by Gavin Green
6
Only a couple of days before Hammerworks had its official store opening, Brody and Kate were quite busy seeing to details. He had much lower expectations for its sales than what transactions online were already producing, but the store was much more of a physical representation of his endeavors. It was a point of pride; Brody didn't want to think of himself as sitting on his ass in a chair made of money. Even if local shoppers and tourists didn't buy anything from him or Simon, maybe some other shop in the village would catch their eye. He wanted Ballaghadaere to prosper as well.
Kate handled many aspects of the impending opening - mostly in a supervisory capacity - and seemed to be in her element. She kept in frequent touch with Moira, their marketing agent, making sure that ads were met and also to keep informed on sales trends. Mary had gone over her bookkeeping strategies with Kate, and was given the freedom to make decisions within a malleable budget.
Two employees were agreed upon; Robbie Kelly as a full-time assistant, and Megan Gorski - eldest daughter of Jed the chef - for part-time work on the weekends. Besides all of those facets, Kate was keeping up with economic trends that might impact sales or expenditures. While it all was stressful, she seemed to be reveling in the challenge.
On that cool, sunny morning, Brody also had other chores to fit into his schedule. The Irish and American courts had earlier requested his deposition for that morning in regards to the list of charges against his cousin, Ben Wagner. Brody would have to make a trip up to Sligo town for that, answering prepared questions while on Skype and being filmed. With forewarning of the date to be there, he got permission from Jane's folks for her to skip a school day and go with him; he had some studio time secured for her and Mac to record a demo CD.
Kate wanted to go with them, but a botched supply delivery demanded her attention. Disappointed, Brody picked up the young couple, telling them of his plan to drop them off at the recording studio and would come back for them in the early afternoon.
On the drive to Sligo town, Brody had more questions for Mac. The young fae had told him and Kate over a week before that he'd be trying to contact any and all fae who frequented the area; Brody wanted any results there were to be had. When he inquired, Mac made casual mention of a "skittish otter-morpher lass" named Kelby who wished to be left alone.
The young Fair fae then abruptly changed the subject, mentioning his new weakness for flavored oatmeal. Brody humored him for a minute but then asked his question again. Mac had acquired the names of a handful of fae, although the majority of his recent time was spent practicing music with Jane at her request. Mildly frustrated, Brody decided to ask the same of Liadan when he could.
Brody met with the engineers who were affiliated with the radio station he'd done business with prior to the Christmas holiday. Introductions were made to Jane and Mac, who both seemed nervous yet eager to make their music. Seeing that the young couple was left in capable hands, Brody drove further into Sligo town to get his deposition over with.
Over the past number of months, his feelings for Ben Wagner ran from compassion to pity, and finally to indifference. Except for an apology that came far too late, Ben had no admirable traits that Brody could see. That made his video testimony simple and to the point, with no emotion-tinged responses. Walking out of the Sligo courthouse, he considered that unfortunate part of his life done with.
Jane stayed in an elated state for the entire drive back home; Mac could hardly get a word in, seemingly content to let her ramble on. She said the audio engineers raved about her singing voice, and were just as impressed with Mac's skill with his mandolin. Brody glanced in his rearview mirror to gauge Mac's reaction to the compliment; the young fae caught his gaze and simply shrugged.
After going on about every detail, Jane then mentioned that the studio would offer a discounted rate if she chose to record her music with them again, and suggested they get a producer involved. Brody advised that Jane and Mac wait until they heard the first CD before making any decisions.
The next two days went by in a hectic blur, interspersed with irritations. Brody had two separate incidents of blown tires, Kate saw a trio of sparkles in the village that had very dark intent, and Robbie Kelly fractured a finger when he slipped with a heavy box of supplies in his hands. Formerly anticipating the opening of Hammerworks, the feeling was then mixed with an anxiety to just get it over with.
The shop opened with a bit of fanfare; Moira and her marketing assistants made a production of it. Photographers took seemingly endless shots, both of the proprietors and of new inventory. Interviews were sought from nearly anyone who had something worthwhile to say.
A film crew was on hand to capture everything - for posterity, they said. Those activities, in turn, drew curious onlookers. Such was the commotion that a villager who was walking over to join the crowd was hit by a distracted driver. The film crew, with apathetic zeal, had their camera on the accident only seconds after it happened; again, for posterity.
Throughout the rest of that day, family, friends, and nearby shopkeepers visited the Hammerworks store, mostly just to see the shop and chat. While Robbie and Megan constantly refilled the complimentary tea and biscuits, Brody, Kate, and Mary socialized throughout the day. Simon talked with the few people he knew well enough, and answered questions that browsers had about his works, but he otherwise kept to himself or out of sight completely.
It was therefore Brody who received all of the light-hearted teasing about some of their pictured ads. Otherwise, only some of the talk around the shop was about the well-crafted wares; the remainder was about Riley Dugan's broken leg - due to being daft - and Ryan Gallagher's lack of skill behind the wheel.
Nearing the end of their first day, Brody invited all of the employees to dinner. Megan Gorski had to decline the impromptu offer, saying she had to help look after her little brother; Brody was glad he remembered that little Michael was autistic before any uncomfortable questions were asked. Simon begged off as well with no specific excuse, which wasn't a big surprise.
So, with the young and affable Robbie Kelly and the white-haired, dry-witted Mary Clarke as their guests, Brody and Kate treated them to a fine meal at Doolin's. Brody and Kate used the engaging company to forget how their day had started, and hoped the rest of the evening would go smoothly. And it did; more misfortune didn't come until the next morning.
After Mary bid them all a good night after dinner, Brody and Kate offered to buy Robbie a pint at Gil's pub. There was no live music that night and the crowd was thin, but the dozen or so patrons were in lively spirits. The elderly bachelors Archie and Flinn were in fine form that evening, telling old tales with bawdy exaggeration. A few other patrons told other stories of recent bad luck, but only the incidents that could be laughed about.
Brody and Kate only stayed for two rounds before saying farewell to all, and in return were wished good fortune with their new store. Once the couple arrived home, they fell asleep as soon as they got in bed.
Brody woke to Kate's hand gripping his shoulder. He blinked awake and looked at her. She was sitting on her side of the bed, untied robe over her nightshirt, and holding her phone to her ear with her other hand. Kate's eyes were rimmed red as she looked at him with wet eyes - but no tears, not yet. She was apparently still listening to whoever had called, and finally said into the phone, "Of course, Father, I'll tell him. Thank you for the call. We'll see you there."
By then, Brody had sat up and was waiting for the phone conversation to end. "What is it, darlin'?"
With an expression formed by grief, Kate softly said, "Flinn Sweeney passed on."
"What? How? I mean, I knew he was old and all, but he always seemed healthy as a horse."
Kate scooted closer and took his hand. "He was riding his old bicycle home from the pub, as he always did. He had a house out south of the village, just beyond the golf course. He never made it home."
Brody wiped away the tear that rolled down Kate's soft cheek. His other han
d gave a firmer grip on her small hand; he waited until she was ready to say more.
"Brian Madigan found him. The more his wife Tira swells with her pregnancy, the more she kicks about at night in her sleep. It was the same last night; Brian was kicked awake and decided for a dander in his car in the wee hours before trying for a few more hours sleep on the couch. Him being a neighbor that was close enough to walk to Flinn's, he wasn't out long before the bicycle was spotted down the old heath road some of them use out that way."
"He wasn't hit by a car, was he?" Brody couldn't restrain from blurting the question.
"No, love," Kate said, "nothing so awful. They'll never know for sure, but it's a fair guess that his tire hit a stone or hole as he rode down the patchy old lane in the dark. Auld Flinn had heart troubles in the past, so I'm told. Grace, one of the local clinic nurses, arrived along with the ambulance a time later. She assumed the fright from taking a spill jolted Flinn for the last time; a massive heart attack, it was." She sniffed and tried for a smile. "That cheeky codger managed to crawl over to an old field wall a few meters off the lane and leaned back against it before he let go."
"That smartass," Brody said, and heard his own voice waver. "He always said he'd never die lying down, unless it was under a woman." They shared a brief laugh before Brody turned somber. "Flinn was the first one - well, him and Archie - to welcome me here... welcome me home. I was still wondering what the hell I was doing here when I met them; they made my first impression a good one. Those two saucy old bastards made me feel like my crazy idea to move to Ballaghadaere might be a good one after all."
"Ambassador of goodwill and dirty jokes - that was Flinn," Kate said with a sad smile.
They shared a short, tender embrace until Kate rose to splash water on her face in the connected washroom. Brody was pulling on sweatpants when he asked, "Did Father Doyle say anything else?"
Kate came back into the bedroom drying her face with a towel. "He said there was to be a traditional wake until the funeral tomorrow afternoon." She glanced up to see Brody's curious look. "It's just the old way, love - you can follow my lead."
"Oh, okay - good."
"And it might be best for us to pay our respects later today when some others will arrive after work; the retired members of the community who keep to old customs are a sure bet to be there early on."
"What's wrong with that? I like old folks," Brody replied while he pulled a sweatshirt over his head. "In some ways, they're the liveliest people around here."
"Here's an idea," Kate said as she fastened her robe, "While I see to the dogs and start breakfast, you look up 'keening' on the net. You'll thank me later."
Late that cloudy afternoon, Brody and Kate followed the short line of cars ahead of them to Flinn's home. They didn't have to guess which well-spaced house was his; there were at least twenty cars strung out along the lane in front of a well-worn cottage. Many others had just arrived and were mingling out on the small lawn or near the front door. Brody felt, aside from wearing respectful attire, like he was going to community picnic.
As he once again took note of how the houses and cottages in the area - as in most of Ireland - were widely spaced but within walking distance of neighbors, Brody had an unexpected thought. Of the numerous properties he'd bought, there were still two he hadn't visited personally. The community labor crew assembled by Father Doyle had been to all of the locations numerous times by then for general upkeep, but Keenan Moore of McMillan Construction hadn't been sent to them for assessment yet. He thought to take some time soon to give them a look.
After Brody and Kate said hello to a few friends and acquaintances on their way to the house, Father Doyle met them at the front door. More people were milling about inside, mostly keeping to the parlor or kitchen. The little old priest led them down a short hall to a bedroom.
On the bed was an open coffin, with Flinn Sweeney inside; he'd been washed, shaved, and put into his best suit. Brody thought he looked to be at peace, but would have seemed more natural with the lopsided grin that was always on his face.
Between the bed and an open window sat Archie Walsh in a borrowed chair. "Ah, me favorite young couple," he said, obviously inebriated, "come ta see auld Flinn off. Welcome, welcome." The last bit of his beer sloshed in his glass as he gestured to them. "I'll keep ta me self while ye say yer farewells."
While Kate silently offered her prayers for Flinn's departed soul, Brody stood next to her and inwardly just thanked the old gent for being a good friend. Their finishing thoughts were disrupted when a woman came in the room with another drink for Archie. She let out a quiet 'tsk' of disapproval at his condition. "Archie Walsh, how are ye to stand guard for the departed soul if ye can't even stand at all? It'll be tea instead, ye rotten eejit."
"It will in me hole," he slurred. "'Ere now, you're disturbin' the giant Yank and his mott; just quit bein' a cunt and hand over that feckin' pint." He was given a scowl and an exasperated sigh before his empty glass was exchanged for a full. "Ah, there's me wan."
Father Doyle led the couple out, passing others who came to offer their respects. Kate gave Brody's hand a squeeze before heading toward the kitchen, where many other women were gathered.
"Cora McCarthy is making sandwiches," Father Doyle said up to Brody. "Go fetch yourself one and then step out with the menfolk. Liam and I would like to have a word with ye when there's a chance."
Brody nodded his assent to the priest and belatedly followed Kate into the kitchen. He greeted the other women there, especially Cora, Fiona, and Tira Madigan. While a plate was being prepared for him, Brody answered a question, saying that as soon as the shop closed Mary would be out to say goodbye to Flinn. He was then handed a plate, heaped with roast beef sandwiches, crisps, and pickles, and just as quickly was politely ushered out of the room.
Among a group of mostly men outside, Liam was waiting for Brody and holding a bottle of Guinness for him. They chatted idly but comfortably while the elder McCarthy led him to the broad side garden. Father Doyle waited under the blooming boughs of a lone ash tree and smiled warmly at their approach.
Brody ducked under a branch and, with his own grin, asked, "So, in a traditional wake, it's expected to get handed half the pantry and then ran out of the house?"
"Be thankful," Liam joked back, "I haven't been offered anything yet."
While Brody held out his plate and Liam took a small sandwich, Father Doyle said, "I'm glad you both had a chance to know the sarcastic but wise Flinn Sweeney, whether it was for decades," he nodded to Liam, "or for less than a year," saying the last to Brody.
"Then you must be luckiest of all," Liam replied. "Weren't you mates with Flinn and Archie in your young years?"
The old priest nodded with a nostalgic grin. "And rowdy ones, we were too. I met back up with them both after being offered this diocese back in... em, well, long before ye were born, Brody. And I can still remember when ye were a restless boyo in the pews, Liam. Archie was married back then and attended with his wife, but I recall Flinn openly admitting that he came to Mass to bide his time until a pub opened." Father Doyle chuckled and shook his wizened head. "When I half-heartedly called him a sinner, Flinn came back at me with, 'Joseph, if we don't sin now and then, Jesus died for nothing'."
Brody choked on a mouthful of food. After gulping the bite down, he looked at Father Doyle and said, "Sorry about that, Father; I hope it's not sacrilege or anything to laugh."
"If it is, we're both in trouble. Actually, Liam and I wanted to chat with ye about something that roughly resembles what we're doing here today. We stand in the garden of an old friend of mine, trying to find levity at a sad time - as you both know, it can ease suffering if done with tact. Likewise, this community is trying to keep its spirit up in the midst of a bad-luck epidemic, it seems. I've been hearing it all from parishioners, anything from lost mail to painful accidents to -"
"Sick donkeys and flat tires," Brody interjected.
"And busted water pipes," added
Liam while he lit a cigarette.
Brody and Father Doyle looked at him, both mildly surprised. "Whereabouts was this?" the priest asked.
"It's the main village line, Father," Liam replied with a frown. "A few areas of the factory I oversee use the main supply; the workers there noticed strange reactions to some of our materials in the cooling vats this morning. I had an inspector come out. Just before shift bell he said there is contamination, sure enough. I'd wager if we were all in our homes right now, we'd be hearing about a boil order coming in effect. Odds say no later than tomorrow."
"Well, shit," Brody muttered in frustration. "Should we tell the women inside to stop using the tap here?" he asked, concerned.
"Not a worry out this way," Father Doyle answered, "These folks use rural water. This," he held up a bony finger for emphasis, "is an example of what I'm speaking of; this community has of late been tested with adversity on many levels." He looked at them both earnestly. "This is a good place; folks here still look out for their neighbor, as it used to be far and wide. We've faced bad times before, and came out stronger - more united - because of it. But this... this constant string of foul events and accidents... If these dark times continue, I don't know that the village could fully recover and keep its good nature. Ireland has enough depression; call me petty, but I don't want Ballaghadaere to add to it."
"Me neither, Father," Brody said, "but how do we stop, um, bad luck?"
The priest grinned up at him. "Normally, I'd say prayer, but I think something more is needed besides strong faith. The community needs something to look forward to, something everyone can choose to be part of. I know St. Patrick's is nearing, and the small parade will be grand as always, but most of the villagers are only spectators and the event is over all too soon. However, I passed Liam on the street the other day and mentioned these worries to him." He placed a wrinkled hand on that man's shoulder and looked at him with admiration. "My friend had a brilliant idea..."
"Okay, great," Brody glanced from one to the other, "So what do I have to do with this big idea?"
Father Doyle looked up at him and his expression immediately turned sheepish. "You're a fine bloke, Brody Lynch, and generous to a fault. You've already given more than I could have hoped for to the folks here, and let the church have the credit, no less. It makes me wince to hope for anything else..."
Brody caught Liam's curious look at the priest's words before replying, "Father Doyle - Joseph - just tell me what you two have cooked up; I'd be glad to help if I can."
Liam answered, "We thought a festival - Ballaghadaere's own hosting - might be just the thing. We'd propose a three-day fair to the community board; food, music, games, prizes - all the best a fest can offer. What do you think of that?"
"It sounds like a blast," Brody said with a wide smile. "You're right, Father, that's an awesome idea. When are you gonna have it?"
"Liam and I thought near the end of April would be best, the next weekend after Easter."
"Oh... I was hoping for sooner, but then I don't know shit about organizing a festival."
"A wee bit of planning and work is at hand," Liam explained. "Securing regional attractions, getting permits, constructing booths, gathering volunteers... There's much to be done; we're cutting it to the quick with that date. But it gives everyone something to look forward to and prepare for. Father thinks the auction field would work best; it's a large space with the stage at the far end, already run for water and power." He sighed and added, "Sorry to say, the town coffers wouldn't cover much of the expense."
"Before Liam goes on," the priest interjected, "ye both should know that Flinn had some cash set aside. Three labeled envelopes, to be exact - one for his own funeral, another for his sister, and the last for the church." His next words were soft and wistful, "No longer with us, and still surprising me." Liam's hand of solace on Father Doyle's small shoulder brought him back to the topic. "Flinn's bequeathal is generous, but even added to the village treasury it's still far short of the rough estimates."
Liam said, "Going through Aidan McNally and the bank for a loan would be pointless. Besides the chance that Aidan might refuse us just out of being a right prick, Father doesn't want a thing in return except for what might be found in donation boxes. There'll be no entry fees, no booth rentals for locals, and no surcharges of any kind. While a grand notion, it wouldn't repay a loan." He looked Brody in the eye. "We need a patron, and not just for some frivolous party. This is for saving the spirit of the village, of all our kith and kin that call it home. Father thought it too much to call on your generosity again, so I'll ask for him. We could use your help, me boy."
Brody took a moment, trying to hide his mixed emotions. "You told me all that just to see if I'd kick in some euro for something important? I would've hoped you both knew by now that you coulda just said, 'Hey Brody, I could use a few bob to make everyone around here happy'. I'd just hand either of you my wallet without a second thought."
Father Doyle heard the turmoil in those words of the big man, wanting to be polite and kind conflicting with being somewhat offended. In a mollifying tone, he responded, "It'll be much more than a 'few bob', and we didn't want to assume, lad."
"I get that, but the amount doesn't really matter to me." Brody paused before deciding to open up a little. "I got most of my money from my parents, in a way that I was... uncomfortable with. The details aren't important, but this festival idea - mainly the reason for it - is just the kind of thing my mom and dad would both think is something good to use the money for."
"From Kate," Liam said as he let his cigarette fall to grind under his heel, "I've heard that they were both taken from you suddenly; you have me sympathies. It's heartening to hear we'd have the support of such fine people." A grin then formed on his handsome face while a cool breeze tousled his white and auburn hair. "But I was also of a mind to ask for something besides your patronage. You worked in construction, yes?"
Glad that the conversation shifted away from his parents and money, Brody returned the grin. "Yeah, I'm a mason, but I've had some experience with framing and wiring. No need to beat around the bush, Liam; I'd be happy to lend a hand if I'm needed. But," his expression turned serious, "here's the deal: no one but you two will know where the financial support is coming from. Father, you're already aware of how I wanna keep things private." He leered at the priest with a smirk and added, "Even though your old buddies Archie and Flinn always somehow knew a thing or two."
Again with a sheepish expression, Father Doyle's eyes darted about. "Aye, well, I'd speak kindly of ye, and they simply came up with their own notions. Good at reading between the lines, those two crafty devils. I see the point, though; the Wagner clan incident comes to mind." He saw Brody's frown at the mention of the sour memory. "It may still be a sore point, but ye did Kate and Cora proud. Me point being, those bastards brought avarice to the extreme that no Irishman would even dream of, which makes it a worthy example." He then met Brody's eyes once more. "It'll stay with us, lad, ye have me word."
"And mine," Liam agreed. "But it would be only right to have the festival themed..." He looked thoughtfully over to the priest and up to his daughter's big fella. "Since the money Flinn left for the church will be going in for this, we could just have it in his name. That auld fox always tried to attend every festival he could, so I'd imagine he'd love this. I can see him now," he sighed with a bittersweet smile, "swatting everyone back with a stick so he could enter first."
"You're gonna call it the Flinn Festival? That's a fantastic idea!" Brody laughed the words out. "You could have a dirty joke contest, and set up a 'feck off' booth!" The other two chuckled with him.
"If we're to do this in honor of that charming rogue," Father Doyle added with a widening grin, "it'd only be fitting to have a Guinness sponsor on hand as well."
