The Emerald Isle
Page 39
Patrick squeezed my hand when I hesitated. “Go on, love.”
“To be honest, I always resisted the idea of being related to Cahira and her incredible descendants. They all did extraordinary things in unique circumstances, and I objected every time Taylor or the professor mentioned that I might be linked to them. I didn’t think I would—I didn’t want to do something cataclysmic with my life.”
“And now?”
I looked toward the fireplace, where a chorus line of flames leapt and danced to the music of our voices. “Now I’m thinking that it’s possible to be an ordinary woman with an extraordinary impact just by being faithful and unashamed. There aren’t any wars here for me to fight, no continents to be discovered, but I think God brought me to Ballyshannon to help bring peace to a pair of warring souls.”
A log collapsed in the fire, sending streams of sparks whirling into the chimney, and Patrick squeezed my hand, understanding that I spoke of him and his father. Blinking back tears, I kept my eyes upon the fireplace. “God prodded me off my usual path—just like he did the others—and he set me here. I can help others too, as long as I am steadfast. I think maybe I am destined to do great things, but in quiet ways.”
“I love you, Kathleen O’Connor.”
Leaning forward again, I parked my head in my hands, mimicking Patrick’s posture. “‘Tis my destiny to be yours, Patrick. So if your offer’s still good, I’ll take you up on it. But there are two complications you should know about. First, I can’t remain in Ireland without my dog. But I think he’ll love Ballyshannon.”
Patrick smiled with warm spontaneity. “Shout would love a friend. What do you have, one of those wee foot-warmer pups?”
I tried and failed to suppress a giggle. “Hardly. Barkley was 240 pounds at his last checkup. And he’s still growing.”
Patrick stared at me for an instant, then his surprise vanished as he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Well, then, maybe he’ll give the calves incentive to grow. What’s the other complication?”
I bit my lip. “My Aunt Kizzie. She’s the nearest thing I have to a mother, and she’ll have to come to the wedding. Trouble is, I’m not sure she can afford the airfare.”
His hand tucked around my elbow with easy familiarity. “I’ll bring her over. I can’t be marrying you without your nearest and dearest relative.”
“But can you afford it? I know things have been tight around here. Maddie’s wedding wasn’t exactly inexpensive, and there’s the purchase of the new bull—”
“Things are a bit tight at Ballyshannon.” His breath softly fanned my face. “But don’t be forgetting my computer business, love. I could fly an entire flock of Aunt Kizzies to Ireland, so don’t you worry.”
I stared at him in surprise. “You’re rich?”
“In many things.” Patrick gave me a slow, almost drowsy smile. “In blessings, in love, and in cheek.”
“Cheek?” I laughed softly and slipped one arm around his neck. “You’ll have to explain that one, sir.”
“Audacity,” he answered, his touch sending fire through every nerve in my body. “As in, ‘The cheek of me, imagining that a dairy farmer might marry an Irish princess.’ “
“I don’t know about the Irish princess bit”—my fingertips moved to his lips as he sat up and pulled me into his embrace—“but I do know Cahira has brought me home.”
Eighteen months have passed since Taylor’s and Maddie’s wedding—and seventeen months since my own. Patrick and I were married at a tiny church in Borrisokane, only a few miles from Ballyshannon. After the wedding, we settled straightaway into the front rooms of the main house, knowing Ballyshannon would never again serve as a bed-and-breakfast. With Patrick’s freelance computer work, my writing, and a new approach to the business of dairy farming, we’re bringing in enough income to take the pressure off Fiona.
Besides, we needed the space. We’re using one of the bedrooms as a nursery.
James was able to hold our son, James Patrick O’Neil, before he died. The baby came in December, and James went to be with Jesus three weeks later. I know he’s with the Lord, for as he studied the changes in Patrick, he came to see that salvation was not a matter of belonging to a church, but of surrendering to Christ. He placed his trust in the work of Jesus alone, and he died in peace.
We hear from Taylor and Maddie fairly often. They have no children yet, nor plans for any, but Taylor has his doctorate and a wonderful position at New York City College. Occasionally Maddie sends clippings from the Times society section, and their names always seem to figure prominently in descriptions of receptions for the intellectual glitterati. They seem happy and content, which is all I ever wanted them to be.
Really.
As for me, I feel like a toddler who was led kicking and screaming to the table where a loving parent had spread the most delicious, nutritious, wonderful meal imaginable. (Sorry for the analogy, but my thoughts keep revolving around babies.) Through Patrick and the O’Neils, the Lord has taught me that the depth of joy I experience is in direct proportion to the pain I’m willing to bear. In giving up my predictable and ordered existence in New York, I am embracing all the pleasure and pain life can bring. I remember what Aunt Kizzie said: When we’re walking close to the Savior, he demands more and more until our lives are given over. But with each burden he lifts from me, he bestows a blessing.
I’m not merely existing anymore—I’m living.
Ireland, this beautiful emerald island, is my birthright and my destiny. I came here as an embarrassed believer, rather like Peter just after he had denied the Lord three times, but the Savior still had a purpose for me. Despite my shortcomings, I was able to fan the flame of salvation in Patrick, whose faith glowed bright enough to attract his father, whose changed life influenced the entire community of Ballinderry. James’s confident belief touched everyone who came to see him in his last days, including the priest who showed up to administer the last rites.
“Thanks for the effort, Father, but I’ll not be placing me faith in your words or the extreme unction,” James told the priest, his eyes shining with steadfast serenity. “My faith stands on nothing less than my precious Savior’s righteousness.”
And so he slipped away from us and into the arms of the Savior. In that moment, Patrick stood by his side, as did Fiona. Little James and I sat in a corner chair, while a snippet of Scripture kept running through my mind: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.”
I know the Lord has a perfect plan for each of his children, and I know I’ve found his will for me. The Cahira stories were published, and nearly every week I receive letters from women who see a reflection of themselves in one of Cahira’s heirs. I hope those books touch lives, and I know they touched mine.
I have to laugh when I remember the night Taylor taunted me by predicting that I’d end up getting married, driving a station wagon, shopping for groceries, and raising children. “Every night you’ll fall into bed too tired from doing the little things to even dream about the big things,” he’d said. “Is that any kind of life for an heir of Cahira O’Connor?”
I wish he could see—really see me now. Every night I fall into bed with a man who adores me, and I’m so thrilled by the big things that I don’t even think about the little things I might miss from home. A miracle sleeps in the room next to ours, and an exceptional man lies next to me. Words can’t describe the beauty of my home or the people who fill my life.
Oh yes—Aunt Kizzie came for the wedding and never went back to the States. She now lives in the little house, and she and Fiona are like sisters. They’ve become prayer partners, and I am constantly challenged by their example.
There is much work to be done at Ballyshannon, but I’m working among lovely people who have warmed my heart with their goodness and charm. And though this isn’t a battlefield or an uncharted territory, I’ve encountered many occasions where I needed to call on Anika’s spiritual strength, Aidan’s creative joy, and Fl
anna’s raw courage. Being a good wife is a challenge, and motherhood is a daunting task. I pray daily for guidance so I can demonstrate the Truth.
Spring has come again, and as the pastures and hills around me grow lush and green, I find myself counting colors. I think I’ve learned to recognize twenty different shades of green. In a year or two, as my eye grows sharper and these hills more beloved, I’m sure I shall see all forty.
The following books provided information, inspiration, or insight as I worked on The Emerald Isle:
Cook, Thomas. Passport’s Illustrated Travel Guide to Ireland Lincolnwood, Ill.: Passport Books, 1995.
Curtis, Edmund. A History of Ireland New York: Routledge Press, 1995.
Greeley, Andrew M. The Irish Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1990.
Hewitt, Hugh. The Embarrassed Believer Nashville, Tenn.: Word Publishing, 1998.
Juergenson, Elwood, and W. P Mortenson. Approved Practices in Dairying Danville, Ill.: The Interstate Printers and Publishers, Inc., 1977.
Kaiser, Walter C. Jr., Peter H. Davids, F. F. Bruce, and Manfred T. Brauch. Hard Sayings of the Bible Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1996.
Kelleher, Margaret. So You Think You’re Irish New York: Wings Press, 1988.
Morris, Mark. Ireland: The Emerald Isle and Its People Lincolnwood, Ill.: Passport Books, 1995.
Roche, Richard. The Norman Invasion of Ireland Dublin: Anvil Books Limited, 1995.
The editors of Time-Life Books. What Life Was Like in the Age of Chivalry Aexandria, Va.: Time-Life Books, 1997.
A special thanks to Bill Higgs, Hebrew scholar extraordinaire, and Liz Curtis Higgs, for sharing her husband’s expertise!
Finally, I owe a world of gratitude to my editors Lisa Bergren, who helps keep me focused, and Rick Blanchette, who keeps all the details straight. I appreciate you both!
THE EMERALD ISLE
PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS
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Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
A division of Random House, Inc.
Scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are from the King James Version of the Bible.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Copyright © 1999 by Angela Elwell Hunt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hunt, Angela Elwell, 1957-
The Emerald Isle / Angela Elwell Hunt. —
p. cm. —(The heirs of Cahira O’Connor; bk. 4)
I. Title. II. Series: Hunt, Angela Elwell, 1957- Heirs of
Cahira O’Connor; bk. 4.
PS3558.U46747E46 1999
813’.54—dc21 99-14977
CIP
eISBN: 978-0-307-55345-4
v3.0