Wild Irish Roots (The Mystic Cove Series) (3 page)

"Yes, I need to collect some plants and moss from the cove. I'd love an extra set of hands," Fiona said.

"Sure, it's a nice day to go down there. Let me change," Margaret said quickly and, leaving her half-finished oatmeal on the table, she moved to her bedroom. She hummed softly to herself as she thought about tomorrow, pulling on a simple tank suit under a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt. With no need for makeup, she grabbed a beach towel from the hook behind her door and went into the main room.

Fiona stood at the door with her customary foraging clothes on. Khaki shorts to her knees, a loose button-down shirt, and a wide-brimmed hat made for easy hiking clothes. She handed Margaret a burlap bag that Margaret knew would have smaller mesh bags, twine, and scissors in it. Margaret slipped the bag over her shoulder and both women pulled on ragged hiking boots.

Leaving the cottage, Margaret took a deep breath of the sea air that washed over her face on a wave of sunshine. Silently, the two women followed a well-worn path across green hills that ended abruptly at the edge of a steep cliff. Beyond the cliff, water as blue as the sky melted into the horizon. It was as picturesque Ireland as one could get, and Margaret often wondered why more people didn't set up vacation homes along this coast.

In short order, Margaret and Fiona reached the end of the path that stopped at the top of the trail down into Grace's Cove. Margaret stood at the edge for a moment as Fiona gathered a handful of flowers nearby. Her mother always did this, Margaret thought. Some sort of weird gift ritual. Sighing, she turned her back on Fiona and gazed into the center of the cove.

The cove was a perfect half-circle of water surrounded by towering cliffs that guarded the long beach from sight. The cliffs protected a private, and singularly perfect, beach. The cove should have had hundreds of people plastered on its shores, playing with their children in the shallows, and picnicking on the beach. Yet, the long stretch of sand remained empty. Margaret knew that it was because of the rumors that the cove was cursed.

Remembering her mother's insistence that Grace O'Malley rested here, Margaret shivered as she felt the hum of power kiss her skin. It was always like this when she came to the cove. It was as if the air was thicker here. Margaret felt sensitized, alive, and...right when she was in the cove. Which was why she never came here alone. Margaret feared that she would answer its siren song and find herself swimming madly into the deep water.

"Ready?" Fiona asked behind her and Margaret jerked her eyes back to her mother.

"Yes."

Together, they navigated the path that switch backed down the cliff walls before spilling out onto the beach. Margaret fought the wave of dizziness that always came over her as she wound her way down the rocky walls. It was as if all of her carefully crafted boundaries dropped away from her in the cove. She could literally feel everything...from the pulse of the water to the humming of the sun. It was almost hypnotic and Margaret always had to fight to keep a cool head here.

She stopped at the bottom of the path and bent to take her boots off as Fiona began her ritual.

Every time, without fail, Margaret thought as she watched her mother draw a circle in the sand with a stick that she had picked up along the way. Sighing, she stepped into the circle with her mother.

"We ask for your protection while we are in the cove today. We come here with purity of purpose and nothing but the utmost respect for those that rest here," Fiona said before throwing the flowers she held clutched in her hand into the air. Margaret watched as they separated in mid-air and scattered across the water. The waves seemed to rise up and swallow them and Margaret shivered.

"Good?" Margaret asked her mother sarcastically.

Fiona just raised an eyebrow at her and nodded.

"You must always do this if you come here, Margaret. I know you think that it is silly, but people have died."

Margaret sighed. She knew that people had died here. But she suspected it was more from the wicked currents that ran along the outside of the cove than it was from some mystical power that sucked people underneath. Shrugging her shoulders, she simply nodded at her mom before striding across the sand to the first tidal pool that her mom always collected seaweed from.

They worked together, in rhythm, for almost an hour. Fiona chattered happily as she repeated, for the gazillionth time, the uses for the different plants that they collected. Margaret knew that Fiona hoped that one of these days she would take an interest in her practice. And, Margaret also suspected that she would break Fiona's heart when she left for Dublin. A part of her already ached for Fiona. She loved her mother but they were just too different. Margaret wanted a normal, respectable life.

Daydreaming about her new career in real estate, Margaret dipped her toes in the water and watched as the waves pushed sand over her toes. Standing here, she felt so small, cupped by the cliffs, hidden from the world. If she admitted it to herself, she knew that she would leave a piece of herself behind in Grace's Cove. No matter what, this place would always call to her.

Almost fondly, she blew a soft kiss to the water and walked to where Fiona called to her from the bottom of the path.

Impulsively, she threw an arm around Fiona's shoulders and kissed her cheek. There was no reason not to enjoy this time with her mother since she was leaving soon anyway. Fiona gave her a surprised look and then a bright smile. Together, they chatted over the local gossip that Margaret had picked up in the café as they climbed their way out of the cove, the sounds of the waves crashing against the rock walls of the cliffs slowly receding behind them.

Back at the house, Margaret could hear the phone ringing through the open windows of the cottage. Fiona broke into a jog and swung through the door of the main room, running to the corner where the phone sat.

"Hello?" Fiona said as she leaned against the arm of the rocking chair that stood next to the phone. Margaret eyed her as she pulled the strap of the burlap bag over her shoulder and deposited it on the table. Margaret listened to Fiona as she began to pull the small bags out and laid them on the smooth wood of the table. Fiona would later transfer them to her drying board.

"What's wrong? Pneumonia? In the summer? Why didn't you call me sooner?" Fiona said sternly as she peppered the caller with questions.

"Aye, we'll be there shortly," Fiona said and hung up.

Margaret jolted at the "we."

"We?"

"I'd like for you to come with me today. I think that you're ready to learn how I heal," Fiona said briskly as she moved to the shelves of bottles. Margaret's heartbeat picked up in speed and she watched Fiona for a moment.

"Um, I know how you heal. With your ointments and whatnot. Do you really need me to go?" Margaret said, whining a little.

Fiona turned and met her eyes.

"It's time," she said simply and Margaret felt a cold wash of fear slice through her. Taking a deep breath, Margaret lectured herself. Her mother was asking for her help. Soon, she wouldn't be here to help her, so why not go now?

Coming to a decision, Margaret nodded. "Yes, I'll go with you. Just let me change out of my suit."

With a grateful smile, Fiona nodded and continued to pull bottles from the shelf.

"We'll leave in ten minutes."

––––––––

M
oments later, Margaret got in the front seat of Fiona's dark green station wagon. She kept quiet as Fiona backed the car from the driveway and waited until they were on the curvy road that wound along the cliffs and into the harbor where the town of Grace's Cove nestled.

Staring out over the water, Margaret broke the silence.

"Who is sick?"

"The Brady's' child. Ainsley. She's but three years old and, apparently, is very sick. I only wish that they had called me sooner," Fiona said distractedly.

"Is it harder when it is a child?" Margaret wondered out loud.

"Aye, it is. Always harder. Children deserve a chance at life," Fiona said.

Margaret hoped that Fiona would remember those words when she left for Dublin. She was taking her chance.

"So, what do you do for pneumonia? How do you know what to do?" Margaret asked.

Fiona looked at her in surprise. Margaret never expressed interest in Fiona's practice and she could see a wave of happiness ripple over her mother's beautiful face. A stab of guilt crept through Margaret. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so selfish all this time and taken more interest in her mother's work.

"Well, I won't really know until I am there. I will have to feel it, sense what is going on," Fiona said and Margaret felt annoyance pass through her. She hated when Fiona referenced their gifts, though she suspected that Fiona had many more gifts than she did.

"So, how do you know what medicine to give?" Margaret said, deliberately steering the conversation away from their empathic powers.

"Ah, well, my book, you know. It has remedies that have been passed down for generations," Fiona said as her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Margaret knew that her cautious mother was trying to speed without endangering them.

"Yes. That book," Margaret hissed from between her teeth. Fiona was constantly buried in this old leather book that she carried with her everywhere. Aside from Margaret, it was the one thing that Fiona devoted much of her time to. Many nights, she would find Fiona scribbling in the book, the flames of the fire flickering over her face. Margaret wasn't sure if she resented or feared her mother's precious book. Either way, Fiona had never offered to share it with her.

"Margaret, you aren't a healer. The book isn't for you," Fiona said with a bite to her voice. Surprised at the steel behind Fiona's words, Margaret stiffened and lifted her chin, staring out of the window, away from her mother.

They drove the rest of the way to the outskirts of the village in silence. Just before they would enter into downtown Grace's Cove, Fiona took a sharp left turn and followed a narrow one-car-width road up a large hill before turning into a gravel driveway. A few yards up sat a small three-room cottage. Stone walls were built to a thatched roof and the window shutters stood open to encourage the sea breezes.

A small woman opened the door and gestured for them to come in. Dirt streaked her face and her hair was pulled back in a bandana. Margaret got out of the car and hurried behind Fiona into the cottage. The woman pointed to the back room and Fiona went in without knocking. Looking around at the dark interior, Margaret followed Fiona into a small bedroom.

There, a single bed was tucked into the corner under the eaves of the thatched roof. A dingy window let in meager light above the bed. Margaret held back as two women who huddled over the still body of the child turned and rushed to Fiona.

"She's close, she can barely breathe. Please do something, anything," a large woman with brown curly hair and sad eyes begged Fiona. The other woman, a sister perhaps, pulled her back from Fiona.

Margaret was slammed with a wall of fear and sadness. It was so thick that she struggled to breathe under the weight of it. Taking a deep breath, she slowly built up her shields and pushed the emotions away from her.

Margaret stepped closer as Fiona glanced at her and motioned her forward. Seeing that Fiona needed help, she reached out a hand to the mother.

"Hi, I'm Margaret. Can you tell me a little bit about what is going on?"

"My little Ainsley. She's been sick for a while. At first we thought it was just a cough. But it is so full of mucus that now she is close to being unable to breathe. We...we can't afford to take her to the hospital." The mother shuddered out her words and grasped Margaret's hands desperately.

"Okay, I understand how scared you must be. Let's just step back for a moment and allow Fiona to check Ainsley out," Margaret said and pulled the two women back from the bed.

Margaret wasn't sure what to expect. She'd never wanted to go with Fiona to a healing before. She'd heard enough whispers about Fiona's healing sessions to want to stay far away. Margaret fervently hoped that what she would see today would just be some of Fiona's fancy medicine at work.

Tension gripped her body and Margaret stood ramrod straight, unblinking, as she watched Fiona lean over the small girl. Ainsley's body was covered with a thin white sheet and the girl's face was pale, her dark braids standing out starkly against the whiteness of her face. Margaret grimaced at the complete lack of expression on the little girl's face. She found herself rooting for Fiona's skills to work.

Fiona ran her hands over the small girl's body. Her eyes closed, she trailed her hands up the body until she landed on the girl's chest. Margaret held her breath as she heard her mother whispering softly to the girl. With a brief nod, Fiona took her hands from the girl and turned for her bag.

"I need hot water and a bowl," Fiona ordered and the two women ran from the room. Fiona turned to Margaret and motioned her closer. Pulling out her book, she paged through until she found what she was looking for.

"Pull out the seaweed we got from the cove today, mix it with the mustard seeds, garlic, and a touch of the moss from the cove as well." Fiona shot out orders and Margaret jumped to do her bidding, keeping her questions to herself. She watched as Fiona pulled a small mortar and pestle from her bag and began grinding the ingredients into a pulp. Stopping, Fiona consulted her book again, and pulled a few more unrecognizable ingredients from jars in her bag. She whispered under her breath and continued to grind in a counterclockwise motion.

The women bustled back in with a steaming teapot and a small bowl. Fiona nodded her thanks to them. Putting it on a side table, she poured the steaming water into the bowl. Holding her mixture above the bowl, Fiona muttered over the water as she dropped her concoction into the hot water and stirred the water until it shone a muddy brown. Fiona pulled a spoon from her bag and tasted the concoction. Nodding, she held the bowl to her lips and blew on the water, cooling it down.