The Parting Glass (19 page)

“I can’t understand why Our Lady came to a place like this one!” Beatrice put her hand on Megan’s, not so disillusioned that she wouldn’t accept her help.

Megan had expected to need assistance getting the old woman to her feet, and Niccolo, who’d obviously expected he would need to give it, stepped up to offer his arm. But Beatrice ignored it and sprang up with the grace and energy of a much younger woman.

She looked astonished at her own prowess. Her eyes widened. “Did you see that?”

Nobody knew exactly what she meant or how to respond.

“The pain’s gone.” For the first time since arriving at their doorstep, Beatrice smiled. “It’s gone. Hallelujah, it’s gone.”

Niccolo caught Megan’s eye. She signaled him to say something, anything. He turned to the old woman and took her hand. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Beatrice. But we’d better get you upstairs now while you’re feeling so well.”

“Don’t you see? I’m going to feel well from now on. I’ve been cured. My arthritis is gone.”

“It’s cool and moist and quiet here. It’s a change from the June heat. It’s easy to see why it might feel like a—”

“Miracle,” she said, jerking her hand from his. She slapped him on the arm. “It’s a miracle.”

Megan could see the future, and the vision was anything but joyful and filled with light. “This is not a miracle,” she said too sharply. “And please, don’t go telling people you’ve been cured here, or we’ll have to close the tunnel for good.”

“You would keep people away?” Beatrice was astonished. “You would keep people from being healed?”

Casey tried to intervene, but Beatrice ran right over her. “I’m going to tell everybody. You have no right to keep them away. If I have to, I’ll go to the Holy Father. I can get to the Vatican now, you know. I’ve been cured!”

“She thinks she’s been cured,” Megan told Peggy later on the telephone. The two sisters had scheduled weekly calls, and Thursday was their chosen time. It was night in Shanmullin, and with Irene and Kieran asleep, Peggy had the house to herself.

Peggy made herself comfortable. She suspected tonight might be a long catch-up call. “And you tried to talk her out of it?”

“Nick thinks she’s just lonely. The Albaugh Center has a thriving senior citizen program, and Casey’s going to get Beatrice involved in it. She and Nick are sure that will take care of the problem. Beatrice will forget all about the miracle and move on to bingo.”

Peggy laughed. “Like they equate.”

“She was limping by the time we got her back upstairs. But she still insisted she wasn’t in any pain.” Megan paused, and when she spoke again, her voice had changed. “I don’t know what it’s like to be old and alone. Maybe there was a miracle of sorts there. Casey’s going to help her find some new friends and something to do. That’s miracle enough for me.”

“You’re not such a tough cookie, are you?”

Megan ignored that. “Tell me about Kieran.”

“Well, it’s the oddest thing. He’s made a couple of major breakthroughs.” She waited, and Megan didn’t disappoint her. She heard the low whistle of congratulations.

“What?” Megan asked. “Tell all.”

Peggy wasn’t sure how to explain. The gains would seem so small to someone else, but to her they were powerful examples of the things Kieran might do if she continued working with him. “I—we’ve been trying to teach him to point to specific colors. On Monday he pointed to red when I asked him. When I put two blocks on the table, one red and one blue, and asked him, he pointed to the right one. Every time. And he sat beside me when I read to him and even turned a page when I asked.”

As she listened to Megan ooh and ah, she missed her sister more than she ever had. “And last, but definitely not least, he used a spoon today. First time, Megan. He’s not very good yet, but he sure has the right idea. And all this when he’s cutting a tooth and not feeling very good and not eating. In fact, he fed himself the little bit he’s eaten all day. I couldn’t get anything into him at all.”

“This is really great news,” Megan said. “I miss the little guy.”

Peggy was always touched when she heard that. Kieran couldn’t give back the affection he received. Someday, perhaps, but not now. The fact that he was so unconditionally loved by her family meant everything to her.

“How’s everything else?” Megan said. “How about the doctor?”

Peggy had needed to tell someone about her run-in with Finn. No surprise that Megan had been the first one she thought of. “He’s been polite. I’ve been polite. Bridie still comes after school most days and helps out with Kieran.”

“Sounds kind of uncomfortable.”

It
was
uncomfortable. Peggy was sorry she’d lost her temper with Finn, but she didn’t feel that she needed to apologize. He had been out of line. “I wouldn’t think twice about it, but he’s obviously in pain. And I never intended to make it worse.”

“I know you didn’t. But some people are offended by sympathy. They don’t want to know they aren’t hiding their feelings very well.”

As always, Megan made sense. Peggy hadn’t thought about Finn’s reaction from that angle. “I guess I stuck my foot in it, huh?”

“So did he. Don’t take all the blame. Leave him his share.”

“How’s Nick doing?” Peggy stared out at the moonlit landscape.

Megan was silent for so long that Peggy worried they had lost their connection. When she spoke, her voice was tense. “He had a dream last night that he was a priest again.”

“We all dream about our pasts. Don’t you? Sometimes I wake up and I’m surprised I’m not eight again, spending the night over the saloon with you and Casey.” When Megan didn’t respond, she added, “Megan, surely you don’t think he wishes he’d never left?”

“No.”

Peggy thought her sister didn’t sound as sure as the word would indicate. “He’s been absolutely clear about that from the first day you met him,” Peggy said. “And he didn’t leave the Church for you. He didn’t even know you.”

“It’s just that we’re starting our life together, but he’s dreaming about the life he left. It’s…”

“Disconcerting?”

“I have too much time on my hands.” Megan sounded more like herself. “And that’s not such a bad thing. Because guess what I found today?”

Peggy listened as her sister launched into the story of the second storeroom off the main tunnel corridor. Although her enthusiasm sounded a little forced, it was much more natural than the doubt that had crept into her voice earlier.

“It’s a treasure trove,” Megan finished. “Piles of old newspapers, liquor crates, records—probably outcasts from some precursor to our jukebox—ledgers. I’m guessing the newspapers were packing material in the days when liquor was brought in by way of the tunnel.”

“Every Donaghue’s middle name is ‘resourceful,’” Peggy said. “And what was a little thing like a constitutional amendment if it interfered with business?”

“I never had any doubt the saloon sold more than soft drinks during Prohibition, did you? But I’m amazed at how complex an operation this must have been. The ledgers are amazing. I haven’t had time to pore over them item by item, but let’s just say there are two completely different sets of figures, and in one of them, business was booming.”

“Aunt Deirdre might know something about that time. Have you asked her?”

“I called her and told what I’d found. She says the apartment upstairs was a speakeasy, an invitation-only lounge where real liquor was consumed. The bar downstairs was converted into a sedate little restaurant and soft drink parlor. Obviously somebody was looking the other way, huh? I wonder how much of the profit went into paying off the local cops?”

“And to think I lived right there in that little piece of Cleveland history.”

“I haven’t gotten to the good part yet.” Megan paused for effect. “I have some information on Liam Tierney.”

Peggy was standing now, closer to the window. Outside, something moved in the shadows. As she watched, Banjax skulked toward the house and deposited himself on the front doorstep. Peggy wondered how long it would take before the dog slept every night in front of the fire. “I hope whatever you found won’t upset Irene.”

“You’ve really grown fond of her, haven’t you?” Megan said.

“She’s wonderful. You’re going to love her.” Peggy meant it, but sadly, she wasn’t sure Irene would live long enough to meet her sisters. She wished Megan and Casey could come soon.

“I brought a stack of the papers home with me this afternoon. You’ll be amazed at how cheap food and clothing were in the 1920s.”

“What’s that got to do with Liam?”

“Not a darned thing. Just amazed me, that’s all. But I was leafing through the headlines, and I saw an article about a man who was grazed by a speeding car when he was crossing a street near Whiskey Island.”

Peggy could see how the Whiskey Island mention had caught her sister’s eye. The history of their family in Cleveland had begun there, along with that of so many other Irish immigrants. “Liam had something to do with this?”

“The car was being chased by the police after a routine check turned up crates of liquor in the trunk. Before the dry agent—that’s what they called them in those days—could arrest the driver, the driver attacked him with a tire iron, then took off with the liquor.”

“Tell me Liam wasn’t the attacker.” Peggy paused. “I’ll just bet he wasn’t the dry agent.”

Megan laughed. “Liam was the man who was injured when the car sped up a hill and into the city. Apparently he was just an innocent bystander.”

“I’ll be darned. And you just happened to find this?”

“It’s not as much of a coincidence as it sounds. I’m guessing the story ran for weeks, because they kept alluding to things they’d already reported. Slow news month, I guess. Judging from the article, they hadn’t caught the driver yet and didn’t expect to. Liam’s name was only mentioned once.”

“He wasn’t killed, was he?” Megan had said “injured,” not “dead.” Peggy dreaded telling Irene her father had been run over in a gangland getaway.

“Not from what I could tell. Unless he died of his injuries later. I skimmed through the other papers, but I didn’t have any more for that month or the next. Tomorrow I’m going over to the Historical Society to see if they have any newspapers from that era on microfilm. Maybe I can get more on the story.”

“You have time? You’re still a bride.”

“I have nothing but,” Megan said. “In addition to giving tunnel tours, Niccolo is so involved in the renovations and trying to get new grants for Brick that we just nod when we pass in the hall. I think I saw him more before I married him.”

Peggy knew she was supposed to laugh, but the joke fell flat. “If you miss him, you’d better tell him. This sounds like a fight brewing.”

“I’m okay.”

Peggy knew her sister. Megan was always “okay,” even when she wasn’t. “I wish you would come and visit. Can’t you tear Nick away for a quick trip once the renovations are finished?”

“By then I’ll have to get back to business. We’ll lose all our patrons if we don’t open the doors again as soon as we can.”

“They’d wait another week. They’re a loyal bunch. Think about it.”

As if she wanted to cut short this particular topic, Megan cleared her throat. “I don’t want to say goodbye, but this is costing a fortune.”

Peggy was sorry the link to home was about to be severed. “Give Casey my love. And Nick, and Jon, and Rooney and everybody else.”

“They’ll be calling.” The sisters exchanged goodbyes, and reluctantly, Peggy hung up.

Outside, the Irish landscape was peaceful and still. She wondered how Liam Tierney and his wife had felt as they left the tranquil cottage where she stood for the bustle of 1920s Cleveland. Then to be injured in a foreign country without family or friends? As always, she was amazed at the resilience and courage of family members she’d never known.

Kieran’s heritage was a hardy one. She was glad, because he would need every drop of Tierney courage and resilience he had been bequeathed.

1923

Castlebar, County Mayo

My dearest Patrick,

Your letters continue to arrive, and I pore over them as if they were holy writ. Your Irish remains as strong and pure as if you spoke it every day. Do you ever speak it now? Are there people in your parish who come to you, who whisper their confessions in the old tongue?

Our true culture has been steadily, heartlessly squeezed from us like whey from curds. We Irish are a race with so much potential and so little opportunity. Just yesterday the lad who delivers my bread told me that he will manage his father’s bakery when the old man passes on. Not surprising, of course, but sad nonetheless. He is a lad of many abilities. He borrows my books and reads them again and again. He understands them all, the poetry, the philosophy, the stories of great heroes and lovers. He is comfortable with ideas in a way he will never be with flour and yeast. Yet what choice does he have? How well he knows his good fortune in inheriting his father’s business. He will be able to feed himself and his family at a time when such a thing is never a certainty.

Oh for the day when Ireland will come into her own again, when the myriad strengths and talents of Irish men and yes, women, will be husbanded and nurtured. I had a dream myself, dear Patrick. I wanted to teach and travel, to roam the world as my ancient ancestresses must have. Hundreds of years ago Celtic women, whose blood still pulses proudly in my veins, were warriors, physicians, lawmakers. Oh, that even one of those choices had been mine to savor.

We Irish residents of this twentieth century pride ourselves on how far we have come. We are Christians now, and soon, God willing, we will be completely free of tyranny. Yet what did we lose along this journey? What have our Irish men and women lost in the passing sorrows of our centuries? How many poets and philosophers are baking bread and tilling barren land? How many have gone to America and found the death of their vast potential in your factories and mills?

I grow weary, dear brother. In your next letter home tell me of happy Irish families, of hope for our next generations, of the poets and philosophers who will rise up from centuries of darkness to reestablish a world that slipped away.