Celestial Land and Sea (14 page)

She sat down safely and looked at the gravestones. Some dated back hundreds of years, plant life nearly covering them. As she became lost in her thoughts a woman sat beside her. Grace had not heard her approach and was startled when she spoke.

"Do you believe they can help you?"

A thick Irish accent came with her words. It was different than Grace's accent, and that of any of her family. The mysterious woman stared straight forward, her attention fixed somewhere in the churchyard. Her eyes were watery pools of green, glistening like emeralds.

Dressed in a long sea-green smock, her attire didn't seem to fit the current century. The upper part of the cotton fabric took the shape of a bodice; the edges were stitched with a gold-coloured thread, and the material was tied tightly down the front with thick string to draw in the dress around the woman's thin frame. A woollen shawl was draped over her shoulders, the sleeveless garment reaching down to her hands. Her fingertips clasped its edge to keep it in place, protecting her pale arms from the wind. Her auburn hair was tied back into a long plait, reaching down to her waist. Grace noted that its length was longer than her own. The tight hairstyle pulled slightly at the woman's forehead, accentuating the delicate features of her face. Her nose was thin and long as it pointed towards her lips. Her lips were narrow but rich in their pink colour. This same shade highlighted the apples above her gaunt cheekbones, adding a small amount of colour to her otherwise-ghostly white skin.

"I'm sorry?" Grace finally managed to reply. She had been so mesmerised by this woman's sudden and striking appearance that she'd almost forgotten to respond to her question.

"Do you believe it's possible for those who are no longer of this earth to help in life as it is lived today?"

"I don't know..." She had no idea how to respond to a question like that. Grace's confusion grew as the woman continued to talk. Her voice was soft and gentle, but her words were insistent and unexpected.

"Do you not believe that there are ways in which those who have returned to the world of spirit can guide those on earth? Their physical bodies may be rested in the ground, but their spiritual bodies—their
original
forms—are still here. They are constantly around, working where their assistance is required. Do you not believe that they are able to help you?"

"I've n-never..." Grace stuttered. It wasn't something she'd ever considered, and she certainly was not prepared for the question to be thrown her way today. Not wishing to anger or upset the woman, she forced herself to recall the religious teachings she'd received as a child.

"I am not speaking about religion," the woman continued, as if she had been reading Grace's mind. "The spirits guide those who require it, and those whose minds are willing and open, regardless of their faith. They do not operate within religious constraints. Perhaps you are aware of Guardian Angels, or maybe even Spirit Guides. The concept is the same, except these spirits have simply been ordinary people on earth, just as you are now. They have no special rank, and they have no requirement for one. They have their duties, and with those they are able and content. There is no restriction between centuries, no language barriers across time or place. You are never alone, Grace."

Grace wasn't given time to consider how this woman could possibly know her name, because at that moment her phone sounded loudly from inside her pocket. She flinched as she reached for it, then turned away from the woman to silence the sales call. But as Grace turned again to face her, the woman had disappeared. Where had she gone?

Though, had her phone not caused a distraction, Grace would have noticed as the woman had walked along the path and out through the trees that a pair of leather boots were visible beneath her dress, and she would have also realised that the boots that the woman wore were identical to the pair that she had first discovered on board the ship, the very pair she wore to guide her along Gráinne's journey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"S
paghetti prepared, oven preheated, apron on!" Grace talked herself through her mental check-list as she tied the ribbon behind her back. "I think that's everything," she confirmed to herself as she arranged walnuts on top of a sponge cake. As she slid the baking tray into the oven her phone sounded from across the table. She sighed as she recognised the caller instantly. "Hello, Mum."

"Grace, it's Mum." Her accent was much stronger than Grace's.

"How is everyone?"

"Everyone's fine, dear. Your Dad says hello."

"Hello to Dad," she said.

"Listen, did you receive the photograph I sent you on that e-thing this morning?"

Grace had lost count of how many times her Mum had phoned her asking how to send an email. She was learning, slowly, but Grace still wouldn't dream of letting her loose on her own laptop.

"I've not checked my emails today, Mum."

"Are you in the house now? You need to see this!"

"Well, I am at home but I'm kind of—"

"Turn on your computer and have a look!" Mrs Byrne interrupted. "Oh, you'll love it, Grace!"

With little other choice, Grace glanced at the oven to make sure it was okay before dashing through to the living room.

"Right, I'm booting it now," she responded as she opened the laptop. The machine whirred to life. "What is it you want me to see?"

"You'll find out when you open it. Have you got it yet?"

"It takes a minute to load. Right, here we are." She found the email and clicked it open. It was never a good sign to find an attachment from her Mum. She scrolled down and located the photograph at the bottom of the page. There was no challenge in identifying her Mum near the centre of the gathering, and around her stood faces Grace also recognised. There were a few people nearer the edges of the photo she'd never seen before, but it was quite obvious whose family this was. "Is this from the baby's baptism?"

"It's from the baby's baptism! Just look at him, Grace. Isn't he adorable?"

She looked at the small pink child in the arms of her Uncle Seamus, a fluffy mop of bright ginger hair already forming on his freckled infant head. "Yes, I suppose he is..."

"They have a name for him now, too."

"It's about time. What did they go with in the end?"

"They've decided to call him Malachy Michael Martin MacBride," Mrs Byrne squealed.

"Wow, that's quite a mouthful!"

"He's just the sweetest baby, Grace. I wish you could have been there."

Apart from returning each Christmas, Grace seldom went been back to Belfast since she'd moved to England.

"Your Great-Uncle Malachy O'Malley was flattered at the name choice, of course. He spent the entire day tickling the baby's—"

"Did you say O'Malley, Mum?" The question had come out with more force than she had intended, but she needed to make sure she'd heard right. She had no recollection of ever having heard of this relative.

"Yes, dear. You've never met him before, and I've only really met him once or twice myself before last weekend. I must say, he's quite a handsome man. He's fourth from the left in the photo," said Mrs Byrne.

Grace studied the image on the screen. "I didn't know we were related to the O'Malleys, Mum."

"Only by marriage. He married my Aunt Nora—that's your Granny MacBride's sister—just before you were born. They live on the other side of the city though, and as you know, we never really speak to Aunt Nora unless we have to. Every time we've had to deliver a present or take something to them Malachy has been away on business. He's nearly ninety now, though. I expect he'll be at home a lot more nowadays. Perhaps I should pay my Aunt Nora a visit and see if he—"

"Is he from Mayo?" If there was even the slightest chance that this Great-Uncle of hers was related to Gráinne O'Malley, then she was going to make sure she found out about it.

"No, of course he's not from Mayo. He was born and raised in Belfast. I remember one time we were all sitting at the dinner table when you were just a baby, and your Dad mentioned to Granny MacBride that he had to go to Galway for a few—"

"Mum, I don't mean to interrupt"—Grace knew she was about to start another one of her never-ending stories—"but I really need to go. I'm baking a cake and I need to take it out of the oven before it burns." Having almost forgotten about the cake, she rushed back to the kitchen with the phone still to her ear.

"How lovely that you still bake! What is it this time?"

"It's a walnut sponge cake, Mum," she said as she struggled with the baking tray.

"I do love a good sponge cake. Are you having friends over for a sleepover?"

"Sure, Mum." It was easier than telling her the truth.

"Enjoy your cake, dear; I'll phone you later in the week."

"Bye, Mum. I love you."

"I love you too, dear."

Grace hung up and dropped the phone onto the kitchen counter. She had fallen uncomfortably behind schedule now and was going to have to work quickly to catch up if she wanted everything to be ready before Andy arrived. She'd just about finished when her phone rang again.

She looked at the caller ID, and considered ignoring it. But what good would it do? She knew Caroline would only keep ringing until Grace eventually answered, and she'd rather speak to her now than have to face her conversations when Andy was around.

'Hello?"

"Grace, darling, it's Caroline!"

"Hel—"

"I'm glad I caught you. I tried ringing a few minutes ago but you must have been on another call. Listen, I wanted to thank you for coming over last week. It really was great to see everybody and catch up again, wasn't it? It's been so long." Grace was sure that Caroline wasn't phoning just to thank her. "It was such a fun night. I don't think I've laughed that much in ages. My cheeks are still hurting. Anyway, I was wondering if you were busy on Friday?"

There it was.

"Well, I'll be at work—"

"I need you to meet me on your lunch break. I've been given a new project, something we're publishing about the monarchy, and I've been asked to visit Westminster Abbey as part of the first article. But the thing is, Grace, I'm really not all that interested in that sort of thing, and I know you're quite keen on all that historical stuff, so I thought you'd be able to come with me, point out a few things, and then we can have something to eat. What do you say?"

"Okay, I can help you," she said. "But only for an hour—the boss will kill me if he knows I've been gone any longer."

"Oh you're a star, Grace. Thank you. I knew you wouldn't let me down. Perhaps you could do a little research for me beforehand, maybe jot a few things onto a piece of paper for me that I can take back to the office and work with..."

Caroline continued talking for another twenty minutes; it was proving impossible to hang up on her, as every time she tried to say goodbye Caroline launched into another story. But when she began to gossip about somebody in her office who had just undergone some awful cosmetic procedure, Grace knew she was going to have to interrupt.

"Caroline, I really have to go. I have somebody coming over soon. But I'll meet you outside the Abbey on Friday, I promise."

She hung up the phone and sprinted up the stairs, flinging off her apron as she went
.
She was covered in flour, and Andy was due to arrive any minute. She had to find something suitable to wear, and fast.

 

"Wow!"Andy stoo
d
in the doorway, poised with a bottle in his hand. "You look wonderful!"

"Thanks!" It wasn't much, but Grace had managed to dig out a teal summer dress from the back of her wardrobe—something a bit more feminine than the outfits she usually wore, she thought, but still comfortable. She studied Andy's choice of outfit with admiration: he was wearing a white shirt—undoubtedly a new purchase—with grey suit trousers, his black waterproof left unzipped to reveal the lack of tie around his neck. The top button of his shirt had been left unfastened, and there was a hint of stubble on his chin. Although unusual for Andy, it was much less than the beard upon Donal's face. Grace noted to herself that she'd never seen Andy look this relaxed.

"This is for you, Miss Byrne," he managed, bowing playfully as he handed her the bottle of wine.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you. Come in; I won't be a moment." She had been in the middle of drying the dishes when the doorbell rang. "Make yourself at home and I'll get some glasses." She hoped he wasn't able to detect the nerves in her voice as she showed him to the living room.

"Interesting artwork," Andy called when he noticed the multi-coloured painting above the mantelpiece.

"The horse? That's my housemate's. She's very big on animals," Grace replied. "She's out this evening though. Hey, you don't mind cats, do you?" She pulled the cork on the bottle.

"No, not at all. Why?"

Right on cue Bella crawled around the door and emerged at the side of the sofa, rubbing her arched back against the furniture.

"Never mind," Andy called as he reached down to tickle Bella on the back.

Grace entered the living room with two glasses of white wine and handed one to Andy. "Cheers!"

She decided to play it safe and sit on the sofa opposite him, not wanting to seem too forward by invading his personal space. She was a little surprised when he edged closer to her. He sipped at the glass and glanced around the room.

"So..."

"I've baked a cake." Grace was sure she hadn't meant it to come out as forced as that. She was just trying to prevent an awkward silence.

"Oh, brilliant! What kind?"

"Walnut sponge. I hope that's okay."

"Certainly. I don't believe there's a cake out there that I won't eat. I remember my mum took me to this beautiful little café when I was a boy as a treat for doing so well on my report card for once in a subject that wasn't sport—I never really took any interest in writing until secondary school. She bought me this Belgian chocolate cupcake, and I can still remember the delicious aroma as the waitress placed it on the table in front of me, the sweet smell completely enveloping me in this sort of cocoon of chocolate perfection. It had these little flakes on the top and it crumbled wonderfully whenever I took a bite. To this day, I can't say I've ever had a better cupcake."