Devil's Mountain (12 page)

“But then the cows sickened. The crops failed and every child born after that died in its mother’s arms. The Mountain families were soon as destitute as their Kilvarren neighbors.

“The women blamed the men for angering
Slanaitheoir
. They sent the most beautiful of them, Roisin Devlin, a young girl of sixteen who’d never lain with
Slanaitheoir
, to the cave to plead their case. To beg for mercy. Rosin’s mother, Mairead, who was known to have the gift of sight and of healing, accompanied Roisin to the cave.

“
Slanaitheoir
, as strong and radiant as ever, met them at the cave, as if he’d been expecting them. They feasted on roast lamb and drank mead. Mairead offered
Slanaitheoir
Roisin and one of her female descendants from each generation in exchange for letting the rest of the Mountain folk go free. They signed a binding agreement in blood, powered by Mairead’s strong magic.

“That’s some story.” I sipped my wine. “Do you believe it?”

Dot paused for a moment before she answered. “I think I’m like many of the Mountain’s descendants. I believe it and I don’t believe it. If that makes any sense. I know it sounds crazy to a woman like you, an American, and that was probably only a story the people told themselves, maybe to explain why they survived the Famine and others didn’t. Maybe the tale was born of survivor’s guilt. And yet, while my mind tells me it’s only a story, a fairy tale, in my heart and in my bones, I believe it is true.”

“Are you’re saying my mother-in-law is the handmaiden to some devil living in the woods?”

“When you put it like that, love, it does sound ridiculous.”

“And does everyone know this story? All the people in the village?”

“All the old timers, yes. People like your mother. But there’s a lot of new blood in the village since they built the electronics factory down the road. And the young ones, like my sons, they don’t believe it at all. Belief in
Slanaitheoir
, after so many years, is finally dying out.”

“Does Mary believe in it? Is that why she doesn’t leave the Mountain?”

“I don’t know. I suppose you’d have to ask her yourself.” Dot looked at her watch and waved at the waitress. “It’s getting late, love, I’d better get you back.”

* * * *

Dot and Tim were the perfect hosts, but after two weeks I could see the strain of having two young children underfoot was getting to the older couple. The break had done me good, but I too was tired of living in their cramped home. Much as I loved walking around the picturesque town and reconnecting with my family, I was ready to leave, return to New York with a clearer head. Ready to see what the rest of my life held in store for me.

But I couldn’t leave without visiting Mary. I didn’t want to call her and give her a chance to brush me off, so three days before we were scheduled to go back home I loaded my children and our bags into my rental car and drove the six miles to Devlin’s Mountain.

An early morning mist had burned off and the sun peeked through the clouds. I turned off the main road onto the dirt road leading to Mary’s cottage. Shielded by a canopy of thick brush, the lane was as forbidding and dark as I remembered. My cheap rental car groaned as it ascended the Mountain. The children were silent and when I checked in my back mirror, wide-eyed, as if they knew they were entering a magical and forbidden place.

But then the tunnel of trees and brush thinned and well tended fields took their place. The sun broke through the clouds and a faint rainbow appeared in the distance. Sheep dotted the fields, to the delight of Aidan.

Though it was early, Mary was in her garden wearing a big straw hat and holding a pair of shears. Her back to me, I could see her figure was still supple and strong. From the back she didn’t look a day past thirty. She must have heard the car approach because she turned to look at me. Dear God. Her face. In the two years since I’d seen her, her face had aged at least twenty years. Her cheeks were sunken and eyes lined. But even still, with her hypnotic green eyes she was striking, if no longer a beauty.

The crunch of the gravel echoed through the fields, the slam of the car door scattering a flock of nearby birds. I struggled to unhook Kathy from her car seat, my hand unsteady and unable to release the clasp.
What am I doing here?
I thought.
Why do I keep imposing myself on
people who don’t want me? I should just turn around, drive down the Mountain and take my
children home.

But that voice, whatever or whoever it was, told me to come here, had ordered me to come home. Home. The blood of these accursed Mountain people ran through my veins and even more strongly through my children’s. It was as much our home as anywhere else.

“Here,” Mary said, her lilting voice soft and low, “let me.”

I stepped aside and allowed her to release Kathy from the rented car seat while I lifted Aidan out of his.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. I, uh...”

Her eyes met mine. They were as turbulent and opaque as the sea and I couldn’t read their expression. Her ruined face gave nothing away. “It’s all right, you’re here now.”

Kathy’s black curls fell around her heart-shaped face and her bright green eyes almost glowed in the sunlight. With a chubby hand, she stroked Mary’s wrinkled cheek. I waited for Mary to smile, to kiss my fair girl. But she did neither. She handed Kathy back to me and lifted the suitcase out of the trunk of the car. Without another word, she led the remnants of her family back to the cottage.

Chapter 13

Mary

“No Devlin woman ever escapes her fate,” my mother had said that first Sunday after I’d arrived from Dublin with all my belongings in the boot of my car. She had taken me to the cliff on the highest point of the Mountain overlooking the Feale River. “Some fight it, some don’t.

But either way, they all wind up down there.”

My mother’s wild black hair, recently tinged with silver, danced in the breeze. I took her hand. “What kind of Devlin woman were you? Did you ever fight your fate?”

Her face was serene as she answered, “No, love. I never did. I saw what it did to my grandmother. It drove her mad and in the end she found her way to the river like the rest of them.

No, I saw no point in fighting it. Those who do only anger
Slanaitheoir
and ruin their lives.”

“Ruin their lives? Aren’t they already ruined?”

“My life hasn’t been ruined. It’s not what I would’ve chosen. But I made a life. I was a good wife to your father and mother to you and your brothers. I’m a good neighbor, and friend.

My life has not been ruined.”

“If what you’ve said is true, what He does to you... What you have to do to Him...”

She touched my cheek. “It’s only part of my life. Only part. He’ll consume you if you let Him. By fighting Him, by focusing all your energy on Him, you’ll allow Him to steal even more of your life.”

“Steal even more of my life? What’s left to take? He’s taken my husband, my children.

Jesus, he’s taken my very mind. What’s left?”

“Only you can decide what kind of Devlin woman you will be, Mary. Every time He, well, every time He took me, I thought of all the Mountain families, living their lives. Free. I remembered the children who wouldn’t have made it into the world if that first Devlin woman hadn’t made this sacrifice.”

I’d looked down at my mother’s placid face and felt my blood boil. “So offer it up, is what you’re saying? When that, that
thing
lays its hands on me, I should offer it up?”

“Mary, the longer you make Him happy, the longer you’ll live.”

“Maybe I don’t want to live. Not if it means being His plaything.”

“And what then? If you’re no longer here, what do you think will happen?”

“
Slanaitheoir
can go back to hell where He belongs!”

“No, Mary. If you’re not here He’ll go on to the next Devlin woman in line. He’ll go after your daughter.”

“But you told me He didn’t want Orla. That He found her repulsive.”

“Maybe, although if she’s all that’s left, He could change His mind. Or He could go to the next generation. A granddaughter perhaps.”

“You’ve done this, all these years, for me?”

“Yes, love. I’ve given you as much time as I could. To raise your children and live your life.” She pointed to her face. “You can see for yourself, our magic can only last so long. I’m aging, rapidly. He no longer desires me, but someone young. He wants you.”

I laughed. “I’m fifty-five! That’s hardly young.”

“You’re still a beautiful woman. And once he’s with you, you will look younger and I when I’m gone, my powers will be yours. They will help you appear younger still.”

“To give my daughter a chance.”

“Yes.”

“And if He still doesn’t want Orla? If there are no granddaughters, then what? Will he go back to hell?”

“There’s always been a Devlin woman.”

“Yes, but what if there isn’t? What if we can break the chain?”

“I don’t think it can be broken. There’s always been a Devlin woman. There’s Orla.”

“He hates Orla. Jesus, He tried to kill Her when she was young.”

“He’ll find a way. Don’t, Mary. Don’t twist your mind trying to fight Him. You won’t win. No one wins.”

“How long, Mam? How long do you have?”

“A month. Maybe two. You and I have a lot of work to do before then.” She wiped a tear from my cheek. “Hush now, love. Don’t cry. I’m not sad. ’Tis time for this to be over.”

What type of Devlin woman would I be? I didn’t have an answer to that question until they fished my poor mother’s broken bones out of the Feale River.

What kind of Devlin woman did I want to be?

The last one.

The few times Orla came to the Mountain, I cast my spells and she would arrive at my house ill tempered, overweight, face full of spots, hair lank.
Slanaitheoir
would rant for days afterward, rail at me for producing such a poor specimen of a woman. He would punish me for it.

I was confident He would not choose her as my successor. And with three little boys and no desire for a fourth child, there was no fear of a granddaughter from her womb.

And then there was Caroline. Sweet, unassuming Caroline. I had underestimated her. I’d thought once she had her baby boy she would be satisfied. But she’s more like her mother than I’m sure she’d ever admit. Both of them grasping, desperate women who can only see their own pain, their own desires. Women like that are a beacon to negative forces, and I’m sure it was easy enough for
Slanaitheoir
to find her in New York and trick her into saying the words necessary to break my carefully constructed Agreement.

Stupid, stupid bitch.

And now, despite my years of planning, my years of sacrifice,
Slanaitheoir
had won. My successor had been born.

“They’re asleep, finally. I had to put a towel over the window to further block the sun.

Aidan wouldn’t believe it was bedtime with the sun still out. I can’t believe it myself. Nine o’clock and the sun’s shining.”

“Tea?” I asked. When in doubt, offer tea.

Caroline smiled at me, uncertainly. “Yes, thank you.”

I boiled the water, took out two chipped mugs and cut two thick pieces of Bridget Griffin’s bread. The last time Caroline was here, when Bobby brought her home, I’d used my grandmother’s china and made rhubarb tart with cream. I’d been out to impress the Yank. Not this time, though. I had been serving haphazard dinners, bits of bread for lunch. I barely spoke to her or the children. I didn’t want this visit to extend beyond a day or two. But Caroline seemed oblivious to my rudeness. She’d been here almost a week already and had made no mention of leaving.

I set the mugs on the table with a bang. Caroline’s milky tea sloshed onto the worn tablecloth.

We sat at the table, and the old kitchen was silent except for the bleating of the sheep in the distant fields. Caroline cleared her throat. “Mary, I want to thank you for having us.”

“’Tis no bother. You’re always welcome.”

“Are you sure? I know it’s not easy having two small children underfoot.”

You stupid cow, of course you’re not welcome. Go home, for God’s sake go home before
He sees her.
I forced the calm into my voice. “Ah, they’re both dotes and no trouble at all.”

Caroline finished her tea. “We haven’t spoken about Bobby.”

“What’s to say? He’s gone.”
Because of you, you stupid, selfish girl.

Caroline twisted the wedding ring she still wore. “I miss him. Every day. I talk to him.

Sometimes I even think he talks back.”

“That’s normal, love. My mother did the same after my father passed.”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but there was one night in my kitchen, after I went through Bobby’s briefcase, the one they found at the Trade Center, I swear I heard his voice.”

My stomach dipped. “What did you hear? What did he say?”

“I know it’s silly, probably only my imagination, but, Mary, I swear it sounded so real. A voice said, ‘Come home.’ I tried ignoring it, but those same words rang in my head, morning, noon and night. Come home. Come home. So I did.”

Despite my good intentions, I snapped, “This is not your home.”

Her eyes widened in surprise at my tone. “Isn’t it? It’s where my family lived for generations. It’s where Bobby is from. When the voice said to come home, I just knew it meant here.”

“Who else have you told about this, this voice?”

“No one. They already think I’m crazy. The crazy widow. But ever since I found that briefcase and the ring, I knew Bobby wanted me here. I did.”

Maybe not Bobby.
My ears began to buzz. It was all I could do to nod my head, look normal. I willed my voice to be steady. “What ring?”

Caroline fished a thin gold chain from inside her blouse. On the end of it was the ring I had given Bobby on his twenty-first birthday. The ring had belonged to my grandfather and his father before. The ring of thorns. I’d told Bobby to always wear it, to never leave the house without it. For protection.