Scene opens at the parish church in Cilldargan, the closing notes of the final hymn of a requiem mass are being sung. The congregants and guests begin to file out, several black-clad men from the front row step forward towards the coffin on the altar. Fr. Clifford bends forward at the head of the coffin, whispers a short phrase, then stands erect again. A tall, dark-skinned man bends down, and grasps, for a moment, the hand of the man in the coffin, then turns away, shoulders hunched. The bishop, garbed as the chief celebrant, steps forward, raising his hand in a final act of blessing, and a pall bearer closes the coffin lid. Others step forward, and the coffin is raised and carried down the aisle, and out through the doors. The graveyard adjoins the churchyard, and internment proceeds.

Cut to the interior of Fitzgerald's pub. All the tables and chairs have been cleared, trays of "finger food" cover the top of the bar. Orla and Maggie stand behind the bar, hands on hips, and survey the scene. Maggie says, "Well, ready as we'll ever be, I guess."

Orla nods, then turns to Maggie. "Why, when Fr. Mac so obviously hated you, are you hosting a wake for him?"

"I could be glib and say 'community service', but I won't. I guess that even I feel the need to mourn the man, he did serve his God faithfully, though not always well, and dedication to one's god is rarely seen in humans these days, unless that god be Mammon!"

"Ah, well then, I can see your point," Orla replies, and, taking two wine glasses from behind the bar, opens the small refrigerator, and removes a bottle, pouring two glasses of pale golden liquid, then replacing the bottle. She hands one glass to Maggie, then raises hers, saying, "To Frank MacAnally, may he rest in peace, and trouble us no more!"

"Hear, hear!" Maggie answers her, and they both down their glasses in total.

The front door opens, and people, dressed in dark colors, many with pale faces and some few with reddened eyes, begin to enter the pub. Maggie goes to the door, shaking hands and welcoming many with hugs. Fathers Sheehan, O'Connell, and Clifford all enter, as well as many, many familiar faces.

Gathering near their usual places, Brendan and Siobhan are soon joined by Padraig and his son, Kevin.

Maggie moves to that end of the bar as well, and asks, "Kevin, would you like to see Finn?"

His face lights up, and he replies, "Yes, please!" Maggie lifts up the the top of the bar, and Kevin steps through, and moves back towards the kitchen door. He opens the door and steps through, greeted by a very happy Irish Setter.

Maggie turns back towards Kevin's father, and reaches a hand out. Padraig takes it, and Maggie says, "Padraig, how nice to meet you at last, Brendan and Siobhan have told me so much about you. It's good to have the third member of the 'Three Musketeers' back with the rest again!"

Padraig barks a laugh, and replies, "Nice to meet you, Maggie, I'm glad to be back home again as well!"

"Ah, but for how long?" asks Peter Clifford, stepping up and slapping Padriag on the back.

"Peter!" Padraig exclaims, slapping the priest's shoulder and arm several times. "Brendan and Siobhan told me you were here in town again, and I need to ask you the same thing you just asked me!"

"You first!" Peter replies.

"Ah, well, it's just for a couple of days, to pay our respects, then Kev and me have to get back to England, I have my garage and Kev has his studies. Now it's your turn!" Padraig takes a sandwich from a tray, and turns to Peter.

"Well, now's as good a time as any to tell you all, I'm sort of here to stay."

"What?" Brendan exclaims.

"Yeah, the bishop sort of asked me to take over Father Mac's post as parish priest at Cilldargan."

"Sort of?" Maggie asks him, her voice mirroring her sceptical face.

"Well, all right, he ordered me to take up the post. I can't very well refuse, can I?"

"Not if you still work in his diocese, you can't," Maggie answers. "I think it's about time you tell all your old friends what you've been up to since you left Ballykissangel, Father Clifford. And 'long time I wandered, wandered in darkness' isn't an answer they want to hear." Maggie turns away, chuckling, and goes to tend her other guests.

Peter asks his friends back into the kitchen, and as the group starts to move in that direction, a raised voice is heard.

"Peter? Peter!" and Niamh Dillon steps forward and flings her arms around Peter Clifford's shoulders.

He hugs back, greeting another close friend happily. "We were just going into the kitchen, come along?" Peter asks.

"Sure, let me get Sean and I'll be right there," Niamh replies.

Soon they are all seated at the table or on the settle, pulled close by. Kevin is sitting on the floor, stroking Finn, who is laying on a soft cushion. Niamh has made tea, and as they all sit and sip, Peter begins his story.

"I left after the baptism, I know you all remember that. Niamh, I know you told me to fight my demons amongst friends, but I couldn't face you, I was too sunk in my own misery, I didn't even know if I wanted to live, let alone remain a priest. So I walked to Cilldargan, and told Fr. Mac I was going home for a while, to think about what remained of my life. He was sarcastic, completely unsympathetic, but he told me to go. I went. I spent alot of time talking with my old parish priest, my brothers, a few fellow seminary classmates. I spent alot more time praying, asking God why he'd taken Assumpta away from me, after I had just barely found her."

"And did you get an answer?" Brendan asks. Peter looks at him, expecting sarcasm, and is suprised to see only gentle query on Brendan's face.

"No, not in so many words, only a deepening sense of of peace and comfort as time passed, and I began to remember all the happy times here, as well as that last terrible pain. I realized I couldn't hide from the pain by running from the past, and I called Fr. Mac and told him I was coming back, and would see the bishop in a couple of days, then I called the bishop's office and made an appointment. He re-assigned me to another parish, not in Fr. Mac's parish, but I did call and tell Fr. Mac where I was, didn't he tell you?"

"No, he didn't," Niamh replies, in a hushed voice. "Why wouldn't he tell us where you were, that you were all right?" Niamh asks, puzzled and still hushed.

"I didn't ask him to, but I didn't ask him not to. I guess I thought you all were mad at me for leaving, and didn't want to talk to me. I guess I should have just called, but I thought Fr. Mac would have told some of you where I was. I wonder why he didn't?"

"I know nu-ting, nuuuuu-thing!" Maggie remarks, entering and carrying trays to the sink. "It's slowing down out there, sorry to interrupt, but I had to start clearing, leaving again now, sorry!"

The tension broken, Peter continues. "Well, no matter now, I'm back again, to stay, I hope! I'll only be a few miles down the road, and I know I'll be busy, but I won't stay away, not again. Now, tell me what you've all been doing. Niamh, how's Kieran? He must be quite a little man by now!"

Everyone begins to share stories, commiserating at sadness and loss, congratulating triumphs, rejoicing quietly on moments of happiness. Nobody notices the light waning through the kitchen windows, though Kevin does put a leash on Finn, and takes him for a slow walk where once they dashed madly through streets and fields. Nothing brings home to Peter more clearly that time has passed than the vision of what was once a teenage boy and a young dog, brimming with vigor, and is now a fine young man and an old dog, brimming with dignity and wisdom, but the fire dimmed and the pace so slackened.

Eventually, Sean and Niamh make their excuses, heading back to Dublin, where Kieran is staying with Immelda. They promise to come to Cilldargan with Kieran before going back to London. Padraig and Kevin eventually head to Cilldargan, where they have a hotel room. Kevin lingers, hugging Finn repeatedly, but glad he is living well and happily. Brendan and Siobhan hug Peter again, and leave, going home to Aisling.

Orla and Maggie bring leftovers and dishes into the kitchen, loading food into the refrigerator and dishes into an electric dishwasher. Maggie fixes Finn his supper, and feeds him, then accompanies him outside. During all this, Peter sits on the settle, pushed into its normal position against the wall. Maggie and Orla both speak briefly to him, but go on with their work. Orla eventually sits down at the table, after the dishwasher is started, and while Maggie is outside. She turns to Peter.

"So, Father, you're going to be taking over the Cilldargan parish, then?"

"Yes, day after tomorrow. I'll be here two more nights, if Maggie will let me stay."

"Don't worry, Finn gets whatever he wants, and if he wants you, you could live here so far as Maggie is concerned!" Orla answers him.

"Say what?" Maggie asks, coming in the back door with Finn.

"Orla was just telling me I could stay as long as I like if Finn will have me," Peter tells her.

"Oh, reeealllly?" Maggie arches an eyebrow at Orla. "Now THAT would be too much for me, no matter how much I love Finny, and not to mention the indubitable scandal involved! I suspect your bishop would drop-kick you through the goal-posts of life if you tried that idea on for size, Father Clifford! Orla, have you no home to go to? Scoot, girl, or Connor will think I've carved you up to serve to hungry guests!"

Orla giggles as she rises, hugging Maggie and heading towards the front door. "I'll lock the front doors on my way out, Maggie, sweet dreams!"

"Sweet dreams, sister!" Maggie answers, as Orla closes the kitchen door behind her.

"So, you hungry?" Maggie asks Peter as she goes to the fridge, taking out leftover sandwiches and then going to the counter for something chocolatey off a tray. "Brownie with some coffee, maybe?"

"Brownie?" Peter asks her, clearly puzzled by her terminology.

"It's a chocolate bar cookie, oops, you call them biscuits, don't you? To me, biscuits are flaky dinner rolls, leavened with baking powder, not yeast, served with the meal, and cookies are sweet dessert treats, baked in pans or on trays. I wonder what Father Sheehan calls things? 'English' is a sta-range language! Mutates in every new locale! I guess I can be glad I own a pub, and don't have to sell flowers on the street." Maggie is smiling wryly at some private joke. She puts a fresh kettle of water on the stove, and asks, "Coffee, or tea?"

"Oh, um, tea, please, and yeah, I guess I am hungry, we didn't eat while we were all telling each other the news in here. Are brownies good with tea?" Peter puts one on his plate, and licks the gooey frosting off his fingers.

"With enough milk in the tea, I suppose," Maggie answers, sitting down. They both eat sandwiches, and the kettle comes to a boil, Maggie gets up to pour the water into a pot into which she's already dropped tea bags. "Sorry if bags aren't traditional, I hate flossing tea leaf debris out of my teeth at night." She sits the hot pot down on the table between them, empty mugs at the ready. "So, are your friends happy that you are staying close by, then?"

"Yeah, they are. I hope they don't start coming to Mass in Cilldargan just to see me, though, I don't want to take parishoners away from Father Sheehan!"

"I think he'll tell you, 'No worries, mate!', Father. Though I don't know what Kathleen Hendley will do, she always looked to Fr. Mac to keep Fr. Sheehan in line, and now she'll have to come running to you, instead." Maggie's demeanor changes from light to suddenly and cooly serious. "I hope you will give her short shrift, Father Clifford.  That woman has driven half the people in this village to take their custom elsewhere, shopping, dining out, and even church-going! I understand she was always a terrible gossip, but she has gotten close to malicious this past couple of years! I can understand her dislike of me, but the rumors that have gotten spread about other very nice people in this community have been pretty darned distasteful. I have a tough hide, but not everyone else does; I'm not kidding about half the village going elsewhere for most things."

"Oh, dear! I'm sorry to hear that, I'll see what I might be able to do, behind the scenes," Peter tells Maggie, privately not at all suprised to hear such news. "Why should she dislike you?"

"My religion, Father, no doubt whatsoever on that," Maggie answers.

"What, are you a Protestant?" he asks, the beginnings of a joking smile on his face.

"You'll hear, soon enough. Pagan." Maggie pours tea into the mugs, as Peter stares at her, slackjawed.

Roll end credits.