It was just before dawn when Father Etienne made his careful descent to the cave to get some sleep. It was tricky lowering himself down the rock face onto the ledge, especially in the dark and in his cumbersome robes. At first he thought that it was strange that Liam would put him in a cave with such a challenging entrance, but when he witnessed how accessible the other caves were, he realized no soldier or informant would discover him.
His last duty this night had been to administer Last Rites to an old woman. She had died peacefully and he was grateful to God that she did not suffer. After lighting a candle, he sat down at the table, took up a quill and began to compose a letter to his brother in America. Father Etienne didn't have much time to correspond, but sharing his thoughts with another person, no matter how far away, helped to fight the loneliness.
He stared at the bright candle which was perched on top of the cask, and listened to the ocean breaking on the rocks. The priest missed the company of other learned men, and he longed to share ideas and compare thoughts on literature, philosophy or theology. Letter writing met only one side of the conversation, but for now it would have to suffice.
After thoughtfully composing the letter, he set it aside for Liam to give to the next French vessel. Father Etienne stretched. It was late, and he knew that he should get some rest. He hated this time of night when he had to blow out the candle. He thought of the flame as his own little companion, flickering and dancing merrily, banishing the darkness.
He laughed out loud and blew out the candle. How absurd, a candle as one's companion. Etienne, what a pathetic creature you have become, and he shook his head crawling into bed. Pangs of loneliness nagged at the pit of his stomach, and he turned over impatiently. Gradually the day's labors pulled him into sleep, banishing his shame and despair.
* * *
Darcy arrived the following afternoon, wearing a look of nonchalance. He suspected from the dark shadows under her eyes, that she had not slept a wink because of anxious anticipation. It amused him to see the bored facade she presented to him.
Father Etienne, too, was excited, and they walked from the abbey to the cliffs for their lesson. They came upon a cluster of boulders and climbed on top of them, settling themselves on one large, smooth stone. The gray clouds were thick and heavy, but it was not raining.
Father Etienne liked it up here. He was far enough from town to avoid the dangers of discovery, and the scenery was beautiful. He looked at the mountains and the stone fences, the dark green turf and the lavender heather. He noticed how Darcy's multi-colored shawl stood out in stark contrast to the gray sky above her.
Reaching down into the canvas bag, he produced a flat board with figures written on it, which was called a hornbook. Father Etienne told Darcy that this was his book when was a small boy. It pleased him to see her handle it with reverence.
Darcy was thrilled. Even though the shapes on the board were alien to her, they awoke an excitement that she could barely contain. Next, Father Etienne wrote figures on a flat black rock he called a slate, and told Darcy that this was the alphabet. They worked together for hours, writing then erasing, passing the chalkboard back and forth.
Father Etienne looked up at the darkening sky and said, "I think we should end here for today."
Darcy looked up in protest and said, "But I can't read yet, Father!"
"Oh no, Darcy," he chuckled. "It will take many more lessons, but you will read soon. I can see that you have a quick mind."
Gathering their things, they agreed to meet tomorrow, but before leaving Darcy said, "I don't have any money, Father, but I wish to pay you something."
Father Etienne started to protest, but remembering Darcy’s pride said, "It is the custom in England and the Colonies that young women make a needlework sampler of the alphabet. It gives them practice on their letters and their needlework. Sometimes they add a quotation from Scripture as well. The only payment I ask is to have your sampler when it is complete, to adorn my home."
Darcy agreed instantly. As she turned to go, Father Etienne asked, "Do you still think I should mind my own business?"
She raised an eyebrow, and then turned abruptly for home. He watched her walk briskly down the bluff thinking how he had underestimated her intelligence. He knew that she had a hungry mind, but he had no idea how quickly she would grasp academics.
Father Etienne chuckled when he remembered what she had said earlier in the day. "Father, I must tell you the truth about something. Several nights ago I opened your crate of books, and I have been reading them at night. Not really reading them, but I take them out, look at the covers and then make up the story.”
He remembered the look in her eyes when he told her the titles of those books--Plato's Republic, Dante's Divine Comedy, The Canterbury Tales--and said to her, "I think you would enjoy some plays by an Englishman named, William Shakespeare. He wrote some wonderful plays which speak to all of us."
For all the benefits Darcy would receive from an education, it occurred to Father Etienne that maybe it was a disservice to her. A woman's choices were few, and she would have no peers. In a land where food is rare, books are unheard of, and he worried that maybe he’d opened up Pandora's Box.
Father Etienne sighed and rubbed his brow. He was tired, and the entire night lay before him. He had many confessions to hear and several sick villagers to comfort, so he turned to look one last time at Darcy as she descended the bluff, but Pandora had vanished from his sight.
Chapter 4
The owlers were expecting another shipment from France soon, and in the eight months following the arrival of Father Etienne, many shipments of brandy had been delivered safely to the shores of Kilkerry. The routine was always the same, Darcy would hail the vessel, and the men would exchange wool for brandy then bury their cargo in the churchyard. Several nights later Liam and Michael O'Hearn would retrieve the casks, load them onto donkey carts, and by the light of the moon travel ten miles to the inn at Granagar Village. At the inn they would receive payment and obtain wool for the next rendezvous with the French. This endless rotation of wool for brandy was conducted without interruption because no British troops were posted in Kilkerry at that time. The owlers enjoyed this freedom for almost seven years now.
When the troops were in residence, every precaution had to be taken. The donkeys were shaved and greased religiously before every journey, ready for a slippery get-away. They were taught their commands in reverse, so if an owler was told by a soldier to stop, the owler would shout, "Whoa!" and the donkey would burst into a full run. Many of these tricks had been passed on through several generations of the O'Hearn family, the most highly skilled owlers in all of County Kerry. They had been smuggling goods since the Battle of the Boyne, and Michael O'Hearn was proud of his family heritage. When The Hunger claimed the family patriarch, Michael shouldered the responsibility of running the operation by himself with no regrets. It was agonizing waiting for the sheep population to rise after the famine, but eventually enough wool was being produced again to sustain a trade.
Although Michael was younger than Liam, he directed the smuggling operation with efficiency and prudence. He allowed Liam to swagger and boast that he was a partner, but the village knew that Michael quietly shouldered all the responsibility. He was a good-hearted person in all matters, but he was no fool. He knew how to set limits when necessary, especially when the business was involved.
The famine had not been kind to Michael. Rickets had deformed his legs, and he walked with much pain and difficulty. Had his family moved to the ocean like the McBrides and existed on kelp and snails, he would never have been afflicted.
Like so many Irish Catholics, his home had been destroyed by the British troops, and having nowhere to go the family of nine moved into a scalp, a large hole roofed with sticks and turf. It offered little shelter from the elements, and pneumonia killed his father and six of the children. When the crops returned, Michael, his mother and the remaining children moved into a vacant cottage that
faced the town square and resurrected the owling.
It was another rainy night, and Michael and Liam pulled up their collars as they returned from a meeting. They entered the McBride cottage, and Liam fully expected to see Darcy standing in front of the hearth preparing his evening meal, but instead he found the home cold and empty.
"Damn her hide!" he snarled and quickly looked out the window.
"I'd bet my life that she's with that empty-headed sister of mine going on and on with their silly prattle," said Michael, as he limped over and began to build a fire.
Liam was in a surly mood, and he sat at the table watching Michael work.
He grumbled, "She knows that I expect my supper to be ready for me when I get home. I can tell by the looks of things that she hasn't been here for hours."
"I don't know how my brother-in-law can stand it," chuckled Michael. "Their brainless notions and secrets would drive me to drink. Say there, now that I mention it, I am a bit dry."
Liam rose from his chair and walked to the cupboard, pouring them both a drink and said, "Sometimes I wonder if she's bedding one of the lads in town. She acts funny lately, like she's hiding something."
Liam was right. A change had come over Darcy these past months, but it wasn't because of a man. Ever since she had learned to read, she forgot to attend to the most basic of her chores. When she wasn't reading, she was thinking about reading. She became so absentminded that frequently she would overstay her lessons with Father Etienne and forget Liam's supper entirely.
Her brother viewed academics and education as a symbol of the landed gentry, and it was Darcy's greatest fear that he would find out and ruin her opportunity to learn. Liam believed that Irishmen needed only food, a cottage and freedom. Anything beyond that was a waste of time.
Liam was furious. Although forgetting her chores was unforgivable, what really angered him was the fact that she was acting like some damned independent female. She would use words that he didn't understand, and she would know what he was thinking before he said it. "Stupid wench," he thought. "Imagine her thinking she's smarter than me."
"Well, Liam," said Michael rising up from the fire with a sheepish grin on his face, "I don't know a thing about Darcy's love affairs, but I do know about my own, and I've asked Bridget McGill to marry me. Father Etienne has agreed to perform the ceremony right in town, in my own cottage."
Although Michael had grown up with Bridget McGill, he had never really noticed her until about a year ago when she was fetching some water for her mother one sunny afternoon. She was not a pretty girl and rather big-boned, but Michael saw a quality of beauty in her that the other young men in the village had missed. Their courtship had been quiet and Michael shared his private affairs with few, so Liam had no idea that he was interested in a young woman.
Michael was ecstatic when Bridget accepted his proposal, and he assumed Liam would feel the same way. Instead Liam stared at him then exploded into hearty laughter saying, "You fool! What do you want to marry that wench for? Why, she has the face of a horse's ass!"
Michael was thunderstruck. He blinked and asked, "What did you say?"
Liam took a long pull on his brandy and sneered, "You're a damn fool. That's what I'm saying, O'Hearn. Granted you are a gimp, but you must be pretty desperate to want to bed that creature."
Michael couldn't believe his ears. Liam had always been coarse and abrupt, but he had never been cruel. Rage boiled inside him as he started for the door. He turned and said, "Liam McBride, I don't know what's come over you lately. I should smash your face, but you're looking for an excuse to pummel me or anyone."
Michael slammed the door behind him as Liam sat staring straight ahead. He had been drinking more lately and boiling with hatred and resentment. The only person he cared about was pulling away from him and whether he admitted it or not, Darcy was important to him. She was not there to greet him at the end of day, and he resented that she no longer catered exclusively to him. He felt as if he was being left behind, so when Michael had news of his marriage, Liam felt a burning jealousy begrudging their happiness. Liam had little desire to find a wife, and even if a woman were attracted to his coarse appearance, his courting skills were nonexistent.
He sat at the table brooding for some time when he heard footsteps. The door opened and Darcy burst into the cottage announcing that she was home, tossing her shawl over the chair. Her cheeks were apple red from the cold, and she was in a good mood.
"You're late! Where have you been?" demanded Liam.
"I'm late? Oh Liam, I am sorry. I had no idea.”
"Where have you been?"
"With Teila, we spent the day carding wool," Darcy lied. She grabbed some potatoes from a bag in the corner, hoping Liam would press her no further. She hated having to lie to him about her lessons with Father Etienne, but if he knew the truth, they would end.
"You liar!” he snarled. “I want you home here every night with my supper ready, and that's an order!"
Darcy's eyes flashed, as she looked up from her cooking, but she decided to say nothing.
"Tell me. Who's the bastard giving it to you when you should be home cooking?"
Darcy took a breath ready to counter then decided to use his words to her advantage. "Liam, please don't be angry with me. Yes, I have been seeing someone, but please don't ask me who it is."
He grabbed her chin and yanked her face upward, examining her eyes, then let go. Liam did not want to know, so he pressed her no further, but Darcy knew eventually he would learn the truth and squash her dreams forever.
Chapter 5
For the first time in her life, Darcy was happy. Her days with Father Etienne had exacted a profound change on her. It seemed at first, that the reading lessons were not progressing fast enough, but eventually she began reading simple stories Father Etienne wrote for her, then moved quickly from simplistic compositions to great literature.
The first book he had her read was The Arabian Nights. She marveled at the cleverness of Scheherazade, thrilled at the adventures of Sinbad and was filled with wonder at Aladdin and his Genie. The priest thoroughly enjoyed watching her explore his boyhood favorites, and he vicariously relived those first precious moments of discovering good books.
In nine months, Darcy went from learning the alphabet to discussing Shakespeare and The Bible with Father Etienne. Her vocabulary changed too, and she found herself making a deliberate effort to hide her improved speech from Liam and the other villagers.
She matured from a one-dimensional female with few choices to a woman with new insights ready to expand her horizons. Until now her mental boundaries had been the green mountains of Kerry and the rugged coastline of the Atlantic, but now books carried her to the far reaches of the Orient or across the Seven Seas on a search deep within herself. Every moment she could find, she would steal upstairs to open the crate of books, drowning herself in other worlds. She realized there was a multitude of ways to look at life and a multitude of ways to live it.
Father Etienne felt transformed during this time as well. Darcy helped eliminate his intellectual isolation. He was not only fulfilling the Jesuit's supreme goal, to educate, but for the first time in his life he was close to a woman. There had been sexual encounters prior to taking vows, but he had never had a friendship with a woman. He delighted in the fresh perspectives a female brought to topics which he had discussed previously with men. They would debate for hours, delighting in the unique views each had to offer.
Their personal relationship changed as well, and they became best friends and confidants. Darcy no longer put Father Etienne on a pedestal. He, in turn, treated her as an equal, laying aside his professional distance, opening himself up.
In spite of the new friendship, Father Etienne still had misgivings regarding Darcy's education. He was afraid that after he had carefully designed and sculpted an intellectual equal, she would have no peer in Kilkerry. She adamantly wanted to stay in Ireland, but only the gentry had education. Where in the village
would she find someone with whom to share her new interests? He felt that he had been selfish and imprudent, yet he could never have neglected her hungry mind. Once a mind has been awakened, how do you tell it to go back to sleep?
He watched Darcy pull herself up the hill for another lesson. Today they were meeting at the abbey. It was a warm and peaceful day, and the priest sat partially concealed behind a wall observing the pastoral landscape which opened up below him. Cottages with thatched roofs were scattered across the landscape. Each homeowner put his or her own personal touch to his or her cottage, a red window sill and a container of flowers or a white picket fence. One quality all the homes had in common was their neatness. Father Etienne watched a small boy and his donkey carrying peat bricks in baskets, then an old man leaning on a wall smoking a pipe.
Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry Page 4
