Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry Read online

  “When was the last time this village had benefit of clergy?" he inquired.

  Darcy paused to think a moment, "Well, I was baptized by Father Fitzgerald shortly after I was born," said Darcy as she tried to count the years, "and when he died, we weren't allowed to replace him so it has been years since anyone has been to a Mass or given a confession."

  "Have many given up their faith?"

  Darcy shook her head. "Very few. They may deny us churches and clergy, but they will never break our spirits as Catholics. There was talk that in some parts of Ireland during the famine, they bribed Catholics with food in exchange for their faith. They chose starvation."

  Father Etienne leaned forward, listening with great interest. He longed to ask Darcy about the famine but dismissed the idea. He sensed there was a whole side to this young woman which was closed and private. There were volumes of silent suffering that she had never shared.

  Although she was clothed in a threadbare skirt and blouse, the dignity beneath the peasant dress was apparent. He saw a proud and graceful young woman with a strong sensuality, which stirred him. He quickly moved the conversation along to distract himself. Any trace of desire must be crushed.

  Father Etienne moved to Darcy's mind where he could open as many doors as he pleased. "Darcy, what about you, do you have any education?"

  "My father died when we were all quite young, so my mother, God rest her soul, only had time to teach us a few prayers. To be honest, we thought more about food in those days than our souls."

  Father Etienne shook his head and set his empty mug on the table. "What I meant was has anyone ever tried to teach you or your brother to read?”

  She looked astonished and said, "No, of course not, Father. The only person that can read in all of Kilkerry is Squire Scot, our landlord in Granager!"

  Her eyes widened. "Can you read?"

  He nodded his head, not telling her that he was fluent in French, Greek and Latin as well. He read the wistful longing on her face and asked, "Would you be interested in learning to read, Darcy?

  "Oh, how wonderful that would be. Ever since I was a little girl, I've longed to read, to go beyond these-” Suddenly, Darcy realized Father Etienne was smiling. She jumped up abruptly and smoothed her apron, wishing her face had not turned crimson.

  “No thank you, Father. No reading for me. I must keep house for my brother."

  Father Etienne jumped to his feet and grabbed her hand. He eased Darcy back down into the chair. "I am not making sport of you. Thirst for knowledge is so pleasing that I laughed from delight. So many people think that reading is a waste of time. I am overjoyed when someone like you comes along. I understand your desire to learn, Darcy, I have it too, and it's wrong to deny it. You would be refusing God."

  Darcy nodded her head, but the conversation was over. She showed Father Etienne the small bedroom upstairs. She placed clean linens on the bed for him and a quilt on the floor for Liam. After a hasty good night, she went downstairs to bank the fire. She cursed herself for revealing so much to this stranger. From the time she was a small child, she knew that she aspired to a different future than her young friends. They had dreams of family and a plot of land in Kilkerry, but Darcy longed for much more. She surrounded herself with a host of imaginary friends, dreaming of make-believe lands where she embarked on daring adventures. As an adult she would stand on the cliffs of Kerry looking out to sea, dreaming of what lay beyond the shores.

  Most of the time, Darcy preferred to be alone with her thoughts and dreams, but sometimes her loneliness became unbearable, and she would risk sharing her thoughts with others. She was usually met with mockery. Darcy sensed that even her mother found her odd, so she drove her secrets deep, feeling ashamed, vowing never to tell anyone what was in her soul.

  "So where is the priest, girl? Upstairs?" asked Liam as he came in the door.

  Darcy blinked and nodded. "Is everything buried now?”

  Liam nodded and sat down heavily, stretching his legs out. "Damn but I'm tired. Be a good girl and fetch me a brandy."

  "Where will he go?" asked Darcy, as she poured her brother a drink, "What about when the soldiers are in residence? It will be dangerous."

  Liam put his arms up and stretched. "Michael's already considered everything. He is the leader of the owlers, not you, Darcy. Mind your own business. He'll live in our caves by the sea and do his work after dark."

  “Liam!" Darcy cried. "Those caves are too damp. Sure as I'm standing here, he'll get consumption."

  "Those caves were good enough for us during The Hunger. They will be good enough for him," he barked. Liam rubbed his forehead wearily and added, trying to be patient, "We'll just have to see how it goes. I know that you're scared."

  Darcy made no reply. She knew that arguing with Liam would do no good. He would only out-shout her, and he had been increasingly irritable lately.

  "We will move him to the caves in the morning. O'Malley is circulating a story that an old man from Granager died and wants to be buried at the abbey, but the man lying in the shroud will be this priest. Wake him shortly before dawn, put a shroud on the donkey cart and sew him into it, then I will take him over the bluff to the caves on the other side."

  "Why can't you wait until tomorrow night and move him under darkness?"

  "We cannot wait a day."

  Darcy wanted to say, "Why don't you move him tonight," but remembered men resented advice from a woman.

  Liam climbed the stairs to bed, and then returned with a confused look on his face.

  "Where did you tell him to sleep?" he asked.

  "In your bed," Darcy replied.

  "Well, he's on the floor," said Liam.

  Darcy said, "That doesn't surprise me."

  * * *

  Father Etienne rose the next morning prior to dawn. The sound of the ocean awakened him, and although he was born near the sea, it had been many years since he had slept near its rhythmic beat. The room was dark, but he could see that Liam had left already from the rumpled quilt on the bed.

  After morning prayers, Father Etienne lit a candle, poured water into a basin and washed up. He inspected his face in a mirror which hung over a wooden commode. Out of a small traveling bag, he took a pair of manicure scissors and began to trim his beard and mustache. His soft brown eyes moved quickly over his face, and although he was not given to vanity, he held personal neatness in high regard.

  Etienne was an attractive man with curly brown hair and the dark complexion of his French-Moorish ancestors. He had a mole on his lower right cheek, which added interest to his pleasant face, along with a perpetual twinkle in his eye; a mischievous twinkle which seemed inconsistent with the severe garment of the Jesuit.

  As Father Etienne came down the steps of the cottage, he expected to see Darcy bending over the fire making breakfast. A fire was glowing in the hearth, but the room was empty. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the door opened and Darcy stepped into the room.

  "Good morning, Father. Your breakfast will be ready in moment.”

  She stepped to the hearth to prepare some oatmeal. She did not look at Father Etienne, and he knew that she was anxious about something.

  After a moment, she scolded, "Now why did you go and sleep on the floor last night? Surely you knew that the bed was for you."

  "I am much more comfortable sleeping on a hard surface. Your brother needed the bed more than me," he replied.

  She pulled the pan off the spider trivet where some potatoes had been frying and scooped some oatmeal into his bowl. "I am sorry to hurry you, but we must be ready to go before sunup. Liam told me last night that we must move you to the caves first thing this morning. I wish there was some way we could keep you here. The caves are not very comfortable."

  "Please don't apologize. I would never want to put you or your brother in any danger."

  After eating he wiped his mouth on the coarse homespun towel, gave thanks to God once more then disappeared upstairs, returning with his bag and a
few books under his arm.

  "Darcy, I was wondering if I might ask a favor of you. Caves are not very friendly to books. The moisture puts a rot into them, one can never remedy. When Liam brings my crate of volumes, may I store them here?

  "Of course, we will put them upstairs." Darcy swallowed hard, and then said, "Father, this may be unpleasant for you, but I'm going to have to sew you into a funeral shroud before you make your journey up the bluff."

  His jaw dropped, and then he laughed, "Well! This sounds exciting!"

  “What! You can’t be serious," she gasped. "Oh, begging your pardon, Father."

  He chuckled and touched her arm. "Please, you must realize that I am not stuffy. I believe life is a grand adventure, and Jesus smiles on those who laugh and enjoy it."

  Darcy smiled. "You are a most unusual man, Father Etienne."

  She picked up her sewing kit and lantern and walked out the door where Liam's donkey was hitched to a cart. Except for a dim light to the east, it remained dark.

  Darcy raised the light above the bed of the cart illuminating a shroud. The priest put his foot on the wheel and hoisted himself upon the shroud and lay down. Darcy folded up one side, then the other, and asked, "Are you going to be all right?"

  He winked, and she laid the cloth over his face. It was a curious sensation being sewn into the bag. The linen lay heavily on his face, and he was concerned that his breathing may move the cloth. Darcy snipped open several stitches by his nose and mouth and whispered, "I was afraid you couldn't breathe. Liam is here now. I will come to the cave later. Are you still having a good time?" He could see her smiling in the lantern light.

  Father Etienne felt the cart jostle to the side as Liam climbed aboard. He snapped the reins and they were off with a jolt. Liam settled into his usual hunched-over position, and to the village it was just another day in the life of a gravedigger.

  Streaks of sun steamed across the sky as Darcy watched the cart make its slow ascent to the abbey. She shuddered. The feeling of being trapped inside a shroud struggling for air was not her idea of a “grand adventure”.

  She turned and walked to her plot of potatoes and began pulling weeds. Even her most diligent efforts yielded small inferior potatoes, and every year brought renewed worries about the crops. Everyone lived in constant fear of another poor harvest, and anxiously studied the growth.

  Darcy stepped inside the cottage, returning with peelings for their two pigs. They pushed and snorted excitedly as she arrived. Once more she looked up at the bluff. The cart continued its tedious progress up the hill, and she sighed. Darcy rehearsed the story Liam had fabricated about who had died. She had survived repeated questionings by the British soldiers, regarding everything from smuggling to worship, and it taught Darcy that bearing false witness was the least of her worries on earth.

  Returning again to the cottage, she gathered the dirty breakfast dishes and grabbed a pottery jug for water. She stepped out into the yellow morning sunlight and started for the town well. Every woman in Kilkerry appeared there in the morning and Darcy knew, if she hurried, she might miss their interrogation about the identity of the deceased.

  The McBride cottage was on the edge of town, where the abbey bluff began. The village was small and most of the mud cottages clustered around a narrow slope down to the sea. Few of the homes had windows and many of the residents resided with their pigs and chickens.

  Darcy stole a glance over her shoulder and saw that Liam had reached the crest and was passing through the churchyard. She waved to her neighbor, Paid Lillis as she passed by his cottage. He looked up briefly from his weeding to return her wave. It was a relief that he did not invite conversation.

  Darcy spied the large cross rising above the well. No one was there. Quickening her pace she arrived at the well, pushing the hair from her face and looking around.

  She lowered the bucket, her heart pounding, and then looked up at the abbey one last time. The churchyard was empty, Liam was gone. They had made it to the other side safely. Darcy sighed and pulled the water bucket up. The caves, which had sheltered her and offered her asylum during the famine, were once again giving refuge to someone who needed a home.

  A gravelly voice behind her barked, "Who died, McBride?"

  Startled, she turned to meet Edna O'Malley, the town busybody. Her fat, pinched face reminded Darcy of a prize pig.

  "Who died?" echoed Darcy.

  Edna impatiently motioned toward the abbey, shaking the fat on her arm. “Who did Liam take up?”

  "Oh, just an old man from Granager, none of us knew him."

  "Oh," replied Edna, disappointed. She wanted to be the first to bear news of a noteworthy death. This old man did not qualify.

  Darcy despised Edna. When the solders had been in residence in Kilkerry several years ago, everyone suspected Edna of being on the payroll. She was shallow and self- serving and few loyal Irishmen were overweight these days. She would not have the benefit of clergy once Father Etienne’s presence was shared with the town.

  "Any word from Bran?" pried Edna as she put her face close to Darcy.

  "Considering he can't read, Edna, he probably wouldn’t write to me," Darcy said, turning on her heel.

  Edna O'Malley was not deterred. Walking alongside Darcy, she continued her line of questioning. "Darcy McBride, you certainly must love that man. You've waited for him to return from the American Colonies for seven years now. You better be careful; you're approaching the end of your bloom, girl."

  Darcy opened her mouth, and then reconsidered as Edna grabbed her arm. "How do you know that he's even alive?

  Darcy said nothing. She wrenched her arm free and headed for home. As she walked back swinging her water jug, she thought about Bran. She knew that there was a good chance that he was dead. Life as an indentured servant in the American Colonies was severe, but she remained hopeful, looking for him every day. She looked up at the soft dark mountains of Kerry and then at the cliffs leading out to the sea. She knew in her heart Bran would return. If he were still alive, he would be drawn back to the land of his fathers.

  Darcy reached home, and after several chores she began dinner. Her life seemed an endless cycle of making and cleaning up after a meal. She knew that marriage to Bran would make that fate permanent, but like every other Irish woman of the day, Darcy had few choices. In fact, marriage to Bran was quite an appealing future. He was handsome, capable and an experienced lover.

  Ever since she was a child, the village had paired the two of them together. During the famine, Liam and Bran had taken care of her, and the three of them had lived for many years in the cave, eating what little they could forage from the surrounding area and the sea.

  Darcy had been wild about Bran in those days, and right up until the time he was transported to the American Colonies for resisting arrest she had considered herself his future wife. Darcy knew that his seven year period for his servitude was over, and he would return any day, but she worried. He may have been lost at sea or succumbed to disease, anything was possible.

  Nevertheless, she continued to snub overtures from the young men of Kilkerry. Bran alone held her heart.

  She remembered how strongly he had held her when they had made love, and she was grateful that she did not breed. In fact, there had been so many moments of passion with Bran that she wondered if maybe the lack of food in her early years had left her barren.

  Darcy wished they had wed before his arrest, but he insisted on having a few more years to pass before he settled down. Bran was a wild rambunctious youth, keeping late hours drinking and carousing with his mates.

  Darcy awoke from her reverie when the stew began to boil. She swung the crane out into the warming position and set a place for Liam. After that she ladled some stew in a tin pail for Father Etienne. She would feed him well today, but after that she would have to ease him into a diet consisting of less meat and more potatoes. She placed the stout, soda bread and stews into a wicker basket and covered it snugly with a woolen c
loth.

  Darcy stepped out into the sunlight marveling at the glorious weather. In a land of drizzle and grey skies, sunny days are not taken for granted. She felt the warm earth under her bare feet. Even the abbey didn't look threatening today. Its jagged remains seemed innocuous as she climbed the hill and crossed the churchyard to the cliff walk. She followed the coastline along the cliffs until she saw an opening with some uneven moss-covered steps.

  She remembered the day she had discovered those steps with her sister Mary Kathleen and their delight as they entered their own secret cave. Darcy stopped and looked out to sea thinking back.