CHAPTER ONE – TRYING TO CONNECT TO YOU

Brendan Kearney walked slowly with the aid of his cane into Fitzgerald's. Years of cycling through the village and Wicklow Mountains had wreaked havoc on his knees, and while he was still a relatively young old man, arthritis was well on its way. He still had the strength to pull himself up onto a barstool though.

Aidan Kelly waved to Brendan as he walked across the pub to his favourite seat. His family bought the pub nearly ten years ago when Aidan was in his early twenties and he had been charged with running the place single handed ever since. It cost the Kelly family a pretty penny to get the pub back to the status of a reputable B&B again, but when the tourism season was in full flourish the little place managed to turn a profit. The church had lost all financial interest in the property when the Father Sheehan left the parish. Rumour was he left because Avril the stable owner and since no one had heard him in about 15 years the villagers accepted the rumour as fact.

It had been more than 20 years since Assumpta passed away, Father Clifford left, and most of the residents of Ballykissangel had scattered to the winds. The Celtic Tiger invaded Ireland with a force but with every up comes a down and the rural communities who once thrived on tourism trade and private enterprise where soon left to a small grocery store, a bookie shop, and of course a pub. The National School closed and Brendan was able to seek retirement benefits for the rest of his life. Siobhan had been offered a position as a partner in a clinic in Dublin, and Michael Ryan found a similar offer himself years ago. The village kids had a long grown up, went away to university, some even immigrated to Australia, and just the few dedicated old timers were left. Brendan, Kathleen, Father Mac and now Aidan struggling to make the pub work.

"Usual Brendan?" Aidan asked pulling a Guinness glass from the shelf behind him.

"Black Gold Aidan, Black Gold!"

Brendan sipped his pint and read the newspaper while Aidan busied himself with the newest stock order. The door opened and closed in the distance and the shuffling of suitcases was heard across the wooden floor. Brendan glanced up and then took a double take, the pint of stout slipped from his hand, crashed to the floor and shattered.

"Assumpta?" he whispered.

"Brendan you alright?!" Aidan said rushing to the aging teacher.

"Aidan, look over there and tell me if I am seeing a ghost?"

A woman with wavy auburn hair stood with her back to them looking over the mantel. She turned slowly to reveal ivory skin and brown eyes. She was dressed in a jean skirt with a red jumper. Aidan smiled happily as he went to assist his new guest. Brendan kept squinting at the new comer and staring back at the picture of Assumpta which hung on the wall near the bar. The resemblance was uncanny but all Aidan could think of was her general beauty.

"Hi!" the woman smiled brightly with an American accent.

"Hi," smiled Aidan, "Do you have a reservation?"

"A reservation? Do I need one?" she laughed.

"If you want a room you do."

"Didn't you get my letter? You are a Fitzgerald aren't you? Related to my cousin Assumpta?"

"Cousin Assumpta?" Brendan whispered under his breath.

"A few letters addressed to the Fitzgerald's have shown up here, but to be honest Miss we throw them away. A Fitzgerald hasn't owned this establishment in nearly twenty years."

"But I have a cousin Assumpta, she owns this pub."

"Brendan? A little help!" Aidan shouted back to the only member of the pub who had been there long enough to remember when Assumpta had been alive.

Brendan walked closer to the woman and it wasn't until he was less than three feet away from her that he could truly convince himself this wasn't Assumpta.

"Hello, I'm Brendan, I knew Assumpta very well, taught her at the National school in fact years ago. Maybe you better come over here and sit, we have a lot to talk about."

"But my bags?"

"Don't worry I will take them to your room," Aidan smiled again.

"My room? But you said I didn't have a reservation."

"We'll sort something out."

The stranger followed Brendan back to the bar where he sat in a new seat not soaked with beer and motioned for the young lady to sit next to him. When Aidan returned he poured another stout for Brendan and a red wine for the lady.

"You said Assumpta was your cousin?" Brendan asked delicately.

"Yes, only I have never met her you see. Her father had a brother who immigrated to the US years ago. They lost touch, and when I came here to live, see I work in Dublin, I was told to try and find her. I knew the town but it has taken some time getting settled myself."

"What's your name?"

"Anne, Anne Assumpta Fitzgerald."

"Anne, I don't know how to tell you this but Assumpta passed away, nearly twenty years ago now."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, no one ever said..."

"We didn't know. See she had no family left in Ballyk and we just assumed she was the last of the line. They buried her in the church cemetery."

"How did it happen?"

"There was an accident, here in the pub, she was electrocuted in the cellar."

"My god!"

"I remember the night it happened, the night of the Chinese Food Faire, the whole village was here for a food contest and the lights in the pub had been playing up all week. They flickered and she insisted she fix them herself. Poor Peter, he was so lost without her, and when last rites were given, well I didn't think the poor man could continue to go on. He rode with her body to the hospital, and wouldn't leave her side in the morgue. Disappeared soon after that, sure we would get the odd letter here and there; apparently he went back to England."

"Was Peter her husband?"

"No, her husband was Leo McGarvey, but they were separated, and it was going to take five years of separation before they could file for divorce, its Irish Law," Brendan said with a wave of the hand.

"I am afraid I don't understand, so who was Peter."

"Peter was the parish priest."

"The priest!"

"I am afraid things got a little complicated, Assumpta was in love with the priest, or so we all suspected. She was hard as nails and had no time for the clergy, but she always made time for Peter. When she died we found out Peter loved her too, only nothing ever came of it. They were going to run away together, but she died before they could. Peter would be the one you should talk to, I have his address at my house if you want it."

"Yeah," Anne said absently, "So the pub, this belongs to Leo now?"

"No, it belongs to me," Aidan interjected.

"You? But you aren't a Fitzgerald or a McGarvey."

"No, he's not," explained Brendan, "but Leo wanted nothing to do with the pub and he returned to London, he was a journalist you see, Assumpta's best friend Niamh ran it for awhile but when her father died, well disappeared, and she lost her husband, she remarried and moved back to England as well. There was another estate sale and the church bought it, it was under the church until about ten years ago when Aidan here became our new publican, and we got a priest around the same time. Young kid from Belfast just out of seminary, Father Patrick Haulings."

"My head hurts," Anne laughed pressing her fingers to her temples, "So I have come all this way to find out my only living Irish relative died twenty years ago and she was in love with the priest."

"I'm afraid that is the long and short of it," smiled Brendan weakly, "another glass of red?"

"Better make the next one a gin and a double at that."