False Mermaid (46 page)

Nora swam forward, eyes wide open, when all at once someone or something caught her by the waist and lifted her clear of the water. Setting her upright in the shallows, Cormac took her face between his hands. “I can’t let you do it, Nora—”

All at once it occurred to her what he must have imagined, following her, watching her walk out into the sea. “Oh, Cormac, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Weren’t you?”

“No—I don’t know what I was doing. But it wasn’t that, truly—I swear.”

“You walked straight into the water, with all your clothes on—”

She looked him up and down. “So did you.”

“But I was only going after you—” He stopped and sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “Why are we doing this to ourselves? You’ve been running from me for nearly two years, Nora. Why do you keep running?”

“I don’t know, Cormac. I can’t—”

“Can’t what? Do you really believe Tríona would want you to suffer as you have? I know you could go on punishing yourself forever—but when will it ever be enough? You wanted to know the name of the tune I sent—I’ll tell you. It’s ‘My Love Is in America.’ Do you understand? Can you not see that I love you? Stop running, Nora. Stay with me. Be with me.”

She looked into his eyes, and felt deep within them—and deep within herself—an immense, eternal pulse, calling up the words of that ancient, mysterious charm:
She herself has best means to carry.
When she offered Cormac her answer, it did not come in words.

As daylight broke over the headland, the mist slowly disappeared, and the surf began to churn around them with the incoming tide. The rising sun threw golden shafts on gulls and choughs as they took wing, and on the wet, curious faces of three young seals cavorting in the waves beyond the harbor rocks. High above the headland, almost out of sight, a lone sea eagle soared aloft.

I am indebted to a number of people who helped with research for this book: Dónal and Libby Ward, for their hospitality, for sharing their knowledge of the history, folklore, and music of their home county, and for introducing me to some of the wonderful, hidden corners of southwest Donegal; Jill Cooper of the Minneapolis Rowing Club; Hannah Texler of the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, Tim Whitfeld and Anita Cholewa of the Bell Museum/University of Minnesota Herbarium, Doug Mensing of the Minnesota Native Plant Society, Jennifer Doubt of the Canadian Museum of Nature / Musée canadien de la nature, and Dr. Carol C. Baskin of the Department of Biology at the University of Kentucky, for details on
Floerkea proserpinacoides
(false mermaid); Kathleen J. Craft, Ph.D., for information on population genetics and its application to the world of forensic botany; Ann Marie Gross of the DNA Section at the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, for information on DNA analysis and BCA procedure; Sergeant Mary Nash and Detective Jane Laurence of the Saint Paul Police Department for help with police procedure and background (and to fellow writers Kent Krueger and Lori Lake for sharing law enforcement contacts); Patrick J. Cleary of the Garda Síochána (retired), for assistance with Irish police procedure; flute player and physician Dr. Frank Claudy, and Jean Cleary, RN, for help with information on PTSD, emergency room procedure, and hospital admissions; fiddle player Randall Bays for background on Useless Bay in Washington State. I am indebted to my friend, artist Virginia McBride, for her creative support, and to her son and fellow artist, Owen Platt, who created the wonderful map of my fictional location Port na Rón. And I am grateful to Dáithí Sproule for his invaluable help with Irish language translation, and to singer Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh of Altan, whose beautiful rendition of
“An Mhaighdean Mhara”
helped inspire this story. The help of all these individuals undoubtedly prevented many errors; they are not responsible for the literary license
I have taken, and any faults that remain are mine alone. Thanks also to my wonderful editors, Susanne Kirk and Samantha Martin at Scribner, and my peerless agent, Sally Wofford-Girand. And to the countless people who offered encouragement—not to mention a bit of gentle nudging—fans, neighbors, and friends (especially Lisa McDaniel, Karen Mueller, Lori Hindbjorgen, Elizabeth Childs, Pat McMorrow, and all the Widening Gyre writers); my beloved family; and my incredible, inspiring husband, Paddy—
go raibh mile maith agaibh
.

Erin Hart is a Minnesota theater critic and former administrator at the Minnesota State Arts Board. A lifelong interest in Irish traditional music led her to cofound Minnesota’s Irish Music and Dance Association. A theater major from St. Olaf College, she has an M.A. in English and Creative Writing from the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis. She and her husband, musician Paddy O’Brien, live in Saint Paul and frequently visit Ireland. Erin Hart was nominated for Agatha and Anthony awards for her debut novel
Haunted Ground,
which won the Friends of American Writers Award in 2004. Her second novel,
Lake of Sorrows,
was a 2004 Minnesota Book Award finalist. Visit her website at
www.erinhart.com
.