Morning Light

By Steven McCann

Morning Light is a romance that begins in the year 1950, when Ian and Leah, two young children and neighbors in the west coast village of Belmullet, Ireland attend the grand wedding of Ian’s older sister. Their childhood romance matures into a lasting and passionate bond as they experience the festivals, teen apprenticeships and the native beauty of their coastal village. Ian learns the skills of a locksmith working in the village hardware store and Leah tends flowers with her mother in the florist section of the village market. Ian journeys off to America before his twentieth birthday, taking little money and vast ambition, energy and love for his sweetheart in Ireland. He finds a way to buy a small locksmith shop in Norwood, Bronx, to bring Leah to the New World and to start a hardware store business. Leah opens a florist shop in the building beside him. Like the Botanical Gardens nearby, their marriage is filled with seasonal change; children, work, the struggle to overcome tragedy and to nurture rich possibilities for everlasting color and beauty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664151147

Steven McCann

Steven McCann is the author of novels, novellas, stories, plays and poems, and a 2021 recipient of a City Artist Corps Grant. He was born in 1948, graduated from Spring Valley High School in New York where he excelled in three sports. He enrolled at the University of Kansas, and later at NYU, majored in English and received a BA. His work experience is varied; nightwatchman at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, hotel detective at the Plaza, home renovator and shipping manager. In 2005 he was stricken with paraplegia and has been wheelchair bound since. He lives in New York City and remains passionate about Central Park, the Shakespeare festival, the Met Museum, Lincoln Center, the opera, and the people of New York.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The year was 1950. In the village square of Belmullet, a small town in Mayo County Ireland, a group of twenty citizens gathered to wait for a bus at 10am on a fine morning in late June. Their ages ranged from children ten and eleven to several septuagenarians. But they had one unifying characteristic. They were all dressed up for a special event, the males in suits and ties, the females in colorful dresses and shawls. One of the latter stood out more than the rest, a young woman of nineteen, a jolly rosy cheeked colleen donning a bright Kelly-green dress with orange gold trim and a large orange gold ribbon streaming down the back of her honey blond hair. She held in both hands a small bouquet of yellow roses, white lilies and green ivy. An older man standing alongside her with his wife could not resist a compliment.

Twill be a fine wedding, if all the bridesmaids look as bonny as you, Molly.

Will you listen to the old codger now, with not even a drop in him yet and flattering the young girls. Oh, wait til he’s had a glass or two of punch at the reception. He’ll be beggin for a dance with them, or showin them a jig, he will, as sure as the day is fair. This from his wife.

And why wouldn’t I? It’s not in my grave I’m at yet, and not a cripple yet, either.

You’ll be both before the day is out more than likely, or I’ll get the death of me just watching you.

Would ya have us only somber and sober on a day as grand as a weddin? It’s not in the Himalayas we’re at, or in Russia or in England.

Nor in God’s Heaven yet either, my good man. And not ever likely to get there, if we’re misbehaving. Take a tip from young Ian, why don’t ya. Dressed like a gentleman and behaving like a gentleman, and about to behold the beautiful solemn ceremony of his older sister on the finest day of her life.

The object of her compliment was Molly’s twelve-year old brother, tall for his age, fine looking like his sister, darker in coloring, yet possessed of the same large blue eyes that were a perfect reflection of the sky on this clear morning.

Twill be a grand day for my sister Meg, I’m hoping, Misses Fairly, he replied respectfully to the older woman.

Twill indeed, young fella. Yes, indeed.

A bus entered the square, circling around the tall center tower and pulling to a stop, facing the direction from which it came. One by one with young girls and women going first, the crowd stepped up and on, handed the driver their tickets and took seats on either side of the aisle. Ian sat next to his sister, letting Molly have the window side. The Fairlys sat in front of them and across the narrow aisle sat Leah and her mother, Leah in the aisle seat like him, so that if he extended one hand to his right, he might have touched her shoulder and the fine silk dress she wore, or a strand of her long red hair. But truth be told, Ian never had such wandering thoughts. Sneaking a peek now and then at her calm profile was enough for him.

He had sat like this across an aisle from Leah from third form til fifth and the only touching he had ever done was once at lunchtime, handing her a milk carton when their fingers met. It was a moment printed on his consciousness indelibly, a moment when he looked at her with a smile, and she kept her eyes down, but smiled back. From that day til this, he learned to steal quick glances, take in her gentle features to see if she were sad or gay and look away in a flash. Each day they walked home from school amongst their classmates, the girls forming a small cluster in front, the boys behind, and he could steal glances at her between remarks to his friends with no one, he believed, the wiser. Theirs were the last two doorways, so that they were alone when Leah came to her home first, not even fifty meters before he came to his. And each day before she disappeared, she turned back at him, not looking up, her eyes averted, but acknowledging his presence in her quiet manner and each time his heart swelled with pride.

The bus ride to Ballina took about an hour. They passed long stretches of grassland dotted here and there with sheep and cattle behind tenuous wire fencing, some hills, some bog, and a few small villages with clusters of concrete buildings like those in Belmullet, two story, slate roofed, their doorways on street level. Ballina did not appear to be much different at first. The bus station was a single-story fortress-like structure close to the road with a row of small windows and one doorway. Several taller buildings across the street looked to be residential, worn and gray without people entering or leaving, or any signs announcing businesses. In a quiet and polite manner, the citizens rose from the seats, alighted from the bus and began their ten-minute walk to Murebacks Cathedral.

They walked for several blocks along the narrow streets on very narrow sidewalks, grouped in pairs on a line banded closely together. They passed gray nondescript buildings like those across from the bus station, single and double story, then entered a more prosperous looking stretch with rows of two-story, slate roofed structures covered with business signs and bright colors; a pub, a small hotel, a shoe repair, a clothing store, a bridal shop, a hair salon, a barber shop, and a dentist. Both sides of the street showed a few parked cars and occasional pedestrians. Light traffic went by in both directions.

They turned again into a wider road with open air and daylight on both sides and a bridge that took them over the Moy River. Looking to their left beyond the railing and the calm waveless green waterway, they could see the grand gothic revival cathedral etched austerely against the morning sky. They crossed through some sparse traffic, passed two young boys fishing from the bridge and made their way one more block to the cathedral entrance.

There were dozens of cars in the parking lot alongside and swarms of people gathered in front waiting to be ushered inside. Many of the men wore tuxedos and a half dozen young women were dressed identically to Molly as bridesmaids, each carrying a bouquet of flowers. The Belmullet travelers waded into this crowd, joining in the chatter and laughter. Old acquaintances and relatives hailed one another and the warm sunshine reflected in golden beams off the river heightened everyone’s spirits. Then suddenly, as if a maestro were giving a cue to his orchestra, the large arched wooden doors of the cathedral swung open with thunderous knocks and two handsome groomsmen appeared, one of them announcing over the merry expectant faces in a ringing voice:

Welcome to the wedding of the Honorable Barrister Kevin Dennis Cleary and his beautiful young bride, Megan Eileen O’Downey of Belmullet! Welcome!

The crowd of about a hundred and fifty people filed inside, leaving Molly behind with the other bridesmaids and groomsmen. Having been pointed out as a family member, Ian was led to the third pew at the front of the church. He had never traveled beyond Belmullet and the large cathedral opened up before his gaze higher and more wondrous than any building he could have imagined. A netted vaulted ceiling surmounted high columns, all in white marble leading to the ceiling above the chancel, pulsing in blue, bluer than any earthly blue he’d ever seen. Stained glass windows behind the altar glowed in brilliant shades of red and blue, stirring with Biblical figures painted in God’s light and by God’s hand. A choir resounded with Bach’s Gloria Chorus and behind the choir at one of the transepts a figure of Christ on the cross carved in smooth marble rose above the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene with exalted echoes. The crowd filled the center of the nave, directed pew after pew by two smiling ushers dressed in tuxedos. Ian was seated with several distant cousins from Galway whom he’d only met once before as a child and barely recognized. Directly across the aisle sat Kevin Cleary’s large clan of brothers, sisters and cousins, and one pew behind them sat Leah with her mother.

At the front of the chancel stood the priest dressed in white vestments. He was a young priest, wearing a broad smile as he looked out at the gathering and as handsome a man as the young groomsmen, his black hair shining in the morning light that poured in through the stained-glass windows. When the center pews had been filled, the last of the wedding party proceeded down the aisle. This included the grandparents and parents of the bride and bridegroom who took seats in the second pew on either side. The chorus ended and in the lull the priest moved to his pulpit and offered a brief prayer.

We ask for the Lord’s blessing on this glorious day for Megan and Kevin who are here to receive the Holy Sacrament of Marriage. We ask the Lord’s blessing for their grandparents and parents, their relatives, and all their friends gathered for this sacred and wondrous celebration.

Two short readings followed this prayer, the first given by the groom’s father, a tall stout man who walked with heavy tread up into the chancel and behind the pulpit, opened his Bible and adjusted his eyeglasses.

A reading from John, Chapter Three, Verses Eighteen and Nineteen, he read in a deep throaty bass. ‘Dear children, let us not love with words or speech, but with actions and in truth. This is how we know that we belong to the truth and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence,’ The word of the Lord."

He closed his Bible and walked from the chancel as Ian’s mother rose from her pew, stepped forward with her light dignified bearing, and opened her own Bible behind the pulpit.

From John, Chapter Four, Verse Sixteen. ‘No one has ever seen God. Yet if we love one another God remains in us and his love is brought to perfection in us.’ The word of the Lord.

Mrs O’Downey’s clear intelligent brogue, spread throughout the quiet gathering, filled Ian with a gush of pride to be part of such a brilliant handsome family and a touch of sadness, too, for his missing father taken from him by a storm at sea when Ian was only five. Like the reader before her, she closed her Bible, the very Bible that Ian had seen her reading by lamplight in their parlor, and moved gracefully from the chancel to her seat again.

The priest returned to the pulpit, his hands resting easily on its sides, and immediately a broad smile lit up his young face again.

Joining two people in the Holy Sacrament of Marriage is a special honor for any priest, but today is also a personal one for me. Kevin and I have been friends for many years. We were schoolmates as boys and as teenagers growing up in Dublin. When I took my Holy Vows, he was sitting in the first pew of the church alongside my family, just as you are sitting here today. And I agreed that I would be here for his Holy Vows. I may add that he insisted I baptize his children, so I am to be with this beautiful young couple as friend and priest for many years to come. No happier day has ever dawned for me. The sanctity of marriage, its trials and tribulations as well as its many triumphs is one of God’s greatest gifts. It is a gift to teach us humility and forbearance, to strengthen us against mercenary and decadent forces in society and to give us the limitless joys of love, the joys of trust and companionship, of parenting and grandparenting, and of uniting again in Heaven in eternal joy with God. So we rejoice today as family, as friends, as fellow countrymen, but also as part of humanity, to witness these two beautiful people, Megan and Kevin, coming together as God’s children to foster his goodness and brilliance wherever they go, and to spread by example his most fundamental teaching, Mercy, Kindness, and Love. Looking out now over your faces, I see a dozen brightly dressed young people waiting to proceed, so I ask you all to stand and share with me this sacred moment.

Music from Mendelssohn’s Wedding March suddenly filled the cathedral and instantly the entire gathering rose to their feet. People throughout the pews turned their heads toward the back of the nave where the wedding party began its procession. Ian strained to see over the heads behind him, his soul filled with wonder and excitement at the splendor commencing before his very eyes. First came the groomsmen, five strong men glowing with health and good looks, marching in unison like brothers of goodwill. Then came the colorful young bridesmaids holding bouquets at their bosoms and beaming with proud joyful faces, their heads held high. Behind, after a respectful distance, came the best man and bridegroom who seemed to Ian even taller and handsomer than the men before them. Was this grand gentleman really to become my brother in law? He wondered as Kevin Cleary, straight, broad shouldered and dauntless like the knights Ian had read about in his story books approached only steps away with eyes fastened to some Holy Grail, nose and chin pointing upward to the priest and the altar, taking long strides and pausing between each one. And grandest of all came the bride, holding a large bouquet of flowers and accompanied by Ian’s uncle Brennan, her long streaming white vail trailing behind as if she’d been reincarnated from the sister he knew, whisked off by the saints and brought back again to earth. And as she passed by and reached the chancel where the others preceding her had parted and moved off to the sides, leaving only the priest, the bridegroom, and the best man looking back, Mendelssohn’s Wedding March came to a close.

Ian’s uncle Brennan stepped politely aside when they reached the bridegroom, and the best man did the same, so that all eyes in the cathedral were drawn to the bride, bridegroom and the priest between them. Into this silence Ian heard the solemn voices of Kevin Cleary and his sister taking their vows, following one after the other without pause.

I take you to be my wife and I promise to be true to you in good times, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.

I take you to be my husband and I promise to be true to you in good times, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.

The priest blessed them, joined their hands and asked the final fateful words.

Do you Kevin, take Megan as your lawful wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, until death do you part?

I do.

And do you Megan, take Kevin as your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, until death do you part?

I do.

Uncle Brennan stepped forward again and extended a ring to the priest who blessed it and handed it to the bride who placed it on the bridegroom’s finger. The best man followed suit, giving a second ring to the priest who blessed it, handed it to the bridegroom who placed it on Megan’s finger. Both bride and bridegroom spoke together:

I take this ring as a sign of my love and faithfulness in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

You may kiss the bride, said the young priest with a touch of laughter in his voice. Without a sound in the cathedral, the bridegroom leaned forward and kissed the bride.

The priest made a nuptial blessing, exclaiming loudly for all to hear:

May the Lord bless this couple to a long a joyous marriage. Go in Peace with Christ.

Without any encouragement, the entire gathering responded proudly:

Thanks be to God!

The choir and organ erupted with Beethoven’s, ‘Ode to Joy,’ and the married couple, holding hands, strode rapidly up the aisle with laughter lighting their faces, spreading their joy to all they passed. Uncle Brennan and the best man followed, then the bridesmaids, the groomsmen, the elder family relatives, and finally the gathering itself, issuing from the pews with laughter and joy on every face. Ian made a desperate attempt to dodge those larger bodies in front of him, but by the time he reached the open air, the limousine carrying the bride and bridegroom had driven off. Suddenly Molly appeared again by his side, tugging at his arm and hurriedly leading him to a large sedan where he was bundled into the back seat amongst other bridesmaids and groomsmen, a shower of flower petals covering his suit. And with a sudden bolt forward, they were through the crowd, around the other cars, and off to he knew not where.

The reception was held on the ground floor of a large ivy-covered stone hotel not more than five minutes’ drive from the cathedral. A spacious hall had been reserved for the wedding party to the left of the entrance foyer. A hotel concierge at the front greeted and directed the arrivals, while strains of traditional Irish music issued from within. Just inside the wide doorway to the party area, a bar had been set up, and beyond, covering the front half of the space, large round tables had been arranged with white table clothes, gleaming glasses and silverware, and ten chairs for each. The other half of the hall facing the tall windows looking out to the front property was set aside for a band made up of two fiddles, a tin whistle, a piano accordion, a bagpipe, a drum, and a bouzouki, and there was a large open space for dancing. An enormous wedding cake four feet high sat on a smaller round table in front of the center window.

When Ian’s group drove through the front gate and curved around up to the entrance, several carloads had already arrived. He was the only youngster among them and the other six passengers scrambling out of the car and into the hotel were too eager for the festivities ahead to take much notice of him. He hurried after them, not wanting to lose sight of Molly again and be wedged into a crowd of strangers. The hotel concierge was a thin ruddy faced gent wearing a glossy starched collar, a green bowtie, an orange carnation in his button hole, and a smile as loud as the music emanating from within.

Hello, Young Fella! Are you family, Lad?

Yes, Sir. My sister’s the bride.

Well! Well! It’s not every day when we have celebrations like this, is it, Lad?

No, Sir, it’s not. It’s –

But before Ian could utter another word, the concierge looked past him to another party entering behind.

Welcome to all of you! Welcome to the grand affair! There’s a swell band waiting for you Folks, so join the party! Welcome!

Ian followed the music. His spirits were lifted again as soon as he turned the corner into the party area, for standing a few feet inside were the bride and bridegroom waiting to greet each and every guest. They kissed and shook hands with those clustered around them, but Megan abruptly gave all her attention to Ian, the instant she laid eyes on him.

My handsome man! Dressed up like a bridegroom yourself, I’d swear. Look at ya! With your own bow tie, like a man of the world! Give us a kiss, why don’t ya! And she put her arms around him, leaning forward in her tall heels and kissing him on both cheeks.

Did ya enjoy the wedding, My Fella? Did ya? she asked, leaning into his face so close their noses touched and for a brief delicious moment giving all her attention to him.

It was the grandest affair, Megan! Grander than all the Queens of England, or the old Kings of Ireland!

Do ya see that big cake over yonder, Ian? she asked, turning half around and then back to him. I’m going to give you the biggest piece of all. Don’t tell my husband that I said so, will ya? And she gave him a wink.

I won’t tell a soul, not ever!

I’ve got to greet these other people now, so you march inside there and prepare yourself for a great feast, okay? You’re sitting with your other sister, the blond and beautiful one. But give us another hug and kiss before you leave us.

He embraced her with all his strength, holding tightly to her perfumed and silken wedding dress, kissed her cheek passionately, and let her go with a throb in his heart.

Give us a handshake, Ian, said the tall dark-haired Kevin Cleary reaching between two other men to greet him. Looking sharp you are, My Man! We’ve got all the cake and ice cream in Ireland here for you, Ian. I hope you’re ready to oblige us. I can tell by your grip you’re almost ready for your own wedding.

Is that the brother? asked another man.

For sure! Ian Christopher O’Downey from Belmullet, County Mayo, Ireland. Proud son of proud parents and proud grandparents, too. Move on in, Ian and take a seat. And don’t forget that fishing trip we’ve planned for this summer when I get back.

I won’t, Kevin.

Kevin Cleary, Barrister, looked over his head like his sister had done and the concierge had done to greet the stream of entering guests as lively jigs and reels filled the space with a touch of the bagpipe to make everyone’s heart beat faster.

The tables quickly became surrounded by the animated crowd pouring in as people searched through the names alongside each place setting for their allotted seat. Ian found his next to Molly’s at a table adjacent to the bride and bridegroom. Joining the newlyweds were Ian’s mother and grandparents, the bridegroom’s parents and grandparents, and Uncle Brennan. Seated with Ian and Molly were several bridesmaids and groomsmen. Not far off, Ian spied distant cousins of his from Galway, and just as close in another direction, he spotted Leah, seated with her mother, alongside Mr and Mrs Fairly, and several townspeople from Belmullet. The others from his town were dispersed in that half of the large room, mixed in with city folk from Dublin, Kevin’s hometown.

More than a dozen waiters and waitresses streamed in from swinging doors close to the bar, circling each of the tables taking orders for drinks, and scurrying back and forth to the bar with their orders. Glasses were raised, toasts declared, and the waiters soon followed with large platters of bread and butter, appetizers of salmon pate, and the main dish of filet mignon, asparagus with truffle oil, and baked potato topped with fresh melted cheese. Chatter filled every crevice of the entire space and competed with the band in volume, growing louder and louder with multiple conversations carried on at each table simultaneously. Few in the gathering commented on the food, although to a person they all thought it excellent. The wine, Guinness and whiskey flowed freely, seeming to come from an inexhaustible supply behind the bar and the three active bartenders. No one seemed to want coffee or tea, except a few elderly people. But dessert was the biggest treat of the party.

Both bride and bridegroom moved to the many tiered wedding cake, each armed with a cake knife. Alongside them on opposite sides of the table sat a pile of dessert plates and forks. The groom cut an ample mouthful and served it to the bride and the bride did the same for the groom, each tilting their head back to receive the large first mouthful amidst cheers from the gathering who had lined up for their own prize. Grandparents were served first, followed by the few young children in attendance, then the women were served and lastly, the men. The bridal couple gave a heaping portion to all and sundry, but Ian came away believing Megan had kept her promise, for the vanilla cake, topped with green cording and shamrocks that she piled onto his plate was more than he could carry back to his seat without spilling some, and more than he could eat without passing on the waiter’s offer of ice cream to go with it.

No sooner had the last of the company been served with wedding cake, then the dancing began. The fiddles, tin whistle and the piano accordion struck up a slow sentimental waltz and bride and bridegroom took center floor by themselves, moving in graceful circles, while cameras clicked and flashed. The slow waltz was followed by another in which the bridegroom danced with Ian’s mother and Megan danced with Kevin’s father. After these first waltzes the dance floor began to fill with the elderly, the middle-aged, the young bridesmaids and groomsmen, almost everyone except the few children finishing their cake and ice cream, and a half dozen stragglers.

The waltzes got everyone that wanted to dance out onto the floor, but no one expected this calm, relaxing music to continue for long. After three or four waltzes, the band took a momentary pause of not more than a minute. It was broken by the tin whistle and the drum beating out a stirring Celtic rhythm, to which the other band members joined in, creating a sound that made everyone’s heart jump and feet patter. Once again, the newlyweds took the lead. Megan kicked off her heels, one after the other, and Kevin threw aside his tuxedo jacket. Circling each other at the center of the room, they commenced an Irish jig, hopping from side to side, spinning, whirling, swinging their arms up and down. The gathering around them clapped to this throbbing, high-pitched beat as they might have done centuries ago in the time of Brian Boru. But the couple did not have the floor to themselves for more than a full three minutes when another couple jumped out to join them, and low and behold, it was none other than Mr Fairly keeping his wife’s prediction from that morning.

He guided one of the bridesmaids out after him, a girl forty years his junior, but not a mite more supple or energized at a jig. Mr Fairly threw himself into the dance, bursting with a year’s worth of stored up energy like a Celtic warrior at a victory feast. Then, just as Mr Fairly had stolen the spotlight from Megan and Kevin, a third couple jumped in, one of the groomsmen with a middle-aged woman who danced more fiercely than anyone. The band piped and thumped, and the bagpipe wailed, and it seemed that the music would never cease.

There were not more than a half dozen party goers still at their tables. Ian sat with the scant remnants of his cake, his belly full to bursting, the whistle and thump of the music making it all go round and round, and up and down inside him like a carousel. Across from him at the table sat his sister Molly in close conversation with one of the groomsmen who struck Ian’s critical young scrutiny as too old to be a groomsman and too old to be leaning so close to the fresh cheeked virginal Molly. He was a man perhaps in his forties, stout enough to make his starched white shirt and tuxedo jacket bulge in front, red and jowly enough to look like a retired sea captain, and bald enough with thin wisps of graying brown hair across his pate to look grossly inappropriate to be seated with such a young Lass. Ian decided that they must be discussing business of some kind, the workings of the Belmullet bakery where Molly was employed, or some insurance policy that the man was a dealer in. He turned his gaze past them to Leah and her mother, and when a gentleman came over to engage her mother’s attention, Ian, emboldened by the day’s events, rose from his seat and approached his schoolmate.

He stopped before her seat and made a low bow from the waist.

Good afternoon to you, Ma’am, he came out with to his own surprise, adding a hiccup and a laugh.

Is it all right you are, Ian? Or has the weddin cake and the music got to your brain a little? I’m not a Ma’am you know, not for another quarter of a century, replied Leah, controlling her laughter.

I’ll repeat the greeting to ya, Leah, but I cannot make another bow, I’m thinkin, without spilling half of the cake I’ve put down. It’s Miss, is it? Well then, good afternoon to you, Miss.

You’re a gallant gentleman, you are, Ian. What brings you this great distance over from that other table? Is it lonely you are?

You could say as much, Leah, you could. Ian hiccupped again. I was wondering, could me and yourself try some dancing, Leah?

Leah’s coy smile broke into a gush of laughter.

Shouldn’t you drink some water first, Ian? To quell the hiccups you’re having, or do you think jumping up and down to the bagpipe will stop them.?

I don’t see no water hereabouts, Leah, and I’m too young for the Guinness. But if you’ll do me the honor of a jig or two, that may solve my problem.

You’re overwhelming me with your gallantry, Ian. But asking my mother, you should, to see if it agrees with herself.

Mrs Tierney turned away from the gentleman standing beside her, before Ian uttered another syllable.

Permission granted, young Fella! But be careful of the other dancers, the both of you. For they be swinging arms and legs like a flock of roosters in a barnyard competing for the same hen.

Leah jumped from her seat and the pair of schoolmates hurried to the dance floor to try a jig for the first time in their lives.

With all due respect to the bride and bridegroom, Mrs Tierney, that young pair are the handsomest couple in the gathering, said the gentleman beside Leah’s mother.

That’s young Ian O’Downey. No finer family anywhere in Ireland. I couldn’t ask for a better dancing partner for my daughter, not with the luck of the Druids and a fistful of four-leaf clovers.

Ian led the way to an open space and Leah followed. He began to hop from side to side, watching the other dancers for cues, and once he felt he had a few basic steps, turned to Leah. Her movements were less exuberant, but a good deal lighter of foot, and without nearly as much wedding cake to hold her down, she more quickly approximated the traditional dance steps. They hopped and spun and lifted their arms as if the joy of the music and the celebration could make them fly. In just a few moments, the blood-stirring cry of the tin whistle, the thump of the drum, and the wail of the bagpipe dissolved completely the shyness they had felt towards each other from earliest childhood. Other children gathered on the dance floor, adding their own variations to the dance. This did not distract their elders, however, who hardly took notice or gave over their own merriment. Infused with the general excitement of the dancers, the band increased its tempo. The drum got louder, the tin whistle sang out like an ancestral bird flying in and around them, and the bagpipe wailed with centuries old spirits of ghosts and warriors, poets and kings.

Ian would have danced until a moon and stars had added their reflections on the Moy River. But many hours before that happened the music suddenly stopped, and looking around him, he saw the crowd in the hall hurrying after the bride and bridegroom who scurried away toward the exit holding hands. Ian lost the awareness of his dancing partner who was returning to her mother again. Amongst the crowd in front he spied Molly chasing her older sister, her ribbon flying behind. Ian bolted after them.

He side-stepped and dashed through the throng in the lobby just in time to see Megan and Kevin jumping into a convertible, and driving off from the hotel in their wedding garb, a collection of empty tin cans dangling from the rear and giving a clattering racket to ward off evil spirits. They were only headed to Galway for their honeymoon, but to Ian it seemed like the ends of the earth from the sudden dispiriting letdown he experienced. The crowd around him appeared to share his feelings. They wandered back inside, but almost no one wanted to dance. For a short while they returned to their tables for a drink or two, until the party began to break up.

The stout gentleman who’d been in close conversation with Molly came out with these curious words as though he were speaking to a middle-aged wife of his:

Meet us at the front in ten minutes with yourself and the brother, so I can pull the car around.

Then, adding to Ian’s confusion, the man gave him a condescending wink and spoke to him for the first time.

There’s a good Lad.

What car is it that the gentleman was talking about, Molly?

That’s Mister Dougan, Ian. He’s giving us a ride back to Belmullet.

Do you know the gentleman, Molly? Is he an old friend of our Uncle Brennan?

Uncle Brennan was sitting at a nearby table in conversation with another man and heard Ian’s question.

No, Ian. But be nice to him. Mister Dougan is a wealthy pub owner here in Ballina.

That did not impress Ian. In fact, it mystified him. Molly was not a flouncy barmaid, but a respectable working girl in Mister O’Rourke’s bakery. What right had this stuffed middle-aged swell, rich or not, to be putting his fat hand on his sister’s shoulder. But what mystified him even more was Molly’s servility, introducing his surname and accepting his offer of a ride home. Wasn’t the bus ride back good enough for them? The glory he had felt only hours before seeing Megan and Kevin joined by the priest, and greeting them when he entered the party, the pride he had felt in being part of such a handsome family was being compromised, tarnished in a way that he resented. He sat with his arms folded across his chest, forgetting to say goodbye to Leah and her mother, and wondering how he should act with this stranger.

Molly rose from the table, bent over Uncle Brennan, and gave him a goodbye kiss. Ian had barely spoken to Uncle Brennan that day and knew they were unlikely to meet again for some time. Uncle Brennan was his father’s older brother and lived a bachelor’s life in Limerick, working as a manager in a textile plant. He rarely came to visit them and Ian had only seen him one other time after his father’s funeral. So, he mustered up a smile and a polite thank you for walking his sister down the aisle.

T’was a wedding to make Ireland proud, like the weddings of old, Lad. But you’ll be having your own someday soon, Ian.

And yourself, Uncle Brennan? Can we expect such a wedding?

The lad has a joke or two in him, doesn’t he now? I’m waiting for the Duchess of York, Son, to divorce her prince. That’s what’s takin me so long. Be on your way, the two of ya, and give your mother a kiss from her forsaken brother in law.

Sure, we will, Uncle Brennan. Don’t forget us and come see us some day, said Molly.

Ian looked around and realized his mother had left the party, probably to return to her sister’s in Crossmolina where they had prepared Megan for the wedding. He shook hands with Uncle Brennan a last time and followed Molly out of the banquet hall. Mr Dougan was waiting for them outside the front entrance in the front seat of a big shiny American convertible with the engine running. He did not get out to open a door for Molly and Ian already wished he’d never met the man.

Chapter 2

Brett Dougan was not a friend of Kevin Cleary, Ian’s new brother in law, yet had been chosen as one of the groomsmen because he was a client of Kevin’s law firm living in Ballina and a wealthy businessman who could facilitate the reception arrangements at the hotel where he did a large amount of business himself. He owned three pubs in Ballina as well as a wine and spirits outlet. No one knew how he became so successful so fast. As the eighth child from a poor family, he was forced to leave school before his fourteenth birthday, because of trouble with the local police for robbing a postal worker at knifepoint. He did time in a boy’s reformatory where he became the leader of a gang. Burly and muscular in his younger days, he softened to pudginess with the acquisition of greater and greater wealth. Somehow, he managed to promote himself from dishwasher, to waiter, to bartender, to pub owner, and finally to his present status. He had never been married and wasn’t looking to do so, when he struck up a conversation with the fair-haired Molly outside Murebacks Cathedral. But the respect surrounding Molly’s good family as well as her freshness and youth had a sudden appeal to him and he decided to make his move.

The poor first impression Mr Dougan made on Ian didn’t improve much during the fifty minutes drive back to Belmullet. The car was a large Pontiac convertible imported from America and Ian had the leather upholstered back seat all to himself with its cushioned elbow rest and ample leg room. With the top down, it might have been a fun ride for the youngster had the driver been different. But Mr Dougan continued to treat his sister Molly like a worn old shoe, rather than the bonny lass that would have made most men bend and serenade for. He smoked a big stinking cigar that sent clouds of putrid odors behind the front windshield and back into Ian’s face. When Molly tried to share her enthusiasm about the wedding, he grunted, If you like that sort of a shindig, I guess. I’d much rather spend the money on a few gallons of good whiskey and a set of new tires for the roadster. He made no attempt to strike up a conversation with Ian and referred to him as, The brother of yourself we got behind us.

But what bothered Ian much more than Mr Dougan’s rudeness and disregard was his sister’s fawning attempts to please the man. She had never been Ian’s favorite sister. Megan was a good deal cleverer than Molly, a good deal more prudent, a good deal kinder. And she could always make him laugh with her sharp wit. Despite Molly’s fair hair and winsomeness, Megan was the more beautiful, her large delft blue eyes contrasting with wavy black hair and the purest of complexions. When Kevin Cleary first saw her inside her draper’s shop, while on a fishing trip to Belmullet with his fellow barristers, he was hopelessly smitten after only a few words and a glance or two. But Molly was still a desirable partner for any man; hardworking, loyal to her mother to whom she gave half of her weekly salary, and an easy sibling for Ian to get along with after his father was lost at sea. He’d expected Molly to marry Joe Harrington, the butcher in their town who’d walked out with her to the beach and danced with her at the summer festival. And he never expected her to flirt with any fat old pub owner, rich or richer.

They arrived in Belmullet just after three pm, the spring afternoon still fine, the sky not yet dimmed, a cool breeze wafted in from nearby Blacksod Bay, and the stores still active with people coming and going, several of whom stopped to stare at the shiny new convertible entering their town. Billy Donohoe, Ian’s closest friend, gave him a big wave and a grin from the doorway of the food market where he emerged with an armful of groceries for his invalid grandparent. Susan Hollins waved to Molly from the doorway of O’Rourke’s Bakery where they both worked, adding a look of stunned amazement to her greeting. Both of the O’Downeys waved back, although Brett Dougan didn’t once turn his head to take in his surroundings, and beeped his horn rudely at a pedestrian attempting to cross in front of him. They drove straight to the O’Downey home, a two-bedroom apartment only a block from the town square that occupied the top floor of a two-story building along a row of similar residences.

When they pulled up on the opposite side of the street, a group of young girls were jumping at hopscotch on the sidewalk. Two old man seated on upturned milk crates shuffled cards, and a young man Molly’s age leaning against his building played an accordion, while his female companion accompanied him with a harmonica. Several boys a year or so younger than Ian kicked a soccer ball back and forth in the street. Like the people in the square, they paused to stare at the large new car their two friends were driven home in and at the florid rich man behind the wheel who didn’t condescend even a glance at his surroundings, except to extend one arm outside his car to sprinkle cigar ashes on their street.

Tell the brother to scoot, so’s we can take a drive out by ourselves, why don’t you? he asked, without turning to face Molly.

I have to settle things inside a bit, before my mother comes home, Molly protested weakly.

Can’t the young tyke do it for you? he said, turning to her and taking another puff on his cigar.

It involves some cooking, Mister Dougan.

But sure, the boy can handle that. Just a bit of a drive to show me this fine place you’re living in. I haven’t been to Belmullet since I was chasin girls this way more than ten years back. Come on now. Show meself the town, Molly.

Molly turned in her seat and with some hesitation made her half-hearted plea.

Go on up, Ian. Take off your tie and make yourself comfortable. Mother and myself will be joining you shortly. Go ahead now and let me show Mister Dougan this fine town of ours.

Ian got out of the car without a word, but had deep misgivings seeing them drive off. He had the sudden sinking feeling that he had not only failed Molly, he had failed his mother, Megan, Kevin Cleary, even his deceased father. He cursed his fate having been born last of the three children in his family, instead of the middle one. For had it been otherwise, he knew no Mr Dougan would have driven off with his sister.

Their