The Irish Doll Maker: A Raven Hill

Farms Mystery Jane E. Drew

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THE IRISH DOLL MAKER
A RAVEN HILL FARM MYSTERY
BOOK FIVE
JANE E. DREW
JANE DREW PUBLISHING, LLC.
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
 CHAPTER 1

Q uinn woke from a deep sleep and sat straight up in her bed.
“Annie McClery has been murdered,” she said aloud. Then,
Quinn looked around the room momentarily before realizing she had
experienced a Knowing. She instinctively reached for the tanzanite
stone she always wore around her neck.
Quinn swung her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed her
eyes. She had been dreaming she was in Annie McClery’s living
room. Almost as an observer, she had watched as a man standing in
front of Annie took her teacup from her hands. Annie’s head rested
against the back of her old wooden rocking chair. Her eyes were
closed, and her face was turned to the side. The man placed the
teacup on the table beside her before walking to her front door and
quietly leaving.
Quinn looked at her phone on the nightstand. It was seven. She
might as well get up, as she was now wide awake.
Quinn was a small woman with short dark hair and brown eyes.
She was in her forties, athletic, kind, and intelligent. Unfortunately,
she could also be insecure, stubborn, short-tempered, and
suspicious. And any sort of bullying could, and usually did, cause her
to become aggressive.
Quinn dressed and went out to feed the animals, but the dream
stayed with her. She returned to the house to feed Maggie, her
Border Terrier, Pike, her Raven, and Binx, the three-month-old calico
kitten that had been left on their doorstep.
 Quinn had just sat down with a cup of tea and toast when the
phone rang. Dermot Brennan’s voice sounded excited, as it always
did when he had news to share. Dermot was the local Garda in
Ballyfrannen.
“Listen, Missus; I thought you’d want to know what’s happened.”
Dermot paused to catch his breath and then continued. “Sadie
Fitzgerald, the lady that owns the bookstore, well, you know that a’
course as your friends with her. Anyway, she rang the station earlier,
almost hysterical. She had called on Mrs. McClery this morning, her
neighbor that lives around the corner from the bookshop, to bring
her a few groceries; only when she knocked, there was no answer,
which worried her. She tried the door, and it was unlocked, so she
called to Mrs. McClery and went in.”
Dermot had the habit, to an annoying degree, of dragging out
any information he was imparting; he paused again and then said,
“You’ll never believe what she found!”
Quinn had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. “What did
she find, Dermot?”
“Well, there was poor, old Annie McClery, dead as can be in her
rocking chair. From the look of her, she had been gone for several
days. Sadie is so upset she closed the bookstore and took to her
bed.”
“The coroner sees no reason to do an autopsy. He’s sure her
heart finally gave out or something like that. She was ninety-six
years old.”
Quinn thought for a moment before speaking. “Dermot, could
you possibly stop by later? I think there’s something I should tell
you.”
Dermot’s voice lost its excitement. “Is everything okay, Missus?”
“I need to talk to you about Annie McClery,” Quinn spoke
hesitantly.
“Alright, Missus, I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. I have to clear
up some paperwork at the office first.”
Fiona strolled into the kitchen, yawning. “Sorry, I overslept,
Quinn.” Then, she saw the troubled look on Quinn’s face.
“Is something the matter?”
 “I think you’d better sit down, Fee. You’re not going to like this.”
Quinn relayed her dream and then the call from Dermot.
“And Dermot is coming here? Have you told him about your
dream yet?”
“No, I thought I’d wait and tell him in person. You know how he
feels about the Knowing. He believes me, but it’s difficult for him to
understand. Well, not that I blame him much. It’s pretty difficult for
me to understand, and I’m the one who has this so-called gift.”
Quinn looked at her friend and smiled.
Fee patted Quinn’s shoulder as she sat down with her own cup of
tea. “Do you think that Annie McClery was murdered? Couldn’t it be
a coincidence that you had that dream?” Fiona laughed and then
added, “Oh, who am I kidding? This has to mean something. It’s just
hard to believe that anyone would have a motive to kill a ninety-six-
year-old woman.”
Finally, Dermot arrived, looking serious and subdued. “What is
this about, Missus? What could you possibly know about the death
of Annie McClery except for what I’ve told you? This isn’t that…
Knowing thing again, is it?”
Quinn gave Dermot a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid it is that
Knowing thing, as you call it. Dermot, I don’t like this any more than
you do. Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than
to stick my nose into other people’s business?”
Dermot raised an eyebrow but did not comment. Then he looked
resigned. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you’ve called me
out?”
Quinn related her dream in as great a detail as possible. When
she was finished, Dermot asked, “Did you see the man’s face? Did
you recognize him?”
Quinn sat back and sighed heavily. “No, that’s the strange part. I
never saw his face. Look, Dermot, I’m asking you to convince the
coroner to do an autopsy. If it comes back that Annie died of a heart
attack or some other natural cause, I won’t say another word, and
I’ll chalk it off to nothing more than an odd coincidence.”
A fter D ermot left , Quinn and Fiona sat companionably at the
kitchen table. Neither spoke. The windows that overlooked the back
of their farm were open. A gentle breeze blew in. It was warm for
January and sunny. The glories of the Irish countryside lay just
beyond. Green fields gave way to bright yellow gorse. Stone fences
that had stood for centuries surrounded various patches of land. The
stream that flowed past the side of their farm gently gurgled, which
was soothing. The air smelled fresh and heavy with moisture. Crows
could be heard in the distance giving their rhythmic caws. Only the
bare limbs of the trees gave away the time of year it was.
Quinn looked at her friend of so many years and smiled. Fiona
was the same age as Quinn, slender, with red hair, a pleasant face,
and an easy laugh.
Quinn and Fiona had the same sense of humor and outlook on
life. They could also be honest with each other without fear of
endangering their friendship. A friendship that had lasted since the
third grade. Neither had had a pleasant childhood. They had learned
to take care of each other at an early age, and that had never
changed.
Their friendship had endured bad marriages, divorces, the death
of parents, and all the other adversities that people experience in
life. Now, they lived together in a cottage on a farm in West Cork.
Both had fallen in love with Ireland while on vacation two years ago.
They had happily uprooted themselves from their lives in Chicago,
where Quinn had been a psychologist, and Fiona had owned a
thriving flower shop called Bloomers. They couldn’t imagine anything
more wonderful than this new life they had found here on this little
farm in West Cork.
 CHAPTER 2

Q uinn sat in her office at the mental health clinic the next day,
still unable to shake off her dream about Annie McClery. She
tried to settle her thoughts before her first patients arrived.
Aileen and Hugh Hawkins were a couple who had been married
for thirty years. Quinn was surprised that they had sought
counseling this far into their marriage. As best she could figure, it
was a way to keep score. Each had a litany of complaints against the
other. Neither seemed the least bit willing to change or, for that
matter, to go their separate ways. Quinn was at a loss as to how to
help them.
Today the two, once again, sat in Quinn’s office rehashing their
marriage. Nothing Quinn tried seemed to make the slightest bit of
difference.
When the session ended, Aileen turned to Quinn and smiled. “I
know we’ve only been coming a short while, so you don’t know me
all that well, but I have a favor to ask you. I hope I’m not
overstepping boundaries.” Aileen gave a self-conscious little laugh. “I
know you have mentioned having an assortment of animals on your
farm, including a pet Raven. I wondered if there was any chance you
would consider keeping our pet Cockatoo, Peeps, while we take a
short holiday to try and get our marriage back on track?”
Quinn was taken aback. What made this woman think she should
ask her therapist to watch her pet? Then Quinn softened. She did
love creatures of all kinds, after all. What harm would it do to take in
a Cockatoo for a couple of days? Quinn agreed to take the bird.
The next day, Aileen brought Peeps to Quinn and Fiona’s farm.
The bird was all white with just a bit of blue around his face. He
seemed delightful. Quinn was glad she had agreed to take him in for
a few days.
Soon Peeps was ensconced on Pike’s favorite perch near the front
door of the living room. Pike flew off to pout in the kitchen.
Fiona came in to admire the bird. “He is a lovely little thing. I’ve
never seen a Cockatoo up close before.”
“SHUT UP, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, BE QUIET. YOU, YOU, SHUT
YOUR MOUTH, STOP TALKING.” The bird rocked as he shouted into
Fiona’s face.
Fiona stepped back, stunned. She looked at Quinn in
amazement, and they both burst out laughing. “Well, well, not really
that hard to figure out what kind of marriage those people have.
Good luck with that, Quinn!”
Just then, the doorbell rang. Quinn opened the door, and Dermot
entered the living room. “SHUT UP, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, BE QUIET,
YOU, YOU, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, STOP TALKING.”
Dermot spun around. “What the bloody hell was that!”
Now Fiona and Quinn were really laughing. Finally, Fiona spoke.
“Quinn is doing a little bird sitting for a few days, Dermot. Isn’t he a
sweet little thing?”
“Sweet isn’t the word I’d use for him. Do you mind if we sit in the
kitchen?”
Once seated, Dermot got down to business. “Well, Missus, I
talked to the coroner like you said, only I didn’t tell him why I
wanted him to do the autopsy for obvious reasons. He did perform
one on Annie, and you were right about her death not being
accidental.” Dermot stopped for a moment, tapping his fingers on
the table. Then, he looked at Quinn, sighed, and continued. “The
coroner said she was poisoned with Fox Glove. They found traces of
it in her teacup and a large bed of Fox Gloves in her back garden.
He thinks she probably put it in the tea herself. You know,
committed suicide. Older people do that sometimes. She had no
children or family of any kind. And I’m sure she wasn’t in the best of
health, being ninety-six and all.”
Quinn rolled her eyes. “She didn’t commit suicide, Dermot, I’m
sure. I know in my bones that someone killed her. If the Garda won’t
investigate her death, then I will.”
“Now, Missus, I didn’t say they wouldn’t investigate. I said the
corner thought it might be suicide. They have a duty to investigate.”
Dermot smoothed his jacket and sniffed. “Look, I’ll do all I can. If
someone poisoned that old woman, I want to bring them to justice.
I just can’t come up with a motive.”
“Do you have any ideas about that?” Dermot looked at Quinn
expectantly.
“I wish I did, Dermot. The dream is the only thing I have to go
on so far.” Quinn stared out the kitchen window for a moment. The
two miniature donkeys, Judy and Trudy, were contentedly munching
on hay in their enclosure. The pigs, Tam and Hilda, were lying in a
mud puddle from the rain the night before, and the chickens were
quietly walking around their pen, plucking food from the ground.
Again, Quinn wished she didn’t have this so-called gift of Knowing.
She would much rather concentrate on her patients at the Mental
Health Clinic and her farm. But she did, so she would do her best to
figure out who poisoned Annie McClery.
Then, Quinn was brought out of her reverie. “SHUT UP, YOU,
YOU SHUT UP, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, BE QUIET, STOP TALKING!”
It would be an interesting few days, Quinn feared.
 CHAPTER 3

Q uinn decided to visit her grandmother the following day. Rose

was an elegant woman who wore her 83 years with grace. Her
hair was snow white and thick. It was cut stylishly to just below her
chin. Beautiful silver earrings hung from her ears, and she wore a
dark blue tanzanite stone on a rope necklace around her neck. She
dressed in well-made oversized shirts, jeans, and Doc Martin
oxfords. Her mind was sharp and agile. Rose still painted and ran a
successful art gallery in Skibbereen. She was, in no way, what you
would expect in a woman of her years.
She and Quinn were now comfortably seated at the back of the
gallery, sipping tea and nibbling on delicious little biscuits. Quinn
loved these times with her grandmother. She had only discovered
she had a living grandmother in recent years, but the two had
become close, especially since they shared the gift of Knowing.
Quinn felt that Rose was the one person who would understand
why she took her dream so seriously.
After explaining everything that had transpired, including her
dream, Quinn waited to see what Rose would say. She didn’t have to
wait long.
“So you had one too? My dream was nearly identical to yours. I
wasn’t able to see the man’s face either. I only got a sense of him.
He seemed well-dressed and on the younger side, probably around
thirty-five. I felt he was someone that Annie thought she knew but
didn’t. Does that track at all with your dream?”
 “I think it does, Rose. I got that feeling, too, that he was
someone Annie thought she knew but somehow didn’t. I know that
doesn’t make much sense. The Garda assumed it was suicide. I can
understand why they think that. It boggles the mind to think there
would be a motive to kill someone of that age. Do you think they will
actually do an investigation or give it a cursory glance before closing
the case?” Rose frowned as she stirred her tea. “Annie deserves
more than that.”
“I agree, of course. Dermot is allowing me access to Annie’s
cottage tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get a sense of something then or even
a clue into her death. I suppose the Garda have inspected it already,
but they may have overlooked something that could shed some
light.”

T he next day , Quinn and Dermot stood in the living room of Annie
McClery’s cottage. The yellowed and stained lace curtains kept the
room in a state of gloom. Everything was as Quinn remembered
from the dream. She looked at the worn rocking chair where Annie
had sat. Then her eyes moved to the rows of dolls lining the shelves
on either side of the fireplace and other surfaces in the room. Their
blank faces stared back out of the semi-darkness.
Dermot bounced around the room nervously. He was a slightly
built man of less than average height, and his clothes always
seemed a bit too large. His demeanor could lead one to dismiss him
as someone who didn’t belong in his position as the only full-time
police presence in Ballyfrannen. That would be an incorrect
assumption. More than once, Quinn had seen Dermot transform
himself into a formidable adversary when the occasion called for it.
“Are you getting any of your ‘feelings’ yet, Missus?” Dermot
seemed eager to leave the cottage.
“The only thing I’m getting is annoyed with you right now.” Quinn
laughed good-naturedly. “Look, why don’t you go ahead and leave
and let me snoop around by myself for a while?”
 “Well, I’m that run off my feet with things to do today, Missus, if
you’re sure you don’t mind staying in this house alone. I wouldn’t
want to be hangin’ around here by myself. Those dolls raise the hair
on the back of my neck; they’re that terrifying. Why would she be
wantin’ to keep all of them, do you suppose?” Without waiting for a
reply, Dermot quickly headed for the door
Once Dermot left, Quinn moved to the bedroom. More dolls lined
the sagging bed and an old dresser. A small nightstand held various
bottles of medicine and a small ragged-looking lamp. Quinn felt a
stab of pity for Annie McClery. What a sad life she led. Had it always
been this way for her?
Quinn walked back to the dresser and opened the top drawer.
Various old clothes were folded neatly inside. The next drawer was
much the same. As she tried to open the bottom drawer, it seemed
to stick, as though it hadn’t been opened in quite some time. Quinn
pulled harder, and the drawer gave way with a loud squeak. Rows of
neatly stacked, old-looking journals covered the inside of the drawer.
Quinn randomly chose one and opened it to its first page. It read:
August 17, 1940
Today was brilliant! Me and Bridget Sweeney have decided to be
best friends for life. We spent the whole day together. Biddie’s father
gave us each a penny for candy. We ran all the way to Coughlin’s
Grocery. I bought stickie toffee, and Biddie got chocolates. Then we
ran to the schoolyard and sat on the swings. It’s fun to sit in the
schoolyard in the summer. Only a few weeks until school starts
again, though.
I’m so glad Biddie and me have decided to be best friends!
Bridget Sweeney and Annie Tobin, BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!
Quinn closed the journal and chose another one. She opened to
the middle of the book and read:
December 15, 1955
It’s going to be a sad Christmas. I’ve had another miscarriage.
Shamus is blaming me again. I don’t know what I could be doing
wrong. I do everything the doctor tells me. Shamus says I must not
want children, which hurts almost as much as losing the baby. He
got roaring drunk last night at Foley’s and then came home and
slapped me so hard my ear bled. Why does he have to be like that?
I won’t tell anyone, not even Biddie; I’m that ashamed. Ham and
cabbage for supper, his favorite. Maybe that will lift his mood. I hope
he doesn’t go to the pub again tonight.
Quinn closed the journal. Poor Annie. She decided to take the
journals home with her. If nothing else, she felt they should be
preserved. She was sure that most of Annie’s belongings would end
up in the trash bins.
Once home, Quinn put the journals in order according to the year
they were written. Sometimes Annie went through as many as three
journals in one year. At other times a journal would last for several
years. There were many of them, though, and Quinn wanted to take
her time and read each one thoroughly.
 CHAPTER 4

Q uinn spent most of that evening and the rest of the following
day going through Annie’s journals. What she read made her
heart sink. Annie had had a hard life. Her husband had been a cruel
man, and she had never been able to carry a baby to term. Yet,
Annie longed for a baby. Each time she miscarried, she grieved for
her lost child. Her only salvation had been the business she started.
At the age of thirty, Annie became a doll maker. She sold her dolls in
Ballyfrannen and farther afield. After a few years, her reputation as
an expert doll maker extended beyond Skibbereen and Cork City.
Mothers would request dolls for their daughter’s birthdays or at
Christmas. She made dolls for boys, too. Their faces were less round
and more masculine looking. Annie dressed them up as cowboys, or
Superman, or soldiers, whatever was wanted. Annie had a knack for
creating dolls that looked like the child it was made for, which only
made her dolls more popular.
Annie’s husband quit his job as a farm laborer as soon as she
started to make money from her dolls. Then, he began to drink in
earnest. They purchased the cottage in town when Annie had
earned enough money to pay cash for the property. She made the
dolls in her living room and stored them on the shelves on either
side of the fireplace. Being so close to the town center allowed Annie
a convenient location in which to conduct her enterprise. People
would show up with a child or a picture of a child and ask for a doll
that resembled them. Of course, Annie was happy to oblige.
 She worked long hours. They needed the money, and she had no
children to take up her time. So, Annie’s dolls became her children.
Annie continued to have miscarriages. And her husband
continued to drink and abuse her. Beatings were frequent. Annie
would try to hide her bruises by wearing long sleeves. She talked
about the times she wouldn’t be able to leave the house for weeks
because of bruises on her face. Still, she carried on making her dolls.
Quinn could barely continue reading the journals. She wondered,
again, how humans could be so cruel. She sometimes had to take
breaks from the journals. She would pour herself a stiff gin and tonic
and stare into the fire until she could shake off her depression.
Then, she would pick up another journal and begin to read again.
Bridget, or Biddie, as Annie called her, tried to support her friend.
Biddie had married and eventually had six children. Hers seemed to
be a good marriage. They lived on a small farm at the edge of
Ballyfrannen, but she continued to see Annie regularly. Biddie often
begged Annie to leave her husband, even though that was looked
down on in Ireland. And there was no such thing as divorce. Back
then, that was illegal.
Shamus McClery was not a well-liked man. He had a quick
temper and got into fights regularly at the pub. But, being large and
muscular, he usually won the fights. Most of the men who drank at
Foley’s steered clear of him.
At night, he would stagger home to the house Annie had bought
with the money from her dolls. He would then continue to heap
abuse on that poor woman’s head.
But then it stopped. After 1963, there was no more mention of
Shamus McClery. It was as if he had never existed. Annie continued
making dolls, and her popularity soared. In one of the journals from
1968, there was a clipping from the local paper featuring Annie and
some of her dolls. The photo was taken in Annie’s living room, where
dolls lined the shelves like now; it was a much nicer room back then.
The sofa looked new, and the two rocking chairs had attractive
printed cushions on the seats and back. New lace curtains hung at
the windows, and the room had a fresh look to it. Annie sat in front
of the fireplace, holding one of the larger dolls on her lap. She was
smiling happily and was still a relatively young woman.
Quinn also found other photos of Annie in various journals. There
were several of the younger Shamus. He was quite a good-looking
man in his youth—tall and athletic. An older picture showed him
aging poorly. His eyes revealed an angry and troubled man. There
were several photos of Biddie and Biddie’s children at different
stages of their lives. Annie was always smiling in these. She seemed
very fond of the children. It looked like life had greatly improved for
her once Shamus was out of the picture. But where had he gone?
Annie never mentioned him leaving. What had happened? Had he
left her for another woman? Had he been arrested? Maybe one of
the other journals held the answer.
Fiona was reading the journals too. They sat in front of the fire
for hours, each with a glass of wine, flipping through pages of Annie
McClery’s life.
Finally, their eyes were tired, and they felt chilled. It had been a
particularly chilly day and an even chillier evening. Quinn added
more logs to the large fireplace. The fire and the wine warmed them
as they curled up at opposite ends of the sofa to discuss the journals
they had been reading.
Fiona spun her glass for a moment and then took a sip. “It’s hard
to believe that there are still plenty of men like that. Poor Annie.
Back then, that kind of behavior was still accepted. I’m sure it was
disapproved of, but people certainly didn’t interfere or intervene in
those situations.” Fiona sighed and looked into the fire. “I wonder
what happened to Shamus? Do you think we’ll be able to find out?”
“I think there’s a good chance we will. We can always ask for
Hattie’s help once she returns from England. I know she has only
been gone a month, but I’m really starting to miss her. And now
Margaret is so busy with the renovations at her B&B we hardly get to
see her either. I’ll be happy when things return to normal.”
“You know, Quinn, we should give Charlotte a call. Now that she
has a job and her flat in Ballyfrannen, we hardly see her either.”
“That’s an excellent idea, Fee. Let’s call her and see if she’s free
tomorrow. Maybe we can get her to stop at the bakery and bring us
a few scones. I’m starting to miss Margaret’s morning leftovers.”
Charlotte was originally from Tanzania. She was twenty-five,
intelligent, attractive, with long blonde hair and a good figure. She
was also a distant cousin of Quinn’s. After her father’s murder and
all that transpired after his death, she settled in Ballyfrannen. Like
Quinn and Fiona, she felt she had found her true home and family in
Ireland. Besides, she shared Quinn and Rose’s gift of Knowing. No
one understood her as they did.
 CHAPTER 5

T he following day Aileen Hawkins came to pick up her bird.

Quinn had decided not to mention the bird’s colorful
vocabulary. Thankfully, he stayed quiet while Aileen moved him from
the perch to his cage for the trip home. Quinn was about to give a
sigh of relief when Pike came flying in from the kitchen. “SHUT UP,
SHUT YOUR MOUTH, YOU YOU BE QUIET. STOP TALKING!” Pike
perched atop the Cockatoo’s cage as he shouted at the bird.
“Get away, you horrible bird! How dare you talk to Peeps like
that!” Aileen hurried towards the door.
Fiona stepped in front of the door. “Listen, Lady, Quinn took your
bird in out of the kindness of her heart, and all we’ve heard for days
was that bird screaming those exact words, morning, noon, and
night. I wonder where he picked up that vocabulary? And, how dare
you insult our Pike? There isn’t a more loyal, smarter, or courageous
bird than Pike. Now, you’d better take your nasty little bird and
leave.” Fiona ushered Aileen out the door and slammed it behind her.
Quinn stood across the room laughing. “Well, I guess you told
her! And, I agree, no one gets away with insulting Pike!”

C harlotte , Quinn, and Fiona sat in the kitchen, enjoying the scones
from the bakery in Ballyfrannen. Maggie, Quinn’s Border Terrier, and
Binx, their Calico kitten, were both curled up, sleeping in a sunny
spot on the floor. With the departure of the Cockatoo, Pike was
himself again, perched in his favorite spot atop the refrigerator.
“Not as good as Margaret’s, but a close second.” Fiona licked
clotted cream from her fingers as she reached for another scone.
“Thanks again for stopping by the bakery, Charlotte. We may not
have Hattie and Margaret here, but at least we have something good
to eat.” Quinn smiled at Charlotte.
“How is the new job working out?” From Fiona
Charlotte had found a job at a local tech start-up. She had a
degree in software engineering, so it hadn’t taken long to get hired
by a well-funded up-and-coming company.
“I’m enjoying it, Fiona. They working in AI. It’s kind of like a
conversational Google. It’s interesting but also scary to think about
how intelligent AI is. It can already replace humans in certain ways.
Only the future will tell us how this will all shake out.”
“I’ve been reading about that, and, of course, I know about
Chatgpt. It is all a bit scary, I think. But, mostly, I try not to think
about it.” Fiona sighed and took another bite of scone.
“I think, at this point, that might be the best thing to do,”
laughed Charlotte as she took a sip of tea and then asked. “So, what
have you two been up to since I last saw you?”
Quinn related her and Rose’s dreams. She also explained that
Annie McClery had been found dead that day and that her death had
not been an accident. Finally, Quinn told her about the Fox Glove.
“The Garda are assuming her death was a suicide, but I know she
was murdered.”
Charlotte understood the Knowing well, as it was something she
too possessed. “Are you planning on getting involved, or is that a
silly question?” Charlotte laughed. “I already know you well enough
to know the answer.”
Quinn smiled back. “You would be dead right with that
assumption.” Then, Quinn updated her cousin on the journals and
what she and Fiona had learned from them.
“That’s all too horrible,” exclaimed Charlotte. “How did men get
away with that kind of treatment back then?”
 “They get away with it far too often now, if you ask me,”
responded Fiona.
Quinn spoke. “We still have quite a few journals yet to go
through, so maybe we’ll be able to discover what happened to
Shamus McClery. And why anyone would possibly want to murder
Annie.”
Charlotte thought for a moment. “Would you mind if I read some
of the journals too? Of course, I’m interested, but I also thought you
might be able to use another set of eyes. From that large pile of
journals I saw in the living room, it looks like Annie McClery was
quite a prolific writer.”
“That’s a great idea, Charlotte,” said Quinn. “No chance you could
spend the night, is there? It would be fun to build a big fire and
spend the day and evening together reading and comparing notes.”
“Funny you should say that, Quinn. I’ve already asked for
tomorrow off and have an overnight bag in the car.”
“The Knowing strikes again,” from Fiona.
All three women burst out laughing.
Later that evening, the three women changed into their most
comfortable clothes and sat cross-legged in front of the fire. Each
had a journal and a glass of wine. They slowly turned the yellowed
pages as they carefully absorbed the contents of each book. This
went on for some time, then Quinn gasped.
“What?” Fee looked startled.
Quinn began reading from the journal she was holding.
October 12, 1960
This is agony. I was sure I would carry this baby to term. I was
five months along. That’s the longest I’ve ever carried a child. A little
girl. I wanted her so badly. I named her Emma. She lived for a few
moments as I held her in my arms. Then, she was still. How will I
endure this again? She had light hair, like me, and such a beautiful
little face. I held her for the longest time before the midwife took her
from me and placed her in the small box Shamus had made to bury
her. I’ve lost five children now. She will rest with the others. I could
never bear to be parted from them. Shamus placed them in shallow
graves under the bedroom floorboards. This way, they will always be
with me.
“Oh my god, that’s heartbreaking. That poor woman!” Charlotte
sat for a moment before continuing. “Burying your dead babies
under your house seems macabre to me, though.” Charlotte gave an
involuntary shiver.
“I’ll have to agree with you there, Charlotte. Why would she do
that? I wonder if going through so much suffering kind of unhinged
her?” From Fiona.
Quinn was more kind. “I think the adage, don’t judge someone
until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes, applies here. Keeping them
close must have been a comfort to her. Maybe it made her feel that
she hadn’t entirely lost them. Having their physical remains close to
her, I mean.”
All three women sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the
fire. Finally, it was Quinn who again spoke. “We should call it a night.
It’s late, and I think this is getting to all of us. Let’s go back to it
tomorrow.”

Q uinn tossed in her bed that night. She was sure Fiona and Charlotte
were doing the same. Tomorrow she would report what she had
read to Dermot. She had no idea what the laws were regarding
burying human remains, but she thought it was her duty to let
Dermot know.
 CHAPTER 6

D ermot sat with the women at the kitchen table. Quinn felt
she at least owed him some tea and a day-old scone before
giving him the news.
“Look here, Missus; you’re being far too nice to me. I know
there’s something you’re not saying; come on, out with it.” Dermot
fidgeted with his jacket and sniffed while waiting for Quinn to speak.
“Dermot, I don’t think you’ll like this.” Quinn grimaced a little as
she looked at Dermot.
“Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what have ye done now? Would ye
just tell me, for the love of god!”
“Well, …when you left me alone in Annie’s house, I began looking
around. I didn’t find much of interest. But then I opened one of her
dresser drawers, and there were these old journals. I decided to
bring them home so they didn’t get thrown away.
“Oh, is that all.” Dermot looked relieved and took a bite of his
scone. “Nobody will claim any of that junk in her house, so I see no
harm in you taking them. Did ye find anything interesting about the
old girls’ love life?” Dermot chuckled. “Not to speak ill of the dead. I
wouldn’t want to be doin’ that.” Dermot looked serious again.
“The point is, I did find something, Dermot. There are at least
five babies buried under her house.” Quinn watched as Dermot spit
his tea mid-drink.
“What in the name of heaven are you telling me? Are you saying
old Annie McClery was some kind of mass murderer like they have in
the States or somethin’?”
“No! Of course not. Annie had at least five miscarriages during
her marriage, and her husband buried them under the bedroom floor
to keep them close to her. Oh, and her husband was a wife-beater
who, apparently, left her around 1963. His name was Shamus.”
Dermot pondered this information as he dabbed at his face and
then used his napkin to wipe the tea he had just spat out.
“I think I’ll have to ask the higher-ups what to do about that
situation. I’ve never come across anything like it before. I don’t see
how she ever got a wink of sleep with dead babies under her bed.
And all those dolls staring at her from all directions, too! Just when
you think you’ve heard it all.” Dermot sat shaking his head.
“Well, thanks for telling me anyway. We’d never have known if
you weren’t so nosy and always gettin’ involved in things you
shouldn’t. If you find anything else interesting in those journals, give
me another call. I don’t see how anything in them would pertain to
her suicide, though.” Dermot held up his hand before Quinn could
speak. “I know, I know. We haven’t closed the investigation yet, so I
shouldn’t rule out her being poisoned by someone else. Only, I don’t
think she was.”
With that, Dermot got up to leave.

Q uinn , Fiona, and Charlotte decided to do some more reading. Each

pulled a journal randomly from the pile.
Charlotte wrapped herself in a throw on the sofa while Quinn and
Fiona sat in the chairs by the fire. This went on for about an hour;
then Charlotte looked up with a horrified expression.
“I just read what happened to Shamus.” Charlotte looked from
Fiona to Quinn. “It’s all right here.”

S eptember 8, 1963
Oh dear god, a terrible thing has happened. Biddie was here at
the house with me when Shamus came home. He had been at the
pub all day and was roaring drunk. He sat down at the kitchen table
and started yelling for his supper. I was taking it up as fast as I
could, but it wasn’t fast enough. He got up and hit me hard in the
mouth with his fist. He knocked me all the way across the room. I
tried to get up, but I couldn’t seem to think straight, and blood was
streaming from my mouth. I felt so ashamed because Biddie saw it
all.
Then an odd thing happened. Just as I finally got myself up and
watched as Shamus pulled his fist back to hit me again, he fell to the
floor. Biddie was behind him. She had such a look of shock on her
face. We stood staring at each other, and then I looked down. My
large butcher knife, the one I’d just been using to carve chicken for
Shamus, was sticking out of his back. I shook my head because I
thought I was seeing things. But I wasn’t seeing things. Shamus was
sprawled on the kitchen floor with my big butcher knife in his back.
Biddie started to cry, so I went to comfort her. She just kept
saying, “I’m glad I did it, I’m glad I did it. That man will never hurt
you again.” We stood holding each other for a long time. Then I
said, “Biddie, we better bury him in the back garden. I’ll tell people
he left. He was always threaten’ to do that. He was always tellin’ his
friends at the pub he was going to leave. So they’ll believe he finally
did.”
Me and Biddie dug a hole in the back garden under the little
Hawthorn tree. Then we buried Shamus there. We planted white-
flowered Foxgloves on top of the grave. And we began tellin’ people
he had left. Nobody thought a thing about it. I think most people
were glad to see the back of him. Only me and Biddie know the
truth, and neither of us will ever tell another soul.
Charlotte looked from Fiona to Quinn.
Finally, Quinn spoke.“Well, I guess I’d better give Dermot another
call.”
 CHAPTER 7

Q uinn, Fiona, and Charlotte met Dermot at Annie McClery’s

cottage the following day. A forensic team was busy digging
up various areas of the garden. Soon they heard someone shout, “I
found the grave. It’s under all this Foxglove.”
Dermot allowed the women a closer inspection of the remains of
Shamus McClery. There was no coffin, only a skeleton and some
clothes. Quinn found it hard to have much sympathy for the man
she saw lying in the makeshift grave.
The forensic team then moved into the bedroom of the house.
The officials in Cork had decided to exhume the bodies of the dead
babies Annie McClery had miscarried. There were five tiny coffins in
all. Most held fetuses younger than three months. One held the five-
month-old little girl Annie had named Emma. Her name and a heart
were etched into the lid of her little wooden coffin.
“Where will they put the babies now, Dermot?” Quinn tried to
keep the emotion out of her voice.
“I think they’ll lay them to rest with Annie. Her funeral is
tomorrow, as I suppose you know.” Dermot spoke in a gentle voice.

Q uinn , Fiona, and Charlotte attended Annie McClery’s funeral the

next day. A few other mourners, including Sadie Fitzgerald and her
granddaughter, Gracie, plus Dermot, were also in attendance. The
babies had been placed into small, white boxes that rested on top of
Annie’s coffin, along with a wreath of white flowers.
After the funeral, Quinn and Fiona invited everyone to their
cottage. Neighbors of Annie had brought food. Margaret had also
sent over a large pot roast, vegetables, and various pastries.
People chatted quietly. The sight of the five little boxes greatly
added to the sadness that now hung over the room.
Sadie walked into the kitchen as Quinn poured glasses of wine
for the guests.
“Quinn, could I have a word?” Sadie had an anxious look on her
face.
“Of course, Sadie; what is it? Everything okay with Gracie?”
“Oh, Gracie is doing fine; it’s not to do with her. It’s what people
in town are saying; I know you’re friends with Dermot, so I thought
you’d know. Is it true that Annie was murdered? And was a man
buried in Annie’s back garden? Is that true?”
Quinn wondered how much she should say. She was sure that
the recovery of Shamus’s body would undoubtedly make the news
by tomorrow. She had no idea how much information had been
released regarding Annie’s death.
“Sadie, as awful as it sounds, it is true that a man was buried in
Annie’s garden, and not just any man. It was her husband, Shamus.
News of it will be out by tomorrow, and everyone involved is dead,
so I don’t see the harm in telling you the whole story.”
Quinn told Sadie about the journals and how Annie had written
that her friend Biddie had stabbed her husband. Then she told her
how they buried him in Annie’s garden. She also explained how
Annie had been treated by her husband and what had happened the
night he was stabbed by Biddie.
Sadie had a look of horror on her face. “My god, Quinn. I had no
idea Annie had been treated like that. She always said her husband
had run off and good riddance and left it at that. Of course, I never
knew about her miscarriages either. Isn’t it amazing how we humans
tend to hide our pain?”
“But what about Annie? Was she murdered, or did she die of
natural causes?”
 “It wasn’t natural causes, Sadie. The Garda thinks she may have
committed suicide, which is entirely possible given her life’s
circumstances.”
“Is that what you think?” Sadie’s intelligent eyes looked at Quinn
inquiringly over her wire-rimmed glasses.
Quinn wasn’t comfortable sharing her dream with Sadie. Very few
people knew about the Knowing, and Quinn intended to keep it that
way.
“I think there’s a possibility she was murdered, but that’s just my
opinion. I do hope they investigate her death, though. That reminds
me, do you know of a well-dressed man of about thirty-five who
would have a reason to visit Annie the day she died?”
“Well, let me think.” Sadie put one hand on her hip and the other
around her chin, looking every bit the bookish woman she was.
“Annie did mention she had called a solicitor regarding her will. He
had agreed to visit her at her house, she said. I don’t have a name,
though. I only remember being kind of shocked that she would even
make a will. I guess she wanted to leave her cottage to someone.
No idea who. She never mentioned any of that to me. And I’m only
guessing as to it possibly being him.”
“That’s interesting, Sadie, and a good lead. I’ll be sure to pass
that on to Dermot.”
Quinn and Sadie joined the other guests in the living room.
Quinn was anxious to talk to Charlotte and Fiona regarding her
conversation with Sadie, but she would wait until the guests left.

F inally , the house was quiet. Charlotte had decided to spend

another night at Quinn and Fiona’s cottage. Now the three women
sat in front of the fire pondering everything from the journals to the
funeral they had all attended that day. The tiny white coffins still
cast a pall over their psyche.
Quinn spoke, “Sadie said Annie had contacted a solicitor who
would pay her a visit at her house. I wonder if that’s the man Rose
and I saw? But, what motive would he have for killing Annie?”
 Charlotte stared into the fire before speaking. “Quinn, have you
ever considered that the man you and Rose saw might not have
been the murderer?”
 CHAPTER 8

Q uinn was the first one up the following day. It was barely six,
so she decided to fix herself a cup of coffee before feeding the
animals.
As she sat by the fireplace with her coffee, Quinn’s thoughts
turned to what Charlotte had said last night. Nothing in Quinn’s
dream or, for that matter, Rose’s dream had shown either woman
who murdered Annie. The fact that they both saw a man didn’t
automatically make him the murderer. He was the obvious choice,
but were they overlooking something or missing a bigger picture?
Just then, Quinn heard a faint whining and scratching at the front
door. Not another animal! If a dog or cat is out there, it’s going
straight to the shelter. We have enough animals; she told herself—
end of story.
Quinn was resolute as she opened the front door. She was
greeted by a furry face and two muddy paws pressed against the
glass. At the sight of her, the little dog began to wiggle its entire
body.
“Oh, good god!” Now what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t
leave the little thing on the porch. The dog looked to be about six
months old. It had obviously been dumped. How could people do
that, she wondered? She scooped the pup up and headed for the
kitchen, quickly checking to see the sex; it was a girl. She would pay
for spaying when she took it to the shelter.
 Quinn sat the pup in the kitchen sink and reached for the dog
shampoo. As she squirted a good amount onto her back and began
to scrub, Quinn realized the pub seemed to be enjoying the
experience. She wagged her tail gently and looked at Quinn with
dark, knowing eyes. She was a terrier mix, probably mostly Jack
Russell, with some Cairn Terrier sprinkled in. Quinn laughed despite
herself. She was a cute little thing. White with tan markings, a little
thin, but sturdily built. She would probably be about the size of
Maggie when she was full-grown.
After a thorough wash and rinse, Quinn sat the pup on the floor
and began to dry her. Not an easy task, with Maggie sniffing and
examining every inch of this new creature. The pup willingly
submitted to the inspection. Quinn noted that she was not alpha,
meaning she would get along well with another female dog. Then
she caught herself. ‘Stop it, Quinn, the last thing you need is another
dog!’
Now, Binx wandered over to examine the pup. He gave the
terrier a friendly meow and gently rubbed against her wet fur. Quinn
sighed as she continued to dry the animal. “Come on, guys, give me
a break. Don’t act so happy about this. She’s not staying. I’m
cleaning her up to take her to the shelter.” Quinn realized she was
trying to reason with a cat and a dog. Or maybe it was herself she
was trying to reason with. At any rate, it wasn’t working. Maggie and
Binx were delighted with the pup, and as a smile began to spread
across her face like a nasty rash, she had to admit that she was
delighted too. She picked the puppy up and hugged her to her
chest. “You’re exactly what I needed; I guess what we all needed.
We just didn’t know.” As Quinn heard Fiona’s delighted squeal
coming from behind her, she knew that to be true.

Q uinn , Fiona, and Charlotte sat at the kitchen table, eating toast and
admiring the new addition to their family. The pup had excitedly
explored every inch of the cottage, with Maggie and Binx in hot
pursuit. Then she settled into the dog bed under the kitchen
window. It wasn’t an overly large bed, but both Maggie and Binx had
managed to squish their way in alongside her. Now all three animals
were contentedly sleeping.
“Okay, what should we name her?” Fiona looked at the two other
women expectantly.
“I’ve always liked the name Jibbs. What do you think?” Quinn
looked from Fiona to Charlotte.
“Jibbs!!” Fiona lifted her head and yelled, at the top of her lungs,
pretending to be calling the dog from a long way away.
Quinn and Charlotte both jumped rather violently. “Thanks for
that, Fee.” Quinn, who had just started to butter a piece of toast,
looked at the mangled mess on her plate. “You might warn us the
next time you decide to scream like that!”
The pup had put all three women in good spirits. Now their
minds reluctantly turned back to Annie McClery.
“I wish I could stay another day and help, but, unfortunately, I
really have to get back to work,” said Charlotte.
“You’ve been a huge help already. And it was fun spending time
with you.” Quinn hugged her cousin.
Once Charlotte had left, Quinn and Fiona each picked up a
journal. They still approached them randomly rather than in order.
That way, they could glimpse a bigger picture of Annie’s life. They
were about a third of the way through the pile. Quinn looked at the
unread stacks of journals and wondered what else they would
discover written on those pages.
 CHAPTER 9

F ebruary 24, 1948

I’ve met a boy! I must be in love because I can’t stop
thinking about him. I feel happy all the time. Me and Biddie can’t
talk about anything else except we want her to find a boy to fall in
love with, too. I haven’t told my mam or da. Da would probably
switch me if he knew, even though I’m eighteen years old.
His name is Shamus McClery. Isn’t that a brilliant name? Mrs.
Seamus McClery. Annie McClery. I’m already dreaming of our
wedding! He’s tall and so good-looking. He has the bluest eyes, and
his hair is the color of wheat. He’s strong, too. He was loading wood
onto a wagon. It was really heavy, but he lifted big bundles like they
were as light as feathers. He works for the O’Brians on their farm.
He didn’t say anything, but he smiled at me. My heart was beating
so hard I was afraid he would hear it. I can’t wait to see him again. I
heard him say he picks things up in town every Wednesday, so I
guess I’ll have to wait a whole week. I’m going to have Mam braid
my hair in that fancy way she does sometimes and have my church
dress on. Me and Biddie have already started making plans.

M arch 3, 1948
I saw Shamus again, and today he said hello to me! I think my
face turned bright red. I did say hello back, though. And then he
strolled over to where I was standing. He was even more good-
looking close-up and so tall I had to crane my neck to see his face.
I’m definitely in love. I know he is the man for me. There’s a dance
this weekend in Foley’s, and he said he would be there. He asked
me if I was going and if I was, would I dance with him. I know my
face was bright red then. I did manage to say I would, a’ course be
there, and I might dance with him if he asked me.
Oh, and he says he’s bringing a friend for Biddie! He says he’s a
nice boy. His name is Eugene Murphy, and he works with Shamus on
O’Brian’s farm. Biddie is so excited. She can’t wait to meet him. I
hope she falls in love too, and we both get married and have loads
of babies. We’ll take long walks through town, pushing our prams
and discussing our husbands. We both want six children, at least.

Q uinn put the journal down . Some entries were almost too sad to
read, knowing what the future held for Annie. Then she sighed and
poured herself a glass of wine. She took a sip and picked up another
journal.
Fiona, who had been in her study watching TV, now entered the
living room.“Want a glass of wine, Fee?” Quinn pointed to her drink.
“Sure.” Fiona poured herself a glass and sat down. She looked at
Quinn and then at the journals. “Find anything interesting today?”
“Interesting, but also sad. She talks about meeting Shamus for
the first time. Knowing how things turned out makes it almost too
hard to read. She was so young and full of hope, making plans with
Biddie to look her best for him. It’s strange to think of her as young,
even. I only saw her as an old woman. I couldn’t see past the
wrinkles and the grey hair. I never really saw the girl and then the
woman that she was underneath what time had done to her.”
“You’re being a little hard on yourself, Quinn. I think you saw as
much as she wanted you to see. She had a lot of walls up by the
time you met her. A lot of secrets.”
Quinn smiled at her friend of so many years. “I’m glad she had
Biddie. Biddie was you,… her Fiona, I mean. Not everyone gets that
kind of friend. She was, at least, lucky in that.”
 Fiona gave a little laugh of acknowledgment. “We have been
lucky, haven’t we, Quinnie? And you’re right. Not everyone gets a
friend like that in life.” Fiona paused, and then, with a mischievous
look in her eye, she continued. “You know,… there were times I
would have gladly knocked off your former husband and buried him
in the backyard.”
Quinn raised her eyebrows and smiled. “And I yours, Fiona.”
Then, they clinked their wine glasses together and snorted with
laughter.
 CHAPTER 10

Q uinn, Fiona, and Charlotte sat near the window at Lizzie’s

having lunch. It was a warm day, and Lizzie had the front door
propped open. Quinn never tired of the Irish sounds she heard
coming from the open door—the calm, rhythmic cawing of crows
perched on rooftops and nearby trees. The sound of traffic and
people on the street engaged in conversation. Their soft Irish
accents added a gentleness to the overall clamor as they chatted
and made their way along the sidewalk. Then she saw Dermot.
Quinn tapped on the glass, which gave him a start. She smiled and
then motioned for him to come in.
Dermot strolled into the cafe and sniffed, looking at the other
patrons self-consciously. Then he walked to Quinn’s table.
“Everything okay, Missus?”
“Yes, everything is fine, Dermot. I only wanted to tell you that we
are still going through Annie’s journals. I’ll let you know if we find
anything else that might be useful.”
Dermot pulled his pants up a bit and gave a little laugh. “Well,
that’s nice of you, Missus, but I think forensics got it right. I believe
she committed suicide. I think the facts will bare me out.” Dermot
sniffed again, rather importantly.
“Well, at any rate, I will let you know if the journals prove to be
of further value. Would you like to join us for lunch?”
Dermot looked alarmed. “Oh, no, I’ve got police business to
attend to.” Dermot glanced around the table at Fiona and Charlotte.
“No, I’d better be on my way. Thanks for keeping me updated on the
journals, but I think you’ve got all you’ll get from those. I’ll see you,
ladies, later.” With that, Dermot walked briskly towards the open
door.
“He sure is a funny little man, isn’t he?” Said Charlotte.
Quinn smiled. “In some ways, that’s true, Charlotte, but if you’re
ever in a life or death situation, he’s the man you want at your side.”
Just then, Quinn saw Gracie walking past the restaurant. Again,
she tapped on the glass. Gracie turned, and her face lit up with
recognition. Quinn motioned for her to come inside. Soon, Gracie
was seated with the three women, happily nibbling on a cupcake.
“I’m so glad I saw you, Gracie! Are you enjoying your Bank
Holiday?”
“I am a’ course! School is dreadful. I’m that glad to be out of it. I
would much rather be helping you find whoever murdered Annie
McClery.”
“Now, who has been telling you Annie McClery was murdered? I
think most people think she died of natural causes. The woman was
ninety-six years old, for heaven’s sake.” Quinn tried her best to
sound convincing.
“I suppose it is true that most people are thinking Annie died of
old age or some such, but that’s not what you think, is it?” Gracie’s
eyes could penetrate steel.
Quinn had to laugh. “How did you get so smart at such a young
age? I suppose I can admit that isn’t what I believe happened to
Annie. I have no proof of anything, though, mind you. It’s just my
feeling.”
“Your feelings usually turn out to be right.” Gracie chewed
thoughtfully on the cupcake. “I’ve heard Annie kept journals and
that you are finding lots of interesting information in them. Is that
true? And if it is, can I read them, too?” Gracie looked at Quinn,
waiting for her to answer.
“Well, yes, Annie did keep journals, and I am reading them with
the help of Fiona and Charlotte. I appreciate your offer to help, but I
don’t think your Gran would want you reading them. Annie had lots
of problems in her life. She writes about a lot of grown-up things.”
 “Is that why that man visited her several times the week before
she died? Annie seldom got visitors.” Gracie lifted her eyebrows and
looked at Quinn like children do when they have information they’re
sure you’ll want to hear.
And she was right. She had Quinn’s full attention. “Annie had a
visitor the week before she died? And he came back more than
once?”
“That man visited Annie three times that I know of. A’course, I
could have missed a time, but I doubt it.” Gracie sat back in her
chair, seemingly satisfied with Quinn’s reaction.
Quinn’s mind was spinning with questions. “What did the man
look like, Gracie? How long did he stay? Was he carrying anything?
How old was he? Did he look like a salesman, or an insurance man,
or something? What was he wearing?” Then she laughed. “I’m sorry;
let’s go one question at a time.”
“What did the man look like?”
Gracie sat thinking for a moment. “He looked kind of rich.”
“What about him made you think he was rich, Gracie?”
“Well, his clothes were nice, and he had an expensive-looking
haircut. He definitely didn’t get that haircut from Josie’s Scissor
Magic here in town. And even his shoes looked expensive and hardly
worn. Not like most men’s shoes. No scuffs, or creases, or anything.”
“Was he wearing a suit?”
“No, not a suit, but a white long-sleeved shirt and pants that
looked like they went with a suit. And a brown belt that looked like
really soft leather.”
Quinn sat back in her chair for a moment, thinking. “Have you
told anyone else about the man?”
Gracie rolled her eyes upward and to the side, then sighed, “No,
nobody talks to me about Annie. You know, I’ve mentioned to you
before that kids are kind of invisible to most adults. I watched the
Garda go door to door asking people questions, but they didn’t ask
me anything.”
“Well, obviously, they should have. What you saw may be
important. I’ll let Dermot know. He’ll probably want to talk to you
himself when I tell him. Is that okay?” Quinn looked at Gracie and
smiled reassuringly.
Gracie gave her a wise look. “I’m not the least bit scared of
Guard Brennan. I’ll be happy to tell him what I’ve told you. Only you
didn’t let me finish telling.”
“Oh, I guess I didn’t, did I? I’m sorry, Gracie. Please continue.”
“Well, you asked how old he was. He wasn’t that young, probably
in his thirties. And you asked how long he stayed. The first time he
stayed a long time, like several hours. The second time was shorter,
probably around one hour. And the last time he stayed less than half
an hour, and that time he was carrying something when he left.”
“What was he carrying?” Quinn tried to keep her voice calm.
“He was carrying a bouquet of white flowers. I think they’re
called Fox Gloves.”
 CHAPTER 11

Q uinn contacted Dermot to pass along this new information that

Gracie had given her. He interviewed Gracie the next day. Now
he sat in Quinn’s kitchen. “I only wish she had told us what she saw
sooner. Whoever that was is probably long gone. He doesn’t sound
like someone from around here.” Dermot fidgeted with his jacket.
“This puts a different light on things, no doubt about it.”
“Well, as Gracie pointed out, no one asked her. The guards spoke
with all the neighbors, but they didn’t think to ask a twelve-year-old
who is all over that part of town and knows more about what’s
happening than the adults do.” Quinn tried to keep her annoyance
out of her voice.
“I agree with you there, Missus. I have spoken to the guards
responsible for that. They won’t make the same mistake again.”
Dermot sipped his tea and looked around the kitchen. “Is that a new
pup you’ve got there, Missus?” Dermot pointed a finger toward
Jibbs, who was asleep next to Maggie on the kitchen floor.
“Yes, I found her at my front door. I was going to take her to the
shelter, but…” Quinn’s voice trailed off, and Dermot smiled.
“She’s a cute little thing. I’m sure she’ll make a nice addition to
your family. It looks like they get along just fine.”
Quinn looked at the little pup affectionately, “We just have to
stop now. The house can’t hold any more animals.”
‘You’ve a kind heart, Missus, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
By the way, anything new from the journals that I need to know
about?”
“Nothing that would help, I’m afraid. She sure lived a hard life at
times, though. Shamus was a terrible man.”
“I agree with you on that. It’s good that Biddie has passed on;
god rest her soul. I’d hate to arrest a woman in her nineties for a
murder she committed to save her friend all those years ago.”
“You know, Dermot. I don’t have much information regarding
Biddie. Do you know much about her?”
“She’s someone I’ve seen around town since I was a boy. I
always thought she was nice—kind of soft-spoken and unassuming. I
knew Annie, too, maybe slightly better. She had quite a reputation
for making her dolls resemble the kids they were made for. I think
she was pretty successful.”
“I’d always heard that her husband had left town years ago. No
one had much good to say about him. Of course, they didn’t know
the extent of his abuse of Annie. People kept that sort of thing to
themselves back then. At least that’s changed, thank goodness.”
“But back to Biddie. I went to school with some of her
grandchildren. They all seemed okay. I think it was a nice family.
Biddie’s husband, Eugene Murphy, owned a little farm until he died. I
think he got along with everybody. He died when I was pretty
young. Maybe the late nineteen seventies? I never knew him, a’
course.”
“When did Biddie die, do you know?” Quinn frowned as she
looked at Dermot.
“I’d have to look that up. I don’t have any idea. Those ladies,
being so old and all, they certainly weren’t on my radar.”
“I understand, Dermot. I’m just trying to put all the pieces of
Annie’s life together, and Biddie was a big part of that.”

A fter D ermot left , Quinn headed back to the journals. She opened
yet another to its first page; it read:
October 19, 1972
 I made another doll for that family in Cork City. I don’t write their
name for obvious reasons. Biddie tells me I should stop working for
them because they are a part of organized crime in Cork. Biddie says
they’re the most extensive crime family in the area. Their children
love my dolls, though, and the people treat me very well.
Me and Biddie hardly ever talk about Shamus anymore. It’s
almost like he really did leave like I tell everybody. That night seems
so long ago. I will forever be grateful to Biddie for what she did. I
would have taken an awful beating otherwise and maybe even
worse. Biddie saved me; there’s no doubt about that. My life has
been so different since I don’t have to live in fear of Shamus. I get
true happiness out of the most ordinary things, like buying what I
like from the grocer, even. I don’t have to fix the meals that Shamus
liked. I can please myself. It seems like a true luxury.
Even going to the shops is a great pleasure. No more worrying; I
need to get home in time to have supper on the table. No more
having the house just as Shamus wanted it or face another beating.
I used to live in such fear all the time. It’s a great weight lifted off of
me. I will never forget what Biddie did. And what it has cost her. She
has to live with it; sometimes, that’s not easy for her. She goes to
Mass every day and prays for forgiveness. I tell her god does forgive
her. She killed Shamus because she couldn’t bear to watch him hurt
me again. That can’t make her evil. I think it makes her brave.
Quinn put the journal down. She wanted to find out more about
Biddie. She decided to drive to town and chat with Sadie Fitzgerald,
Gracie’s gran.
Quinn heard the little bell ping on the bookshop’s front door.
Immediately, Quinn felt the pleasant anticipation she always
experienced when she entered a bookstore. Quinn enjoyed nothing
more than perusing the aisles and deciding which books to buy.
First, she would speak to Sadie, though, to see how well she
knew Biddie and how much she knew regarding Annie’s and Biddie’s
friendship.
Sadie looked up from behind her counter to greet Quinn. “What
brings you in today, Quinn? Are you in need of a good mystery to
read?”
 “Always,” replied Quinn with a laugh. “But I’m here to chat if you
have the time.”
“I’ve always time for a chat with you, Quinn, and, anyway, it has
been dead slow this afternoon. I’m grateful for the company. Just let
me put the kettle on in the back and grab a couple of chairs.”
Sadie disappeared, only to return with the tea and the chairs.
She then rearranged some books on one of the large round tables to
make room for the tea.
Finally, they were seated. Sadie crossed her legs and then
pushed her wire-rimmed glasses further up her nose. “What can I
help you with, Quinn? Gracie has been updating me on your
investigation into Annie’s death, but I’m sure you don’t tell her
everything. Even though she thinks she’s a grown-up and should be
helping you investigate.”
“Your right, of course. What I’m interested in right now is finding
out more information regarding Biddie Murphy. Did you know her
very well?”
“Oh, certainly. I have known her since I was a child. Her children
were older than me, but Biddie was friendly with all the children. She
was a very kind woman. I don’t think I ever heard her raise her
voice. Very devout. I think she went to mass every day until she
became ill. She spent her last few years fighting cancer. It was in her
spine. I’m sure she was in a lot of pain. It was a true blessing when
she passed.”
“Biddie and Annie were great friends. I think it had been that
way since they were children. They were more like sisters, really.
Once Biddie’s husband died, she moved a few doors down from
Annie, and they were together every day. Annie tried to care for her
when she got sick; god bless her. By then, though, they were both
so old; it was very difficult. Biddie only died a few weeks before
Annie. At least they lived long and had each other until the end.
That, surely, must have been a great comfort to the both of them.”
Quinn had very little difficulty imagining that having a friend to
go through life with was, indeed, a great comfort.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
taivuta heidät, koska he eivät enää ole kristityttä eivätkä halua auttaa
kreiviä hänen hädässään, päästämään minut vihdoinkin rukoilemaan
tuon miesraukan puolesta, joka luultavasti on suuresti Jumalan avun
tarpeessa.»

»Tulin tänne, isä, viemään teidät kirkkoonne tahi tuonne kauhealle

paikalle, josta juuri tulen ja jonne heti lähden takaisin, mutta
puhumaan noille konnille en rupea. Heidän paljas hengityksensäkin
saastuttaa sekä minut että Csillagin. Te ja minä, isä, lähdemme
takaisin tuonne, missä vanha mies-raukka vaimoineen ja tyttärineen
katselee, miten hänen omaisuutensa tuhoutuu kokonaan, missä
säikähtyneet eläinraukat juoksevat avuttomina sinne tänne
joutuakseen lopulta surkean kuoleman uhreiksi tulessa, jonka nuo
helvetin tulevat asukkaat ovat sytyttäneet. Heven maakunnan ja
koko Unkarin tasankojen ylpeys on mennyttä kalua, kun
raukkamaiset ihmiset kostavat alhaisesti viattomille eläimillekin.
Tulkaa nyt, isä, niin lähdemme. Te voitte sitten palata, kun olette
lopettanut rukoilemisenne, mutta minä, ellen ole niin onnellinen, että
voin haudata itseni ja häpeäni noihin liekkeihin, jotka hävittävät tätä
rakastamaani maata, tätä ylpeyteni esinettä, kokoan huomenna
talouskapineeni ja lähden kuin mustalaiset hakemaan jotakin toista
paikkaa, jossa jälleen voin puhella kunniallisten miesten kanssa.
Päästäkää isä Ambrosius tulemaan! Hän odottaa ovellaan!»

Talonpojat eivät olleet milloinkaan kuulleet niin julmia sanoja, jotka

olivat niin terävät ja leikkaavat kuin kaksiteräiset sirpit ja niin hirveän
halveksivat ja nöyryyttävät, että he tunsivat pimeässäkin, miten
heidän poskensa kuumenivat häpeästä.

Mitä András tarkoitti, hän, joka kaikissa heidän suruissaan ja

vaivoissaan oli aina ollut heidän puolellaan, valmiina lohduttamaan,
selittämään ja lieventämään? Mikä olikaan nyt mielessä hänellä, joka
aina iloisesti hymyillen oli kaatanut jokaisen aidan, jollaisia hänen
rikkautensa ja vaikutusvaltansa olisivat muussa tapauksessa
rakentaneet hänen ja noiden nöyrien hänelle suurta palkkaa vastaan
työskentelevien ihmisten välille? Miksi ei hän nyt luvannut heidän
lausua hänen nimeäänkään eikä koskea hänen hevoseensakaan,
ikäänkuin heidän sanansa ja kosketuksensa olisivat olleet mitä
alentavimmat ja saastaisimmat? Mitä kauhistavaa he sitten
oikeastaan olivat tehneetkään? Oliko heidän kostonsa todellakin niin
alhainen, kuin hän sanoi? Oliko se vain rikos, eikä mikään oikeus?
Oli kyllä totta, ettei kreivin puolisolla eikä tyttärellä ollut mitään osaa
pirullisiin laitoksiin, eikä noilla eläinraukoillakaan — noilla kauniilla
unkarilaisilla hevosilla — Bideskuty’n tallien maine oli levinnyt
tasangolta tasangolle — joista useilla tammoilla oli varsatkin, eikä
härilläkään, jotka eivät voineet juosta ja jotka pelästyivät ja
säikähtivät niin pian…

Joukko hajautui vaitiollen tehdäkseen tietä isä Ambrosiukselle,

joka saavuttuaan Andráksen luo aikoi nousta hevosen selkään
hänen taakseen. Sillä aikaa tarkasteli kumminkin András tyynesti,
muuttamatta kuitenkaan halveksivaa käytöstään ja nähtävästi
välittämättä miehistä sen enempää kuin tien tomusta, miten hänen
ankarat sanansa vaikuttavat noihin, joita hän heidän hullusta
työstään huolimatta myötätuntoisesti rakasti. Koska hänellä ei ollut
varaa tuhlata aikaa taivuttelemiseen eikä todisteluihin, oli hän
turvautunut tähän keinoon, jolla hän luuli varmasti parhaiten
voivansa vaikuttaa noihin vastahakoisiin ja tyhmiin, mutta ei
kumminkaan kokonaan turmeltuneihin luonteihin. Kreivi Bideskuty’n
kodin kohtalo joutui hetkiseksi kysymyksenalaiseksi ja siinä ehkä
epäröitiin noin minuutti, mutta kun András todellakin hyppäsi
Csillagin selkään ja miehille selveni, ettei hän halunnut puhua heille
eikä katsella heihin päinkään, sanoi joku pelokkaasti:

»Aiotko todellakin poistua Kisfalusta ikuisiksi ajoiksi, András»?

»Kuka puhui»? sanoi hän katsahtaen välinpitämättömästi olkansa

yli. »Onko kukaan milloinkaan kuullut minun sanovan toista ja
tekevän toista? Tulkaa nyt, isä. Istutteko vakavasti. Kiertäkää
käsivartenne lujasti ympärilleni, sillä Csillag laukkaa nopeasti».

»Ei, András, et saa lähteä».

»Mihin me silloin joudumme?»

»Haluatko todellakin poistua luotamme»?

»Tahdotko, että kuolemme nälkään?» kuului kaikilta suunnilta, ja

todellakin hyvin levottomina ja peloissaan Andráksen uhkauksesta,
joka epäilemättä olisi aiheuttanut heille suuren onnettomuuden,
kokoutuivat miehet suosikkinsa ympärille kiihkeästi, uskaltamatta
vielä koskea tammaan, koska hän oli kieltänyt, mutta estäen
kumminkin sen viemästä Andrásta pois ikuisiksi ajoiksi.

»Luulimme sinun ymmärtävän huolemme. András», sanoi vanha

Vas Berczi vieläkin hieman äreästi, mutta kumminkin jo melko
nöyrästi. »Olet mennyt vihollisemme puolelle ja halveksit nyt meitä
köyhiä raukkoja».

András huokaisi tyytyväisyydestä. Tuo oli jo antautumisen alkua.

Hän oli saavuttanut tarkoituksensa, ja lopusta hän suoriutuisi
helposti.
 »Olen aina ottanut osaa kaikkiin huoliinne, ystäväni, sillä surunne
ovat minunkin surujani», sanoi hän jo ystävällisemmin. »Mutta teidän
olisi pitänyt ymmärtää silloin, kun läksitte rikoksien teille, että tiemme
eroavat silloin auttamattomasti ikuisiksi ajoiksi. Hyvästi nyt ja
päästäkää Csillag menemään»!

»Tulet kai takaisin»? huusivat he, kun Csillag kohosi takajaloilleen

sen isännän painaessa polvellaan sen kylkiä.

»En milloinkaan, ellen saa jälleen puristaa kunniallisten miesten

käsiä»!

»Meidän, András, meidän»! huusivat he jälleen, kun tamma läksi

nopeasti laukkaamaan kylän valtatietä poispäin.

András kääntyi kerran vielä puhuttelemaan heitä.

»Tervehdin vasta vain niitä, jotka tulevat auttamaan minua

Bideskuty’n asuinrakennusten pelastamisessa».

»Minua, András, minua»! huusi nyt jokainen, ja kaikki, sekä nuoret

että vanhat, unhottaen huolensa, taikauskonsa ja pelkonsa, ja
ikävöiden vain tuota luvattua kädenpuristusta, läksivät innoissaan
juoksemaan tamman ja sen kaksinkertaisen kuorman jälkeen.

Mutta András oli pysähdyttänyt tammansa jo pienen kirkon luo,

jonka nelikulmainen torni kuvastui mustana loistavaa ja kauheata
taustaa vasten.

»Jumala teitä kaikkia siunatkoon, lapseni», sanoi isä Ambrosius,

»mutta meidän on odotettava ja otettava Herramme mukaamme».
 »Nopeasti nyt, isä, sillä emme saa hukata hetkeäkään», sanoi
András kiirehtien, mutta otti kumminkin kunnioittavasti lakin
päästään, kuten muutkin. Kun isä Ambrosius oli aikansa kolistellut
avaimiaan, sai hän raskaan oven auki ja meni kirkkoon. Hän jätti sen
selkoselälleen, että tuo hänen erehtyväinen laumansa saisi nähdä
Jumalan huoneessa vallitsevan täydellisen rauhan villin ja
kostonhimoisen vihanpurkauksensa jälkeen. Kirkko oli melkein
pimeä, lukuunottamatta tuota epätasaista valoa, jota virtasi sinne
pienistä syvällä seinissä olevista goottilaisista ikkunoista. Mutta
vanha pappi tunsi tien hyvin karkeasti veistettyjen penkkien välitse
vaatimattoman alttarin portaille, joilta hän melkein puoli vuosisataa
oli rukoillut Jumalan siunausta yksinkertaiselle kuulijakunnalleen.
Polvistuen nopeasti avasi hän äkkiä pyhäkön kannen ja otti sieltä
kultaisen rasian, joka sisälsi Kaikkivaltiaan ruumista kuvaavat
öylätit».

»Kiiruhtakaa nyt Jumalan nimessä, isä»! kuului Andráksen ääni

ulkoa, ja kiedottuaan nopeasti pyhän rasian mekkonsa helmaan
kiipesi isä Ambrosius jälleen nuoren talonpojan taakse.

Miehet olivat seisoneet kunnioittavasti vaitiollen tämän lyhyen

toimituksen kuluessa, mutta kun Csillag jälleen läksi nopeasti
laukkaamaan, läksivät he huutaen juoksemaan sen jälkeen. Heitä oli
noin pari- kolmesataa tahi koko tuon pienen kylän työkykyinen väki,
joka oli nyt hyvin innokas sovittamaan menneisyytensä ja
korjaamaan rakastamansa tasangon maineen, jonka he olivat
konnantyöllään tahranneet; ja kun he vihdoin kuumissaan ja
hengästyneinä saapuivat Bideskuty’yn, muodostivat he ketjun ollen
valmiit tottelemaan häntä, jolle he halusivat näyttää, että he vielä
olivat hänen kunnioituksensa ja myötämielisyytensä arvoiset.
 Bideskuty oli sillä aikaa seurannut Andráksen antamia ohjeita, sillä
nyt voitiin jo nähdä selvästi, että vanhaa päärakennusta uhkasi
pohjoisesta päin suuri vaara. Sillä suunnalla oli melko suuri
maissipelto, josta osa oli jo tulossa ja levitti tulipaloa nopeasti
ulkohuoneita ja talleja kohti. Tämän hävitetyn maan onneton
omistaja oli koonnut ympärilleen kaikki saatavissa olevat apuvoimat,
ja sillä aikaa kuin hänen haavellisiin vaatteihin pukeutuneet
miesvieraansa koettivat pelastaa tätä hänen omaisuutensa osaa, toi
hän paikalle kaikki kamaripalvelijansa ja vahvimmat palvelijattarensa
suojelemaan talon muita osia.

He koettivat kaataa maissia maahan niin paljon kuin suinkin

viikatteilla, sirpeillä ja lapioilla, mutta vaikka tuo pieni joukko
työskentelikin kovasti ja vauhdikkaasti, työskenteli kumminkin
vihollinen kovemmin tullen yhä lähemmäksi, ja puolen tunnin
kuluttua huomattiin selvästi, ettei leikattu alue ollut tarpeeksi leveä
estämään tehokkaasti liekkien etenemistä.

Bideskuty käveli edestakaisin peltojensa läheisyydessä

tarkastellen levottomasti taivaanrantaa, josta avun luultiin
lähestyvän. Hän ei halunnut ajatella enää pahaa eikä epäillä, sillä
hän tiesi nyt liiankin hyvin, että jos hänellä tämän peloittavan yön
jälkeen on katto päänsä yläpuolella ja vielä hieman muutakin
omaisuutta, oli se tuon miehen ansiota, jota hän iltapäivällä oli
loukannut ja lyönyt kasvoihin. Oli aivan varmaa, että tulipalo oli
ihmisten sytyttämä, ja jäljellä oli ainoastaan toivo, että tuo rikas
talonpoika voi taivuttaa rikolliset sovittamaan oman konnantyönsä,
ennenkuin se oli liian myöhäistä.

Naiset olivat kaikki peräytyneet puutarhan porttien sisäpuolelle. He

olivat liian levottomat mennäkseen sisälle, ja parittain tahi kolmisin
kävelivät he akasiakujannetta edestakaisin arvaillen, saapuisiko tuo
luvattu apu, ja katsellen isiään, veljiään ja miehiään, jotka vielä
työskentelivät uhattujen tallien katoilla.

Bideskuty kuuli jo kaukaa talonpoikien huudot, kun he seurasivat

juosten Csillagia, jolla András ja isä Ambrosius ratsastivat.

András pysähdytti hevosensa nopeasti Bideskuty’n viereen ja

laskeuduttuaan sen selästä huusi hän:

»Kreivi, isä Ambrosius ja minä olemme tuoneet tänne kolmesataa

innokasta apulaista, jotka Jumalan avulla voivat ehkä suojella
asuinrakennukset ja tallit tulelta. Nyt miehet», lisäsi hän viitaten
maissipelloille, »on teidän saatava tuo tulenarka aine syrjään.
Hakatkaa, leikatkaa, repikää, polkekaa ja näyttäkää minulle, kuka
parhaiten voi hävittää muutamia maakunnan parhaimpia
maissipeltoja. Ottakaa kaikki saatavissa olevat työvälineet
hukkaamatta aikaa, ja suokoon Jumala menestystä työllenne».

Isä Ambrosiuskin laskeutui maahan. Luottavaisesti otti hän

kauhtanansa alta pyhän astian ja kohotettuaan sen korkealle päänsä
yläpuolelle niin, että kaikki tulisivat osalliseksi jumalallisesta
siunauksesta, rukoili hän kunnioittavasti apua Jumalalta tämän
kauhean hävityksen lopettamiseksi.

Muutamissa minuuteissa hajautuivat kaikki vastailleet innokkaat

työmiehet pelloille, ja pian kuultiin kaukaa terävien viikatteiden
synnyttämää ääntä, kun ne leikkasivat maissin sitkeitä varsia.

Bideskuty näki paikoiltaan, miten miehet kumartuivat työhönsä,

niittivät ja leikkasivat levähtämättä hetkeäkään. He olivat aloittaneet
työnsä melkein tulen vierestä, vaarallisen läheltä, ajatteli Bideskuty.
Näytti siltä kuin he olisivat halunneet uhrata elämänsäkin
pelastaakseen nyt nuo maakappaleet hänelle, ja uhmata vaaraa
osoittaakseen selvästi, miten tottelevaisia ja katuvaisia he nyt olivat.
Ja varmasti pakotti syyllisyyden tuntokin heitä nyt taistelemaan
kovasti tuota säälimätöntä tulta vastaan, jonka heidän rikolliset
kätensä olivat sytyttäneet. Bideskuty katsoi melkein kateellisesti
tuohon vierellään seisovaan reippaaseen talonpoikaan, joka niin
helposti oli taivuttanut nuo niskoittelevat miehet tottelemaan
tahtoaan. Hän olisi halunnut ilmaista hänelle kiitollisuutensa
saamastaan odottamattomasta avusta, mutta vieläkin kytevä viha
tukahdutti jollakin tavoin sanat hänen kurkkuunsa. Tuo ylpeä ylimys
ei voinut taivuttaa itseään tällaistenkaan olosuhteiden vallitessa
osoittamaan, että hän jollakin tavoin oli velassa vieressään
seisovalle alhaissyntyiselle talonpojalle.

Pian huomattiin selvästi, että tulipalon alue alkoi melkein

huomaamatta supistua. Kuiva tasanko ja leveä korkea tie
muodostivat sekä etelässä että idässä sellaisen voittamattoman
esteen tulelle, ettei se enää voinut levitä niille suunnille. Pohjoisessa
olevat kaukaisemmat tallit, joiden katot oli kasteltu, muodostivat
myöskin tehokkaan esteen. Toivo alkoi jälleen kyteä Bideskuty’n
sydämessä, kun hän näki nuo leveät maissipeltojen poikki leikatut
urat, joiden reunoilla taloa kohti uhkaavasti levinneet liekit ensin
lepattivat ja sitten sammuivat. Miesten työskennellessä ei isä
Ambrosius lopettanut hetkeksikään rukouksiaan eikä Bideskuty
katselemistaan. Ylpeä kreivi oli sanomatta sanaakaan vastaan
luvannut Andráksen ohjata pelastustöitä.

Kiihtyneestä Bideskuty’sta tuntui, että tuo nuori talonpoika oli

yhtäaikaa joka paikassa. Toisen kerran oli hän tuolla miesten luona
ohjaamassa heidän työtään ja toisen kerran taasen puutarhan
porteilla lähettämässä lohduttavia tietoja puutarhassa oleville naisille.
Taistelu ihmisten ja luonnonvoiman välillä kesti viisi tuntia, ja tuuma
tuumalta pakotettiin luonnonvoima taipumaan. Nyt voitiin nähdä jo
kaikkialla mustia ja savuavia läikkiä, jotka olivat kuin autioita
tulimeressä uiskentelevia saaria. Kirkas hehku oli jo tummennut.
Pimeys, joka nyt tuntui monta kertaa synkemmältä verrattuna tuohon
muutamia tunteja sitten vallitsevaan kaameaan valaistukseen, oli jo
peittänyt suurimman osan taivaanrannasta. Kukistettu vihollinen
koetti pari kertaa valloittaa takaisin menettämäänsä aluetta ja
parissa paikassa syttyikin maissin sänki tuleen ja paloi hetkisen,
mutta leikkaamisen jälkeen voitiin nuo savuavat jäännökset pian
tehokkaasti sammuttaa. Kun liekit pienenivät, yhtyivät naamioitetut
talonpoikiin, ja pian muuttui tulen leviämistä estävä salpa yhä
kiinteämmäksi. Bideskuty ei suostunut lähtemään mihinkään niin
kauan kuin kipinäkin vielä voitiin huomata, vaan tarkasteli
lakkaamatta, miten hänen peloittava vihollisensa työnnettiin takaisin
ja tukahdutettiin. Hän ei tuntenut ollenkaan väsymystä katsellessaan
kaikkea tuota kuin unennäköä, eikä hän koettanutkaan lisäytyvässä
pimeässä saada selville tuon kauhistuttavan hävityksen suuruutta,
joka nyt levisi hänen eteensä siinä, missä vielä eilen komeat vehnä-
ja maissitähkät olivat lainehtineet iloisesti kesätuulessa.

Hän ei halunnut tietää pohjoisessa päin sijaitsevien viinitarhojensa

kohtaloa eikä saada selville, miten hänen monien kilometrien
pituisille turnipsi- ja kaurapelloilleen oli käynyt, sillä mahdotonta oli
vielä kenenkään tietää, miten paljon ne olivat kärsineet tulen
raivosta.

Tasangon takaiselle itäiselle taivaanrannalle alkoi ilmestyä heikkoa

punaa, joka tunkeutui lisäytyvän pimeyden läpi. Ilma oli täynnä
tukahduttavaa savua. Kaukana sammuttelivat talonpojat ja
naamioitetut, jotka nyt näyttivät vielä hullunkurisemmilta nokisine
kasvoineen ja käsineen ja repeytyneinä koristeineen, viimeisiä
kipinöitä maissipelloista, jotka olivat olleet maakunnan ylpeyden
esineet. Hän kiitti Jumalaa, ettei hän voinut nähdä häviötä, ja oli
tyytyväinen, että hän voi siirtää huomiseen runsaan satonsa
mitättömien jäännösten tarkastelun ja tyytyä vain tänään toteamaan,
että asuinrakennukset, tallit ja ehkä eläimetkin olivat pelastuneet.

Kaukaa voi hän jo kuulla, miten niitä nyt ajettiin takaisin talleihin,
mutta hän ei halunnut kysyä, montako niistä tuli ja savu olivat
tappaneet. Kaiken tuon sai hän kyllä tietää tarpeeksi pian — jo
huomenna. Tänään ei hän luullut kaipaavansa enää muuta kuin
lepoa. Hän totesi, että useimmat talonpojat olivat poislähdössä
palatakseen jälleen Arokszállakseen. Tuo taivaanrannalta näkyvä
ruusunpunainen juova alkoi levetä ja kirkastua, ja savunkin läpi voi
hän nähdä, miten tähdet himmenivät auringonnousun lähestyessä.
Isä Ambrosius sanoi hänelle monta lohduttavaa sanaa, ja jokainen
talonpoika nosti kunnioittavasti lakkiaan mennessään vararikkoon
joutuneen kreivin sivu.

»Gyuri, etkö tule jo sisään»? sanoi lihava kreivi Kantássy hiljaa ja

hyvin ystävällisesti. »Väsymys ja levottomuus ovat nähtävästi sinut
kokonaan uuvuttaneet. Tulen juuri linnasta taivutettuani naiset
menemään levolle».

Bideskuty katsoi epämääräisesti vanhaan ystäväänsä

ymmärtämättä täydellisesti hänen tarkoitustaan. Yön jännitys ja
vaivat olivat väsyttäneet hänen mieltänsäkin yhtä paljon kuin hänen
ruumistaankin.

»Nyt ei ole enää mitään vaaraa huomattavissa, mutta vartijoita on

asetettu eri paikkoihin hälyyttämään, jos tuli sattuisi uudestaan
riehahtamaan palamaan».

Bideskuty tuskin tiesi, kuka puhui. Joku nuorukainen se kumminkin

oli, joka näytti äärettömän hullunkuriselta raskaassa märässä
satiinihameessaan ja avokaulaisissa kureliiveissään, päärmätyissä
röyhelöissään, nauharuusuissaan ja nauhoissaan. Bideskuty nauroi
niin, että hän horjui ja melkein kaatui Kantássyn käsivarsille, jotka
tukivat häntä hellästi kuin juopunutta, joka ei pysy seisoallaan.
Lihava vanha kreivi koetti taluttaa ystävänsä pois.

»Tule nyt, Gyuri, täällä ei ole sinulla enää mitään tekemistä».

Mutta vaikka Bideskuty olikin hyvin väsynyt ja levollemenon aika

varmasti oli jo käsillä, tunsi hän kumminkin, että hänen oli vielä
tehtävä jotakin ennen taloon menoaan, mutta hän ei voinut muistaa,
mitä se oli. Hän kieltäytyi itsepäisesti liikkumasta mihinkään ja tuijotti
epämääräisesti hymyillen nuoriin vieraihinsa ja heidän märkiin
pukuihinsa, noiden iloisten naamiohuvien jäännöksiin, joille hän oli
nauranut niin sydämensä pohjasta eilen, josta tuntui kuluneen jo
kokonainen iankaikkisuus.

Muudan palvelijatar ilmestyi juosten puutarhan portista. Hän toi

kreivittäreltä sellaisen viestin, että kreivi tulisi heti sisään, sillä ei hän
eikä neiti Ilonka voineet nukkua, ennenkuin he olivat puhutelleet
häntä.

Bideskuty valmistautui lopultakin lähtemään.

»Kreivitär käski kreivin tuoda Keményn Andráksen Kisfalusta

mukanaan», lisäsi tyttö, »sillä kreivitär haluaa kiittää häntä muutamin
sanoin ajoissa saapuneesta avusta».
 Silloin muisti Bideskuty’kin, mitä hänen oli tehtävä ennen taloon
palaamistaan. Joukossa oli ollut muudan mies, joka ei ollut
ainoastaan nähnyt vaivaa hänen puolestaan pelastaakseen hänen
kotinsa täydellisestä häviöstä, vaan hän oli myöskin taivuttanut
muutkin tehokkaaseen ja vapaaehtoiseen apuun, ja niin muuttanut
hänen perinpohjaisen häviönsä vain osittaiseksi. Tuo mies oli kyllä
alhaissyntyinen talonpoika, joka polveutui orjista ja sitäpaitsi
juutalaisesta äidistä syntyneestä saidasta koronkiskurista, ja joka
juuri äsken oli ollut niin hävytön, että Bideskuty’n oli ollut pakko
kurittaa häntä, mutta tuo riita oli nyt unhotettava, koska mies oli
koettanut sovittaa rikoksensa. Bideskuty tunsi olevansa hänelle
hyvin kiitollinen.

Hän kääntyi etsimään Andrásta ympäröivästä joukosta, mutta

talonpoikaa ei näkynyt. Hän kysyi Andrásta ja huusi häntä nimeltä,
mutta András oli jo lähtenyt kotiinsa.

TOINEN OSA
XVI

PÄÄSIÄISAAMU.

»Kyllä se nyt jo näyttää lakkaavan»!

»Ei vielä tänään, luullakseni»!

»Pisaraakaan ei ole pudonnut viimeisten minuuttien kuluessa».

»Katsohan tuota rakoa pilvissä»!

»Ei se levene, vaan sulkeutuu pian jälleen».

»Nyt sataa taasen».

»Uneksit, Laczi, sillä tuoltahan näkyy jo sinistä taivastakin».

»Mistä?»

»Tuolta Kisfalun yläpuolelta. Tänään ei enää sada, siitä saat olla

aivan varma».

Tämä viimeinen puhuja oli nähtävästi hyvin kokenut ilmojen

ennustaja, sillä hänen ympärilleen kokoutuneet nuoret miehet, jotka
tarkastelivat taivasta levottomasti, eivät uskaltaneet sanoa suoraan
vastaankaan. Ainoastaan muudan uskalsi pelokkaasti huomauttaa:

»Muistat kai, Berczi, että viime sunnuntaina sanoit sateen

loppuvan, ennenkuin isä Ambrosius sanoo 'Ite Missa est', mutta kun
tulimme kirkosta sitten kuin kätemme oli siunattu, satoi yhä ja on
satanut aina tähän hetkeen asti»?

»Niin, mutta nyt se on kumminkin loppunut, eikö olekin»? sanoi

Vas Berczi itsepäisesti. »Vai vieläkö tunnet kastuvasi, Laczi
poikaseni»? lisäsi hän hyvin ivallisesti.

Ja todellakin näytti siltä kuin ilmojen profeetta olisi puhunut

viisauden sanoja tänään. Epäilemättä leveni tuo pilvien rako ja siitä
näkyvä taivaankaistale oli kieltämättä hyvin kirkkaansininen. Joskus
tunkeutui raosta muudan pelokas ja vaalea auringonsäde valaisten
surullista maisemaa.

»Ensimmäiset auringonsäteet pariin viikkoon, lapsukaiseni», sanoi

vanha Berczi nostaen lakkiaan muka hyvin vakavasti. »Lakit päästä
ja tervehtikää vieraita»!

Nuoret talonpojat tottelivat nauraen, ja lyöden kantapäänsä yhteen

kumarsivat he vakavasti aurinkoon päin.

»Isten hozta!» sanoivat he kaikki kohteliaasti.

»Herramme aurinko, olet tervetullut»!

»Toivomme teidän korkeutenne viipyvän kauan luonamme»!

»Hei», lisäsi vanha Berczi huoaten, »teidän korkeutenne on tullut

katsomaan surullista näkyä».
 »Onkohan maantiellä ollut milloinkaan niin paljon lokaa kuin nyt»?
sanoi muudan talonpoika pudistaen päätään.

»Rattailla ei voida ollenkaan kulkea ja eilen upposivat härkäni

polviaan myöten likaan. En saanut niitä kääntymään enkä
kulkemaan eteenkäänpäin. Luulin viime hetkemme koittaneen, sillä
tunsin vajoavani yhä syvempään, ja ajattelin, että härät menevät
suoraan lian läpi helvettiin vieden minut mukanaan, suomatta minulle
aikaa syntieni anteeksisaamiseen ja rukoilemiseen».

»En ymmärrä, miten Keményn András aikoo tulla kirkkoon

tänään».

»Hänellä on hyviä hevosia. Hän ratsastaa Csillagilla ja tuo Etelkan

mukanaan».

»Tiedän, ettei Etelka mitenkään jää pois

pääsiäisjumalanpalveluksesta.
Hän on hyvin hurskas».

»Eikä András salli hänen lähteä yksinään».

»Oletteko huomanneet, lapsukaiseni», sanoi tuo viisas vanha

profeetta, »ettei András ole ollut oikein oma itsensä viime aikoina»?

»Hän näyttää todellakin hyvin vakavalta», sanoi Laczi. »En muista

kuulleeni hänen nauravankaan pitkiin aikoihin».

»Luultavasti johtuu se siitä», sanoi eräs vanha talonpoika, »ettei

hän ole vielä antanut meille anteeksi tuota tulipaloa».

»András ei ole pitkävihainen»! sanoi muudan nuorukainen

kiihkeästi. »Hän ei ole puhunut tuosta tulipalosta sanaakaan sen
jälkeen kuin se tapahtui».

»Mutta sitä kai et voine kieltää», sanoi vanha Berczi, »että juuri
tuona tulipaloyönä muuttui András tuollaiseksi omituiseksi ja
vakavaksi»?

»Hän on ehkä huolissaan uudesta sadostaan. Lopetimme

kylvämisen
Kisfalussa juuri, kun tämä kirottu sade alkoi».

»Tulva ei kohoa mitenkään hänen pelloilleen».

»Tarnan rannoilla on Kisfalulla vain muutamia maissipeltoja.

Hänen vahinkonsa ovat vielä mitättömät».

»Mutta vesi nousee vielä».

»Pauhu oli hirmuinen viime yönä. Eilen kävin aivan kreivin talleilla
asti ja minusta näytti, että koko Bideskuty on veden vallassa».

»Kreivillä on todellakin vastuksia».

»Jumala rankaisee häntä, ymmärrät kai sen. Meidän ei olisi

tarvinnut sytyttää hänen vehnäänsä palamaan viime vuonna, sillä
Jumala näkyy itse huolehtivan, ettei jyvääkään jauheta tuossa
saatanan rakentamassa myllyssä».

Talonpojat seisoskelivat kylän kirkon edustalla parhaissa

sunnuntaipukimissaan odottaen äitejään, sisariaan, vaimojaan ja
morsiamiaan, joilla meni tänään paljon aikaa pukeutuessaan
komeihin pääsiäisvaatteihinsa. Aurinko oli nähtävästi ilmestynyt
näkyviin pysyäkseenkin poissa pilvien takaa, sillä se paistoi hyvin
kirkkaasti kylään, joka viimeisten viikkojen kuluessa oli näyttänyt
hyvin autiolta. Oli satanut lakkaamatta neljätoista vuorokautta, ja
raskaat vesipisarat olivat rikkoneet tasankojen äärettömän
hiljaisuuden ja muuttaneet koko maiseman likajärveksi. Kaukaa
pohjoisesta kuului Tarnan surullinen kohina, kun sen vihaiset
vesimäärät, joita tuo yhtämittainen sade oli lisännyt, syöksyivät
raivokkaasti eteenpäin tulvien matalien rantojen yli ja upottaen
mutaisiin syvyyksiinsä Bideskuty’n hedelmälliset pellot, joiden
aikainen kevätkylvö oli juuri saatu lopetetuksi.

»Tuolta tulevat Kisfalun miehet», sanoi Laczi viitaten tielle. »He

näyttävät olevan ravassa sekä yltä että alta».

»Tytöt ovat kumminkin pukeutuneet hyvin sievästi», sanoi eräs

nuorempi mies katsoen ihailevasti kirkasvärisiin hameihin
pukeutuneita kauniita tyttöjä, jotka juuri kääntyivät kylän valtatielle.

»Sárilla ja Katilla on kummallakin uudet punaiset kengät».

»András on lahjoittanut ne, tiedän sen. Hän ratsasti Gyöngyösiin

juuri ennen kylvämistä ja osti sieltä äidilleen uuden silkkipuvun ja
palvelijattarilleen uudet kengät».

»Se mies on tehty rahasta», huokaisi vanha Berczi kateellisesti.

»Hän käyttää sitä kumminkin hyviin tarkoituksiin», sanoi toinen.

»Hän maksoi koko talven äidilleni täyden palkan vehnän
poimimisesta, vaikka äitini on nyt aivan sokea eikä voi erottaa viljan
seassa kasvavien kukkien siemeniä oikeasta viljasta».

»On helppo harjoittaa hyväntekeväisyyttä», sanoi vanha Berczi

ytimekkäästi, »kun on rikas».
 »Eipä niinkään helppoa», sanoi muudan nuorempi mies, »koska
kreivistäkin se on selvästi vaikeampaa kuin Andráksesta. Tiedän,
ettei hän viime talvena lahjoittanut juuri mitään».

»Kreivillä ei ollut mistä lahjoittaakaan. Muistat kai, että tulipalo

turmeli melkein koko hänen satonsa ja tappoi paljon hänen
elukoitaan».

»Tulipaloa ei olisi sytytetty, ellei hän olisi rakennuttanut tuota

pirullista myllyä, jonka tarkoitus oli riistää meiltä palkka käyttämällä
saatanaa apuna työssä», totesi Laczi kiihkeästi.

Kisfalusta tulijoiden oli sillä aikaa onnistunut kahlata likaisten

teitten poikki, ja he huusivat jo kaukaa tervehdykseksi kirkon portilla
seisoville ystävilleen. Tämän pienen tasangon kylän talonpojat
näyttivät hyvinvoivilta valkoisissa pellavapaidoissaan ja housuissaan,
jotka oli hienosti poimuteltu ja päärmätty, kauniisti koruompeleilla
kirjailluissa lyhyissä nahkatakeissaan ja leveissä vöissään, joissa oli
suuret auringonpaisteessa kimaltelevat messinkisoljet, ja suurissa
lampaannahkaviitoissaan, jotka riippuen heidän hartioiltaan lisäsivät
heidän tanakkojen vartaloillensa avokkaisuutta. He olivat vahvan
näköisiäkin leveine hartioineen ja pienine rintavine jalkoineen, jotka
oli pistetty kiiltäviin korkeakantaisiin saappaihin, joiden kannukset
kilisivät heidän kävellessään, ja puhuaksemme tytöistä, ei
varmaankaan mistään muusta Unkarin maakunnasta voitu löytää
heidän vertaisiaan, sellaisia kirkkaita silmiä, niin valkoisia käsivarsia
ja sellaisia pieniä jalkoja, eikä mistään muusta kylästä voitu löytää
tyttöjä, joilla olisi ollut niin monta värillistä hametta yllään kuin näillä.
Siellä olivat esimerkiksi Sári ja Kati, puhumattakaan useista muista,
joilla voi tänä pääsiäisaamuna olla yllään ainakin kolmekymmentä
hametta. Ne muuttivat heidän länteensä niin leveäksi ja heidän
vartalonsa niin hienoksi, että jokainen poika tunsi vastustamatonta
halua kiertää käsivartensa heidän ympärilleen. Heidän pienet
jalkansa olivat aivan ravassa, sillä Kisfalusta oli pitkä matka, mutta
käsissään kantoivat he ylpeästi uusia punaisia kenkiään, noita
tasankojen tyttöjen ilon ja onnen kapineita. Ei ainoakaan tyttö, jolla
on punaiset kengät, salli niiden tahrautua likaan, vaan kantaa ne
huolellisesti kirkkoon rukouskirjansa ja parhaimman nenäliinansa
kanssa, ja vetää ne vasta jalkoihinsa portilla voidakseen kävellä niillä
kirkkoon, muiden vähemmän onnellisten mustia kenkiä käyttävien
ystävättäriensä kateudeksi.

Jokaisen asunnon ovesta tuli nyt tielle kauniita tyttöjä, jotka olivat
pukeutuneet koko sunnuntaikoreuteensa. Leveät silitetyt pellavahihat
kiilsivät ja kansallisväriset, punaiset, valkoiset ja viheriät nauhat
liehuivat tuulessa. Kaunis huntu, joka oli sidottu niskaan suurella
nauharuusulla, täydensi kuningatarmaisen pienen pään kauneutta.
Tukka oli kammattu sileäksi ja letitetty kahdeksi paksuksi palmikoksi,
pusero oli edestä kauniisti koruompeluin kirjailtu ja hoikan vartalon
ympärille oli napitettu ahtaat liivit. Lukemattomat hameet heiluivat
iloisesti tyttöjen kävellessä omituisesti lanteitaan heiluttaen, suuret
kultaiset korvarenkaat, useat helminauhat ja liivien kirkkaat soljet
loistivat auringossa yhtä kirkkaasti kuin kauniit silmät ja lumivalkoiset
hampaat. Vanhemmilla naisilla oli hieman tummemmat puvut ja
pitemmät hunnut, kirkkaanväriset huivit peittivät heidän hartioitaan ja
kaikilla oli käsissään suurilla joko messinki- tahi hopeahakasilla
varustetut raskaat rukouskirjat.

Kirkon portilla vaihdetaan tervehdyksiä ja siunauksia naisten

istuutuessa porraskiville ja vetäessä kauniit kenkänsä likaisiin pieniin
jalkoihinsa.
 Isä Ambrosius ei ole vielä saapunut. Pieni kello kaikuu kumminkin
jo, lähettäen kauaksi iloisia säveleitä ja kutsuen siten yksinkertaista
kansaa jumalanpalvelukseen tänä kauniina pääsiäisaamuna.
Muutamat naiset ovat jo menneet kirkkoon saadakseen hyvät
istumapaikat karkeasti kyhätyissä puupenkeissä, joista he voivat
nähdä kreivin perheineen istumassa tilavassa penkissään, sillä kreivi
tulee aina pääsiäisenä tähän pieneen kirkkoon kuulemaan messua,
ja tuo samalla karitsansa ja pääsiäismunansa isän siunattavaksi.

Ulkona lörpötellään yhtämittaa. Kirkkomiehiä saapuu kaikilta

suunnilta eikä tervehdysten vaihdosta tahdo tulla loppuakaan.

»Tuleekohan kreivi»? kysyy eräs vastasaapunut.

»Hän tuli kyllä tänne viime vuonna, mutta en tiedä, tuleeko hän
tänään», sanoi eräs nuori Bideskuty’n paimen. »Kun sivuutin
päärakennuksen, odottivat vaunut ja hevoset portaitten edustalla,
joten on varma, että kreivitär ja nuori neiti saapuvat».

»Jalo Ilonka on hyvin kaunis», sanoi muudan kaunis tyttö

vetäessään punaisia kenkiään jalkoihinsa.

»Ei puoleksikaan niin kaunis silmissäni kuin sinä, Panna», kuiskasi

eräs nuorukainen nopeasti hänen korvaansa.

»Auta minut ylös, Rezsö, äläkä puhu tyhmyyksiä. Olen varma, että
jalo
Ilonka on aivan alttarilla olevan pyhän neitsyen näköinen».

»Mutta sinä, Panna, et ole etkä saakaan olla kenenkään näköinen.

Ei ainoallakaan muulla tytöllä ole niin kirkkaita silmiä kuin sinulla»,