Devil's Mountain (13 page)

“Why wasn’t he wearing it?”

“I don’t know. It was loose and he was always fiddling with hit. Twisting it. Taking it off, putting it back on. I found it in the binding of his day planner.”

My Bobby, not more than dust and rubble in a landfill. My sweet, beautiful Bobby shattered but this ring unscratched, complete.

“You’re going to think it’s silly, but when I hold the ring in my palm it gets warm and that’s when I feel he’s close.” Caroline held up her palm to me and I could see a faint blistered circle in its center. “Since I arrived here, it’s been different. I hold the ring, but it doesn’t get warm and I no longer feel him close. I think he wants me to give it to you. Maybe that’s why Bobby wanted me to come home. So I could give the ring to you.”

Bobby, black unruly hair captured underneath his graduation cap. His shy smile. He’d never been comfortable being the center of attention. I’d forced him to stand next to Orla and Paul as I snapped a photo. The ring, a graduation gift, loose on his surprisingly thin and elegant finger, glinted in the sunlight.

Could Bobby be speaking to her through this ring? And not Him. This ring, a reminder to the Mountain men of how they vanquished
Slanaitheoir
, escaped His prison of thorns. Surely, He would have no power over this ring. Surely, His power had limits.

Bobby, my sweet Bobby, had seen my pain from heaven. Surely, Bobby and the angels had not completely forgotten me on this godforsaken Mountain. Perhaps they pity me, and thought Caroline and the children could help me keep my sanity. And perhaps my Bobby wanted me to help his wife as well.

My cheeks burned at the thought of Bobby and my mother watching me from heaven.

Watching my rudeness to Caroline and the children. Those sweet children who could heal my tortured soul if only I would let them.

A few weeks. What harm could a few weeks on the Mountain do? Kathy was young, too young even for
Slanaitheoir
. And after that she’d be safe in her Manhattan flat. Far from
Slanaitheoir
.

I took the ring from Caroline and held it in my palm. A tear slid down my cheek. “Thank you, dear,” I choked out. “Thank you.”

Chapter 14

Caroline

In the month we had been with her, Mary’s phone had not rung once. I’d picked up the phone a few times to see if it even worked. Except for the few times that Seamus had stopped in to drop off a loaf of his wife’s bread, no one other than ourselves had crossed Mary’s doorstep. I hadn’t realized before the extent of Mary’s isolation. And her grief.

For the first week we were there, she could barely look at me or the children. She avoided Kathy more than Aidan, I think, because Kathy with her black hair and green eyes must have reminded her too much of Bobby. I felt like an intruder but how could I turn my back on her? I couldn’t return to Manhattan knowing she was alone on this Mountain, entombed in her grief.

I hadn’t intended to part with Bobby’s ring, but I was glad now I had. She wore it on a gold chain, and a few times when she didn’t think I was looking, I caught her holding it, a slight smile on her face. It seemed to bring her comfort.

After that night in the kitchen, the light returned to Mary’s eyes. She insisted on cooking us big roasts, helped bathe the children, and in the past week she’d joined us on our morning walks.

Kathy, strapped into an old stroller Mary had in her shed, dozed after her large breakfast.

Mary and Aidan walked ahead of us and I could hear Mary explain to the city boy why the sheep weren’t on leashes. The sun burst through the early morning clouds and blanketed the sometimes forbidding Mountain with its golden glow. Bobby used to say that in the right light, the Mountain was the most beautiful place in the world. “More beautiful than Italy? More beautiful than the Caribbean?” I would tease. “More beautiful than anywhere,” he’d say. On a morning like this, I’d say he was right.

This morning we varied our route and walked along the east side of the Mountain, near the Griffins’ holding. Mary had baked a strawberry tart and wanted to drop it off at Seamus and Bridget’s.

Mary had told me the Griffins were a large family, the type no longer in vogue in modern Ireland. Eleven children, ranging in age from twenty-eight to seven. Two of the older ones were working in London, one smart girl, Seamus’s pride and joy, was in university in Dublin and the oldest son lived in a small cottage on the Griffin’s landholding near the road. He’d built a workroom attached to the cottage, where he ran some type of woodworking shop.

“Morning, Conor,” Mary said as we approached the small, neat cottage.

A young man, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, sat on a kitchen chair propped outside the front door of the cottage, a large chipped mug in his hand. His face was serene as he basked in the morning sun and his long legs were stretched out in front of him.

“Morning, Mary.” His voice had the soft lilt of the region.

Two little girls ran out from behind the shed.

“Morning, girls. Is your mother home?” Mary asked.

The older of the two girls giggled and nodded.

“Right, so. Caroline, I’ll just run this up to her. I think it might be difficult to get the pram up the hill. Stay here, I’ll only be a moment.”

She turned to walk up the hill. Aidan wouldn’t let go of her hand. “Aidan, you want to say hello to Mrs. Griffin?”

Aidan nodded and clutched her hand. He’d become quite attached to his grandmother these past few weeks. Mary laughed and she, Aidan and the two girls made their way up the hill, leaving me and Kathy alone with Conor.

“Beautiful day,” I said.

“’Tis,” the young man said.

I looked down at Kathy, hoping to busy myself with my child and avoid making small talk, but she slept soundly. I needlessly adjusted her blanket.

“Have you always lived here?” I asked, trying to fill the silence.

“Mostly.”

Geez, he wasn’t making it easy for me. I stifled my irritation when I saw his clear blue eyes. They were friendly and were set in a pleasant face. Maybe he wasn’t much of a talker.

“Mary tells me you’re a woodcarver.” Sweet Mother of God, why couldn’t I just shut up?

“I am.”

I smiled at him, hopefully not an idiotic smile. I thankfully said nothing else. This man clearly wasn’t one for chit chat. Who could blame him? He was young, in his twenties, and cute.

He probably had many Kilvarren girls chasing him. Why would he want to waste his words on a plain, thirty-something Yank?

I checked Kathy again, and again she was sleeping sound.

“Would you like to see?”

“What?” I asked, startled.

He smiled then. A small, crooked smile. “Would you like to see my work?”

“Um, sure.” I went to lift Kathy out of the stroller.

“No, don’t disturb her. She’s fine there.”

I looked around. Since there was no one about, I left the sleeping child and climbed the few steps up to his small porch. My ankle turned on the last step and I would’ve fallen except Conor caught me. Chatty and clumsy. What a great combination.

His arms were strong and up close he had a slight musky smell. Surrounded by small children and women these past two years, I’d almost forgotten what a man smelled like.

“I’m so, uh, sorry,” I sputtered.

“No worries,” he said as he held my arm and guided me through the narrow doorway.

From the outside, the cottage looked like a typical stone cottage found on any Irish postcard. It was painted a cheerful yellow to match the main house. Inside was bright and airy, unlike the warren of rooms in Mary’s cottage. Most of the internal walls had been knocked down and he had installed several skylights. On one side of the large room were sculptures made of wood. Most were abstracts, although there were a few of people. They were strange yet beautiful and wouldn’t be out of place in The Museum of Modern Art.

“Woodcarver? I’m sorry I called you that. You’re an artist.”

A faint blush spread across his cheeks. “No, sure, I’m only a woodcarver. I do these for fun. Come, I’ll show you how I earn my living.” He led me to the adjoining shed were there were several ornate fireplace mantels. One looked similar to the one in my Aunt Dot’s house. These too, with their ornate carvings, were also works of art.

I ran my fingers along the smooth carvings of one mantel. Branches with thorns were entwined down the sides of the mantel. “This looks like my husband’s ring.”

Conor raised his right hand, and an exact replica was on his third finger. “I’m my father’s oldest son.”

I walked to the next mantelpiece. A ring of people danced in front of a cave, with a taller man off to the side raising his hands above his head. “Is this supposed to be the legend of
Slanaitheoir
?”

He smiled. “Legend?”

“Legend. Is that the right word? Well, the story of
Slanaitheoir
then.”

“There’s them that would say He’s no story. That He still lives.”

For some reason my black-haired forest dream man’s face flashed in my mind. “Do you believe in Him?”

“I believe and I don’t believe.”

I laughed. “That’s exactly what my aunt said.”

“A common enough response from one of the Mountain’s five families. But you’re one of us, aren’t ye? What do you think?”

The face of the goat from five years ago, its black eyes piercing through me. I shook my head. “No. I don’t believe in it. Of course not. It was a story ignorant people told themselves in a time of stress.”

“Ignorant people?”

“More simple people,” I said, not sure I was making myself look any better. “Surely you must agree?”

“Surely I must,” he said with a slight mocking tone.

Who was this man? At first he looked like a hayseed, just like his father. But he was a talented artist, and while quiet, he wasn’t exactly shy. Reserved, but there was a bite under that placid facade.

Well, whatever he was like, it made no difference to me. In a few weeks I’d be in Manhattan, back to my normal life. Whatever that was.

“Aidan! Aidan, love, where are you?” Mary’s frantic voice came through the open window.

Conor and I walked out to join her.

“Did you leave this baby alone?” Mary shouted at me.

“We were just inside. Mary, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Her lovely green eyes held an unearthly sheen and her face was pale and drawn. She looked so unlike the happy, relaxed woman who had walked with me a few moments earlier. But Bobby had warned me her moods could change on a dime.

“He’s gone!”

“Who, Aidan?”

“Yes, he’s gone. He took the child.”

“Who? Who took Aidan?”

She looked past me and at Conor. He nodded slightly.

“What is going on?” I said, keeping my voice level and calm. “There’s no one on this Mountain except ourselves. Aidan must be around here somewhere.”

A low keening moan erupted from Mary’s throat. She slid to her knees and started pulling at her long hair.

At this point, Seamus and Bridget along with three of their young daughters arrived.

Bridget went to Mary and put her arms around Mary’s shoulders.

Quiet Conor took charge. “Da, why don’t you look in the barn? Caroline and I can look in the fields behind the house.”

With that, he took me by the arm and led me to the fields. Once away from Mary and the others he said, “You’re very calm.”

“Aidan is a bit of a wanderer. He likes to hide. Once in our apartment, I spent twenty minutes looking for him. He’d managed to wedge himself in the back of my closet. If this was Central Park and full of potential perverts, then sure, I’d be worried. There’s only Mary and your family here. Honestly, what could be safer?”

He said nothing.

“Don’t you agree? Unless you have lions and tigers around that I don’t know about.” I smiled at him.

He didn’t smile back. Rather, his mouth was a thin hard line. “We’ll find him,” was all he said as he took my hand.

Twenty minutes later we had scoured the two fields beside the Griffin main house, and now even I’d started to worry. Aidan was only four. He couldn’t have walked this far. My worry had almost escalated into panic, when we saw the red of Aidan’s cotton sweater in the distance.

Aidan, snuggled against a large sheep sitting in the middle of the field, was fast asleep.

As we approached, the sheep turned its head to us. His flat black gaze bored into me and pain began to emanate from the top of my head down my spinal cord. I stopped walking and stared into those black pools. Unable to move. Unable to do anything.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Conor run up to the sheep, give it an odd salute, and then gather the sleeping child in his arms.

“Look away,” he whispered. “Just look away.”

But I couldn’t look away from the creature. I swear its lips were curled in a horrible smile.

Conor slung Aidan over one shoulder and with his free hand pulled me away from the sheep. Together the three of us stumbled through the fields back to Conor’s cottage.

Once the cottage was in sight, the throbbing in my temples stopped. Mary was on her knees beside Kathy’s stroller.

“He’s all right,” I cried out. “Aidan’s fine.”

Mary’s back was to me and she was rocking back and forth. When I reached her, I placed my hands on her shoulder. “Mary?”

She turned to me, eyes wild and tunnels of tears carved into her pale cheeks. “You,” she growled. “You’re the cause of this.”

“Mary, Aidan’s fine. There’s no reason to be upset.”

“You. Always pushing, pushing, pushing. These two children will wind up in the grave alongside my poor Bobby. Because of you.”

I stepped back, stumbling slightly. “Mary...”

“All right there, missus,” Seamus said as he brought Mary to her feet. “I’ll take you home, now.”

Once he took her arm, all the fight seemed to leave Mary. Without looking at me or the children, she walked with Seamus to his car, as docile as a lamb.

Bridget took my arm and said in a low voice, “Never mind Mary. She loses her head sometimes, gets overexcited. It’s nothing to do with you. Now, why don’t you and the children come back to my house for tea?”