Buried in a Bog (5 page)

“You have the look of her, you know.”

“Of Gran? I suppose,” Maura said. She’d never given it much thought. Gran had looked like a grandmother should look, kind of soft and warm, even though she had always seemed tired. Her hair had gone grey early. But Maura shared her bright blue eyes. “So tell me, what was it like here, when my grandmother was young?”

“Ah, we had little money, but we counted ourselves lucky…” And Bridget Nolan was off and running. The next time Maura checked her watch, over two hours had passed, and she could tell that Mrs. Nolan was running out of steam. Maura saw an opening in the flow of words and seized it. “Is Mick your only relative around here now?”

Mrs. Nolan settled back into her chair. “There’s his sister, Bridget, over at Clonakilty—Mick’s dad, my son, is gone, sad to say, and his mother lives with Bridget and her husband. But so many of the children in the country, they’re off to school, or the city, or even overseas. No one wants to stay here—they say it’s dull, and too quiet for them. And there’s no work for them anymore.” She paused for a moment, then looked at Maura with a birdlike tilt of her head. “Mick’s a good boy, stops in near every day, and sees to the place for me. His sister keeps saying, ‘Gran, why don’t you come in with us? We’d love to have you.’ But I like my own space, and I know where everything goes here.” Mrs. Nolan pulled
herself up in her chair. “Well, my dear, it’s been a joy to talk with you, but I think it’s time for my nap now.”

Clearly she was being dismissed. Maura didn’t want to overstay her welcome, so she stood up. “Thank you so much for talking with me. I hope I haven’t worn you out.”

“Nonsense. Everyone’s in such a hurry now—no one seems to care about the past, the families. I’m so glad you came by today. Will you be stopping by again?” The small, wrinkled face peered up with eager hope.

“I’d like that very much. I’ll be around for a week, and I’d love to see you again, if it’s no trouble. It’s been a real pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Nolan.”

“Can you make your way out? Mick should be back shortly to collect you.”

“Of course. And thank you for the lovely tea.”

Maura carefully gathered up the teacups, put them on the tray, and carried the tray back to the main room. It seemed the least that she could do. She gave one last look at Mrs. Nolan, who was already nodding off in her chair—not for the first time, from the look of the chair, and the way the small body nestled into its curves—then went into the courtyard, closing the heavy door quietly behind her. No sign of Mick, but the air was pleasantly warm, at least in the sun. She wandered over to the lane that ran alongside the Nolan cottage and stood still, looking at the view, trying to imagine it filled with the sound of childish voices, women calling. Right now all she could hear was the lowing of a flock of sheep a couple of fields over, the swish of a single car down on a road below. It was likely quieter now than it would’ve been a century before. Pure country, as far as she could see. She crossed the paved road and then followed an
unpaved lane until it petered out in the midst of three old houses. The houses all looked abandoned, although in different eras. One was no more than a roofless stone shell, while the others showed more recent use. Maura leaned against a wire fence to greet the sheep in the field. The ones closest to her looked blankly at her for a few moments, then returned to cropping the grass beneath their feet.

She heard the sound of a car coming up the hill, and made her way back just as Mick parked and got out. “She’s gone to sleep, has she?” he called out as Maura approached.

“How’d you guess? I forgot to thank her for fixing things with Ellen, and for sending you to get me.”

“She’s glad for the company. I come by as much as I can, but it can be lonely here. The old families are gone. I’ve got her a telly, and she’s on the phone”—he waved at a satellite dish on the far side of the building that Maura hadn’t noticed—“but she’s never got in the habit of using them. She prefers the old ways.”

“She did ask if I could come back and see her again, but I don’t want to impose on you—is there any other way to get here?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “So she didn’t mention…No mind. She’s seen to that. Follow me.” Mick led her around the back of the cottage, and Maura saw there was a small shed there, far newer than the cottage itself. He pulled open the double doors to reveal a small but highly polished car. “She wanted you to have the use of this, while you’re here.”

She turned to gape at him. “What? She wants to lend me a car? I can’t take that.”

“And why not? It’s not new. In fact, it was my grandfather’s, not that he used it much, and he’s been gone some twenty years. Can you manage a stick manual transmission?”

“Uh, I guess.” In fact Maura hadn’t driven much at all in her life. In Boston it was simply too expensive to own and insure a car, and besides, there had always been buses or the T. She had a license, but mainly as an ID—she’d cadged the bare minimum of lessons from the older brother of a friend, and once she’d passed the test she hadn’t had much opportunity or need to drive anywhere. And here she’d have to drive on the left, with a stick shift, for God’s sake. This was not a good idea. Was it?

“You’ll do fine. The keys are in it, and I made sure it still runs and filled the tank. And that way you can visit when you like. But like I said, she tires easily.”

Like I can’t tell when she’s tired?
she thought. “Uh, could you at least back it out of the shed for me?”

He gave her a critical look, then wordlessly climbed into the car, started the engine, and swung the car out of the shed, pulling to a stop only inches from his own car. “There you go. Can you find your way back?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Down the hill, turn right at the T, then follow the road. It’s easy.” He handed her the keys, then turned and got into his own car.

“Thanks!” Maura called out to his retreated back. He raised a backward hand and pulled out onto the lane, leaving Maura standing in the small courtyard with the keys in her hand.

Things were happening much too fast. It had been kind of Mrs. Nolan to set her up with a place to stay at Ellen’s,
but to hand her a car? Not even knowing whether she could drive it?
Could
she drive it? Well, she’d better find out, since Mick had disappeared and left her stranded out here in the middle of nowhere, and she wasn’t even sure how to find her way back to Leap, despite his directions. This Irish “welcome” business was a mixed blessing.

M
aura squared her shoulders. If she couldn’t handle the car, then she’d just have to find a phone. Or walk. Or wait a day for Mick to come back, to see if she was still hanging around annoying his grannie. Why was he so protective of Mrs. Nolan? She’d been the one to invite Maura. Maura hadn’t just showed up and imposed herself on a stranger. She had every right to be here.

The car was no model she recognized. It was small, probably European, its color faded to a tired grey. Maura walked around it, jiggling the key ring in her hand. Its tires seemed to be in good shape, and it had a license plate, so she wouldn’t be breaking any local laws. She hoped. Was it insured? Or was she? She had no idea who to ask, although Mick seemed like a law-abiding type, based on her extremely brief interaction with him. She opened the door and slid into
the driver’s seat, its upholstery cracked with age. She spent a moment locating all the relevant parts, then stuck the key into the ignition, planted one foot on the brake, pushed down on what she hoped was the clutch, and turned the key. To her surprise the engine started up on the first try, and it did have a full tank of gas, as Mick had said. She grinned to herself, almost against her will: she had wheels!

Now what? Sitting still was fine, but she was supposed to move, starting with getting out of the woefully small enclosure and through that narrow gap between the posts. And then navigate what amounted to a one-lane road lined with either towering hedges or more stone walls close to either side.

At least the gear pattern was stamped on the gearshift. How did it go? Shift into the gear you wanted, slowly release the clutch, and keep one foot on the brake at all times. Maura shifted into reverse and let out the clutch slowly—and stalled. She tried again, raising her foot at a snail’s pace, until the car actually began to move—which startled her, and she stalled again. She cursed and tried again, and this time she moved backward by a few feet, at which point she was afraid she was going to crash through the hedgerow and jammed both feet on the pedals.

This was ridiculous!

Fifteen minutes later Maura had managed to maneuver the car so that at least it was facing the direction she wanted to go. If she turned right, at least it was downhill, and then she should turn…right at the bottom? Inch by inch she moved forward and managed to slide through the stone posts without scraping anything. She made the turn, then slowly went down the hill, braking all the way. Thank goodness
there were no other cars coming up the road, though at the bottom she discovered a police car blocking the way to her left. Not that she wanted to go that direction, but the mere presence of a cop made her stall out again. She sat at the bottom of the hill and pounded the steering wheel in frustration. The cop walked over, and she rolled down the window.

“Having a bit of trouble?” he asked politely.

She looked carefully at him: he appeared younger than she was, and he hadn’t quite grown into his uniform, which looked almost new. But he didn’t seem to be making fun of her. “Yes, I guess I am. I don’t drive much, and I’ve never driven on the left, and I’ve never driven this car before. Sorry, am I in the way?” That seemed unlikely, since there were no moving cars in sight.

“Not at all. That’d be Bridget Nolan’s car, right?”

“Yes. She’s letting me borrow it.” Maura tried not to sound defensive, and hoped the nice young policeman wouldn’t ask for proof, because she didn’t have anything like documentation. Would he think she had stolen it?

Her worries were answered quickly but raised another question when he asked, “So you’d be Maura Donovan?”

He knew who she was? “Yes, I am. How did you know that? And you are?”

“Sean Murphy. Mrs. Nolan’s been talking of nothing else but your visit for days now. She wanted to be sure we’d all look out for you, in case you got lost. If it’s Leap you’re looking for, it’s that way.” He pointed down the road Maura had planned to take.

Had Mrs. Nolan talked to the whole village? “Thank you. I can use all the help I can get.” She looked behind him and for the first time noticed other vehicles, and several
official-looking men moving around the field. “What’s going on here?”

His expression turned somber. “They’ve found a body in the old bog.” At Maura’s horrified expression, he hastened to add, “No way yet to tell how long he’s been there. Could be a year, could be a century.”

That made her feel slightly better; a hundred-year-old body felt less like crime and more like history. She’d been happy to leave violence behind her in Boston. “Well, I’d better be heading back. At the rate I’m going it may take a while.”

He nodded. “Good luck to you. And drive safely!”

After half an hour of driving—or more accurately, lurching and stalling, hands clenched on the steering wheel—Maura arrived back at Leap. She carefully pulled into the driveway at the bed and breakfast and parked behind the building. After turning off the engine, she sat and shook for a minute. Part of her wanted to say “never again” and abandon the car where it sat; another part reasoned that if she was going to go anywhere and see anyone, particularly Bridget Nolan, she needed to get over herself and drive the damn car. At least the roads were mostly empty, although she wasn’t sure what she would do if she encountered someone coming the opposite way on some of those tiny lanes. Were there rules for things like that?

When her hands finally stopped shaking, Maura struggled out of the small car and looked around. It was midafternoon, and there was no sign of Ellen or the children. She could take a walk, explore the land around the harbor—she could see some buildings from where she stood. But she was keyed up and wanted to celebrate…what? Surviving a
five-mile drive? Well, yes, in fact. Call it surviving a challenge, or finding a solution, or at least grabbing the one that had been handed to her. She wanted a drink. Since Sullivan’s was the only pub she knew, Sullivan’s it was, then.

It was clear the moment she walked into the place that there was something going on. For one thing, there were people there—lots of people, unlike the day before—and they were all talking at once. Rose was the only person serving, and she looked overwhelmed, dealing with shouted orders from all corners as well as at the bar. Maura waded through the crowd toward her, and when she finally reached the bar, she waited to catch the young girl’s eye. Poor Rose looked like a cornered rabbit. “Need some help, Rose?” she shouted.

“I need three hands! It’s never been so busy in the middle of the day.”

“There’s nobody else working today?”

“Da’s gone off to Bantry to get supplies, so it’s just me. He left before all of this.” Rose waved her hand at the crowd. “I’ve tried calling Mick on his cell, but it’s off, and he wasn’t due to come in for a couple of hours yet.”