Chapter 24

Jake looked back and forth at the women at the table. What, he wondered had made going to Ireland a desideratum at this particular point in time. As if reading his mind, Trish spoke up.

“It is time to see what we have to work with in this timeline, Jake, or what we have to work against. We know that as best we can recollect, this time is in the immediate past from where we three and Nina Mallory originated. But what if it is really not? What if we are in a timeline where someone going further back has changed something? Nina Mallory says she does not remember anything about this clan notion coming up in her previous life. Why is that? Why wouldn’t her older brother Sean simply have become chieftain by default? You told us your grandfather visited you more than once, suppose he somehow affected the past as a way to help you. Or maybe he did it as a way to gain something through Joseph and Julia.

“We have a ton of questions and not many answers. We think we should go to Ireland to see if any clues are over there.”

Leslie and Melissa nodded in agreement.

“Okay, already,” Jake said semi-petulantly. “But, if I’m supposed to be this big clan chieftain, why don’t I get to make the decisions in my own home?”

“You just made one my big strong husband, and you got it exactly right,” Melissa pretended to simper.

Jake had to laugh when Leslie and Trish started cracking up. The trouble with being miffed at them for making decisions for him was that they were usually right. Still, it was best not to let them get a big head about it.

“Yeah, well, I just decided that this little tubby trooper is eating entirely too good,” he said holding up his son.

“That’s Elsie the Cow’s fault,” giggled Leslie as she pointed to Melissa.

Melissa pulled her shoulders back and thrust out her now-even-more-substantial breasts.

“I can’t help it if he’s like his father and won’t leave me alone. Although I do think it is time to start weaning him. If I don’t do it now I’ll probably end up going to his school to nurse him. What do you say Hubby, ready to give these puppies up?”

Jake pretended to make a sad face but agreed with her. The women then laid out their plan for the trip to Ireland. Passports for Leslie and Melissa were already requested and should be back in a week or so. They would fly from Daytona in the long range Lear Jet. Dave Larson and Erika would pilot them, stay a few days, and then travel on to Scotland. Erika was attending Jackie Stewart’s driving school while Dave supervised having the jet fitted with some advanced avionics. Dave and Erika would come back and get them in ten days. For ground transportation and accommodations, Mitzi was working with a travel agent who had offices both in the United States and in Dublin.

The next few days went by in a hurry. Jake was thrilled to be home and with his family and friends. His routine of visiting Rebecca and meeting Helga twice a month at the bungalow continued. Melissa was comfortable with his relationship with the women and occasionally even joined them. Faith, true to her word, was now a student at Stetson and a frequent visitor to the ranch. She still loved horses and earned her keep helping Louisa give riding lessons.

Nina the younger’s sixteenth birthday came and went without her invoking her privilege of having Jake deflower her. Jake had asked her to wait until he returned from Ireland and knew more about his alleged legacy. He promised the disappointed girl that he would make it worth her wait.

On September the twenty-eighth, they took off from Daytona and flew to Bangor, Maine, to refuel and spend the night. The next evening at nine, they flew east towards Dublin, arriving at eight in the morning, local time. They breezed through customs, picked up a car at the Avis counter, and headed out. The map and directions provided by Avis were first rate. It took thirty minutes from airport to hotel. They checked into the suite Mitzi had booked and were pleased to find that the master bedroom held a bed even larger than a king.

The women immediately showered and changed clothes to go shopping and sight-seeing. Jake fed the baby a little bowl of pabulum and a small bottle of formula. Junior was not very happy with the substitutes for his mommy but did not put up too big a fuss. Junior and the women had slept during the flight and had arrived fresh and rested. Jake, on the other hand, had slept fitfully. He was going to nap while they checked out the city. The hotel was in the city’s center, so the women grabbed Jacob’s stroller, kissed Jake goodbye and filed out the door.

Jake had no sooner fallen asleep when Elliott Buckley revisited him in a very realistic scene. They were sitting on a stone outcropping hundreds of feet above a roiling sea.

“Welcome home,” Elliott said.

“It does feel like home here, for some reason. It brings me peace the way Liz’s bungalow does,” Jake replied.

“The reasons are the same, Jacob, your spirit is calmed by that which has gone before. Elizabeth’s abiding love for you still permeates the cottage you shared. Here, the love that multitudes had for your forbearers positively radiates toward you. Remember that, Jacob, when your corporal self visits this place.”

Jake nodded his understanding and asked, “Do you see Liz where you are, Grandfather?”

The older man smiled.

“That is the first time you have called me Grandfather, Lad. And no, I do not see her. My existence on this plane seems to be something of a rarity. I see glimpses of souls in transit but have met no others who linger here like I do. I watch what goes on, as you would watch fish in an aquarium. I can only interact with you, Joseph, and Julia in a meaningful way although I can touch others briefly. You have kin in Keelmira near Clew Bay who can tell you all about your heritage. Pay one in particular your full attention, her name is Corinne Buckley.

“Jacob, I am most impressed with the women you have chosen. The big one, Patricia, has a rare gift for seeing people as they truly are. She was partly right, you know, about me meddling. I nudged my niece Mary’s memory a bit, so she could recall the stories my sister once told her, but the stories are all based on truth. Be cautious, Lad, of that man in Chicago. The two of you are working at cross purposes.”

Before Jake could ask him more, the women spilled raucously into the suite and the scene dissolved. Jake opened his eyes, yawned, and stretched, refreshed from his nap. He was surprised that he had slept for more than two hours. Melissa handed him the baby and his diaper bag.

“Change him for me will you, Daddy? I have to pee,” she said.

Jake undid the snaps down Jacobs’s trouser legs and unfastened his diaper. He recoiled in horror at the mess his boy had made. Cripes, did it stink, and it was everywhere. If this was what his new diet was going to do, Melissa was going to have to either start breast feeding him again or have him fumigated before diaper changes. To add insult to injury, Jacob goo-goo’d, giggled, and then peed all over Jake’s hands and arms.

Jake cleaned up as much of the mess as he could then took Junior into the bathroom and ran them a tub. Jacob sat on his fathers chest and splashed around happily as Melissa knelt by the tub and bathed them both. Trish and Leslie thought they were just too cute and stood at the door snapping photographs.

They ate a late lunch at the hotel’s pub then spent the rest of the afternoon seeing the sights. They hoofed it from the hotel on Georges Quay two blocks to Trinity College Park. Jake was fascinated by the thousand-year-old city and loved the friendly people they met. Baby Jacob garnered much attention from the coeds at Trinity College. He laughed and acted adorable, clutching their fingers when they touched him.

“The acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree,” observed Trish. “He’s not even a year old and already charming the girls.”

Melissa slugged Jake on the arm when he suggested that he would stay at the park with Jacob if they wanted to go shopping again.

From the park, they walked down Dame Street to Dublin Castle, then over to the millennium old Christ’s Church. They made a loop back to the street that edged the River Liffey and their hotel, which was located across from the historic Dublin Custom House.

Jake stopped at the concierge desk while the women went up to the room to rest and dress for dinner. Jake asked the concierge on duty for a road map and the two of them together searched for Keelmira. They found Keelmira across the island in the county Mayo, north of Galway, and hard on the shore of Clew Bay. The concierge helped Jake pick a route that led west to Galway then north to Castlebar and, finally, west again to Keelmira. Jake thanked the attractive young woman and made his way back to the room.

Leslie had volunteered to baby-sit while the others went to dinner. She said she would order room service and check out the BBC’s television offering. Jake grumbled only a little about putting on a coat and tie. He knew that Europeans dressed up for dinner. Besides, Trish and Melissa looked very fine in their cocktail dresses and high heels, Melissa in green, Trish looking dishy in electric blue. He was going to be the envy of all the lads in the restaurant.

The food in the restaurant was only fair. It consisted of tiny portions of a bunch of stuff you did not want to go along with even smaller portions of what you really ordered. Jake was mildly disappointed but, because the women raved about the exquisite cuisine, he kept his mouth shut. He figured epicure could be scratched off the list of potential careers for his future. Jake had expected a big slab of dead mammal on his plate when he ordered steak. It was disingenuous to call what they served him ‘a generous portion of prime, aged, Angus beef grilled to perfection’ Jake thought. The tiny charred piece of meat still had its last jockey’s whip marks on it. Jake would have bet fifty dollars that the chef was French. Jake excused himself from the women as they blathered on about the chef’s artful presentation. If he wanted art, he would go to the museum. He called Leslie from the house phone and found out what she had ordered and how it tasted.

“I had a cheeseburger and fries, the burger was a little over done but it was pretty good,” she said.

“Order a couple of them, rare, for me, Les, and I’ll owe you one.”

After the meal, the restaurant turned into a cabaret-style lounge. As soon as most of the tables had been cleared, Paddy Moloney and the Chieftains came out of the back and began playing. Jake was immediately captivated by the traditional Irish folk music the band played. Harp, fiddle, flute, skin drum, and uileann (elbow) pipes filled the room with an evocative, haunting sound.

They went up to the room at ten-thirty. Melissa and Trish were tired and ready for bed. Leslie had the baby already tucked into the port-a-crib provided by the hotel. The older women shimmied out of their dresses. Melissa put on her chiffon gown and climbed into bed with the comfortably nude Trish. Jake said he was going to sit up with Leslie for a while since he had taken a nap and kissed them both good night.

Jake rejoined Leslie in the sitting room that separated the suite’s two bedrooms. Leslie reached under the end table and pulled out a covered dish with two still-warm cheeseburgers on it. She waved the dish under his nose.

“You can have these just as soon as I tell you what’s on the dessert menu,” she said.

Jake ate the cheeseburgers then he ate some furburger. Thirty minutes later, he went to bed with his stomach full and his balls empty. That Leslie sure knew how to treat a man. Jake loved being the beneficiary of her fifty years of experience in what really made a guy contented.

They were up and out of the hotel the next morning before nine. Jake drove while Muffy navigated. Trish and Leslie played with baby Jacob in the back seat. They made excellent time on the high speed motorway to Galway. The road to Castlebar was not as good, but the trip still went smoothly. They lunched at a roadside pub in Castlebar. Jake and Leslie wolfed down excellent shepherd’s pies as Trish and Melissa nibbled dainty watercress sandwiches. Baby Jacob gnawed on a cracker the waitress brought him and sat in her lap as he ate it. The waitress was a big healthy girl and it embarrassed Melissa to no end when her son kept latching onto the girl’s big boobs in search of nourishment.

The road got worse the closer they neared to Keelmira. It took them almost an hour and fifteen minutes to cover the last thirty-five miles. They crested a hill on the narrow dirt road with Jake studiously maneuvering the little rental Ford Anglia around the worst of the ruts. The small picturesque village popped into view, spread out below them as if it were a scene on a picture postcard. It was two miles from the hilltop down to the village. The village appeared perched on the shore at the head of the bay. It began just beyond the tidal beach strewn with boulders. The land rose in every direction from the small valley formed by Keelmira Creek. The north and south fingers of land that formed the bay were high escarpments that Jake recognized from his dream.

They bounced and jounced into town finally stopping in front of the Keelmira Inn and Pub. Jake took the baby and the ladies exited moaning and groaning from the car.

“I’m guessing that they don’t have many visitors,” Leslie understated.

They walked inside and went to the bar. A very pretty older woman with blonde hair shot through with silver was tending bar.

“You must be the Turners, and tired from the trip I’ll wager. I’m Sheila O’Brien,” she said.

Then she turned towards a doorway behind her.

“Rory, our guests are here. Come and show the poor dears to their room.”

Rory was a stout, florid faced man in his fifties, radiated good humor.

“Sure, me Darlin’, an’ it would be my pleasure,” Rory said.

Rory led them up a flight of stairs and opened the doors of two adjoining rooms. The rooms were cozy, filled with solid wood antique furniture, and clean as a whistle. Each room had a double bed, while Jake and Melissa’s room also had a crib squeezed into it.

Jake and Rory went out to get their bags.

“So, what is your business here, Laddie boy, if you don’t mind me asking? We don’t get many visitors from America.”

“My great-grandfather was from here, I wanted to see my family’s homeland. And I want to meet my relatives here, especially my cousin Corinne Buckley,” Jake said.

Rory stopped dead in his tracks and crossed himself.

“Sure, I see the Buckley in you now. You’ve the look of the Patrick that hangs in the church,” Rory said.

“The Patrick?”

“Yes, Lad, Patrick O’Buckley. One of the greatest Irishmen who ever lived. That mountain over there is named after him, Croagh Patrick it’s called. The last Buckley man to visit these parts was Elliott Buckley, back before the big war. Oh, and I’ll be one of the relatives you want to look up. My great-great grandmother was a Buckley. You’ll be finding that you are closely or distantly related to nearly everyone within twenty kilometers of Clew Bay.”

“Elliott Buckley was my grandfather. Glad to meet you, cousin Rory. I already love this place. I feel a strong attachment to it. But it sure is isolated.”

“It is that, my boy. Nothing much to keep or attract people here, the land is poor and rocky and the waters are treacherous for fishing. The young people have mostly gone to Galway and the big city,” Rory said sadly.

Jake thought the wildly beautiful countryside was as appealing in its own way as Hawaii was. He’d bet that a resort of some sort, one that offered spiritual renewal, would be a hit. It was something to talk about to his business-whiz wife. If there was a way to make a dollar here, she would find it.

Jake and Rory lugged the bags upstairs and Rory excused himself to finish dinner. He said dinner would be served around six and headed downstairs. Jake helped unpack before he headed down, also. He wanted to find out where Corinne lived and maybe get in a visit before supper.

Sheila was talking to a couple of older gents when Jake walked into the bar. One of the old men saw Jake and crossed himself.

“Saints preserve us!” he exclaimed before he could catch himself.

The old man regained his composure and stuck out his hand.

“Sorry, Lad, but you are the spitting image of your grandfather. Even if Rory hadn’t told me, I’d know who you are. My name’s James Lafferty and I’m proud to say that I was a friend of your grandfather.”

Jake introduced himself and sat with the two men. He bought them all a pint of stout and listened as James related stories about the year Jake’s grandfather had lived in Keelmira.

“It’s a sign from heaven that you are here with your Moorish women and your son, a sign for sure. The legend is that when a Buckley walks this land it blossoms and the sea gives up its bounty. It was that way when Elliott, saints protect his soul, was here.”

Jake asked James where his cousin Corinne lived. James told him how to find her cottage. Luckily, it was located barely a half mile from the inn. Jake thanked the gentlemen for the good conversation, bought them another round, and headed out. A brisk eight minute walk had him in front of the door of a quaint little stone cottage with a thatched roof. Jake knocked on the door and, twenty seconds later, his sister Debbie opened it. At least he thought it was Debbie until he looked closer. The woman in front of him was a few years older than Deb and lacked her musculature. The hair and face were almost identical, as was the height and general build. Before Jake could introduce himself, the woman grabbed him in a huge hug.

“I was hoping that it would be you,” Corinne Buckley sobbed into his shoulder.

Jake held her until she composed herself. Corinne took a step backwards and blushed until her face matched her hair.

“I’m so sorry, young man. I must have given you a fright,” she said.

“A surprise maybe, but I am never frightened holding a beautiful woman. I’m Jake Turner, your cousin from America, and you look exactly like my sister Deborah.”

“I think I know the reason for that, Jake Turner. Come in, please, and sit with me. Would you care for some tea? No. I’ll guess, you being American, you’ll be wanting coffee. Sit while I put on the kettle. I’ll be right back.”

Jake took a seat on the divan and swept his eyes around the room. On a sidetable near him was a picture of his grandfather with his arm around a young woman who looked for all the world like young Nina Murphy. All these family resemblances were making him dizzy. Jake looked around the cottage to distract himself. The small house was about six-hundred square feet. The sitting area he was in was at one end of an open room that spanned the front of the house and included the kitchen. A single doorway was cut in the back wall that led into a small hallway that had three doors. Two bedrooms and a bath Jake figured. In the corner of the room he was in were a spinning wheel and some wool that Corinne must have been carding when he arrived.

Corinne came back to where Jake was and sat next to him on the couch. She sat with her leg under her, her upper body turned towards him.

“So, you are my American cousin,” she prompted.

“Yes, that’s my grandfather Elliott in that picture. The girl looks like my cousin Nina.”