by Fox Brison
At least Pat was on the mend. He’d already started physio and was like a man possessed doing his exercises. I said to Bridget he must be missing her terribly to which she replied, “Indeed he’s not, it’s so he can get himself out for a smoke.”
I liked to think it was a bit of both.
***
Lying on a blanket, my head on Elisha’s lap, the sun’s rays soothed my soul. “Whatcha smiling at?” she asked.
“The clouds floating across the sky,” I replied.
“Can you see a hippo chasing a monkey?”
I snickered. “No, is that what you see my darling creme egg?”
“You’re the creative one because all I can see are cotton balls.” She bent down and kissed my forehead and then entwined our fingers. I held her hand against my chest.
“How’s Biddy?” I asked quietly.
“She’s better now Pat’s sort of on his feet.”
“I can’t wait for him to get home,” I whispered.
“Have you missed him that much?”
“No, I’ve missed you,” I said tightening my grip.
“I’ve missed you too.” She kissed me again. “We need another date night.”
“Definitely,” I agreed.
Silence reigned once more and I even thought Elisha may have nodded off until she started humming. Even that was out of tune! I relaxed and my mind wandered. Ever since Bridget mentioned her daughter, Ann, I had a niggling in my stomach. I dismissed it at first, but the niggles grew stronger the more I thought about it. We’d discussed the idea of Ann dying as a baby but what if she didn’t...
Ann Margaret Doran. Maggie May. Maggie. It wasn’t the greatest of leaps to make, especially after finding out the Ox Mountains were called St Patrick’s Mountains. And then there was the communion dress I found in her wardrobe. At the time it meant nothing but in relation to everything else there was a sudden familiarity to it.
Could Pat and Biddy’s daughter and my birth mother be one in the same?
Fuck. I’d given up the whole idea of finding Maggie’s family yet now? Was fate punching me in the face? I shook my head. Remember Westport, Bri? I was so desperate for answers I used conjecture and circumstantial evidence to reach the outcome I desired, and ended up making a complete tit out of myself. I was more than likely doing the same again because it suddenly dawned on me how perfect life would be if Pat and Biddy were my grandparents.
Eat your heart out, Diane Lockhart; I was starring in ‘The Good Guess!’ So come on Devil, be an advocate…
There were a million Maggie’s living in Ireland at the time of my birth and St Patrick was the country’s patron saint; there were probably mountains all over the place named after him. And as for the dress? Again, show me a child in Ireland who didn’t make their first holy communion. The dresses were most likely mass produced… it could even have been Biddy’s from when she was a girl.
Still, however hard I tried I couldn’t stop the possibility from gnawing away at me...
Maggie May.
Chapter 45
Elisha
“So, Elisha, how’s Patrick faring?” Isabella asked placing my plate down with a thump.
“The doctors are optimistic he’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time at all,” I said around a mouthful of roast potatoes. “Nice spuds, Bella.” She nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment. I’d take that. It beat her usual acidic vitriol any day.
“That’s what they told me,” dad said bitterly. He’d had such a rough ride of it the last eighteen months and it looked like he may never fully recover movement in his right leg.
Maybe that was the reason Patrick was determined to complete his physio in record time.
Da’s mental state had suffered too, but he was gradually accepting his limitations and utilising his talents to oversee the farm rather than work it himself. I think he was secretly enjoying bossing Thomas around.
“What about the build, Brianna? Dom tells me you’re flying it,” Da turned to Brianna. I grinned internally. He’d taken a real shine to her; I wasn’t surprised because she could wrap most people around her little finger. Still I did wonder, briefly, if he was making an effort for my sake, but equally as briefly laughed off the notion.
“We are Mr Callery. The plumbers and tilers are in next week.”
“We might even be finished ahead of schedule,” I bragged proudly.
“And what have I told you about taunting the construction gods,” Brianna scowled. “Although I do think certain lads will be glad to see the back of me, especially PJ.”
“PJ Lynch? Jesus, do you remember when he used to hang around here mooning over you, Leesh? I’ve never known anyone to have it so bad!” He roared with laughter.
“Really?” Brianna’s eyebrows were now under her fringe.
“No, not really,” I chuckled.
“So, Sorcha, have you decided if you’re going to focus on the coffin ships or the Ireland left behind for your project?” Brianna and I had promised to take her to the famine museum at Strokestown House in Roscommon to help with this. I looked at the scene around me, a scene I could never have dared to imagine a few months ago, my family and the woman I loved sitting around a table together. In that instant I knew my sentiments towards Brianna would never change. If anything they were growing deeper by the second.
At this rate I’ll be drilling for oil in the Atlantic.
“Another?” I asked Brianna.
“Please.” She handed me her glass.
I was delirious in every sense because I stood, kissed her, and went through to the kitchen to retrieve the wine. I didn’t notice Isabella following me until I turned and nearly dropped the bottle. “Shite, Bella! Don’t creep up on me like that!”
“I told you before not to bring your perversions into my house. I will not have my children bear witness to your… your… your depravity,” she snarled, gripping the kitchen counter so hard her knuckles were white, a stark contrast to her red face.
She sounded like an evangelist. Perversion? Bear witness? Oh hell no. “Now wait a minute,” I rared up. I wasn’t going to take this, not from her, and definitely not about Brianna and the love we shared. “I’ve put up with your crap for years because it wasn’t worth the effort. But not now. It’s you that has the problem, not us.”
“Ha. You haven’t changed, only ever thinking of yourself. What about your nieces and nephew?”
“What about them? Better they see someone with love in their heart, not hatred and prejudice!” I shouted, disgusted with the workings of her bigoted mind.
“Ma-” Sorcha protested from the door.
“Not now, Sorcha. Go to your room and take your sisters with you!” Isabella barked. Sorcha was set to argue. God love her. “Now, Sorcha!”
“Go on, Sorcha, do as your Mammy says,” I said quietly. I wouldn’t allow her to become a pawn in this argument.
“It’s against God’s word,” Isabella said triumphantly (not caring her daughter might overhear) as if that was the winning volley.
It wasn’t. “That depends on your interpretation. I believe the bible also tells us not to wear clothes made of different materials and if you have a flat nose you can’t go to church.”
She stepped back. Remaining calm was throwing her off her game. “Bollocks,” she seethed. Definitely off her game.
“Nope, it isn’t. It’s right there.” And I knew it was because Kate and I googled it one drunken night. “I also believe someone was stoned for gathering wood on the Sabbath, and you can be put to death for cursing your parents. So, sister dearest, are you going down to mass and ask Father Horkin to forgive your sins?” She stared at me with an expression of utter loathing. “I didn’t think so. Don’t use religion to bash me over the head, because I don’t put much stock in it.”
Isabella was caught off guard, but not for long. “She’ll be leaving you,” she said. Another victorious smirk and this one hit home. My sister had tapped into my secret fear and brought it to the surfac
e.
“No, I won’t,” Brianna interrupted softly. She must have come through when she heard the raised voices. My father was conspicuous by his absence and Thomas was probably half way to the Fiddler’s. “Not unless Elisha is leaving Gloshtrasna, and then yes I’ll be gone because my place is with her.”
She took my hand and I experienced a strength I have never felt before. Isabella had gotten away with murder for years because she was my baby sister and when our mother left I was ultimately responsible for raising her. I obviously hadn’t done a very good job of it. I had pandered to her, given in when I should have held firm. But then I’d been a kid too, what did I know? I was scared of losing what little family I did have, especially once the children came along, so I always forgave and forgot. But I wasn’t going to stand for it any longer. The line had to be drawn somewhere and I was drawing it here tonight.
Thanks to Brianna and our love.
“I’ve had enough,” I said firmly. “When you’re ready to apologise you know where to find us. Until then I want nothing more to do with you.” I held the kitchen door open and Brianna and I left with our heads held high.
Chapter 46
Brianna
“Holy hell!” I dropped my salad when a piercing alarm ripped through the kitchen; Red thought she’d died and gone to Waldorf salad heaven as she eagerly consumed her surprise buffet off the tiled floor. It took a few seconds before I realised what was happening because in all the time I’d been staying at the cottage, I had never heard the landline ring.
Until now. I picked up the receiver like it was from outer space. “Hello?” I spoke diffidently.
“Hey, Bri, it’s me.” Elisha’s voice echoed down the line.
“Hey, Sweetie. What’s up?”
“I think I’ve left my mobile at Biddy’s. I’m calling from the hospital lobby.” I could hear a laugh filled with mortification. “I don’t know your mobile number and hoped I’d catch you at lunch.”
“Hmm.” I teased. “I’m not important enough to bother learning my number off by heart?”
“I have you as number one on speed dial,” she replied. “And I’ll rub your feet for two hours tonight if you can tell me mine right this second.”
“0851987…”
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed before I could finish.
“You owe me a foot rub. If you want you can split it into four half hour sessions. I don’t want your fingers getting cramp!”
“No? And why’s that?” her voice dropped an octave.
“Well as much as I love a good foot rub, there’s more important things your hands-”
“So my mobile,” she stopped me and I could hear her discomfiture. I laughed. “I wouldn’t normally bother, but I’m expecting a call from a reporter who wants to do a piece on the project before we officially open.”
“Really? You didn’t tell me that!” I was chuffed that her hard work was being recognised.
“It’s nothing,” she said.
“Babe, it’s amazing you should be proud, I am. I’ll head up there straightaway.” I couldn’t believe how humble she was.
“You’re a life saver.” The line went quiet and then she whispered, “Don’t worry, if my fingers get tired there are other things I can use. See you tonight.” She hung up and I tingled.
All over.
***
Bridget’s door wasn’t locked. It still amazed me she would do that in this day and age. I walked into the kitchen and sniggered. A plate of scones sat proudly in the middle of the table, along with Elisha’s phone. No wonder she forgot it. I picked one up to have with my afternoon tea when -
“What the fuck?” I jumped a mile high, caught in the act of stealing one of Bridget’s plump scones by a loud crash from the back end of the house. “I knew she should lock her door!” Picking up the rolling pin I went to investigate.
I gulped and listened.
I had a penchant for horror films, the gorier and spookier the better was my motto. Sam agreed with me and we’d curl up in the darkness on her futon scared witless. Halloween was our favourite holiday and we’d binge watch scary movies, starting with the wonderful ‘Hocus Pocus’ (not scary but essential viewing) and ending with ‘Wolf Creek.’ This felt like one of those moments where the audience is screaming at the woman, ‘run, for god’s sake just run!’
And like the actress, I didn’t listen.
The closer I got to the master bedroom, the louder the banging became. It sounded like… I opened the door and confirmed my suspicions. The window had blown open. Slamming it shut, I noticed the catch was broken and made a mental note to fix it the next time I was up. Having a girlfriend handy with tools was a godsend – for Elisha that is. She may have been butch but I was the one who wielded the hammer in this relationship. Although she was proficient with other… I blushed because the memory of her words and voice during our phone call was loitering with intent to turn me on!
I took a last look around the bedroom; there were papers everywhere. Shit the wind must have blown them off the dresser. I began picking them up and that’s when I noticed it.
The box.
The wooden box.
It was exactly the same as the one I found in my parent’s attic.
I stared at it and it stared back. It was taunting me, teasing me, silently beseeching me to open it. I could hear the words whispering sibilantly in my head… open… open… I trailed my finger over the carved tree in the middle and ran my thumb across the Celtic knot work bordering the edges. The patina was softer than mine because it had evidently been handled more.
Cautiously I pulled it closer. My nerves tingled and again I knew, instinctively, that this box held the answers that I’d been searching for. Dampness spread on my palm and I gingerly lifted the top. No creaking, no fuss, and definitely no exertion.
Inside was a raft of letters, each one stamped and addressed Mr and Mrs Patrick Doran, Gloshtrasna, County Sligo.
Each one carried expansive cursive handwriting.
Each one was signed your darling daughter. I choked back a cry, not of joy but of shock and pain.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there staring at the contents, but it was long enough for pins and needles to set in. I took the single sheet of paper out of the first pink envelope, and began to read. It was dated a few weeks before my birth. Ann wasn’t able to make it home for her father’s birthday and she was sorry, but the good news was she had a new job. It was a chance to start again. She loved her mother. She loved her father. She would see them for a weekend in July. That was the last letter, written before she died, sent days before I was born.
I had finally found Maggie O’Shea.
And she was Ann Doran.
Chapter 47
Brianna
Elisha slowly began to stir. I’d been awake for hours. I wanted to tell her about my discovery at Biddy’s, but this time I was determined not to jump the gun. Besides, I knew she had a full on day and the last thing I wanted was her thinking about this when she should be concentrating on the camp.
I was happy. I was ecstatic. I was nervous. I was terrified. I turned on my side to look at her handsome face.
I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
“You look radiant,” she whispered. The sunlight breaking in through the window lit her expressive eyes, which were full of love and took on the colour of the Aegean Sea this morning. They were also underlined by vicious dark bruises of sleep deprivation; she was absolutely exhausted. “I wish we could lie here all day.”
“Me too,” I said softly.
“How about this evening we lock the door, turn off our phones and have a quiet night in just the two of us?”
“What about Biddy?” I asked.
“Sean and his daughter Catherine are taking her to the hospital this afternoon.”
“That’s nice of them,” I said.
“It is.” She yawned and stretched. A night off was precisely what the doctor ordered, and the fact she didn’t need
to go to the hospital eased the time constraints squeezing us until every last second of the day dripped out. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong? You seemed a little pensive last night, in spite of the marathon foot rub.”
“Everything’s fine, I promise.” Once I discovered Biddy’s maiden name I intended to tell Elisha what I pretty much knew to be the truth. In fact I hoped we could tell Bridget together. That raised a true smile.
“There she is,” Elisha said.
“Here I am.” I bent over and kissed her deeply, pouring all of my emotion into that one action.
***
The steam had condensed into a thick fog on the mirror during my shower. I could see an indistinct vision of my face in the mirror, and that made it easier, somehow. Full circle. Five months ago I looked at my reflection and saw pain. Now? The pain had been replaced by hope.
“I’d better practise,” I muttered. “Bridget, I might know your granddaughter. Ugh.” I groaned. That sounds pathetic. “Bridget, the thing is I’m adopted. My biological mother was called Maggie O’Shea and she was from the Ox Mountains. She left thirty-four years ago. Do you think she could be your daughter Ann?” No… too convoluted. “Hey gran, how’s it hanging?”
Oh. Dear. God.
I heard the front door bang and a cheery voice call out, “Hello.”
“No, no, no,” I bit my towel. “Won’t be a minute!” I shouted and slowly began to dry myself, taking the time to plan a strategy that wouldn’t result in a repeat of the Westport fiasco.
Bridget had the tea made by the time I was dressed. She eyed me up and down before pursing her lips and saying, “Brianna, are you ill?”
“No. Why?”
“You’re looking peaky,” she said bluntly. “A late night was it?”
“No.” I couldn’t help but stare at her. Scrutinising her face I searched for similarities. The obvious being our noses.
“Brianna, what is it? Do I have something on my face?” She sounded nervous and wiped her mouth.
