Nick of Time

by Julianne Q Johnson

  "Where in the world do you put it all?"

  "The curse showed up on the plane last night, in case you've forgotten. Always makes me ravenous."

  "Do they fry everything in Ireland?"

  "No, not everything. Hey, the beans are baked and the toast is...well...toasted."

  "Beans for breakfast?"

  "Sure. Try them, they're delicious. It's a pretty common breakfast food throughout England and Ireland."

  "No one can eat like this every morning and not weigh five hundred pounds."

  Her comment makes me laugh. "They don't eat the full Irish every morning. My Dad's parents are from County Cork. This is something they'd do on Saturday or Sunday mornings. Irish breakfasts do tend to be filling though. They eat more in the morning and less at the evening meal than Americans tend to do."

  Breakfast finished, luggage grabbed, and we catch a taxi. First a short stop at the bank to change my traveler's checks into local currency, and then we are off to the train station.

  Dublin is huge. Not as big as someplace like New York City, but you could probably compare it to Boston. The buildings are crowded up against each other in colorful madness. The glimpses I see of the city through the windows of a taxi and a train are not enough. I wish I had a week in Dublin alone just to explore.

  Not this trip. Someday I'll bring Daphne back here and we'll have a real vacation. In the meantime, the city streets flash past me and fade away as we leave Dublin and travel through farmland and small villages on the way to Kilkenny. My Irish cousins live near there and will pick us up around one o'clock, but we should have a little sightseeing time before we meet them.

  The countryside is gorgeous. Rolling green hills, flocks of fluffy sheep, thin copses of trees in between the fields. I've seen pasture land before, we have plenty in Indiana, but I've never seen anywhere that's this green. It's soothing somehow. Maybe there's something to be said for visiting the place where the roots of your family lie.

  As we pull into Kilkenny, we spot our first castle.

  "Oh, look!" Daphne bounces in her seat as she points out the window. "Let's go see it!"

  "Sounds like a plan to me."

  At the small train station, I'm at a loss as to what to do with our luggage while we check out the castle. I step up to the ticket counter where an older woman is typing on a laptop.

  "Excuse me, ma'am."

  "And what can I do for you, young Sir?"

  "I was wondering if you rent lockers we could put our luggage in. We have a little time to kill before my family picks us up, and we wanted to see the castle."

  "Don't. Rent lockers that is. You just slip them behind the desk and I'll mind them for you."

  "Thank you. You're very kind."

  Out in the sunlight, Daphne and I walk hand in hand along the streets of Kilkenny. It looks much like Dublin on a smaller scale. There are giant baskets of flowers hanging from the street lamps and occasional wooden benches along the wide sidewalks. The buildings all touch each other at the sides, and I feel like I'm walking through a ravine. I'm used to alleyways and access paths separating buildings now and then, but there's nothing like that here. The buildings themselves are painted beige, white, light blue, and creamy yellow. The first-floor storefronts are mostly painted in bright colors. It's a festive if claustrophobic environment.

  A local gives us directions when we get lost, and soon we come to the castle. It looks more gigantic from up close than it did from the train. On the banks of a river, the tall building is U-shaped with round turrets at both the ends and junctures. There's a formal garden with a fountain in front and a bit of woods in the back. There are windows everywhere, which surprises me. Somehow, I thought castles would have plain stone walls to withstand a siege, but maybe this isn't that sort of castle.

  There are people walking on the paths of the gardens, and a young woman on roller-skates. As she passes us, she loses her balance and would have fallen to the pavement if I hadn't reflexively grabbed her arm. She smiles her thanks and skates away.

  Was this it? Was that my curse for the day? I hope so. After what happened on the flight, I could use a break.

  I spot a few tourists taking pictures. They remind me I'm here in Ireland with a beautiful woman and I haven't taken one picture. I have my phone in my back pocket out of habit. It might not work for calls here, but it can still take pictures. Well, maybe it would work, but I bet the charges would be astronomical.

  Grabbing Daphne by the hand, I spin her around so she's facing away from the castle, squeeze in close to her, and take several selfies. She is wearing a pretty yellow sundress to meet my family, and I drag her over to the fountain next to take several shots of her spinning in front of the falling water. Despite my curse, despite the hardships in my life, at this moment I feel like the luckiest man in the world.

  "Let's go see the castle!" Daphne shouts after her last spin.

  Her excitement is contagious, and we rush, hand in hand, to the main entrance and through the double doors. We find there are no guided tours this time of year, but for the low price of seven Euros we get a brochure for a self-guided tour and are free to explore on our own. The castle was built early in the thirteenth century and has centuries of treasures on display. We walk down a hallway as wide as the streets of the city with skylights in the ceiling to let in the sunlight. The walls are painted a deep red and there are oil paintings everywhere.

  We haven't seen nearly as much as we would like when it's time to head back to the train station and meet up with my cousins.

  We only get lost once on the way back.

  A dark blue SUV is pulling into the train station's parking lot when we arrive. A cheerful bear of a man with brown hair and a red beard takes one look at me and walks over.

  "Nick Callaghan?"

  "Guilty as charged." I hold out my hand and he shakes it briefly before giving me a quick, one armed hug.

  "Welcome to Ireland, Cousin! I'm Robert Malley."

  "Happy to be here. This is my girlfriend, Daphne."

  They shake hands and Daphne also gets the one armed hug treatment.

  "Were you after a little of the sights while you were waiting?"

  "Yes," Daphne answers. "We went to see the castle."

  "Gorgeous, isn't she? The rest of the family's in the car. I just hopped out to help with the baggage."

  We retrieve our luggage from the station and Robert helps me put it in the rear of the SUV. Inside we meet more of my family. Molly is Robert's wife. She has straight brown hair and startling blue eyes. While her husband is loquacious, Molly is quieter, though she is friendly and all smiles. We also meet their youngest daughter. Debbie is towheaded, eleven years old, and very excited to meet family from America. She keeps us entertained with a slew of questions about where we live all the way to Tullaroan.

  Tullaroan is a small village which looks more rustic than the cities we'd already seen in Ireland. There's one main drag with a few shops and businesses surrounded by houses and farms. There are fences all along the roads, some of them old stone fences and some made of thick hedges. I've never seen anything like those hedge fences. We drive through town and past several farms with vegetable gardens and fields dotted with sheep or black and white spotted cows. The stone walls, the spotted cows, the never-ending green fields, I feel as if I've fallen asleep and I'm having a most pleasant dream.

  My cousin's house is splendid. It's a modern-looking farmhouse of two stories, sitting on a hill with a curved drive leading to it. Tall and graceful stone walls curve into the driveway and cheerful red flowers are planted all across the front of the white house. The roof, door, and shutters are all painted emerald green. It may be modern, but it remains completely Irish. There's a three-car garage, and I can see a wooden deck in the back of the house. It's a nice place and I realize my cousins are obviously well off. I don't know what I expected, never having met these folks before, but it wasn't anything nearly this fancy. I think of my apartment with its mismatched furniture
and renew my vow to do better for myself.

  Inside we meet the rest of the family. Bethany is seventeen and the spitting image of her mother. Dennis is fourteen and bounces up and down on the balls of his feet in his excitement to meet his American cousin. As for me, it’s weird meeting my first male cousin. My Dad is an only child, and on Mom’s side, it’s all girls. These people are from my grandfather’s side of the family, which I think makes them first cousins once removed, or some such. We also meet my great uncle, Hugh. He’s my grandfather’s brother and father to Robert. Hugh shakes my hand firmly and asks after my grandfather. Hugh’s seventy-six, and is as spry and energetic as a much younger man. He has a great mane of silver hair and twinkling blue eyes.

  The last member of the family is Quinn, the family’s corgi. He’s a handsome and friendly fellow who greets us with wags, sniffs, and kisses. Quinn follows us up the stairs to our bedroom, where we are left for a bit to freshen up and unpack.

  The bedroom is painted pale blue and has a border of jonquils near the ceiling. The furniture is light oak. There’s a big bed, chest of drawers, two easy chairs set near a small round table, and an old-fashioned wardrobe cabinet instead of a closet. Big, double windows with glass paned in diamond shapes let in plenty of light from outside, and there’s both a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling and bedside tables with lamps on either side of the headboard. The room is nicer than most hotels I’ve stayed in.

  “I didn’t realize your family had such a nice place.” Daphne opens her suitcase and hangs some of her clothes in the wardrobe.

  “I didn’t either. It’s beautiful. I’ve never much thought about having a house, but this place makes me want to work towards getting one.”

  “Maybe after we get your not-curse settled, regular life goals will be easier for you.”

  “Not-curse? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  “Why not? It fits.”

  “I guess it does.”

  Back downstairs, we find the family hanging out in the huge kitchen.

  “Now, Uncle Dylan, your grandfather, said you were here to explore some of your roots.” Robert was helping Molly cut up carrots and add them to a large baking dish. “He said you want to see the old Brennon farm and the field where Ronan got chased by the bull.”

  “That’s right. My Gram, Fiona, has told me so many stories about the place I had to see it for myself.”

  “We know where the old homestead is, and Molly checked on where the field with the bull was, didn’t you, pet?”

  “I did. Hugh reminded me Teagan down on Mill Road knows all the old stories, so I asked her. The field is right close to the old farm, by a big hill. It should be easy enough to find.”

  “I’m after seeing a friend of mine tomorrow,” Hugh adds. “I’d be happy to run you to the old place and pick you up after my visit. We thought this afternoon you might want to see some of the sights around Tullaroan.”

  “That would be lovely,” Daphne agrees.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I add. “We’re not certain how long we can stay, but we’re not in a hurry. I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland and it’s especially nice to get acquainted with this side of the family.”

  “We’re happy to have you.” Robert finishes adding carrots to the pot.

  Molly covers the large stoneware dish and sets it in the oven. “Settled then, let’s go show off Tullaroan.”

  The kids elect to stay home. I suppose seeing the sights of their hometown didn’t have much appeal to people their age. The adults pile into the SUV and we’re off to see what there is to be seen.

  Whether there’s much to be seen in Tullaroan or not, I’m happy for the drive. I’m in love with this countryside. I’m not sure anywhere in America is this green, and the stone fences have old-world charm. The hedge fences are less interesting to me. In some places, the hedges have died off, and there are just bare sticks woven together, which isn’t very attractive.

  Our first stop is an old cemetery. We pile out of the car to walk through part of it. I can’t begin to describe how old this place looks, or how foreign. Most of the monuments are tall Celtic crosses, the oldest ones made of stone and some of the newer ones made from molded concrete. I see one weather-worn cross which has a date of nine hundred eighty-three on it. We simply don’t have markers this old in the States, outside of burial grounds of indigenous peoples. The United States is too young to have this sort of history.

  There's a tall, crumbling wall made of stone hewed into blocks towards the back of the cemetery. Its shape makes it impossible to tell if I'm looking at the remains of a wall or an old church.

  “Say, Nicky, look at this.” Daphne waves me over to a nearby section of the cemetery. “Wasn’t your great-grandfather’s name Brennon?”

  I walk to her side and see she’s found a small section of markers with the Brennon family name.

  “It was,” Hugh comes to stand beside us. “My grandmother on my mother's side was a Brennon. Lots of folks around Tullaroan are related one way or another. There’s my Grandmother there...I believe she was an aunt to your great-grandfather, Ronan. Ronan’s parents, Clara and Mathew are buried right there next to my grandmother.”

  I'm astonished by how touched I am, standing in a foreign country, looking at the graves of people who died before I was born and are my ancestors. This land may not be my home, and the dead buried here may be strangers, but here lie the roots to everything I am.

  "I envy you, you know." Daphne squeezes my hand.

  "I can't imagine why."

  "We're standing here with your Irish family, exploring where your family came from. It's awesome! I don't have anything like that."

  "Of course you do. Unless you're Native American, and you really don't look it, your family had to come from somewhere."

  "I know they did, but no one remembers where. Mom's line does have a touch of Shawnee, and we know part of Dad's family came from Europe somewhere, but we're complete mutts. Don't get me wrong, mutts are awesome in their own right. Think about it, mutts make the best dogs. We tend to be healthy, smart, loyal...I'd make a great dog. All the same, it must be wonderful to stand here and know where you come from."

  "I guess it is."

  "Ready for our next adventure, or would you like to stay here longer," Robert asks.

  "Let's go." Squeezing Daphne's hand, I tug her towards the car.

  Twenty

  The drive is quite short to our next destination. We pull into a narrow drive with a stone wall on one side and a copse of bushes and brush on the other. It's rather like traveling down a tunnel, so I don't get a good look at where we're going until we come out the other side. When we emerge, there's a massive two-story building in front of us. It has bright white walls and a steeply pitched roof of honest-to-God thatch. This is the most quintessentially Irish building I have seen since entering the country. Nearby are several outbuildings and one impressively long stone building with a shingled roof.

  "What is this place?" I ask as we pile out of the SUV.

  "It's called Brod Tullaroan." Hugh stands smiling at the building with obvious pride. "She's quite a beauty, she is."

  "Yes, she is. It looks quite old."

  "That she is. This lovely old lady was built in the seventeenth century. She fell into disrepair for ages, she did. But back in the thirties, she was bought by Ireland's most famous hurler. His name was Lory Meager, and oh, I wish I could have seen him play. I'm old, but not quite old enough."

  "Hurler? Oh, he played hurling?"

  "He did. And from all accounts, he was the grandest of the grand."

  "And he bought the place and fixed it up?" Daphne seems as impressed with the building as I am.

  "He fixed her up right and proper...hired a herd of artisans to work on her. She's been modernized a bit. She has proper boilers for heat and she's been wired for electricity, but they didn't destroy her charm when they fancied her up."

  "What is the building used for?" Daphne craned her
head to look up at the thatched roof of the main building.

  "It's a sad story, that," Molly answered. "It's got a museum and gift shop dedicated to Irish sports and an extensive kitchen and dining area in the longhouse. It was used as a community center for ages. Then the owner decided to sell, and it hasn't gotten a buyer yet. It's been shut down for now, but we hope it will open again."

  An hour is spent tromping around the grounds, looking at the overgrown garden and peering into windows. Brod Tullaroan is an interesting place. My relatives make it clear they miss having their community center, and I hope for their sake a reasonable buyer is found soon. Its position in the middle of nowhere makes it safe from contractors with visions of knocking down the historic buildings to put a high-rise in their place, but it also made it less attractive to prospective buyers.

  Soon we're back in the car and off to have a family dinner at my cousin's house. It's a good thing they have a formal dining room with a long table, as there's eight of us. Daphne and I are waved away when we offer to help, so we go outside to stroll around the yard. There's a good view from the back of the house. A white-washed barn sits atop a hill in the distance, shimmering golden in the evening light. Milling around it is a flock of sheep turned yellow by the fading sun. From a nearby copse, a fox appears and stares at us before loping off over the field.

  I can't help thinking of Quan and his story, but our fox has but a single tail. We're safe enough, for now, anyway. I'm preparing to speak to the Sidhe, who are by all counts, dangerous beings. I remain unsure whether I believe in this Irish nonsense or not. Even so, I feel nervous. What sort of fool willfully trots off after the beckoning fox of many tails?

  What choice do I have? Daphne is right, I can't keep this crazy life of mine much longer without either driving myself into exhaustion or giving up on saving people altogether. I don't think I can live with that. How can anyone stand by and watch folks get hurt or watch people die? I have short, disjointed nightmares about the kid on the roller coaster. At times, he flies into the air and turns into a crow which tumbles through the sky and pecks at my face. In my dream last night, I lose my grip on the boy's pants and he bounces off the side of the coaster and falls to the ground, leaving a contrail of blood in his wake.