The Irishman_A Legacy Novella Read online

  The Irishman

  Sheritta Bitikofer

  Copyright © 2018 Sheritta Bitikofer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover by Inked Phoenix

  ISBN: 978-1-946821-30-0

  Created with Vellum

  For my favorite country that I hope to visit one day, and my husband who has promised to take me there… Right, honey?

  Contents

  Terms to Know

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by Sheritta Bitikofer

  Terms to Know

  Glengarriff – A small town off of north Bantry Bay in County Cork, Ireland in Munster. Now known as more of a tourist attraction, it was founded in the 18th century nad became a popular vacation spot. Translated from “An Gleann Garbh” in Irish/Gaelic meaning “The Rugged Glen”. There’s a nature reserve in Glengarriff valley that boasts mature oak woodlands.

  Bog Stitchwort – In Gaelic, “Tursarraing mhóna”. A flower of Caryophyllaceae family. Flowering time expands from June to September and is a native flower of Ireland. Small white flowers, sepals longer than deeply-divided petals. Pointed oval-lanceolate leaves grey-green, un-stalked. Stalked leaves on non-flowering shoots. Hairless plant with straggling square stems, to 25cm. Typically grows in damp ground, wet woods, pond edges, often on acidic soils.

  Scots-Irish - Southern Scottish and English sent to work on plantations to drive out Irish landowners starting in 1606, primarily in Ulster (north Ireland). Many wars and rebellions were fought by and for the Scots-Irish and more immigrants came in 1690 due to famine. Eventually, they were persecuted just as harshly as the Catholics and held few rights. Many Scots-Irish left Ireland in favor of the American Colonies, but some stayed and played a major role in the Rebellion of 1798 in Wexford.

  Changeling – A type of mischievous fairy in Irish culture. A baby or beautiful woman can be stolen from the human world to be taken into the realm of the fairy folk by a changeling and exchanged with a changeling baby to take its place. Envying or longing after the human can be dangerous because the fairies will see them as desirable and want to steal them even more. One wildly agreed upon way to get rid of a changeling is to throw it into the fireplace, where it will climb up the chimney and then go back to the realm of the fairies to return the human baby.

  “Go breá” – (Guh breh) Irish Gaelic for “Fine” or “Very Well.”

  “Athair” – (Ah-hey) Irish Gaelic for “Father”

  “Sin amaidí” – (Shin Ah-mah-dee) Irish Gaelic for “That’s nonsense”

  “Sláinte” – (Slehnt) Irish Gaelic equivalent of “Cheers” or giving a toast to one’s health.

  Faoladh – (Fay-oh-luhd) Irish term for “werewolf” or wolf shifter.

  Far darrig – (Far Dahr-ihg) Mischeivous fairy creature. Hairy, long snout, skinny tail, and fat. They do mischievous things like replacing babies with changelings.

  Wolves of Ossory – Resided east of Munster in present-day County Kilkenny and County Laois prior to the Norman invasion of Ireland in the 12th century. Ordinary people donned wolf skins to do wolf things like eating cattle and running through the woods. They were said to be descendants of a legendary figure named Laignech Fáelad whose line gave rise to the kings of Ossory. Numerous accounts of these people say they donned the skin of wolves and left their human bodies behind. But, whatever damage they sustained in their wolf form would show up on their human form.

  Wolves of Tipperary – Mercenrary shapeshifters from County Tipperary who donned wolf skins and were formidable warriors. They were paid by king with newborn baby flesh for their services.

  Arcachon Bay, France – A bay in southwest France that opens up into the Atlantic and feeds into several rivers that flow inland.

  Landes Forest – Also known as the Landes of Gascony. It’s located in the southwest region of France formerly known as Aquitaine to the south of Bordeaux between the Garonne and Adour Rivers. It is the largest maritime-pine forest in France. The word “landes” means “moors” or “heaths”. Through the 19th century, it was a sparsely populated, swampy land.

  “Souvenez-tu, parlez anglais” – (Soo-ven-ay-too par-lehy auhng-lay) French translation: “Remember, speak English”.

  “Allez” – (Ah-leh) French for “Go”

  “Je ne parle pas anglais” – (Jeh neh par-lay pah auhng-lay) French for “I don’t speak English”

  “Ton mari” – (Tahn mah-ree) French for “Your husband.”

  Clurichaun – (Clue-urh-ee-ehn) Depictions are similar to leprichauns, except these mischievous critters were more often seen in wine cellars or where lots of ale could be found.

  Alp-luachras – (Uhlp loo-ah-krus) A newt-like creature that crawls into the mouth of those who sleep by a stream and becomes a joint-eater, taking part of the food the person eats. The only way to get rid of it is to eat lots of salted beef and then lay by a stream with one’s mouth open. The creature will want water and crawl out

  “Cúl tóna” – (Cool tone-ah) An Irish Gaelic insult equivalent to “dickhead” or “ass hole”.

  “Cic maith sa tóin atá de dlíth air” – (Kick moht sah thone ah tah deh dlee air) Irish Gaelic for “He needs a good kick in the arse”

  Chapter One

  Glengarriff Ireland in County Cork, 1770

  Dustin mumbled curses under his breath as he pushed his way through the tall, densely clustered patches of grass along the riverbank. His eyes skimmed along the path ahead of him, looking for a flash of thin, tiny white petals. There were plenty of wildflowers bunched together in his fist, but none of them were the right ones that he needed, the ones that were so prized by Cassandra.

  Nearly an hour of trudging up and down the water’s edge had yielded nothing but a pair of tired eyes and sore feet. Dustin didn’t have to look up to know that he was nearing the waterfall for the fifth time. The constant rushing of water over the rocks and the crinkling of dried weeds beneath his feet had been his only companion for what should have been a short trip to the forest north of Glengarriff. At least the thick canopy above him shielded some of the afternoon sun.

  He spotted many colorful flowers varying in shades of rich violet and bright yellows. The occasional gleaming white petals caught his eye, which made his heart flutter with excitement, only to find that it was nothing but a bramble or hogweed flower that clung to life so late in the year. Dustin knew it was a long shot to find that one flower Cassandra loved so dearly. But he had held out hope that with the unseasonably warm weather, there would still be a few remaining in the forest.

  He stopped and rubbed at his eyes that must have been bloodshot by now. Yet, he couldn’t give up. It would have been the perfect wedding present for his Cassandra and she deserved it. He could have turned back and settled for the other flowers he had picked earlier, but it wasn’t enough.

  Dustin carefully waded up the steep incline to the top of the waterfall that emptied into the lazy river below. It had to be there somewhere. They had
sat by this river plenty of times in the past and that’s when she first drew his attention to the bog stitchwort flower. He remembered how her eyes sparkled with delight at the very sight of the flimsy, almost transparently white petals. Dustin wanted to see that joy alight in her face again, just one more time before they were pronounced husband and wife tomorrow morning.

  When he reached the top of the hill, he paused and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. As he lowered his arm, he saw it. Just a hair bigger than his own fingernail, the blooming head of the bog stitchwort sprouted amongst the grasses. Nearly encased in on all sides by the thick stalks of other weeds and grasses around the flower, Dustin wasn’t surprised that he missed it.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he dove for it as if it would elude his grasp like a mischievous disappearing fairy. He plucked it from its resting place and held it up to the light to confirm that it was indeed the flower he sought after. The long, clear petals extended out from its squarish stalk in a nearly perfect star-shaped arrangement with white oval inlays, giving it such a unique and pleasing quality. The thin spindles that reached out from the center quivered under his breath, so fragile and delicate. It was nothing like Cassandra, and perhaps that’s why she adored it so much.

  Being careful not to bruise the flower, he tucked it gently amongst the others he had collected earlier and hurried back toward town. It was already late in the day and there was still so much left to do.

  Glengarriff had been his home all his life. It was by no means a large town or trading hub as Cork, or even Bantry on the other side of the bay. It served as a comfortable and cozy village frequented by wealthy men and women looking for a restful and secluded holiday. Those who took up permanent residence were well acquainted or related in some distant way to everyone else. No secrets could stay hidden for long amongst this close-knit community.

  Newcomers or visitors were welcomed with equal warmth and civility as if they were already part of this extensive family. Every good turn of fortune was celebrated by all, and every tragedy brought about a kind of communal mourning that made their relations even stronger than before.

  It was no surprise to the people of Glengarriff when Dustin and Cassandra announced their engagement. They had been joined at the hip ever since they were children, and they had become even closer when her mother passed away and his family elected to help look after her and her father, since they lived on neighboring farms. The friendship between the Keiths and the Flanagans stretched as far back as anyone could remember.

  Dustin couldn’t speak for the family history of his future bride, but he had heard the story of how his own, the Keiths, came to Glengarriff to escape persecution in the north. They had searched for a quiet living and this budding coastal town was just the place for it. That was nearly a century ago, but no one forgot that the Keith family were originally Scottish in origin. There was no bitterness or prejudice against his family though. They had earned a favorable reputation and were esteemed just as any other Irish were.

  Dustin could hardly call the Keiths his family, however. The news – which wasn’t news to everyone else in town – was relayed to him as a young boy. He was adopted. Rather, he was left on the doorstep of the church in the middle of a cold November night, by a woman who was never seen or heard of before or after that day.

  Cassandra’s father, Samuel, had at first suspected him to be a changeling that was abandoned by the fairy folk from the forest. It was a good thing that the Keiths were not a superstitious people. They had an older daughter and had longed for a son all their lives before Dustin arrived in Glengarriff.

  In their old age, they had given up hope for an heir after Mrs. Keith’s constant battle with afflicting ailments. When Dustin was presented to the community, there was not a single doubt in their minds. They took him into their home and the rest was history.

  Despite his mysterious and unexplainable appearance in Glengarriff as an infant, Dustin was accepted and loved as if he had been born there like any other citizen. And though he’d never understand why God would bless him with a woman like Cassandra, he didn’t question her affections and love that seemed to manifest from such an early age.

  Perhaps they had always known they would end up together. Eighteen years of age might have been a little young for both of them, but Samuel gave his blessing and with Dustin’s adoptive parents long dead and buried, he was free to ask for her hand.

  He was well settled on the Keith farm with an amiable landlord and though he was young, everyone in Glengarriff knew that he could accomplish anything as long as he made up his mind to do it. One thing everyone had learned about Dustin from the beginning was that he was unendingly stubborn and bullheaded when he wanted to be.

  The old women all warned Cassandra that he’d make a terrible husband, but she had only replied to them that she enjoyed the challenge just as much as she enjoyed his company. What they didn’t know was that she could match him in just about anything. That’s what he loved about her. To everyone else, she behaved as a proper, hardworking woman should. To him, she was a feisty lass with a quick tongue and witty sense of humor. Cassandra wasn’t afraid to speak her mind when he was around, and unlike other men, he wasn’t about to try and bank that fire in her. He wanted to make it grow.

  Coming to the edge of town, Dustin was thrown from his musings of how blissful married life would be when he heard the excited shouts and jeers coming from up the road. Perched upon the edge of Glengarriff sat the very church he had been left to as a baby, which doubled as the schoolhouse during the week.

  He rounded the bend and found the group of boys tussling in the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust around them. Fingers groped at hair and clothes, fists pounded away at shoulders and faces without any real precision – as was the way youngsters fought when in the throes of some angry impulse.

  Near the church steps, stood the schoolteacher, Dustin’s elder sister. Married and with children of her own, Katherine Keith elected to educate the youth of Glengarriff, but Dustin often wondered if she knew exactly what she was getting herself into. By the defeated look on her face in that moment, she might have been realizing the colossal burden she was now responsible for.

  Dustin rushed forward and shoved the makeshift bouquet of flowers into her hands without a word and charged toward the two rowdy boys in the center of the dirt cloud. With his strong arms, built by years of arduous fieldwork, he gripped the collars of the brawlers and yanked them away from one another. Their clothes, now soiled by the dirt they had been rolling around in, were torn in places and Dustin knew their mothers would not be pleased when they came home in such a state.

  The others who had been encouraging the fight grew silent when Dustin entered the scene to put a stop to it. He was at least thankful to only see a small trickle of blood trail down from a busted nose on one of the boys.

  “What’s all this about?” he questioned, looking from one twisted scowl to the other.

  One of the boys, the one without the broken nose, pointed a hasty finger. “He started it! He said my family came from England!”

  Dustin raised a brow and looked to the boy with the streak of blood dribbling over his lip. “Did you say that?”

  “Everyone knows it!” the offender cried. “I heard my ma say it last night.”

  There might have been plenty of prejudice in Ireland for the Scottish, but the English were considered absolutely intolerable. Dustin rolled his eyes and looked to the boy who had been accused of such a heinous ancestry.

  “Is your family English?” he asked, exasperation laced in his words.

  The boy crossed his arms proudly. “No.”

  “Then that should be enough for you,” Dustin said to the boy that properly earned his bloody nose. “You shouldn’t be starting rumors that aren’t true.”

  “But my ma – “

  “I don’t care if your ma said it or not. If Eamon says he’s not English, then he’s not.” Dustin tossed the two boys aside and ke
pt a wary eye open for any sign they may start the fight again. “Now, go apologize to Mrs. O’Farrell for giving her grief over having to watch you two fight like that.”

  The boys, keeping a fair distance from one another, meekly walked up to the schoolmarm, who no longer appeared stressed, but furious. They both muttered their apologies and she gave them a quick smack on the rumps for their misbehavior. Dustin might not have truly settled the argument, but at least he kept them from doing any real harm to one another. Katherine was a formidable woman, but she wasn’t versed in how to break up a fight the way Dustin was.

  When the rest of the children saw that there was no more fun to be had, they were ushered back inside where Katherine intended to finish their lessons for the day. No doubt the brawl outside in the road had brought their day to a standstill before Dustin showed up.

  He approached his sister and she handed him back the flowers.

  “I assume these are for Cassandra?” she asked with a sweet smile, her green eyes dancing. If no one had known she and Dustin weren’t related by blood, they wouldn’t have guessed as much. Both shared the same dark emerald eyes and thick brown hair, as if they really were brother and sister. They were only separated in age by ten years.

  “They are,” he answered as he checked to make sure the bog stitchwort hadn’t been jostled in the trade. “I’m going to meet up with her now.”

  Katherine propped her hands on her hips. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the party Brian was planning for you tonight?”

  Dustin backed down the church steps. “I know, I know. I got a little sidetracked picking these flowers.”