Hearts in Ireland

by J. C. Long

  We rounded a corner in the truck and the farmhouse came into view, similar to the one I’d seen from the hill at the campsite. It was a stone building, squat and expansive, single-storied, with big windows next to a red door. Beyond and to the right a bit, I could see the upper half of the barn—where my mother was born.

  My breath hitched at the sight, and I felt the burning in my eyes that was a precursor to tears. I blinked rapidly, refusing to let them form, especially being with Fergal. Something just seemed wrong about crying in front of a guy you’d basically just had a one-night stand with, especially if you had feelings for him.

  The sound of the truck must have alerted everyone to our arrival, because just as Fergal brought the truck to a stop in front of the house, the door was opened and Grandma Murphy and Aunt Gwendolyn were both coming down the steps, smiling their happiness to see us.

  “There you are!” Grandma Murphy hugged me as soon as I stepped out of the truck. “I’m so happy you made it here!”

  “Me too, Grandma.” I truly was, even if I didn’t exactly feel it at that moment.

  “Fergal, are you going to stay? You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner, you know,” Aunt Gwendolyn said, peering in at him through the passenger side door.

  “Uh, no, Oi don’t think so. Oi’ve got some things come up tonight, so Oi won’t be able to make it to the dinner tonight.”

  Grandma Murphy, hearing this, joined Aunt Gwendolyn at the truck door. “Oh, no! I was really hoping you’d be able to stay.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Caolainn, Oi’ll do my best to come by sometime soon. Ronan, don’t forget yer pack.”

  I muttered a thanks for the reminder and grabbed the knapsack I’d taken with me from the back of the truck. That taken care of, Fergal gave everyone a wave—well, me he gave the politest of small nods—and drove off.

  “Well,” Aunt Gwendolyn said when he was gone, “did you have fun?”

  Caibidil 17

  I FOLLOWED Aunt Gwendolyn and Grandma Murphy into the house, giving vague answers about the camping trip. Was it fun? Yes. What did you do? Hiking. Did it rain? Yes. I let their questions fade into the background as the door closed behind me. The walls were dark-paneled wood throughout, as far as I could tell. Old pictures hung on the walls all around; there was barely a free spot available. The house was full of the scent of cooking food—the meat smell was without a doubt lamb, and there were other scents to accompany it, and vegetables, and a spicy tang to the air that I couldn’t describe.

  Grandma Murphy pointed towards a spot in the corner of the foyer. “You can put the knapsack there until you leave.”

  I did as she asked as Hannah came into the foyer.

  “Hello there,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Have a good time?”

  I nodded, not meeting her eyes.

  She started to say something else, but Grandma Murphy stepped up to me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

  “Hannah, go help your mother in the kitchen for a bit. I’m going to show Ronan around the house.”

  Hannah knew better than to argue with Grandma Murphy, so she nodded and followed Aunt Gwendolyn towards the back of the house where I presumed the kitchen was.

  Grandma Murphy looped her arm through mine and led me on a tour of the house. It was a lot like Aunt Gwendolyn’s, except older, cozier. Every piece of furniture looked like it had withstood the ages, every room felt like it had a story to tell—a story about a big, happy family living their life within its walls.

  “This was your mother’s room,” Grandma Murphy said, opening a closed door along a hallway on the eastern side of the house.

  A thrill of anticipation went through me as the room was slowly exposed to my view. It looked like a normal person’s room, I’d guess. There were posters from music festivals that Mom must have attended on the wall. A corkboard with a hundred pictures pinned together. Against the wall to my left, beside the closet door, was a vanity, its mirror almost invisible beneath another sheet of photographs. To the right of the bed was a nightstand, and on it a big silver picture frame. The way it was situated, it was important to my mother.

  I crossed the room slowly, feeling like her ghost was walking with me, like she was right there in the room. I picked up the picture frame with hands that trembled slightly. The picture inside was beautiful. My mother, young and gorgeous, hair blowing in an obviously strong wind, and next to her, my father, looking decades younger and grinning wildly, as if he couldn’t be more proud to be standing there with my mother. Behind them was the ocean, the sunlight glittering off it, giving it an utterly magical feel.

  “She loved him so much,” Grandma Murphy said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking at the picture with me. “He loved her too. More than anything.”

  “But it was stupid to let that happen, wasn’t it?” I sat next to her, still clutching the picture. “He knew all along he’d be returning to America. He couldn’t have known that she would go with him, so why did he—why did they—let themselves fall in love, knowing the risk they were taking?”

  Grandma Murphy put her wrinkled, time-weathered hand on my shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Everything we do is a risk, Ronan. Everything. The choices we make in life come down to us weighing the risks versus the rewards. They thought the reward was greater than the risk—and for them, I don’t think anyone can say it wasn’t.”

  “She gave up so much to be with him, Grandma.”

  “Yes, she did. But isn’t love about sacrifice? The choice she made with your father wasn’t any different than the one she’d have made with any other man. When you become an adult, especially when you set out to start your own life and family, you leave the old behind. Nothing new can grow in a garden if you never remove the old.”

  She patted my arm and left me sitting there on Mom’s old bed, ruminating on her words.

  Was it true that the old had to go to make way for the new? Was that the problem I’d had all my adult life? Even I had to admit to myself that I was stalled out, unable to move forward. I’d never wanted to work in a bar all my life, living in this limbo.

  It wasn’t what Dad or Mom wanted for me either. When I first started working in the bar, Mom made it clear that she did not approve of it. “Why aren’t you going on and getting your Master’s?” she always asked.

  My answer was always the same too. “I’m just taking some time off. I don’t want to burn myself out. Besides, grad school is expensive, and working at the bar will help me save money when I do go back.”

  That answer never satisfied her.

  Dad was less vocal, but he always made a face when my job came up, or when Mom starting riding me about it. He disapproved as much as she did.

  I heaved a sigh of frustration. Coming to Ireland was supposed to be good for me. It was, in how it was doing wonders for helping me process my grief. Beyond that, it made me even more confused about my future than I think I’d ever been; I had no idea what I wanted.

  That wasn’t true, actually. Part of me knew what it wanted, had known since I walked into Aunt Gwendolyn’s bookshop and saw Fergal behind the counter, since I’d first heard his Irish brogue, since he’d first looked at me with those eyes.

  But what was the point of wanting something that you couldn’t have? All it did was lead to heartache—for both of us. I didn’t want to hurt Fergal any more than I already had. If I continued this… whatever it was that we had, it would only be setting him up for pain when I left to go back home.

  And yet the thought of going home brought an uncomfortable twist to my stomach. In the short span of time I’d been in Ireland, I’d started to do something I don’t think I’d ever done.

  Put down roots.

  I fell back onto Mom’s old bed, staring up at the same ceiling she stared at for half of her life, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

  The next thing I knew, Hannah was shaking my shoulder to wake me up.

  I startled up, looking around me, sur
prised to find the room dark except for the rectangle of light cast in from the hallway. “What time is it?” I muttered, wiping a bit of drool from my cheek.

  “Just before seven,” she answered, not hiding her amusement. “Guess the camping trip made you tired, huh?”

  “Shut up.” I stretched a few kinks out of my back as I scowled at her. “Sleeping outside isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. You’re not leaving this room until you tell me everything.”

  I knew there was no chance of escaping her, here or at Aunt Gwendolyn’s, so I gave in and told her everything—well, almost everything. I left out the sex, because who wanted to talk about that with their cousin? It felt good to get it off my chest, even though I was sure she was going to rip into me.

  “Well,” she said after a beat of silence. “You do get yourself into things. I don’t understand why—”

  “Please don’t start, Hannah.” I rose to my feet, hoping this conversation was over. “This wasn’t an easy choice.”

  “Because you love him.” Hannah’s voice carried a distinct challenge.

  “I do not.”

  “You do too.”

  I was saved by the sound of Grandma Murphy calling us to let us know that the rest of the family was there and that dinner was ready. The last half of the call was drowned out by the sound of Uncle Dick’s loud laughter, and Aunt Maris scolding him for some off-color remark.

  “Dinner time,” I said quickly, hurrying out the door before Hannah could protest.

  The dinner was as warm an occasion as the previous one at Aunt Gwendolyn’s house, and the food was just as extravagant. I did my best to look cheerful and contribute to the conversation, but the cloud of the camping trip still hung over me, and I didn’t think it was going to go away anytime soon.

  When Grandma Murphy brought out dessert, Hannah stood, looking around at us, her family, sitting at the table. “Okay, guys, I’ve got an announcement to make.”

  “I knew it!” Aunt Maris crowed. “Didn’t Oi tell yeh, Gwen? I knew it!”

  “Hey,” Aunt Gwendolyn cried, indignant. “Let her say it, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Well, the surprise is ruined,” Hannah huffed. “So I’ll just say it. Brendan asked me to marry him. I said yes!” She slipped her left hand into her pocket and then brandished it, her engagement ring in place.

  Aunt Maris and Aunt Gwendolyn were on their feet quickly to examine it, both making appreciative noises at it.

  “The thing is,” Hannah went on, her voice uncertain now. “Brendan wants me to move to London as soon as possible, so we can get the house set up and everything.”

  “Yer moving to London?” Aunt Maris asked, sounding shocked.

  “He’s not moving back here,” Hannah replied dryly.

  “What about the wedding? Where will that be?”

  Aunt Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. “We’re not quite at that point yet, Maris.”

  Grandma Murphy cleared her throat and everyone went quiet, turning to see what her reaction would be. She was beaming happily. “I’m very happy for you, Hannah. When will you be moving to London?”

  “The beginning of July,” Hannah answered, retaking her seat.

  Aunt Maris, of course, found something to complain about. “That’s so soon! What about yer poor mother and the bookshop?”

  “I’ll manage,” Aunt Gwendolyn said firmly, her eyes shooting a warning at Aunt Maris.

  “You could hire Ronan,” Hannah suggested with a smug look in my direction.

  I looked at her dumbly. “What? Me?”

  “He’s family, so it would be perfect.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “No, not me. I don’t even know how long I’m going to be here—my travel visa only lasts ninety days. I’ll probably go home before that’s up.”

  “Don’t you want to go back to school?” Hannah pressed, like a dog with a bone. I could see the determination in her eyes. “It’s way cheaper here than in the States. I talked to a friend of mine from uni. She works in the admissions office of Trinity College now, and she said if we start the process soon, we could get you in for fall in the Master’s program. In two short years, you could have the Master’s degree you wanted.”

  “And how would I attend the program? I would have to apply for student visas and all that mess,” I said, feeling a spark of anger growing inside me at Hannah’s attempt to steer my life in a way that would make things convenient for her.

  “No, you wouldn’t. Your mum is Irish—all you need to get an Irish passport is her birth certificate. If your parent’s Irish-born, you can get a passport pretty easily. If you can get the application in before the end of the month, you’d have it by the time you started class in the—”

  “Are you done planning my life?” I snapped, slamming my hands down on the table. “You’re telling me all these things like I don’t have a say in them, like you’ve made the choice for me!”

  Hannah’s cheeks reddened. “What? No, I was just trying to—”

  “May I be excused?” I asked Grandma Murphy curtly. She nodded, and I rose from the table, stormed to the front of the house, and out the front door.

  The night air was cool and felt good against my too-hot face. It was bad enough that I was feeling powerless in my own situation, but to have it feel like my cousin was hijacking my future, trying to get it to go the way she wanted it to go—never mind that it was a way that I was pretty sure I wanted it to go, myself—was worse.

  “What is it you want?” Grandma Murphy called to me from the porch.

  I turned around, shamefaced. “What?”

  “No one asked what you want in all this. What does the future hold for you, Ronan?”

  I shrugged helplessly, feeling like a child again. “I don’t know, Grandma.”

  She stood there for a moment, looking up a bit, as if thinking, and then reached out a hand to me. “Come with me, sweetie.” She led me around the side of the house, not missing a step, even in the dark of the night. She knew her yard as well as most people knew the inside of their houses; not once did she hesitate, pulling me along behind her until we reached the big barn behind the house.

  The door was cracked open and Grandma Murphy pulled it open wider before slipping inside. I paused at the doorway, wondering what the point of coming to a dark barn was, but she flipped some switch inside and the barn was bathed in warm yellow light.

  “Well, come on,” she said impatiently.

  I stepped inside, looking around. Like any other barn I’d seen on television, the lower portion sported a row of stalls on either side, and above that, a hayloft. The smells of animal and old hay and time struck me, triggering an impossible nostalgia—impossible because I’d never been in a barn in my life.

  “This is where your mother was born,” Grandma Murphy reminded me. She pointed to a pile of hay bales. “Right there. Well, it was different hay back then, but it was on a pile just like that.”

  “No offense, Grandma, but I don’t understand why you’re showing me an old barn.”

  “This barn has history. It meant something to your mother, and it means something to you, doesn’t it?”

  “She was supposed to be here with me,” I blurted, voicing thoughts I didn’t even realize I was having until they were spoken. “She always wanted to bring me back here. She should be the one showing me this, but she’s not.”

  “No,” Grandma Murphy said, her own voice wavering a bit, reminding me that she’d lost a daughter. “She’s not. But that doesn’t mean that she’s not here with you. You’ve felt her presence every moment since arriving here, I’m sure. America, it never had your mother’s heart. She didn’t love the land, or the country. It was you and your father—and that was exactly what she wanted. But here…. Allanah adored this place. And as much as Ireland was a part of your mother, she’s a part of it. You feel that, don’t you?”

  Tears began to gather behind my eyes, and my voice was blocked
by a thick knot that formed without me realizing it. I just nodded. I did feel Mom here, in a way, though I hadn’t been able to name it for what it was. I’d felt a strange comfort and sense of belonging from the moment the plane touched down in Ireland, and now I could recognize why. Mom’s loss didn’t seem as severe because part of her was here with me.

  Could I afford to lose that?

  I cleared my throat several times, dislodging the lump so that I could talk. “Hannah makes it sound so simple, but is it really? She’s asking me to leave behind the only home I’ve ever known.”

  “She knows what she’s asking,” Grandma Murphy said gently. “Brendan asked her to make the same choice—just like your father asked your mother, when he asked her to marry him. Hannah knew that saying yes to Brendan meant saying good-bye to Abhainn, just like Allanah knew that saying yes to your father meant uprooting herself from a place that she loved and traveling thousands of miles to a foreign country to be with him.

  “Now, I don’t know about Hannah, but I was there when your father proposed to your mother—right there in the dining room where we all ate dinner tonight. There was no hesitation, even knowing what she knew. She said yes before your father even finished asking the question, because she followed her heart. And you… you need to follow yours.”

  Caibidil 18

  AS SOON as we got back to Aunt Gwendolyn’s house, I hurried upstairs, dug out my phone, and dialed Dad’s number. I desperately needed to talk to him. The phone rang five times, and I was worried it was going to go straight to voice mail, but he finally answered the phone. I was surprised by just how happy I was to hear his voice.

  “Hello? Ronan?”

  “Dad! Hey. Yeah, it’s me,” I said stupidly. Now that he’d answered, I had no idea just how I wanted to pursue this. “I didn’t, uh, wake you up, did I?”

  Dad chuckled. “No, it’s five in the afternoon. I just left work. I’m driving home now.”