Beyond the Cliffs of Kerry (4 page)

Father Etienne watched Darcy turn as white as the bleached shells underfoot and tried to divert her attention. “Is there something for me in that basket?" he asked gaily. "Something tells me, Darcy that you are a good cook," and he touched her on the elbow. Father Etienne's gesture steadied her, as she walked over to the table.

Darcy's reaction to the cave was entirely different from her brother's. Liam had shown no feeling whatsoever when he brought furniture into the cave, grumbling the entire time. He could see the hard times had left Liam a bitter, empty shell in contrast to his sister who was so alive and vibrant.

Father Etienne had little knowledge of the Irish famine of 1740, and although the Jesuits offered prayers at the time, they had no idea of the extant of the suffering. What finally brought
Ireland
to their attention was the suppression of the Catholic faith.

Fearing political ramifications, the British government took great care to hide the abuses from the Catholic nations of
Europe
, and most had no idea of the abuses. When Bishop Keen of
County
Mayo
sought asylum with their order, the Jesuits finally became aware of the misery and tribulation afflicting
Ireland
, and now Father Etienne had first-hand knowledge. He had no idea how crippling the repression had been for the Irish Catholic.

Feeling more grounded, Darcy took her gaily colored woolen tablecloth off the top of the basket and spread it over Father Etienne's table.

She had picked some blooms of the yellow gorse on her way and she arranged the flowers in a small brown crock. The priest was touched by her thoughtfulness, and he helped Darcy remove the food from the basket.

A seagull landed on the ledge of the cave and looked in cocking his head at the two of them. This gave Father Etienne the idea to move the table out into the sunshine and fresh air. He believed Darcy would be more comfortable in the open. They dragged the cask and two chairs onto the ledge and sat down to dine by the sea.

The view was breathtaking. In the past, Darcy had been too young and hungry to appreciate the view. The panorama was spectacular. The ledge hung over the coastline where the tide crashed onto the rocks, and the wide blue sky opened up above their heads. They could look down the broad expanse of coastline and admire the cliffs of Kerry rising up majestically.

"Oh, but this is beautiful," marveled Father Etienne, as he gazed out at the vast ocean with the gulls circling. “You have no idea how comforting it is for me to hear the sea again. It reminds me of home."

"You said last night that you were born in the American Colonies. Do you still have family there?" asked Darcy, as she took a bite of soda bread. Her stomach had settled enough for her to eat.

"Yes, my mother and brother are over there. You would find life to be quite different in the
New World
, Darcy. The wilderness is so vast and boundless. Many have lost their way, never to return."

He shook his head and looked across the ocean as if he were trying to see home, "No European knows how deep or how wide it expands, and few venture to the interior. My brother is one of the few white people who dare to explore its mysteries. For all of its perils, it's a wildly beautiful land and surviving every day there is a privilege."

Darcy's attention was riveted to Father Etienne. This was the kind of story that spoke to her, and until today, her knowledge of the world had been bounded by the Atlantic coast and the mountains of Kerry. Father Etienne's speech confirmed her suspicions that the world was full of wondrous sights and grand adventures. She was enthralled, but she would not shower him with questions right now. Instead she asked politely, "How many years has it been since you've been home?"

Father Etienne wiped his mouth and sat back to contemplate. "Well, I suppose it's been nearly twenty-two or twenty-three years." He stared past Darcy in disbelief, gazing out at the sea, "I miss it. Yet my travels and work distract me from homesickness. I had no idea
Ireland
was so beautiful, yet I can tell living is hard here, so little food, so little freedom. You are a very strong young woman to endure these hardships, Darcy."

A light breeze loosened a few strands of her dark hair, and they danced lightly across her pale skin. When she looked up at the priest her eyes were laughing, and they shimmered a brilliant green as she said, "I don't know any other way to live, but the Irish way.”

"Excuse me if I seem bold," Father Etienne said suddenly, "but why is such a lovely young woman unspoken for?

“But I am spoken for,” she replied. “A lad from the village named Bran Moynahan is my betrothed. He was transported to your homeland eight years ago. I look for him every day. His bondage time is up.

"Why was he transported? Was he in some sort of trouble?"

"Aye," replied Darcy, nodding her head. "My Bran was always in some sort of trouble, but the last time when the soldiers picked him up for drinking too much, he caused a ruckus. Bran is a large lad and almost killed one of the king's soldiers. He was sent away to be sold as an indentured servant. I've not seen him since."

Father Etienne could see Darcy had her doubts that her young man would return, and he said gently, "I do hope he comes home to you soon."

Darcy turned her head and looked into the cave. "Do you know we used to live here when I was a young girl, Father?”

"Liam mentioned it."

"Out here on the ledge in the fresh air with food in my belly, it doesn't seem real. You won't hear many of us talk about it. We prefer to forget The Hunger, but it lives with us every day in our misshapen bodies and minds."

"I will not ask you to talk about it, Darcy. I realize that it is far too private and painful.”

"No, Father, if you are to help us, you must know about it and the scars it left behind."

A visible change swept over her. Her face clouded, and her eyes lost their luster. She took a breath and closed her eyes. "If you were lucky, the fever killed you," she said slowly, as she opened her eyes again. "It claimed the lives of my sisters right away. Disease was quick and kind. Eventually there was no food, and our bodies started to feed on themselves. I'll never forget the look on my mother's face, as she watched her babies wither away and die. She was torn between surviving for her remaining children or giving up her meager portion of the food to feed them.
 
Eventually, she chose starvation. My mother's story is the story of all Irish mothers, Father Etienne. You'll see few women her age alive in Kilkerry today."

Father Etienne sat motionless, his brown eyes resting on Darcy.

"I've never been able to figure out why Liam and I survived. One by one my remaining brothers and sisters went beyond. They could fight no longer." Darcy stopped and swallowed hard. She turned and gazed out across the ocean, her hair blowing away from her face. "My most vivid memory is that it was so quiet. No one had the strength to speak and sometimes, even today, when I smell a peat fire I remember the stench of the corpses as they burned by night. It was hard to find Jesus in
Ireland
in those days"

As Darcy spoke, it became clear to Father Etienne what his mission was here in
Ireland
. These people needed hope, and more than anything, faith. They had lost everything, even their God.

"Eventually the soldiers turned us out," Darcy continued. "Oh, not just Liam and me. Everyone was evicted for not paying rent. Many dug holes and lived in them with their families, but Liam, Bran and I were lucky. We knew of this cave."

"Could you fish these waters?”

"No, you cannot. It is far too dangerous, but the tide would recede and leave us mussels, snails and lots of kelp, so the three of us survived. My story has a happy ending, Father Etienne. Most do not."

"Thank you for telling me, Darcy. I feel honored to be living in your sanctuary."

She smiled, and he saw her sparkle return, "It is your sanctuary now, Father."

Chapter 3

Kilkerry awoke to a more typical landscape of drizzle and darkness. The clouds dangled in long fingers over the mountains and jagged coastline. Kerry had few trees, and sky was vast. Clouds seemed closer, storms stronger, and even the stars seemed more numerous.

The villagers continued their chores in the rain, but there was gladness in their hearts. They would receive the Eucharist from the hands of a Catholic priest once more, and they were grateful to God for sending a man of the cloth to minister to them at long last. The villagers were nervous and privately rehearsed their introductions and greetings to Father Etienne. Not everyone in Kilkerry was told of the priest's arrival. King George offered substantial reward money for information about clergy smuggled into the country, and the owlers used discretion spreading the news.

After much discussion, Mass was set for one hour after sundown. Not everyone was allowed to attend the first night. A large crowd would attract attention, and the villagers must set out at different times to avoid detection. They would be armed with credible excuses in case they encountered an informant, and they had instructions to dress in everyday clothing.

Some thrilled at the sense of danger; others were more anxious. In other settings, a secret of this magnitude would be hard to keep, but the bond among the residents of Kilkerry was impenetrable. The villagers were united forever by mutual miseries, past and present, and that was why the owlers were confident that Father Etienne could do his work here unmolested.

Dusk was hard to identify on such a dreary day, but as the sky darkened, one could spy an occasional wayfarer step out into the elements, pull up a shawl or collar and head up the hill. A mother with several children, an old woman, and three young lads--there was no typical parishioner attending this
Mass.
They brought with them a zeal and devotion known only to those who have been deprived of the right to worship freely, and they made their way joyfully over the bluff to the caves beyond the abbey where the sacrament would be held.

The rugged cliffs sloped down gradually after Father Etienne's cave, offering access to a huge cave which had been inhabited by the O'Hearn family during the famine. It had a tall ceiling of gothic proportions and was perfectly suited for holding a large number of people.

Father Etienne stood outside his make-shift chapel and greeted villagers, as they entered for
Mass.
Some hugged him, others cried, but most, especially the young, stood back in awe. He was particularly sensitive to those who feared him, and he took great pains to put everyone at their ease.

Inside the chamber an alter table had been brought in with several candles illuminating the area where Father Etienne would say Mass. One of the men helped him dig a hole in the sand floor of the cave for the tall tabernacle candle.

It was a brilliant crimson illumination next to the altar, and several torches had been placed around the chamber. Miraculously everything that was needed for Mass was produced. When the village church had been destroyed many years ago, many of the sacramentals had been saved by the villagers, and placed in hiding, waiting this very day.

Father Etienne installed two youngsters as altar boys, and their proud parents, more nervous than their offspring, fussed and straightened the boys' clothes over and over.

Darcy arrived at the last minute. She slipped into the cave and stood off to one side, ready to witness her first
Mass.
She had never been in an enclosed area with so many people at one time, and she found it stifling. The high ceiling of the cave shot echoes around the chamber, and every cough or cry of a child seemed magnified a hundred times. The heavy, sweet smell of incense, mixed with the unwashed bodies of the parishioners, turned her stomach.

Once Mass began, she caught glimpses of Father Etienne gliding around the altar, genuflecting and saying words she could not understand. Her mother told her once that Mass was said in another language, but she had long since forgotten its name.