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Authors: Bernadette Walsh

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BOOK: Devil's Mountain

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Conor pulled me out the door. “We’re going. Call the Garda and get those children some help.”

I turned to her and without knowing why, I said, “No. Take them to my aunt’s house.

Take your children also. Get the hell off this Mountain!”

Seamus nodded and we flew out the door and down the road.

I didn’t ask Conor where we were going or why he knew Mary would be there or what he thought Mary was doing. I followed and chanted in my head,
Please God, let my baby be safe.

Let my baby be safe and I’ll never ask another thing of you
.

The woods were dark, and I stumbled as I tried to keep up with Conor. He stopped once we came to a clearing.

In the clearing was the large stone rock. Kathy lay in the middle of it, asleep, surrounded by red candles.

“Oh, thank God, Mary. Thank God you’re safe,” I panted, out of breath.

Mary didn’t look up. She continued chanting in some strange language.

“That’s nice, Mary. That’s nice that you’re giving Mary a blessing,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I think that’s enough, now. I think we need to take her home.”

Mary chanted even louder. Kathy didn’t move.

“Mary, stop this. I want to take Kathy home.”

Mary looked up. Her eyes were red, as though she’d been crying. But they were wild, too, like a caged animal. “I don’t care what you want,” she snarled. “You always get what you want. You got my son. You got his babies. Now you have this poor lad’s sons. You’ve gotten enough.”

“Mary, please. You’re starting to scare me.”

She laughed then. “Scared? If you knew what He had in store for this young one, you’d be scared. No. You are all weak. You can’t stop it. You can’t stop Him, so it’s up to me. It’s always up to me.” She lifted her hands over her head.

“Jesus,” Conor cried. “She’s got a knife!”

Her green eyes shone as she shouted, “May the Lord bless you and save you. May God have mercy on your accursed soul.”

My heart stopped as she lowered her hand, the knife aimed for Kathy’s heart. A scream tore from my throat.

Conor sprinted from my side and jumped over the table. Mary screamed as Conor’s body knocked her to the ground.

Mary moaned, crumpled in a heap and not fighting back. I gathered Kathy in my arms.

Still sleeping or unconscious, but breathing. Alive.

Conor picked up the knife. “Are you all right? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. We’re both fine.”

Mary sat up. “You stupid bitch. Have you any idea what you’ve done?”

“I’ve saved my child! And to think I defended you. You are a lunatic. You should be locked up and, believe me, after this you will be.”

“She’d be better off dead. Better off dead than being the next in line. Caroline, you can hate me all you want. You can lock me up, hell, I probably should be. But if you care for that child, if you ever loved my Bobby, then please, please take your children and go. Don’t ever come back here, not even to visit his family. Go far away, as far away from Ireland as you can.

Save your child.” She sobbed. “Please, save your child.”

Chapter 19

Mary

I lay on the ground for hours it seemed, the woods quiet as a tomb. I didn’t stir, or cry, didn’t think until
Slanaitheoir
came for me.

He took my hand and lifted me up. “Come, my love. It is time.”

We walked past the mouth of the cave, past the altar to the cliffs. The sun was still high in the sky. After all that had happened, how could it still be day?

Slanaitheoir
held me in His arms, and whispered, “I love you. I’ve loved all of you.”

I stepped back and looked into those green pools. I could see my mother’s face as she laughed at the kitchen table. My brothers as they ran through the fields. My dear Paul, as we danced at our wedding. My Orla and Bobby, in their bathing suits on our annual trip to Portugal.

Kathy laughing. And I saw
Slanaitheoir
, when He’d first come to me, as shy and sweet as a bridegroom.

My mother was right.
Slanaitheoir
was a part of my life, but He wasn’t all of it. There was more, and I was too. More than the whore of the Mountain.

Slanaitheoir
lifted me up into the air. The last words I heard before I fell were “Mary Katherine Devlin Connelly, I release you.”

And I was free.

Chapter 20

Caroline

Conor’s car screeched to a stop outside my aunt’s shop. Both Bridget and Dot were on the sidewalk looking up. Toward the Mountain.

Kathy finally woke. She was smiling and as fresh as a daisy, unaware of her grandmother’s crime. Conor came around and helped me out of the car.

“Mother of God,” Bridget gasped. “Not again.”

“What? No, we’re fine,” I said. “Kathy’s all right.”

They didn’t respond to me. Dot crossed herself, “May God have pity on that poor woman’s soul.”

I turned, and in the distance I could see a woman clad in red fall from the cliffs. She fell almost in slow motion. I heard screaming in my ears and imagined for a moment it came from the woman. But it was only me.

Epilogue

Three years later

Laundry. With four children I was always doing laundry. And while the boys had a lot, it seemed Kathy spent her life trying on new outfits. If she was like this at five, I thought, God help me when she’s a teenager.

Conor was with the boys at soccer practice. He’d found a job teaching art at a local art school. He also built a workroom where he carved ornate mantelpieces he sold for ridiculous prices to the rich people living in the Hamptons. We lived in Sayville, a more middle class neighborhood on Long Island. With my widow millions we could have moved somewhere fancier, but Conor and I wanted to live a simple life with other families whose lives revolved around soccer practice and dancing lessons.

I climbed the steps to Kathy’s room. She was a real beauty, and my heart hurt a little when I saw how much she looked like her grandmother.

I tried not to think about Mary too much. I seldom spoke of her to the children. But I did do one thing. I kept my two oldest away from the Mountain. Not that I believed any of those old stories. But, like a true Mountain woman of the five families, I’d developed a healthy respect for those unseen forces that lurked in the forest. Like Conor, I believe and I don’t believe.

Kathy’s kitten, a stray that followed her home from school last week, lay cradled in her arms.

“No, of course I haven’t told anyone about you,” Kathy said, her normally high, childish voice suddenly mature, seductive even. “Yes, my lord. I understand.”

I dropped the laundry and both Kathy and the kitten turned to face me. Their matching green gazes bored into me.

I closed the door and returned to the kitchen.

About Bernadette Walsh

http://www.lyricalpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=authors&authors_id=190

Bernadette Walsh is a native New Yorker with an appreciation for all things Irish. While the locale of Kilvarren and Devil’s Mountain is deliberately fictional, I was inspired by the desolate hills of West Limerick and of course the Kingdom of Kerry. The women of the Mountain were inspired by all the strong women, Irish and otherwise, I have had the honor to befriend. And the men of the Mountain were inspired by...well, I’m not sayin’.

Bernadette’s Website:

http://web.me.com/bernadette_walsh/

Reader eMail:

[email protected]

About The Devlin Legacy Series

Book 1:
Devil’s Mountain

Available in ebook from Lyrical Press

Book 2:
Devil’s Shore

Coming soon from Lyrical Press

Book 3:
Devil’s Daughter

Coming soon from Lyrical Press

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