Casting Off

by Nicole R Dickson

  Rebecca had come to the island to find out how to make a home. She was succeeding. Rowan had a very-best-friend. She had adults she could rely on. Freedom and play and security were here. Even when Sean was about, someone was watching. Rebecca rubbed her face, thinking of Father Michael and the attic.

  “Having children is a lesson for the parent,” she repeated.

  She gazed out toward the water, knowing that at this moment Rowan was probably playing with Siobhan. If Rebecca went to fetch her, Rowan would not be happy.

  “God, this is hard.” She slid her hands down her face—and found Saint Bridget’s cross dangling there.

  “Crossroads are uncomfortable,” she said, remembering Fionn and blackberry tarts. She smiled.

  “Well, where to?” she asked herself. She needed ganseys and stories. She had also promised to clean various pieces of clothing for the father. So she stepped on her pedals and headed toward the church.

  When she arrived, she found the priest busily working on flower arrangements, of all things. He stopped, looking at her in that way he had—trying to figure out what she was seeking. Seeing that he was busy, Rebecca simply asked for the wedding dress, the suit, and the gansey, which Father Michael retrieved from his front room and handed to her happily. On her way home, Rebecca did think of Rowan, but only in passing as she tried to determine when to pick her up. She also thought of Sean and when she did, she was very happy that she had gone to see him. Learning to let Rowan be free was one thing. Sean was another.

  When Rebecca had returned to the island from Dublin, she’d found it just as Fionn Sr. had said it would be. Everybody was still there, exactly as they had been when she left—as they’d been for hundreds of years. But no one had time to talk to her about ganseys or island history or stories from their past. Mairead had had her babies. Most of the women were taking turns going out to the Fitzgibbon place to help. Everyone else was needed to handle the flood of tourists pouring onto the island, for the height of summer had arisen like a great green tsunami.

  Over the next three days, Rebecca didn’t think too much about the tourists or Mairead or summer. She was preoccupied with the fact that though everything was just as Fionn Sr. had said it would be, something was changing. Her heart would not stop hurting. But the island was abuzz and she had plenty of work to do, as there were constant requests from the pub for an extra pair of hands since Annie and Maggie had to help at the Fitzgibbons’. So Rebecca helped out at the pub at night, leaving Rowan with Paddy and Siobhan. During the day, she worked on Father Michael’s clothing while Siobhan and Rowan played around their cottage. Through it all, she tried to ignore the crushing pain in her heart.

  As she worked, she wrote down the story behind Father Michael’s grandfather’s gansey. Though she was certain he would have allowed her to come back to record him, she decided it was best to simply put down on paper the tale as she had first heard it. The gansey wasn’t truly the father’s anyway, nor had he made it. She wasn’t convinced that she would use the gansey or its story in her book, but she did take still photos of it before cleaning the aging wool.

  Days seemed to be easier. Rebecca felt she worked harder at night, for she could swear every human being in Europe was coming to the island for a drink at the pub. She worked to stop the pain, and as no one was about to help her on her project, she did what she could. Pulling her brushes, tweezers, cleaning solutions, and acid-free paper from one of her suitcases, she worked diligently on the wedding dress and the fisherman’s suit. Sheila came to her door on Wednesday asking if she could take a turn helping out at Mairead’s. Of course she agreed.

  With Rowan on her handlebars, Rebecca rode into town. The day was sunny with puffy white clouds sending drifting shadows across the stone walls, passing like gray spirits flying from the light. Rebecca and Rowan laughed as they chased the clouds, screaming as they almost hit the walls when the shadows jumped over the stones.

  Riding past the docks, Rebecca found Iollan’s boat moored. Her heart rose to her throat as she stopped the bicycle.

  “Iollan?” she called.

  “Aye? Ah, Becky, good to see ya! Hey, Rowan!”

  “Hi, Iollan!” Rowan called. “Is Fionn here?”

  Rebecca was wondering the same thing.

  “No. Just me. Came to see my sister and her wee ones.”

  The reflection of the sun on Iollan’s cabin windows stung her eyes.

  “And I have to make a special delivery. You goin’ out to see my sister now?”

  “Yeah. Our turn,” Rebecca replied.

  “Excellent!” Iollan looked at Becky and then he laughed.

  “What?” Rebecca asked, not seeing what was so funny.

  “Watch the bikes,” Iollan said and stepped back into the cabin, chuckling to himself.

  “What was so funny, Mama?”

  “I don’t know, Rowan, but I think he’s up to something.” Rebecca continued on toward the south, glancing back only once at Iollan’s boat.

  Arriving at breakfast time, Rowan and Rebecca found Jim in the kitchen with seven children, fifteen eggs, a pound of bacon, a gallon of milk, two loaves of Rose’s bread, and honey. Tea was all that was missing, and Rebecca put the kettle on while Jim finished cooking. As she ate with the children Jim went upstairs to have breakfast with his wife.

  “So what do you think about the new babies, Ciara?” Rebecca asked one of Mairead’s nine-year-old twins.

  “They’re not like Tadhg,” the little girl answered, stuffing a piece of bacon into her mouth.

  “I take it that’s a good thing?” Rebecca asked with a grin.

  “Aye,” replied Meara, the other twin, rolling her eyes.

  Tadhg, who had been chewing contentedly on a pile of scrambled eggs his father had placed on his high chair tray, let out a shrill scream. At the end of it, he choked and then laughed. The rest of the children laughed with him, which made him scream again.

  “None of that, Tadhg, my boy,” Jim said as he entered the kitchen. “Use your words.”

  “Done,” Tadhg replied, shaking his hands and spattering scrambled eggs about the kitchen.

  “You can go upstairs now, Becky. I’ll clean up. And then we’re all heading out to the fields,” Jim said.

  “Rowan, take your plate to the sink,” Rebecca said as she picked up her cup and walked to the counter. “We’ll clear up, Jim, when we come back down. You go out now with the children.”

  “Thank you. That’ll be fine.”

  Rebecca and Rowan went up to Mairead’s room and knocked gently on the door.

  “I’m nothing but a feeding machine,” Mairead said by way of an answer. “Come in.”

  Rebecca stepped though the door. “Can Rowan see?”

  “Sure.”

  Hesitantly, Rowan entered behind her mother. One baby was on the breast; the other lay next to its mother.

  “A boy and a girl this time,” Rebecca explained to Rowan.

  “Aye. That’s Sinead there. Would you like to hold her, Rowan?”

  Nodding, Rowan sat down on the bed. Rebecca placed the baby in her daughter’s cradled arms.

  “Need to keep the head up. Sinead may wiggle, but it doesn’t mean she wants you to let go. She’s just moving. She’ll cry if she needs something,” Rebecca said.

  “What’s the other baby’s name?” Rowan asked.

  “Mark.”

  Rebecca smiled as she watched Rowan with the baby.

  “Sinead has red hair, Mama,” Rowan noted.

  “Does she?” Rebecca replied. She had held Mark before, but not Sinead, and when she pulled Sinead’s baby hat off her head, red hair popped out.

  “Mama likes red hair,” Rowan said, looking down at Sinead.

  “Do ya now?”

  Rebecca shrugged, putting Sinead’s cap back on.

  Mairead laughed.

  “You laugh just like your brother,” Rowan said.

  “Do I?”

  “He laughed like that when we rode by his boat
this morning,” Rebecca said.

  “What’s ‘Sinead’ in English?” Rowan asked.

  “ ‘Janet’ is the best translation. I named her after Fionn’s youngest sister, Sinead. She’s one of my best friends.”

  “If you grew up on another island, how did Sinead become one of your best friends?” Rebecca asked. Maggie and Mairead must have met through their mothers, as Ina and Peg were best friends. Sinead was an O’Flaherty, not a Dooley like Peg.

  “Sinead and I met at church when I was visiting with my da. I was six, she was four. So long ago, huh? When I left, I felt I had lost my sister. I cried and cried. Then one day, up on the beach rolled a curragh with Sinead inside. She had cried so much that her parents put her in the boat with Tom and Fionn and made them row her over to my home. When Fionn was bigger, it was just him and Sinead. I cried every time they left.”

  “I’ll cry like that when I leave here,” Rowan said.

  “Will you?” Mairead asked.

  “I love Siobhan. She’s like my sister.”

  Rebecca thought she should say something, but she had no idea what. “We’ll come back. Sharon’s here,” she offered.

  “You promise?” Rowan asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Rebecca replied, glancing at Mairead, who just smiled.

  “This baby smells bad,” Rowan muttered.

  “Oh, time for a diaper change,” Rebecca said, happy to change the subject.

  “So Iollan hasn’t left yet?” Mairead inquired.

  “He looked like he was about to,” Rebecca answered, taking Sinead over to the changing table.

  “He came by yesterday. I wonder what kept him moored at the dock overnight,” Mairead said.

  “He said he had a special delivery,” Rowan said.

  “Oh? He’s up to something,” Mairead replied.

  “What?” Rowan asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll all find out soon enough,” Mairead said.

  The rest of the day was spent washing the babies and their clothes, and changing their diapers. Mairead slept when she could, which wasn’t often enough, as far as Rebecca was concerned. Having twins meant someone was always hungry.

  At three o’clock Rebecca put a roast in the oven. At four she put the kettle on, and at four thirty Annie Blake showed up with pasties, scones, and biscuits. She was followed closely by the entire Fitzgibbon clan.

  Scattered about the house, the children had tea while Jim, Annie, and Rebecca discussed what still needed to be done by bedtime. After washing the tea dishes and helping to prepare the family’s last meal of the day, Rebecca and Rowan took their leave. The sun was sinking in the west as they climbed on their bike.

  “Thanks for your help,” Jim said.

  “It was nothing,” Rebecca answered. “Hop on, Rowan.” Rowan crawled up onto the handlebars and they pedaled down the drive.

  “See ya tomorrow!” Annie Blake yelled.

  Rebecca waved and slipped over the hill. The road north was empty and the shadows lengthened as Rowan and Rebecca rode past Sean’s house. Rebecca noted the tiny wisp of smoke curling from the chimney like a thin purple spirit, flittering into nothing on the evening’s breeze. She also saw that the beach was empty of Sean’s curragh, which made her wonder who was in the house by the fire and where the old man could be as the sky darkened.

  Rowan and Rebecca pulled into town, running directly into a traffic jam of bicycles. All were in line at Hernon’s Shop, endeavoring to turn their bikes in before climbing onto the last ferry.

  “Becky!” Liz called from Rose’s doorstep. “See ya tomorrow! I’ll bring my cakes!”

  Rebecca smiled and shrugged.

  “Looking forward to tomorrow!” John Hernon yelled as Rebecca squeezed through the tourists near his shop.

  “What’s tomorrow?” Rebecca asked under her breath, slowing down and pulling over opposite the shop, the scent of roses from Father Michael’s garden heavy on the evening breeze.

  “July Fourth?” Rowan answered.

  “Rebecca! Can’t wait till tomorrow. You want me to bring anything in particular?” Father Michael asked from his gate.

  “What do you mean?” Rebecca asked, turning to the priest.

  “What?” Father Michael inquired.

  “Bring where?”

  “To your barbecue.”

  “What barbecue?”

  “The Fourth of July barbecue you’re having tomorrow.”

  “I’m not having a barbecue!” Rebecca exclaimed.

  “I have an invitation.”

  “What invitation?”

  Father Michael skipped up the steps to his house and returned holding a small white card. He handed it to Rebecca. There, written in red and blue ink, was an invitation. Rebecca shook her head.

  “What’s it say, Mama?”

  “‘You are cordially invited to Rebecca and Rowan’s First Ever Fourth of July Barbecue! Chicken, potato salad, and sparklers for everyone! Please bring a dish of your choice. Drinks provided by O’Flaherty’s Pub. Party starts at 1 pm sharp and goes till the last sparkler sputters out! Don’t miss it!’ ”

  “We having a party, Mama?” Rowan asked excitedly.

  “No! Who has these?” Rebecca inquired, holding out the invitation to Father Michael.

  “Everyone in town, I think.”

  “Shit!”

  “Mama!”

  “Shoot, shoot. What am I going to do?”

  “You didn’t deliver this?” Father Michael asked.

  Rebecca shook her head, and then she froze as she remembered Iollan and his laugh and his special delivery.

  “It was Iollan!” she exclaimed.

  “Iollan? Why would he—” Father Michael began.

  “Fionn.”

  “Fionn?”

  “This is Fionn’s doing!” Rebecca snarled.

  “Are you sure?” Father Michael asked.

  “Rowan, hold on!” Rebecca growled, pulling away from the curb into the river of tourists.

  “What should I bring, Rebecca?” Father Michael called after her.

  “Your oils and vestments for the last rites, Father,” Rebecca yelled over her shoulder. “I’m going to kill that son of a b—”

  “Mama!”

  “Sorry.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Diamonds with Moss/Bobbles Within and Between

  Diamonds with Moss/Bobbles Within and Between. 1. A column of diamonds, forming an “X” where one diamond meets another. Within the four corners of each “X,” four bobbles are knitted. Moss stitch textures each diamond’s interior. 2. A party.

  —R. Dirane, A Binding Love

  Rebecca heard Paddy Blake call out to her as she rode by, but she didn’t stop to hear what he wanted to say. She didn’t need to. Racing up the road, she thought of Fionn and his keen interest in her mother’s chicken and potato salad. She had been gullible. She hated being gullible.

  Skidding off the road, she flew down the gravel drive, sliding to a halt before her house. At her door were brown bags of potatoes and orange bags of onions. Boxes were stacked on top of one another, and in front of it all was a large barbecue grill tied neatly with a red, white, and blue ribbon.

  Rebecca stood in the cloud of dust left in the air by her bike as Rowan jumped off the handlebars and raced to the nearest box. From it the little girl extricated a large bottle of Louisiana Hot Sauce.

  “I’ll kill him.”

  “Becky?”

  Rebecca spun around and found Fionn Sr., Sheila, Maggie, and Peg standing at a safe distance from her. She glared at them.

  “Now, Becky, let’s not have one of your moments,” Peg said.

  “What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Rebecca asked.

  “Mama!”

  “Heck, heck,” Rebecca hastily corrected herself.

  “He does this once in a while,” Sheila said.

  “Not to me he doesn’t!”

  “He’s got too much time and money on his hands,” Sheila exp
lained, stepping past Rebecca and over to the bags of potatoes. “You should have been here when Maggie’s oldest was confirmed. Every O’Flaherty in Ireland was invited.”

  “Aye, and we always have to bring the drink.” Maggie sighed.

  “We’ll help,” Peg offered.

  “Help? Help? The whole damn town is coming!”

  “Ma-ma!”

  “Darn, darn,” Rebecca corrected herself again.

  “And our guests.”

  “The tourists?” Rebecca whispered.

  “If he’d have got married and had kids sooner, he wouldn’t have money for all this nonsense,” Fionn Sr. said, shaking his head at Rebecca as if it was her fault.

  Her mouth moved, but nothing came out as she stood in his black gaze. She coughed. “Why are you staring at me?” she asked of Fionn Sr.

  “The chicken’s at the pub,” he replied. “You need to cut it up.”

  “Will he show up tomorrow?” Rebecca asked Fionn Sr., trying to keep her voice calm.

  “Aye. He never misses his mischief.”

  “Excellent.” She smiled for the first time.

  “Come, Becky. Rowan can stay with Sheila. We’ve got chicken to cut up,” Fionn Sr. said.

  Rebecca climbed in the back of the island’s only car, and they drove into town. She followed Fionn Sr. and Peg into the pub’s kitchen, and when she opened the door to the large refrigerator, her stomach fell into her shoes. Whole chickens filled the shelves from top to bottom. Before she let out a word, Fionn Sr. plucked a chicken from the refrigerator.

  “We’ll cut. You make your mother’s rub,” he said.

  “You have the stuff for the rub?” Rebecca asked.