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An Irish Heart

By Jackie Zack

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Chapter 1

“Go to Cork.” The light blue eyes of her mother beckoned.
Greta struggled to understand the words as Aunt Sophie took her hand and led her into the hallway. She didn’t want to leave and glanced back to see Dad stepping close to Mom’s bedside.
“What did mommy mean? Why’d she say that?”
“Greta, your mommy didn’t say anything. She’s been in a coma. You know what that is, right?”
She nodded in answer. “But she did speak to me. She looked at me and told me to go to Cork.”
“No, honey.” Her aunt bent down to Greta’s eye level. “She’s in heaven now.”
“Where is Cork?” Is heaven—Cork?
“It’s a county in Ireland. County Cork. Your mother lived there for a while.”
The memory of the scene seemed as vivid as if it happened yesterday. But her mom had passed away twenty-two years ago when Greta was five. She sighed and her eyes brimmed with tears. Losing her mother had been like losing her own life.
Replaying the thoughts in her mind was inevitable as she drove the small rental car away from Cork City airport. Her arms trembled, but strength rose within. Her mom wanted her to journey here—where Mom met Dad.
Greta took a deep breath of cool late-summer air and reminded herself to keep to the left of the road. Cork City was a colorful mix of new and old with many places to explore. But finding a smaller town to set up as home-base suited her. Once she had the idea, nothing else seemed right.
The foreign countryside beckoned to her like a haunting Celtic song. The rolling green fields marked with a narrow road ahead and back-lit by the low evening sun was surreal.
Driving further, her car was the only one on the road which added to the eerie quality. She seemed to travel on the edge of the world—everything else slipped further away from her. What if her car died? How long would it be before someone found her?
Her imagination supplied her with wild thoughts of a murderer crossing her path. He’d be a crazy character with pasty skin, greasy hair and a wicked knife. She’d do her best to run away or kick and fight, but her younger brother and father would never see her again.
She gripped the steering wheel harder. Bart and Dad would be fine. They were busy with their own lives anyway. She had no other choice than to come. The image of her mom’s beautiful face came to mind again. “Go to Cork.”
Besides that, she trusted she’d be fine. When her imagination showed her tragic scenarios, it was always wrong. When Dad was late coming home, he was never in an auto accident and barely hanging on to life. And when her little brother at the age of three had disappeared for half a day, he hadn’t been kidnapped. He’d fallen asleep in the closet under an old coat.
So why worry about the worst case scenario? She’d already done her share of worrying and needed to focus on positive things.
After navigating tight turns and passing through some small points of civilization consisting of a few buildings and a petrol station, a moderately-sized village came into view. The sea sparkled behind it, and the sun nearly touched the glassy horizon. Choosing a place so soon wasn’t something she planned to do, but its name, Angel’s Hollow, touched her heart. She needed God’s comfort and help.
A red house gave way to rows of brightly colored shops built right next to each other. The striking colors were probably a way to define where one stopped and the other started—dark green, canary yellow, periwinkle blue, maraschino cherry red, and cotton candy pink.
Finding an open space on the side of the road, Greta parked and stepped out of the car to get a closer look at the businesses. The brick sidewalks and flower boxes added to the riot of color. She loved the gift shops—especially the ones with rich-looking crystal and earthy pottery. Nearby a bakery showcased cupcakes and scones. Across the street were a couple of pubs and an enticing restaurant or two.
Couples strode by her, talking animatedly. Tourists. Some of the languages she couldn’t quite determine. Had to be a European dialect. Another group was American with a New York accent. The family wore their wealth well with immaculate clothing and strode by with an air of importance. She lost interest in them as a man about her age headed toward her.
He walked in a hurried pace, holding a bouquet of red and white carnations. She almost forgot how to breathe. The woman who was to receive those flowers had to be the luckiest one on earth. His dark hair, friendly face, and lean build were everything she admired in a man, right down to his neatly trimmed facial hair.
He looked directly at her, his blue-gray eyes widening in the process. He took a nasty stumble, but righted himself in the next stride. As he neared, he studied her face, then stopped in front of her. His forehead wrinkled. “Iona?”
“Sorry. You must have me confused with another.” Greta used her much-practiced Irish accent.
His mouth dropped open and his eyes became wary. She moved to pass by, but he stopped her with a light touch on her sleeve. “You’re not? But you look exactly like me ex—you’re codding.”
“Cod? Fish?” The words slipped out without the added accent. No, not fish. Codding… it meant kidding. Didn’t do too well with that one, but at least it finally came to her.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from?” The bouquet took a downward turn and languished by his leg.
“The Midwest.” She tried the accent again.
“The Midwest, aye?” He scratched his beard. “Westmeath? Offaly? Galway?”
She shook her head at each one. “Indiana.”
His puzzled look and defeated manner of lifting his shoulders to let them drop made her smile.
“Oh. That there. You’re definitely not Iona.” He smiled back. “You’re from the States then? Indiana must be one of the fifty?”
“Yes.”
“Gave me quite a turn. Will you be here for a while?”
She nodded.
“Stop by O’Riain’s Cottage,” he pointed to the pink hotel with a restaurant across the street, “and I’ll get you a glass. I’m Aedan. Aedan O’Riain.”
“I’m Greta Conner.”
He seemed to force a smile as he nodded and turned to leave. What was so odd about her name?

****


Aedan rushed across the street to O’Riain’s Cottage without a backward glance. Her last words telling him that she was Greta Conner floated through his head. How did Iona think she could fool him like that? What was her plan? To humiliate him again?
He handed his mother the carnations. “Happy birthday, Ma.”
She took the bouquet and slapped his shoulder with it. “Funny. I get the same joke every week. At that rate, I’ll be five-hundred years old. What are you going to get for me real birthday?”
“Carnations.”
“I thought so.” She sighed and began to fill the vases, each with a single flower for the café tables.
Aedan headed to the kitchen to help his little brother. He really shouldn’t think of him as little anymore. Reece was twenty-eight, a year younger than himself, plus they were of equal height. People who didn’t know them well would often mistake one for the other. What a bother.
Reece submerged sliced potatoes in boiling oil. “It’s about time you got here. I’m off.”
“No, you don’t. A big group walked in.” Aedan grabbed a pencil and tablet to take their order.
“You don’t need me here.” Reece crossed his arms over his chest. “What with Liam and Ma.”
“Liam’s scheduled to leave early. Remember? His wife had a baby.”
“Brutal.” Reece plopped raw fish fillets into flour.
Aedan smiled. He wasn’t sure if his brother referred to having to stay later or Liam’s baby. He couldn’t wait to see his expression when Iona walked in the door. That is, if she’d come. In the back of his mind he supposed it could be possible that she wasn’t Iona and was in fact Greta Conner as she introduced herself. Aye, right.
After forty-five minutes of eyeing the clock and the front entrance, he wasn’t disappointed. The redheaded arrived.
In her favor, she surveyed her surroundings in a wide-eyed disoriented manner, and then sat at a table for two. She bent forward and smelled the red carnation. Either she was from the States, or Iona had become the actress she’d set out to be.
Her gaze didn’t turn his direction, so he hurried to the kitchen.
“You have to see who walked in.” Aedan frowned at his brother’s flour covered hands. “Quick, wash that off.”
“Who?” He chuckled. “Is it that old peeler again with the gammy leg?”
An image of the older policeman in shorts with one normal leg and one swollen fat leg came to mind. “No—no.”
“Well, then. I’d better be seeing who it is.” Reece washed his hands and dried them on a towel.
“Follow me to the bar. You’ll be able to see her better from there.”
“Her? Ah—good.” His brother’s eyes brightened.
“Not so fast. I want Ma to see her too.”
“Huh?”
“Come on,” Aedan said in a huff.
When he reached his mother standing behind the bar, she’d already seen the redhead. She motioned with a quick nod in the young woman’s direction.
“I know.” Aedan smoothed the short hair on his chin as he waited for some sort of verbal response from his family.
Reece strained his neck to see what the commotion was about. His mouth dropped open. He took two steps backward and fell in a seated position. The stool he bumped in the process protested with a thumping noise as it teetered.
“You okay?” Aedan pulled up his brother.
“Aye. What’s she doing here?”
“So you do think it’s Iona?”
Reece frowned. “Who else could it be?”
“She says she’s from the States and her name is Greta Conner.”
“Maybe she’s Iona reincarnated.”
Aedan half laughed. “But wouldn’t she have to be dead to be reincarnated?”
“You don’t think—” His brother’s eyes widened in mock fear.
“I don’t.” He shook his head at his brother’s humor.
“Well, I’ve heard she’s fallen in with a bunch of bad eggs, dodgy to be sure.” Reece’s eyes darkened.
“I’d have to get a better look.” Ma wiped her glasses with a towel. “You know how people can sometimes look alike. If it is Iona, don’t worry about it. It’s water under the bridge, it is.”
“But—” The word came out a bit too loud, and Aedan’s heart began to pound.
His mother stopped him with one look.
“It’s Iona. Ah, sure look it.” Reece glared at the woman who called herself Greta. “What are you going to do?”
“I said I’d give her a glass. So I’ll give her a glass.” He took in a breath, nodded a fond farewell to his mother and brother, and headed off to his fate.


****

Greta touched the fresh, soft flower and glanced at other occupied tables in the café. A lucky girl must not have gotten the flowers. Each table sported a vase with a single carnation and a jar with a candle.
The tabletops were natural wood, the table legs a purplish color same as the chairs. Didn’t look too bad, but it kind of clashed with the peach colored walls. Off to her left, a large mirror in a gold frame was positioned opposite the windows facing the street. She’d like to see the room in the morning. The grand mirror would help reflect daylight in the square room. As it was, several warm colored lights hung from the ceiling.
At the far end stood a bar constructed of dark wood. Behind it were shelves of bottles and kegs. To the right of the bar an open entrance led to the kitchen.
Several families and groups of couples occupied the tables around her. How nice that she wasn’t the only one being served a late dinner.
Greta read the placemat which took the place of a menu while conversations and laughter competed for attention. For breakfast one could choose from a full breakfast or scones, sausage, and eggs. Dinner and lunch had the offering of fish with chips and Irish stew. Varieties of beer took up the biggest section.
A movement by her shoulder caught the corner of her eye. Aedan stood by her table. He probably wanted to know what beer she wanted to drink, since he offered to get her a glass.
“Hello.” He smiled. “Glad you stopped in. What can I get for you? How about Beamish? Brewed in Cork since 1792.
She noticed the same New Yorkers from before at a table in the center of the room. The parents each had beer. A youngish couple seated nearest to her also had the same. Greta knew she wouldn’t drink it, but didn’t want to disappoint him or cause a social rift.
He waited with uplifted eyebrows.
“Yes, thank you. And fish and chips.” She inwardly cringed that she’d used the Irish accent on him when they met. At home, it seemed so perfect. “Also a glass of water, please.”
He blinked in surprise. What could be so startling about her request? She’d agreed to his offered drink and ordered what everyone else had on their table. Ugh.
He nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
She kept her focus on him. He made his way to the bar where an animated conversation took place. He gestured with his hands as he talked to an older, plump blonde and a cute guy his age with dark hair.
The group looked in her direction and became silent. Each went their own way. The conversation had to be about her. What was the consensus? Did they all think she looked like his ex-girlfriend?
Greta had tried to visualize what it would be like when she arrived in Ireland. She thought the trip would almost be like coming home. She’d dreamed about the place and the people ever since childhood and thought it was one place where she could belong—where she would be accepted. Didn’t the Irish love people with red hair? She guessed at least one of them did at one time.
Aedan returned with a tray and gently set the beer, water, and the dinner in front of her. He proceeded to light the candle with a lighter. A flame spurted out then died. He hesitated and glanced at her before giving it another go. After several tries, he finally got the candle lit.
“There you go, Miss Greta. Can I get you anything else?”
“Thank you, no.” She attempted a smile. “It looks great. I’m starved.”
“Well, enjoy. I’ll come back to check on you.”
The fish had a nice crusty coating. She didn’t see any description of it anywhere other than fish and chips. Knowing what kind and the type of batter it was coated in would be nice. Actually a menu that one could hold instead of an info-placemat would be a lot better. Her background in advertising always found a way to voice its opinion.
After eating one fillet, she took a small sip of beer, trying hard not to wince. The taste made her blink and cringe. She glanced toward the bar to see Aedan who averted his gaze. He’d seen her look of pain. Oh well, not everyone liked beer. She managed several sips to be polite and surveyed the glass. The gold liquid had gone down about an inch. Good enough.
The young couple at the table next to her finished their meal and paid the clean-shaven man with dark hair like Aedan’s. He looked her up and down, even gawked at her shoes, then came and asked if she needed anything. She didn’t.
The waiter made his way to the bar and another discussion occurred with many hand gestures on his part. Aedan shook his head a few times, and the blonde lifted her hand, as if emphasizing that she had no idea, or that something was crazy. Aedan tilted his head down and frowned. His fingers smoothed his beard at the jaw line.
Aedan looked in her direction, his eyes met hers. He elbowed the waiter. All three studied her, their faces turning somber. Then, as before, each went their own way.
Greta stifled a sarcastic chuckle. This was what she’d waited twenty two years for? She finished eating the fish and potatoes, not paying attention to where Aedan might be lurking. Instead, she enjoyed the scenery outside on the quiet street.
She needed to find a place to stay and didn’t relish the idea of searching for one at night. The hotels she saw before coming to O’Riain’s Cottage had charm, but there was something about this pink, four-story building. A room on the top floor, or better yet, a tiny room, would be fun and cozy.
“Can I get you anything else?” Aedan appeared by her table.
“No, thank you.” Greta handed him her empty plate with the silverware resting on it. “The dinner was very good.”
He seemed genuinely happy to hear her remark. His eyes brightened and he smiled, then his expression turned serious. “Please don’t think it’s too forward, but me mother is concerned if you are traveling alone.”
Greta kept silent, even though it was obvious that he waited for her answer, whether she was alone, meeting someone, or traveling with a group. She glanced at the bar. The blonde must be his mother. She was in a deep conversation with the waiter who had an uncanny resemblance to Aedan. Had to be his brother. Why hadn’t she noticed it before?
“She hates to see a tourist by herself—I mean—the locals here are good people and you are safe enough. It’s people passing through that we’re unsure of.”
A twinge of uneasiness swept through her as a vision of the pasty-skinned murderer revisited.
 

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