by Fox Brison
“Oh yeah, I hit the jackpot all right! Anyway, I was camping out on my best friend Sam’s sofa when I received an email for an interview with Heavenly Homes. I thought it was a sign, or divine intervention, and even though I hadn’t applied for a job with them I went along anyway. What’s the worst thing that could have happened?”
“Erm, can anyone say serial killer? Job from hell in Ireland?” she grinned.
“I lucked out didn’t I? Long story short they offered me the position, and honestly the project was so amazing it definitely was a gift from God. That’s why I took this job, Elisha. What you’re doing is incredible, and I’m proud to be a small part of it.” Her body relaxed beside me as I continued. “But I won’t lie, the fact that it wasn’t far from where my DNA provider was born did influence my decision-”
“DNA provider?” she interrupted quizzically.
“I didn’t know what else to call her,” I shrugged. “That wasn’t the only thing swaying me. I also wanted to get as far away as possible from my parents and Leo.” I rubbed the back of my neck. It was stiff, possibly because that’s where I carried all my tension. “Although now I’m here, I’m not sure if I should let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Here let me.” Elisha gently turned my shoulders so that my back was facing her and exceeded my efforts in kneading my tightly corded muscles. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
“I don’t know…”
“Really?” she asked dubiously.
“No, not really. It’s my Dad. He’s finding it difficult,” I admitted and groaned as she hit the spot with her expert ministrations. “He sees it as a betrayal of some sort. I’ve tried to explain how I feel, but there are times when he’s uber negative to the point of being almost conflicted… that’s it, he’s conflicted.” The hunt to find the word that best described my Dad’s attitude was over.
“It sounds like he wants to support you but is afraid you may get hurt, and by playing devil’s advocate he’s ensuring you do this because you want to, rather than because it’s something you think you should be doing. Does that make sense?”
I swivelled around so I could look into her eyes and instantly missed her touch. “Total.” Elisha managed to solve the conundrum I’d been having for the past two months in one night. “He called it a can of worms.” I pursed my lips. I still didn’t totally understand his reluctance. It was more like a can of fresh air because I had next to nothing to go on. “But I’d rather that than a can of regrets or a tub of what ifs.”
“So, you’ve made up your mind? You’re going for it?” she asked and despite her attempt to disguise it, there was eagerness in her tone.
“Yeah, I am. I’d like to know the circumstances behind why she had no other option other than give me up.”
“You said she was seventeen when she had you?” Elisha quizzed.
“That’s right.”
“Which would mean she was born around the late sixties,” she estimated.
Pursing my lips I concurred. “I figured sixty-five through to seventy, in case she lied about her age.”
“Did you know that your birth mother would have grown up in an era when women had very little rights? Women generally weren’t allowed to enter a pub, and married women couldn’t refuse sex with their husband, nor own their own home outright until after 1976.”
“Really?” I answered plainly and totally taken aback.
“Women’s choices were very limited. And the Catholic Church wasn’t exactly innocent. The Magdalene laundries were still around at that time. They confined ‘fallen women’ and yet men guilty of the same ‘crime’ walked free. You’ve heard of them, right?”
I nodded, engrossed by both what she was saying, and her intense passion for the subject. “Wasn’t there a film made about that?”
“There’s been a few.”
“This one starred Judi Dench.” I narrowed it down a touch.
“Philomena, yes, I watched it with Biddy one night on RTE. It was the first time I ever saw her especially upset, and incredibly vocal, about the horrors and the part the church played in the whole affair.”
“It was awful.” I was no expert on the subject but the little I did know was shocking.
“Maggie O’Shea grew up in a world dominated by men and the church…” Elisha took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be lecturing you.”
“No,” I said quietly, “it’s fascinating. You’re very knowledgeable about it,” I complimented.
“I know some, mainly from talking to Bridget. She knows an awful lot about everything.”
“It’s strange,” I began. “Since learning about the adoption I’ve been focussed solely on myself, but talking to you here tonight I’ve realised Maggie O’Shea isn’t just my DNA provider, she has her own story of which I’m a part of. Perhaps she has a family who never knew what happened to her. I can be as much a link to her for them, as they will be for me.”
“I’d like to help you,” Elisha offered tentatively. “If that’s okay?”
“Okay? Leesh, I’m going to need all the help I can get. I don’t even know where to start. It’s not as if I have much to go on.”
“You’ve plenty,” she assured me. “Believe me if there’s one thing this country is geared up for it’s this kind of thing. Ireland is a nation of wanderers because of emigration. It all started way back with the famine and nowadays people from all over the world search for their Irish ancestry. There are loads of websites containing church and civil records, census reports, and migration records. We’ll start a search tomorrow with the information you have and see what it turns up.”
Coming to Ireland was proving to be one of the smartest moves I’d ever made because regardless of finding out about Maggie O’Shea, I had found a friend for life in Elisha Callery.
Chapter 17
Brianna
I was looking forward my first St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. Elisha and I had the whole day planned. We were starting at Biddy and Pat’s for lunch and then going into town to watch the parade. Finally, it would be back to the Fiddler’s for a drink and a sing. I honestly couldn’t wait. The atmosphere in the pub was amazing on a normal Sunday night, it must be rocking the foundations on the country’s most auspicious holiday. I woke up with a sense of anticipation.
And that wasn’t all.
“You look awful,” Elisha didn’t mince her words as I shuffled into the kitchen. I sneezed and hacked out a cough that seemed to last forever.
Taking in a great lungfuls of air I finally said, sarcastically, “Thanks,” because that’s what every girl wanted to hear when they felt like shit and as if their head was going to explode.
“Seriously, sit.” Elisha pulled out a chair and I gratefully flumped into it. I had no energy to do anything else. She placed the back of her hand on my forehead; it was cold and felt ever so good on my fevered skin. “You have a temperature,” she concluded.
“I’ll be fine. What time does the parade start again?” I stood to get a glass of water, but feeling dizzy and nauseous I sat straight back down.
“Never mind what time, you’re going nowhere.” I was set to argue; however, in my listless state it was an impossibility. “We can watch the parade on the telly.”
“We?” I can’t believe she’s giving up her St Patrick’s Day. For me? I must be delirious.
“Yes, we. I’m not leaving you on your own when you’re sick, Brianna. I’ll pop up to Biddy’s. She has a drawer full of paracetamol and Strepsils.” Elisha handed me a coffee and I couldn’t help but grimace at the smell. “What?”
“Sorry, I find coffee too strong when I feel cruddy. I prefer tea,” I admitted.
“Here take this.” Handing over her mug she ushered me into the front room and guided me onto the sofa. She even went as far as to lift my feet up. “Comfortable?” I nodded and she smiled. “Good. Breakfast will be served in twenty minutes.”
Disappearing momentarily, she returned with a heavy blanket and a pillow. “Heads
up,” she ordered and when I complied, she placed the pillow behind me and draped the blanket over my legs. “How’s that?”
“Great, but Elisha, honestly, you don’t have to look after me,” I protested. Wanly.
“Shush. I know that but I want to. Now, Biddy always swears by Vic’s, and it just so happens I have some… somewhere.” She opened the sideboard drawer. “I know it’s in here… ahh!” She held it in the air victoriously. It must be an Irish thing, because any time I sniffled my mother would run for this gloopy substance.
“I’m not a fan!” I complained.
“Really? I love it. It’s kind of a-” she stopped and coloured slightly. “Okay, it might not be ylang ylang, but it’ll stop your chest becoming congested.”
“I don’t have to worry too much about that!” I scoffed looking down at my chest, or lack thereof.
Initially, her eyes followed mine before they snapped back up. “Please? For me?”
“Fine, but if I wake up stuck to the bed I’m blaming you.” I lifted my t-shirt so she could rub the vile concoction on my back.
Surprisingly, it felt good rather than viscid and I gave a tiny whimper. Elisha immediately froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not at all,” I said dreamily. Quite the opposite. I didn’t say that out loud of course, because, well, that would make things weird.
“Okay, turn,” she directed.
Swivelling around I met her eyes. I’d never thought of my own blue/grey eyes as anything but cold, whereas Elisha’s had tenderness and… I studied them trying to pin down what else I saw, but another coughing fit racked my body. When I’d recovered she handed me the pot.
“Maybe you should take over,” she suggested in hushed tones. The atmosphere was laced with something other than the menthol hit of Vic’s, and before I could reply in the affirmative, or (where I was edging) the negative, she jumped up and raced into the kitchen. Even though she was only in the next room, I missed having her near.
And I definitely missed her doing my front…
Chapter 18
Brianna
After a weekend of being expertly cared for, I was able to return to work on Tuesday after the bank holiday as usual. Elisha was a super attentive nurse - Florence Nightingale eat your heart out. Even after I felt much better she fussed after me, insisting I rest the second I got home. So for the next two weeks we did little else of an evening except sit on the sofa, drink beer, and trawl through endless heritage and genealogy sites. It would probably have been quicker if we’d physically gone and looked at the records themselves, because Elisha’s internet connection was slower than AOL dial up.
Using location, date filters and Church records (despite The Catholic Church being responsible for certain atrocities in Ireland, you couldn’t fault their record keeping; it was a mine of information) we uncovered two hundred and thirty-eight possibilities within a hundred mile radius and a ten year period.
Two hundred and thirty-eight seemed like Everest not Croagh Patrick!
However, by working in tandem and through sheer perseverance (and copious amounts of alcohol) we managed to whittle the ones we started with down to one possible lead; Margaret O’Shea baptised in Aughaval parish, Westport, but after that we couldn’t see any other record of her… no death nor marriage, nothing.
It was like she simply disappeared.
We searched her parent’s names, and even though they were both deceased we used their address from that time to check census records. That led us to a younger child, Edward O’Shea, who still lived in the area. My prospective uncle.
Talk about walking over someone’s grave…
***
I ran a mental checklist. I had my overnight bag, purse, phone and the new diary slash notebook which I bought especially for the search. I was ready to rock and roll, in spite of feeling sick to my stomach. Stepping outside the gentle wind carried the sound of running water, and the scent of spring was in the mountain air. Newness. Rebirth. Hope.
I chose to take it as a good sign and my nerves subsided. I mean how could you be anything but serene surrounded by such perfection? One more nod to myself and I headed to the car. Foraging in my handbag for the keys, I groaned in frustration when I couldn’t find the bloody things! I gave the bag a good shake, and groaned even louder when I didn’t hear a jangle. Hoping I wasn’t about to partake in a game of hunt the keys because I was generally crap at it (unless something is right in front of my nose I can’t see it) I rounded the corner of the house and to my surprise, and utter relief, Elisha was standing there with them hanging from her finger.
I gave a wry smile. “There they are.”
“Here they are,” she acknowledged and held them out as if to give them to me, before snatching them back with a chuckle when I reached for them. “To slow, Joe. Mind if they were made of chocolate!”
“You are so immature,” I said shaking my head ruefully. As if to prove my point, she stuck out her tongue which I noticed was freakishly long. “I thought you had sheep to dip?”
“Ah sure, they can be dipped on Monday. I promised I was going to help you do this and I’m a woman of my word.” The wind ruffled her hair. She was so comfortable in her own skin, thoroughly relaxed and steady as a rock. Some days I envied her for that, and I speculated whether those traits were responsible for her streak of compassion which was as wide as the sky. “Plus it’s a beautiful day. Given the choice between going to Westport or wrestling sheep and arguing with Thomas about the most ergonomic way to dip the feckers…” she strode forward, and taking my bag from unresisting hands she threw it in the boot. “No brainer.”
“Leesh, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” I said taking a deep breath, “but I can’t expect you to give up another of your weekends.”
“You’re not expecting anything,” she said softly. “Now.”
“Now?”
“Westport?” She smiled. Christ, how could anyone resist that smile, I certainly couldn’t, and so we climbed into the car. “I heard you cursing the internet deity, last night.” She glanced at me and then back to the road, but not before I noted the now recognisable impish glint in her eye.
“I literally had to stand outside in the full of the moon with the phone stretched toward the stars to get a signal!” She snorted a chuckle at my description. The thing is I wasn’t exaggerating; it was the only way I could get even one bar on my phone and that flickered in and out until I danced on the spot screaming in frustration. “So yes, there was some swearing on my part for which I do not apologise. Mind you, that’s something you’re going to have to address before the camp opens,” I warned wearing my project manager’s bright yellow hard hat.
“We’re having a satellite system installed for the business side of things, but I’m hoping the camp will be a ‘social media free’ zone. I want the kids to spend less time looking down at a seven inch glass screen, and more time appreciating the moment.”
“Hmmm good luck with that. Given the choice, most kids nowadays would rather lose a limb than their phones,” I teased.
“And not just kids,” Elisha nodded towards the iPhone sitting on my lap. “Besides, I love a challenge.” She avowed gravely, a little more seriously than was warranted.
She’s referring to finding Maggie’s family, nothing more, nothing less. “It’s a lucky thing you Irish all get baptised, make your First Holy Communion and Confirmation.”
“You Irish?” she asked with a sardonic lift of her eyebrows.
“Yes you Irish. When my parents stepped onto the boat for England, they left their religiousness, if that’s even a word, behind them. Mass was something to be talked about, but we never went.”
“Lucky you! I was dragged along every Sunday, religiously,” I groaned at her punning, “and it’s still a big deal, rites of passage you might say. However, forty years ago you’d have been burnt at the stake if you didn’t make your communion!”
“Which is good for me!” I pointed out happily.
Yay! I’d finally found a use for religion. We pulled onto the main road where I declared dramatically, “Crap.”
“What?” Elisha slowed down. “Have you forgotten something?”
“No, well yes. I forgot to mention that the reason I was dancing under the full moon is because I booked a B&B last night. I didn’t fancy driving up the mountain in the dark, and if Edward is related to Maggie I figured we might like to get to know one another.”
“It’s fine,” she waved off my concerns and accelerated. “I’ll book a room when we arrive, they shouldn’t be too busy this time of year.”
“But you’ve no change of clothes or anything.”
“What do you think is in that thing?” She flicked her head toward the rucksack on the back seat. “I doubted we’d get it all done in one day, so I came prepared.”
“You may very well be the most practical person I’ve ever met Elisha Callery,” I saluted her.
“When it comes to certain things you might say that, but I’m completely useless when it comes to others,” she sniffed deprecatingly, although I didn’t believe a word of it. In a complete one eighty she added, “So I was mulling over what you said about your Dad having a hard time with you investigating your birth mother, and what would you say to inviting your parents over? Perhaps your dad feels shut out, which could explain his behaviour.”
“It’s not the worst idea in the world,” I hedged, “although the build will be entering phase two shortly, which means I’ll be on site more. I wouldn’t have much time to spend with them.” I put it on the back burner and let it simmer for a while. “Hungry? I packed a few munchies for the journey.”
“No kidding!” she exclaimed at the rattling bag full of goodies.
“I’m a nightmare when I travel. I make sandwiches, take crisps, chocolate, and sometimes even cake. It’s a bit of a running joke with my friend Sam. She says the minute we get to the end of the street, I start eating.”
“And do you?”
“Don’t be silly, I start eating as soon as we reach the end of the drive.” I rifled through the bag and ignored the chuckles from the cheap seats when I opened the bag of Haribo. “What? I waited a full twenty minutes before digging in!”
