Chapter 24
Jake looked back and forth at the women at the table. What, he wondered had made going to Ireland a desideratum at this particular point in time. As if reading his mind, Trish spoke up.
"It is time to see what we have to work with in this timeline, Jake, or what we have to work against. We know that as best we can recollect, this time is in the immediate past from where we three and Nina Mallory originated. But what if it is really not? What if we are in a timeline where someone going further back has changed something? Nina Mallory says she does not remember anything about this clan notion coming up in her previous life. Why is that? Why wouldn't her older brother Sean simply have become chieftain by default? You told us your grandfather visited you more than once, suppose he somehow affected the past as a way to help you. Or maybe he did it as a way to gain something through Joseph and Julia.
"We have a ton of questions and not many answers. We think we should go to Ireland to see if any clues are over there."
Leslie and Melissa nodded in agreement.
"Okay, already," Jake said semi-petulantly. "But, if I'm supposed to be this big clan chieftain, why don't I get to make the decisions in my own home?"
"You just made one, my big strong husband, and you got it exactly right," Melissa pretended to simper.
Jake had to laugh when Leslie and Trish started cracking up. The trouble with being miffed at them for making decisions for him was that they were usually right. Still, it was best not to let them get a big head about it.
"Yea, well, I just decided that this little tubby trooper is eating entirely too good," he said holding up his son.
"That's Elsie the Cow's fault," giggled Leslie as she pointed to Melissa.
Melissa pulled her shoulders back and thrust out her now-even-more-substantial breasts.
"I can't help it if he's like his father and won't leave me alone. Although I do think it is time to start weaning him. If I don't do it now I'll probably end up going to his school to nurse him. What do you say Hubby, ready to give these puppies up?"
Jake pretended to make a sad face but agreed with her. The women then laid out their plan for the trip to Ireland. Passports for Leslie and Melissa were already requested and should be back in a week or so. They would fly from Daytona in the long range Lear Jet. Dave Larson and Erika would pilot them, stay a few days, and then travel on to Scotland. Erika was attending Jackie Stewart's driving school while Dave supervised having the jet fitted with some advanced avionics. Dave and Erika would come back and get them in ten days. For ground transportation and accommodations, Mitzi was working with a travel agent who had offices both in the United States and in Dublin.
The next few days went by in a hurry. Jake was thrilled to be home and with his family and friends. His routine of visiting Rebecca and meeting Helga twice a month at the bungalow continued. Melissa was comfortable with his relationship with the women and occasionally even joined them. Faith, true to her word, was now a student at Stetson and a frequent visitor to the ranch. She still loved horses and earned her keep helping Louisa give riding lessons.
Nina the younger's sixteenth birthday came and went without her invoking her privilege of having Jake deflower her. Jake had asked her to wait until he returned from Ireland and knew more about his alleged legacy. He promised the disappointed girl that he would make it worth her wait.
On September the twenty-eighth, they took off from Daytona and flew to Bangor, Maine, to refuel and spend the night. The next evening at nine, they flew east towards Dublin, arriving at eight in the morning, local time. They breezed through customs, picked up a car at the Avis counter, and headed out. The map and directions provided by Avis were first rate; it took thirty minutes from airport to hotel. They checked into the suite Mitzi had booked and were pleased to find that the master bedroom held a bed even larger than a king.
The women immediately showered and changed clothes to go shopping and sight-seeing. Jake fed the baby a little bowl of pabulum and a small bottle of formula. Junior was not very happy with the substitutes for his mommy but did not put up too big a fuss. Junior and the women had slept during the flight and had arrived fresh and rested. Jake, on the other hand, had slept fitfully; he was going to nap while they checked out the city. The hotel was in the city's center; so the women grabbed Jacob's stroller, kissed Jake goodbye and filed out the door.
Jake had no sooner fallen asleep when Elliott Buckley revisited him in a very realistic scene. They were sitting on a stone outcropping hundreds of feet above a roiling sea.
"Welcome home," Elliott said.
"It does feel like home here, for some reason; it brings me peace the way Liz's bungalow does," Jake replied.
"The reasons are the same, Jacob; your spirit is calmed by that which has gone before. Elizabeth's abiding love for you still permeates the cottage you shared. Here, the love that multitudes had for your forbearers positively radiates toward you. Remember that, Jacob, when your corporal self visits this place."
Jake nodded his understanding and asked, "Do you see Liz where you are, Grandfather?"
The older man smiled.
"That is the first time you have called me Grandfather, lad. And no, I do not see her. My existence on this plane seems to be something of a rarity. I see glimpses of souls in transit but have met no others who linger here like I do. I watch what goes on, as you would watch fish in an aquarium. I can only interact with you, Joseph, and Julia in a meaningful way although I can touch others briefly. You have kin in Keelmira near Clew Bay who can tell you all about your heritage. Pay one in particular your full attention; her name is Corinne Buckley.
"Jacob, I am most impressed with the women you have chosen. The big one, Patricia, has a rare gift for seeing people as they truly are. She was partly right, you know, about me meddling. I nudged my niece Mary's memory a bit, so she could recall the stories my sister once told her; but the stories are all based on truth. Be cautious lad, of that man in Chicago. The two of you are working at cross purposes."
Before Jake could ask him more, the women spilled raucously into the suite and the scene dissolved. Jake opened his eyes, yawned, and stretched, refreshed from his nap. He was surprised that he had slept for more than two hours. Melissa handed him the baby and his diaper bag.
"Change him for me will you, Daddy; I have to pee," she said.
Jake undid the snaps down Jacobs's trouser legs and unfastened his diaper. He recoiled in horror at the mess his boy had made. Cripes, did it stink, and it was everywhere. If this was what his new diet was going to do, Melissa was going to have to either start breast feeding him again or have him fumigated before diaper changes. To add insult to injury, Jacob goo-goo'd, giggled, and then peed all over Jake's hands and arms.
Jake cleaned up as much of the mess as he could then took Junior into the bathroom and ran them a tub. Jacob sat on his fathers chest and splashed around happily as Melissa knelt by the tub and bathed them both. Trish and Leslie thought they were just too cute and stood at the door snapping photographs.
They ate a late lunch at the hotel's pub then spent the rest of the afternoon seeing the sights. They hoofed it from the hotel on Georges Quay two blocks to Trinity College Park. Jake was fascinated by the thousand-year-old city and loved the friendly people they met. Baby Jacob garnered much attention from the coeds at Trinity College. He laughed and acted adorable, clutching their fingers when they touched him.
"The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree," observed Trish. "He's not even a year old and already charming the girls."
Melissa slugged Jake on the arm when he suggested that he would stay at the park with Jacob if they wanted to go shopping again.
From the park, they walked down Dame Street to Dublin Castle, then over to the millennium old Christ's Church. They made a loop back to the street that edged the River Liffey and their hotel, which was located across from the historic Dublin Custom House.
Jake stopped at the concierge desk while the women went up to the room to rest and dress for dinner. Jake asked the concierge on duty for a road map and the two of them together searched for Keelmira. They found Keelmira across the island in the county Mayo, north of Galway, and hard on the shore of Clew Bay. The concierge helped Jake pick a route that led west to Galway then north to Castlebar and, finally, west again to Keelmira. Jake thanked the attractive young woman and made his way back to the room.
Leslie had volunteered to baby-sit while the others went to dinner. She said she would order room service and check out the BBC's television offering. Jake grumbled only a little about putting on a coat and tie; he knew that Europeans dressed up for dinner. Besides, Trish and Melissa looked very fine in their cocktail dresses and high heels, Melissa in green, Trish looking dishy in electric blue. He was going to be the envy of the lads in the restaurant.
The food in the restaurant was only fair; it consisted of tiny portions of a bunch of stuff you did not want to go along with even smaller portions of what you really ordered. Jake was mildly disappointed but, because the women raved about the exquisite cuisine, he kept his mouth shut. He figured epicure could be scratched off the list of potential careers for his future. Jake had expected a big slab of dead mammal on his plate when he ordered steak. It was disingenuous to call what they served him 'a generous portion of prime, aged, Angus beef grilled to perfection' Jake thought. The tiny charred piece of meat still had its last jockey's whip marks on it. Jake would have bet fifty dollars that the chef was French. Jake excused himself from the women as they blathered on about the chef's artful presentation. If he wanted art, he would go to the museum. He called Leslie from the house phone and found out what she had ordered and how it tasted.
"I had a cheeseburger and fries, the burger was a little over done but it was pretty good," she said.
"Order a couple of rare ones for me, Les, and I'll owe you one."
After the meal, the restaurant turned into a cabaret-style lounge. As soon as most of the tables had been cleared, Paddy Moloney and the Chieftains came out of the back and began playing. Jake was immediately captivated by the traditional Irish folk music the band played. Harp, fiddle, flute, skin drum, and uileann (elbow) pipes filled the room with an evocative, haunting sound.
They went up to the room at ten-thirty; Melissa and Trish were tired and ready for bed. Leslie had the baby already tucked into the port-a-crib provided by the hotel. The older women shimmied out of their dresses. Melissa put on her chiffon gown and climbed into bed with the comfortably nude Trish. Jake said he was going to sit up with Leslie for a while since he had taken a nap and kissed them both good night.
Jake rejoined Leslie in the sitting room that separated the suite's two bedrooms. Leslie reached under the end table and pulled out a covered dish with two still-warm cheeseburgers on it. She waved the dish under his nose.
"You can have these just as soon as I tell you what's on the dessert menu," she said.
Jake ate the cheeseburgers then he ate some furburger. Thirty minutes later, he went to bed with his stomach full and his balls empty. That Leslie sure knew how to treat a man. Jake loved being the beneficiary of her fifty years of experience in what really made a guy contented.
They were up and out of the hotel the next morning before nine. Jake drove while Muffy navigated. Trish and Leslie played with baby Jacob in the back seat. They made excellent time on the high speed motorway to Galway. The road to Castlebar was not as good, but the trip still went smoothly. They lunched at a roadside pub in Castlebar. Jake and Leslie wolfed down excellent shepherd's pies as Trish and Melissa nibbled dainty watercress sandwiches. Baby Jacob gnawed on a cracker the waitress brought him and sat in her lap as he ate it. The waitress was a big healthy girl and it embarrassed Melissa to no end when her son kept latching onto the girl's big boobs in search of nourishment.
The road got worse the closer they neared to Keelmira. It took them almost an hour and fifteen minutes to cover the last thirty-five miles. They crested a hill on the narrow dirt road with Jake studiously maneuvering the little rental Ford Anglia around the worst of the ruts. The small picturesque village popped into view, spread out below them as if it were a scene on a picture postcard. It was two miles from the hilltop down to the village. The village appeared perched on the shore at the head of the bay; it began just beyond the tidal beach strewn with boulders. The land rose in every direction from the small valley formed by Keelmira Creek. The north and south fingers of land that formed the bay were high escarpments that Jake recognized from his dream.
They bounced and jounced into town finally stopping in front of the Keelmira Inn and Pub. Jake took the baby and the ladies exited moaning and groaning from the car.
"I'm guessing that they don't have many visitors," Leslie understated.
They walked inside and went to the bar. A very pretty older woman with blonde hair shot through with silver was tending bar.
"You must be the Turners, and tired from the trip I'll wager. I'm Sheila O'Brien," she said.
Then she turned towards a doorway behind her.
"Rory, our guests are here; come and show the poor dears to their room."
Rory was a stout, florid faced man in his fifties; he radiated good humor.
"Sure, me Darlin', it would be my pleasure," Rory said.
Rory led them up a flight of stairs and opened the doors of two adjoining rooms. The rooms were cozy, filled with solid wood antique furniture, and clean as a whistle. Each room had a double bed, while Jake and Melissa's room also had a crib squeezed into it.
Jake and Rory went out to get their bags.
"So, what is your business here, Laddie boy, if you don't mind me asking? We don't get many visitors from America."
"My great-grandfather was from here, I wanted to see my family's homeland. And I want to meet my relatives here, especially my cousin Corinne Buckley," Jake said.
Rory stopped dead in his tracks and crossed himself.
"Sure, I see the Buckley in you now. You look just like of the Patrick that hangs in the church," Rory said.
"The Patrick?"
"Yes, lad, Patrick O'Buckley, one of the greatest Irishmen who ever lived. That mountain over there is named after him, Croagh Patrick it's called. The last Buckley man to visit these parts was Elliott Buckley, back before the big war. Oh, and I'll be one of the relatives you want to look up' my great-great grandmother was a Buckley. You'll be finding that you are closely or distantly related to nearly everyone within twenty kilometers of Clew Bay."
"Elliott Buckley was my grandfather; glad to meet you, cousin Rory. I already love this place; I feel a strong attachment to it. But it sure is isolated."
"It is that, my boy; nothing much to keep or attract people here, the land is poor and rocky and the waters are treacherous for fishing. The young people have mostly gone to Galway and the big city," Rory said sadly.
Jake thought the wildly beautiful countryside was as appealing in its own way as Hawaii was; he'd bet that a resort of some sort, one that offered spiritual renewal, would be a hit. It was something to talk about to his business-whiz wife; if there was a way to make a dollar here, she would find it.
Jake and Rory lugged the bags upstairs and Rory excused himself to finish dinner. He said dinner would be served around six and headed downstairs. Jake helped unpack before he headed down also; he wanted to find out where Corinne lived and maybe get in a visit before supper.
Sheila was talking to a couple of older gents when Jake walked into the bar. One of the old men saw Jake and crossed himself.
"Saints preserve us!", he exclaimed before he could catch himself.
The old man regained his composure and stuck out his hand.
"Sorry lad, but you are the spitting image of your grandfather. Even if Rory hadn't told me, I'd know who you were. My names James Lafferty and I'm proud to say that I was a friend of your grandfather."
Jake introduced himself and sat with the two men. He bought them all a pint of stout and listened as James related stories about the year Jake's grandfather had lived in Keelmira.
"It's a sign from heaven that you are here with your Moorish women and your son, a sign for sure. The legend is that when a Buckley walks this land it blossoms and the sea gives up its bounty. It was that way when Elliott, saints protect his soul, was here."
Jake asked James where his cousin Corinne lived. James told him how to find her cottage; luckily, it was located barely a half mile from the inn. Jake thanked the gentlemen for the good conversation, bought them another round, and headed out. A brisk eight minute walk had him in front of the door of a quaint little stone cottage with a thatched roof. Jake knocked on the door and, twenty seconds later, his sister Debbie opened it. At least he thought it was Debbie until he looked closer. The woman in front of him was a few years older than Deb and lacked her musculature. The hair and face were almost identical, as was the height and general build. Before Jake could introduce himself, the woman grabbed him in a huge hug.
"I was hoping that it would be you," Corinne Buckley sobbed into his shoulder.
Jake held her until she composed herself. Corinne took a step backwards and blushed until her face matched her hair.
"I'm so sorry, young man; I must have given you a fright," she said.
"A surprise maybe, but I am never frightened holding a beautiful woman. I'm Jake Turner, your cousin from America; and you look exactly like my sister Deborah."
"I think I know the reason for that, Jake Turner. Come in, please, and sit with me. Would you care for some tea? no -- I guess you being American, you'll be wanting coffee. Sit while I put on the kettle; I'll be right back."
Jake took a seat on the divan and swept his eyes around the room. On a sidetable near him was a picture of his grandfather with his arm around a young woman who looked for all the world like young Nina Murphy. All these family resemblances were making him dizzy. Jake looked around the cottage to distract himself. The small house was about six-hundred square feet. The sitting area he was in was at one end of an open room that spanned the front of the house and included the kitchen. A single doorway was cut in the back wall that led into a small hallway that had three doors. Two bedrooms and a bath Jake figured. In the corner of the room he was in were a spinning wheel and some wool that Corinne must have been carding when he arrived.
Corinne came back to where Jake was and sat next to him on the couch. She sat with her leg under her, her upper body turned towards him.
"So, you are my American cousin," she prompted.
"Yes, that's my grandfather Elliott in that picture. The girl looks like my cousin Nina."
She gave him a look and put her hand on his cheek.
"Then I'm not your cousin, Jake; I'm your aunt. That is a picture of my mother and father."
Jake looked at her in confusion; if she was his aunt, she would have to be nearly as old as his mother -- yet she did not appear to be much older than himself.
She read his look perfectly. "Yes, I'm thirty-seven Jake. We Buckley women are blessed and cursed with aging slowly. Blessed in that we keep our looks and live long lives; cursed because we outlive our husbands and sometimes even our sons. You must have noticed this in your mother and other, older female relatives."
Jake thought about Helen and his cousin Mary Murphy; what Corinne said was certainly true in their case. Jake nodded his concurrence.
"You acted as if you expected me; why was that?" Jake asked.
"My father came to me in a dream and told me the O'Buckley was returning. His appearance confirmed what my heart had always known. It was fated that you return here Jake; the Siren's call always pulls the O'Buckley back to this place. You are the O'Buckley now, even if not so named," Corinne answered.
"Elliott came to me in a dream also," Jake said. "He told me you could explain my heritage."
"I can indeed. Our family's history goes back three-thousand years. We are descendants of the De Danann, one of the races that peopled Ireland before the Milesians from Spain invaded a thousand years before Christ. The De Danann were an advanced race, skilled in the arts and crafts and attuned to the land on which they lived. The Milesians were awed by the De Denann and considered them wizards and sorcerers. Our oral history and legends say that the Buckleys are descended from Brigit, the daughter of the De Danann's greatest king. In the religion of our people before Christianity, Brigit became the Goddess of Poetry. By the time the Celts arrived five hundred years later, the De Danann had been assimilated into the Milesians, except for the tribe in this area. Neither the Milesians nor the Celts that followed them could eke out much of a life in this area so they left it alone.
"Isolated and ignored, the tribe here flourished and spread south to greener vistas. Those that left quickly became scholars, artists, craftsmen, healers, and musicians for the Irish nobility. Those that chose to stay formed the Clan of the Meadow of the Deer, Clan Buckley in the native tongue. The clan's chieftain was the 'O'Buckley', the son of the Buckley.
"The O'Buckleys throughout Irish history are legendary figures. Fierce warriors as well as wise rulers, they were said to be so attuned to this land that they possessed supernatural powers. In the third century after the birth of Christ, the Buckleys became the stuff of legend as members of the Fain. The Fain was a standing army called for by King Cormac to defend Ireland against invaders and uphold the law of the land. A succession of Buckleys commanded one of the three Fain cathas, what we now call battalions, for the century the Fain existed. King Cormac decreed that all the land, in every direction, that could be seen from the tallest mountain in the area would forever belong to the Buckley as reward for their service. That mountain is Croagh Patrick; people in these parts still hold that decree as sacred.
"The land was quiet and prospered even after the year 1171 when Henry the Second of England invaded the Emerald Isle with the help of the traitorous MacMurrough of Leinster. Clew Bay and this part of Mayo were still not considered worthy of a fight with the fabled Buckleys. The Buckleys fought against England's domination for the next eight hundred years. There was a Buckley at the side of Shane the Proud against the crown, and with Red Hugh O'Neill. In the eighteen hundreds, Buckleys stood shoulder with Robert Emmet, Wolfe Tone and Daniel O'Connell. Your ancestors fought with the true Sinn Fein and participated in the Easter Rising.
All this took a terrible toll on the Buckleys; true, the land and the women flourished, but the men died in droves. We women began to stay young and live longer as the men died earlier. Young widowhood and a long life was the bittersweet lot of the Buckley women. After the Easter Rising in 1916, my father, your grandfather, who was just a young lad, was the only Buckley male left alive. My grandmother spirited him out of the country to America fearing English reprisal after her husband was slain leading the Republican attack on Galway.
"So there you have it sir, from the King Dagda of the De Danann to you: over thirty centuries in thirty minutes," she concluded.
The story had riveted Jake to his spot on the couch. It was an amazing and fascinating account.
"How do you come to know all that?" he asked.
"Irish lore and clan history has always been passed down orally from one generation to the next. In the time before we had a written language, the clan's tale was spoken at the triennial assembly of the chieftains instituted by the Milesian king. Scholars believe that the stories were carefully vetted at the assembly to keep them accurate. I studied our recorded history as a student at the university in Galway. The chroniclers of the old Irish myths were sesquipedalian in their writing, and almost as loquacious as the original story tellers," she answered.
Jake nodded his understanding and looked at his watch. He made his apologies for having to leave and asked if he could visit her tomorrow. He wanted her to meet his family. She said they would be most welcome, to come early and plan to stay for lunch. At the door, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
"And, Jake," she added, "plan some time to spend with me doing your duty as the O'Buckley. I claim my right to have you be my first."
Jake looked at her open-mouthed; this he was not expecting. Corinne smiled at his bewilderment.
"I told you earlier that I have been waiting a long time for you," she said in grand understatement.
Jake walked back to the inn in the gathering evening mist. Melissa, Trish, and Leslie were going to go nuts over the story he had to tell them. He thought for a minute about letting them wait and get it from Corinne, then chuckled to himself. As if, he thought, they would let that happen. Women, he had found, were relentless. If you knew something that they did not, they would pester you until they had ferreted out every detail.
The women were indeed amazed and intrigued when he related the tale Corinne had told him. They were in the Keelmira Inn's pub enjoying some good broiled trout when he told them the story. After they finished their meal, they stayed in the pub for a few drinks. Curious local residents kept popping into the pub to meet them. They met fishermen, shepherds, weavers, and farmers an entire cadre of decent and hardworking people, uncomplainingly playing the hand they had been dealt. Jake took an immediate liking to these respectful, friendly people. He was comfortable talking with them and they with him; it was, he thought as if he belonged here.
The pub cleared out at nine-thirty, so Jake and company bade the O'Briens goodnight and went upstairs. The Inn had a common bathroom for its four rooms so they took turns in it preparing for bed. Jake had to grin when Leslie and Trish came into his and Melissa's room to talk. The chill air even had Trish in a floor length, flannel gown. Melissa was already shivering under the thick down ticked featherbed with baby Jacob snuggled up next to her.
Jake told Trish how he felt a kinship with these people and a strong bond to the land. Trish said that she had always advocated a genetic component to a person's personality that was related to a place, culture, or shared history. It was cultural Darwinism, she said. She told Jake that she thought Jake was genetically programmed to be in harmony with his current surroundings. Trish said that she had even noticed that little Jacob seemed more content since they had arrived. It would have been normal for him to be cranky after a long car trip; instead, he had been serenely happy all day.
Jake had no trouble falling asleep that night as he cuddled up to his wife and son under the heavy bedclothes. Melissa sighed contentedly as he spooned against her. It was so cozy in the bed that Muffy did not complain once about how cold it was.
Jake dreamed again that night. In his dream, he led a group of knights in chain mail against the British. His knights fought bravely behind him as they hacked away at the implacable invaders. They fought under the banner of their clan, a picture of a large brown buck in mid-jump on a field of green. 'Death Before Dishonour' bracketed by crosses was embroidered on the banner in white.
Jake woke up early the next morning. He slipped out of bed and dressed in jeans, boots, and a down vest. Jake walked downstairs and found Rory in the kitchen puttering around. The smell of fresh brewed coffee drew Jake like a magnet.
"Good morning, Cuz; can I mooch a cup of coffee?" Jake asked.
Rory poured him a cup and Jake took the cup outside with him. The countryside was shrouded in a thick mist that would take the sun a while to burn off. Fat drops of condensation clung to ivy that crept up the stone façade of the inn. Jake turned to his left and walked in the opposite direction of Corinne's cottage. It took fewer than five minutes to be out of the village. The sense of calm that he felt in this place seemed magnified this morning. On impulse, he sat on a low stone wall and took off his boots and socks. The cold damp ground did not shock him as he thought it would, instead, his feet seemed to want to take root in the soil.
Jake walked bare foot on up the lane. Green grassy slopes, slick with early morning dew, stretched up away from the path. The hillsides were dotted with sheep as if someone had emptied a bag of cotton balls on a pool table. He stepped aside so that a farmer driving sheep in the opposite direction could pass. Jake remembered meeting the man last night; Matthew O'Halloran was his name. O'Halloran stopped and gave the shoeless Jake an amused look as his border collie kept vigil on the meandering sheep. Jake looked down at his bare feet then up to the farmer with and embarrassed grin.
"I couldn't help it," Jake said by way of explanation, "I had to feel the earth beneath my feet."
"That's quite alright, Mr. Turner. Just shows you belong here. When the Good Lord created the Earth, this is where he put the soul."
Jake put on his socks and boots before going back into the inn. No use provoking the women into thinking he was daft. He went upstairs and extracted Little Jacob out of the bed so Melissa could get in a few more winks. Diaper bag and baby in hand he went back downstairs. Jake changed the baby and took out a jar of Gerber's banana puree. Although Melissa insisted on buying all flavors of baby food, Jake would not feed Junior anything he would not eat himself. That pretty much eliminated anything green. Jake figured the baby food makers missed the boat by not making a steak and french fry flavored meal. By the time Melissa, Leslie, and Trish came down, the baby was happily playing on a pallet of quilts Sheila O'Brien had made for him. He was busily gnawing on his teething ring and exercising his four new teeth.
After a proper Irish breakfast, Jake and company walked down to Corinne's cottage. Jake had to laugh as Melissa had the baby bundled up as if he were being dropped off in Alaska. The mist was still thick on the ground. They were, in essence, walking in a rain cloud as the warm air above the Gulf Stream water met the chill air over land.
Corinne greeted them at the door looking radiantly beautiful. It took fewer than ten seconds for the women to decide that they were sisters. Baby Jacob made the decision for them when he took one look at Corinne, smiled, and held his arms out for her to pick him up. Corinne held Jacob as the women chatted over tea and coffee. The baby, in turn, held her dark red tresses in his pudgy fingers and looked at her raptly.
Corinne told the American women her life story. It would have been a sad and dismal tale if she had not told it with humor and wit. Corinne never met her father although he had tried repeatedly to get her mother Fiona to go to the States. But Fiona Buckley had all she ever wanted in her daughter, her memories, and their little cottage. Fiona had always been frail and had died when Corinne was sixteen. Corinne spent three years at university getting her degree and returned home. She was the repository of all knowledge Buckley, dutifully chronicling in journals all the bits of narrative history she could find.
Melissa and Corinne took a walk through her garden before the Turners returned to the inn. Corinne frankly told Melissa what she had told Jake, and then added her reason. Corinne, in a tone that carried total conviction, said that she would bear a son from their union, a true Buckley in name and linage. Melissa quickly agreed to her request; she was absolutely convinced that Corinne's tales of the Buckleys were true. Her husband was living proof that there were forces in the universe beyond what she had known until a few years ago.
Jake and his family went back to the inn after lunch. Rory was taking the women to Castlebar market with him while he picked up supplies. The women were in the shopping mode; they wanted some traditional Irish clothes to strut around in back in Palmdale. Jake and the baby were going back to spend the afternoon with Corinne. Melissa kissed the baby and Jake goodbye before piling into Rory's station wagon.
"Make her happy, Baby," she told Jake. "Of all the people I've ever met, she deserves it most."
Jake pushed Jacob down to Corinne's house as soon as Rory's station wagon disappeared over the hill. The sun had finally burned away the mist and was shining brightly, a gold doubloon in a pirate's blue sky. Corinne was even more beautiful in the sunlit doorway, her hair the color of dark copper, and her skin as creamy white as the finest bone china. Jacob giggled with delight when Corinne lifted him out of the pram. Corinne held the baby as they sat on the couch. Today it was Jake's turn to talk.
Without going in to specifics, Jake told her that he saw bad things in the future that he wanted to prevent. He told her of his political aspirations and his ideas for a government that truly was committed to all its citizens. Corinne heard him out as she gently rocked Jacob in her arms.
"It is an ambitious plan, Jake, but well within your ability. After all, you come from a line of sagacious rulers thirty centuries long."
Jake told her he had dreamed about one of those leaders the evening before and described the banner the knight carried.
"It is a sign, Jake, that you would dream of the greatest Buckley of them all. You dreamt of Patrick O'Buckley, the man many said could have been king of Ireland in the late sixteenth century. Patrick was a friend to Shane the Proud O'Neill and Red Hugh O'Donnell although the O'Neills and O'Donnells were bitter enemies. He was the rebellion's rock in the west, and of the three, the only one to drive Queen Elizabeth's minions off his lands permanently. Even the duplicitous Walter Raleigh could neither trap nor trick Patrick."
They talked for a few more minutes then Corinne sang an Irish lullaby that put Jacob to sleep. She swaddled the baby in a soft wool blanket and laid him on a downy duvet she had placed on the floor. Satisfied that the baby was comfortably asleep, she reached for Jake's hand with a shy Mona Lisa smile.
She led him by the hand to her bedroom leaving the door open so they could hear the baby. Once in the bedroom she stood by the bed, unsure of what to do next. Jake leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.
"If this is truly what you want, relax and let me take care of you. If you are having second thoughts, we can go talk some more," he told her.
Corinne put her arms around his neck and looked solemnly into his eyes.
"I am ready, Jake; my body has stirred and seethed with want for you since we met yesterday. I will put myself in your hands, as I don't have as much as a clue about what to do beyond kissing."
Jake nodded as he bent to kiss her again, this time with a kiss of passion. If Jake knew anything about Buckley women, Corinne would catch on fast. Jake undressed her as she kept her head shyly turned from him. Her body was exquisite, and would have done a woman half her age proud. Everything he did, every place he touched, was a wondrous awaking for her. She trembled and cried out in joy as he brought her to climax with his tongue. Her prominent clit was one more tangible link to his other female relatives. Jake even found the wiry auburn thatch covering her treasures exciting.
When Jake finally entered her he met no stubborn hymen, she had taken care of that matter years before in self-discovery. Instead, hotly clasping slickness greeted him. They made love twice on her bed; Jake lost count of the number of times she cried out her release. It was love making so tender and sweet that Jake almost joined her as she cried with joy.
After their second session, they relaxed in bed under the coverlet. Her head rested on his chest as she idly played with the sparse hair on his chest. She smiled in dreamy contentment as she imagined his potent little sperm swimming toward her waiting egg. That she would become pregnant from the encounter was a certainty. He was, after all, the O'Buckley, the man who brought life to this tiny place forgotten by time.
The Turners stayed in Keelmira for five more days. They explored the countryside with Corinne or Rory as their guide. Jake marveled at the ruins of his ancestral castle perched on a high ridge of Croagh Patrick and found the exact spot where he and Elliot had been in his dream. On Sunday the fourth, they attended Mass in the small stone chapel that served the village. A visiting priest from Sligo conducted the service. During his homily, the priest offered a special blessing for Jake and his family as they sat in the front pew.
"May the peace and tranquility that the Lord blessed this land with follow you and yours, Cousin Jacob, across the sea to your other home."
On the Turner's next to the last evening there, Rory assembled the town's people in the pub. Melissa and Rory had a plan to present that would bring in tourism in a manner that would enrich but not overwhelm them. By the end of the evening, it was agreed that Melissa and Jake would finance ten cottages of the type Corinne lived in. The town's people would build the cottages. The cottages would be rented through selected travel agencies in American cities with large Irish populations. Discover Your Irish Roots would be the two-week vacation's theme. The visitors would spend their days as Jake and his family had and could work alongside the town folk in the fields or on a fishing boat. Daytrips to Galway or Dublin would be offered as well.
The plan was to complete the cottages by the following summer. Melissa received a loud cheer when she said that all the members of the Buckley family she could find would be the first guests next fall.
Jake spent two more afternoons with Corinne making indescribably sweet love. Melissa abetted Corinne in getting him into her bed.
When they left on the eighth of October, the locals had all but
canonized Melissa. The O'Buckley might be a little touched, wandering
around barefoot as he did, but he had sure married well.