Ring of Truth (2 page)

“Kerry!” she interrupted in the sharpest tone of voice Kerry had ever heard her use. “That is not
at all
what I'm talking about here! Just as I did with my darling Maggie,” she continued, referring to her late daughter, “I will always support you in whatever path you wish to follow. It's just I would hope it is
your
path. Not one that someone else has chosen
for
you.”

Before Kerry could reply, her godmother thrust her hand between the sofa's silk cushions and withdrew a scuffed, burgundy leather ring box.

“The other reason that I asked you to come here—besides wanting to see you—is that I have a present for you. I guess, now, we can call it an early Christmas gift.”

“Oh, Angelica... you've given me so much and—”

“I gave this to Maggie back when she was a bit older than you are now. I will try once more to pass this on as it was passed to me.”

Kerry stared, dumbfounded, as Angelica opened the leather box in whose depth was nestled a ring every self-respecting Irish-American would instantly recognize. She remembered that Maggie Doyle had worn the gold Claddagh ring every day since her mother had given it to her. How in the world did Angelica have it in her possession
now
... after...

From the small leather box, her godmother gently lifted the ring featuring two cupped, gold hands embracing an emerald gemstone cut in the shape of a heart and topped with a tiny, golden crown.

“You know,” Angelica said softly, “the New York City police chief told me that one in five people who died in the Twin Towers on September Eleventh was of Irish extraction.” She gazed somberly at the beautiful ring. “The numbers vary, depending on who you talk to, but twenty-three members of the NYPD, along with three hundred-plus firemen, and more than
six hundred
employees of the Cantor Fitzgerald firm died that day. Many who worked there were Irish-Americans, like Maggie. When the recovery teams finally finished going through those acres of rubble, more than two hundred Claddagh rings similar to this one were found...”

“No!” exclaimed Kerry, stunned by this revelation.

“Well, I suppose it's not too surprising, since these rings are traditionally exchanged at Irish weddings and given as tokens of kinship and friendship.”

Kerry's throat began to close and she could see tears edging into the corner of her godmother's eyes as well. It had been more than a decade since Maggie went off to work that sparkling Tuesday morning, a member of the legal staff at a prosperous bond brokerage house. Despite the young woman's earlier leanings toward a career in clothing design, she'd ultimately chosen law school, dark pinstripe business suits, and a penchant for “Ice Men”—as her mother once described the males that her daughter had occasionally brought home to dinner.

“I gave the ring to Maggie for her thirty-seventh birthday when she told me they were going to promote her to the top job in the legal department at work. I thought, perhaps, if she took advantage of the ring's... rather unusual powers, she might change the way her life was—”

“What do you mean ‘unusual powers?' ” Kerry interrupted, taken aback by what she'd thought she heard her godmother say.

“Maggie was conflicted,” Angelica disclosed. “She wanted to please her father, even though he never urged her to follow in his footsteps. Brian was a wonderful husband, but his law practice demanded so much of his time that, looking back on it all, I think Maggie's going to law school instead of design school, and her taking that horrible grind-of-a-job in the Twin Towers, was just a way of asking for more of his attention.”

“Oh, Angelica...” Kerry said, feeling tears about to spill down her cheeks. “I can't imagine how hard it's been for you with both Maggie and Brian gone.” She seized one of Angelica's hands. “And if
I've
disappointed you, I feel just horrible—”

“No!” Angelica said fiercely. “You haven't disappointed me one bit! I just don't want you to disappoint
yourself
! I want you to have this ring that was among those given back to the surviving relatives after that ghastly day. The victims' families were asked to list anything that might identify their loved ones, and one day I got a call and...”

Her godmother closed her eyes briefly and Kerry squeezed her hand, holding it tightly. Angelica bowed her head, and then continued to speak in a low voice.

“I can only assume that Maggie chose not to... to listen to what the ring had to teach her.” She cast her goddaughter a piercing gaze. “Now, you can say I should be committed to a lunatic asylum if you want to, but you must trust me when I say
this
particular Claddagh ring can help you know what's truly in your heart!”

Kerry stared at the object in Angelica's hand, her godmother's aged fingers slightly swollen with arthritis.

“But
how
?” Kerry murmured, amazed to think the ring Maggie Doyle once wore had survived the devastation of that day and had eventually been returned to her mother. “How can a piece of jewelry—”

“
My
mother,” Angelica began, “died years before you were born. She was a new Italian immigrant working at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in 1911. One of the young women who toiled beside her ten hours a day—an Irish girl—took Mama aside as they were walking home together late one night and gave her the ring, saying it had told
her
to quit her job that day and to pass the ring on to someone else who needed it.”

“Oh, now, Angelica... how could—”

“Hear me out!” commanded her godmother. “The co-worker told my mother that the ring had originally been made in the town of Claddagh on Galway Bay in Ireland. Mama swore to me that as soon as she put the ring on her finger, a voice in her head said to turn around and go home only a few minutes after she'd arrived at work at the shirt factory the next morning—which meant she was fired, of course.”

“So what happened? Did the ring tell her where to find a better job?” Kerry teased.

Angelica shot her a stern look.

“That same day in March, 1911, the factory burned to the ground, killing 146 of the two girls' co-workers. Three days later, wandering into Hannigan's Bar and Grill—which was only a pub back then—Mama met your grandfather's cousin and married him.” Angelica smiled faintly. “That man drinking Guinness that evening became my father.”

“The ring
talks?
” Kerry asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of her tone.

“Not exactly. Not out loud. In my own case, I simply had
thoughts
surface in my mind. Thoughts that contained much wisdom, I might add.”

“You're saying
you've
heard this ring speak to you?” Kerry queried. “Those were probably just your
own
thoughts!”

Angelica shrugged. “Maybe so, but the ring only spoke to me for one week. After that, the guidance ceased... but of course by then I'd met Brian Doyle.”

Kerry couldn't refrain from teasing her once more. “Well how do you know it was the
ring
‘speaking?' From pictures I've seen of Brian in his youth, he was a pretty dishy guy. It wouldn't have taken anybody else to tell you that.”

Angelica pointed to the heart-shaped emerald clasped between the ring's two golden hands.

“When certain thoughts popped into my head, the emerald pulsed and turned opalescent... and when that happened, I knew it was the ring offering a message of guidance.”

“Make it glow, then,” demanded Kerry.

“Oh no, dear,” protested Angelica, “I can't do that. Its powers only last for seven days, starting from the moment a new wearer puts it on. That still, small voice of counsel and guidance is offered on a temporary basis only. The wearer can choose to follow the suggestions or not... and at the end of the week, the ring reverts to being simply a lovely piece of jewelry which one can wear as long as one likes until prompted to give it to another woman who needs it.”

Kerry reached out and gently rested a finger on the emerald.

“Maggie was wearing this on September Eleventh? Why didn't it protect her, then?”

“Yes, she was wearing it. She loved the ring because it was beautiful and a gift from her father and me... but she told me flat out she thought the whole ‘guidance thing' was ridiculous and a bunch of Irish hooey and she certainly didn't want to hear any advice to quit her job and go back to her first love—designing clothes.”

“She told you the ring said to do that? To go back to the field of clothing design?”

“Whatever thoughts came into her head when she first put it on she just... ignored.  Weeks went by. She was waiting for the retirement party of her mentor and the official announcement about her huge promotion. She was ambitious, you remember, which was
fine
, but I know she was lonely, which is why I had decided to pass on the ring to her that summer. Her job in those towers was all-consuming. She never seemed to have time for close relationships, except for those wolves of Wall Street she dated from time to time. She kept telling me ‘I don't have the bandwidth to go out for lunch or drinks with people.'“ Angelica shook her head, murmuring almost to herself, “Imagine saying that about friends and family...”

A wall of misery Kerry had learned to keep mostly at bay was threatening, now, to engulf her godmother and her as they both fought off the terrible memories of those days following 9/11.

Desperate to guide the conversation in another direction, Kerry asked her, “So, what did the ring tell
you
to do when you were given it?”

“Me?” Angelica smiled at the memory, which was exactly what Kerry hoped would happen. “Back in those days, I was working two jobs to earn the money for interior design school... days doing clothing alterations at my parents' dry cleaners and nights at Hannigan's Bar and Grill on West 44th Street, smack in the middle of the theatre district. Your father, Patrick, was starting to take over the management—the fourth generation in the food business, you know, making
you
the fifth—” Angelica paused, and then amended, “Well, maybe not anymore...”

“Doesn't
writing
about food count?” Kerry demanded.

Angelica merely shrugged again.

“At any rate,” her godmother continued, “one night, about two days after I'd been given the ring from my mother—who knew I wanted to be more than just a seamstress in a dry cleaner by day and a waitress by night—in walked Brian Doyle, dressed to the nines. That particular night, I had worn a lovely outfit that had been unclaimed at my parents' shop for a year and so I was put on duty up front, checking in the guests. The dapper Mr. Doyle had an extra ticket to a Broadway show and offered it to me as soon as he saw me there.”

“What about your manning the reservations desk?”

“I was quite shocked when a voice in my head said, ‘
Say yes to Mr. Doyle!
' so I ran to your Grandmother Hannigan, cooking in the back, and she made your father take over for me out front. From that moment on,” Angelica added with a girlish giggle, “I listened carefully to every thought that came to me whenever the emerald turned into a glowing opal—even though most people I knew thought I was crazy, getting engaged in a month.”

“Only a
month
?” Kerry replied, aghast.

“Actually, I accepted Brian's proposal on the seventh day I had the ring... we just didn't
tell
anyone for a month!”

Kerry laughed and shook her head. “Well, it was a love match, that's for sure.” She glanced around the beautifully appointed living room, adding, “And look what a wonderful career you had.”

“Brian made all that possible. Encouraged me to get the best training there was in interior design and bankrolled tuition at Parsons and my first few years in the business.”

“But you barely
knew
the man when you married him!” Kerry protested. “Didn't you feel you were mighty lucky that it actually worked out? Who would have bet back then that you and Brian would turn out to be so well suited?”

“No, it wasn't luck!” her godmother replied emphatically. “We just
knew
.” She glanced at the ornate clock on the mantel. “Well... it's getting late and I'm sure you have a million loose ends to tie up. I'm terribly sorry Mr. Miller couldn't come with you today, but... do give him my best.”

Kerry had tried to persuade Charlie to join them for tea, but he'd begged off, as usual.

“Now put this in a safe place,” Angelica said, securing the ring in its box and closing the lid. “You can choose to put it on whenever you like—or not at all. It's totally up to you, pet. Just remember, though, I give it to you with the greatest love.”

Kerry's eyes grew moist again as she wrapped her arms around her godmother in a hug. Then, she slipped the ring box into the bottom of her handbag, wondering, suddenly, what her life would be like in California without Angelica close by? Her godmother was right to suspect that the new job might not allow the time to do more than search the Internet for artisan food entrepreneurs to interview by phone. Kerry had wondered lately if it was her destiny only to
read
about farm-to-table cuisine in Northern California—not experience it? Given her increased blogging schedule of two posts per day, and recruiting all those new writers, she seriously doubted she'd get to meet many of these food devotees in person. In fact, CookChic's only other female employee, Sally, had called their enterprise in Brooklyn “an electronic sweatshop.” What would LifestyleXer prove to be?

Triangle Shirtwaist Factory indeed...

She glanced down at her purse and speculated about the choices she'd made since graduating from culinary school—and about a ring that could put thoughts in a person's head. By this time, she and Angelica had reached the apartment's front door. Her godmother enfolded her in her arms one last time and then kissed her on both cheeks.