Perfect Timing (14 page)

* * *

Ceara felt as if she’d eaten handfuls of live bugs. There was a horrible, wiggly sensation in her stomach that kept crawling up her throat. She’d come forward to marry Quincy Harrigan, but now that the reality of it was upon her, she wondered what she had been thinking. Because her intended husband had been killed in a riding accident and her kindly father had never pressed her to form an alliance with another to help secure his lands or add coin to his coffers, she was six and twenty and had never yet lain with a man. Just before her departure from home, she’d been closeted with her mum to learn what to expect on her wedding night. Ceara had thought it all sounded simple enough. She was to undress, wash herself, and then wait in the marriage bed for her husband to attend her. No matter what, she should utter no objection. ’Twas her job as a wife to pleasure her mate, and her mum had made it clear that some men had strange fancies. She’d also warned Ceara that ’twould hurt the first time, but a wise bride didna cry out, and the ordeal would be over with quickly. Afterward, Ceara should not be frightened by the blood. ’Twas the way of it the first time fer every woman.

Blood?
Ceara wished now that she had asked her mum more questions. How badly did it hurt the first time? What caused all women to bleed? How much blood was normal? And, almost as alarming, what were the strange fancies of some husbands? Ceara had no clear idea what was coming. Did Quincy Harrigan have deviant desires? What exactly might he expect of her in the marriage bed? Would it be painful? Humiliating?

Now that it was too late to ask her mum for more details, Ceara’s mind swam with concerns. She clenched her hands on her knees, shrank against the seat, and wished she’d never been so stupid as to leave home in the first place.

But no. Thinking that way was selfish. She remembered Loni’s white face and the feeble clasp of her hand. The poor woman was dying, and only Ceara and Quincy could lift the curse that was killing her.

* * *

Lights shone from the rectory windows, which meant Father Mike was home. He taught Bible studies on Wednesday nights and Thursday mornings, so he usually took Thursday evenings off. Sometimes he dined at the homes of parishioners or took in a movie, but more often he just enjoyed quiet time at his residence. When he answered the ring of the bell, the warning chime of his alarm system pealed through the rooms behind him to indicate that a door had been opened. A plump, balding man, he was everyone’s picture of an aging Irish priest, with graying dark hair, merry blue eyes, and a noticeable brogue. His round face creased in a worried frown when he saw so many Harrigans standing on his porch.

“Ach, no! Has our Loni taken a turn for the worse?” He stepped back and pushed the door wide, treating everyone outside to a rush of warm air and the smell of fresh popcorn. “Ye could’ve called. Let me grab me satchel, and I’ll be right with ye.”

“No, no,” said Frank, who stood front and center on the welcome mat. “It’s not an Anointing of the Sick that we’re needin’, Father Mike. Loni’s in a bad way, but that ain’t why we’re here.”

“Well, come in then, come in!” Father gestured them forward. “’Tis cold enough out there to make the wee folk sneak in through every crook and cranny. Hurry, hurry. Me heating bill is already so high, the church council is giving me the very devil about lowering the thermostat.” He chafed the sleeves of his black shirt. “Me old bones can’t bear the cold anymore, and I’ve outgrown all me sweaters. If they want me to live in a frigid house, they can increase me monthly allowance so I can afford new jumpers! Until they do, me thermostat stays at seventy.”

Quincy grasped Ceara’s arm as the press of bodies moved into the spacious foyer, which sported a painting of the Sacred Heart, and gilded cherub plaques. The rectory had been built to provide residence for two priests, but at present, Father Mike had no associate to assist him, so the second private living area was unoccupied, and he was free to use the house as he wished.

Father led the way to the main front room, where a flat-screen television cast flickering light. Quincy noted that the priest had been watching a tennis match, now on mute. Ceara froze when she saw the television, and Quincy gave her a nudge to get her feet moving again.

“Please find a seat,” the priest said cordially as he flipped on more lamps. Rubbing his hands together, he asked, “Can I get ye anything? I made too much popcorn. I’m more than willing to share. And the good ladies of the parish make sure me fridge is always stocked with a nice selection of soft drinks.”

By turn, everyone declined, including Ceara, who said very sweetly, “’Tis fine I am, Father, but thank ye for yer kindness.”

Father Mike’s eyebrows shot toward his receding hairline. “Sweet Mother, are ye Irish, lass?”

“I am,” Ceara replied. “I left there only last night and miss me family sorely already.”

Father Mike clasped his hands and leaned slightly forward. “Ye poor thing, ye must be exhausted. ’Tis such a grueling journey! I used to go see me mum every year. Now that she has passed on, I go only now and again to see me brothers and sisters. The older I get, the more draining the flight is for me.”

Ceara gaped at him. “Ye mean ye can fly?”

Quincy put a hand on Ceara’s arm. “Wires are getting crossed, Father. Ceara says she didn’t come here from Ireland on a plane, and that’s why we’re here, to explain how she supposedly got here and her reason for coming.”

A mystified expression settled on Father Mike’s face. Frank asked the priest to sit down. “It’s a long story, Father, and a hard one to swallow.”

Father Mike took a seat on one of the sofas, and all eyes turned to Quincy where he sat in an easy chair adjacent to Ceara. He cleared his throat, not entirely sure how to begin. But once he started talking, the words came more easily, and in a matter of minutes, he had related the entire story.

Quincy finished with, “According to Ceara, the only way to lift this curse and save Loni’s life is for her and me to marry. And with Loni hovering at death’s door, we don’t have much time.”

Just then the doorbell rang again. Parker got up. “That’ll be Clint, I’m thinking. He went to Fred Meyer to pick up the wedding rings.”

“Hold on,” Father Mike said. “I haven’t yet agreed to officiate at a wedding.”

Frank nodded. “We know that, Father, but we’re hopin’ to convince you that it’s the only thing to do.”

Parker led Clint into the rectory. When Father Mike saw the eldest Harrigan son, his kindly blue eyes went sparkly with tears. He stood up and extended a hand. “Ah, me poor boy, ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”

Clint stepped forward to shake the priest’s hand. “Not yet, Father Mike, but Loni’s as close to being a ghost as anyone can get without crossing over. Time is running out for her.” Glancing at his family, Clint asked, “Have you told him everything yet?”

Father answered the question. “Yes, and ’tis a difficult story to believe.”

Clint nodded and found a seat on the other sofa, where Zach and Mandy sat huddled together. “Not so difficult after it grows on you,” Clint said. He had removed his hat and left it in the foyer, as had all the other men, and in the lamp glow, his black hair glistened as he inclined his head at Ceara. “Listen to her version of the tale, Father Mike. You’ve counseled a lot of people. I’m sure your instincts are honed far better than ours to detect a lie when you hear one. I, for one, am completely convinced that this young lady is telling the truth. Loni touched her hand, and she swears everything Ceara says is absolute fact.” He held the priest’s gaze. “You know Loni well. You not only believe in her gift of second sight but have seen proof of it for yourself. Even the FBI accepts her abilities. Before she got sick, she was working nearly every day with agents from different states, and more times than I can count, she’s helped law officers in other countries find missing kids. She’s the real thing. You know it, I know it, and so does everyone else in this room. So if Loni says Ceara is telling the truth, then she is, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

Father rocked back on his heels, his hands clasped loosely at his waist. “Ceara, will ye join me in me office, where we can chat privately?”

Ceara followed the priest to the front office just off the large foyer. Quincy sat forward on the edge of his chair. Part of him wanted Father Mike to call a halt to this insanity, but another part of him prayed that Ceara would pass the test. If there was any chance for Loni to live—any chance at all—Quincy would do whatever was necessary to make it happen. Even marry a woman he’d known less than twenty-four hours, who had appeared in a flash of light in a box stall.

Even through the closed door, Quincy could hear the priest and Ceara talking. At first, their voices were heavy with solemnity, but then he heard Father Mike laugh, a warm, rumbling sound peculiar to the priest. The next instant, Quincy heard the two of them engaging in a conversation he couldn’t understand. Gaelic? Yes, Quincy, decided. They’d slipped into speaking Irish. Occasionally Father Mike would interject in English, “Ah, lass, ye’re losing me. Ye use the old Irish, and me ears are tuned for the new.” Then, “Slow down.” And, “Can ye repeat that for me?”

Before long, Ceara was laughing, too. Quincy had never heard her cut loose and laugh. The sound had a musical ring, almost like wind chimes tinkling in a fresh spring breeze. Clearly the aging priest was forming an instant bond with her. They were chatting like old friends.

Quincy heard Father Mike say, “’Tis such a blessing, lass, to hear the first language of me homeland again. I haven’t visited Ireland in almost four years, ye know. Me brothers and sisters call as often as they can, but ’tis a costly way to keep in touch. We mostly share e-mails.”

“E-mails?” Ceara repeated. “What might those be, Father?”

Father Mike gave a hearty laugh. “Ah, lass, ye have so much to learn! This age is filled with many wondrous inventions.”

“Like the wee box Sir Quincy calls a phone?”

Again Father chuckled. His mirth increased when Ceara told him about the traveling minstrels that she’d initially believed Quincy kept trapped in a box inside his truck.

Eventually the pair returned to the living room. Ceara’s cheeks were pink, and her blue eyes glistened with an almost feverish brightness. She resumed her seat in the chair beside Quincy’s, and Father Mike sat back down on the sofa.

“Well, Father?” Frank Harrigan said. “Will you marry the kids, or will I have to find a Lutheran minister to do the honors?”

All trace of humor vanished from Father Mike’s expression. “Ye’re asking me to disregard the rules of this diocese, many of which are edicts straight from the Vatican. Fortunately, being from the old country, I am a priest who believes there are many mysteries in this world. For instance, I’m not entirely convinced that the wee folk of Irish lore don’t exist. And it’s a strong believer in the forces of good and evil I am. Perhaps there are people who can put curses on others. It isn’t a proven fact and certainly isna a teaching of the Church, so far as I know, but then, I can cite several instances in this country’s history of people being possessed by demons and purged by an exorcist. Were those individuals victims of a curse? Normally I would seek the advice of the bishop before making this judgment call, but ’tis away he is at a retreat and can’t be reached except in cases of extreme emergency.” Father lifted his hands and shrugged. “Besides, if Loni is as close to death as ye say, there’s no time for a decision by committee.”

“Are you saying you’ll do it, Father Mike?” Clint asked.

The priest sighed. “I do a great deal of reading, and I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of time travel. I honestly believe it will one day be possible, so it isn’t a far stretch for me to think someone with special gifts might manage such a feat now. Ceara has assured me that she has never used her special powers for financial gain, personal recognition, or to cause harm to others, and it is documented by the Church that there were saints somehow capable of bilocation.” He glanced from one face to another, and elaborated, “Bilocation is the ability of a person to appear in two places at once. There is no scientific explanation for this phenomenon, but unbiased witnesses have attested to the truth of it. I, for one, believe in their accounts. Thousands, if not millions, of learned people are also convinced.” He shrugged. “I don’t know how bilocation can occur. I only know it has. I suppose it is a leap of faith that I’ve taken. That being the case, it is not difficult for me to take another leap of faith and believe Ceara’s story.”

“So?” Frank pressed. “That sounds like a yes to me, Father.”

The priest held up a hand. “Not just yet. Before I reach a final decision, we have one very large wrinkle to iron out.” He gestured at Ceara. “The lass has no papers.”

Clint swore under his breath. “I never thought of that.” He glanced at Ceara. “Without papers, she doesn’t exist legally. She needs a birth certificate, a Social Security number, and some sort of life history. Otherwise, the marriage can’t be recorded.”

Frank spoke up. “I know a fellow with a few . . . well, I guess you’d say
seedy
contacts, and I think I can get her set up with the whole works.” He rubbed his thumb and fingertips together. “Money talks, but it’ll take a little time.”

“We don’t have any time!” Clint almost shouted.

“Calm yerself, Clint,” Father Mike said softly. “It’s merely a wrinkle, not insurmountable.” His brow pleated in a thoughtful frown. “In the early days of the Church, people didn’t have identification records like we do now, but marriages took place just the same, some without the presence of clergy and according to local custom. The Church has evolved, as have the requirements for marriage. I can officiate tonight, but everyone must understand that the union will be spiritual only—a marriage in the eyes of God but unrecognized by the state.” Father Mike held up a hand. “’Twill have to be rectified as soon as possible, understand.” He inclined his head at Frank. “Once you get her an ironclad identity, she and Quincy must take marriage preparation classes, we’ll post the banns, and then I will make record of the marriage as if it takes place at a later date.”