The Godforsaken Daughter (16 page)

He knew the query sounded daft as soon as it was out of his mouth.

The receptionist, a young woman, heavily made up with hair stretched painfully into a topknot, looked at him queerly.

“You’re asking me if I saw a woman with blonde hair and a man with an American accent eat here ten days ago?”

“Yes, I know it’s a long shot, but
. . .”

“We don’t keep a record of who eats in our restaurant, sir.”

“His name’s Halligan. Perhaps he paid with a credit card in that name. Could you—”

“Even if he did, that’s confidential information. I wouldn’t be at liberty to—”

“I know, but
. . .
Look
. . .”
He checked her nametag. “Look, Debbie, my wife’s gone missing and I
. . .”

At that news, and the sound of her name, Debbie’s face softened and she dropped the official-speak.

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Was she
. . .
was she having an—”

“An affair? Probably. I need to
. . .
I just need
. . .”

Debbie blinked sadly. Looked down at the register. Henry could see the impeccable line of her expertly applied false eyelashes. He thought of Connie and the many times she’d struggled to wear the blasted things, but could never get the hang of them. He almost wept at the memory.

“I could always check if they booked in,” Debbie was saying.

“Sorry
. . .
I don’t understand. Why would they
. . .
?”

She blushed. “In lunch hour. Them that’s having affairs, they often book in for
. . .”

“Yes
. . .
yes, of course. I see.” A trifle embarrassed at his na
ï
veté. Or was it that he simply could not bring himself to think too far along those lines?

The receptionist flicked back several pages.

One half of Henry hoped she wouldn’t find anything. The other half hoped she would. It would explain a lot.

“Yes, here they are.”

His heart leaped and sank at the same time.

Debbie turned the register toward him and pointed.

There, scrawled in handwriting Henry didn’t recognize, were the words:

Mr. and Mrs. Halligan, 13 Mountview Terrace, Belfast

Chapter eighteen

S
he had the robe. She had the candles. Sunset on the evening of June 15 found Ruby in the woods that skirted Beldam Lake, hunting for herbs. Before her midsummer ritual, she needed to prepare an altar, to invoke Dana’s special powers. She’d decided it was too risky to make one in the bedroom. Her mother had already demanded the key but she’d managed to thwart her on that occasion. No, it was much safer to build an altar right here in the woods. Was it not the Goddess’s living room, after all?

She’d rarely ventured into the woods in her younger days. They were too shadowy and daunting for a child, their thickets of briars and obstructions of shoulder-high nettles killing any curiosity she might have had. But, since finding Edna’s book, and learning of her beliefs, she was beginning to see that the great outdoors was where Dana flourished supreme.

She bloomed abundantly everywhere: in plants, flowers, grass, and trees. In the beasts, the birds, the rocks in the earth, the fish in the sea.

Dana, the source of fertility and endless wisdom, deserved the respect of every human being. She was the force that drove all existence.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

Ruby thought back with shame to that very different girl who worked alongside her father on the farm. The Ruby who so casually squashed insects underfoot. Who didn’t think twice about switching an ashplant off a cow’s rump to get it into a byre. The Ruby who swatted flies, and flushed spiders down drain holes. How cruel and thoughtless she had been! Slaughtering the Goddess’s creatures without a moment’s hesitation. From now on, she’d show respect for all living things, to make up for all those willful transgressions.

Ensure that thy actions are honourable, for all that thou doest shall return to thee threefold, good or bane.

The sinking sun was sending rods of golden light through the trees as Ruby trod the path. She was happy, alive to the Goddess. Heard her sing in the sweet birdsong, felt her breath on the wafting breeze, caught her laughter in the tinkling streams, felt her warmth in the sun’s embrace.

Ruby’s step was light. Her mind was clear. She was moving toward a great awakening. Words floated to her from the Tarot cards she’d read:

A door is opening into a new world, free from the constraints of the past
. . .
follow your inspiration, not reason.

How true. She was doing just that.

Hope and healing are yours. You have chosen the right path.

Yes, I’m on the right path. I’ve never felt so right about anything. And to think I might never have discovered this “new world” had I not opened the case and studied Edna’s
Book of Light.

In a bag she carried the objects for her altar: two candles, the censer and offering plate from the case, a piece of paper with her three wishes written on it, the names of the herbs she needed to collect, a length of purple cloth, and a knife with a curved blade. The white-handled sickle was one her father had used to prune hedges, but since it now was going to be used for a sacred purpose, it needed to be earthed with the positive energies of Dana.

She stopped under an oak tree and plucked one of its leaves. Took out the knife, rubbed it with the leaf and looked about her. She needed to lay it on the ground pointing south. The moss on the trees was her guide. Her father once told her that when you were looking directly at the moss you were facing south. She found a spot and set the sickle down. Through the trees she could see the rear of the house, but wasn’t so bothered by this. When she left her mother, May had just telephoned. And Ruby knew such calls could last a good half hour, give or take. So, she reckoned she was safe enough.

She had a peek at the instructions.

Walk thrice around the knife in a clockwise direction, scattering oak leaves as you go. Pick up knife, point it skywards, and chant the following:

“
Gracious Goddess, day and night I’m sheltered by your awesome might. Infuse this blade with all your power so it may choose the perfect flower.
”

Task completed, Ruby cast about for the flowers and herbs she needed to burn in offering. The list was long, but she need only concentrate on those that had associations with her three wishes.

She pointed the sickle at a clump of feverfew—it would protect her from evil spirits—and said, “Oh, little flower, I’m sorry I have to cut you. But you are for the Goddess, and my heart is true.”

Some wild dandelion leaf was next. It would help increase her psychic powers so she could commune with her father.

Blackberry leaf: a powerful and important herb because it was special to the Goddess. Ruby approached the snarl of brambles with great reverence and awe, conscious that it was a favorite hiding place for Dana’s children, the faerie folk. She intoned the little blessing in a low whisper, before gently cutting the leaf.

Some wild rose petals for love.

Love?

She’d never really understood what love was until her dear father died. Now she knew it was kindness and caring, everything her mother was not. Maybe if she wished hard enough, “someone nice,” with qualities just like her father’s, would enter her life.

Finally, some toothed leaves of vervain. It would attract wealth to her and make the action of the other herbs stronger when burned together in offering.

An old stump nearby would make the ideal altar.

Ruby knelt before it and set about assembling her paraphernalia. First, she spread out the purple cloth and put two silver candles on it, anchoring them in silver holders.

Between the candles she placed Edna’s silver disk bearing the five-pointed star. She unfolded the paper containing her three wishes and read over them again.

1. I want to see Daddy again.
   
2. I want lots of money.
   
3. I want to meet someone nice and be happy.
   

Satisfied, she folded the paper into a neat square and set it on the silver disk. At the front, she put the censer dish of the herbs she’d cut to be burned in offering.

Back at Oaktree Farmhouse, Martha Clare replaced the phone, having finished her conversation with May. It being such a fine evening, her daughter had advised that she sit outside in the garden. The air would do her good. She had a copy of
Ireland’s Own
to read, and it would lift her spirits until Father Kelly’s arrival at 7:00 p.m. She’d been very upset by Ruby’s behavior, but Father Kelly had put her mind at ease. His blessing, with the help of God, would sort things out.

She settled herself in a lawn chair at the front, and turned to the recipes section of the magazine. There was a recipe for Nutty Apple Crumble, which Ida Nettles had drawn to her attention. Perhaps she’d get Ruby to make it for the girls at the weekend. June was especially fond of nuts. She perused the ingredients, noting that it was quite simple, apart from the addition of pear yogurt.

A recipe on the opposite page for Cottage Pie had Martha’s eyes welling up. Cottage pie had been one of Vinny’s favorites. She shut the magazine and gazed at an apple blossom at the bottom of the garden. Saw a youthful Vinny leaning on a shovel. Ruby, just a few months old, crawling about on the grass.

“There it is, dear. That apple tree will be there long after we’re gone.”

“Oh, Vinny, don’t be so gloomy. Here, have some water. All that digging’s thirsty work in this weather.”

She saw him swoop down and gather up Ruby. “But Ruby here will see it. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

Then a window being thrust open above them. A voice: sharp, demanding. “Vinny, can you come up here a minute?”

Vinny putting Ruby down immediately.

“You don’t have to run to her every time like a puppy dog.”

“She’s my mother, Martha, and she’s not well.”

“I’m your wife, and there’s not a thing wrong with her. She just wants attention.”

“Now who’s being gloomy? I’m sorry
. . .
have to see what she wants. I’ll not be long.”

Edna! For the last two years of her life, and the first two of their marriage, she’d tried to drive a wedge between them. She’d never expected her son to marry. That was the problem. With her husband and little Declan gone so early, she clung to Vinny for dear life. His marriage was a betrayal too far.

Against her will, Martha pushed further back in her memory, to the first time she’d met Vincent. Had his car not broken down all those years ago their paths might never have crossed. They’d boarded the same bus. He’d been on his way to collect his car from a garage in Killoran. She’d been on her way home from work. Thirty-three-year-old Martha sitting covertly weeping, wondering how she could have made such a terrible mistake. But the boyish young man in the gabardine coat had seen her distress.

They got off at the same stop.

“Miss, are you all right?”

She turned. There was genuine concern in his voice.

“Yes
. . .
yes. It’s nothing
. . .
I’m fine. Think I’m catching a cold, that’s all.”

“Where do you live?”

She looked about her, only then realizing she’d got off the bus two stops too early.

They’d walked the short distance to the garage. He’d insisted on tea at Mooney’s Hotel before dropping her home. How kind and thoughtful he’d been!

A raft for her to cling to.

“Anybody home?”

Martha jolted back to the present at the sound of Father Kelly’s voice.

“Father, I was miles away there.” She made to rise but the priest stayed her with a calming hand.

“Don’t stir yourself, Martha.” He took the other chair. “Sure isn’t it a grand evening to be sitting out, altogether. And where’s the lady herself?”

“She went down to the woods, Father. Picking blackberries to make some jam, she said.”

“A bit early for blackberries, is it not?”

Martha’s face took on a troubled look. “I know, Father, but that’s what she said and I dare not confront her, in case . . .” She broke off, not wanting to think about the reality too much, and checked her watch. “I expected her home long before now. She’s away an hour at least.”

Ruby lighted the candles, kindled the herbs in the censer dish, and stood up. Spreading her arms wide, she intoned the invocation to the Goddess she had learned by heart.

“O Great Mother, Gracious Goddess, Crescent One of the Starry Skies, Flowered One of the Fertile Plain, Flowing One of the Ocean’s Sighs, Blessed One of the Gentle Rain! Listen to the woes of your daughter. Shine your—”

“Ruby, are you there?”

A man’s voice.

Startled, Ruby spun round. To her consternation, she saw Father Kelly in his long coat, pluntering over the field.

Had he seen her?

In a panic, she snuffed the candles out, stamped the burning herbs into the ground, and had everything out of sight and in the bag by the time he’d gained the clearing.

“Your mother
. . .
your mother said I’d find you here, Ruby. Hope you’ve got enough for a few pots?”

“Hello, Father
. . .
What?”

“The jam, so. You’re pickin’ the berries, I hear. What’s that smell?”

“Oh, the blackberries. I-I didn’t get so many
. . .
not many, Father. There’s a
. . .
there’s a blight on them this year.”

“Is that so . . .” He sniffed the air. “Were you burning something?”

“No, Father.”

He hunkered down, inspecting the spot where she’d flung the herbs, picked up a partially burned leaf.

“Hmm . . . I’m not so well up in my plants, Ruby, but I know this one. Vervain, I’d say.”

“Is it?”

“Aye. Them pointed leaves
. . .
they say they were used to stanch the wounds of Christ.”

He gazed in reverence at the leaves, made the sign of the cross, and looked pointedly at Ruby.

“I-I didn’t know that, Father.”

“Your mother’s worried about you, Ruby
. . .
says you’re not yourself.”

Ruby put her thumb and forefinger together. She really needed the Goddess’s help now. But on this occasion no voice came. She was on her own.