Winter has settled a tight grip over County Wicklow this year, freezing weather has been the norm since Halloween, and small amounts of snow have fallen overnight more than once, though rarely has there been much accumulation. The weather has kept things very quiet in Fitzgerald's pub, and Maggie has spent time in her basement, working away at her old hobby of jewelry-making, while Orla tends the needs of the few customers. While still visiting the Byrne farm, Maggie has quit her Sunday rides, and instead simply curries and grooms Iblis and Razor, then goes and spend some time with Sean and Niamh and Kieran if they are at home. Danny's freezer remains well-stocked, as well, as does Orla and Connor's pantry, for when Maggie is not carving or casting, she's baking and cooking. Emma is due home soon for her winter holiday break, and Niamh is due to have her baby by the end of the month, if not earlier, she is every bit as big as she was with Kieran. This episode opens on a Wednesday afternoon, as Orla tends the bar and Maggie is working downstairs.

The front door of the pub opens, and a messenger service delivery man walks in, just as a shout is heard from downstairs. "Woooo-hoo! I've got it, Orla, I've got it!"

The messenger stops, suprise on his face.

"Good for you, Maggie, got a customer up here, though!" Orla calls back. "What can I get you?" she says, turning to the front of the bar and the messenger, who begins walking towards her again.

"Nothing, actually, I have something for a Maggie MacAllister here, an' it needs to be signed for." He hands a large envelope to Orla, and then passes her a clipboard with a signature form on it. Orla takes the pen he then offers, and signs, and the messenger turns to leave.

"Sure you don't want a hot cup of tea or coffee, it's so cold out there!" Orla offers.

"Yeah, well, I might, at that." He answers, and turns back to sit at the bar. The envelope is slid aside as Orla pours coffee and the messenger wraps both hands around the cup, warming them. The two exchange short pleasantries and comments about the unusual cold, then the man leaves. Orla calls down to Maggie, "What did you do, Maggie, did that new design cast out nicely? Oh, and you've some kind of registered letter here, too, the customer was a delivery man."

"Be up in a minute, I've almost got it cleaned up!" Maggie answers her friend. Soon footsteps pound up the wooden stairs, and Maggie's head clears the floor, then the bar, and she steps towards Orla, a small shining object in her hand. Orla reaches out for it.

"Oooh, Maggie, it's beautiful! It looks just right, just as if you had woven it from tiny rushes!" Orla is turning a silver object in her fingers, it is circular, with what appear to be cross-bars through the middle.

"Well, I knew the circle in the Celtic cross was taken from the original design of the Bridget's Wheel, and the Wheel reduced to a cross, but getting the woven appearance around the circumference to match the woven look of the cross was rough. Now that I have a master, I'll mold a rubber mold for future waxes, then I can cast it in any metal anyone wants. I wonder if Bella Mooney will be able to sell it as well as the more traditional jewelry I've always cast?" Maggie leans on the bar, looking out the front windows of the pub.

"I imagine some people will be intrigued, but the main sales will be to tourists next summer, just like the sweaters and such the handweavers make." Orla answers her, still turning the small silver circle over in her hands.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right. Good thing I don't need the sales to live off of, huh?" Maggie turns and pours herself a cup of coffee, then steps through into the kitchen, and sits at the table. Orla follows her, starts to sit down, then jumps back up again. "Oh, that envelope!" She puts the silver pendant down on the table, goes back to the bar, and brings the envelope into the kitchen, putting it on the table in front of Maggie, then seats herself. "So, ya gonna open it?" Special delivery letters are bound to be a source of curiosity.

"Hmmm, I don't recognize the return address, and there's no name on it." Maggie stands, the letter in hand, and moves to the cabinet, opening a drawer with flatware in it. She pulls out a table knife, and slits the envelope open, then goes back to the tableand sits down again. She pulls the contents of the envelope out, two sheets of paper, and unfolds them. A brief moment later, her face blanches white, and the papers fall from her hands to the tabletop. Orla jumps to her feet, and steps to Maggie's side.

"Maggie, what is it, what does the letter say?" Orla puts a hand on Maggie's shoulder.

"I, I, it's from a bishop, in America, I think. It's copies of some sort of official document. Oh, Goddess, what am I going to do!" Maggie buries her face in both her palms. Orla picks up the papers, and reads for several minutes.

"Maggie," Orla moves back to her chair, and sits again, "who is James O'Connor?" Maggie looks up. Her face is still white, and her hands are trembling. She picks up the coffee, and drinks several swallows, emptying the cup.

"Remember at Niamh's baby shower, when we were all sharing stories about the men in our lives?" Orla nods. "Well, James was, is, the priest I met when I was 16." Maggie sets her cup down with almost a thud on the wooden table.

"Maggie, this is a copy of his release from Holy Orders and dispensation from his vows, I think. I'm going up to St. Joseph's right now, Aidan will know for sure, an' I'll bring him back with me if you want." Orla reaches across the table, taking one of Maggie's hands in hers. "Why would he send you this, why not just come here, himself? How did he know where to find you?"

"No, don't bring Aidan, I know that's what those papers are. I don't know if he's coming, maybe he just wants me to know he's free, and the next move is up to me." Maggie picks the two sheets of paper again,
scanning them more carefully. "But there's no contact information here for me to get ahold of him with, so if he's coming, I can't stop him. Orla, I'll have to run, to hide, can you take over the pub for a few months?"

"Maggie, I'll do no such thing, you can't run forever! He's free, why should you run from him now?" Orla cannot understand why her friend is so distressed.

"Because I don't want to die, Orla, I don't want to die....." Maggie puts her face back in her hands, her elbows leaning on the table.

"I'm gettin' Aidan, you wait right here!" Orla stands, then strides briskly to the reception area, grabbing her coat, hat and gloves and donning them as she goes out the front door of the pub.

With Peter Clifford's departure from Cilldargan, Vincent Sheehan has been appointed temporary pastor, and Aidan O'Connell has come back to Ballykissangel until a permanent pastor is appointed. Orla walks briskly up the hill, and knocks on the red door of the small home next to the church. Aidan answers almost immediately, a sweater over his clerical blacks.

"Aidan, Maggie's in terrible shape, you have to come down to the pub!" Orla grabs her brother's hand.

"Wait, let me get the oil, my stole..."

"No, no, she's not dying, she doesn't need Last Rites, but she needs a calm voice from the Church, an' she needs it right away!"

"Well, at least let me get my coat, it's freezing outside!" Aidan steps backward, pulling his sister through the door, and shutting it behind her. He pulls a coat off the hook at the foot of the stairs, and puts it on, then realizes he is wearing house slippers, and saying "back in a moment", dashes upstairs. He is soon back, in street shoes, and he and Orla leave, closing the door, and walking downhill again.

"So, what in the world could Maggie need to hear from the Church for, Orla? She's made it clear she's no longer Roman Catholic, even if once she was." Aidan asks his sister as they walk

"I'll tell ya when we get there, Aidan, it's complicated." Orla's voice is heavy, and Aidan realizes his sister is deeply worried about her friend. As they approach the pub, a door across the street and some short distance away opens, it is the door to the Garda station house. A figure steps out, then almost immediately steps back inside, and the door closes abruptly. Orla and Aidan do not notice Frankie Sullivan's odd behaviour, but other eyes down the street take note. Orla and Aidan enter the pub.

"Maggie?" Orla calls, removing the hat and gloves and laying them on the bar.

"I'm here, Orla, there's no point in running today, at least. Hello, Aidan, can I make you some tea?" Maggie stands, and steps toward the stove, taking a kettle to fill, then stepping to the sink. Orla, coat now removed as well, comes into the kitchen, followed by her brother.

"Maggie, you sit, I'll make tea. Aidan, sit down, and read those two sheets of paper, an' tell me if it means what I think it means." Orla puts the kettle on a burner, and turns on the gas, waiting for the water to boil.

Aidan O'Connell reads quickly, then puts the papers down, and turns to Maggie.

"Maggie, these are copies of official Vatican and diocesan documents releasing a priest from his vows and his service to the church. Why did you get them, do you know this man?" Aidan is all business, but his voice is still soft and gentle.

"I did, Aidan, I did know him, a long time ago, in America. I thought, when I came here, he was out of my life forever, but he's found me, after all, and he's finally decided to act, even though I begged him not to."

"Were you lovers?" Aidan does not skirt the issue, and Maggie, suprised, looks up at him, and blushes.

"No, never, I would never have been, before or after I married!"

"Then why is he looking for you, sending you this?" Aidan picks up the photocopies in his hand. The kettle begins to whistle as it boils, and Orla removes it from the burner, pouring the steaming water into a pot.

"Because, decades ago, when we met, we fell in love, even though we never acted on it, and we never knew how the other person felt until years after we met. Now that he knows I'm widowed, I guess he decided to see if I was willing to make up for lost time. Aidan, I'm scared to death, I left America partly to make sure this never happened!"

"Why are you scared, Maggie? If you love this man, but don't want a relationship with him, then tell him so, if he comes here to see you, send him away. But he has taken a HUGE step, Maggie, he must love you very much, and be willing to change his whole life on the chance that you will not send him away!" Aidan has been leaning towards Maggie, an earnest look on his face, but then sits back in his chair, as Orla sits next to him, putting a cup of tea in front of her brother and setting her own cup down.

"Aidan, I'm scared that your God will kill me if I give in to this man. Your God does not tolerate theft of his own servants away from him, you know what wrath he can bring to bear!" Maggie looks Aidan directly in the face, he can see she is still nearly white with obvious fear.

"Oh, Maggie, God doesn't kill his beloved children! And you and this man have committed no sin, why should God even be angry?" Aidan reaches out and puts one hand over Maggie's clasped fist. Maggie
leaps to her feet, stumbling backwards.

"I am NOT your God's child, Aidan O'Connell, and your God has already slain every being I have ever loved in this world to keep me away from James O'Connor, why should I not expect him to finish the job and kill
me, now, too?" Maggie turns, races through the door, and up the stairs to the living quarters. A door upstairs slams shut.

"Well, so much for a calm voice from the Church quieting her fears." Orla says.

"I'm sorry, Orla, I don't know what else I can tell her. Does she really think God will strike her dead?" Aidan's voice is puzzled, but still soft and gentle.

"I think she does, Aidan, I think she does. I hope she's wrong!"

"Of course she is, Orla, you don't believe...." Aidan starts, but Orla puts a finger across his lips. "No, Aidan, I know you believe very clearly in the gentle White Christ as loving shepherd of his flock, but Maggie has seen the Lord Jehovah in his wrath, and from what I've seen in the world today, I think it's that God we all must live with now, not your meek shepherd. Don't start an argument with me, Aidan, you don't even have a radio, let alone a television in that monastery, and you've never left Ireland a moment of your life. I can't believe in your loving shepherd anymore, either, not even to make you happy. You're my brother, Aidan, an' I love you, but I know why Maggie is so afraid. Only time will tell if you are right, or she is. Thanks for coming, you'd better get back home. I'll call ya, okay?" Orla stands.

"Orla, I'm not a complete recluse, you know. I will pray for God to calm Maggie's fears, and give her a sign of his love for her, so she knows she has nothing to worry about. But first I'll go home and turn on the evening news!" There is a twinkle in Aidan O'Connell's eye, and Orla laughs out loud, then flings her arms around her brother's neck. He hugs her, and she hugs back. "Thanks, little brother, I hope you're right." They part, and Aidan puts his coat back on, and leaves the pub, walking back up the hill again. Orla walks to the reception desk, picks up the telephone, and dials a number, then speaks softly into the reciever. Orla hangs up the phone, and the early winter night falls swiftly. Orla serves the few customers, and closes the pub early when they leave, climbing into Connor's old car to drive home.

The next day dawns clear and very cold, and Maggie comes downstairs, glancing around to see that Orla had cleaned up the night before. Sighing, she moves into the kitchen, starts the coffeemaker, and then steps to the table, picking up the papers and envelope. Stepping back towards the sink, she opens a drawer, pulls out a box of matches, and strikes one. It flares, and she lifts the papers and envelope, holding the corners into the flame of the match. The papers catch, and as the fire consumes them, she drops them into the sink, where they all wither into ash. "Good riddance to bad rubbish!" Maggie exclaims, and turns the hot water tap, washing the ash down the drain. As Maggie turns to the refrigerator, there is a knock at the door of the kitchen.

"Maggie?" Assumpta Fitzgerald's voice sounds softly. "Maggie, can I come in?"

"Oh, Bright Lady, child, here, let me unlock it!" Maggie opens the door to see Assumpta and Peter standing there. She steps back, and the two enter. Putting on a bright face, she hugs Assumpta.

"You look wonderful, dear! And you, Peter, you look happy as well! I take it the Bishop came around to your way of thinking?" Maggie walks to the table, and pulls out a chair, motioning to Assumpta to sit, and then seating herself, facing the couple as they also sit down.

"Maggie, we didn't come here to talk about us, Orla called me last night and told me what came by courier yesterday." Assumpta reaches out and takes the older woman's hands in hers. "How can we help?"

"By not worrying about it, dear, and by not speaking of it. If he comes here, I'll send him on his way again so fast he won't have time to catch his breath, and that's all there is to that. Now, do you want some breakfast? Surely you didn't have time to eat before you left Dublin, as early as it is!" Maggie stands, and Assumpta slowly releases her hands again.

"All right, yes, we didn't eat. Besides, me Mum was right, there's no problem in the world that isn't made a bit better by a cuppa hot tea." Peter Clifford tells them. "Now you both sit, 'bout time I quit lettin' you two do all the cookin', an' pulled me own weight around here!" He stands.

"Hey, Sis, you've got a keeper here, he even offers to cook without being nagged into it!" Maggie sits back down, and the two women laugh quietly together as Peter Clifford prepares breakfast for all of them. They eat, and Maggie stands to begin to clear the table. She glances out the kitchen window. "Oh, look, come look, it's snowing like crazy out there!"

Peter and Assumpta both lean over the counter, peering out. The snow is already at least eight inches deep in the hour since they arrived. The phone rings, and Maggie moves to answer it.

"Yeah, Orla, I see! No, don't you dare drive down here, you stay home and keep that fire going and stay warm! I'll stay closed, nobody's going to go out in this. I'll call Siobhan and see if Brendan has closed the school. Do you want me to see if Aidan's all right?.... Okay then, as long as you have electricity don't try and come down, but call me if you lose power, and I'll see if I can get the van up there to get you and Connor down to the village. Okay, take care, see ya!" Maggie puts the reciever down, and goes to the front door, peering out again. The streets are blanketed in white, only one lone figure is seen moving, it is Frankie Sullivan, knocking on doors to check and make sure the town's residents are secure and safe. Maggie moves swiftly to the kitchen, and closes both doors, telling Peter and Assumpta to be still for a moment, and turns again, just as there is a knock at her front door. "Coming..."

"Maggie, are you all right, here?" Frankie's face is reddened, and she stomps booted feet at the doorway.

"Come in, Frankie, for a minute, anyway!" Maggie closes the door behind the young woman. "Is everthing closed up, shops and school and all?"

"Yeah, emergency closures everywhere, even the roads." Frankie sits heavily in a chair, removing hat and gloves.

"Here, I'll get you some coffee or tea, what would you like?" Maggie offers.

"Nothing, Maggie, I'm fine, ready to head back home, actually, and call in a report to Cilldargan. This storm wasn't supposed to bring so much snow, or last, but the predictions will have changed by now, I'm sure! I'll get the official news and pass it along by telephone, or it'll be on the telly, I imagine." She stands, picking up hat and gloves again, knocking off water droplets from the melted snow. "Thanks for the offer, I'll take you up on it later!" Frankie goes out the door, and Maggie locks it behind her again, and assures herself that the "Closed" signs are prominent in both front windows. She goes back into the kitchen.

"Peter, we'd better start home now, it'll take us hours!" Assumpta is staring out the kitchen window.

"Oh, no, dears, you aren't going anywhere. Frankie says roads are closed or closing, you'd be stranded somewhere. You can stay here, nobody'll be in, and you can stay upstairs most of the time if you have to." Maggie crosses her arms across her chest, and leans against a counter.

"She's right, 'Ssumpta, we can't drive in this. Give Bonnie a call, she'll be seein' the same news we do, an' she'll know we can't make it back to Dublin today, at least." Peter Clifford lays his hands on Assumpta's shoulders, which sag a bit in a gentle defeat. "You are right, Maggie, we'll stay." Assumpta turns, and Peter steps to her side, their arms natural encircling each other.

Maggie glances at the calendar hanging on the wall behind the couple, and her face breaks into a smile. "Hey, it's Thursday! If we were in America it would be Thanksgiving! I think I've got a chicken I can roast for supper, and we'll have a nice holiday here, all to ourselves. IF I can find some cranberries, that is!..." Maggie steps into the pantry, returning moments later with a can in her hand, which she places beside the 'fridge. She inspects the contents of the freezer compartment, removing a wrapped package and placing it in the refrigerator instead. "I'll have to nuke it to thaw it before I put it in the oven, but it's barely nine o'clock, that can wait, so for now let's relax. It's not like we don't have things to talk about, after all. Peter, I'm sorry, I should't have burned those documents, maybe we could have erased names and forged *your* dispensation on them!" Maggie sits back down, dirty dishes ignored for a later time. Peter and Assumpta also sit, pushing plates to the center of the table.

"Nuke it?" Peter asks. "Microwave..." Maggie and Assumpta answer almost simultaneously. Maggie continues "Now, what about your real dispensation, Peter?" He answers her.

"The Bishop tells me it should only be six months to a year, tops, Maggie. Once he saw I wouldn't change my mind, he quit fightin', and got the process started, an' I've signed everything on my end, so now it's just Vatican paperwork." Peter turns to Assumpta with a confident smile on his face. Maggie reaches for Assumpta's other hand, and the women exchange a long look.

"Peter, this isn't how I was planning on telling you, but I have to ask, would you consider a civil ceremony before the Church wedding?"

"Assumpta, I know you're, well, anxious, but until the paperwork really has come through, we can't marry, and much as I'd like to live with you as man and wife, I can wait until it's official. That night, three weeks ago, well, I got caught up, swept away, really, but I have to live with my concience now, when there's no emotional shock as a mitigating circumstance any more." Peter and Assumpta have clearly been doing alot of talking but nothing more physical, Maggie realizes.

"Peter, I don't think that lovemaking is why Assumpta asked you that. She could survive the time, too, but there's no changing you did make love three weeks ago, and, well, Assumpta, you'd better tell him, it feels solid as a rock to me, and I ought to know." Maggie's voice is serious, but there is an underlying conflict of emotions in it that Peter cannot quite decipher. Assumpta scoots her chair close to Peter's, and takes both his hands in hers.

"Peter, on Samhain, that you call Halloween, we spent the night together, and we made love. Well, it seems that my hormones were perfectly balanced, and I was a prime target, because, love, I'm pregnant!" Assumpta cannot maintain her serious expression, joy is streaming from her entire face. Peter's jaw drops, and his mouth opens and closes.

"You are? Oh, Assumpta, this is WONDERFUL!" He stands and sweeps her into his arms. "I always wanted, but until we were married, I couldn't ask you if you'd have our babies, but now, you are, and you look like, I mean I think you're happy, aren't you?"

"Of *course* I'm happy, ya eedjit, or why else would I have told ya!" Assumpta hugs him back, then pushes against him and thumps one arm.

"Well, Ah guess Ah'll just have to tell the Bishop to put a rush on it, then..." Peter's face is beaming as well.

"It may not speed things up much, I don't know, Peter. *Would* you consider a civil ceremony, if I would also perform a sacred ritual? I presume Assumpta has discussed her faith with you?"

Peter and Assumpta sit back down. "Yeah, she has, well, some, we have talked about it. She agreed to get married in my Church if I'd marry her in hers. What would that involve, exactly, we didn't get that far." Assumpta and Maggie both break into laughter, Peter's face reflects significant confusion and concern.

"Don't worry, Peter, this isn't an ancient fertility rite, and only your God demands mutilations as sacrifice, so there won't be anyone's blood on my athame, before or after the ceremony. It's pretty tame, involves a procession, a blessing and cleansing of the site, formal professions of wishes from some of the participants, a profession of vows from the couple, a sign of their commitment to each other, the final pronouncement and recognition of the new status of the couple, and then a recession to the feast. Not suprisingly, these joining ceremonies are similar, worldwide, with mostly just some differences in order or what gods are called upon. Usually our handfastings are held outdoors, and so spring and summer are the favorite seasons, but we have enough time to plan for a winter ceremony with appropriate attire and locale selected to make the whole thing feasible. Maybe that field up at the Dillon's, I don't expect a huge guest list, after all..." Just at that moment, the phone rings, and Maggie stands to go answer it.

"Well, Peter, if we want the baby to be legally yours at birth, we'll have to have a civil ceremony before then, can you consider that?" Assumpta stands slightly, and seats herself in Peter's lap, sliding her arms around his shoulders. "Of course we'll be legally married by then, Assumpta, this changes things completely, I know..." he answers, but she interrupts. "You aren't mad, are you?" Peter braces, a few years ago she'd have leapt away from him, steaming with anger. "No, of course I'm not angry, I'm the happiest man on the planet right now..." Maggie walks back into the kitchen, her face is white again.

"Assumpta, I have to go, Niamh's going into labor, and they can't get out to go to the hospital, nor can the midwife or doctor get there." Maggie starts to turn again, to go upstairs.

"But if they can't get there, how can you?" Peter and Assumpta have risen, and he takes a step forward, touching Maggie on the shoulder as she turns.

"Iblis" Maggie answers, and turns back, hugging Assumpta suddenly. "Sister, in your condition, I should not ask, but will you ride with me, anyway? I may need your help." Maggie's face is strained.

"Maggie, the van can make it through, Peter and I will drive, we won't be far behind you." Assumpta grips Maggie's arms tightly. "Now go, Niamh needs you." Maggie turns and goes upstairs, and Peter and Assumpta hurriedly gather some food, then Assumpta follows Maggie, and soon both women come downstairs. Maggie wears heavy clothing and a furred, hooded cape that drags the stairs behind her, and carries a knapsack, Assumpta carries several blankets and towels, as well as a heavy cape of her own, a dark woollen one. Peter glances at his beloved. "In case the van has to turn back, and I have to ride with Maggie." Assumpta answers his unspoken question. The three go back into the kitchen, and pack the blankets and food into the van, and Peter climbs behind the wheel, starting the engine to get it warmed up. Maggie shrugs the cape aside, and puts the knapsack over both shoulders, and then Assumpta helps her get the heavy cape straight again. Just then, a black shadow looms out of the falling snow, now over a foot deep on the ground, and Assumpta and Peter see a tall black horse, with no tack whatsoever, standing silent and still next to the van. Maggie steps forward, and rests her forhead against the stallion's forelock for a second, then climbs onto the fender of the van, and slides onto the horse's back. Assumpta again settles the cape across the horse's back, providing both rider and mount with protection and warmth. Raising her hand briefly, Maggie says nothing, and the black horse suddenly whirls on his haunches, and in a moment is gone completely from view. Peter Clifford blesses himself as Assumpta climbs into the van beside him.

"You don't know the way to Sean's house, do you?" she asks.

"No, but isn't it close to Eamon's farm?" Peter answers.

"Yeah, go that way, and we'll turn when we have to." Assumpta settles back in her seat, pulling the woolen cloak tightly about her, as Peter shifts the gears, and begins crawling out onto the street and out of town. Both of them are silent for several minutes, then Peter speaks.

"How did she get the horse to come to the pub, did she call Danny Byrne and have him turn the horse loose?"

"No, Peter, she called Iblis himself." Assumpta is staring out the window, searching for landmarks to navigate by.

"What, the horse can answer the telephone?" Peter's voice, despite the question, is serious.

"No, Peter, she called him with the power of her mind and will. He's her familiar." Peter begins to take his hand off the wheel to bless himself, then thinks better of it, and grips tighter instead, also staring out the window at the white mystery land the Wicklow countryside has become.