by Cate Tiernan
Ballynigel was a small town, mind you, small and close to the
coast of western Ireland. The people there were mainly
farmers or fishermen. Not worldly, not overly educated. Very
conservative," Alyce explained. She paused, thinking.
In my mind I saw rolling hills as deep a green as a
peridot. Salt air seemed to kiss my skin. I smelted tangy,
brackish seaweed, fish, and an almost unpleasant yet
comfortable odor my brain identified as peat, whatever that
was. "The villagers had probably always lived among witches
in peace, but for some reason, every so often, a town gets
stirred up; people get scared. After months of persecution a
local witch was murdered, burned to death and thrown from a
cliff."
I swallowed hard. I knew from my reading that burning
was the traditional method of killing witches.
"There was some talk that it had been another witch, not
a human, who had done it," continued Alyce.
"What about Maeve Riordan?" I asked.
"She was the daughter of the local high priestess, a
woman named Mackenna Riordan. At fourteen Maeve joined
Belwicket under the name Bradhadair: fire starter. Apparently
she was very powerful, very, very powerful."
My mother.
"Anyway, things in Ballynigel grew more and more
intolerable for the witches. They had to shop in other towns,
leases expired and weren't renewed, but they could deal with
all that somehow."
"Why didn't they leave?" I asked.
"Ballynigel was a place of power," Alyce explained. "At
least it was for that coven. There was something about that
area, perhaps just because magick had been worked there for
centuries—but it was a very good place to be for a witch. Most
of Belwicket had roots in the land going back more generations
than they could count. Their people had always lived there. I
imagine it was hard to fathom living anywhere else."
It was hard for an American, with family roots going back
only a hundred years or so, to comprehend. Taking a deep
breath, I looked around for Robbie. I could hear him still
talking to the girl on the other side of the store. I glanced at
my watch. Five-thirty. I had to get home soon. But I was finally
learning about my past, my history, and I couldn't pull myself
away."How do you know all this?" I asked.
"People have talked of it over the years," Alyce said. "You
see, it could so easily happen to any of us."
A chill went through me, and I stared at her. To me,
magick was beautiful and joyful. She was reminding me that
countless women and men had died because of it.
"Maeve Riordan finally did leave," Alyce went on, her face
sad. "One night there was a huge . . . decimation, for want of a
better word."
I shivered, feeling an icy breeze float over me, settling at
my feet.
"The Belwicket coven was virtually destroyed," Alyce
continued, sounding like the words were hard to say. "It's
unclear whether it was the townspeople or a dark, powerful,
magickal source that swept through the coven, but that night
homes were burned to the ground, cars were set on fire, fields
of crops were laid to waste, boats were sunk...and twenty-
three men, women, and children were killed.”
I realized I was panting, my stomach in knots. I felt ill
and dizzy and panicky. I couldn't bear hearing about this.
"But not Maeve," Alyce whispered, looking off at some
faraway sight "Maeve escaped that night, and so did young
Angus Bramson, her lover. Maeve was twenty, Angus twenty-
two, and together they fled, caught a bus to Dublin and a plane
to England. From there they landed in New York, and from New
York City they made their way to Meshomah Falls."
"Did they get married?" I said hoarsely.
"There's no record of it," Alyce replied. "They settled in
Meshomah Falls, got jobs, and renounced witchcraft entirely.
Apparently for two years they practiced no Wicca, called upon
no power, created no magick." She shook her head sadly. "It
must have been like living in a straitjacket. Like smothering
inside a box. And then they had a baby in the local hospital. We
think the persecution began right after that"
My throat felt like it was closing. I pulled my sweater
sway from my neck because it was choking me.
"It was little things at first—finding runes of danger and
threat painted on the side of their little house. Evil sigils, runes
bespelled for some magickal purpose, scratched into their car
doors. One day a dead cat hanging from their porch. If they had
come to the local coven, they could have been helped. But they
wanted nothing to do with witchcraft. After Belwicket had been
destroyed, Maeve wanted nothing more to do with it. Though,
of course, it was in her blood. There's no point in denying what
you are."
Terror threatened to overwhelm me. I wanted to run
screaming from the store.
Alyce looked at me. "Maeve's Book of Shadows was found
after the fire. People read it and passed on the stories of what
was written there."
"Where is it now?" I demanded, and Alyce shook her
head.
"I don't know," she said gently. "Maeve's story ends with
her and Angus burned in a barn."
Tears ran slowly down my cheeks.
"What happened to the baby?" I choked out.
Alyce gazed at me sympathetically, years of wisdom
written on her face. She reached up one soft, flower-scented
hand and touched my cheek. "I don't know that, either, my
dear," she said so quietly, I could barely hear her. "What did
happen to the baby?"
A mist swam over my eyes, and I needed to lie down or
fall over or run screaming down the street
"Hey, Morgan!" Robbie's voice broke in. "Are you ready? I
should get home."
"Good-bye," I whispered. I turned and raced out the door,
with Robbie following me, concern radiating from him in
waves.
Behind me I felt rather than heard Alyce's words: "Not
good-bye, my dear. You'll be back."
8. Anger
November 1, 1980
what a glorious Samhain we had last night! After a
powerful circle that Ma let me lead, we danced, played music,
watched the stars, and hoped for better times ahead. It was a
night full of cider, laughter, and hope. Things have been so
quite lately—has the evil moved on? Has it found another
home? Goddess, I pray not, for I don't wish others to suffer as
we have. But I'm thankful that we no longer have to jump at
every noise.
Angus gave me a darling kitten—a tiny white tom I've
named Dagda. He has a lot to live up to with that name! He's a
wee thing and sweet. I love him, and it was just like Angus to
come up with the idea. Today my world is blessed and full of
peace.
Praise be to the Goddess for keeping us safe another year.
Praise be to Mother Earth for sharing her bounty far and
near.
Praise be to magick, from which all blessings flow.
Praise be to my heart' I follow where it goes.
Blessed be.
--Bradhadair
Now Dagda is meowing to go out!
"What's wrong?" Robbie demanded in the car.
I sniffled and wiped my hand over my face. "Oh, Alyce
was telling me a sad story about some witches who died."
His eyes narrowed. "And you're crying because ..." he
prompted.
"It just got to me," I said, trying to sound light "I'm so
tenderhearted."
"Okay, don't tell me," he said, sounding irritated. He
started the car and began the drive back to Widow's Vale.
"It's just... I can't talk about it yet, okay, Robbie?" I
almost whispered.
He was quiet for a few moments, then nodded. "Okay. But
if you ever need a shoulder, I'm here."
It was so sweet of him that a wave of warmth rushed over
me. I reached out to pat his shoulder. 'Thanks. That helps.
Really."
Darkness fell as we drove, and by the time we got back to
school, streetlights were on. My thoughts had been churning
around my birth mother's fate, and I was surprised to
recognize the school building when Robbie stopped and I saw
my car sitting by itself on the street.
"Thanks for the ride," I said. It was dark, and leaves were
blowing off trees, flitting through the air. One brushed against
me, and I flinched. "You okay?" he asked.
"I think so. Thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow," I said, [
and got in Das Boot
I felt like I had lived through my birth mother's story. She
had to be the same Maeve Riordan on my birth certificate. She
had to be. I tried to remember if I had seen the place of birth—
if it had been Meshomah Falls or Widow's Vale. I couldn't
remember. Did my parents know any of this story? How had
they found me? How had I been adopted? The same old
questions.
I started my car, feeling anger come over me again. They
had the answers, and they were going to tell me. Tonight I
couldn't go through another day without knowing.
At home I parked and stormed up the front walk, already
forming the words I was going to say, the questions I would
ask I pushed through the front door—
And found Aunt Eileen and her girlfriend, Paula Steen,
sitting on the couch.
"Morgan!" said Aunt Eileen, holding out her arms. "How's
my favorite niece?"
I hugged her as Mary K. said, "She said the exact same
thing to me."
Aunt Eileen laughed. "You're both my favorite nieces."
I smiled, trying to mentally switch gears. A confrontation
with my parents was out for now. And then—it was only then
that I realized that Aunt Eileen knew I was adopted. Of course
she did. She's my mom's sister. In fact, all of my parents'
friends must know. They had always lived here in Widow's
Vale, and unless my mom had faked a pregnancy, which I
couldn't see her doing, they would all know that I had just
turned up out of nowhere. And then two years later she really
had had a baby: Mary K. Oh my
God, I thought, appalled. I was utterly, utterly humiliated
and embarrassed.
"Listen, we brought Chinese food," said Aunt Eileen,
standing up.
"It's ready!" Mom called from the dining room. I would
have given anything not to have to go in, but there was no way
to get out of it We all swarmed in. White cartons and plastic
foam containers filled the center of the table.
"Hi," Mom said to me, scanning my face. "You got back in
time."
"Uh-huh," I said, not meeting her gaze. "I was with
Robbie."
"Robbie looks amazing lately," said Mary K., helping
herself to some orange beef. "Has he been seeing a new
dermatologist?"
"Um, I don't know," I said vaguely. "His skin has gotten a
lot better."
"Maybe he's just grown out of it," suggested my mom. I
couldn't believe she was making polite chitchat. Frustration
started to boil in me as I tried to choke down my dinner.
"Can you pass the pork?" my dad asked.
For a while we all ate. If Aunt Eileen and Paula noticed
that things were a bit weird, if we were stilted and less
talkative, they didn't show it. But even Mary K., as naturally
perky as she is, was holding back.
"Oh, Morgan, Janice called," said my dad. I could tell he
was striving for a normal tone. "She wants you to call her back.
I said you would, after dinner."
"Okay, thanks," I said. I stuffed a big bite of scallion
pancake in my mouth so it wouldn't seem weird that I was
being so quiet.
After dinner Aunt Eileen stood up and went into the
kitchen, returning with a bottle of sparkling cider and a tray of
glasses.
"What's ail this?" my mom asked with a surprised smile.
"Well," Aunt Eileen said shyly as Paula got up to stand next to
her. "We have some very exciting news." Mary K. and I
exchanged glances. "We're moving in together," Eileen
announced, her face lull of happiness. She smiled at Paula, and
Paula gave her a hug.
"I've already put my apartment on the market, and we're
[poking for a house,” said Paula.
"Oh, awesome," said Mary K., getting up to hug Aunt
Eileen and Paula. They beamed. I stood up and hugged them,
too, and so did Mom. Dad hugged Eileen and shook Paula's
hand.
"Well, this is lovely news," said Mom, although something
in her face said that she thought it would be better if they had
known each other longer.
Eileen popped the cork on the sparkling cider and poured
it Paula handed glasses around, and Mary K. and I immediately
gulped down sips.
"Are you going to buy a house together or rent?" Mom
asked.
"We're looking to buy," said Eileen. "We both have
apartments now, but I want to get a dog, so we need a yard."
"And I need room for a garden," said Paula.
"A dog and a garden might be mutually exclusive," said
my dad, and they laughed. I smiled, too, but it all felt so unreal:
as if I were watching someone else's family on television.
"I was hoping you could help us with the house hunting,"
Eileen said to my mom.
Mom smiled, for the first time since yesterday, I realized.
"I was already running through possibilities in my head," she
admitted. "Can you come by the office soon, and we can set up
some appointments?"
"That would be great," said Eileen. Paula reached over
and squeezed her shoulder. They looked at each other as if no
one else was in the room.
"Moving is going to be insane," said Paula. "I have stuff
scattered everywhere: my mom's, my dad's, my sister's. My
apartment was just too small to hold everything."
"Fortunately, I have a niece who's not only strong but has
a huge car," Aunt Eileen offered brightly, looking over at me.
I stared at her. I wasn't really her niece, though, was I?
Even Eileen had been playing into this whole fantasy that was
my lite. Even she, my favorite aunt, had been lying and keeping
secrets from me for sixteen years.
"Aunt Eileen, do you know why Mom and Dad never told
me I was adopted?" I just put it out there, and it was as if I
had mentioned I had the bubonic plague.
Everyone stared at me, except Mary K., who was staring
at her plate miserably; and Paula, who was watching Aunt
Eileen with a concerned expression.
Aunt Eileen looked like she had swallowed a frog. Her
eyes wide, she said, "What?” and shot quick glances at my
mom and dad.
"I mean, don't you think somebody should have told me?
Maybe just mentioned it? You could have said something. Or
maybe you just didn't think it was that important," I pressed
on. Part of me knew I wasn't being fair. But somehow I
couldn't stop myself. "No one else seems to. After all, it's just
my life we're talking about"
Mom said,"Morgan," in a defeated tone of voice.
"Uh...," said Aunt Eileen, for once at a loss for words.
Everyone was as embarrassed as I was, and the festive
air had gone out of dinner.
"Never mind," I said abruptly, standing up. "We can talk
about it later. Why not? After sixteen years what's a few I days
more?"
"Morgan, I always felt your parents should be the ones to
tell you—," Aunt Eileen said, sounding distressed.
"Yeah, right," I said rudely. "When was that going to
happen?"
Mary K. gasped, and I pushed my chair back roughly. I
couldn't stand being here one more second. I couldn't take
their hypocrisy anymore. I would explode.
This time I remembered to grab my jacket before I ran
out to my car and peeled off into the darkness.
9. Healing Light
St. Patrick's Day, 1981
Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I'm so drunk, I can hardly
write. Ballynigel just put on a St Paddy's party to end all
parties. All the townspeople, everyone, gathered together to
have a good time in the village. Human or witch, we all agree
on St. Paddy's Day, the wearing of the green.
Pat O'Hearn dyed all his beer green, and it was sloshing
into mugs, into pails, into shoes, anything. Old Jowson gave
some to his donkey, and that donkey has never been so tame of
good-natured! I laughed until I had to hold my sides in.
The Irish Cowboys played their music all afternoon right
in the town green, and we danced and pinched each other, and
the kids were throwing cabbages and potatoes. We had a good
