Tall Tale--Dark O' the Moon part 3: Leah O'Lee
Leah O'Lee was by far the eccentric in the village of Cork, Ireland. For one thing, she retained an air of slight confusion about her person, and had the queer smile of one that is thoroughly contemplating the depths of the universe that befuddled its recipient. She and her father lived in a pretty little cottage at the edge of Cork at the foot of the ring of smoky mountains that shut the town away from all outside influence. Thus, the inhabitants of Cork were a simple lot whose paramount goal in life was to discover each and every enigma that dared to present itself in their midst and transform it into a fabulous yarn with which to entertain themselves.
Another cause for Leah O'Lee's capricious reputation was the madness of her father, Frank O'Lee; for there was no doubt in any of the inhabitants of Corks' mind that he was assuredly insane. Frank had a shock of white hair that fell over a wrinkled brow and stuck out from his head at a dizzying angle.
He had electric blue eyes that became unfocused when he ranted to anyone willing to listen that leprechauns, or wee folk, as those in that day referred to them, dwelled the mountains. He insisted that they connived to take the town's children by tricking them with their caches of gold and beguiling disposition. He claimed that he could recognize a leprechaun from three miles away with one eye shut tightly. Any child naive enough to heed him pointed out that the leprechauns could seek magic from the conjure-man O'Bryan, but these children where always quickly drawn away from the man as he boisterously demanded that no spell could shield a leprechaun from his eyes.
Frank was wont to wander off in the direction of the mountains, wildly proclaiming the presence of a leprechaun making off for sanctuary in the obscure ridge. Thus it was that Leah O'Lee found herself in the perilous foothills chasing after her recreant father who was apprehended by one of his fits. Frank had lodged himself in a tree and was flapping his arms like one of the great falcons that made their home in the high precipice. "I be a wee folk's beast o' burden!" he cackled while teetering dangerously on a twisted bough.
Leah O'Lee called desperately for him to come down, but he persisted and continued his bizarre flapping act, until his vivid eye fixed upon a dark shadow that suddenly vanished into one of the crevices of the mountainside. "It be one of the wee folk! These sharp eyes tell no falsehoods!" He pointed crazily where the shadow had been. With surprising agility, he climbed from the tree and made to pursue it, but his daughter caught his arm and clutched him to her. She led him firmly from the foothills to their cottage, where, as she always did, put him to bed with hot porridge and a glass of milk.
Only one man in Cork had the courage to attempt to court the lunatic's daughter, and he was Seamus Moravik IV, the not-so-bright son of shepherd Seamus Moravik III who simply referred to the lad as Moravik. He was not sharp enough to be disquieted by Leah O'Lee's strange demeanor, and thus he put fresh flowers in her window every Sunday and escorted her to any and all social functions.
What Moravik lacked in intellect he compensated with blunt strength. There was no contest of brawn that he had not conquered and was often called upon to assist the odd gurney wheel out of a patch of sticky mud. He had his simple heart set upon marrying Leah O'Lee—and so when she became enamored of the stranger who wandered into town shortly after her father's latest fit—well, he was deeply troubled to say the least.
In the center of Cork sat a long, rectangular hall where socials were held. The townsfolk cared to gather there when chores were completed and when gossip was in short supply (which was not very often, but it gave them an excuse to congregate at the least). Moravik brought Leah O'Lee there after Sunday services, and they would take part in the social dinners that were served. Leah O'Lee always had some of his flowers tucked prettily into her hair and into the waistband of her only red dress that she reserved specifically for Sunday's meal.
Thus they were settling to dinner when the vast doors at the extremity of the hall swung open to reveal a red-haired youth garbed peculiarly. He had the queerest comportment of perplexity about his person, and seemed as one with a specific purpose. He beamed widely and strode to Leah O'Lee's chair and extended a long-fingered hand to her. Moravik growled low in his throat as she wordlessly took the boy's hand and stood to leave the hall with him. She glanced back at her escort with her inexplicable smile, then turned her head and gazed at the boy as she was lead from the hall, which immediately erupted into a frenzied curious chatter.
Leah O'Lee could not explain her attraction to the stranger, but the way he softly spoke to her enchanted her, and she felt that she could trust him with her deepest secrets. He told her that he was a wanderer from the towns outside the mountains of Cork, and that his name was Andrew Fitzgerald, but fancied to be called Fitzie. Their walk took them to a meadow at the feet of the mountains, where he plucked flowers for her that were of greater bloom and color than any Moravik had given her.
Moravik himself hated Fitzie for taking his place in Leah O'Lee's eyes. He did not attend socials for fear that the enchanting couple would be there. Rather, he sat amongst his father's sheep with his heavy brow furrowed in brooding. Moravik was not the only one to disapprove of Fitzie, but surprisingly it was not one of the denizens of Cork but Leah O'Lee's insane father Frank. He had spotted the couple returning from that first walk and went into a fit of pointing and screeching to all who would hear that the youth was in fact a leprechaun in disguise. Leah O'Lee dismissed his accusations as a commonplace fit, and continued to see her Fitzie. She was concerned when he persisted that her beloved was indeed one of the wee folk, but that certainly did not heed her from accepting the boy's marriage proposal.
As the blissful couple married in the gleaming church, the lunatic and shepherd's son sat morosely outside, refusing to set foot in the wedding they believed to be a gaffe. "Bloody boy's one o' the wee folk—my sharp eyes see that! They sees him talking to birds and crawling creatures. He's a tricking her with that phony ruddy face that's as fooling as leprechaun gold." Frank sighed, speaking to no one in particular. Moravik dismissed the old man's ramblings as idiotic—but then, a rare thing happened—an idea sparked in his mind.
"How can we get rid of him?" He inquired with interest.
"Oh, this is one o' the cleverer of the wee folk—he would have made a deal with the old O'Bryan magic-man at the top of the mountain. He will breathe and eat and sleep just like a real man—but he'll not resist the urge to talk to his birds and creatures. What he doesn't know is that old O'Bryan and his wife can't resist a good bet. They would have bet that my little girl is not clever enough to see that her husband's not what he seems." Moravik struggled to absorb the large quantity of information, then ventured slowly,
"So.... If we get Leah O'Lee to think that Fitzie's a leprechaun, then one of them will lose the bet?"
"Aye, and likely break whatever heathen spell's holding that guise on him." Frank's white head lolled onto his wheezing chest and he slept, but Moravik's usually dull eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Leah O'Lee and her new husband moved into the cottage just outside of Cork that they shared with her father. Frank O'Lee deeply mistrusted the boy, and kept away from them whenever possible. However, he could not resist the urge to spy late at night when the moon rose and the fairy lights twinkled in the shadows of trees on the mountains.
'Twas then that he saw Fitzie sneak from the cottage and climb the trees to talk to the birds that flew down from the precipices. On some occasions he brought Moravik, but mostly he was a silent voyeur in the brush, his vivid blue eyes burning madly into the image they saw. For a year, the couple remained in wedded bliss, and for a year Moravik and Frank pressed upon Leah O'Lee that Fitzie was a leprechaun. She certainly knew of his late-night excursions, but not the extent of them. She cast a blunt wall to their entreating, but slowly that wall was found to be flawed with doubt.
At length their persisting pressed heavily upon her, and she agreed to follow Fitzie simply to disprove their accusations. The night the full moon rose, she stealthily followed Fitzie into the tangle of trees that marked the beginning of the foothills. He seemed quite confident in his actions, and she could barely suppress a gasp when he swung up into a tree and began animatedly talking to the creatures harbored there. At that moment, Leah O'Lee doubted her husband's authenticity as a human, thereby breaking the disguise upon him.
A tiny, bearded man jumped from the tree with a wail before he was carried up the mountain by a high, glittery wind. Leah O'Lee blinked as the apparition passed, suddenly finding no memory of Fitzie or anything concerning him. She wandered down the mountain to find her father in his tree flapping again, and observed him with bewilderment. "I be a wee folk's beast o' burden! It be one of the wee folk I saw! These sharp eyes tell no falsehoods!"
And indeed they did not.