Galway Bay (6 page)

“Johnny and Máire are eighteen, Da, the age most people marry and—”

“Honora,” said Da, “Michael’s speaking.”

Michael smiled at me. “The girls of Castle Blakeney were nice enough, but they were always giggling and gossiping and playing one lad against the other. I’d had a picture in my mind of the woman I would love.”

“And what was that?” This from Máire.

“She’d look like the mermaid carved near the entrance of Clontuskert Abbey. Do you know the abbey? Cromwell destroyed most of the church, but the graveyard remains, and some arches.”

We didn’t, but we could imagine it. So many gray stone ruins across Ireland, giving their names to townlands, reminders of times long past.

“A Kelly place, the abbey, with tombstones carved through the centuries. Some of the letters spill off the end of a stone to be taken up on the next line: KE, then LLY. I read them all as a boy. Saints stood in the abbey’s archway—Michael, holding sword and shield, crushing the dragon, and Saint Catherine next to him. But my favorite figure was a mermaid. She had long waves of hair and was gazing into a mirror, her tail curved up, pleased with herself. I’d touch that fall of stone hair and know someday, somewhere, I would find her—a girl with the look and spirit of the Clontuskert mermaid. So I couldn’t court the Castle Blakeney ones.”

Michael looked at me, and I felt as if he’d touched me.

Da said, “The horses, Michael, get on with the horses.”

Michael breathed in a gulp of air. “So,” he said. “The Rogue began coming to the long stone wall between Jimmy Joe’s high field and the forge. He’d neigh and snort and whistle when I played. One night I was in the long acre trying out a tune on the pipes and who comes dancing out to join me but Bess? Well, I knew what would happen when the notes of the tune reached the high field.”

“I know, too,” said Johnny. “The Rogue!”

“Right you are. I tried to shoo Bess to safety, but she stood her ground, nuzzled my shoulder, and pushed me away toward home. Bess switched her tail and lifted it high. And then Red Rogue appeared, running for all he was worth from the other field. The Rogue gathered himself and flew over the stone wall.”

“Right to Bess,” said Máire.

“By now I was watching from the corner of the forge. I could see the Rogue blowing and snorting, his head moving, his red body coiled and ready. Bess stood her ground, her head up. Waiting. Then she turned away from the Red Rogue and trotted to the far end of the field where a tall oak grew—our fairy tree.”

“That’s it?” asked Johnny. “She just left?”

“Not by a long shot,” said Máire. “Am I right there, Michael?”

“You are, because the stallion went after her and I could see them no more.” Michael paused.

“And then?” Máire asked.

“I left them and went in,” Michael said.

“As well you should have,” said Mam.

“At dawn I found the Red Rogue, standing still and quiet, the wind lifting his mane, and Bess grazing near him. When she saw me, she whinnied in Rogue’s direction, then trotted back to her stall in the forge.”

“And is that the end?” asked Da.

“That was the beginning. Jimmy Joe was full of apologies when he heard. ‘That rascal jumped the fence into your field. I heard the noise. I hope your mare will be all right.’ A month later, I could see Bess was in foal, but would she carry to term? The chorus at the forge didn’t think so. Bess seemed well. Her coat gleamed and her eyes were clear, but the size of her distended belly worried Grandda.

“‘You took a chance, Michael,’” he told me. “‘Both she and the foal could die.’”

“I felt terrible. ‘I didn’t think beyond that moment,’ I told him. My mother said nothing.

“During the months we waited, my grandfather weakened. He stopped coming to the forge, slept the day through. The chorus of farmers saw his end coming. Without Grandda, Bess had no chance. ‘What a hand he had with difficult births,’ they’d tell me. ‘A great pity he won’t be able to help her. Poor Bess will not survive,’ they said.”

Da shook his head. Mam closed her eyes and Granny spun her wheel. Máire took Johnny’s hand.

“The birth was as bad as predicted: hours and hours of Bess panting and pushing, her eyes rolling, and me saying over and over, ‘I’m sorry, girl, I’m sorry.’

“Just before first light, Bess stopped trying. She was lying on her side with her eyes closed when the door to the forge opened and there, leaning on my mother’s arm, stood Murty Mor. He crossed to Bess and started whispering into her ear, rubbing his hands on her body, until . . .” Michael paused.

“Until?” Johnny said. “Until, until . . . ?”

“Until two spindly legs appeared, and then two more. Grandda and my mother and I eased the foal out and helped her stand, unsteady on her legs but healthy, a filly with the bright chestnut coat of the Rogue and the deep, dark eyes of her mother.”

“Well done, Bess!” said Máire.

“Your grandfather was mighty,” said Granny.

“My mother and I helped Murty Mor back to the fire, and two days later he was gone.”

“And God rest his soul,” said Mam.

“Bess lasted another year, long enough to see her filly grow sound and strong. She liked to watch the foal run. The Rogue’s daughter all right. The chorus at the forge was full of admiration. ‘If you were a gentleman, Michael Og, you’d have a fine horse to ride with the hunt, or you could enter her in the Galway Races!’ And somehow it eased the sadness of Murty Mor’s going. ‘She’s a champion,’ I told them, ‘and I’ve named her Champion.’

“‘Sell her,’ they said. ‘Take her to the Ballinasloe horse fair. You need the money.’

“I asked my mother, but she said we’d manage. I’d taken over the forge and was doing well enough. But then she sickened and died. God rest her. I buried her in Clontuskert Abbey graveyard with my father, grandfather, and all the generations of Kellys. The Blakeneys evicted me from the forge, brought in another blacksmith. So I set off on Champion, and look where she’s led me.”

“Now,” I said into the silence that followed. I didn’t have to add, Do you believe that he’s not a gypsy or a thief or a highwayman?

“It’s a fair tale,” Da said. “I’ll agree to that. But do you have any living relatives at all?”

“I have a brother, twelve years older than me, a half-brother. Patrick Kelly.”

“Well, that’s something,” Da said. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Michael answered.

“What will you do with yourself now?”

Da didn’t say the words:
with no home, no money, and no land;
but we heard them.

“I intend to enter Champion in the Galway Races, and win,” Michael said, sure and firm. “The prize is twenty-five pounds.”

Da and Johnny started laughing.

“Michael,” Da said, “those races aren’t for the likes of us. You arrive with that horse and they’ll take her off you and put you in jail.”

“I was told in Galway City if I could find a gentleman to sponsor me, Champion could run. I’d planned to use the winnings to support me on my travels. But now . . . I’d buy myself a lease so Honora and I—”

“Dangerous, drawing attention to yourself like that,” Da said. “Even if you won, there’s no empty land that I know about. Now, if you were a fisherman, I might have been able to help.”

“He could learn to be a fisherman, Da,” I said. “Couldn’t you, Michael?”

“I could try,” Michael said, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Have you done any fishing at all?” Da asked.

“My brother and I took some fine salmon from the rivers at home, and never once got caught by the sheriff.”

“That’s what we call angling,” Da said. “More luck than skill. It’s skill needed to cast nets, to find the schools of herring. You need a quick mind as well as a strong back.”

“He has those, Da,” I said. “Please, please.”

“A man deserves a chance,” Granny said to Da.

“I’ll have to ask the Admiral,” Da said. “We fish with the men of the Claddagh. You know about the Claddagh?”

“I saw the village coming through Galway City.”

“Saw the village, did you? Well, seeing is not believing. The Claddagh existed before Galway City, and the men there hold tight to their right to fish Galway Bay, theirs since time out of mind. Every year a leader of the Claddagh is elected; we call him the Admiral, and he controls the whole fleet. When I came here from Connemara, I was accepted because the Claddagh men knew my seed, breed, and generation. And for all your way with a story, young man, I can’t say I know that about you.”

“Da, please,” I said. “You always say you’re a good judge of men.”

Da said nothing. And then, “I will give you a go in our boat if the Admiral agrees.”

“Thank you, Da!”

“I am a fair swimmer, sir,” Michael said.

“I won’t mention swimming to the Admiral. We stay
in
the boat. That’s the point, lad—stay on top of the water. And that’s no mean feat in Galway Bay—tricky currents and pointed rocks waiting under the surface. But a man can support his family, and a young fellow who does well could consider marriage. Honora’s dowry is a share in the boat,” Da said.

“When can we leave, sir?” Michael stood up.

“Easy now,” Da said, but he laughed and clapped Michael on the shoulder and took him out to see the púcán with Johnny.

“I’m so happy,” I said to Mam and Máire and Granny, only the three of us in the cottage. “Isn’t he wonderful!”

Mam said that he did seem a good lad, and Máire talked about how handsome Michael was, but Granny said nothing. She put a finger in a spoke and spun the empty wheel, sending it circling round.

“What are you thinking, Granny?” I asked.

“A sad story he told,” Granny said. “Oh, Michael made a fine tale of it, but mind how quickly he skipped over the eviction. To be robbed of the forge where his grandfather’s grandfather pounded iron, put off the land of his ancestors, left with nothing but the shirt on his back and that red horse, who is a danger and a responsibility . . . that’s a wound that’s slow to heal.”

“But, Granny, Michael doesn’t seem a sad sort of fellow,” Máire said.

“He isn’t,” I said. “He was on his way adventuring with his pipes to play. Not a care.”

“Leaving your home place is a sorrow,” Granny said. “Generations lost to memory. One day, no one in Gallagh of the Kellys will remember the blacksmith or the piper or his mother. A sad thing for him, and he feels it, believe me. Feels too much, maybe. A deep loneliness in that fellow.”

“Not anymore, Granny. Now Michael will become part of us. A new story will begin: ‘Fadó, a young man came over the Silver Strand on a red horse and he became a fisherman, and married Honora Keeley and they lived happily ever after.’”

Granny smiled and spun her wheel. “We can but hope, a stór.”

Chapter 5

T
HERE, MáIRE, SEE?
That’s Da’s boat, and the Leahys’ . . . Why are they heading in?”

Máire and I stood on the pier, watching the red sails of the two púcáns dip and bend. We’d seen them off hours before dawn that morning, with food for three days of fishing. Here they were, back before sunset of the first day.

“Is that your Johnny steering, Máire?” I asked. “Look how he wraps the sail around the wind.”

“He’s good at making things swell,” Máire said, patting her stomach.

“You’re pregnant already?”

“Johnny and I had a bit of an early start.”

“An early start? Oh. Does Mam know?”

“I’ll tell her when I start showing.”

“Máire.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m a married woman now. They’re making a ruckus over you and Michael Kelly, but it’s really very simple. A fellow and a girl catch each other’s eyes, they feel a pull toward one another, a bit of courting to see if they suit, and then . . .” She shrugged.

“Then . . .”

“You’ll see. A great feeling altogether, little sister. Better than a wild reel or a gulp of poitín.”

“What about love?”

“Well, love comes into it, but when you’re pulling your husband’s body into yours, you don’t parse your feelings like the girls do in Miss Lynch’s books. No thinking, Honora. Great altogether. A few words from Father Gilley, and Johnny and I can enjoy ourselves whenever we want and not a farthing to pay to anybody. Though I suppose the wee one I’m carrying will cost us a penny or two.”

“Are you glad, Máire?”

“I am, Honora, and so’s Johnny. He’s sure it’s a son and he’s already talking about teaching him to hoist the sails.”

“The boats are riding high in the water,” I said.

“No load of herring there,” Máire said.

Da and Johnny brought the two púcáns near the pier. Dennis and Joseph held Michael between them and helped him off our boat.

“Your fellow’s changed colors! Would you say he’s greeny white or whitey green, Honora?” Máire said.

The boys supported him over to us.

“Here, Michael!” I put my hand out to him.

“Sorry, Honora,” he said.

Da came to the rail and looked down at us. “You were brave in the boat, Michael, but you don’t have the stomach for it.”

Michael straightened up and turned to look at Da. Dennis and Joseph shook their heads at me.

“Worst case of seasickness I’ve ever seen,” Da said, walking beside us as the boys helped Michael to the cottage. “You’re a decent man, Michael, but you’ll never go down to the sea in a ship. You’d best find something else to turn your hand to, or I can’t give you permission to marry my daughter.”

“Da,” I said, “he’ll get over it. Take him out again.”

“Some men just aren’t suited for the sea, Honora. It would be cruel, and unlucky for the rest of us.”

“I understand,” Michael said.

“Then Michael can hire himself out to Rich John Dugan to work for a cottage and a potato patch.”

Máire heard and turned around. “You’d be the wife of a cottier? Miss Lynch’s prize pupil, the lowest of the low?”

No one spoke as Da set Michael down on his own stool by the hearth. I gave Michael a cup of cold water. As he sipped at it, his color came back.

“With twenty-five pounds I’m sure I could rent a farm and set up a forge,” he said. “I must enter the Galway Races.”

“But if you lose, what then?” Da asked. “A share in a boat is all I have for Honora’s dowry. It will do you no good.”