The Joy of Christmas

by Melody Carlson

  My parents raised me with a certain set of morals. Not that I’d always practiced them myself, obviously, but it was a standard I’d grown to accept and even respect – especially in my parents. It was comforting to know that they were rock solid and predictable. And I assumed that eventually I’d adhere to their standards myself.

  But suddenly that whole thing seemed like a hoax, a great big charade where nothing was as it seemed. Everything about my life felt phony to me now. My dad had not been my real dad. The family business that he tried to force me into wasn’t even my own family’s business. My mother, the woman who always insisted on truth and integrity, had lived out a great big lie, a lie that was created to cover up her own indiscretions. It was like, while my back was turned, someone had dropped an H-bomb onto my life. In a split second, everything was changed.

  I walked through town and just kept on going, following the road before me as I mulled over what had just happened, replaying all the words that had been said. After about an hour, I figured it was possible that I had overreacted to this. And yet, I felt like I’d been tricked or robbed or hoodwinked. And by my very own parents – rather, the people I had assumed were my parents. Now I knew that Dad, or Hal, really wasn’t. Well, I supposed that explained some things about me. We were so completely different, he and I. And yet I really did like him. Oh, sure, I’d taken the poor guy for granted and I’d taken advantage of him. But after he died, I had realized how much I really did love him. I had decided that I even wanted to be like him – in time.

  For some reason this whole thing reminded me of President Kennedy. His death had knocked me sideways too. I remembered how lost I’d felt after he was assassinated, so confused and hopeless and alone. And yet that was exactly how I felt again today – only more so. I grappled with the thought that I’d not only lost the man I’d called “Dad” for most of my life but now my biological father as well. A man I’d never even known – or known about. Well, it was just too much. It wasn’t fair that all the father figures had been stripped from my life – bam – just like that.

  I mulled over these things as I walked and walked, just following the curving country road to wherever it led and not thinking about whether or not I would follow it back again. After a couple of hours, I realized that I’d walked clear out of town and was now entering another town. Another sea town, but not as picturesque as Clifden, this one also had a large dock, and I noticed what appeared to be a ferryboat docked there. People who looked like they knew where they were going were starting to board, and I suddenly decided to see if I could join them.

  I quickly located the small ticket office, and without having the slightest idea where Inishbofin might be, or even caring much, although it was the ferry’s destination, I bought a roundtrip ticket and boarded the boat. Since the sun was still shining, although clouds were gathering on the western horizon, I sat out on the upper deck, waiting for the boat to sail, which it did rather quickly. Then, once it was moving away from the dock and cutting through the ocean, I felt a small wave of concern, or perhaps it was regret or remorse . . . I wasn’t even sure. But I simply blocked these feelings away by focusing my eyes at the bright blue sea and the sky, wondering where I would ever fit into this mixed-up world. Maybe I should join the Navy instead of the Air Force.

  After about twenty minutes, I actually started to get a little worried. The ferry appeared to be going straight out to sea, and suddenly I wondered just what I’d gotten myself into. Just where was Inishbofin anyway? I had assumed it was another small seaport on up the shore, but the mainland was quite a ways behind us now, and besides the big, blue sea and a bank of gray clouds, who knew what lie ahead? I wanted to ask another passenger for information, but realized how stupid that would make me sound. Why had this crazy American guy gotten onto a boat without even knowing where it was headed? Then, I reassured myself, these other passengers seemed perfectly normal and well adjusted. They appeared completely unconcerned over the fact that we seemed to be going due west, heading straight toward America. Obviously, they knew something I didn’t, so why should I be worried?

  Finally, I saw a mound of land up ahead, as well as something that looked like a fortress. Inishbofin had to be an island. Well, that was fine with me. I didn’t mind exploring an Irish island to take my mind off of things.

  “I’ve never been to Inishbofin,” I said to a pretty girl who had just come out onto the deck. The wind was picking up now, and she was attempting to tie a pink scarf over her curly auburn hair. She looked to be about my age and had a nice sprinkling of freckles over an upturned nose. “Do you know much about the place?”

  She laughed. “Probably a bit too much since I was born and raised there. Are you an American?”

  “Yes.” I smiled at her. “Just visiting.”

  “Seems an odd time to be visiting,” she said. “What with holidays and all.”

  “Yes. Well, it was my mother’s idea to spend Christmas in Ireland. We’ve been staying in Clifden.”

  She nodded. “I see. And ya decided to do some explorations on your own today?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Some say that Inishbofin is one of the loveliest islands in Ireland. And I suppose it does have some keen spots of interest, although I’ve taken them for granted myself, and I’ve known more than one tourist that got disappointed.” She sighed, shading her eyes as she peered up ahead. “Still, I’m glad to be coming home for Christmas. I can’t wait to see my family.”

  “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “In Galway. I finished my nurses’ training last year and I’m working for a pediatrician in the city now.”

  “So do you come home to visit a lot?”

  “When I can. I suppose I do miss it a bit.”

  “Hello, Katie Flynn!” called an old man in a plaid jacket who had just made his way to the top deck. He was lighting up a pipe.

  “Hello, Mr. Kelly.” She waved, then turned back to me. “Inish–bofin is a rather small place. Everyone knows everyone there.”

  “Then maybe I should introduce myself,” I said. “My name is Jamie Frederick.”

  “And, as ya heard, my island friends call me Katie Flynn, although I go by Katherine in the city. It sounds a bit more sophisticated than Katie, don’t ya think?”

  “So, tell me, Katie, what do I do when I get to Inishbofin?”

  She peered up at the sky. “Depending on the weather, which is about to change, there are a few things you could do.”

  “For instance.”

  “Well, on a good day there’s plenty of fishing. And we do get scuba divers in the summertime. Of course, there’s bird-watching, although it’s not the best season for that right now, and we do have some gorgeous beaches . . .” She studied me for a moment. “Do ya know how to ride a bike, Jamie Frederick?”

  I laughed. “Of course.”

  “Lots of tourists rent bikes. They tour the island that way. But you don’t have to rent a bike. You come on by my house and I’ll loan you one of my brothers’ bikes.”

  I grinned at her. “But how will I find my way around the island?”

  “It’s a bit hard to get lost, ya know, we’re not terribly big.” Then she seemed to catch my clue. “I suppose I could show you about for a bit though. After I’ve spent some time with my family, that is – I can’t be taking off as soon as I darken the door.”

  We continued to talk as the ferry pulled into the dock. Then Katie went below to get her bags, and we met again once we were on land. I carried my small bag as well as her larger suitcase, and we walked into town together. Then once we got to what appeared to be a main street, she paused and wrote some quick directions for getting to her house on a small slip of paper.

  “Thanks,” I told her, wondering what I’d do until she was freed up to take that little bike ride with me. It was already after two o’clock, and I didn’t want to waste time.

  “Looks to be gettin’ thundery,” she said, glancing up at the sky as she took h
er large suitcase from me.

  “Thundery?”

  “A storm’s a-coming.” She nodded to the big, rounded dark clouds that hovered directly overhead.

  “Oh.” I nodded. “Not so good for riding bikes then?”

  She laughed. “Not unless you want to light up like a Christmas tree. You best keep inside. If I were you, I’d get myself checked into Murphy’s straight away.”

  “Murphy’s?”

  “You do have a reservation, do you not?”

  “For what?”

  “For a room.” She frowned at me.

  “A room?”

  She shook her head as if questioning my mental capacity. “For overnight, Jamie Frederick.” Then she pointed back to the dock, which was empty now. The ferry was already making its way back to the mainland. “You do know that’s the last ferry for the day, do you not?”

  I felt my eyes getting wide. “The last ferry?”

  “Aye.” She glanced at my bag. “You did mean to stay the night, didn’t ya?”

  I took in a quick breath. “Oh, I hadn’t really thought about it. But at least I came prepared.” I forced a confident smile. “So, which way to Murphy’s?”

  She pointed to a large gray stone building with a sign that said murphy’s inn in bright blue letters. “That’s it. I hope they have a room.”

  I wanted to ask if there was a room at her house, but thought better of it. I’d already shown her that I wasn’t the smartest tourist around.

  “Come by the house tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder. “If the weather’s willing, we can take a ride.”

  “Right.” I waved good-bye and hurried over to Murphy’s Inn. I just hoped it wouldn’t turn out to be like Murphy’s Law and have no vacancy. I couldn’t imagine sleeping out in the rain tonight.

  After a brief explanation as to why I had no reservation, and an admission to my general American naïveté, I was eventually given a room.

  “You’re lucky we weren’t full up,” the woman said, “what with the holidays and all, we sometimes don’t have a room to spare this time o’ year.”

  “Is there a phone I can use?”

  She looked at me as if I had two heads, then laughed. “A telephone?” “Yes. I need to make a call.”

  “We do not trouble ourselves with such things.”

  “Are you telling me there are no phones in Inishbofin?”

  She nodded, suppressing more laughter. “’Tis wha’ I be telling you, laddie.”

  “Oh.” I tried to regain a bit of composure as I picked up my key and my bag and made my way to my room, but I could hear her chuckling as she repeated my story to a man named Sean, who I supposed was her husband. Well, I told myself as I unlocked the door to a small and sparsely furnished room, maybe it was for the best not to call my mother just yet. Maybe she and I both still needed some time to stew, then cool down. Still, I felt a little guilty. And I knew she’d be worried.

  My guilt was soon distracted by the “thundery” weather that quickly set in. The wind picked up and the thunder boomed. I left my bag in the room and decided to check out what I was guessing was the only pub in town, just a couple doors down from the inn. I’d just finished my first Guinness when the lights went out.

  “Does this happen a lot?” I asked as the pub owner lit a kerosene lantern and a couple of candles as if this were no big deal.

  “Now and again,” he said as he blew out a match.

  The wind was howling now. That, combined with the booms of thunder and flashes of lightning, and I wasn’t too sure that I wanted to venture out on the streets just yet. What kind of a mess had I gotten myself into anyway?

  “Do you serve food here?” I asked the pub owner. I was his only customer, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t mind if I made myself scarce just now. But I also knew that although the Murphy Inn served breakfast, they didn’t have an actual restaurant for the other meals. Plus I hadn’t eaten anything since I’d put away a stale bag of pretzels and a lukewarm lemonade on the ferry today. My stomach was growling like a wild beast.

  “I reckon the wife can fix somet’ing,” he said, disappearing through a door that I figured must lead to some kind of living quarters. I was alone in the pub now, just me and the lantern and flickering candles. I longed for some music, but there was no jukebox or radio or anything to break the silence. Just the sound of the occasional clap of thunder, which usually made me jump.

  After what seemed an unreasonable amount of time, and I was tempted to just leave, the pub owner came back with what appeared to be some sort of meat sandwich and a bowl of brown-looking soup. I ordered another pint to go with this and quickly ate. I couldn’t say it was the best meal I’d ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either. I paid the man, setting on the counter what seemed like a generous tip for his wife.

  “Thank ya,” he said, as if he really did appreciate my business after all. “Mind the storm now, an’ keep the wind to yer back.”

  I thanked him and pushed open the door just in time to get hit with a blast of wet wind. Fortunately, the inn was downwind, and propelled by the blustery air, I ran all the way. Even so, I was soaked by the time I got there. I paused in the tiny lobby to shake off some of the rain. It looked like the inn was without electricity too. Other than a smoky kerosene lantern on the registration desk, it was shadowy dark in here too.

  “There ya are now.” The woman who’d given me the room reached under the counter for something. “Ya haven’t blown away with the storm then, have ya?” She handed me several white taper candles and a small box of matches. “Candleholders’ll be in your room. This should get you through the night.”

  I thanked her, then headed up the stone stairs to my room. Fortunately someone had set out a couple of burning candles to light the way, but the shadows these cast on the old stone walls was a little eerie, and I felt I was starting to understand why the Irish had such a reputation for ghosts. The inn hadn’t been exactly warm and cozy when I got here this afternoon, and I had a feeling it was going to feel pretty cold before the night was over. I lit a candle to see to unlock the door to my room, cautiously going inside. Before long I located several metal candleholders in the drawer of a small dresser over by the window. I lit two of the candles and set them out, then peeled off my soggy fisherman knit sweater and hung it over a wooden chair, hoping that it would dry, or at least be slightly less damp, by morning.

  It wasn’t even seven o’clock now, but I knew there was nothing to do in this place. I wasn’t the least bit sleepy, and after several minutes of shivering in the cold and dimly lit room, I got into bed just hoping to get warmed up a bit. I kicked my feet back and forth in an attempt to defrost the sheets, but it seemed useless. Why had I come here anyway? What had I been thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t thinking at all. Otherwise I’d be back at the relatively nice hotel with heat and electricity – maybe off listening to music in one of the local pubs and eating something that actually tasted good.

  What a fool I’d been to go stomping off like that. Oh, sure, it had been hard and shocking to hear what Mom told me – it still was. But why had I reacted so strongly? What good had it done? And what was I thinking to hop on a boat without knowing where it was headed? Look where it had gotten me – locked up in this dark dungeonlike room on a tiny island where the next ferry to the mainland wouldn’t be until tomorrow. What a complete imbecile I’d been! You’d think a “grown” man of twenty-one would have more sense.

  Then I began to wonder about the man who had been my biological father. I wondered how old he might have been when he and my mom had met. Perhaps he’d been about my age. Maybe he’d faced the same kinds of questions I struggled with now. I wondered what he looked like and how he felt about going to war or what it felt like to be in Pearl Harbor when it was attacked that day. Liam O’Neil. Who had that guy really been? A musician who’d graduated from Annapolis? And hadn’t Mom said he’d been an officer in the Navy? But how long had he been in the Navy? And what about his famil
y, who would also be my family? Did I have aunts, uncles, cousins? And what about the fact that his parents had come from Ireland? Were any of their relatives still here now?

  Maybe that’s why I felt such an affinity for this country – the Emerald Isle. Well, until today, that is. I wasn’t too sure how I felt about Ireland, particularly Inishbofin, at the moment. Mostly it felt inhospitable. It was cold and damp and dark, and I wanted to get out of this place, the sooner the better. But Ireland, in general, meaning the people, the music, the land . . . it had all seemed to speak to me at first, to welcome me, as if I actually belonged. And then when I’d finally sat down at a piano – was that only just yesterday? – it had all seemed to fall right into place for me. I had begun to feel as if I was finding myself, knowing who I was and what I wanted out of life. But then came my mother’s stunning confession, and now, stuck in this strange and isolated island called Inishbofin, I’d never felt so lost in my life. Lost and alone and hopeless.

  Still shivering, I wondered if it was only because of my birth father that Mom had brought me to Ireland. There really seemed no other logical explanation. And, really, it made some sense. I could imagine her planning this whole thing, assuming it would be the perfect way to break the news to me – Mom had always cared a lot about settings and doing things in certain ways. And I had to give her credit, coming probably had been a good idea, but then I’d gone and messed it all up. I felt pretty certain that I’d derailed my mother when I confessed about college and squandering my tuition money. I’m sure I threw a great big wrench in her works. Maybe it had something to do with freezing to death and being stuck somewhere I’d rather not be – a prison of sorts – but I felt that the time had come to get honest with myself. And I had to admit I’d probably overreacted to Mom’s revelation in order to create a smoke screen of sorts. It was my sorry little attempt to cover my own mistakes. I’d blown her revelation out of proportion just to get the limelight off of me and back onto her.

  Sometimes the truth was ugly.