Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry (49 page)

The ground was wet and slippery beneath her feet. She headed up a hill along the river and smelled something burning. The path led to a clearing where she observed a settlement reduced to ashes. All that remained were the burned-out shells of cabins and barns. Even though it had been destroyed earlier in the day, the smoke still curled up from the black skeletons as if it were a funeral pyre. It smelled thick and sweet.

Darcy moved cautiously into the clearing, looking tentatively into the woods with her musket poised. She tried to steady herself. Suddenly the clouds moved off the moon, illuminating several charred corpses in a cabin.

Startled and repulsed, Darcy continued on. Suddenly, someone stepped into her path, a large, heavy-set man dressed in greasy buckskin. He had only one arm, and his wild eyes and filthy beard told her he was a vagrant backwoodsman. He lunged at her. Darcy jumped, misfiring her musket. Terrified, she raced toward the woods. Before she could reach the safety of the brush, she felt a sharp pain in her thigh and the report of a firearm.

Clutching her leg, Darcy ran, but in an instant, the backwoodsman was upon her, grabbing her. Her heart was pounding furiously, and she could hear him muttering in French. She struggled furiously, sickened from fear and the foul smell of urine.

Suddenly, Darcy remembered what Dominique did on the ship long ago and with all of her might; she sank her teeth savagely into the assailant's shoulder, right through his skin. When he let out a roar of pain and she broke free.

The assault seemed to unleash the madman's fury, and before Darcy could escape, he grabbed her long hair and yanked her to the ground. Straddling her chest, he delivered several painful blows to her head, and when he drove his fist deep into her face, she slid into a daze. He rolled her over onto her stomach, and Darcy thought she was about to be raped. Instead she felt intense burning on her scalp along the hairline at the back of her neck. The pain was excruciating, and she struggled wildly under his weight, yet no pain was greater than the horrifying realization that this backwoodsman was beginning to scalp her.

She screamed, and then heard a sharp crack. The air was driven abruptly from her lungs as the man slumped onto her back with a thud. The pain had stopped, and as if in a dream, she heard someone say in English, "Get that dead son of a bitch off her. Get her to Point Levi."

Darcy felt someone pick her up, and she whispered, "Please."

"Don‘t speak," said the soldier, "You are safe."

"No," insisted Darcy gasping. "Go to the caves by the mission. There you will find another."

"Yes, yes," he said, putting her off.

Darcy struggled to get free herself and said, "Jean Michel will die."

"Jean Michel. Jean Michel Lupe'?" asked another soldier.

Darcy murmured, “Yes.”

"I knew him when I was posted at
Fort
Pepperell
. Where did you say he is?"

"In a cave on the bend in the river near Cesaire's mission," she said breathlessly. "Hurry--dying."

With that final word, Darcy slid into oblivion only to awaken moments later in great pain. The man who carried her tried to be gentle, but because of her serious condition, he found it necessary to hurry. The jostling was excruciating. She was losing blood quickly from the lacerations on her head and from the bullet wound in her thigh. The blood ran down her neck, soaking her gown and her strength.

Gradually the pain decreased and everything went black. At last, she could put down her struggle to survive. Detached and unemotional, she watched her life as a child, moving from the carefree early days of her youth to the horrors of the famine on through her indentured service in the
New World
. When she reviewed her time with Jean Michel, she became confused and unsettled.

Gradually, as if the pastels of a watercolor were being painted on a canvas, a scene came into focus. Darcy smelled the cool, salt air of the ocean and felt the wind on her face. She heard a sea gull screech, and realized that once again she was standing the cliffs of Kerry. It was a warm cloudless day, and she was in the abbey.
 
As she had always known, it would wait for her keeping vigil over the valley as if it was a benevolent landlord.

She gazed across the sweeping landscape, drinking in the blue of the sea and the green of the mountains. Only she could not remember how she had returned. It seemed as if only moments ago she had been struggling for her life in the woods, and now she was standing on the cliffs of Kerry, fully recovered.

Elated at being home, Darcy stepped out of the abbey and started down the bluff to find the villagers. Suddenly, a familiar voice said, "They won't be able to hear you or see you, Darcy."

Whirling around, Darcy encountered the smiling face of Father Etienne. He was dressed in his black cassock, and his hands were clasped in front of him as if he had been waiting patiently for her. He looked healthy and full of life, and Darcy threw herself upon him, embracing him with all the affection she held in her heart.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were dead!"

"I did not die, Darcy, but I am of this earth no longer."

"How can this be? I just hugged you! You are not a specter. I can see you clearly, and I can touch you."

"That is because you are not of the earth either," he replied simply.

Darcy opened her eyes wide in astonishment and asked, "What do you mean? I am dead too?"

He nodded and said, "You are of the earth no longer. You have been granted your last wish, and that is to see
Ireland
once more."

Darcy searched Father Etienne's eyes then walked over to the cliffs. She felt the breeze blow her hair and looked down at the waves breaking on the rocks. Her struggle was over at last, and she was glad. She could rest now and no longer feel the relentless pounding in her chest and hunger in her stomach. At last she could sleep peacefully.

He stood beside her and said gently, "It's time to go home now. All the way home, Darcy," and he held out his hand.

With the trust of a child, Darcy placed her hand in his and said with confidence,” I’m ready."

"It is that easy for you?"

"Yes," she said shrugging her shoulders. "Everyone I have ever loved is dead, my mother, my brothers and sisters, Teila, you and now Jean Michel."

She looked into his eyes, and suddenly a rush of fear and apprehension overtook her. Darcy had seen Jean Michel in his face and she drew back.

"What is it?' Father Etienne asked.

"Where is your brother? Is he with you?"

"That, I cannot say."

"I won't go until I know, Father."

"You must make the choice," he insisted.

Darcy looked out across the broad ocean toward the Colonies and struggled within herself. The thought of returning to life on Earth without Jean Michel was unthinkable, but if she chose death and he lived, she could only whisper to him through a thin veil and wait until he joined her.

"You must tell me what to do!" she pleaded.

Father Etienne shook his head, "It is yours to decide, Darcy. It is your finest test of faith."

Her eyes filled with tears, and as if it were raining on the watercolor canvas of Kerry, her homeland and Father Etienne melted away. Everything went black again, and she heard wailing and moaning as if many people were in great pain. Darcy could no longer feel the cool breeze on her face, and the air suddenly smelled thick and stale. Suddenly, she flew upward at breakneck speed. Up and up she raced and then as if hitting a great obstacle, Darcy stopped with a jolt, her spirit rejoining her battered body.

She began to retch uncontrollably, and her head throbbed with excruciating pain. Gone were the tranquil mountains of Kerry and the reassuring hand of Father Etienne. They were replaced instead by a large makeshift surgery in a tent crammed with war-torn soldiers writhing in pain and misery. On every side of Darcy were men with legs ripped off by cannon balls or dead soldiers with holes in their chests from musket fire. Everywhere she looked she saw pain and suffering. She sank back into oblivion not ready to witness life's agonies again.

The next time Darcy opened her eyes, the scene had changed again. She was lying on crisp, muslin sheets under a light-blue duvet. Sunshine streamed across the bed and she could smell lavender sachet. The bedroom was impeccably clean and cheerful.

She had not slept in this much luxury since she had been at Nathan's quarters in
Providence
, and she rubbed her eyes in disbelief.

The intense pain was gone replaced by a dull, throbbing. She tried to move but was stiff and very sore. She saw a crystal water decanter on her nightstand, and she wished she were strong enough to pour herself a glass of water.

Instead she lay on her pillow and listened to thunder outside. Suddenly, she realized that there was sunshine on her bed and a clear sky outside. That was not thunder she heard; that was cannon fire, and all the memories returned. She realized that she was probably somewhere near Point Levi and that she was listening to the siege of
Quebec
. Her next thought was of Jean Michel, and she closed her eyes trying to push the anxiety from her mind.

Thirst nagged her, and with great effort she pulled herself up and reached for the decanter. Her hands shook as she poured a glass of water, but when she lifted the glass, it slipped out of her hand and crashed to the floor, shattering to pieces.

The door opened and a plump little woman came in, smiling. "Well, well. You are awake and thirsty. I'm glad. Now I'll just clean this up and get you some tea and a scone."

Darcy cleared her throat and licked her dry lips.

"Where am I?"

As she brushed the glass into a dustpan, the nurse replied, "You are in the quarters of Major Quentin Randolph, Madame. He is serving under General Wolfe here at Point Levi, and this home has been requisitioned for him."

The woman left the room before Darcy could ask any more questions, so she slid back down into the warm recesses of the bed and fell back to sleep, too exhausted to think of anything.

It took over a week before Darcy felt strong enough to walk, and although still sore, she could bear weight on the injured leg at last. The nurse removed the bandages from her head, and Darcy was relieved when the woman told her there had been little scarring. The majority of the lacerations had been behind her ear and at the back of her neck, so her appearance remained unchanged.

Darcy had never been so grateful to have her long, dark tresses. She wanted to thank the soldiers for saving her life and hopefully Jean Michel's life too. From the minute she could speak, Darcy tried to locate him, but no one had heard of Jean Michel Lupe', and Mrs. Plunkett, the plump nurse who had taken care of Darcy, checked the surgery roster several times but to no avail. He had not been found.

Darcy hoped to ask Major Randolph about Jean Michel, but the officer never came in to meet Darcy. He remained a generous but aloof host, and Mrs. Plunkett said that he was seldom in residence.

"He is a very busy man and spends most of his time at the front."

"But why am I here?" asked Darcy.

"Major Randolph is a very kind man and does not believe women should be housed in the surgery with the regulars."

One day Mrs. Plunkett came into the bedroom and gave Darcy a clean shift and dark red gown to wear. "It is time you dress and get some fresh air, my lovely girl."

The nurse dragged in a tub and filled it generously with warm water. Darcy eased her wounded body down into the bath and groaned. It eased all her pain and relaxed her aching muscles. Gingerly she scrubbed her scalp, soaping generously the hair matted with blood and washed the filth from the rest of her body.