An Early Wake (6 page)

I
t rained during the night, and on Saturday morning when Maura opened her front door a sliver, she could see that the lane was muddy. Not exactly what she wanted to wade through to visit Bridget, but she wanted the older woman’s opinion about the ideas that were bouncing around in her head. On the other hand, a woman of Bridget’s age probably wouldn’t have spent much time listening to music in a pub. Had women gone to pubs at all a half century ago, when Bridget was young? Practically speaking, there would have been kids at home and chores to be done in the evenings, from which the men were often exempt, given that they’d spent their days outside dealing with cattle or sheep or crops, or some combination of the three. It must have been a hard life; the idea of trying to feed everyone by cooking over an open fire, not to mention just fitting mom, dad, and a bunch of children (maybe even an in-law) into a typical two-bedroom home with no plumbing, was daunting. Maura still had trouble wrapping her head around how people had done it. She lived pretty high on the hog by those old standards: she lived alone in her four-room house and didn’t have to worry about an outhouse. Now, of course—or at least until a few years ago—rich Dubliners or people from England or even Germany had been snapping up cottages like hers and calling them quaint and charming (after they’d added plumbing and electricity). What a strange turn of events!

Despite the mud, Maura squared her shoulders, grabbed her sweater, and marched down the lane toward Bridget’s house. No sign of Mick’s car this morning, so she was free to get Bridget’s opinion of her plans.

She rapped on the front door, which faced the rising sun. Bridget opened it after a half minute and smiled up at her. “
Fáilte romhat
, my dear. I wondered if you’d be stoppin’ by this morning.”

“Good morning, Bridget. I thought I’d let you and Mick have some time together yesterday. Have you talked to him since?”

“About what yer plannin’ for the pub? No, he hasn’t said anything.”

Maura laughed. “Hang on—if he didn’t tell you, how did you hear about what I was thinking about? Mick and I didn’t really talk about anything until after closing last night.”

“From Billy Sheahan, of course.”

Maura cocked her head at Bridget. “How so? That doesn’t make sense. I know Billy doesn’t travel around, especially at night. Does he have a phone I don’t know about?”

“No phone—he says he can’t abide those tinny little voices squeaking in his ear. But Billy has friends, and his friends have friends, and the word gets around. Would you care for tea?”

“Yes, thank you, I would like tea. And more of an explanation.” Maura walked into Bridget’s spotless home and closed the door behind her.

“It’s made already. Help yerself and then sit with me.”

Maura followed instructions, after making sure Bridget was also well supplied with tea. “All right, tell me: how do you know about my plans?”

“Maggie Sweeney, who lives down the hill—she told me that her brother stopped by Sullivan’s yesterday. He lives over to Union Hall but he stops by regular, and he recognized Niall Cronin.”

Unlike me, the clueless American.
Well, at least it wasn’t voodoo that got the word out locally. “Have I met Maggie? Or her brother?”

“You might have seen him at the pub, but he’s a bit shy so he might not have talked to you. He’s a fine man, though,” Bridget said.

“I’m sure he is,” Maura said impatiently. “So he came in for a pint and recognized Niall, and he told his sister? Did he talk to Billy?”

“He didn’t have to. He remembers back in the day when Niall and the lads would stop by of an evening and play the night away. Is that not what you’d be thinkin’ of, dear? Goin’ back to the way it was?”

“Sort of. What do you think? If we started offering music again, would someone like Maggie’s brother come? Would his friends?”

“Now and then, I’d guess. If you don’t make a big thing of it.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“No big push to get the word out. Just let it happen, the way it used to.”

Bridget’s advice ran counter to anything Maura had heard about modern promotion: ads in print publications, radio spots—where was the nearest radio station? Cork?—invitations to everyone via some mailing list she didn’t even have, not to mention “social media” like Facebook and Twitter, about which she knew little and cared less. Oddly, Bridget’s suggestion not to promote at all would make things a lot easier, if she decided to go ahead with this thing. All Maura had to do was gather the musicians at Sullivan’s—although how she was supposed to make that happen mystified her—and the rest would apparently follow. Her only job would be to serve drinks and make nice. Could it be that simple? She shook her head, smiling.

“You don’t think it will happen, do you, now?” Bridget asked softly.

Maura sipped her tea, stalling. “Bridget, I don’t know what I think. It seems crazy, but I was there when Niall Cronin walked in. I’ve never heard of him, but I could see how excited Mick was to see him there, and Tim Reilly looked ready to explode. If there were enough people who felt like that, it could work, I guess.”

“And who would this Tim Reilly be?” Bridget asked.

“Oh, right. It seems like a whole lot has happened in the last day. Tim is a student at Trinity, and he’s looking into the music from the time when Sullivan’s was big. That’s why he was so excited to see Niall—it was like one of his heroes just walked in the door. Me, I had no idea who he was.”

“Have you no liking for the music?” Bridget asked.

“Everyone keeps asking me that. I guess I never realized that it was odd, but no, I’ve never been musical. We all had to play an instrument at school, but the music teacher figured pretty fast that I wasn’t cut out for it.” And then funding for the school district’s enrichment programs had been eliminated anyway, and the music program went away along with the teacher. “And I was never into buying CDs or downloading stuff. Seemed like a waste of money to me. I mean, songs are popular for a short time, and then everybody goes on to something else.”

“You wouldn’t say that about Irish music. There’s a long history to it, even for the young ones playin’ now.”

“So people keep telling me,” Maura replied, draining her mug. “Well, Mick said we didn’t have to decide anything until we see what happens today. Which may be nothing at all out of the ordinary.”

Bridget smiled. “Wait and see.”

“You sound like Mick. Or maybe he sounds like you. Want me to wash your cup?”

“I’d be glad of a top-up instead, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem,” Maura said. She refilled the cup, added sugar and milk, and set it next to Bridget. “I guess I’d better get down to the village and prepare for . . . whatever happens. I’m sure Mick will fill you in later.”

“He will that.
Slán go fóill
, my dear.”

The sun had climbed over the hill to the east by the time Maura went back to her own cottage, then set off for Leap. This whole thing seemed absurd: some kid showed up from Dublin and suddenly she was talking about reviving a long-standing musical tradition she hadn’t even known about two days earlier? Maura Donovan, with the tin ear? It was a joke . . . wasn’t it?

When she walked into Sullivan’s after parking her car, Rose was already there, polishing the top of the bar with unprecedented energy. Tim and Mick were moving chairs and tables around and didn’t even notice Maura’s entrance.

“Uh, hello?” she called out as the men disappeared into the back room. “Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Good morning, Maura,” Rose said cheerfully. “Isn’t it grand?”

“Isn’t what grand?” Maura demanded.

“The old place is comin’ alive, isn’t it? There’ll be music here tonight.”

“How do you know? When I left last night, Mick and I had kicked around a few ideas, but that was as far as we got.”

“That’d be my doing.” Maura turned to see Niall Cronin slouching in the doorway. “I might’ve rung a coupla fellas last night.”

“What’s a ‘couple’?” Maura asked.

“Enough. I told your guys here I’d stop by and see to the equipment. What you’ve got looks old but sound. What can you tell me about it?”

Maura looked blankly at him for a moment, trying to remember if she could even identify some of the items in the back room. “Uh, nothing? I didn’t even know there
was
equipment. Apparently there’s a lot I still don’t know about Sullivan’s. For example, nobody mentioned the music.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. Ah, here’s Billy.”

Maura spied Billy Sheahan making his slow way toward the door. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him at the pub this early—it wasn’t even opening time. “Good morning, Billy,” she called out when he came into earshot. “Is this more of your doing?” She gestured around the room; she could hear ominous thuds and clanks from the back room, where Tim and Mick were most likely moving large, mysterious objects around.

“I might have made a small suggestion or two. Ah, Niall, it’s grand to see you here again.”

“Yeah, I’d almost forgotten what morning looks like. Look, I’ve been in touch with some of the lads, and things are looking good. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Can I get you something, Billy?” Maura asked as he settled himself in his usual chair.

“It’s a bit early for the black stuff, even for me. Can you manage a cup of tea?”

“Of course. Mr. Cronin?”

Niall clutched his heart theatrically. “Oh, darlin’, you cut me to the quick! Am I that old? It’s Niall to pretty ladies like you. Tea would be grand.”

“I’ll do it,” Rose volunteered, clearly starstruck.

Maura leaned closer to Rose. “When’s your father coming in?”

“He’ll be around directly, he said,” she answered, her eyes on the metal pot she was filling with boiling water.

“How long have yeh been doin’ this?” Niall asked Maura, waving a hand at the bar.

“Tending bar or running Sullivan’s? I’ve worked in bars maybe eight years, starting before I wasn’t exactly legal. I inherited Sullivan’s from Old Mick about six months ago. Why?”

“I knew Old Mick, years ago. He was a force unto himself. Kind of magnetic. He drew people in to this place, against the odds.”

“What happened? Why do you think it stopped?”

“Time passed. We all grew older. Makin’ music isn’t easy, and most of us ended up with families and responsibilities, so we couldn’t go roaming about the countryside playing gigs here and there. Life moved on.”

“You married?” Maura asked.

Niall gave a short laugh. “You interested?”

“Not right now, but I could add you to the list if you want,” she said, surprising herself. Well, he was an attractive man. Maura found herself wondering what he was like when performing onstage.

“Wait much longer and I won’t be worth much,” Niall shot back, but at least he was smiling.

“Hey, we could use a hand over here!” Mick called out from the back as Rose poured a mug of tea for Niall and handed it to him, then filled another one for Billy.

“Shall we?” Niall said with exaggerated gallantry, letting Maura go before him.

“As long as you’ll tell me what I’m looking at and promise it won’t all blow up when you plug it in.” Maura led the way into the back room. She was surprised by how much larger it looked now that a lot of the junk had been cleared away. (She had no idea where it had gone. Would she ever see it again? Did she care?) Things were moving fast. Mick and Tim had pulled out the old music equipment—Maura could do no more than lump all the pieces together under the heading “amplifiers”—and assembled it in the middle of the floor. Niall went over and ran his hands over the biggest piece with something like affection.

“I haven’t seen one of these beauties for a long time. Does she still work?”

“One way to find out,” Mick said and began hunting for an outlet. There weren’t many in the room. “We may have to beef up the power supply a bit.”

“Can you do that?” Maura asked skeptically.

“Short term, sure. In the long run we might need to do a bit of wiring. Although the equipment has changed some. We’ll see.”

“Uh, Mick, is there a fire department in Leap?” Maura asked, stymied by the electronic side of things. She looked around the room. She’d spent so little time in it, she had no idea what was really in here. Was there even any heat? No fireplace, though if the space was packed full with moving bodies, a fire might’ve been a hazard, and all those bodies probably provided plenty of heat. Maura shook her head, still having trouble believing this empty room could ever be “full” or “packed.” She’d never seen more than two people in it before now. But best to keep the possibility of a crowd in mind, she supposed. Were there any access doors? There appeared to be one on the side, past the small wooden stage. Although maybe “stage” was an exaggeration: it was a roughly square wooden platform that rose no more than a foot from the floor. One more door opened out the back, up at the balcony level. The bar Maura remembered ran along the width of the room opposite the stage—and it was filthy. How long since anyone had used it? There were glasses lined up, but they’d all need washing. No liquor on the shelves, though, and probably no kegs for the taps.