Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry (2 page)

Still agitated, Darcy turned to apologize to their new priest. "I'm very sorry, Father. My name is Darcy McBride. I was so startled a minute ago, I forgot my manners."

The priest was a man in his middle years with short, curly, brown hair and a close-cropped beard. He gave the appearance of someone who was confident but not impressed with himself. He did not at all resemble a sinister figure; in fact he had a playful twinkle in his eye. He said with a smile, "You mistook me for one of the devout Cistercians that once inhabited this abbey, but I am a mere mortal here to minister to your village."

"I hear an accent, Father," said Darcy, returning his smile.

"Yes, I was born in the American Colonies."

Liam jumped in. "There will be time for talk later. Darcy, take him back to the house immediately. I must help the others bring up the rest of the shipment."

Liam vanished into the darkness, leaving Darcy alone in the abbey with the priest. She looked around furtively and stepped into the moonlight with Father Etienne behind her.

They walked down the bluff quickly, neither saying a word. Darcy was uneasy with this dark, silent figure and tried not to look at him as he followed her down the hill.

She caught sight of the thatched roof of her cottage and quickened her pace. It was essential that they go undetected tonight. The owlers would choose the appropriate time to inform the village that a Catholic priest had come to minister to them.

Darcy ushered Father Etienne into her modest home and began to resurrect the peat fire. He watched her as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. The cottage was small but immaculately kept. On one side of the fireplace rose a short set of stone steps, probably leading to a loft. The chimney of the fireplace was painted red to break the monotony of the four white walls. A wicker basket holding peat bricks sat near the hearth, and recessed into one wall was a neatly made bed with a faded quilt. Father Etienne would learn later that a bed in Kilkerry was a rare commodity. On the dirt floor, near the bed, rested a worn out trunk and a little braided rug lay nearby.

Darcy pulled a chair over in front of the fire and offered Father Etienne a seat. The priest sat down and leaned forward to warm himself, as Darcy wiped her hands on her apron. "Would you like some tea, Father? You look very cold and you must be tired."

Father Etienne guessed that tea was dear in this part of
Ireland
, and being sensitive to their needs, he asked instead, "No tea, thank you, but would you have anything stronger?”

Darcy laughed and said, "Aye, Father, we have plenty of that!" She turned to a stone crock, drew some brandy into an earthenware mug and handed it to him.

“Surely you'll join me, Miss McBride? You too have had quite a night."

It seemed ungracious to refuse, so she poured herself a mug, raised it and said, "A toast to your courage, Father. Thank you for coming to help us!"

Father Etienne smiled as Darcy took a sip and sat down, resting back into the chair. She hadn't realized it until now, but she was tired. The brandy felt warm as it went down, and she felt the tensions of the day start to dissolve. Suddenly she realized that she had nothing to say to this stranger. She hadn't the vaguest idea what to say to a priest.
Should she discuss the Lord? Dare she ask questions about his life before he was a priest?

Sensing her uneasiness, Father Etienne started the conversation. "Is it just you and your brother living here, Miss McBride?"

"Aye, my brother is unmarried and so am I. Please, Father, call me Darcy. I am more comfortable with that."

Darcy was growing weary of the tension, and she believed it would be best if she was candid so she blurted, "Forgive me, Father Etienne, if I seem awkward. You are the first priest that I have met, and I don't know how to talk with one. Please tell me. Do we talk about The Blessed Virgin or Jesus or--”

Smiling gently at Darcy, the priest said, "Please, don't feel uncomfortable with me, Darcy. I am a person like you, and we may talk about anything we choose. The Almighty is everywhere. Thus when we speak of everyday matters, we speak of Him."

Darcy sighed and sat back, visibly relieved. Her religious training had been limited to memorizing only a few prayers, and she felt inadequate on the subject. She thought this priest seemed very kind indeed, not pious and stuffy as she had imagined, and she was delighted to see that when he smiled, he had dimples.

Father Etienne was flabbergasted. In a land so devout, it seemed impossible that there would be Catholics who had not met clergy, but his placement here had been impromptu, and he had little chance to study the plight of these people. This is only one young woman unschooled in the faith. He wondered how many sacraments must be given.
How many were in need of spiritual guidance?
Nevertheless he was unshaken. Seventeen years of preparation in
France
for his vocation gave him unswerving resolve. He had many challenging missions prior to this assignment, and compared to the tortures his Jesuit brothers endured converting the Indians in
New France
, this was nothing.

“When was the last time this village had benefit of clergy?" he inquired.

Darcy paused to think a moment, "Well, I was baptized by Father Fitzgerald shortly after I was born," said Darcy as she tried to count the years, "and when he died, we weren't allowed to replace him so it has been years since anyone has been to a Mass or given a confession."

"Have many given up their faith?"

Darcy shook her head. "Very few. They may deny us churches and clergy, but they will never break our spirits as Catholics. There was talk that in some parts of
Ireland
during the famine, they bribed Catholics with food in exchange for their faith. They chose starvation."

Father Etienne leaned forward, listening with great interest. He longed to ask Darcy about the famine but dismissed the idea. He sensed there was a whole side to this young woman which was closed and private. There were volumes of silent suffering that she had never shared.

Although she was clothed in a threadbare skirt and blouse, the dignity beneath the peasant dress was apparent. He saw a proud and graceful young woman with a strong sensuality, which stirred him. He quickly moved the conversation along to distract himself. Any trace of desire must be crushed.

Father Etienne moved to Darcy's mind where he could open as many doors as he pleased. "Darcy, what about you, do you have any education?"

"My father died when we were all quite young, so my mother, God rest her soul, only had time to teach us a few prayers. To be honest, we thought more about food in those days than our souls."

Father Etienne shook his head and set his empty mug on the table. "What I meant was has anyone ever tried to teach you or your brother to read?”

She looked astonished and said, "No, of course not, Father. The only person that can read in all of Kilkerry is Squire Scot, our landlord in Granager!"

Her eyes widened. "Can you read?"

He nodded his head, not telling her that he was fluent in French, Greek and Latin as well. He read the wistful longing on her face and asked, "Would you be interested in learning to read, Darcy?

"Oh, how wonderful that would be. Ever since I was a little girl, I've longed to read, to go beyond these-” Suddenly, Darcy realized Father Etienne was smiling. She jumped up abruptly and smoothed her apron, wishing her face had not turned crimson.

“No thank you, Father. No reading for me. I must keep house for my brother."

Father Etienne jumped to his feet and grabbed her hand. He eased Darcy back down into the chair. "I am not making sport of you. Thirst for knowledge is so pleasing that I laughed from delight. So many people think that reading is a waste of time. I am overjoyed when someone like you comes along. I understand your desire to learn, Darcy, I have it too, and it's wrong to deny it. You would be refusing God."

Darcy nodded her head, but the conversation was over. She showed Father Etienne the small bedroom upstairs. She placed clean linens on the bed for him and a quilt on the floor for Liam. After a hasty good night, she went downstairs to bank the fire. She cursed herself for revealing so much to this stranger. From the time she was a small child, she knew that she aspired to a different future than her young friends. They had dreams of family and a plot of land in Kilkerry, but Darcy longed for much more. She surrounded herself with a host of imaginary friends, dreaming of make-believe lands where she embarked on daring adventures. As an adult she would stand on the cliffs of Kerry looking out to sea, dreaming of what lay beyond the shores.

Most of the time, Darcy preferred to be alone with her thoughts and dreams, but sometimes her loneliness became unbearable, and she would risk sharing her thoughts with others. She was usually met with mockery. Darcy sensed that even her mother found her odd, so she drove her secrets deep, feeling ashamed, vowing never to tell anyone what was in her soul.

"So where is the priest, girl? Upstairs?" asked Liam as he came in the door.

Darcy blinked and nodded. "Is everything buried now?”

Liam nodded and sat down heavily, stretching his legs out. "Damn but I'm tired. Be a good girl and fetch me a brandy."

"Where will he go?" asked Darcy, as she poured her brother a drink, "What about when the soldiers are in residence? It will be dangerous."

Liam put his arms up and stretched. "Michael's already considered everything. He is the leader of the owlers, not you, Darcy. Mind your own business. He'll live in our caves by the sea and do his work after dark."

“Liam!" Darcy cried. "Those caves are too damp. Sure as I'm standing here, he'll get consumption."

"Those caves were good enough for us during The Hunger. They will be good enough for him," he barked. Liam rubbed his forehead wearily and added, trying to be patient, "We'll just have to see how it goes. I know that you're scared."

Darcy made no reply. She knew that arguing with Liam would do no good. He would only out-shout her, and he had been increasingly irritable lately.

"We will move him to the caves in the morning. O'Malley is circulating a story that an old man from Granager died and wants to be buried at the abbey, but the man lying in the shroud will be this priest. Wake him shortly before dawn, put a shroud on the donkey cart and sew him into it, then I will take him over the bluff to the caves on the other side."

"Why can't you wait until tomorrow night and move him under darkness?"

"We cannot wait a day."

Darcy wanted to say, "Why don't you move him tonight," but remembered men resented advice from a woman.

Liam climbed the stairs to bed, and then returned with a confused look on his face.

"Where did you tell him to sleep?" he asked.

"In your bed," Darcy replied.

"Well, he's on the floor," said Liam.

Darcy said, "That doesn't surprise me."

*
  
            
*
             
*

Father Etienne rose the next morning prior to dawn. The sound of the ocean awakened him, and although he was born near the sea, it had been many years since he had slept near its rhythmic beat. The room was dark, but he could see that Liam had left already from the rumpled quilt on the bed.

After morning prayers, Father Etienne lit a candle, poured water into a basin and washed up. He inspected his face in a mirror which hung over a wooden commode. Out of a small traveling bag, he took a pair of manicure scissors and began to trim his beard and mustache. His soft brown eyes moved quickly over his face, and although he was not given to vanity, he held personal neatness in high regard.