Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry (5 page)

Darcy looked around at the villagers in attendance. Many of the older residents were crying, and others bowed their heads in prayer, but many seemed bewildered and self-conscious.

Since Darcy was unable to see over the heads of those in front of her, her mind wandered. She recalled a story her mother had told her of the early Christians and how they too had to hide their Masses for fear of persecution and worship in caves.

Their plight was much the same, thought Darcy but then, as she looked around the cavern at friends and villagers she had known all her life, she chuckled. There were no saints or martyrs here.

Suddenly, old Mrs. Casey burned a look into Darcy which said,
"There will be no nonsense in
church. Pay attention!"
Darcy lowered her eyes, kneeling down with everyone else. After Communion was distributed, Father Etienne gave the final blessing, and everyone made their way to the door.

Darcy wondered why she didn't feel any different after
Mass.
She overheard many saying they felt uplifted, and Darcy felt cheated. Walking along the ocean or sitting peacefully watching the sheep graze filled her with more feeling than standing in a room filled with incense and smoke. She made her way home, feeling disappointed and alone.

For many weeks Father Etienne was busy performing baptisms, hearing confessions and generally ministering to a parish which was spiritually starved. It was essential these duties be performed after dark in great secrecy and it was almost month before he had a chance to speak with Darcy. One Sunday afternoon after Mass, Father Etienne excused himself from the throng of parishioners that surrounded him and caught up with Darcy, grabbing her arm as she started for home. The surf breaking on the rocks made it necessary for him to shout, "Darcy, I must talk with you!"

He pulled her back toward the mouth of the cave where it was quieter. “I’m sorry I have neglected you, but I have been very busy. It's one of my vows as a Jesuit to educate, and we must start our reading lessons."

Suddenly, Darcy felt petrified. She reminded herself that reading was for the upper classes, a privilege reserved for people of high birth.

"Father, Liam is right. Leave education to the uppity ruling classes. It has no place here among us commoners. Thank you anyway."

Darcy turned to go, but Father Etienne stopped her and said, "You’re afraid, aren't you?"

"I am not afraid!" Darcy snapped, yanking her arm away. "I'm simply not interested. Now please attend to your own business, Father."

She turned away arrogantly, and he said sharply, "Don't you ever address me in that tone again!"

Darcy’s jaw dropped then she lowered her eyes, murmuring, "Forgive me."

"The sin of pride is yours, Darcy McBride. I strongly suggest you correct it. Now I try to meet each spiritual need as I see it. Some find God in the Church, some find Him in doing good works, and still others find Him in working the earth. I believe you will find Him in words."

She continued to look at the ground, afraid if she looked up, she would give away her feelings.

"By denying yourself the written word, you are denying God an avenue to your heart.”

She stood motionless, holding the clasp on her black, woolen cloak. Her palms began to perspire; she swallowed hard and said, “When do we start?"

"Meet me tomorrow at the abbey at four o'clock."

When Darcy at last had the courage to look up she saw that Father Etienne’s eyes were twinkling. As he walked back to the parishioners, he smiled to himself. Darcy would be a challenge, but he admired her spirit.

Father Etienne settled into a comfortable routine in Kilkerry. After sundown he would visit the sick or dying, perform baptisms or hear confessions and return before sunup.

He was always thoroughly exhausted, but fulfilled. The Jesuit order aspired to see the love of Jesus in everything, and this came easily to one of such good nature and strong faith. He would say prayers and fall into bed, sleeping heavily for several hours then spend his remaining daylight hours studying or meditating. He was truly growing to love the people of Kilkerry. His mission was demanding but extremely satisfying.

It was just before dawn when Father Etienne made his careful descent to the cave to get some sleep. It was tricky lowering himself down the rock face onto the ledge, especially in the dark and in his cumbersome robes. At first he thought that it was strange that Liam would put him in a cave with such a challenging entrance, but when he witnessed how accessible the other caves were, he realized no soldier or informant would discover him.

His last duty this night had been to administer Last Rites to an old woman. She had died peacefully and he was grateful to God that she did not suffer. After lighting a candle, he sat down at the table, took up a quill and began to compose a letter to his brother in
America
. Father Etienne didn't have much time to correspond, but sharing his thoughts with another person, no matter how far away, helped to fight the loneliness.

He stared at the bright candle which was perched on top of the cask, and listened to the ocean breaking on the rocks. The priest missed the company of other learned men, and he longed to share ideas and compare thoughts on literature, philosophy or theology. Letter writing met only one side of the conversation, but for now it would have to suffice.

After thoughtfully composing the letter, he set it aside for Liam to give to the next French vessel. Father Etienne stretched. It was late, and he knew that he should get some rest. He hated this time of night when he had to blow out the candle. He thought of the flame as his own little companion, flickering and dancing merrily, banishing the darkness.

He laughed out loud and blew out the candle.
How absurd,
a candle as one's companion. Etienne, what a pathetic creature you have become,
and he shook his head crawling into bed.
 
Pangs of loneliness nagged at the pit of his stomach, and he turned over impatiently. Gradually the day's labors pulled him into sleep, banishing his shame and despair.

*
           
*
         
*

Darcy arrived the following afternoon, wearing a look of nonchalance
.
He suspected from the dark shadows under her eyes, that she had not slept a wink because of anxious anticipation. It amused him to see the bored facade she presented to him.

Father Etienne, too, was excited, and they walked from the abbey to the cliffs for their lesson. They came upon a cluster of boulders and climbed on top of them, settling themselves on one large, smooth stone. The gray clouds were thick and heavy, but it was not raining.

Father Etienne liked it up here. He was far enough from town to avoid the dangers of discovery, and the scenery was beautiful. He looked at the mountains and the stone fences, the dark green turf and the lavender heather. He noticed how Darcy's multi-colored shawl stood out in stark contrast to the gray sky above her.

Reaching down into the canvas bag, he produced a flat board with figures written on it, which was called a
hornbook.
Father Etienne told Darcy that this was his book when was a small boy. It pleased him to see her handle it with reverence.

Darcy was thrilled. Even though the shapes on the board were alien to her, they awoke an excitement that she could barely contain. Next, Father Etienne wrote figures on a flat black rock he called a slate, and told Darcy that this was the alphabet. They worked together for hours, writing then erasing, passing the chalkboard back and forth.

Father Etienne looked up at the darkening sky and said, "I think we should end here for today."

Darcy looked up in protest and said, "But I can't read yet, Father!"

"Oh no, Darcy," he chuckled. "It will take many more lessons, but you will read soon. I can see that you have a quick mind."

Gathering their things, they agreed to meet tomorrow, but before leaving Darcy said, "I don't have any money, Father, but I wish to pay you something."

Father Etienne started to protest, but remembering Darcy’s pride said, "It is the custom in
England
and the Colonies that young women make a needlework sampler of the alphabet. It gives them practice on their letters and their needlework. Sometimes they add a quotation from Scripture as well. The only payment I ask is to have your sampler when it is complete, to adorn my home."

Darcy agreed instantly. As she turned to go, Father Etienne asked, "Do you still think I should mind my own business?"

She raised an eyebrow, and then turned abruptly for home. He watched her walk briskly down the bluff thinking how he had underestimated her intelligence. He knew that she had a hungry mind, but he had no idea how quickly she would grasp academics.

Father Etienne chuckled when he remembered what she had said earlier in the day. "Father, I must tell you the truth about something. Several nights ago I opened your crate of books, and I have been reading them at night. Not really reading them, but I take them out, look at the covers and then make up the story.”

He remembered the look in her eyes when he told her the titles of those books--
Plato's Republic, Dante's Divine Comedy, The
Canterbury
Tales--
and said to her, "I think you would enjoy some plays by an Englishman named, William Shakespeare. He wrote some wonderful plays which speak to all of us."

For all the benefits Darcy would receive from an education, it occurred to Father Etienne that maybe it was a disservice to her. A woman's choices were few, and she would have no peers. In a land where food is rare, books are unheard of, and he worried that maybe he’d opened up Pandora's Box.

Father Etienne sighed and rubbed his brow. He was tired, and the entire night lay before him. He had many confessions to hear and several sick villagers to comfort, so he turned to look one last time at Darcy as she descended the bluff, but Pandora had vanished from his sight.

Chapter 4

The owlers were expecting another shipment from
France
soon, and in the eight months following the arrival of Father Etienne, many shipments of brandy had been delivered safely to the shores of Kilkerry. The routine was always the same, Darcy would hail the vessel, and the men would exchange wool for brandy then bury their cargo in the churchyard. Several nights later Liam and Michael O'Hearn would retrieve the casks, load them onto donkey carts, and by the light of the moon travel ten miles to the inn at
Granagar
Village
. At the inn they would receive payment and obtain wool for the next rendezvous with the French. This endless rotation of wool for brandy was conducted without interruption because no British troops were posted in Kilkerry at that time. The owlers enjoyed this freedom for almost seven years now.

When the troops were in residence, every precaution had to be taken. The donkeys were shaved and greased religiously before every journey, ready for a slippery get-away. They were taught their commands in reverse, so if an owler was told by a soldier to stop, the owler would shout, "Whoa!" and the donkey would burst into a full run. Many of these tricks had been passed on through several generations of the O'Hearn family, the most highly skilled owlers in all of
County
Kerry
. They had been smuggling goods since the
Battle
of the
Boyne
, and Michael O'Hearn was proud of his family heritage. When The Hunger claimed the family patriarch, Michael shouldered the responsibility of running the operation by himself with no regrets. It was agonizing waiting for the sheep population to rise after the famine, but eventually enough wool was being produced again to sustain a trade.

Although Michael was younger than Liam, he directed the smuggling operation with efficiency and prudence. He allowed Liam to swagger and boast that he was a partner, but the village knew that Michael quietly shouldered all the responsibility. He was a good-hearted person in all matters, but he was no fool. He knew how to set limits when necessary, especially when the business was involved.