The Faerie Cross

He kissed the flowers and laid them on his mother’s grave.  They were her favorite, pansies.  He remembered that she had always claimed they loved the temperateness of the Irish weather as much as she did.  She had kept them planted in beds around the house and even in winter they bloomed.  With a smile at the memory, he turned.  He’d thought he was alone but a woman stood about twenty feet away just inside the entrance to this small cemetery that adjoined St. Joseph’s church.  As he moved toward her his breath caught in his throat.  She was beautiful.  She had long red-blonde hair that glinted in the sunlight, cream-colored skin and freckles to match.  As he reached her, he realized she was tiny, barely over five feet and with delicate features.  He couldn’t see her eyes as she was intently studying a headstone and had not heard him as he approached but he knew they would be as amazing as the rest of her.
         “Searching for someone are you?”
Startled she glanced up into the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. The beauty didn’t stop there, though.  His eyes were framed by a face that was ruggedly handsome with prominent cheekbones, a nose that hinted of aristocracy and a chin with just a hint of a cleft in it.  His full raven-black hair skimmed his collar as though he’d missed his last haircut or two.  His eyes seemed to stare into her as he waited for her to answer.
         Unnerved by his gaze, she said “I don’t know,” looking down and away.
Intrigued by her shyness and the depth of her dark green eyes, he asked, “Do you have family buried here?”
         “I don’t know.”  She looked up again at those sky-blue eyes but only for a moment.  “I’ve never been here before.”  She paused, and he realized she was deciding whether she should tell him more.
         A moment later, she looked back up at him as though to gauge his reaction, “This may sound strange, but when I stepped inside the cemetery I felt that there was something for me here.  Maybe I do have family buried here, and I’ll know it when I find the headstone.  Does that seem too strange?”
         He smiled, “In Ireland such things are not strange.  They just are.”  He paused, “You’re American then?”
         “Yes,” she relaxed enough to smile at that.  It didn’t go all the way to her eyes though and he wondered why she was so tense.
         In an attempt to put her at ease he said, “My mother’s buried over there.”  He gestured in the direction he had come.
         “I’m sorry,” she said and meant it.
           This time his smile was a little sad.  “It’s all right.  She died when I was but eighteen.”
         “Do you visit her often?”
         “Oh aye, but today’s a special day. ‘Twas her birthday.”
          She looked out over the gravestones as she admitted, “I never knew my mother, my real one anyway.”
         Because her gaze was elsewhere she didn’t see the way his softened at her admission as he fought the urge to touch her, just to lay a hand on her arm in comfort for fear she would run away.
         She sighed and glanced back at him, “I don’t feel it anymore.  The connection.  Perhaps I never really felt anything.  It does seem foolish, after all.”
         She tried to smile and just managed it, “It was nice to meet you,” she said and began to walk away.
         He hurried after her, easily matching his long-legged stride to her short one.  “Would you like to join me for a cuppa?”
         She stopped walking and looked at him with suspicion.  “Why?”  She asked.
         “Because you intrigue me.”  He told her.
         She looked shocked now, and as she opened her mouth to ask, what he was sure would be “why” again, he continued, “it’s chilly out so we could both use some refreshment to warm us, and we could get to know one another a bit more.  The pub is but a pace down the road.  Won’t you join me?” He asked with a smile that seemed sincere, but she had no intention of giving in to it.
         As she tried to come up with an argument that didn’t come off as rude, he grabbed for her hand to lead her to the pub.  When his large palm closed around hers she felt a jolt of warmth that spread up her arm and through her body.  Surprised she looked up at him to see if he had had the same reaction.  He was staring down at her in a way that told her he definitely had.  His stare was so intense she couldn’t look away.  He was going to kiss her, she realized.  As soon as she did, she stepped back and shook off his hand. 
         He cursed himself for scaring her, doubly so as she announced abruptly, “I’m sorry.  I have to go,” and practically ran in the opposite direction. 
Feck it!  He hadn’t even gotten her name.  Well, Clifden was a small town, he would find her.  Someone would know where the pretty American woman was staying, that’s for sure.  This town wasn’t so used to tourists that they flowed in and out without recognition, especially now in the off season when the days grew shorter and the winds off the Atlantic turned the air cooler as fall edged into winter.

***

         Safely back in her hotel room, Evie turned on the television determined not to think about the handsome man from the cemetery.  Five minutes into a droll Irish soap opera and her thoughts were of him, thanks to the actor that just burst into someone’s hospital room.  Sheesh, were all Irish men tall, dark and handsome, she wondered.  The man in the cemetery certainly had been.  The cemetery.  She wasn’t sure why she’d felt compelled to go there nor why, once she’d stepped through its gate, she’d thought she’d find something that would lead to her mother.  She was surprised that she’d told the man the truth about that, about the reason that had made her get on a plane and fly almost 3500 miles across the Atlantic.  She had come to find out who she was.  Two months ago on the death of her grandmother her life had been irrevocably changed.  As the only known surviving relative, she’d inherited her grandmother’s house, the house she'd grown up in.  After the death of her mother, or rather, after the death of the woman she’d thought was her mother, she'd moved into the aged Victorian home with her grandmother at the tender age of six.  The house held so many memories but they were tainted now by the knowledge her grandmother's death had brought.  For, along with the house she'd inherited a letter, written in her grandmother’s spidery script on paper that was yellowed with age. 
         Evie had gone to the lawyer’s office for the reading of the will and had not been surprised upon his handing her keys to the house.  The letter, however, was another matter.  He’d told her that her grandmother had given it to him twenty years ago to be held with the will and to be given to her on the event of its apprisal.  She’d asked him what it said, but he’d admitted to never having read it.  He’d said that her grandmother had simply told him to keep it safe for Evie.  Because of this he’d assumed that the information it contained was personal and so hadn’t opened it.  She’d been mystified but managed to thank the man, having decided to wait and read the letter after she arrived home. 
What a shock she had received upon sitting down to do just that.  Opening that letter had been like looking in the mirror and not recognizing the woman reflected in the glass.  She didn’t know who she was.  Her life had been a lie.  Twenty-six years she had spent believing she was Evelyn Greshum only to find out that she had no name.  In the letter her grandmother told her what her mother, Sarah, had relayed as she lay dying of cancer twenty years before. 
Sarah had explained that as she was catching the train from South Station a young woman with bright red hair approached her and asked her to hold her baby for a moment while she went to check on her luggage.  Sarah had thought it a strange request but the woman hadn’t given her a chance to respond.  She’d quickly thrust the baby at Sarah, who, reacting, had automatically held out her arms.  After ten minutes had passed without the return of the young mother, Sarah had started to worry.  After thirty minutes she had become frantic.  She’d gotten up with the child in her arms and scoured the cars for any sign of the woman’s bright red hair.  Sarah hadn’t found her after another half an hour of searching and her stop was next.  Not knowing what else she could do, she’d gotten off the train with the child and headed for her apartment.  She hadn’t gone to the police afraid of how strange the truth would sound and of whether she’d be believed or blamed.  Instead, she’d kept the child, hoping that the mother would soon arrive and claim the baby.  But years had passed and no one ever came.  She’d raised the little girl, loving her as her own, even naming her after her own mother.  Sarah had had no idea who the woman on the train was or why she’d given up her child to a stranger. Finally, she had unburdened herself to her mother.  The only piece of information Sarah ever had on the child was a small newspaper clipping from the Connacht Tribune that had been wrapped up in the baby’s blanket. 
The clipping was even more worn than the paper of the letter and Evie remembered handling it very carefully afraid that that small link to her past might crumble and leave her lost forever.  It was about the 1982 grand opening of Kelly’s Bakery and Café in Clifden, County Galway, Ireland.  It had led Evie to Clifden and to her current state of confusion.  This and a name which had been underlined in the clipping, Tomas Ryan, were all she had to go on.   

***
         Berke couldn’t believe it.  No one had any idea who he was talking about.  It was beyond him how they could have missed someone so beautiful.  With this thought he realized the American woman must not have been here long at all.  In fact it was likely she had just arrived today, and he had been the first to see her on meeting her in the cemetery.  He found it interesting that she had not yet gone to the pub, the souvenir shop, or even the grocery but had visited the cemetery instead.  Why was she here, he wondered.  Was it just a pleasure trip or something more?  She had struck him as someone in pain and all his protective instincts screamed for him to help her.  If only he knew what had caused her to be so tense and afraid.  He couldn’t keep from thinking about the way she’d looked up at him when he’d taken her hand, as though she’d felt the warmth of the contact with more than just her palm.  He felt connected to her and knew he had to find her. 
Brooding into his pint over how to go about this, he was oblivious to the noise of the pub and so he didn’t immediately notice when the din had quieted.  Glancing up, however, he saw her reflected in the mirror over the bar, and suddenly he realized that everyone had stopped talking as she came into the pub.  He watched her through the glass, noticing that every male in the room from five to eighty-five was staring at her.  She glanced around before heading for the bar and a stool a couple of seats down from where he sat.  The noise started again and it was even louder than before with excited whispers as to who the beautiful newcomer could be.  She, however, didn’t seem to notice.  He watched her as she ordered a glass of Guinness, her movements absent as though she had a lot on her mind.  She hadn’t yet noticed him, and he was on the verge of getting up and going to sit beside her when she looked over and recognized him.  Annoyance flashed in her eyes and she looked away.  This was all the incentive he needed.  Refusing to be ignored, Berke took the stool beside her and angled his body to hers. 
         “Hello again,” he said.
         “Hi,” was all she gave in response.
         He was far from discouraged.  “So, you like Guinness,” he asked as the glass was set before her.
         “I don’t know.  I’ve never had it.” 
         He laughed at that.  “Well you can’t get it better than from O’Leary.”  He told her.  “His is the best Guinness in Connemara.”
         She lifted her glass and took a sip.  She made a surprised sound and took a larger sip.  “This is really good.  I didn’t think I was going to like it, but I do.”  She turned to him with a bright smile and he lost his breath.  That was the first real smile he’d seen her make, and it lit her whole face up, especially those dark green eyes.  They actually twinkled making her look impossibly beautiful.
         He just managed to regain his senses and respond.  “Grand.  Glad you like it.”
         “Me too.”  She turned her attention back to her glass.
         Desperate to know more about her he offered his hand, “I’m Berke Reilly by the way.”
         She turned her head to look at him as he spoke, but she ignored his hand, “I’m Evie.”
         “Nice to officially meet you Evie.”  He said.
         “Uhuh.”  She agreed, but there was pain in her eyes again making him wonder what put it there.  He was determined to find out.
         “So, no last name?”  He ventured.
         She didn’t look at him this time when she answered, “No.”
         Before he could ask her why not, she blurted, “Do you know a man named Tomas Ryan?”
         Surprised by the sudden change of subject and her urgent delivery he stared.  She was gazing up at him with a mixture of hope and desperation in her eyes, so that he was glad that he could answer yes.  “Sure, he owns about half of Market St. and lives in a house up on Sky Road.”
         She lit up at this, asking animatedly, “Where’s the house?  How do I get there?  How far is it?”
         Berke laughed and told her he wasn’t sure of the exact address but that she’d find it in the listings surely and that it was only about eight kilometers or so from the heart of town.  All she had to do was go past the grocery and head up the Sky Road.
         “Why are you looking for Tom?”  He wanted to know.
         Evie had known she’d have to answer this question once she’d asked about the man so she was prepared.  “I’m hoping he can tell me about my mother.”
         He looked like he was waiting for her to say more and when she didn’t he asked, “Would ye like to talk about it?”
         She gazed at him for several long moments, and he watched as she debated whether or not to tell him.  Finally she gave a little shake of her head and downed the rest of her Guinness.
         “How ‘bout another?”  He asked her then.
         She hesitated but he was already asking the man, O’Leary, for another.  Except this time once the drink had settled it was a pint that was set before her not a glass.
         “Are you trying to get me drunk Mr. Reilly?” 
         He laughed and told her “No, just relaxed.”
         She gave him a stern look but decided to drink the pint anyway.  She knew she was tense and nervous and hoped the Guinness would be the relief she needed.
         “So what brings you to Ireland?”  He asked after a few minutes of companionable silence.
         “I don’t know who I am.”  She blurted.  She couldn’t believe she’d just told him that.  Perhaps the Guinness was helping her to relax a little too much.  She looked at him in suspense of what his response to that would be.
         He looked at her thoughtfully as he asked, “How come?”
         She sighed, “It’s a long story.”
         “I’m not in any hurry, and I love a good story.”  He said encouragingly.
         She sighed again but in resignation for she knew she was going to spill.  She glanced at him as she began, “About two months ago my grandmother died.”
         “I’m sorry,” he said and looked like he meant it.
         “Thanks, she was . . . , it was hard.  She raised me from the time I was six.”  She struggled to say and continued, “along with her will was a letter.  In it she told me that my mother had told her twenty years ago that she wasn’t my real mother.  That I had been given to her one day on the train by some woman she didn’t know.  The woman had asked her to hold her baby for a moment and then never returned.  I don’t know if that woman was my real mother or someone else, but I do know that I grew up living a lie.  I don’t know what my name really is or who my parents are.  All I have to go on is a newspaper clipping that led me to Clifden and Tomas Ryan.  Even finding him I have no idea what to ask him.”  She paused and looked away from him, “How can I ask him if he knew my mother when I don’t even know her name?”  She pleaded very softly.
         He wanted to touch her to comfort her but was afraid she’d run away again.  Instead he told her, “I’m sorry.  I can’t imagine what it must be like to suddenly have all that you knew contradicted.”  The pain was back in her eyes at this, but he continued, “Let me help you.  Surely we can find out more together than you can on your own.”
         “Why?”  She demanded, her eyes gazing at him, again, with suspicion.
         Undaunted he explained, “I’m a local.  I know the town, the people.  I can help you find the answers you need.”
         She knew he was right, and she was actually grateful for his offer of help.  Yet she couldn’t help feeling surly.  Maybe it was jetlag she reasoned, ignoring the part of her that was whispering it was because she was afraid of him of what he made her feel.
         “Thanks,” she said grudgingly.
         Berke was not at all discouraged by her less than enthusiastic response.  “Great, why don’t I walk you to your hotel and we can meet for breakfast in the morning and get started.”
         “Okay,” she told him, more tired than she’d realized.  The Guinness had succeeded in relaxing her, but she was so relaxed she was having trouble keeping her eyelids open.  “I’m staying at the Station House Hotel.”
         He left a few euros on the bar and helped her to her feet.  They walked the few hundred meters to the hotel in silence, he realizing she was dead on her feet.
         Once they’d reached the hotel she turned to him, “Thank you.  Why don’t we meet at Kelly’s bakery at 9am and go from there?”
         “Okay,” he agreed.  Smiling he bent down and kissed her, just a light brush of his lips against hers.  “Goodnight Evie,” he said and walked away.
         She lifted a hand to her lips and stared after him.  He’d barely touched her and yet her lips were burning.  Confused she dropped her hand and headed for her room and the peaceful oblivion of sleep.
***