With a sigh, Keelin reached for the phone. It was time to convince her professor that her thesis subject matter could be found on the Emerald Isle.
CHAPTER 5
The plane touched down with a little bounce that rattled the cabin. Keelin clenched her armrest and continued to say a "Hail Mary." She loved to travel but she very specifically hated when planes landed. Not the take-off and not the flight – but always the landing. As the smaller plane that she had taken from Dublin to Shannon taxied to a stop, Keelin exhaled a long breath before she gathered her purse and backpack. She thought about all that had transpired in the last few weeks. She was unsure if she was about to meet her destiny or if she was chasing a foolish superstition. It had taken some convincing on her part, but with enough research and the fact that her professor was half-Irish, her school had agreed to a summer in Ireland and a topic change of her thesis. She could only hope that the dark waters of the cove would provide enough information for her to write a thesis. Her mother had been more difficult to convince. While she had been initially supportive, when Keelin had made the decision to go, Margaret had lost it.
Keelin reviewed the difficult scene in her head. Margaret had stubbornly offered to pay for the rest of Keelin's graduate school as well as her rent for the next five years if she didn't go to Ireland. With a promise of twice-weekly phone calls and many emails, her mother had finally agreed to her decision. Keelin shuddered a bit as she thought about Margaret's tears. She had rarely seen her mother cry. Keelin thought that some of the emotion had to come from the passing of Margaret's mother. Although, Margaret hadn't flown out for the funeral or mentioned anything of the sort, Keelin realized. She wondered if much of Margaret's emotion came from her being scared of being alone in Boston, or of what secrets of Margaret's Keelin might find when she arrived in Ireland.
"Are you alright there?" A lilting voice startled Keelin from her thoughts. A young woman waited for her in the aisle. Tiny in stature, with dark curling hair and greenish-yellow eyes, she smiled kindly at Keelin.
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Keelin stood up and immediately felt like a giant. She towered over this slip of a girl. Keelin mentally kicked herself. At 5'9" and with generous hips, she knew that she was a larger girl, but she always had to work at not feeling like a giant when she was around tiny women.
"Not a problem. Looks like you were daydreaming a wee bit." The girl snagged a huge bag one-handed from the overhead bin and swung it over her shoulder. "American, I see. Here for a holiday?"
"No, I am going to Grace's Cove for the summer to write my thesis."
"No kidding. I thought you looked familiar. You must be an O'Brien. I can tell by the eyes." The girl stared into Keelin's distinct, brandy-toned eyes. "That would make us cousins of sorts. I’m Caitriona."
At Keelin's blank stare, she laughed. "That's Irish for Katherine. Call me Cait."
"Hi, Cait. I'm Keelin O'Brien. And how are we cousins? Do you live in Grace's Cove?" Keelin asked as they walked towards baggage claim together.
"Yes, ma'am, I certainly do. I own Gallagher's Pub. It's the best stop for a pint and live music in town. Or so I say." Cait laughed up at Keelin with her dancing eyes. "I know all the gossip in town. So if you have any questions about anything, stop in and see me. You should stop in anyway and get accustomed to village life. You'll do well to have a few friends on your side." With those enigmatic words, Cait strode away to pick up her bag.
"Wait. Why wouldn't I have friends?" Keelin hurried to keep up with her. Cait moved fast.
Cait stopped and turned. Shock was apparent on her face. "Why, because of your family reputation for being witches. Have you heard about your grandmother? A lovely lady, but I made sure never to cross her."
"Oh, stop. Do witches even exist? I heard that my grandma was a bit off and a good healer – but a witch? No."
"Hey, listen. Fiona half-raised me. I never saw anything that indicated she was a witch. That being said – her healing abilities are famous. Perhaps a touch of the fae. I simply stayed on her good side and I had no problems. Don't worry, most of the people in town are nice and youshouldn't run into too many problems. I've got to run. Come see me for a pint. I'm serious. I could use some girl time and would love to hear about America."
With that, Cait strolled off and hefted two huge duffle bags as if they were nothing.
"Witches. Lovely." Keelin blew off the Irish mysticism and collected her luggage. She had forgotten to ask Cait about where her grandmother was buried. She wondered if the village had turned out for the funeral or not.
Keelin pulled out a folded piece of paper with printed instructions and headed for the remote lot. Keelin prayed that she hadn't been taken for a ride and that the car that she had purchased prior to the trip was in its spot. As she approached what could loosely be called a truck, she groaned. This rust bucket looked as if it would fall apart the first time she shifted into third gear. A dull red, with paint peeling and rust creeping up the frame, the car looked like it would run on a wing and a prayer. Keelin felt under the front bumper for the key in the magnet box and climbed onto the front seat.
She stared at the empty dashboard and looked to her right at the steering wheel.
"Duh." Sliding across the front bench seat, Keelin hoped that nobody had noticed her mistake.
"Steering wheel on the right, drive on the left," she muttered to herself as she turned the key and prayed as the truck shuddered to life.
"There we go, girl. You got this. Come on, baby." Sweet-talking the truck, Keelin eased out into traffic and began the drive to Grace's Cove.
After several near mishaps, and cheerful waves to thecars she almost hit, Keelin felt like she was getting in the groove of driving on the left side of the road. Irish roads were notorious for their narrow passes, twisty curves, and precarious blind spots. The route to Grace's Cove boasted all of these. Keelin decided to go slow and soak it in. Well, her truck made the decision for her as anything over 45 miles per hour (Kilometers!she thought to herself) made the truck rattle dangerously. Keelin hoped that it would hold together long enough for her to make it to the village.
Several almost misses later, Keelin shuddered the truck over a large hill and gasped. The village spread out before her, quaintly perched at the base of the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. If she were to send a postcard of Ireland, it would bear this picture. Rolling green hills met harsher ridges and tapered down into the colorful cottages that clustered around the curved harbor. A sense of home rose within her and she smiled. This just looked like a place where everyone would be happy.
Looking forward to her first pot of tea and scones with real cream on the side, Keelin made her way to the parking spots that lined the harbor. She shut the car off and breathed a sigh of relief. The rust bucket had held up surprisingly well.
Smiling, Keelin hefted a backpack over her shoulder and looked around for a grocer. She had no idea what sort of supplies were left after her grandmother had passed and was reluctant to be stuck in the hills with no food and unreliable transportation. Keelin stopped and breathed deeply. There was something about the scent of ocean air that made her blood sing. She always knew when she was close to water. Keelin watched several fishermen pull theirboats in and unload the day's catch. They would go back out again before sunset. Tiny, colorful boats bobbed farther out on the water, and gulls swooped around the fishermen's boats. The sun was shining, a slight breeze tickled her neck, and Keelin fought to keep a smile off her face. This was going to be the best summer ever. Except for that witches thing Cait had mentioned. She'd have to look into that.
Keelin headed towards the middle of the village and looked for a grocer. Shops clustered together and hugged the narrow, curved road that wandered up a hill into the village. Keelin admired all of the vibrant colors used on the storefronts and wished that America didn't always make their shops so steely and gray. There was something that just worked with the mishmash of colors and building materials that made up these little shops. Keelin stopped to admire some lacework in a weaver's shop. Two women walked out and the older one stopped and gasped, staring right at her. She grabbed her companion's arm, pointed, and hustled across the street.
I wonder what that was all about? Keelin thought. The village certainly had a large amount of B&Bs; people shouldn't have reacted to a tourist like that. Keelin continued up the hill past a weathered old man. He stared at her eyes and spit at her – making the sign of the cross.
What was going on here? Her idyllic picture of a perfect summer vacation was beginning to unravel if this was the way that people in the village acted.
