Songs of the Shenandoah (51 page)

“Next year?” Garret rolled his eyes. “I thought we weren't staying that long.”

“This will be good for you, son.” Andrew put his arm around Clare. “There is much to savor in the simplicity of life. It will do well for all of us to slow things down and to spend more time with one another. You and I will work the fields while your mother will be composing her novel.”

Clare chuckled. “Well, we'll see how that goes.”

Garret ran his hand through his black curls. “I don't understand. We get rich all of the sudden, and then you want to go live on a farm. In Ireland.”

“Not just any farm,” Clare said. “This is the Hanley Farm. The farm of your family for many generations.”

The wheels of the carriage jarred and then they bounced steadily.

Clare gripped Andrew's arm. “Oh, we must be on the road leading to the house. We have nearly arrived.” She began to cry, and Andrew pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her.

“Why are you crying, Ma? I thought you were supposed to be happy to be here.”

“She is crying,” Andrew said, “because she is remembering how in a carriage much like this, on a day when the skies pounded down with rain, the man who was to be her husband came house by house, seeking to find his princess.”

“And Uncle Davin and Aunt Cait were young, and they were with me.” Clare dabbed her eyes. “We were all terrified because we thought it was robbers when your father pounded on the door.”

“You know how many times I've heard this story?” Garret raised his eyes.

Andrew gave his son a playful look. “We're in Ireland, son. You better get used to hearing the same stories over and over.”

The carriage stopped and Clare let out a yelp and clapped her hands. “We're here. Oh my, Andrew, we're here.” She leaned across and gently shook her daughter. “Ella darling. We've arrived.”

“Are you sure we're in the right place?” Garret was glaring out the window.

“We gave good directions to the driver,” Clare said. “Why?”

“There are all these people out in the fields. It would seem . . . the whole village.”

“What?” Clare went to look, but the carriage man opened the door.

“Welcome to Hanley Farm,” he said, with a sweep of his arm.

Clare stepped out the door and then took the man's hand as he guided her down the step.

“What are you doing here?” The voice in front of her was forceful.

She looked up and Garret was right. This was Hanley Farm, but dozens of people were on the property, scrambling about, laboring with hoes, shovels, and wheelbarrows. Others were on ladders against the roof, while still more were walking inside and out the door of their shanty.

“You are two days early, and have all but ruined my surprise.” The man before her was wearing priest's clothes, and his face was quite familiar, although his head was as bald as an egg.

“Father Quinn?” Clare was overwhelmed with all of the activity before her.

“None other. And who are these young ones?” He glanced back to those working behind them. They had begun to put down their tools. “Keep at it, all of yous, until we get the job complete, and not a moment before.” He bent down to Clare's daughter and held out his hand, which she shook meekly. “And who is this little flower?”

“Ella.” She leaned up against Clare.

“Ella. Is that so? You must have been named after your grandmama. Actually, your great-grandmama. And a finer woman there's never been. And you, sir.” He held out a hand to Garret.

“This,” Clare said dramatically, “is Garret Connor Hanley.”

Father Quinn perked up. “Well, I'll be. And I don't suppose you know my full name is Father Quinn Connor. I must have been named after you, then.”

Andrew laughed. “Why the man who married us deserves some honor.”

“Shhhh!” Father Quinn put his finger to his lips and looked behind him. “Don't share a word of that around here. They'll string me up for marrying the two of you before having you properly converted.”

“What is all of this?” Clare started to recognize some of the faces, although it had been so long since she had seen so many of them.

“Come. Let's have you see it with your own eyes.” He cupped his hands to his mouth. “Tommy, Angus, come and fetch this luggage. Margaret, you'll need to get some ladies together and start the stew. It's time for the fatted calf. And tell your sons to bring their fiddles, and we shall have song and dance.” He clapped his hands. “Today is a day of celebration. Our dear Clare has come home and brought these treasures with her.” He put his arm around Ella, who had already warmed up to him.

Father Quinn pointed to the fields. “When I got your letter, I knew this land needed a good turning.” He gave a mock grimace at Andrew. “And we remembered what a fine farmer this fellow was the last time. So we gathered a few friends around the village, and your spring tubers are just about planted. The folks were more than pleased to help out the famous reporter for the
New York Daily
.”

“Oh, Father Quinn, they don't even know what the
New York Daily
is.” Clare tucked her arm under Andrew's.

“They don't, do they?” Father Quinn winked at Ella. “Well, you shall see about that. There, we re-thatched the roof and reset a few of the stones. The chimney had a few breaches, but we mudded that well. Now inside.”

Clare took a deep breath before she entered. The entire stone hovel was the same size as the living room in their New York home. She gave Garret a glare to keep him from saying anything that would embarrass them, but he seemed as captivated by Father Quinn's charisma as she always had.

When she entered, Clare covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my.” They had laid wooden boards along all of the walls and painted it a bright blue. The chimney looked as clean as the first day it was built and was already burning two logs of peat. She took in the smell as if it were perfume of a rose and with it poured in memories of her youth.

They somehow had managed to extend the loft so there were two beds and a new larger one against the wall.

“And here is the best part of it all.” He held his hand out to a desk against the wall. “This is where you'll write your novel, Clare. And if you need any stories for inspiration, we'll be sharing them around the fire tonight. Here is some paper, and we even got you your own quill and ink.”

Clare started to sob and Andrew pulled her in tightly.

Father Quinn lifted a black leather portfolio off of a small table leaning against the wall. He unwrapped the string around it and opened it up. Then he flipped through the pages. “Do you know what these would be?”

“Those . . . those are my stories.”

“Not all, but many. We had as many clippings mailed to us as they would. Most of us have taken our turns reading them.” He leaned forward. “And regarding a few of them, we'll have some serious questions for you later.”

“Clare? Clare?” A woman entered the door tapping her cane, her eyes clouded.

“Is that you, Fiona?” The woman had lost most of her weight since Clare had last seen her, and she obviously could no longer see, but the joy in her face remained. Clare embraced her.

“Child. You came home. You came home.”

She introduced her family to Fiona, who touched them each on their faces with the tips of her wrinkled fingers. After a few minutes, Father Quinn intervened.

“You all are mighty weary to be certain. I am going to chase all of these folks away so you can have your peace, and we'll meet a couple houses down for our welcoming feast. You take your time and get acquainted with your new home. I hope it suits well.”

Andrew grabbed his hand and shook it firmly. “How could we ever thank you properly?”

Father Quinn looked to Clare. “By bringing her home. You already did.” He looked at all of them. “We are truly, truly happy to have all of you back in Branlow.”

He turned to go but then paused at the door. “There is something I did want to ask, and you can be kind to the old priest by giving him an honest answer.”

Father Quinn narrowed his eyes. “We must . . . we must look backward to you, after all you've seen.”

Clare smiled. “You are right, my dear friend. We have seen large cities. And met with presidents and dignitaries, even kings. But I can tell you plainly. There is nothing backward about this place. In fact, you may be the only ones who have it all right.”

“Ah.” Father Quinn pondered this for a moment, nodded to them, and then turned and left.

When the door shut, they were alone, their luggage piled up and taking up a good portion of the room. Clare looked to Garret and expected to see the cynicism in his face. But instead there was something else. “Garret. What is it?”

“These people.” He looked to her and his eyes were glazed. “They are so kind. No one has ever treated us this well.”

“Welcome to Ireland, son.” Clare put her arm around him, and he didn't pull back. Instead he was her little boy again.

They pulled chairs around the fire, and Clare explained how the turf was dug out of the peat bogs, and what a tinker was, and how every Irishman fancied himself a singer and a dancer, and the difference between blarney and blather. They laughed and listened, even nearly forgetting about the feast being prepared in their honor.

And when they arrived, they were cheered and people wrestled for the opportunity to speak with the Yanks. When the fiddlers played, two of the local girls taught Garret how to step dance, and Ella befriended cousins she never knew she had.

Then, in the wee hours with their children asleep, Clare and Andrew spilled outside like restless thieves, laid a blanket on the dewy grass, and stared at the moon peering out of the low-lying fog, listening without words for a long time to the bellowing of the frogs.

Finally Clare spoke. “Andrew?”

“Yes, my love.”

“Seamus. Caitlin. Davin. Do you think I'll ever see them again?”

“I believe you will.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Ireland is in their hearts, and America is in ours. We will all meet again. I am quite certain of this.”

“I would like that very much. Very much.”

Then Clare curled up against Andrew, comforted by the idea she was close to the soil that had been tilled by so many of her forefathers, as if she was being held by the arms of the Emerald Isle.

And as she drifted, a sweet melody arose, and she recognized it as the hymn from her music box—a beautiful song, and one accompanied by the sound of Andrew's heartbeat.

Discussion Questions

1. What did you enjoy most about
Songs of the Shenandoah
? Which were your favorite characters? Why?

2. Was there a character in particular you most closely identified with throughout the story? How so?

3. What do you see as the central themes in the novel?

4. Which characters in the novel went through the most emotional, physical, and spiritual changes throughout the course of the story? How did they change?

5. When the Hanleys and Royces first reunited for Christmas at the beginning of the book, what were some of the struggles each were facing? Were those initial struggles resolved by the end of the novel? How so?

6. Seamus was disillusioned at the beginning of the book. What had caused him to be discouraged?

7. In what way did Pastor Asa help Seamus rediscover his ministry purpose?

8. What was your understanding of the “songs of the Shenandoah” as Pastor Asa described them?

9. Are there times in your life when you've felt out of touch with God? When it doesn't seem as if you can hear His voice clearly in your life? What does that feel like?

10. What are ways you have used to reconnect your relationship with God?

11. Of all of the characters in the novel, the life of Colonel Percy Barlow was the most tragic. What were his shortcomings?

12. John 8:47 reads: “Whoever belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God” (
niv
). What does that say about hearing God's voice in our lives?

13. Jeremiah 33:3 reads: “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know” (
niv
). What does this passage say about the role we play in hearing God?

14. How would you describe the marriages of Clare (Andrew) and Seamus (Ashlyn)? What made them persevere despite facing such difficult times?

15. Ecclesiastes 4:12 reads: “Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken” (
niv
). How would this verse apply to marriage?

16. What role does the Holy Spirit play in a marriage?

17. Have you read all three books of Heirs of Ireland series (
Flight of the Earls, In Golden Splendor,
and
Songs of the Shenandoah
)? How would you describe the separate themes of each novel? What about overall message for the series?

18. Have you ever wished to have a stronger relationship with God? To be able to hear His voice clearly? Have you ever asked for forgiveness through His Son Jesus Christ? Would you like to do so now? If so, follow along with this prayer (or something similar in your own words):

Father, I believe You are an awesome God and that You always have the best in mind for me. I want to hear Your voice clearly in my life. But I also know I have made mistakes that keep me separated from You. I have tried to find my way out of the despair and darkness through my own strength and know now that this path only leads to conflict and loneliness. I know that Your Son, Jesus Christ, sacrificed His life so we may all be saved and that He is the only true eternal path to forgiveness. It is only through surrendering my life to Him that I can be forgiven and spend the rest of my days with You. So I ask now to receive Jesus Christ in my life, not only for the purpose of forgiveness, but also so He will guide and lead my steps for all eternity. Amen.