by Luanne Rice
“I think we’d better get on the road,” he said.
“Yes,” Regis said, looking over her shoulder at Kathleen, taking note of her pallor and the fact she looked so queasy.
“No problem,” Mirande said. “Next stop, Star of the Sea.”
Mirande backed out of the driveway; she hadn’t driven more than a block before Kathleen let out a small, almost inaudible moan. She looked at Seamus with such helpless misery that he reached for her hand. Even after all these years, he knew her so well. He looked into her eyes and knew that she felt tormented, and it was more than car sickness.
“What is it?” he asked, gripping her hand.
“I can’t tell you,” she said, her eyes brimming.
“Kathleen, it’s me,” he whispered. “If you can’t tell me, then who can you tell?”
They were in a car filled with young women, but Mirande had the radio going up front, and Monica and Juliana were busily talking in back. Seamus gazed into Kathleen’s eyes, and knew they had always been together, even when they’d thought they were alone in the world.
“Oh, Seamus,” she whispered. “You’ll hate me….”
“I never could,” he swore. “No matter what.”
“But this…you will, Seamus.”
“Never,” he said, staring ferociously into her eyes.
“I’m pregnant,” she said, her voice breaking with anguish. Her eyes were wild, and she clapped her hands over her mouth—and Seamus shouted for Mirande to pull over now, right now, and she did, just in time for Kathleen to open the car door, and get sick on the side of the road.
Bernie called ahead to have Sister Ursula prepare two rooms in the Academy—one for Seamus, the other for Kathleen. Kathleen’s was in the girls’ dormitory, and Seamus’s was on the guest floor, where visiting priests and male retreatants generally stayed. Although they were in opposite wings of the building, Bernie knew that they weren’t too far apart. She could only imagine how much Seamus and Kathleen wanted to spend every moment possible together. Sister Ursula gave her a quick update on the harvest, which was going very well, and then they hung up.
“You did it, Tom,” she said as they drove along Bellevue Avenue, through Newport. “You brought Seamus and Kathleen together.”
“We did, Bernie,” he said.
“No, all the credit goes to you. You’re amazing; thank you so much for letting me be part of today.”
“What are you talking about?” Tom asked, hands on the wheel, glancing across the seat to look at her.
“You could have met him at the airport yourself,” she said. “And taken him to Kathleen…”
Tom smiled wryly, shook his head. “You don’t get it.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “When I think of all the work you must have done—getting Sixtus to help with his passport, having Chris look into Immigration over here, to find Kathleen…and then to enlist Regis to help…you did it all.”
“And what? I should have picked up Seamus on my own, taken all the credit?”
She shook her head. When he put it like that, he made it sound like she was thinking in petty terms. But she wasn’t. Her heart ached, because she knew how much she had hurt him. These last few weeks had been terrible for her—missing him every day, longing to see him as she walked every inch of the Academy grounds. She could only imagine how they had been for him. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said.
“Bernie,” he said. “I’ll say it again: you don’t get it….”
“Then tell me,” she said.
“Nothing matters if it’s not with you,” he said, his voice low.
“Oh, Tom.”
“Helping Seamus and Kathleen get together was easy,” he said. “I have great cousins, and they helped me a lot. Doing it made me feel alive, Bernie. Helping my son search for the woman he loves, find his way back to her. I did it for him, but I did it for me, too.”
“For you?”
Tom nodded. “Because I know how it feels to be that much in love.”
“Oh, Tom…”
“Every part of me,” he said, “everything I am, has always been in love with you.”
Bernie’s heart ached at his words. She gazed out the truck window, her eyes flooding. Without Seamus in the truck, the space between them seemed a gulf almost impossible to cross.
“Come back to Star of the Sea,” she whispered. “We can work it all out.”
“Do you really think that’s possible?”
“It has to be,” she said.
“Bernie,” Tom said, “something has to happen between us.”
Bernie closed her eyes. Her thoughts were wild, suddenly turning to what had happened in the grotto that morning. There she had encountered Mary, felt the Blessed Mother’s caress, heard her clearly spoken words. Be ready…. As the day had gone by, the message kept assuming new meaning. At first, Bernie had thought the words referred to the surprise of Seamus’s arrival, then she realized they encompassed the finding of Kathleen. And now…
Suddenly, Tom turned off Bellevue onto Memorial Boulevard—but heading toward Easton’s Beach instead of down the opposite hill, toward the wharves and the bridge home. At first, Bernie thought he must have made a mistake; she started to tell him, but then she saw the purpose in his blue eyes, knew that he was taking her somewhere: Something has to happen between us….
At the foot of the big hill, he saw a van of surfers pulling out and took their spot at the curb. Easton’s Beach curved between headlands in Newport and Middletown, with long breakers rolling in, white spray blowing off the wave tops. Tom got out of the truck, then held the door for Bernie.
“This is an unexpected stop,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “Bear with me, will you, Bernie?”
“Tom…” She thought of Seamus, how he and Kathleen and Regis and the girls were on their way to Star of the Sea; she wanted to be there, to greet them when they arrived. But looking into Tom’s eyes, she saw the gravity there, could see how important this was to him. He had said that something had to happen, but suddenly those other words became clear again: Be ready…. Bernie nodded, and climbed out of the truck.
The October air was chilly, and a strong salt breeze blew steadily off the water. They trekked halfway up the hill, across a green lawn, through a gate, and suddenly they were on a narrow gravel path. They were on a cliff. Bernie tingled, and looked up at Tom.
“A cliff?” she said.
He just smiled down at her, leading on.
The land side, on their right, ran past houses and estates, and the enormous, graceful buildings of Salve Regina. The seaward side, to their left, was a sheer drop, down the cliff face, to the ocean. Waves churned and crashed on the rocks below, sending explosions of white water shooting skyward. Bernie looked down and held her breath.
“It’s spectacular,” she said.
“This is the Cliff Walk,” Tom said, stopping her, taking her hands.
“I know,” she said. “I’ve been here….”
“Never with me,” he said.
“Tom, it reminds me of Ireland.”
“Of that day, Bernie. I know.”
A group of tourists walked by. If they thought it strange to see a nun and a man holding hands, they didn’t give any indication.
“There are so many things,” he continued, “that I want to do with you. It’s never been possible, because of our lives. So many nights, I lie awake thinking of places we should go. Paris, Bernie. I want to walk along the Seine with you…and Florence; I know you love art, and I want to take you to the museums there.”
“Tom,” she murmured.
“New York City!” he said. “I want to take you to a Yankees game, then for a carriage ride in Central Park. I want to go to the top of the Empire State Building, and see how many states we can see. Then out to Ellis Island, so we can look up the ships our families took from Ireland. And I want to take you back to Ireland. Not looking for anything this time. Just to be with you.”
�
�Do you know how wonderful that sounds?” she asked.
“I do know, Bernie,” he said, touching the side of her face with one rough hand.
“But Tom, we’ve been through this.”
“Not like this,” he said, shaking his head stubbornly. “Didn’t you see the look in his eyes? When he came out of the house, carrying Kathleen? He was wild with love for her, and totally at peace—both at the same time. That’s how it’s been for me, with you, Bernie. All those years at the Academy…”
She stood still, listening, taking it in. She could see how agitated he felt—Tom, who had been so skillful at hiding his feelings all these years, at getting along and working with Bernie, stifling all of what he was telling her right now—and she tried to keep herself steady, to just let him finish.
“I was just like Seamus,” he said. “Crazy about you, but content to at least be with you every day. Working alongside you at the Academy, being your right-hand man.”
“You were, and are,” she said. “It was so hard this morning, starting the harvest without you. And these last weeks, with you gone…I’ve felt as if part of me was missing.”
“Bernie,” he said, “I feel that way for you.”
She tried to catch her breath. What was she doing here? Talking to him this way, as if they could actually contemplate a life together?
“I wish it were possible,” she said, “to have two lives.”
“If you can even say that,” Tom said, “then you’re still thinking about it, about being with me—otherwise you’d tell me to leave you alone. After all we’ve been through, don’t you want to try? See if we can make it together? Give it a chance, Bernie….”
“I took vows, Tom. You were there, at the chapel that day. You know that I can’t break them.”
“Bernie, please…”
“If I did, if I broke my vows,” she began, looking up into his eyes, “what kind of person would I be? How could you ever trust me, to know that I wouldn’t break my vows to you? How would you know you could trust me?”
“I’d just know,” he said. “Because of who you are.”
“But that’s because you see me in the light of how I’ve lived…the vows I took and could never break.”
“Do you know why I wanted to come here, to the Cliff Walk?” he asked, trembling.
“Because of the Cliffs of Moher,” she whispered.
“Remember, Bernie? I held you there.”
She nodded, feeling it all over again.
“It seemed like such a sign,” Tom said, “when I saw the postcard Kathleen sent. It showed this place—cliffs, Bernie. Seamus followed her card like a beacon, all the way from Ireland. They love each other so much, but Bernie—you and I have the greatest love this world has ever known. Ever! Don’t you know that?”
Bernie felt herself falling apart. She started to cry, her thin sobs swept away by the cold sea wind. Love poured through her body, straight from her heart, all through her veins. She stared at Tom, knowing that if she didn’t tell him now, she never would.
“I do know that, Tom,” she said.
“Really?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course I do. From the first day I met you, I knew that there could never, ever be another man for me. I followed you all over the grounds at Star of the Sea, at your grandfather’s picnic…”
“And then I turned right around and followed you.”
“Every step I’ve taken on earth,” Bernie said, holding his hands, “I’ve felt you right there with me.”
He nodded, bowing his head so his forehead touched hers. Her veil fluttered between them in the strong breeze, but his eyes were just inches from her, burning bright blue.
“I’ve tried to be,” he said.
“No one could mean more to me than you do,” she said, her voice breaking. “Don’t you know how hard it is?”
“You say that, Bernie,” he said, “but is it really? You’re insulated, in the convent. You have those convictions of yours; you have your vows keeping you locked up and safe.”
“It’s not safe,” she whispered, looking over the sheer, dangerous edge of the cliff—standing so close to it, and knowing that just one step would take her over the side, knowing that this was how she felt every day.
“I felt as if you came so close in Dublin, moving out of the convent; I could feel your doubts—could feel you thinking about it.”
“I was,” she said. “I pray for guidance every day….”
“Then tell me, Bernie,” he said, the words tearing out. “Once and for all, tell me what answers you get back….”
She had to hold herself together, to get this part out. She shivered in the breeze, with the words swirling through her mind, and pictured the Virgin Mary that very morning, when she’d knelt before her, beseeching her for an answer.
“Tom…as much as you say you want me, I’ve wanted you. Every day I pray to be released from my vows.”
“You do?” he asked, looking shocked.
Bernie knew that she had never told him so clearly; she had held this part inside, never wanting him to know exactly how agonizing it was for her. Her face streamed with tears, and her heart ached in her chest.
“I beg for it,” she whispered. “In prayer, in chapel, on my knees. I pray with all my heart to be set free…to be with you, Tom. You’re the only man I ever loved, the father of my child. I’ve dreamed of a life with you….”
“Bernie,” he gasped, overcome with shock that she would admit it; relief flooded his blue eyes, along with the happiness that had been absent these last few years. He grabbed her hand, pulled it to his chest.
“It’s a sacrifice beyond words, beyond imagining,” she wept. “I ache for you. When I look up at the stars, I think of us looking at them together. The constellations, moving across the sky. Star of the Sea, Tom…it’s the name of our home, yours and mine. But it’s also the only place I can be with you…looking up at the sky, I have you in my heart. I suffer so much, being without you…. I wish I could marry you, Tom.”
“You do?” he asked.
She nodded, weeping, remembering the Blue Grotto. That morning, when the glowing light had filled the small, stone room, Bernie had begged Mary to understand, to let her be a mother to Seamus, and a wife to Tom. But Mary had told Bernie she was still needed in the life she had chosen, that she had to be ready for what would come next.
“Bernie, I didn’t know,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I couldn’t bear to hurt you one more time,” she said.
“Thank you, now,” he said.
“For what?”
“For telling me,” he said. His blue eyes were so clear, his gaze strong. She saw the old Tom there, her dear, beloved Tom…. “Forgiving me that. It means everything to me, Bernie.”
“Oh, Tom…”
“You’ve given us back to each other,” he said. “That’s how it feels. You’ve taken everything broken, put it back together.”
“Even though we still can’t be together?”
He nodded. “Just knowing that you want to be with me. That not being able to be together causes you some of the same pain it does me; I never want you to hurt, Bernie. I’d rather take it on myself than think of you suffering. But just to know…” He paused. Still holding her hand to his chest, he kissed her knuckles. His eyes were so wide and clear, such deep blue. They reflected the depth of the sea down below and the sky up above.
“My Bernie,” Tom said, his gaze sweeping over the stone-strewn walk, the plummeting rock cliffs. “Seamus brought us here. He knew he’d do anything to get to the Cliff Walk, to find Kathleen. I helped him do that, because I believed I’d lost the chance with his mother. But now I know I’ve found you….”
“You never lost me,” she whispered. “You never, ever could.”
“It means everything,” he said, his voice so strong and steady. “Just to know that you think about it. That you would have wanted to be my wife…I love you, Bernie.”
&
nbsp; “I love you, Tom,” she whispered, and she heard the words again, so distinct they made her jump: Be ready.
The color left his face. He dropped her hand. He kept his own hand clenched, over his heart; she saw him grab at the fabric of his black sweater, and his face suddenly contorted in pain. They were standing on the stony path, on the cliff high over the tumultuous sea. Overhead, the sky was cloudless, so blue. Bernie stepped forward, caught him as he tumbled against her, slumping to the ground.
“Tom, no!” she cried.
He shuddered, then lay so still.
“Help!” she screamed, sliding down beside him. “Someone, please! Oh, Tom…stay with me….”
There was no one in sight, no one to help. They were alone on the cliff, just the two of them under a sky of cool October blue. Bernie clutched him, kissing his forehead as the waves crashed on the rocks below, the salt spray flying so high she felt it on her face, tasted it on his skin. And Bernie’s lips moved in constant prayer as she rocked him, holding him close, as Tom Kelly died in her arms.
Twenty-Seven
The funeral was held at Star of the Sea, on a cold and bitter morning. The day started off overcast, with dark clouds billowing in off the Sound. Although it was just October, a Canadian air mass had swept into the region; the temperature had dropped twenty degrees overnight, so when the rain began to fall just after dawn, it came down in tiny, icy needles.
By six a.m., every surface was coated with a thin sheen of ice: the Academy buildings, the steeple, the vineyard, the stone walls crisscrossing the property, the bushes and trees.
Honor had been up for hours. John hadn’t been able to sleep since learning of Tom’s death. They had been as close as brothers, and the news of it was such a shock. Tom, who had always been so healthy and robust, such a vibrant outdoorsman, had died of a heart attack.
“Why did it have to happen there?” John asked, lying flat on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling as the day’s gray light began to filter through the rain-streaked windows. “On that walk with no one around, no one Bernie could have called for help? Why didn’t she have a cell phone with her?”
“I don’t know,” Honor said, lying beside him. “She doesn’t always carry one; she must have left it in his truck when they went for that walk.”
