Chapter Ten

Peering out the car window at Killybog’s colorful buildings, I drummed my fingers against the crinkly plastic wrap containing the gingerbread house. We were getting closer to Sadie Collentine’s and to uncovering Grandma’s past.

Declan stifled a yawn, attempting to shake the sleep from his head. As we drove past Molloy’s, he glanced over at me with bloodshot eyes. “Sorry about drinking so much at the pub. But driving is another first for ya.”

“It also could have been my first accident.”

“Speaking of accidents, me driving the tractor into the creek was Peter’s fault. We were at his uncle’s. I had no idea there was a creek. At least it wasn’t a Deere.”

I smiled despite Declan avoiding the topic of getting drunk because of Liam.

Sadie’s yellow ivy-covered bungalow sat just outside of town. Puffs of smoke rose from a stone chimney, filling the air with the earthy scent of peat. The house’s green wooden door swung open and out stepped a petite elderly lady and man. She wore a dark-green wool coat, and a fancy black hat with feathers sat atop her tightly curled gray hair. A dark suit swallowed the man’s thin frame. They looked like they were off to church. Had we miscommunicated on our meet time? I should have called and reconfirmed our visit.

We returned their enthusiastic waves. Declan took the platter of cookies his mom had made, while I carried the gingerbread house and the wrapped photo and letters.

Sadie’s blue eyes sparkled, and she wore a welcoming smile. “It’s grand to finally meet ya.” She gestured to the gingerbread house. “Oh my, that’s simply lovely.”

“Lovely.” The man nodded in agreement, straightening his red bow tie.

“And so is that.” She gestured to the Coffey pin on my purse strap. I wore the pin with the hope that random Coffeys might approach me and inquire about my family history.

We stepped into the foyer, which was filled with the aroma of pumpkin spice. We set the cookies and presents next to a stack of holly wreaths on a credenza.

Sadie folded me into a warm embrace, her hat’s feathers tickling my nose. She placed a hand on the gentleman’s arm next to her. “This is me cousin Seamus. Your grandmum’s sister Ellen’s son.”

Mom’s middle name was Ellen. She hadn’t known she was named after her aunt until I found the family in the 1911 census. Sadie and Seamus were Mom’s first cousins, yet at least twenty years older than her. Grandma had been in her early forties when she’d had Mom, now fifty-eight.

The man smiled wide. “Seamus. Like the famous sheep.”

His only sheeplike feature was the white tufts of hair on the sides of his otherwise bald head. Thick black-framed glasses weighed heavy on his hollow cheeks.

Sadie smiled at Declan. “I don’t think you can be Rachel, now can ya, lad?”

I explained the reason for Rachel’s absence.

“Oh my, that’s too bad. Hope your father’s on the mend.”

Seamus shook his head. “Too bad.”

“I know you just arrived, but we were thinking if it’s all right, it might be best to go straight out before you get your coats off. Seamus just had cataract surgery, so his sight isn’t the best, and I’m not driving right now due to…a wee incident.” The two of them exchanged nervous glances. “’Twasn’t me fault.”

I’d be the last person to judge anyone for having an accident on these roads.

“Anyway, we thought this would be a lovely way for you to meet your rellies.”

“That’d be great. Where are we going?”

“The cemetery.” She grabbed a stack of holly wreaths off the credenza. “Such a lovely day for a cemetery visit, it is. Best to get the wreaths placed before the winds pick up, as they’re expected to be fierce.”

I shot Declan a discreet glance, which he avoided. A meltdown in a Paris cemetery had led him to confide in me about Shauna’s death. This would hit much closer to home than some random Paris cemetery.

We piled into the small car. A few miles up the road, we encountered an abandoned medieval church with an uneven landscape of gravestones and weathered Celtic crosses covered in ivy and moss. I stepped from the car, and a brisk wind cut through me. I nestled into the blue mohair scarf wrapped around my neck. Declan’s gaze narrowed on the cemetery.

Please go in. Face your demons.

“I’m gonna wait here,” Declan said. “Need to ring a client.”

My telepathic abilities were obviously on the fritz.

Declan pulled out his phone to place his fictitious call.

I tried to hide my disappointment. After all, this cemetery visit was about meeting my dead rellies.

Sadie, Seamus, and I passed by the old church. I stopped and peeked through a narrow, arched window. Between the wavy distorted glass and dark interior, I could vaguely make out green foliage growing up a wall. I joined my rellies in the cemetery. Evergreen wreaths, small mangers, Santa figurines, and miniature Christmas trees decorated both older and newer graves. More recent graves lined the front of the cemetery, providing easy access, while older ones stood farther back on uneven ground overgrown with grass and ivy.

“Nice to see people still respect some traditions, placing wreaths on graves at Christmas,” Sadie said. “Such a shame that much of society has moved away from holding a proper Irish wake. Don’t see as many as you used to, and certainly not as grand as they once were.”

Seamus shook his head in disgust. “Won’t be putting me body in the ground without a proper wake.”

Sadie stopped in front of a large tombstone engraved with a Celtic cross and introduced me to her sister Catherine Ryan, who’d written Grandma about her sister’s death. “It’s a shame we didn’t know you last year before Catherine passed. Was the grandest wake Westmeath had ever seen.”

“Simply grand.” Seamus smiled, a reminiscent glint in his gray eyes.

“Don’t know how I’ll outdo it. But I will.” Sadie gave me a wink. She gestured to the wreaths in her cousin’s stack. “I think you have the artificial one.” She peered over at me. “Catherine was allergic to spruce.” She secured a green plastic wreath on a stake in the ground so it didn’t fly away.

“Can you take our picture by the tombstone?” I asked Seamus. “Might sound strange, but I want to make a family scrapbook.”

“Not odd at all, luv,” Sadie said. “Our cousin has an album filled with selfies of her and rellies in their coffins. ’Tis a bit disrespectful.”

It took me a few moments to recover from that vision and to teach Seamus how to operate my phone’s camera feature. After he snapped several pics, I snapped one of them, just in case.

At the next grave, they slowly shook their heads.

“Paddy Smyth was me sister Julia’s husband,” Sadie said. “What a funeral that was, never seen the likes of it before and hope we never do again. Julia was so distraught she threw herself on the casket. Wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t already been lowered into the ground. Cracked two of her ribs and the top of the casket. Just a wee crack, but she demanded that Martin Shea, who’d sold her the casket and attended the burial, replace the casket straight away. That her Paddy wasn’t being buried in no dodgy casket. Martin insisted she was mad. She told everyone about the incident, and a year later he went out of business.”

I came from a very assertive line of women.

“I can’t imagine loving someone so much I’d throw myself against his casket in the ground,” I said. Maybe that was how I should evaluate my relationships. Do I love this guy enough to throw myself into his grave?

“If you do, don’t be wearing no dress,” Sadie said.

“Or at least have on a proper pair of knickers.” Seamus rolled his eyes. “Aye, what a sight that was.”

Sadie took a pic of Seamus and me next to the tombstone. We continued on to a grave for Jimmy and Theresa Lynch, née Coffey, Grandma’s sister. The epitaph read Last Call. Sadie removed a silver flask from her purse and poured a golden-colored liquid over the graves. Whiskey, I assumed.

“Me parents were publicans. Me nephew Riley runs it now. Oh, Mum, can you believe this is Bridget’s granddaughter from the States?” Sadie handed me a wreath. “You place it on the grave. She’d like that.”

I knelt down and secured the wreath on the stake, emotion weighing heavy on my chest. How sad that Grandma had never visited her sister’s grave or attended her funeral. I couldn’t imagine not being able to say good-bye to Rachel. “Thank you so much for writing my grandma. She kept your letters.” I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, my eyes glassing over with tears. “If it wasn’t for those letters, I wouldn’t be here right now. She loved you dearly.”

Sadie gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze. “She knows, luv.”

Three ivy-covered tombstones, surrounded by a leaning wrought iron fence, stood on raised ground, back from our family graves. “Are those Coffeys?”

“Aye,” Seamus said. “Don’t recall how they were related, going back a ways.”

“Watch your footing,” Sadie said as I traipsed through the tall grass toward the graves. “Be careful not to trip on a toppled-over tombstone or step in a sinkhole.”

What a hole sunk to, I didn’t care to know.

I touched my foot cautiously on the ground before placing my weight on it. Seamus followed me, but Sadie remained behind in her black heels. Two of the graves were too weathered to read, but a lead-engraved one had survived the harsh Irish weather. I entered the fenced-in area and stripped the ivy from the front of the stone for better viewing. It noted that Christopher Coffey, who died in 1834, played an integral role in the Rebellion of 1798.

A sense of pride welled up inside me. “What role did he play?”

Seamus enthusiastically recounted a story about how Christopher Coffey had dodged a major ambush, saving the lives of his troops. They went on to play a vital role in winning several future battles.

“Now, we aren’t sure about the authenticity of that story,” Sadie called out. “You know how family lore is—that might be a wee bit of an embellishment.”

No, I didn’t know how family lore was. I had no ancestor stories to pass down to my children. A sad feeling crept over me. What happened when the lead-engraved tombstone became too weathered to read, like the others? Would they all crumble into the earth and these ancestors be forgotten? I felt a sense of duty to document Sadie’s and Seamus’s stories for past generations’ sakes, and future ones. Grandma certainly never realized that her past would have such a strong impact on my life. She’d made me more courageous, adventurous, and in tune with the importance of family.

What impact would my life have on future generations?