A CRY FROM THE DEEP (33 page)

When I was a young lad, I was privy to whispered conversations about my great grandfather, Barnaby Athol. The snippets I heard led me to believe that he had committed some evil deed. When I was older, and able to piece together what I had heard, I was shocked to learn about his involvement in a scandal that shook all who lived in his county.

It happened in the early fall of 1878. It was the year my great grandfather made arrangements to marry a beautiful girl, regarded by many as the catch of the village. Her father had agreed to the union after Barnaby had promised to reward him handsomely for his consent. Since there was no mention of love, I can only think there must have been some unusual persuasion. Barnaby was the middleman for the father’s landlord and given the hard times, his offer was one that would’ve been hard to refuse. The young girl’s father must’ve seen the marriage prospect as the way to save himself, his daughter, and his old mother from the fate of starvation. All went according to plan until the day before the wedding. It was then that something happened to change the mind of the bride-to-be, Margaret O’Donnell.

When Catherine came upon the name O’Donnell, she stopped reading. She got her notebook out of her handbag and found the page where she’d written the names she’d seen on the headstone. There was an Elizabeth Mary, Hannah and Martin Thomas, but no Margaret. Catherine flipped through the book and discovered the author’s family tree at the back of it, but there was no mention of an O’Donnell. It didn’t appear that Barnaby had married her after all. Noting that Martin was born in 1833, she realized Martin would’ve been forty-five the year of Barnaby’s proposal. Would he have had a daughter named Margaret? Catherine read on. 

But I am getting ahead of myself. Prior to my great grandfather’s offer, Margaret had been betrothed to a sailor, who had sailed away to India on a trade mission. He was to return in a year’s time but when he did not come back as promised, the young woman gave up all hope of ever marrying, and it was at this point that she consented to marry the rich but unappealing Barnaby. He was known to all to be miserly and mean in his ways, but the young woman, who only saw poverty ahead for herself and her family, agreed to the match.

When the day before her wedding arrived, she was surprised to see her love’s ship, the Alice O’Meary
,
arrive and anchor in Donegal Bay. She quickly arranged for a rowboat to take her out to the vessel. And so it was, that she was escorted by two rowers and her father while wearing the wedding dress intended for her marriage to Barnaby.

Upon hearing of her intent to marry the sailor on board, my great grandfather was heard to say, “If I can’t have her, no one else will.” He was so outraged at what he perceived to be a grave injustice and an embarrassing slight, that he contacted a local curser to enact his revenge. With the Curser and some villagers at his side, Barnaby climbed up the hill overlooking Killybegs and the bay.

It was there on the top of the hill that Barnaby and the villagers arranged a stone circle on a flat boulder. The Curser turned the stones and as he did so, he condemned the vessel to a watery grave. He bellowed, “May every pestilential and ferocious gale blast the cursed ship, Alice O’Meary, without fail!”

It was soon after that, that an unbelievably wicked storm erupted. According to the local fishermen, there had been scant warning. The two rowers and Margaret’s father barely made it back to land before hell’s fury whipped up the sea to such an extent that none of the vessels out that day survived the ordeal.

Was that what had happened to the
Alice O’Meary?
Had she been cursed? Catherine didn’t believe in curses and yet the author was suggesting it was his great grandfather’s jealous rage that had brought disaster upon the ship. Was it that unusual to have a wicked storm at that time of year? And if a storm was brewing, why hadn’t Margaret and her sailor—or were they already married—return to shore with her father? Catherine skimmed quickly ahead.

From all accounts, Margaret O’Donnell did indeed marry her sailor on board the ship that day, but they perished in the storm. Their bodies were never found. Some say, in foul weather, they can still hear her calling his name.

As for my great grandfather, Barnaby, he showed no remorse for Margaret’s demise. Nothing more was said about the village Curser, but all believed the wrath of Barnaby had played a part in the death of the young couple.

The storm must’ve happened right after their wedding. Was Margaret the one then who’d been haunting Catherine? It had to be her. She had to be the one who led Catherine to the barque. The white dress she wore had to be a bridal dress. But she got married to the man she wanted, so why was her spirit so restless? And what about Martin? He’d appeared in her dreams and on the road to Sea Breeze. There had to be some connection or else why was Margaret at his graveside?

Although the hour was late, Catherine read the book to its conclusion. There was more about Barnaby’s life and the hardship that continued to plague the villagers and the farmers in the county. There was also a chapter devoted to the search for the ship and the bodies of those that had perished. Unfortunately, no trace of the
Alice O’Meary
had ever been found. As to the rest of Catherine’s unanswered questions, there were no other clues that could lead to an answer. None, until she got to the epilogue.

When I had finished writing this book, I met a man who knew the O’Donnell family. He had grown up on the farm next to theirs. They were long gone by the time he was born, but they had left some telltale signs of their plight on the land they’d rented. The father, Martin O’Donnell, had left behind a cairn, that he had erected near the edge of his field.

Catherine jolted upright when she came across Martin’s name. She couldn’t believe it was there, in print. It had to be the same Martin. The pieces were starting to fall in place. With her heart racing, Catherine returned to the text.

Under the cairn, he had buried a wee notebook wrapped in heavy cotton, diarizing his final days. In it, he lamented the fact that he could not help his mother, who had died of hunger in 1879, the year after the Alice O’Meary had sunk. He did not think the curse had much to do with the storm that had ravaged the ship, but he did write that the curse did much to strike fear in the hearts of the villagers. They continued to pay exorbitant rents to Barnaby Athol and as a result, many died from hunger or disease.

Martin went on to write that although he’d been tormented by his daughter Margaret’s disappearance at sea, he had no regrets in allowing her to marry the sailor, James Gallagher.

If Catherine hadn’t been in bed, she would’ve fallen over.
James
was the name she’d yelled out at night
. James Gallagher
, the name she’d called Daniel. Her heart pumped as if it was about to explode. She stared at the darkness outside and thought,
could anything be more weird?
There wasn’t much more to read, so she went on.

Martin also expressed sadness that his dear wife’s ring had gone down with the ship. He recalled his blessing for the young couple on the day of their wedding. “May God be with you and bless you; may you see your children's children. May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings. May you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.” He wondered about blessings, as his daughter’s life had taken such a terrible turn. All he’d wanted was for her to find a good life in America, and a love that would last forever.

Catherine leaned over and picked up her Celtic band from the night table. She turned it over in her hand. This must’ve belonged to Martin’s wife at one time. Was Margaret wearing it when she drowned? Her spirit must’ve stayed with it!

It was sad, but what could be done about it now? Margaret had tried to escape the fate of her countrymen. She’d wanted to go to America. Well, she did in a way. Her spirit had no problem finding Manhattan. Surely, her spirit had no unfinished business with Barnaby. Too many years had passed. It seemed with the publishing of the book, his great grandson had tried to make amends, even though it wasn’t his or his family’s fault that his great grandfather had been such a cruel and evil man.

As for a love that would last forever, well, that had been cut short with the shipwreck. Had they even had time to consummate their marriage? Was that it? So, what if it was? You can’t make love to a ghost. Besides, they were both dead.

In Catherine’s recurring dream, the young woman was frantically searching for someone. From what the book had revealed, it had to be James. And then there was that other image that had troubled Catherine—the vision she had when she drove out of Killybegs with Daniel to go to the museum. Was that Margaret in a dark dress standing on a hill overlooking the sea? Was she hoping to see James return from India? But why did she look so much like Catherine?

Her strange dreams were starting to make sense. Although she was making connections, she wasn’t any closer to understanding what it had to do with her life.

She emailed Barbara asking for an appointment for when she got back to New York. Somehow, she had to figure out why she was being haunted by Margaret’s ghost. If nothing else, the book had taken her mind off of Daniel and her fears he was in cahoots with Hennesey. This time, she fell asleep easily to the patter of rain outside.

THIRTY-THREE

Catherine awoke the next morning feeling drugged. At least her call that morning was later than usual. Hennesey had noticed his divers flagging and had suggested an 8:30 departure rather than the usual 7 a.m. Maybe he had a heart after all.

She even had time for breakfast. Both Doreen and Adam were on hand to wait on Catherine and two other couples who’d arrived the night before. The two elderly sisters from Minnesota said little, but the middle-aged plump woman from Toronto, was particularly chatty, causing her husband to squirm every time she looked to him for confirmation.

The Canadian woman pushed her tea cup away and said to Doreen, “You Irish seem to be rooted in the past. If it isn’t your old battles you talk about, it’s old wives’ tales.” She turned to her husband seated beside her. “Remember that radio program we were listening to? The one about old folk remedies?”

He nodded as he smoothed the few dark strands of hair that lay on his bald crown.

The Canadian woman continued. “They mentioned some kind of healing well in Donegal county.”

“That must be Doon Well,” said Doreen, turning to Adam who was standing beside her at the buffet. “It’s an ancient well, known for its cures.”

“Imagine that,” said the woman.

Doreen met Catherine’s gaze and when the others weren’t looking, winked. Then she said, “Can I get anyone any more toast?”

Catherine left the table shortly after. As she was brushing her teeth, she thought about the breakfast conversation. Irish folk’s belief in alternate cures wasn’t far removed from their belief in curses. She wondered how they kept up those beliefs while remaining devout Catholics. The Church taught that cursing was the work of the devil.

When she came downstairs, Doreen was in the hallway picking up her mail that had fallen through the door slot on to the floor. She straightened up and said, “Ah, you’ll be going home soon. It’s been grand having you.”

“I’ve enjoyed my stay.” Catherine hesitated, then said, “Do you remember the other day when I asked you about that man I’d seen on the road, the man who said his name was Martin O’Donnell?”

“Aye, and I said I didn’t know him.”

“Well,” said Catherine, “I found his name on a headstone in St. Catherine’s cemetery.”

Doreen smiled. She didn’t look surprised. “Ah, that Martin.”

Catherine stared at her. It took a moment for Doreen’s response to register. “You know him? How could you? He died in 1916, well before you were born.”

“Ah, ‘tis true that, but there are plenty of stories floating around about his ghost. Poor man wanders around these parts unsettled because of what happened to his daughter.”

So Doreen knew the story
.
Catherine wondered if Doreen had also read the book, but now wasn’t the time to get into it. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that the man on the road…”

“Aye, it seems you’ve seen Martin’s ghost. I never thought he’d show himself to a complete stranger, that’s why I never said anything. He’s obviously up to some new tricks.”

“And you say, he’s out there with her?”

“That’s what the folk around here say. If you’ve seen Martin, his daughter is bound to be close behind. He’s trying to help her find the love of her life.”

Catherine took a deep breath. “You believe in ghosts?”

“That I do,” said Doreen with a sparkle in her eye. “What I’m wondering though is why he showed himself to you?”

Catherine shrugged. “This is all too much.”

Doreen laughed. “You’re forgetting. You’re in Ireland. There’s a lot here that can’t be explained.”