by D. S. Elstad
Kelleigh squinted her eyes as she stared at her brother. “Ara be whist! You’re a complete idiot when it comes to the supernatural and you best be quiet lest something unnatural comes to you in the middle of the night.” Her voice took on a frightening tone that froze Quinn where he stood, and even sent chills down my spine.
“Ara be whist to you, Kell,” Quinn responded in a meek voice without looking at his sister. He glanced in my direction, “It’s her way of telling me to shut up.”
I sat and waited for the smoke to settle from their spat before continuing. “Puca?” I asked quietly, almost afraid to look at Kelleigh.
“A puca is a shapeshifting type of fairy. It can take the form of an animal and almost always has dark fur. It most often appears as a black horse with a long mane and glowing eyes but has been rumored to be in wolf form as well. It’s able to communicate with humans, and legends tell of pucas helping people and leading them away from danger. A puca is something helpful, not evil like you dear brother,” Kelleigh hissed, returning her stare to Quinn. Quinn shrugged and plunged his hands into his pockets.
“So you think the wolf I saw…is a puca?” I wondered.
“I don’t know about the existence of the puca, but as of yesterday I wouldn’t have believed in shapeshifting either. Right now I’m afraid all I have for you, Willow, are more questions than answers.”
My brain was flooded with the information Kelleigh had just unloaded and left me more confused than ever. But even with all that, there was the one question that kept coming back. “I just wonder how I was able to shapeshift…and –”
“And,” interrupted Quinn…“will you do it again?” That was the million-dollar question.
We all looked back and forth at one another, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The silence was broken when Uncle Eagan called to us from the porch, “Come here for a moment, youngsters.”
We made our way back towards the house, Quinn in front and Kelleigh by my side. She held onto my arm as if she somehow felt responsible for me. I was relieved to have these two helping me try and figure out what was going on. I had been feeling so alone after Dad left me to fend for myself. As we neared the creaky wooden steps of my grandfather’s front porch, my mind flashed on the other unanswered questions. What happened to my grandmother Shannah and how did she die and was all of this somehow connected?
Uncle Eagan led us back into the house and motioned for Kelleigh and Quinn to go into the other room. He took me aside “Willow, your grandfather would like to speak with you for a few moments, all right?”
“Oh yes,” I answered following Eagan to where Grandfather had been sitting earlier. When we entered the room Grandpa jumped, like we just woke him up from a nap.
“Conor, here she is… Willow.” Uncle Eagan pulled out a chair for me to sit on and then smiled, turned, and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Grandpa slowly looked up and over to where I was sitting. “Hello, my dear.” His voice was quiet and raspy, almost like it hurt him to even speak.
“Hello.” I couldn’t bring myself to say Grandpa, even though I wanted to.
“It’s very nice to finally meet you.”
“You too,” I smiled, looking into his eyes, so much like Dad’s.
I glanced around the room; it was an office or study. Books lined the shelves on the wall along with old pictures hanging throughout. The yellowing photographs reminded me of the turn-of-the-century museum that Mom and I went to a few years ago. The pictures there were of Native people and early western settlers.
These pictures were of the Irish countryside and people wearing long dresses and clothing from years past. The furniture was old too: antique chairs and an old roll top desk, sort of like the one we had at home, only this one had much more detail, with lots of carvings on the back. The swivel chair that sat in front of it had a ripped cushion and scratches from years of use. I caught Grandpa’s eye while doing my visual exploration and smiled.
“Is your father coming back, Willow?” he asked.
“He said he would, to pick me up.” I tried hard to hide the frustration I was feeling towards my dad.
“Ah, I see,” he lowered his head then stood up and sat on the sofa a few feet away. “Will you join me over here, please?”
I walked over and sat down on the sofa. It smelled old and musty and the paisley fabric was worn; I could feel a spring push up on the back of my leg. I noticed that Grandpa had several pictures in his left hand.
“I thought you might enjoy seeing some of these photographs of your grandmother since you never had a chance to meet her.” He handed me three photos of a young woman; pictures like the one Dad had shown me of Grandma before our trip.
I studied the first one; it was a portrait, something like a school picture, from the shoulders up. She must have been about my age, had a long braid draped over her shoulder and a slight smile which curved to the left. It freaked me out a little bit because when I first looked at the picture it reminded me of myself. Her expression, the tilt of her head – I’d seen pictures of myself looking that same way.
The second picture was of her and Grandpa on their wedding day. Grandpa sat in a chair and Grandma stood beside it. I’d seen lots of old-time wedding portraits and it always surprised me at how the man would be sitting and the woman standing, I guess a statement on how things were back then. Their expressions were sort of grim and somber, not happy like you think they’d be on their wedding day. Mom and Dad’s wedding pictures were polar opposite. They’re laughing, smiling, really happy looking.
The third picture was a muted color shot of Grandma with a baby. She wore a red sweater over a white Peter Pan-collared blouse. Her auburn hair was long and pulled into a single braid that rested over her shoulder like in the first picture. Her pale complexion was contrasted by rosy cheeks which most likely were natural, as it didn’t look like Grandma wore any makeup. She had a huge smile and looked serene. The baby was reaching up and had his little fingers woven into her braid. He stared straight at the camera with pursed lips and a trace of a frown. He had on a pale blue shirt and matching blue shorts. His little feet were crossed and shoeless.
“Is this Dad?”
“Yes, he was about six months old; a wee tot at the time.” Grandpa leaned into me, looking at the picture. For a moment he looked as though he was going to cry; his eyes were damp and teary. He ran a finger over the image of his family and gently shook his head. “It goes by too quickly, my dear,” he spoke softly in a whisper.
He straightened up and pressed his back against the sofa, exhaling a sad and frail breath. I looked at him closely and felt convinced that if there were questions surrounding Grandma’s death, my grandfather had absolutely nothing to do with it. I’d never felt more certain of anything.
We sat together for what seemed to be hours, looking at pictures and chatting. I was surprised how at ease and comfortable I felt with him. He told me stories of the early days when he and Grandma first met and then when they got married. He spoke about her with so much love; you could just feel it when he talked about their times together. Being with him, sharing these special moments, left me wondering how my father could be so angry with this man – his own father – who, right now, was gentle, sweet, and poignant. I was feeling so comfortable and close to him that, before I knew it, I blurted out the question that had been eating away at me for as long as I could remember.
“Grandpa, what happened between you and Dad?”
His blue eyes grew teary once again and he blinked several times in an effort to fight them back.
“He’s not told you why he hasn’t been here for all these years?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the picture of Dad as a baby.
“No, and he doesn’t like me asking about it. Can you tell me, please, what happened?”
“Ah, child, it’s a complicated and difficult situation. Things that happen many years ago have the power to magnify if they aren’t dealt with immediately. I’m afraid t
hat’s what’s happened here with your father. In my younger days I was a stubborn and ignorant man. Your grandmother warned me that if I let too much time pass without remedying the situation that it may never be resolved.”
“What is the situation, Grandpa?” I leaned closer, my hand resting near his on the sofa.
He rubbed his forehead and eyes as though he was trying to muster up the energy to re-live whatever it was that had caused such a gap between him and Dad. “Years ago, when your father was about six years old, I was taking him on a little boating trip. We went to our favorite spot over in the park there, uh, that’s Killarney Park. Have you been there yet?”
“Yes,” was all I said; I certainly wasn’t going to go into any detail about my experience there.
“Well, your father, he loved to fish and boat, so one day we packed up all our gear and drove over. We had a favorite spot by the lake and made our way to it. I had planned a big surprise.” Grandpa began coughing then finally cleared his throat. “Uh, but before I continue, do you know the whole story about our fam–”
Suddenly the door to the study opened and there stood Uncle Eagan. “Conor, your guests are leaving, best come say farewell.” He reached his hand out to his brother.
Grandpa looked at me and smiled, “We’ll finish this later,” he said quietly, slowly lifting himself to his feet. “Feel free to stay here and look at more of the pictures.” He stared into my eyes and brushed my cheek lightly with his right hand before shuffling out of the room.
No! I thought to myself. What terrible timing Eagan! It was so frustrating being that close to finally getting some answers about the rift between Dad and Grandpa and then to have it stop.
I sat and looked around the room once again. Being alone freed me up to study its contents in greater detail. My eyes caught sight of another pile of pictures sitting on top of the roll top desk. I went over, sat on the swivel chair, and spun around but stopped immediately because of the loud squeaking noise coming from it. My hand moved over the top of the pictures, separating them here and there and looking quickly through the pile.
My grandparents’ lives were now being played out in this pile of old, faded, pictures; lots of them in front of their house, in town, at gatherings. There were portraits of him, of her, of the two of them together, some shots of her with a baby, him with a baby… so cute.
Then my fingers came upon a picture that puzzled me. It was another portrait-type shot, one they had done by a photographer. It was a picture of Grandma and Grandpa sitting side by side, all dressed up like they were going to a wedding. A small child, less than a year old, sat on Grandma’s lap with his head cocked to one side. He was wearing a little cap and an adorable little suit. He gripped Grandma’s arm and held a rattle in the other hand. This child was the same one in the other pictures so I figured it was Dad. The strange thing was that the lower portion of the photograph had been ripped away. All that remained of Grandpa in the picture was the right side of his upper torso, shoulders, and head. Looking closer, I could make out what appeared to be a small hand resting on Grandpa’s right hand. Whoever that little hand belonged to had been ripped away from the rest of the family.
I scratched my head and pulled the picture closer in an attempt to study all the details and see if there was something that I was missing. There was nothing, just the small hand resting atop Grandpa’s as it sat on the arm of the chair. The whole set-up of the picture suggested it had been a family portrait. I bit my lower lip, trying to figure out why it had been torn and who the little hand belonged to. I grew up believing my dad was an only child, but now what was left of this photograph suggested otherwise.
Out in the hallway I could hear footsteps and talking, so I quickly pulled out my phone, snapped a picture and moved all the photographs back into their pile. I shot back over to the sofa and started looking through the pictures sitting there when Grandpa returned with Uncle Eagan holding onto his arm, leading him to his chair.
“Willow, your Grandpa here is feeling very fatigued. Perhaps you can come back later and visit him after he’s rested.”
“Come now, Eagan, I’m quite all right,” shot Grandpa, swinging his cane in Eagan’s direction.
I had to admit he looked really tired. I stood up and hugged him and promised I’d come back again before we left. He held on tight before letting go. “You do that, dear girl; we have much to talk about.” He smiled and eased himself into his chair.
I felt nothing but warmth and affection from my first meeting with my grandfather and was even more mystified about what may have fractured the relationship between him and Dad.
Chapter Seven
I rode back to the hotel with Uncle Eagan. He didn’t want to bother Dad to come and get me since he was on his way to town anyway. When we got there I hugged him and thanked him for the ride. I was beginning to feel really close to him and remembered what Mom said about this being an opportunity to meet some amazing people and Uncle Eagan surely was that.
I unlocked the door to our room and noticed Dad sleeping in his bed. Seeing him there filled me with more and more questions. The afternoon with Grandpa was amazing; I just couldn’t understand what might have happened between the two of them that led my father to sever all ties with his parents. What could have made him so angry?
I changed my clothes and got comfortable, brushed out my hair, and grabbed a bottle of water. I slipped behind the curtains covering the sliding glass door to the balcony and quietly stepped outside. I pulled the chair up to the railing and sat down, stretching out my legs and resting my feet on the ledge. The sun was close to setting and the cloudy sky took on a threatening appearance, like a major storm was on its way.
A family of four walked down the pathway in front of the hotel, two little boys with their parents. It started me thinking about the pictures I’d seen at Grandpa’s and how close he was to confiding something in me, something about “our family.” Obviously it had to do with the portrait I saw of him and Grandma with two children.
I peeked through the curtain and saw Dad tossing in bed, but he quickly settled down and began snoring again. I couldn’t help but wonder if that other child was his sibling and where he or she had gone.
My attention turned back to the walkway, when who should come walking on the path but Kelleigh and Quinn. Quinn caught sight of me sitting at the window and waved. They both motioned for me to come down. As I approached, they were arguing as usual but quickly stopped.
“Willow! How are you, how was it with your grandfather?” Kelleigh asked, ready to burst. The two of them circled me, no doubt anxious to continue our discussion from earlier.
“It was good, very good.” I could feel Quinn breathing on the back of my neck, he stood so close. “He was sweet and told me a lot about Grandmother. He also showed me tons of pictures. It was really nice; I didn’t want to leave,” I answered, rubbing my neck to ease away the goose bumps.
“That’s great, glad to hear it,” Kelleigh replied, grabbing hold of my arm and leading me to a bench nearby. It always felt like we were involved in some sort of espionage whenever I got together with these two. She leaned in closely, whispering, “I’ve got some more information about, um, well, you know, about last night.”
“What kind of information?”
“I went over to a friend’s house whose mother has a huge collection of books on the puca and other Celtic creatures. She let me borrow several, which I’ve been reading. There’s a lot of information here about shapeshifting and about wolves; one wolf pack in particular that once roamed Killarney Park; remember I was telling you about that pack?”
“Um, yes…”
“Well, this book goes into a lot more detail, has dates and names. If we can get a bit more information, I believe we’ll be able to start putting some of the pieces of this puzzle together.” Kelleigh’s eyes were darting all over the place; she loved the intrigue.
I looked at Quinn who stood above us staring down at his sister. He caught my glance
and shook his head, “Calm down, Kelleigh, this isn’t some silly game, this is serious.”
“Of course it’s serious,” Kelleigh shot back, “but it’s also incredibly exciting. Willow…” she stopped, put her hands on my shoulders, and again stared straight into my eyes. “Willow, you are a shapeshifter. I know after last night that’s obvious, but there are many different creatures in Celtic folklore and I needed to pin down exactly where you fit in. It’s an ancient but not unheard-of ability. In fact, long ago, there were loads of shapeshifters. They were considered to be spiritual counselors and leaders.”
Kelleigh’s words were dancing through my brain. I found it easier to accept that I was a shapeshifter than a leader or spiritual counselor. I had a teacher in fourth grade who actually called me Wrong-way Whelan. I was always getting turned around in the hallway and ending up in the wrong classroom, so to be considered any kind of a leader… yeah, not so much.
“Maybe it’s a onetime thing, you know, like the moon and the stars were all in some sort of perfect alignment,” I murmured as I started chewing on my thumbnail.
“I don’t think so; from what I’ve read, once you shapeshift, it becomes part of you. But there’s still so much I need to research. What are you doing tonight, I mean, you and your father?”
“I don’t know, he’s napping.” I nodded towards the room upstairs; as I looked up I saw Dad standing there looking down at us. He rubbed his chin, expressionless, and stared at me. I waved and he stepped back into the room closing the curtain.
“My parents would like you both to come over for dinner; it would be a perfect time for us to go over some of this information. Your dad would be taken care of by my folks, so we could do some serious research.”
“Uhm, ok, I’ll see what he says, but Kelleigh, what about… my grandma?”
“Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten about Shannah! There’s more I can tell you when you come over. Quinn and I just stopped off to extend the invitation. We need to pick up some things for dinner. I hate leaving you like this, but our parents are expecting us to be right back. Willow Whelan, your arrival here in Killarney has stirred up quite a hornets’ nest, hasn’t it?” she cringed and smiled at the same time. The girl was really getting into all of this. Wish I felt the same way.
