Kilpara (21 page)

It felt good to be out riding. I had no idea
where we were going, or whose property we were on, but after
trotting down a few lanes we found ourselves out in open
countryside. We galloped hard across fields, Brazonhead jumping
stiles and low rock walls with little effort. Following the setting
sun, we eventually circled toward the ocean and fell into a light
gallop along the beach. Waves rolled onto the shore in rhythm with
Brazonhead’s hooves.

We were trotting leisurely back toward the
convent when I saw her. She was some distance ahead, a figure
running barefoot along the edge of the water, holding her dress up
as she played games with oncoming waves that drifted in and out.
Close by, an easel with a canvas stood ignored. I was too far away
to make her face out clearly, but I could see long, curled
ash-blond hair reaching to her waist. She looked our way, our
oncoming presence startling her enough to forego her game, grab her
easel and canvas, and run toward some nearby houses. When we
arrived at the spot where she’d been, she had already scrambled up
the bank and was out of sight. I pulled Brazonhead to a halt and
dismounted. Would she return? I didn’t think so. I touched her
footprints in the sand, small, dainty, and elusive. Picking up a
pencil she had left behind in her haste, I asked Brazonhead, “Who
do you suppose she is?”

His response was an impatient shake of his
mane.

In the following days, I remained continually
alert for the lone figure on the beach whenever I went riding. But
there was no more sign of the girl with the ash-blond hair; and as
the days passed, I began to think I had imagined her.

In the evenings, Aunt Sadie delighted us by
reading old Shanachie tales to Mother. I listened quietly as she
recited stories about mammals who came ashore, shed their skins,
and stored them somewhere safe after they took on a human form.
They could return to the sea as long as they found their skins and
slipped back into them. But if their skins were stolen or lost,
they were doomed to live out their lives as humans.

Hearing these stories made me wonder even more
about the figure I had seen on the beach. Her image became rooted
in my mind; her long hair streaming over her shoulders, surprise
etched on a vague heart-shaped face, the small footprints left in
the sand after she scrambled away. I was drawn time after time to
the same spot hoping to see her, and when I didn’t, I began to
fathom she was some mythical creature from the sea. I laughed at
myself for being fanciful. Of course, she was real. The Shanachie
tales that Aunt Sadie told were nothing more than the overactive
imaginations of the Irish and their fascination for
folklore.

Brazonhead was growing stronger and stronger
each day. After only a week in Ireland, most of his former strength
had returned. We were venturing farther and farther afield. We had
not yet taken the Corrib Road that led to the infamous Kilpara, but
I knew necessity would lead me there soon. Mother, too, began
asking about Kilpara, and Aunt Sadie tactfully evaded the
subject.

It rained often in Ireland during early
summer, and when it did, it was a soft misty rain. On days when it
never seemed to cease, Brazonhead and I took shorter rides, staying
closer to the convent. One morning, after continuous rain the day
before, the air was heavy with mist. I ached for a longer gallop
and inevitably ventured toward that fateful spot on the beach,
having dreamt of the mystery lady during the night. In the light of
day, I told myself the reason she haunted my dreams was that I had
to prove her existence.

We raced along wet sand, Brazonhead using his
senses to guide us through the mist. Suddenly he reared, catching
me off guard, and I almost fell to the wet sand. “What is it, boy?”
I asked, trying to gain control. In answer, Brazonhead snorted and
reared again. After I managed to calm him, I dismounted and looked
around for what had startled him.

A figure appeared out of nowhere. She came
forward, her red cloak floating around her. I rubbed my eyes,
convinced they were deceiving me.

She smiled at me as if such a meeting was an
everyday occurrence. Stopping a few feet away, I could see her face
clearly now, its heart-shape, its creamy texture, her small
straight nose, her full lips and wide eyes. Her smile deepened, and
I had to control an urge to reach out and touch her skin, to feel
the silkiness of her long, loose hair.

“
Hello,” she said.

I bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. I
saw you here once before. On the beach.”

“
I know.”

“
You ran away.”

“
I did,” she confessed, “because I
was amusing myself with a silly childish game that I didn’t want
anyone to see.”

“
I’m sorry if I
interrupted.”

She laughed. It sounded musical. “Don’t be.
The strand is public. It’s just that usually no one ever comes here
late in the evening.”

“
I’m sorry,” I said again. Her eyes
held mine; I wanted to stand there and go on looking at her
forever. “May I know your name?”

Her eyes twinkled and she moved slightly
closer. “Morrigan, and you are?”

I hesitated. “Ellis.”

“
Ellis.” She repeated my name
softly, a hint of pleasure entering her voice. “From
where—Ellis?”

“
America.”

“
A stranger to Ireland?”

“
Yes.”

She stared at me a moment longer. Then lifting
up her skirts, she side-stepped me. “Nice to have met you, Ellis,”
she said, her hooded cloak disappearing into the mist.

I stood rooted for several moments, her voice
ringing in my ears and her eyes burning into my consciousness.
Brazonhead neighed his impatience. “She was real, wasn’t she?” I
asked. He answered by putting his nose against my back and pushing
me forward.

“
Okay, okay,” I said, and began to
walk. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Do you think she likes me?” I
looked at him. He was content now that we were moving again. “What
do you know about females anyway?” I said.

Brazonhead snorted.

I didn’t share my encounter with the
mysterious lady with anyone. I wanted to savor her image, slip into
daydreams where I could summon her face and body and imagine what
it would be like to feel her embrace. The next couple of days were
spent mostly with Mother and Aunt Sadie, except for occasional
rides on Brazonhead along the beach. Each time I was disappointed
when the fair-haired figure didn’t appear. She had taken hold of my
mind. I wanted to see her again, if only to assure myself she was
real.

After one of these gallops, I returned to find
Mother settled on a chaise lounge in front of the hospital
building, next to the flower gardens. Aunt Sadie was on her knees
pulling weeds from around a thorny rose bush. “These roses will be
a fervent deep red, your favorite, when they bloom,” she told
Mother, pointing to burgeoning shoots. “You can tell it’s almost
June. They'll be in full flower soon.”

I dismounted and sat down on the grass next to
Mother. I took her hand in mine. Aunt Sadie leaned back on her
heels, trowel poised. “I’m taking Ann on an excursion to see our
old home,” she announced, her voice softly resigned.

This news alarmed me. Facing the childhood
that had caused Mother so much pain could only do her more harm
than good.

I looked at Mother. “We’ve barely settled in,”
I said. “It’s too soon. Besides, the house has probably changed
beyond all recognition.”

“
I’m feeling well enough, Ellis,”
Mother insisted. “I want to see it.”

“
The owner, Mrs. McNamara, a widow,
has kept the house in good condition,” Aunt Sadie said, her gaze
fixed on Mother’s face. “It hasn’t changed much over the years. I
sent her a letter and she welcomes our visit.”

I wanted to protest, to tell Mother I knew her
secret and what the loss of her mother had meant to her as a child.
That her decision to face the past could subject her to
complications in her own condition; weaken her spirit to fight the
illness. But Mother’s mouth was already set in that firm line I
knew so well. I swallowed my objection, and for the moment, was
forced to go along with her plan. Later, during a private moment
with Aunt Sadie, I broached the subject.

“
This visit is not a good idea.
It’ll put too much of a strain on Mother.”

Aunt Sadie looked at me with the kindness of
someone used to patiently comforting people who faced the worst of
human circumstances. “You know so little about our family, Ellis.
Sure, we had our problems like most families, but there were good
times, too.”

I drew a deep breath. “I know my grandmother
died tragically when you were both young. Being reminded of that
can’t be good for Mother.”

Aunt Sadie muffled her hands inside the wide
berth of her habit-sleeves and looked at me for a long moment. “I
don’t know how much you know, Ellis. I will share with you that Ann
has hidden her childhood fears deep inside her where they can't
hurt. Some memories were just too painful to bear. In any case,
I’ll tell you, against her wishes, she is dying from the same
disease that killed your grandmother.

“
We were so very young and
impressionable when our mother died and were traumatized by the
ordeal. Watching her suffer like she did was the hardest thing we
ever had to witness. In the latter stages, Father chose to keep her
at home and isolated her from us—his way of protecting us from
contagion. We were confused when he confined Mother and were
devastated by the separation. We didn’t understand he was trying to
prevent our exposure to infection. He believed the disease could be
transmitted through infectious bacteria. He even tried to regulate
the air in the room to make Mother more comfortable and was
continually experimenting with medicines to reverse her
illness.

“
Do you agree with his
treatment?”

“
He was very thorough. He left
behind excellent knowledge about the disease, and I have improved
upon his theories. But there is no cure. As children, however, we
fretted over being cut off from our mother, and the only
explanation Father gave us was to say we weren’t allowed into the
sick room. Ann chose to shut all that out of her mind as soon as
she could, never allowing those memories to ever surface again.
Maybe after all these years she can unbury the past and put it to
rest within herself. Do you know what I'm saying,
Ellis?”

I nodded. “But what if the trauma worsens her
condition?”

“
She wants to test herself against
the past. Ignoring that need will eat away at her even more, and
that will adversely affect her health. Pray to God that going there
will have His healing power. Say you’ll come along.
Please?”

Reluctantly, I nodded my agreement.

The Burke home sat on the North side of
Galway, not far from the road that led to Lough Corrib. It was a
two-story house with long, arched windows that gave it a Spanish
look. The stucco walls were painted pale yellow, a contrast against
the dark tiled roof and wide chimneys that stood out. We entered
the drive, and when we pulled up close to the front door, servants
came to meet us offering assistance with Mother. We were welcomed
by an older woman, gray-haired and slightly bent. She was aided by
a cane and introduced herself as Mrs. McNamara. After we exchanged
pleasantries, our hostess addressed Mother and Aunt
Sadie.

“
I know you haven't been inside the
house in many years, but I'm sure you'll find it hasn't changed
much at all. My husband and I loved this house just the way it was
and made few renovations. Feel free to look around at your leisure.
I’ll tell the housekeeper to serve tea in the garden. Please meet
me there, after you’ve finished.”

“
Thank you for your generosity,
Mrs. McNamara,” Aunt Sadie said.

The woman smiled and walked away slowly, her
heavy footsteps accompanied by the tapping of her cane echoing on
the wooden floor.

Two strong men who I assumed were
groundskeepers carried Mother in her chair up the wide, carpeted
staircase. At the top, Sadie took over. The first room we entered
was the bedroom they had shared together as children. Aunt Sadie
moved about the room, reconstructing it for Mother.

“
Your bed sat next to window over
there.” She pointed to one side of the room. “And mine was here.”
She drew a line with her hand next to a large heavy wardrobe
standing upright against the wall closest to the door. “The
eiderdowns were lime green with small, pink roses that closely
matched the wallpaper.”

Mother looked at me sadly. “We used to push
our beds together and talk well into the night. The night your
father proposed marriage, we slept very little.”

“
And the night before your
wedding,” Aunt Sadie reminded Mother.

“
That was the same night you told
me you were entering the convent,” Mother said.

“
That’s right, it was.”

“
So many years ago, yet being in
this room it seems like yesterday.”

“
It does,” Aunt Sadie
agreed.