Lorcan exploded with laughter. “That’s ridiculous!”
“I know.”
“You were just imagining it, Mother. The light can play tricks.”
Etta’s lips formed an O of pained disapproval. “Well, I hope so.” She glanced back at Lorcan. “You look as if you’re going somewhere.”
“Yes, I have a bit of business to attend to in Killoran. I won’t be long.”
She continued on into the kitchen—but returned a moment later. “D’you know what Brother Brendan told me?”
“No, tell me.”
“He said that Father Cassidy left the parish yesterday.”
“Oh…” Lorcan was astonished by the speed with which events had moved, but very glad they had. Little does she know. “That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?”
“Well, that’s what I said to Brother Brendan. But apparently he’s got bronchitis. He’ll have to have treatment, and then he’s off to recuperate in Donegal with the nuns, poor man.”
“I see.”
“You know, I never liked the sound of his cough,” Etta said, her features scrunching up with concern. She decided to sit down after all, as if the move might lighten the great burden of injustice dealt the priest. “And all those cigarettes can’t have helped him. I expect he’ll be given a parish over there when he’s better. Well, the air’s cleaner for a start. Do him good.”
“Hmm.” There was really nothing more Lorcan could add. Cassidy had fooled them all.
He was gone, though, to that foreign land across the border—out of reach of the authorities. But, more important, he was rendered powerless. Powerless to destroy the blameless in the pursuit of some fatally delusional, flag-waving cause.
Chapter forty-eight
Bessie Halstone had come to the end of her sojourn.
She sat on a bench at the front of Rosehip Cottage, taking the sun on her bare arms and legs, eyes shut, thinking her own thoughts—thoughts that rarely focused on the present, but fluctuated between past and future, between regret and the torment of not knowing what lay ahead.
The relief she’d allowed herself, following the priest’s removal and the Dentist’s demise, was short-lived. Finally she could stop running, but like a harried deer, the fear of capture was snapping at her heels once more.
It had been a turbulent week, starting out with her harassment at the hands of the RUC and ending with Father Cassidy turning out to be a terror suspect. What could possibly happen next?
Her thoughts returned to Ranfurley. A week was time enough for him to have checked her out and alerted social services that Herkie was a truant. Oh, God! Lorcan’s assurances that he wouldn’t bother her were all but forgotten. Soon the sergeant’s angry features were morphing into those of her sister, Joan.
Bessie shifted uneasily on the sunseat, anxiety rising, blind to the beauty that lay all around her—the flower-filled garden, the rolling fields, the serenity and calm of the distant mountains. She recalled the dream she’d had at the table in the parochial kitchen—a prophetic one, as it turned out.
No, she wouldn’t be welcome in Joan’s home. But Joan was the only family she had. They’d never been close as children, lost to each other through their parents’ lovelessness. Why should adulthood be any different? Joan the sanctimonious one, Bessie the rebel. Born opposites, with traits as ingrained as lettering through seaside rock; Bessie inheriting the genes of one parent, Joan the genes of the other.
Yes, she’d make her way to Joan’s unwelcoming door, suffer the indignation, eat humble pie. There were plenty of hotels in Sligo. She’d pick up some seasonal work. She sighed, tried to content herself with the thought. It was summer, after all.
But time was marching on. She wouldn’t make any money sitting in the sun. They had to hit the road. And fast. Ranfurley could be on his way to the cottage right this minute. She’d go indoors and make an immediate start on the packing. The cottage needed a clean as well. Gusty Grant had to be told of her plans.
She opened her eyes and checked her watch. It was two fifteen. Herkie was taking his blessed time. Mrs. McFadden was clearly making him work for his money.
She got up to go in, seized now by the need to get things done.
But…a sound at the garden gate had her turning round again. She was surprised to see Lorcan coming up the path. He had something in his hand.
“Not a bad time, I hope?”
“No…no, not at all.”
“I decided to walk. Such a lovely day…couldn’t bear to sit in a stuffy car.”
He sat down on the sunseat. He seemed composed. Perhaps too composed. A sudden fear gripped her. God, he’s come here with bad news. She could feel it. Lorcan’s calm was all an act.
She was truly anxious now. A question had been preying on her mind. She had to know.
“Did you tell Ranfurley?” She tried to keep her voice even. “I mean…does he know about…about the…”
“About Blennerhassett? Don’t worry. Everything’s taken care of on that score. They’ll not be pursuing any lines of inquiry—to use police speak.”
“A-are you sure?”
He nodded firmly. “Positive. Please, sit down. I’ve got something for you.”
She joined him on the seat. He handed her an envelope. Nerved for bad news, she accepted it with mounting dread. Ranfurley had alerted social services. They were taking Herkie into care. They’d asked Lorcan to break it to her gently.
“W-what is it?”
“Open it and see.”
“It’s bad news, isn’t it?”
He smiled. “I don’t think so, but I’ll let you be the judge of that, Bessie.”
She tore open the envelope, slid out the contents.
She found herself holding two tickets: plane tickets. Her lips moved silently over the words. She could barely credit what she was reading.
Bessie Lawless née Halstone
Aer Lingus Flight number AL 88620
Depart Dublin International Airport 17:15, May 26, 1981
Arrive Miami International Airport 18:29, May 26, 1981
(flight duration 6 hrs 14 mins)
Disbelieving, she glanced at the second ticket. It contained the same details but was made out in the name of “Hercules Conan Lawless.”
“My God!” She clamped a hand over her mouth. She wasn’t going to Sligo; she was going to Amerikay! She would be doing what her erstwhile employer and role model, Mrs. Lesley Lloyd-Peacock, had done before her. And not on a dirty old steamship, but on an airplane! She’d never been on a plane in her life. But…
“I…I don’t understand.”
“I take it you approve, though?”
She could not speak. Tears welled up. She nodded.
He patted her knee, reached into his jacket pocket, drew out a photograph, and passed it to her.
An attractive, elderly lady was grinning out at her. She was lounging by a swimming pool, toasting the photographer with a cocktail glass the size of a fishbowl.
“My Aunt Bronagh. Your new employer.”
Bessie, overcome with emotion, saw a woman not unlike Mrs. Peacock.
“She’s in need of a ‘darned good live-in cook,’” Lorcan said, imitating his aunt’s American accent. “So I told her about you. She’s looking forward to meeting you…and Herkie as well, of course.” He checked his watch. “So, if all goes according to plan, this time tomorrow you’ll be boarding that flight. I’ll take you there in the car, of course. To the airport, that is. You…wouldn’t have to bother with the bus…or anything like that.”
She made no reply.
He glanced over at her.
She just sat with her head bowed, staring down at the tickets.
He patted her knee. “I know it’s a shock. It’s a lot to take in, after all you’ve been through. So, you have a think about it and I’ll call you later. Okay?”
He got up.
“Okay?”
She still could not look at him. Could not give an answer.
He donned his hat and headed back down the path. She heard him break his stride, briefly. Hesitate. She didn’t know what to do.
Was he playing games with her? Was there a catch? The old, familiar tape began to whirr, the ribbon worn thin by negativity and mistrust. He was a man, after all. Men did not gift airline tickets to women they hardly knew. There was always a price to pay, a favor to be returned “in kind.” That, at least, was how things had always been.
But, maybe…maybe…
Her mind was in freefall. She looked up, saw that he was out on the main road, heading back toward the town. He did not seem too concerned. Panic gripped her. If she didn’t hurry up she’d have to run all the way to High Street.
She sprinted after him.
“Lorcan, wait a minute…Lorcan!”
He turned.
“I…I don’t need to think about it.” She held up the plane tickets. Not…not even for a minute.”
“That’s wonderful! My aunt will be pleased.”
“Why…why are you doing this?”
He shrugged. Gave her a reassuring smile. “Because…well, because, Bessie, you deserve it. Another chance. A better life.” He waved a hand. “Better than what’s gone before…better than this. You and Herkie deserve it all.”
She looked down at the tickets, abashed by the compliment. “He’s…he’s all I have. Herkie, I mean. Don’t know where I’d be without him.”
She recalled what he’d told her just a few days earlier: “Dreams come true if you hold on to them.”
He read her thoughts. “Besides, I had to make good on that promise about—”
“Dreams?”
“Yes, dreams. A man can’t bear to be wrong, you know.” His grin was lost on her. She was staring in disbelief at the tickets. Finally, she looked up.
“I-I can’t…I can’t pay you back. Not now, but I promise I will…later on, when…”
“I don’t want payment. The plane tickets are a gift. Can’t vouch for my aunt—”
“But, I’ve nothing to give you.” Timid. Hesitant. Waiting for the ax to fall. It just seemed too good to be true.
Lorcan saw her predicament. He took a couple of steps toward her. “Come to think of it, there is something you could give me.”
She frowned.
“It’ll cost you nothing and make you even more beautiful.”
“That’s a riddle. I’m no good at riddles.”
“A smile, Bessie. Just a smile.”
She laughed.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
There was nothing to fear. The ax had not fallen. Lorcan Strong did not carry one. Unlike her father, her husband, he didn’t need to carry one. She’d sensed it the first time she met him. But all the old fears had kept her prisoner. Unwilling to trust, unwilling to turn the page that might have shown her a better way.
“Oh, and you could promise to write to me, too,” he added.
She threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. “I’ll write every day. God, how…how can I ever thank you?”
A warm breeze riffled her hair. She heard it rustle in the trees behind her. Truly heard it. Felt the beauty in its voice. Understood, right then, that there was no need to judge. There were good people in the world. Genuinely good people, like Lorcan. Perhaps all the years of suffering had been necessary to bring her to this juncture: this realization, so simple, so natural, and yet costing not less than everything in its gain.
He thought he understood. Planted a kiss on her cheek. Looked into her tear-stained face, into the eyes that had seen so much sadness: gatekeepers to the heart that had endured so much pain. “All right?”
She nodded. He released her. “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. Better—”
She held on to his arm. He needed to know her heart. “We…we’ll…n-never…never forget you for this. Herkie…Herkie and me…not for a moment, ever. We…we love you…we always will…always.” The precious words, so sincerely meant, were all she had to give him.
Lorcan smiled. “Thank you,” he said and looked away toward the mountains, holding dear the moment.
And he wished, truly wished, that Bessie, the disenchanted widow, whom he’d met for the first time in church grounds on a windy Sunday morning not so very long before, would know happiness, true happiness, far away from war-torn Ulster, in another land, where bombs did not explode and the past could no longer hurt her.
He turned back to her.
“And I love you, too…both of you,” he said, not realizing until that moment how much he cared for the two of them. “I love you both truly…in the highest, purest, most beautiful kind of way.”
Chapter forty-nine
The day of departure was to be a hectic one.
Bessie Halstone woke early, letting go of a dream state that she hoped would never end. In the night, she’d floated along the boulevards of downtown Miami. Had splashed through the waters of South Beach, felt the sun on her face and the breeze in her hair—and joy. Oh, the joy of Herkie’s hand in hers, the excitement on his face as he gazed in awe at the towering skyscrapers shimmering in the midday sun!
Oh, God, maybe it was only a dream.
She sat up in bed, beset by panic. Gazed about the room. Checked the clock and…
The tickets! She snapped them up from the bedside locker. Her dream a reality once more. There was her name and Herkie’s, the snapshot of her new employer, Bronagh Valdez-Murphy.
She hugged her knees, reassured and ecstatic. Lorcan’s gift—this lifeline—was like a second baptism. She felt light-headed, free, as if the burdens of the past had slipped away in the night.
She heard the cockerel crow down at Kilfeckin Manor. It was going on for seven.
“Herkie, are ye awake?”
Herkie stirred in his couch bed in the corner.
“It’s time tae get up, son. We’ve a big day ahead of us.”
She rose, went and gave him a good shake. “Herkie, wake up!”
He turned over and yawned widely, rubbed his eyes.
“Wha…?”
“D’ye remember where we’re goin’ today?”
“Aye…we’re goin’ tae…we’re goin’ tae Amerikay tae see the Statue of Liberry!”
She lifted him from the bed and swung him around the room. “Yes, son. Amerikay, here we come!”
Herkie giggled. “Och, Ma, you’re makin’ me dizzy.”
She set him down.
“Now, first things first: We get dressed, clean this place up, then start packin’.”
There was lots to do. Apart from the cleaning, several of Aunt Dora’s ornaments—which had suffered Herkie’s curiosity when they moved in—needed to be repaired. There was also the question of the broken picture of St. Clare. But she’d already thought of a good way of repaying Gusty, to compensate him for the vandalism.
By late afternoon, Aunt Dora’s cottage was looking about as clean as a nun’s conscience. Mother and son had the floors and windows washed, the carpets beaten, the linen aired, and every piece of bric-a-brac and ornament dusted, the damaged ones repaired.
The rattle of a truck in the lane had Herkie running in through the front door, poker in hand and fresh from his flailing of the dusty rugs.
“Ma, there’s Mr. Grant!”
“So it is. I told Lorcan tae tell him tae call for the keys. And another thing, son: Ye have tae give him back something ye stole off him.”
She rushed upstairs and found the purloined wallet. Into it she placed the two five-pound notes she’d pinched to cover the fan belt and the rent all those weeks ago.
“Herkie, come here.” She thrust the wallet into his hand. “Now, you give that back tae Mr. Grant, since you were the one who took it from him.”
A look of fright came into Herkie’s eyes.
“It’s all right, son. Tell him ye found it out there on the path.”
“Hello there, Mrs. Hailstone,” said Gusty, darkening the open door. “So ye’re goin’ tae Amerikay I
hear. Lorcan tolt me.”
“Yes, Gusty, time to move on. We only knew yesterday. I was goin’ to ring you when we’d finished cleanin’. Hope you didn’t think we were gonna go off without—”
“Nah, I know ye wouldn’t do the like-a that, Mrs. Hailstone.” He looked about the spotless living room. “The place is lookin’ terrible well. But I knew you’d be a wommin that’d look after things. Me aunt was the same, God rest her; always kept a tidy house.”
“Mr. Grant,” Herkie piped up. “I found yer wallet out in the lane yesterday.” He handed it to him.
“God, that’s a good ’un!” Gusty took the wallet and checked the contents. “I wundered where it’d went. I can tell ye when I lost it, too…It was the very day I took yins here…Couldn’t find it anywhere after that day. Looked everywhere, begod.”
Bessie hoped her blushes weren’t showing through her Max Factored cheeks. “Well, better late than never…Gusty, there’s something I’d like to give you.”
Gusty’s eyebrows shot above his spectacles.
“You’ve been very kind to us and I’d like to repay you.” She went outside to the Morris Traveller. “Maybe you’d like the car.”
“God, I’d love the car, right enough!” He couldn’t believe his luck. Saw it already jacked-up at Grant Auto Repairs—a week’s pleasant tinkering at least.
“Well, we can’t fit it in the suitcase. Maybe you could do it up and sell it.”
“Aye, I could do that…or maybe, ye know, I could keep it for ye, if ye ever decided tae come back.”
Come back? Bessie doubted that, but just to please him said, “Well, you never know.” She handed him the car keys. They returned indoors. “It’s been really lovely here. Everybody’s been so good to us—and you especially. Isn’t that right, Herkie?”
Herkie, playing marbles on the table, looked up. “Aye, Ma,” he said mechanically, not really paying attention to what the grown-ups were nattering about.
“Well, I’ll tell ye what.” Gusty pushed his big glasses up on his nose, stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. “If ye do decide tae come back, ye can write and tell me. I’ll not be sellin’ this house, ’cos me aunt nivver wanted it sold…so it’ll be here for yeh and the wee boy, if things don’t work out.”
The Disenchanted Widow Page 33
