Chapter One
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal; love leaves a memory no one can steal.
—From a headstone in Ireland
Schull, August 2009
As Moira picked her way through the cemetery, no breeze came off the bay to explain the now-familiar, sudden chill despite the stifling heat of the day.
Waiting for Deirdre to catch up, she stopped at an area free of headstones, where the tall grass was matted down, perhaps from some animal – an acceptable spot to enjoy the picnic their younger sister, Nuala, had prepared for them. She unfurled the lightweight quilt she carried, sank down with a sigh, and gave an involuntary shudder. She glanced back at Deirdre, carrying the picnic basket. Their eyes locked as Deirdre’s eyebrows raised in the unspoken question: again?
“I saw that,” Deirdre said, as she plopped down next to her sister, her linen wrap culottes billowing out around her. “I thought you weren’t working today.”
“I’m not,” Moira returned. “I have no clients at the moment, but I definitely just felt something …”
“Why pick a cemetery for our picnic spot then, if you weren’t trying to reach someone?”
“I’m drawn to cemeteries. I’d rather come to this church ruin than one where I may run into a vicar. I love the peaceful atmosphere here—well, peaceful when I can’t feel them reaching out to me,” Moira said, as she took off her sun hat and fanned her face, loose curls falling from her messy bun and sticking to her neck.
“Have you seen anyone yet? Or just had the feeling?” Deirdre was always curious about the process Moira went through when communicating with …ghosts? The departed? Spectres? Spirits? She didn’t know what to call them, so she just avoided being specific. She practised yoga and meditation, hoping that through being still, shamanic drumming, her special Blue Lotus dreaming tea, or any number of other hoops she jumped through, she’d finally get to meet a departed ancestor, but it hadn’t happened yet. In some ways, she was a bit relieved. It just seemed to come so easily to Moira, who referred to these phantom visitors as the Others, as in Otherworldly.
At twenty-four and twenty-five, with only ten months between them, Moira, the middle child of three girls, and Deirdre the eldest, were Irish twins. They shared the same grey-green eyes and auburn hair, though Deirdre’s tended more to strawberry blonde. They were also close in friendship, developed over the years as they often sided together against their younger sister, Nuala, who came along five years after Moira and garnered special attention as the baby.
Now, to appear a bit older, Nuala wore her chestnut waves in a soft pageboy. She was forever vying for her sisters’ attention and dreamed of being a bigger part of their lives and pursuits. Her passion was cooking, which she indulged in regularly, helping out their mother, Dymphna Gallagher, at Sea Breeze Inn, the family business.
Deirdre remembered the day, ten years ago now, when she and Moira were teens walking home from school, and the conversation between them that transformed her from being a supportive and protective older sister, to a believer.
“Did you know Nana Brigid had two husbands?” Moira had said without preamble.
“What? No way. Where did you hear that?”
“Nana told me. She said Da reminded her of her first husband, who died young because of his smoking and drinking.”
Deirdre had stopped in the middle of the road. “Wait. What do you mean? Nana died a few years ago. When did she tell you? And why wasn’t I in on that conversation?”
“She told me recently during one of her visits. Like Julia. Though it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen Julia …” Moira had a faraway look in her eyes.
Deirdre’s tone brought her back. “You mean it’s real? You can actually see people who’ve died?” For Deirdre, believing that Moira believed in her visions had been enough. If they brought her comfort, what was the harm? But this, this was something else.
She had overheard a conversation once between her parents about Da’s more and more frequent visits to the pub. Ma had shouted, “You’re just like Thomas O’Riley! You’ll find yourself in an early grave and me a widow, like my ma, if you keep this up!” At the time, Deirdre was confused, as she knew Ma’s ma was married, not a widow. Deirdre had never told anyone of this eavesdropped conversation, but now it all made sense with Moira’s revelation.
“You believe me, don’t you?” The shy glance Moira had given her had touched her deeply.
Deirdre had taken her sister’s face in her hands, and looked into her eyes, searching for something there that would guide her next words. Then she’d smiled and said, “Of course I believe you.
And I think it’s amazing!”
Moira’s body had relaxed, and a broad smile lit up her face. Since then, they had not only been sisters and friends, but allies in this amazing adventure of receiving help and guidance from the world beyond.
~
“I received a letter from a young man in Tralee a few days ago,” Moira began as she unpacked the poached chicken with Nuala’s special red pepper mayonnaise, and the tabbouleh salad. “Just a minute—I have it here in my bag.”
She handed the letter to her sister, and Deirdre began to read aloud:
August 4, 2009
Dear Ms. Gallagher,
I heard about you from my friend, Liam Brady, whom you helped a while back. I was hoping you might help me as well.
I was adopted as an infant. I never knew who my birth parents were until I got a letter from my birth mother, Eveleen, when I turned eighteen. It seems my mother was quite the beauty as a young lass. She had attracted the attention of a local landowner, a rich and powerful man named John McGuire, and before she knew it, found herself betrothed at the age of sixteen. But Eveleen didn’t love him. She was in love with a young stable hand from the neighbouring village. They planned to elope, as her family was against that union and wouldn’t give the required permission.
When her parents discovered Eveleen was pregnant, they sent her away to her uncle and aunt on the Western coast until she gave birth. Her family convinced her the best thing for me was to give me up. I was raised by the only family I’ve known, the Kennedys of Tralee, who were friends of her uncle. To further prevent the union, my biological father was encouraged, or persuaded to take a job in America. My mother never heard from him again. Her parents were relieved when the landowner was still willing to marry her despite her condition. He must have seemed like a godsend to her parents. They were unaware of his darker side.
Mother had left a letter with her uncle and aunt, and they carried out her wish to pass it on to me when I turned eighteen. In that letter she told me about my biological father and the circumstances of my adoption. She stressed that I not attempt to contact her, insisting that it wasn’t safe. Then a month ago, I read in the newspaper that my birth mother and her husband were killed in an accident. Having never had children of their own, their estate is now being fought over by several distant relations.
A few days later, I received another letter from Eveleen, dated just before the accident. I will share her correspondence with you should you choose to take my case.
The Kennedys have also recently passed, and although I am still young (21 next month) I am optimistic about my future. Having this inheritance would be helpful, but for me it is more about righting the wrong that has been done to my family. McGuire and my grandparents prevented me from knowing my birth mother. She was afraid of him and her letters suggest that he may have harmed my father. I want it known what kind of a man John McGuire really was and that I am the son of Eveleen Hobhan and Jeremiah Quinn.
My mother’s letters are not signed with her name or address; nothing to verify our relationship. Because of her secrecy and fear for her life and mine, I am reluctant to go through more conventional channels to pursue my claim. I have no way of knowing what the dangers are that my mother alluded to, and with her, my grandparents and the Kennedys gone now, I didn’t know where I could turn for help. Then Liam explained how you were able to get information for him from your more unconventional sources.
Enclosed is the article about the McGuires’ deaths for your information. Sincerely
Seán Kennedy
(066) 9151988
Tralee, County Kerry, Eire
“Do you have the newspaper article with you as well?” Deirdre was already getting excited about a new adventure. She often partnered with her sister to help solve some of these intriguing cases. They’d even gone so far as to start a word-of-mouth business they called Gallagher Investigations.
Moira handed her a crumpled news clipping, or, as it turned out, a front-page headline:
MILLIONAIRE STUD FARM OWNER JOHN
MCGUIRE AND WIFE DIE IN CAR CRASH; POTENTIAL HEIRS GATHER
The article said that the McGuires were returning home from an evening event when their Mercedes skidded on the wet roads and hit a tree. McGuire was pronounced dead at the scene, but Mrs. Eveleen McGuire was rushed to hospital where she survived on life support for several hours before also succumbing from multiple internal injuries.
“So, are you taking the case?” Deirdre inquired after she’d skimmed the details and handed it back to her sister.
“I haven’t responded yet, but I think so ... I’m already feeling like a few people are wanting me to,” Moira said as she passed her sister a plate of the cold chicken and salad.
“Seán’s mother?”
“No, not her yet. Though I’m hoping she makes an appearance. But the name ‘Jeremiah’ keeps coming into my thoughts. Since I don’t know any other Jeremiahs, I’m thinking it’s Seán’s father.”
“Can I help in any way? Any research you need done?” Deirdre worked as a law clerk in Dublin while she studied for her Bachelor of Civil Law with Irish at University College Dublin. It was summer break, and she had come down to Schull to spend some time with her mother and Nuala. It had been hard on Dymphna for the past two years since the passing of her husband, Denis. Even with Nuala home to help her run things she occasionally slipped into a melancholy. It took the combined efforts of all three of her daughters to pull her out.
Moira was also enrolled at University College Dublin. She and Deirdre shared a flat not far from campus. With her interest in Irish history, Moira was studying Celtic Civilization. She’d found it helpful when dealing with some of her more ancient visitors. She turned from staring out at the bay and focused on her sister’s question.
“I don’t know enough yet. You could look into this accident for me, if you’d like. And find out about the heirs that are coming out of the woodwork. How strong is their claim? How close is their relationship to John McGuire? Are there wills? That sort of thing.”
“I’m on it. Well, as soon as we get back to Dublin, that is.”
The sisters were quiet for a while, each absorbed in their own thoughts; a companionable silence they were well used to by now. Then Deirdre turned to Moira and smiled, “This has sure been a great visit home, hasn’t it? How do you feel Ma is doing? She seemed cheerful this morning, don’t you think?”
“I do. You know she doesn’t quite understand what goes on when I see the Others. But she does respect me when I tell her I’ve had a ‘feeling’ about something. She thinks I’m quite spiritual, or something to that effect. Anyway, I told her I felt Da was happy. I said I’d had a dream about him in which he’d visited me. There’s no way she’d believe the truth, that himself was standing in my room not two weeks ago, and we were laughing together like old times. He was dressed in white and was very busy with various assignments, so couldn’t talk long. He told me to tell Ma that he missed her and looked forward to when they would be together again. He said she was not to worry or miss him too much, because
she had a lot of things left to do here first.”
“And what did she say to that?”
Moira smiled. “She said that was very comforting and she wished she could see Da in her dreams as well some time.”
“Well, that explains why I heard her singing this morning as she hung the bed sheets. She hasn’t done that in … years it seems like.”
“It was good to hear. I’d missed her singing … Hey, I need to stretch my legs. Want to walk along the cliff with me?” Moira invited.
“I’m pretty knackered after staying up late studying. I’ve got an exam on a summer reading assignment as soon as school starts. I’m going to stretch out here in the shade of this humongous monument to—’Hobart Murphy’—for a few minutes …”
Moira put on her sun hat. She hated her freckles and tried everything she could think of to minimise them. Her mother’s voice came into her head then, scolding her with the words, ‘a face without freckles is like a sky without stars!’ She smiled as she scrambled over the rock wall and headed across the field towards the cliff edge.
Chapter Two
Ní gá eagla a bheith ar an ghaoth má tá do chruach féar ceangailte.
‘There’s no need to fear the wind if your haystacks are tied down.’ —Irish proverb
As Moira walked along the cliff edge, she sensed it first: a dark foreboding that began as an inkling in her brain but soon spread to her chest and limbs. By the time she could no longer move one foot in front of the other, a dark shapeless cloud had enveloped her and brought her to her knees. She tried to cry out, “Whaat—?” but no sound emerged. She was about to black out when she focused on the thought of Nana—her angel grandmother—and pushed a plea into the ether, “Please, help me!”
At once the blackness lifted and she found herself on her back, staring up into the puffy white clouds of the warm August afternoon. As she slowly sat up, she felt a presence behind her and turned. There was a shimmer of light at first, then an outline as her grandmother came into focus.
“Mamó! What was that? In all the times I’ve been visited by Others, I’ve never felt anything like that.” Moira’s heart was thumping in her chest as she took in deep breaths to calm herself.
“You’ve never been involved in anything that has drawn the attention of Dark Ones before,” Brigid O’Brien explained.
“You mean Seán Kennedy’s letter? What is so sinister about it?”
“Dark spirits on this side of the veil were often men of evil desires and deeds while living. Just as I, and the Others with whom you have connected, have freedom to assist our loved ones we left behind, these entities roam freely as well, unless curtailed by …” Brigid hesitated a moment.
“By what? You must tell me! I never want to experience that again. How do I keep them away?”
“There are two options: You seem to have gotten yourself into something that has stirred up interest. You can let it go and back away from this case, or …”
“Mamó, you know me. I can’t walk away from something I know I was called to do—help others in ways no one else can. What is option two?”
“You’ve already done it: called for help. I am here, and your other angels are not a few. And what we can’t handle, there are heavenly hosts standing by to step in as well. Be careful, Moira, my dear. Not all your enemies will be from the Otherworld. There are dangers from several fronts you may be facing. I must go, but before I do—”
With arms raised high, she spoke with authority: “May the
gates and doors and paths be opened between our worlds, and may the gates and doors and paths be closed to all those who would
do us and our loved ones harm.” And then she was gone.
