Episode 9.8 - Who Wants To Live Forever

by Camille Partridge


For nearly three weeks, since Maggie has returned from Scotland with James O'Connor, she has slept worse and worse, night after night. At first she had thought it was simply sharing a bed again, but even trying to sleep elsewhere a few nights has not helped. She has tossed and turned, finally slept, then woken again and again. James has done everything he could think of, including making warm milk for Maggie to drink, and adding a "wee drop" or two when the plain milk is useless, but nothing has helped. Finally, one night, Maggie gets out of bed, paces back and forth a few steps, then wakens James.

"Jimmy, I have to do some travelling," she tells him.

"What? Where do you need to go? You'll let me come with you, won't you?" Fearing that she might bolt, that he might have to try again to find her where ever she would hide, he cannot help but voice his worry.

"No, no, not a physical journey, Jimmy, I have to make a spiritual journey. I need you to watch over my body and make sure I stay warm and don't fall out of bed while I'm out of body." Maggie takes both his hands in hers. "Did you think I was going to abandon you here? Jimmy, now I've got you, I'm not letting you go, don't ever worry about that!"

O'Connor heaves a sigh, closing his eyes. "Okay, I was worried, I admit it. I don't want to lose you, Mags, I love you so very much!" He pulls her close, holding her against his chest.

"Jimmy, I love you too, but you're squishing me." Maggie flexes her shoulders to loosen his grip.

"Oops, sorry!" He releases his grip and shifts his palms to her shoulders, pushing her back away from him, and looking into her face. Then he leans forward and kisses her gently.

"Mmmm, Jimmy, don't distract me, I admit I'd rather fool around than work so hard, but I have to do this, I have to find out what's nagging at my subconcious. I know Someone is trying to tell me something important, but I need to know who, and what that message is, so I can act on it as needs be. Okay?" Maggie places her palms on O'Connor's shoulders, mirroring his earlier gesture, and pushes him back a bit.

"Well, ya can't blame a guy for tryin', especially after such a loooong dry spell!" The twinkle is back in his eyes.

"You old liar, you, you haven't kept your hands to yourself for the last four weeks, and not a night has passed but what we've......"

James raises both hands in surrender, then reaches forward and places his index finger against Maggie's lips. "Shhh", he says. Maggie bites his forefinger gently.

"Ouch!" He pulls the finger back, shaking it in mock pain.

"Old fakir! Hmm, well, all right, wrong pantheon, I admit." Maggie chuckles softly at James' look of indignation. "Now, can you stay awake for an hour or two tonight? I'd like to get this figured out so I can get some sleep."

"Yeah, if I have a cup of coffee, I can stay awake. Do you want one, too? I'll go get us both a cup if you do." O'Connor gets out of bed and pulls on a robe and slides his bare feet into slippers.

"No, I have to get up, too, and make myself some herbal tea, it'll help me relax and slip into the proper state of conciousness." Maggie also stands, pulls on a robe, and kicks on slippers.

Both pad downstairs, Maggie putting on a kettle, then rummaging in her pantry for the little-used sacramental herb preparations. O'Connor has put a cup of coffee into the microwave, and turns to watch Maggie make her tea. The kettle starts to sing, and Maggie pours the boiling water over a homemade cheesecloth sachet of crushed leaves. A smell arrises that causes O'Connor to pull a face, and bury his nose in the vapors above his coffee mug. Maggie stirs three spoons full of sugar into her cup, then gulps the beverage as quickly as she can. O'Connor finishes his coffee in small sips, then both go back upstairs.

Maggie's eyes are visibly drooping, and she holds the handrail, and James finds himself bracing her shoulder, then taking her arm to steady her as they ascend. They re-enter the bedroom, and Maggie removes her robe and slippers, and lays down on the bed, pulling the covers over herself. O'Connor seats himself in the rocking chair at the bedside, wrapping a blanket over his shoulders.

"Anything you want me to do, Mags?" he asks, before she is completely asleep.

"Nope, just keep me warm, throw another blanket on me or cuddle up close to me if I start to shiver. If I stop breathing, shake me, slap me, do anything you think might work, just wake me up, okay?" Maggie already sounds distant.

"Okay, will do. Just don't stop breathing, okay, Mags, please?" The pleading is back in O'Connor's voice.

"Okay, honey, gotta go now, getting so sleepy... " Her voice stilling, Maggie's breathing becomes deep and regular, as her entire body relaxes totally. O'Connor begins to slowly rock, his eyes fixed on his beloved, a slow string of prayers passing through his mind as he waits.

Time passes, a clock slowly ticking on top of Maggie's dresser. O'Connor glances up now and again, noting the time. Nearly two hours later, Maggie stirs, stretches, and sits up. O'Connor stands, the blanket slipping from his shoulders to the seat of the rocker.

"You!" Maggie looks directly at her lover. "You're the trap!"

"WHAT?" James O'Connor's eyes fly wide open, his face going white in shock.

"You're the trap, Jimmy. You were guided to me, sent, really, with the sole purpose of getting me to let my guard down, to open me up to attack. It isn't your fault, you didn't know, but it's the case, nonetheless. Now that I know why you're here, I can guard against any attack that might come through you. I'm sorry, but you may get rather uncomfortable for a while, until He figures out you aren't a portal to get to me through, but He'll probably figure it out rather quickly, and either back off and re-group before He tries another route, or maybe, finally, give up altogether, so mote it be!" Maggie stands, and starts to reach for her robe, only to see O'Connor slump back down into the rocker, then slither bonelessly to the floor, out cold.

Maggie curses wordlessly, and kneels down beside him, feeling for a pulse. Assured he is alive, just unconcious, she pushes the chair aside, straightens his arms and legs, and throws the blanket over him, before turning to grab a pillow from the bed and placing that under his head. She stands, pulls her robe on, then sits back down on the floor beside O'Connor, settling herself to wait for him to recover. She watches his breathing quicken, and he begins to move restlessly, murmuring bits of sentences, then, suddenly, shreiking her name, he sits bolt upright again, nearly panting in fear.

"Jimmy, calm down, you're okay, calm down now, please." Maggie takes his hand.

He turns to her, eyes wide, pupils contracted. "Maggie, I had that dream again, the dream of you dying on the racetrack, and Iblis with you! Why? Why would I have that dream again? It never came back, once you said you'd let Avril ride Iblis!" Jimmy takes both her hands in his, gripping tightly.

"Jimmy, you had that dream because you are meant to convince me to let Avril, or anyone else, ride Iblis. As long as he and I are close, physically, we're nearly invulnerable to physical attack, but separate us, and we both become targets with big red bull's eyes on our backs. You'll have that dream alot, I fear, or even worse, until He decides you aren't a useful tool to open me up for attack. He'll either ignore us both, after that, or, if He's feeling particularly nasty, He'll decide to hurt me by hurting you. He may even try to kill you, Jimmy, once you prove worthless to Him. I hope He doesn't do that, but I've seen Him do as bad or worse to those who've been utterly devoted to Him." Maggie leans forward and hugs O'Connor. "I love you, Jimmy, but I don't know if I can protect you, if He comes for you. You're His, after all, you serve and worship Him still, and I can't stand between you if He wants you." Maggie shudders.

O'Connor hugs back, pulling her closer, and she snuggles up next to him, nearly crawling into his lap. "Mags, I don't know exactly what you mean by all this, but, no matter what happens, nothing is going to take me away from you, nothing can split us apart, and nothing you do could ever drive me away from you. I love you, and I've loved you from the moment I met you, and now that I have you, I'll never let you go, no matter what. I love you!"

"I love you, too, Jimmy, very much. I hope that love doesn't cost you your life!" Maggie lays her head on O'Connor's shoulder, and before long, he feels his pajama shirt becoming damp. He lifts her chin and looks, and sees tears coursing down her cheeks.

"Oh, Mags...." He rocks her gently. "Don't cry, Mags. I'll be okay, even if I lose a little sleep. After all, you haven't been sleeping for three weeks, I guess it's my turn. Maybe I'll drink some of that tea you had tonight, it seemed to put you out like a light! Will you hold my nose, though, so I can choke it down, because that stuff REEKS!"

Maggie makes a choked sound that evolves into a giggle. "Oh, Jimmy, don't be silly, if you aren't used to that stuff it'll put you into a coma! " She sniffs, and turns, reaching towards the bedside table for a tissue.

O'Connor chuckles in turn. "Feel better now?" He smiles at her as she blows her nose.

"Oh, you, you're trying to jolly me up, aren't you? Well, it worked, drat you, I can't cry when I'm giggling about thinking you trying to drink that tea. I think I'd have to make a tincture of it, the booze would let you knock it back easy-peasy!" Maggie's eyes are still wet with tears, but now they glint with mischief.

"Oh, so now I'm a *boozer*, huh? Well, humph, I can tell when *I'm* not wanted!" O'Connor stands, dropping the blanket on Maggie's head. She squeals, and lunges forward to tackle his ankles. He tumbles forward onto the bed, and Maggie jumps to land next to him, reaching out to tickle his ribs. He squeaks, and grabs her around the waist, rolling her over to lay on top of him. As they look at each other, she leans down and kisses him, and he returns the kiss passionately, then reaches over and turns out the bedside light.

*****

A week has passed since Maggie's trance and discovery, and for the first three nights, James had nightmares, all variations on the theme of Maggie dying in some accident or other. When Maggie's determination does not waver, the nightmares stop, and things seem to go back to what passes for normal at the pub in the middle of the winter.

The locals get comfortable with the presence of O'Connor in the pub, although he is more often in the kitchen doing clean-up than serving. Orla and Maggie are out front, taking orders, pulling pints, and talking with customers. Kathleen Hendley even stops in in the evening a few times a week, after closing her store, sitting at a table near the fireplace, drinking a pot of tea with Maggie.

They are jointly designing matching wedding rings for Dermot and Kathleen's wedding, planned for the upcoming June. Kathleen has become, for the first time in many years, more of a subject for village gossip than the purveyor of it, with a diamond ring glittering on her left ring finger. She is hoping for a wedding at St. Joseph's, with Aidan officiating, but Dermot is still unsure if he wants to move back to BallyK to live, so he and Kathleen are speaking frequently on the subject. He has been enjoying his retirement, and is trying to convince Kathleen to retire as well, and move to England to be close to his daughter and her family. He is planning to come back for a week or so in March, when they will make a final decision.

"Maggie, I just don't know if I want to retire. I've made that store a success for so many years, I don' t know if I want to walk away from it now!" Kathleen takes a sip of tea.

"Well, Kathleen, I'm a bit younger than you, but I retired from my practice in the States, after my Robert died. I'd say that Dermot coming back into your life is just as much a life-altering event as that was to me. Plus, this is sort of a chance to get a ready-made family, you'd have an immediate grandson, and another grandchild on the way. And you wouldn't have to get up every morning to open that shop, nor worry about cleaning or stocking or all the chores involved in running it. Just you and Dermot in your own cozy house, and nothing but a flower garden if you wanted it." Maggie pours more tea for Kathleen, then herself, emptying the pot.

"But what would happen to my shop? Could I sell it? And what about the church, who would play the organ?" Kathleen stirs in some milk.

"I'm sure you'd find buyers, Kathleen, and probably enough to bid up the price, too. You'd have a very nice nest egg, since you are the only shop in town, your trade is reliable, and that's a good selling point. As to the church, well, how many years have you devoted there? I know you've enjoyed it, and found solace and comfort and companionship, but that building stood there in the village before you or I were born, and will stand there when we're both gone, too, and priests will come and go as well, so don't let that keep you from finally marrying the man you love and being happy! Robbie and I had many happy years together, even counting the sadness of losing those babies, and I hope and pray Jimmy and I have some happy years, too. I can tell you, absolutely, I'd give up the pub in a minute if Jimmy and I decided to move back to the States. A happy marriage is absolutely incomparable with any other thing you can do! I feel incredibly blessed to have had "lightening strike twice", so to speak!" Maggie swallows the last of the tea in her cup.

"Speaking of marriage, Maggie, are you and James going to get married soon? I'll be playing the wedding march until June, here at St. Joseph's." Kathleen also finishes her tea.

"Well, Kathleen, I have to speak to my solicitor, you know. I don't know what the law says here in Ireland, regarding joint property and such. If Jimmy and I both died, would his legal heirs inherit the pub, or would mine?. I have definite plans as to who the pub is to go to when I'm gone, I don't know if I want it sold out from under Orla and Connor, for instance, and the money to go off to the States. So I'm going to see what can be done legally to make sure my chosen heirs inherit. Not that I want to hurt Jimmy's feelings, but I feel I owe Ireland the courtesy of keeping the wealth I got from her here in the country, not to send it off to the USA. The US has already profitted more than could ever be calculated from all the immigrants Ireland sent her, it doesn't need the money from my lottery win here as well!" Maggie stands, glancing at the bar, where Orla is getting busy pulling pints as more of the regulars come in after their workdays. "Well, back to the salt mines!"

Kathleen also stands. "Thanks, Maggie, for speaking of this with me. It lets me get a different perspective than talking with Dermot. I admit, I hadn't really thought that I'd be able to sell the shop, but, since you think it's so saleable, I'll speak to a real estate agent. If Brian was still here, he'd be at me every minute to sell to him, but, if there are several buyers, I might indeed turn a tidy sum into a nest egg. I'll look into it!" She picks up her handbag, nods to Maggie, waves to Orla, and goes to the door, taking her coat from the hook and putting it on before going through the doorway.

Maggie picks up the cups and pot, and carries them into the kitchen, then goes back out behind the bar. "Well, that was interesting! Whoever would have thought, a year ago, that Kathleen Hendley would say two words to me, let alone share a pot of tea and have a serious conversation! I do think that she and Father Mac re-inforced each other's worst behaviours, plus she has a man she loves who loves her, and a wedding in her future, no wonder she's become an optimist instead of a pessimist." Maggie wipes the bar down as Orla pulls a pint for Brendan, who has just come in and sat down.

"Yeah, she has somethin' to look forward to, an' that makes a difference in your outlook!" Orla says, setting down the dark brown foamy mug even as Brendan reaches for it. "How 'bout you, Brendan, what do you look forward to now, summer school holidays?"

Brendan takes a sip, sets down the mug, then shakes his head. "Well, yes, but more than that." He takes another pull, a long one.

"Brendan, what's the matter? You aren't usually here without Siobhan, and Aisling in the kitchen having cocoa and toast, when you come in." Maggie reaches out to touch Brendan's off hand, resting on the bar.

"Well, Maggie, Siobhan won't be having a pint for quite a few months now, I think. It'll be tea or orange juice or milk, now!" Brendan leans both elbows on the counter, on either side of his pint. "It seems that Aisling is going to be a big sister!"

"Oh my bright blessed Lady! Brendan, congratulations! And here you and she just assumed that you were too old for this to happen, that Aisling was just a miracle which wouldn't be repeated, and you didn't take precautions! And wowee, here comes number two! Oh, I'm so excited for you!" Maggie scoots around the bar, to take Brendan into a big bear hug. Orla also comes around, and slaps him on the shoulder as Maggie lets him go. Just then, Aidan walks in, and looks at the trio at the bar for a moment before walking over to join them.

"So, Brendan, what's the happy occasion?" he asks, sitting on the next bar stool.

"Well, Aidan, how are you fixed for christenings in about six month's time? Got a free Saturday somewhere about then?" Brendan sits back down, and lifts his pint again.

"What? You and Siobhan? Well, Brendan, congratulations, I'd be proud to christen your second child as I did your first!" Aidan also slaps Brendan on the shoulder.

"Well, I must say, I'm still in shock, for all the rest of you seem so happy. I'd have sooner expected to see Orla and Connor expecting than Siobhan and I! But, well, this is the reality, I'll just have to get used to it. I really do think there must be something in the water here, first Peter and Assumpta, now Siobhan and I, and next, Maggie, you'll find yourself expecting! You might want to have a plumber down from Cilldargan, Maggie, and put some filters on your taps, or else start drinking bottled water!" Brendan finishes his pint and stands, and only then notices Maggie and Orla looking at him with shock on their faces, and half the other customers in the pub turning in their seats to stare. His face goes red as he realizes that most of those people know exactly who he meant when he referred to "Peter and Assumpta", including the current curate, Aidan O'Connell.

"Um, well, Brendan, I suppose that, considering the shock you've gotten, you might be forgiven for letting that slip, but I am going to let everyone here wonder until you've gotten their permission to explain yourself to the rest of the village. If I was you, I'd recommend speaking with "herself" by phone, unless you want your next child to be an orphan before it's even born!" Maggie goes back behind the bar, reaches down, and pulls out the bottle of mead to pour a glass for herself, then a second as Orla taps the bar in front of herself, sitting in Brendan's previous seat. Brendan ducks his head, and stalks out of the bar silently, all eyes on him as he leaves. When the door closes, the pub erupts, and Maggie soon pounds on the bar, calling for quiet.

"Do y'all want to be barred? I'll let you all know as much as I can when I can, but I won't break a confidence until given permission. And don't be jumping to conclusions and spreading rumors and lies, it's none of your business and you know it! Now, have you homes to go to? Otherwise, settle down and drink your pints and carry on as you were before, and leave the gossiping for another time, after you've heard the truth!" Maggie drinks her mead in a long gulp, then stomps into the kitchen, doing her best to slam the door behind her. "Or as much of the truth as we dare tell you..." she whispers to herself, settling into a kitchen chair. Just then James comes in from outside the kitchen door, back from a late afternoon walk. He sits down next to Maggie.

"Mags, what's wrong?" He touches her hand.

"Nothing, dear, nothing to do with us, anyway. Oh, Brendan and Siobhan are expecting!" Maggie smiles.

"Oh, honey, and you're remembering little Emily Rose, and all your other babies. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!" He puts his harms around her shoulders, expecting her to break into tears.

"Well, not originally, but now that you remind me, now I *am* sad!" Maggie sighs, and lays her head on James' shoulder.

*****

In Dublin, Peter and Assumpta weave and in and out of tables, and behind the bar of the wine bar, it being Bonnie's night off. During a slow moment, they both sit, holding hands and smiling. Peter has received a letter that day from the school system, acknowledging his credentials from his university degree, and giving him permission to teach science and mathematics classes in Ireland once he's passed the qualifying exams, and informing him of the testing schedule, with contact information for enrolling for the exams.

"Ah feel like Ah've actually made some progress, Assumpta. Once Ah take these exams, Ah can teach anywhere Ah'm needed. But, Ah do hate leavin' you to work so hard again, not bein' here ta help ya, with the baby comin' an all." Peter squeezes Assumpta's hand, then stands to wait on a new couple who have come in.

"Peter, I've been thinking about that," Assumpta says, as Peter brings the order back behind the bar, and begins pouring the wine into glasses, and placing a plate of crackers on the tray. "We'll talk more tonight, after closing." Assumpta pulls out the cheese and fruit the customers have requested, and begins to slice.

Much later, as the pair are bussing tables and loading the dishwasher, the conversation resumes. "Peter, when Bonnie and I were building this business, we could both afford to be here, all day, every day. Then, she got married, but I was still single, and we hired some help, and the business kept growing. Now, I'm married, too, and I don't know if I want to raise our daughter here. I don't know if we can hire enough help, but Bonnie and I will have to, if you go to work at a school anywhere here in Dublin. What are the chances you'd get a post somewhere else, Peter, and what would we do if you got a school post far enough away that you'd need to move there? Would you be willing to give that up to stay here in Dublin if I stay at the bar, or will I need to choose between my business and your career? And, really, what would be best for the baby? Maybe it would be better if we did move, get back out into the countryside a bit, live a quieter lifestyle? Would your income keep us all, if I sold my share to Bonnie, and took the funds to supplement it until after Thea was old enough for me to find another job wherever we were? I never really thought about it, I'm sorry, Peter, but I didn't plan for you getting a teaching post this easily!" Assumpta, ready for a rest, sits in the kitchen while Peter finishes the tidying up.

"Well, 'Ssumpta, I don't think it's all that certain a thing, I still have exams to pass! But, if I do, then I don't know what we'd do if I got offers of posts outside of the city. And I do think you're right, I'd like to have a place other than this bar to raise Thea. If we were in BallyK, at Fitzgerald's, I think we'd do all right, like Niamh did with Kieran for a while after you left, but the business there is slower, and more family traffic besides. And we'd have friends, too, and Thea'd spend time with her friends from school and such, as she got older."

Peter, finishing, also sits down, and soon feels little Emma weaving between his ankles, as she has come downstairs, hearing it has become quiet and knowing she's now free to move about.

"Friends like Brendan? I can't believe he actually told everyone in the bar about us!" Assumpta begins to tap a finger on the table, interrupted by Emma jumping into her lap and demanding to be petted. Her temper quiets as she strokes the soft fur.

"Now, 'Ssumpta, you know he didn't mean to, he was just shaken up by finding out Siobhan was pregnant again. I admit, I'm as suprised now as I was the first time Siobhan told us she was expecting." Peter gets up to pour each of them a glass, or, for Emma, a small bowl, of milk.

"Why? She's only in her forties, and neither incident was an immaculate conception. I hope the second one was not alcohol induced, though!" Assumpta giggles, picking up her glass to take a sip.

"Assumpta!" Peter cannot maintain the mock indignation for long, but also chuckles a bit before finishing his glass and standing, offering Assumpta his arm to stand and go upstairs.

"Well, " Assumpta says, as they climb the stairs, "the secret's out, now, for good or ill, but at least we don't have to face everyone for a few weeks or more, until the furor dies down. It'll be nice to be able to drive into town in daylight, and walk in the front door of the pub, not sneak in the back. Kathleen Hendley won't speak to us, but then, that's no great loss, is it?"

"Assumpta Fitzgerald, shame on you! Have a little charity, the poor woman is beside herself planning her own wedding, and caught up selling the shop as well. She'll hardly have time to snub us, let alone spread gossip." Peter waggles his finger in front of Assumpta's face briefly, sparking her full-throated laughter as they reach their room. She moves to fill Emma's bowl of food, as Peter closes the bathroom door to clean and flush the litterbox waste, turning on the fan to clear any dust, as the obstetrician has warned them both about the danger of toxoplasmosis. Soon both of them are able to brush teeth and wash faces as they prepare for bed.

"Peter, now you've heard from the schools, how long do you think it will be before you hear from the Vatican?" Assumpta asks quietly, snuggling up close and laying her head on Peter's shoulder as he settles back, having shut off the light.

"Ah don't know, 'Ssumpta," Peter answers, interrupted by a yawn, "could be tomorrow, er a year from now, but, well, Ah can't, well, you know, not until Ah've been released, Ah'm sorry...."

"No, Peter, it isn't that, but I do hope that I won't look totally ludicrous walking down the aisle of St. Joseph's in a maternity gown! In another month I'll start to show." Assumpta also yawns, as Emma settles in next to her, purring.

"No more ludicrous than Siobhan did pushin' a stroller, Ah 'magine!" Peter chuckles again, and yawns loudly.

"Stop that, I'll never finish a sentence, let alone this conversation!" Assumpta tries to inject indignation into a very tired voice, but fails.

"We'll finish tomorrow, it's our day off, isn't it," Peter mumbles.

"Yeah, it is. G'night, Peter...." Assumpta whispers.

"G'night, luv..." and Peter kisses the top of her head as both drift off, lulled by soft purring from a happy kitten.

*****

The next day is the first of February, Imbolc on Maggie's calender, and, late in the afternoon, Peter and Assumpta pull in and park in front of Fitzgerald's pub. Maggie has not announced their arrival in advance, but Peter groans to see Father Vincent's red Ford Granada also parked there. "Brilliant..." he mutters ironically.

"What?" Assumpta asks. "Oh, that red car, it belongs to the temporary PP, my former curate in BallyK when I was PP after Father Mac died. This could get a bit uncomfortable." Peter takes Assumpta's hand as she gets out of the passenger side of her small car.

"Why, is he a real old goat, like Fr. Mac?"

"No, not at all, he's Australian, he'll be fine, just a bit more friendly and chatty than we'd want." Peter winces inwardly, fearing a former fellow priest more likely to make jokes and to tease. Silent disapproval would be easier to ignore, he thinks.

They enter the front door of the pub. Maggie is already there to greet them, and she hugs Assumpta, not having seen her since the day she left for Scotland, almost straight from marrying the pair on the hillside at the Dillon farm.

"Come into the kitchen, dear, I have something for you." Maggie takes Assumpta's hand. Some of her old regulars are already in, and they raise a hand and wave, or salute the pair with a pint, but only Vincent stands and moves to greet Peter.

"Hello, Peter, mate, congratulations! And this must be your wife? Assumpta? Pleased to meet you! I understand I've you to thank for my vastly increased workload!" Vincent pumps Peter's hand in a strong handshake.

"Pleased to meet you, Father Vincent." Assumpta reaches out to shake the Australian's hand as well.

"I know that voice! You're the fairy!" Vincent takes Assumpta's hand in turn, shaking it a bit less vigorously than he had his former bosses' hand.

"What? Oh, yes! That was me in that green costume and mask, last Sa.., uh, Halloween. The voice was the clue, then?" Assumpta tips her head to one side, looking up at the tall man with the unruly curls and black suit.

"Yeah. I had to learn to recognize those, when everyone's so covered in dust from the Outback, we all look the same to each other, so it's voices we go by!"

"Really?" Assumpta sounds interested.

"Oh, you trickster, you, you didn't grow up in the Outback, you were born in one of the coastal provinces, you told me!" Maggie scolds the priest. "Now, drink your coffee and quit being so nosy!" She laughs to take the sting out of her scolding.

Vincent laughs a bit sheepishly, and walks alongside Peter as they all head towards the bar, behind the women. Maggie and Assumpta enter the kitchen, and Vincent puts a hand on Peter's arm before he follows them.

"So, Peter, are ya happy?" he asks lowly and earnestly.

"Happier than Ah've ever been in ma life, Vin, happier than Ah've ever been in ma life!" Peter answers with no hesitation.

"Well, all's right then, that's all that matters!" Vincent pats Peter on the shoulder, and turns to sit at the bar, lifting his coffee cup.

Peter enters the kitchen, to see Orla, Maggie and Assumpta raising goblets filled with a thick, yellowish-white liquid in a toast, and drinking. All three finish the small volumes, and lower the glasses, licking the "milk moustaches" off their upper lips. Assumpta and Orla pull slight faces as they set the glasses down on the table.

"Now, now, it's Imbolc, and Brigid's holy day, a little ewe's milk won't hurt you!" Maggie admonishes the pair.

"It's just so thick, and strong!" Orla takes the three glasses to the sink to rinse them.

"Well, you eat Feta cheese in a salad, don't you? Where d'ya think that comes from?" Maggie laughs softly as she sits down, following Assumpta's example. "So, my dear, how are you? Tired all the time right now, are you?"

"Yeah, how'd you know? Orla, could you make us some tea, to wash that taste down?" Assumpta asks her blonde friend.

"Absolutely!" Orla answers.

Peter sits next to Assumpta. "Ah thought she's been tired seeming, Maggie, but she never complained. Ya should ha told me, 'Ssumpta, Ah'd ha made sure ya rested more!" Peter's face is worried.

"No, Peter, you just *feel* tired, it's hormonal. I felt that way all four times I was pregnant, Assumpta, I didn't mis-carry until late fourth or early fifth month." Maggie's face is filled with concern. "Do you mind if I check on you, Assumpta?"

"No, I want you to, Maggie, I think everything's fine, but I want you to to make sure!" Assumpta reaches out to take Maggie's hand as she stands, and places Maggie's palm on her abdomen. Maggie's eyes close. A full minute later, her eyes open again, and Assumpta sits back down, just as the kettle begins to sing.

"All's perfectly well, dear, the baby is well implanted and growing quite well." Maggie smiles at the couple.

"Theodora, we've decided to name her Theodora Rose," Peter tells Maggie, as Orla sets a teapot and tray of mugs on the table and seats herself at the fourth chair.

Just then, James comes in from his afternoon walk. Peter stands, offering his hand to the man he knows must be Maggie's lover, and a fellow former priest.

"Mr. O'Connor?" he asks.

"Yes, and you must be Peter Clifford and Assumpta Fitzgerald! I'm James O'Connor, Maggie's, well, ah, lover, and hopefully some day her husband. I must say, Mags, I do see the family resemblance, Assumpta's your what, second or third cousin?" He pulls a fifth chair up to the table, but just then the bell on the front door rings, and he pushes the chair back. "I'll get that, you all stay here and have a nice talk, back in a minute." And he goes out front to take the order from the new customer.

"Cousin!" Peter turns to Assumpta. "You didn't tell me you and Maggie are cousins! Are you really?"

"Well, yes, we are, a few times removed, as they say. Maggie's maiden name was Fitzgerald," Assumpta answers her husband.

"My great grandfather was her great-great grandfather, one of his sons went to America, and the other stayed in Ireland. It's one of the reasons I came to BallyK when I came to Ireland, I wanted to see if I had any family left here." Maggie reaches out and takes Assumpta's hand, and Peter nearly slaps his forehead.

"Ah can't believe Ah didn't see it before! Yer hair's the same color, 'Ssumpta's just a bit curlier, and ya've got the same eyes, the same nose, an nearly the same chin. Ah musta been blind!" Peter shakes his head.

"Well, Peter, you can be forgiven, after all, Ireland is just *full* of Assumpta Fitzgeralds, after all!' Assumpta's voice is mixed in equal parts humor and annoyance.

"Oh, fffftt!" Peter snorts, and leans over to kiss his wife's cheek, then stands and moves around the table a bit, to lean over and kiss Maggie's cheek as well. "Yer more like Assumpta's sister than her cousin, Maggie, so yer ma sister, now, too." Peter straightens, but Maggie stands up beside him.

She hugs him briefly, and returns the kiss as well. "Thank you, Peter, dear, I'm proud to be part of your family, and glad to welcome you to mine, as well!" Maggie's smile is broad, and her face is crinkled in pleasure.

O'Connor re-enters the kitchen, followed by Siobhan, Aisling, and Brendan. Maggie and Orla's faces freeze, but Aisling breaks the tension by running to Peter. "Unka Peter!" she squeals, and launches herself into his arms. He sweeps her up in a hug.

"Hello, Aisling, how are you?"

Assumpta smiles, remembering how Kieran, and even their short-term foundling baby had calmed and quieted in Peter's arms. She looks around, seeing Brendan, standing still, his eyes downcast, and stands, walking over to him. She puts her hands on his forearms, stretches up on tiptoe, and kisses him on the cheek, "Hello, Brendan," then she moves to hug Siobhan. "So, Siobhan, are you so sure you want to pass on Aisling's baby clothes now? You might need them, again!"

"Nope, havin' a boy this time," Siobhan hugs back, and pulls scan photographs out of her vest pocket, "just got these done today!" Assumpta looks at the pictures, and the realization hits her. "Hey, you must have gotten pregnant at nearly the same time I did!" She looks at Siobhan's face, where she can see the mental calculation going on. Siobhan turns to look at Maggie.

"Maggie, what did you put," Siobhan starts, "in that PUNCH?!" Assumpta and Siobhan finish together, breaking out into laughter.

"Oh no you don't!" Maggie laughs, and Orla also joins, and stands, saying, "Nope, I'm not pregnant, and I'm the youngest of the lot of ya!

"Ouch!" Maggie answers, "but she's right, it wasn't the punch, it was just a good time to get pregnant. Besides, I couldn't take such a chance with all those kids drinking punch! No, dears, it was just coincidence, or some divine design, and you didn't take precautions! That's what happens when you fool around unprotected, you know." Maggie's "old mother hen" persona hat is on as she stands to help Orla clear the tea dishes. "Now, why don't we all pull some tables together out front, so I can tend to my business while you all have dinner?"

*****

That weekend, during a lull, Maggie phones Avril. "Well, Avril, I'm glad you were able to convince the Jockey Club to wait for a rational, safe time to run this time trial! It's been raining buckets for weeks, and probably will for another month or more, early April is early enough to run that race." Maggie sips from a cup of coffee. James, hearing her, shudders, but says nothing.

"I'm glad, too, Maggie. After all, I won't want to breed The Cat until May or June, that's when she's most apt to take, anyway. No sense in covering her from February on, and not having her take until June anyway!" Avril answers. "I wouldn't race a foal until it was older anyway, with your Iblis as a sire it won't mature as fast as a Thoroughbred foal would, so five or six months' difference in actual age won't matter to a four or five year old, as it would to a two or three year old."

"Very true, Avril. That will increase the soundness and useful lifespan of your foal as well. American racehorse trainers send more horses to the slaughterhouse than the racetrack, frankly, it's just heartbreaking how many good horses are permanently lamed and end up as horsemeat on the continent. I won't even go into how many wild horses end up in the same place. Wild Horse Annie must be tearing her hair out in whatever afterlife she's in. I hope she finds a way to haunt those scurvy congressmen and senators that wrote that loophole into the rules after the fact! Errrr!" Maggie's jaw is tight and her teeth gritted and eyes narrow.

James walks over to her. "Don't get started, dear," he whispers, placing a hand in a short, strong grip on her shoulder.

"Sorry, Avril, I do go on if I get started on this topic," Maggie starts, and James answers "Among many!" and heads back to the kitchen. Maggie sticks her tongue out at him behind his back, then starts to continue the conversation, but hears Avril guffawing on the other end of the line. She cannot help but chuckle along. "Well, Avril, glad that's settled, and I'll keep training Iblis as best I can in this weather, and we'll hope he can make their minimum time in April. Are you done for the morning up there? Maybe today would be a good day for you to come look at all the photos, you've never done that yet."

"Well, Maggie, I don't know if I can get away, but I will try to get down one of these days, all right?" Avril answers.

"Okay, Avril, see you one of these days," Maggie answers, then hangs up. "Honestly, you'd think the place was out in the back o'beyond, she's so unwilling to come here!" Maggie shakes her head as she goes back behind the counter

"Didn't you know?" Orla asks as she stands, Maggie turning to stand next to her.

"Know what?" Maggie asks. Orla leans over and whispers in Maggie's ear.

"Ahhhh, that makes sense, same as Vincent, huh? Well, I guess I understand. I can take the pictures out with me next time I go to ride, since she won't come in to see them. Thanks, Orla. I guess, now, all we can do is wait, and see what happens when Iblis and I give it a run." Maggie sits on a stool behind the bar, and Orla nods.

"Yup, wait and pray. I wonder what kind of traffic we'll have next summer? As busy as last, or busier?" Orla muses as they stare at the empty room.

"Gods forfend! It's going to be busy enough with two births, I don't need to have to pour Guiness down drunken American throats!"

"No, but it won't hurt the bottom line!" Orla teases.

"Money isn't everything, Orla, it can't buy happiness!" Maggie is sounding a smidge scoldy.

Orla answers, "What was that thing I read? I think I'll settle for being moderately rich and somewhat moody!" She smiles, and Maggie chuckles.

"Ha. ha, very funny, Orla! We'll just have to wait and see........"

The sun dips below the horizon as the rain continues to drip, drizzle, bluster, and, occasionally, pour out of the sky above Ballykissangel.