Epilogue

Conn stood on the hill, her short red hair blown by a wind carrying the smell of the sea and the heather, and looked down on a small stone cottage. Undiminished by the passage of twenty-five years, the memory of her dreams was as sharp as if she had just lived them that summer. Years of searching through old estate and county records had led her at last to this moment. Grasping the hand of the woman next to her, they walked down to the cottage, which now stood in ruins, its thatched roof falling in in places, the stone walls in need of new chinking, the windows taken long ago by someone with greater need.

She looked around. Over there was the little lean-to where the pony and the cow had sheltered. In the other direction was the hill beyond which the seanmhair had lived. She ducked through the low door, stepping into the cottage. It seemed impossible that so many had lived in this tiny place. A couple of blocks of peat still lay next to the fireplace.

“Are you all right?” the other woman asked, gripping Conn’s hand more tightly.

Conn nodded, blinking rapidly. “I just can’t believe I’m here. Could you take some pictures to show Mom and Will?”

As the woman pulled her camera out of the case hanging from her shoulder, Conn stepped to the window at the back of the cottage. There, up on the next hill, were three small crosses that she had seen before, along with two others that were newer, though still very old.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she murmured.

She walked up the hill to the graves. The largest of the crosses there had a name crudely carved into the wood, so weathered as to be almost indiscernible. She was able to make out “Eilish O’Faolain.” She reached into her pocket and pulled forth a rosary. Kneeling, she wound the wooden beads around the upright post of the cross.

Sighing, she looked out over the cottage, the home that Caitríona and Orla had been forced to leave. Though they had never seen home or Ireland again, it felt to Conn like she had achieved some kind of closure for them, even if it was five generations late.

The woman climbed the hill and knelt next to her, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders. “Are you all right?” she asked again.

Conn brushed tears from her face. She lifted the woman’s hand to her lips, kissing it, and said, “Let’s go home.”

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