you’ll have concocted better lies by then. Still, we were talking about Moira Hagan.
“When something comes to her she is simply there – so they say. She doesn’t see it happening; she is there while it is happening. Past or future, it seems to make no difference. Often times she comes away with fragments and nothing more. Other times she is able to produce details with alarming accuracy.
“The people of the village go to her. She is a witch for all seasons if you don’t mind me bending that phrase. Sometimes they come so that she can find a missing sheep or to see who stole a goat. Sometimes they bring their children to her to be frightened.
“It’s true. People need to be frightened from time to time. Sometimes they come to her for things they believe are too big or too small for Dr. Dwyer to deal with or meself or our school principal, Sister Eugenia, for that matter.
“The Hagan heals too – at least that is what the local people believe. Still, there is more to her than that. Oi don’t know what it is and Oi don’t want to know. The people here about believe, no, they know, she protects this valley. This troubles me and has for many years.”
“But you don’t believe in her ability?” This was an important conversation to Julian and he had to keep it going.
“She practices, as Oi said, the old religion and because of it, God has a soft spot in His heart for her.”
Julian looked surprised.
“Do Oi believe? Oi believe she is here and there is no shakin’ her loose. Oi believe she does good work in her own way, but that she has a robust dislike of Holy Mother the Church in general and priests in particular there is no doubt. Oi believe that God loves her as he loves all of us. Is there more in which Oi need to believe?” Father Fahey shrugged.
Very little additional information emerged and Julian was left with unanswered questions. By noon, the men found themselves in front of the police station again having toured the entire village twice.
“I would offer you tea, Father, but I’ve not laid in any supplies. I have many other questions,” Julian said.
The priest smiled warmly, “Oi’ll give you time to settle in and the next time Oi’m in the area Oi’ll stop by for a visit and we can talk. But please, something a wee bit stronger than tea would be called for. Conversation is thirsty work.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with mischief and Father Fahey continued down the main road and back toward St Michael’s.
Julian sat in one of the rocking chairs and stared into the cold fireplace. His thoughts drifted and soon he was recounting all the firsts that had occurred during his day in Cappel Vale.
“First witch who may be more or not. First Lord Mayor. First time at facilitating a young man nearly cutting off some of his fingers. First time yelled at by an exceedingly pretty and exceedingly strange and angry woman. First time being followed by herds of children. First time being chastised by a priest for denigrating a village doctor,” Julian thought.
“Overall,” he thought, “things could be worse.” He didn’t doubt there would be more firsts but he hoped they would be better firsts.
***
When the door of the police station burst open, he was seated at the Desk Sergeant’s desk studying his map.
“Sor, the Mayor says for you to come quick!” a ten-year-old boy shouted from the threshold.
“Why?” Julian asked.
“No time, sor. Just come quick to Mulherin’s Pub! There’s to be trouble with Sean Maher. He is with drink taken. The Mayor says you’re the only man who isn’t out in the field, and he needs all the help he can get. Besides you’re the police.” The clearly thrilled boy had gone at a run back up the street. Julian pushed back from the desk and picked up speed as he reached the road and followed the little boy to Mulherin’s Pub.
Chapter Eight
A swarm of women and children had gathered and were peering in the windows of Francis Mulherin’s establishment. The front door hung by its hinges at a sharp angle. Julian worked his way through the crowd and stood in the doorway.
A huge man stood against the bar and shouted, “So, ya little toad, you’ve called a filthy police constable!” as he pointed at Julian.
“Now Sean Maher,” the Mayor began, “There is no need to be testy.” Mayor Cahill was at the opposite end of the bar and gave Julian a beseeching look.
“I’m not from the police, Mr. Maher. I’m just a visitor,” Julian said and with a remarkable grasp of the obvious noted the larger man was slightly drunk and built much like a rhinoceros. Even Julian, with only his book-learning knowledge of the natural world, understood an ever so slightly drunk rhinoceros was a very dangerous animal indeed.
“No, Sean. Mr. Blessing is the police. Don’t listen to his denials. He is but a modest man. He lives in the police station as you well know…” The Mayor was cut short by simultaneous glares from Sean Maher and Julian Blessing. Their looks were filled with equal parts
rage and disgust. The Mayor looked to Julian with deep pleading, but found little sympathy.
In the low, nearly inaudible voice he saved for business negotiations that had reached a delicate stage Julian sighed and said, “Please tell me the problem.”
Sean Maher roared, “That is the problem!” and pointed at an old man cowering behind the bar. Francis Mulherin is the God rotting problem!”
“Mr. Mayor, are there some details Mr. Maher has left out?”
The Mayor swallowed hard. “Sean believes Landlord Mulherin here has watered his beer and thus is selling an adulterated product which Maher says is not fit for the beasts.”
“Believes is it. Believes! Be God, Oi believe the lot of you would look better if Oi pulled your bloody heads off!” Maher took a step toward the Mayor and Julian interposed himself and smiled as he faced the big man.
Maher was a head and shoulders taller than Julian. The man’s biceps were as large as Julian’s thighs, he had no discernable neck. His hands were ideally suited for pulverizing stone or strangling cattle.
Julian did not move but called over his shoulder. “Mr. Mulherin, if you please? Pull me a pint, but don’t top it off.” The Landlord trembled and shook his head indicating that he would sooner drive a fork into his eye than meet the terms of what was being asked of him.
Julian faced the barman and repeated himself, turning a request into a demand and dropping the smile. Mulherin pulled a light pint and with trepidation pushed it across the bar toward Julian. The Landlord then jumped back and resumed his cowering. He seemed remarkably good at cowering.
Julian took the glass and raised it to look at the color. He then set it down and looked from Maher to the Mayor. Maher’s look was one of smug, undisguised disgust. For the big man, watered beer was a sacrilege. It was the sort of unspeakable act whose reward could only be unprecedented violence.
Echoes Through the Mist: A Paranormal Mystery (The Echoes Quartet Book 1) Page 7
