Erin McManus was the old lady that everyone wished they'd grow into. She wasn't the sit on the porch, rock back and forth all day type. She still drove herself, in spite of the fact she was well over eighty years old. She also religiously attended her bi-weekly ballet class. "I've been doing it for seventy years," she would say "I'm not stopping now." Perhaps the most impressive thing about Erin were the stories that followed her. The small town of Haddon, Louisiana had never been the same since she and her husband Murphy had stormed in nearly a half century ago. The six McManus children had since moved on to bigger and better things, but they always came home to Haddon. Home to the magnificent tales of outlaws and a life they would never know.
Murphy and Erin's stories were a privilege that few were allowed. Their children, of course, and their grandchildren. It wasn't until Murphy suffered a heart attack and was certain to die that Erin finally agreed to tell the story. I got the phone call at two in the afternoon on a Friday. I was thinking fondly of heading to New Orleans for the weekend. My boss came in and told me to pick up the phone.
"It's Mrs. McManus. She wants to speak with you," she said. I sighed and picked up. What on earth could she want?
"Hello Mrs. McManus," I said when I picked up.
"Daniel, boy, you listen to me and you listen good. My Murphy is dying and I want to get something off my chest before he does," she said.
"But ma'am, I'm not a priest," I said. "I'm a reporter."
"I know. If I wanted a priest I would have got one, you fool child. I have a story to tell you. It's time Haddon knew about our family, it's time the world knew about us," she said. "I've called in Connor, too. He should be here by six. I've sent Maggie to the airport in Baton Rouge. He'll have his two cents to put in, I'm sure."
"Where do you want to meet?" I asked, waiting for another sharp reply.
"Murphy's at St. Raphael's. The room is 122. Tell those bird brained nurses I asked for you. Don't let them give you any crap," she said.
"Yes ma'am," I said. "Should I be there by six?"
"Come at six thirty just to be safe. It's gonna be a long night," she said. I stifled a groan. She was honestly going to make me stay up all night to listen to whatever she was going to tell me. I was convinced it was just some old lady's fairy tales that she'd heard back home in England.
"You'll be well compensated for your time," she said, as if reading my mind.
"You don't need to do that," I said.
"Consider it a gift," she said and hung up. She was abrupt like that. I put the phone back on the base and finished the story I'd been working on. I wasn't sure how thrilled Carol would be when I told her what Mrs. M wanted. I resolved to tell her on the way out.
"I'm going to get the life story of the McManus family," I said as I headed out the door.
"Any reason why?" she said, looking over her glasses.
"That's what she wanted. Her husband is dying and she said she has something she needs to get off her chest. I didn't want to tell her no," I said.
"No one tells Erin McManus no and lives to tell about it," Carol said.
"That's it? No hysterics over printing the life story of the McManus clan?" I said.
"I think it will be well worth your time," she said. "I was good friends with Ina McManus in high school. I heard tidbits, but never a full story. It will be interesting to see what she has to say." I shifted the weight of my bag on my shoulder.
"Okay. She said it may take all night," I said.
"So your deadline will be next Wednesday. You better go. If you're late she may just refuse to say anything," Carol said, going back to what she was doing. I mumbled a good bye and walked out to my car.
It took eight minutes to drive from one end of Haddon to the other. St. Raphael's was at one end and the newspaper office was at the other. As I walked into the hospital, she was waiting.
Her hair was nearly white, but at one point I'd been told she had brilliant red hair. She refused to hunch over, as most old people do, but stood at her full five foot eight inches. Smile lines outlined her lips and eyes. But the eyes hadn't changed. I'd known her since I was a baby and she was sixty three the year I was born. Her eyes were the same amber-green they'd always been. Though no longer perfect, they still caught everything.
"I was beginning to think you weren't interested," she said.
"No ma'am, I'm very interested," I said.
"Don't lie to me. It doesn't work. Let's get a move on. There isn't much time left," she said. "I left Connor to have a bit of time with his brother. They should be done by the time we get there." She started walking and I jogged after her. In the waiting room was the rest of the McManus family. The five girls; Ina, Rian, Malina, Sorcha, and Quinn, and the youngest boy, Carson. They had their spouses and children with them. There were roughly thirty people crammed into a room designed for fifteen. Connor's side of the family hadn't even gotten there yet. That would be at least another twelve. That was one thing about the Irish, they did believe in having lots of kids.
"Here's the room. Murphy can't speak, but he still hears just as good as he did the day I met him. He was just as much a part of this as Conner and me. We just happen to be doing the talking," she said. The room was dark when she opened the door. I saw the figure of a man leaning over in a chair. He looked up when he heard the door.
"I see you brought him," he said, still bearing some of his Irish accent.
"It's time Connor," she said. "Murph wanted it this way." He gave a slow nod. He pulled up a chair next to him.
"Have a seat," he said. I sat and pulled out my recorder.
"I'll be using this," I said. "Or would you rather I take notes?"
"That'll be fine," Erin said, sitting down. "There's a great deal to impart."
"Where should we begin?" Connor asked.
"I'll start," she said. "With the day I met you three."
"Three?" I said.
"Just listen," she said. "It'll make sense soon." I turned on the recorder and leaned back.
