The gardens were in constant need of tending. Or at least in Father Aidan’s opinion they were. He spent many hours pulling weeds, trimming and pruning, to make sure that they looked just right. It had little to with the way he thought everyone would look at the gardens, but more to the point that he didn’t have anything else to do. Father Aidan was the Priest in Ballykissangel, but that didn’t always mean that he was overburdened with work. In fact, he had more free time than most of the people in town. So he spent quite a bit of it doing small things to make the St. Joseph’s look its best.

                "Morning, Aidan," called Orla from across the street as she walked on her way to work at Fitzgerald’s Pub.

                "Morning," he smiled, waving casually with his free hand.

                "Still pulling weeds?" she asked good-naturedly as she pulled a ring of keys from her pocket.

                Aidan smiled at his sister, nodding slightly. "Never an end to God’s work."

                She only returned his smile as she stopped in front of the pub, unlocking the door and entering with another wave to her brother.

                It was another day in Ballykissangel. Just like any other. Or would it be?

                Oonagh stood behind the counter, washing glasses as the mid-day crowd filed into the pub, looking for a drink and a good chat. Fitzgerald’s was the social center of Ballykissangel, the place where everyone got together to talk for a while, learn of the days events, or just get something off their chests. She loved it though, even if it was a big change for her and her family. They’d been there over a year, tending to the pub and the needs of the people, but she still didn’t feel as if it was her home.

                "Afternoon, Oonagh," greeted Brian Quigley, owner of Fitzgerald’s Pub and respected member of the community, as he tipped his dark brown hat to her.

                "Brian," she returned, smiling cheerfully at him. "Same as usual?"

                He nodded, eyes scanning the occupants of the pub. Siobhan sat at the end of the wooden bar, a pint settled in front of her while she skimmed over an article in the newspaper; Father Aidan sat near her, speaking with his sister who stood behind the bar, pouring him a cup of tea; Paul, Oonagh’s conniving and mischievous husband, was on the phone, cord stretched from the main room into the kitchen, door standing slightly ajar. Just another day in Ballykissangel, he thought.

                Oonagh slid a small glass of whiskey across the bar to him, still smiling her charming, ever present smile. "Something the matter, Brian?"

                He shook his head, tossing his hat onto the bar near his glass. "Not at all, Oonagh," he replied, snatching the glass from the counter. "Just seems rather quiet in here today."

                She watched him lift the glass to his lips and take a long swallow of the amber liquid before she spoke. "Well, with Brendan, Sean and Conor on their fishing trip, it does quiet things down a bit."

                Brian couldn’t help but smirk at her comment. Brendan and Sean were best friends, though they did have their rather loud discussions, generally adding to the background noise of the pub. "True," he agreed, draining the glass with a smack of his lips, though he declined another round from the proprietor of the bar.

                A shrill ringing broke through the quiet banter of the pub, causing a couple of the patrons to look up, eyes landing on Brian. His mobile was ringing. The wonders of modern technology. Anyone, anywhere could find him. Whether or not he wanted to be found.

                "Brian Quigley," he greeted having pressed the tiny button to power on the unit. At the sound of the voice on the other end, he smiled then turned and started for the front sitting room and the comfort of the over stuffed sofa.

                Aidan watched him move to the other room, obviously having a private conversation with whomever had called him.

                "I don’t understand how he can carry that contraption around with him all of the time," he commented, shaking his head, fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug.

                Orla smiled at him. "If you were a businessman, Aidan, you’d carry one as well."

                He shrugged, taking a slow sip of his hot drink. "Businessman or not," he started, replacing the mug on the counter. "I’d think that he’d wanted to be left alone once in a while."

                "This is Brian we’re discussing," she reminded him, gaining a chuckle from Siobhan who was sitting near them, eyes still on the paper.

                "She has a point, Father. Brian’s interest in money far outweighs his desire to be alone," the vet commented.

                Aidan couldn’t help but smile as he nodded his head in agreement.

                "Great," Brian said cheerfully. "I’ll be seeing you then."

                Orla and Aidan glanced up from where they’d been discussing Brian’s love of money to gaze at him with curious looks. "Seeing who?" the blonde asked, smiling sweetly at him as she usually did.

                Mr. Quigley could rarely resist her smiling charms, but this time he held back from telling her, mostly at the request of the party on the opposite end of his discussion. "Oh, no one."

                Father Aidan smiled as he finished off his tea. "I’m sure this no one has something set in the future for you, Brian."

                "As always, Father," he returned, snatching his hat from the counter top. "Everyone has something set for me."

                After the lunch hour, Father Aidan returned to the church, a meeting with Father MacAnally in the plans for him. Time, once again, to plan the local St. Joseph’s carnival and Father Aidan was in charge this time.

                "Good afternoon, Father," Father Mac called from the entrance to the church. Regardless of the fact that he was a hard man, he held a certain softness for Aidan O’Connell. He felt he was a good priest, one that would not fall to the materialistic ideals of the world, or the pleasures of mankind. Unlike his predecessor, Father Clifford, who left it all behind for the love of a woman, a woman who died suddenly. The loss of Assumpta Fitzgerald, previous owner of the pub, had devastated Peter Clifford, giving him reason to completely leave the priesthood and the town of Ballykissangel. Many still missed him, though they had become quite pleased with Father Aidan, even if it had been over three years.

                "Father," he smiled at him, nodding curtiously to him.

                "Another year, Father," Father Mac mentioned, hands clasped behind his back.

                "Yes, it is," Aidan replied, nodding again in agreement. "And another carnival, I suppose."

                Father MacAnally tilted his head to look at him, study him a little before responding. "Last year’s was a great success. Even members of the church in Cilldargen came to enjoy the festivities. I do hope that we can make such an impression again this year."

                "As do I, Father," Aidan agreed, clasping his own hands behind his back. The St. Joseph’s carnival was a tradition in the town, having been held for over twenty years, every year at the same time. Everyone enjoyed it and it raised funds for the church. Funds which were desperately needed to repair the roof this year.

                "I’m sure it will be."

                Aidan wasn’t sure where Father Mac’s unending faith in him came from, but he was glad of it. It made him feel so much more productive and able to do his job properly. Before coming to Ballykissangel, Aidan O’Connell had been a monk at a monastery near Dublin, so his belief in his religion was much stronger than his belief in himself, therefore any compliments he received, no matter how small, made him feel elated. It wasn’t necessarily pride, in his opinion, but something else, something he’d not been able to name as of yet.

                "Orla has offered to help with the beverages this year."

                "Glad to hear it," Father Mac nodded. "Any other offers of assistance?"

                Aidan thought for a moment, then listed off a few others in town; Sean, Niamh, Brendan, Siobhan, mostly the regulars, Danny and Emma had also offered to help.

                "Sounds like most of the town will be turning out to assist this year."

                "I do hope so. We can use all of the help we can get."

                The rumbling of a car engine turned their heads, glancing down the street to see a small, deep red sedan puttering down the paved road. The driver of the car slowed, glancing out the window for a moment, then at a piece of paper in their hand.

                "Seems to be looking for something," commented the older priest.

                Aidan only nodded, watching as the driver of the car came to a stop in front of Fitzgerald’s Pub. The engine quieted as it was laid to rest for the time being, allowing the peaceful hush to lay over the town again.

                The driver’s door opened and a young woman stepped out, dark hair cascading around her shoulders.

                "I wonder who she is," Aidan mused, gaining a disapproving glance from Father MacAnally.

                "Who she is is no business of ours," the father reminded him with a stern edge to his otherwise friendly voice.

                This brought Father Aidan around, eyes blinking as he cleared his throat. "Of course not, Father," he agreed, though in his heart he still wondered who she was.

                The door to Fitzgerald’s Pub pushed aside easily to allow her access to the warm and welcoming interior. The dark haired newcomer stepped inside, taking in the comfortable decor with a smile.

                "Can I help you?" called a voice from behind the nearby bar.

                Her eyes turned to see an older man, balding though still handsome in his own right. "Yes, I was looking for Brian Quigley," she said, her voice soft, accent slightly dampened.

                "Quigley," he muttered, sounding none too enthused about the mentioning of the name. "He’s not here."

                "Where can I find him?"

                "I have no idea."

                The woman frowned, pursing her lips. "Well, I need to find him. Is there a phone I can use?"

                "Of course there is," interjected a woman from just behind the man, pushing him to the side and out of the way. "Right back here, in the kitchen."

                The newcomer thanked her, casting a rather dubious glare at the man who had been speaking with her, then stepped behind the bar and into the kitchen. The smell of fresh cooked bread assailed her nostrils, making her realize how hungry she was, though she said nothing. Her fingers locked around the receiver of the phone as the woman departed from the kitchen.

                "Quigley."

                "Brian, this is Morgan," she said, glancing toward the door while she kept her voice low.

                "Morgan," he repeated, face lighting up as he heard her voice. "Good to hear from you."

                Morgan smiled, blushing slightly. She and Brian had been speaking to each other on a regular basis, though they hadn’t had the chance to actually meet. Well, at least not again. They knew each other, though it had been years since they’d been face to face. "You’ll get to see me if you get your rear down to Fitzgerald’s."

                Silence. Dead silence. Morgan worried for a moment that she might have caused the man heart failure. "Uhh," she heard from the other end of the line. "I didn’t realize you’d be arriving so soon."

                "Problem with that?" she asked quietly, fearing that she might not be completely welcome. It wasn’t that Ballykissangel had any real reason to welcome her to town in the first place. Well, at least one of the members of the community had no reason to welcome her back.

                "No, just wasn’t expecting you until next week."

                "Change of plans," she replied, sighing softly. "Anyhow, is the cottage ready?"

                Brian cleared his throat. "Yes, it should be," he said, wondering if Liam and Donal had finished painting the front room yet or not.

                "Then I’d like to see it. I don’t have much with me right now, but I’d at least like a place to call home."

                "I’ll be down to the pub in a few minutes," the older man said quietly, hanging up the phone as he did, though he couldn’t stop gazing at the object in his hand. It was one of the few times he didn’t mind having that mobile piece of communications technology. One of the very few times.

                "Thank you for the use of your phone," she said, stepping out from the kitchen and moving around to sit at the bar.

                "It’s no problem. Would you like something to drink?"

                "I’d love a cup of coffee," she replied, smiling at her.

                Oonagh nodded and turned, grabbing a small, delicate looking cup and saucer. Morgan watched as she poured the black liquid into the cup, seeing it meet the brim, threatening to spill over the edge though it didn’t.

                "Oonagh Dooley," she introduced as she sat down the cup of coffee in front of Morgan.

                "Pleasure to meet you. I’m Morgan."

                The two women shook hands, though Oonagh did not fail to notice her new friend didn’t produce a last name with her introduction. She decided to let it slide for the moment, though she would find out eventually. Secrets did not stay secret for long in Ballykissangel.

                Aidan nodded as he listened to Father Mac discuss the carnival, though his mind was not on the church function that was scheduled for the following week, but on the lovely young woman that had appeared in town. He knew that it was not his place to be curious about her, much less to be thinking about her so much, but he couldn’t help it. She was different, though familiar at the same time.

                "Are you listening?" the older priest asked after several moments.

                "Pardon?" Father Aidan snapped his head around, blinking as his eyes landed on the rather annoyed priest.

                "I was asking you how long Orla was going to be able to attend to the beverage stands," he repeated, the annoyance not easily masked in his voice.

                "Oh, yes," Aidan muttered, continuing the talk of the carnival, though his thoughts were not there.

                "What happened, Kathleen?" Gard Sullivan asked, holding a pen and pad of paper in her hand as she eyed the toppled store shelves.

                "I don’t know," the store owner replied, sighing as she looked around, taking in the damage that had been done to her store, her only means of supporting herself and the town. "I came in after lunch and this is what I found." Frankie Sullivan, town Gard, sighed, shaking her head. "I don’t understand how people can do this," she muttered, jotting down details of the interior of the store. Shelves were ransacked, their items scattered on the floor, broken jars lay in piles, torn boxes spilled their contents onto other boxes. It was a mess. And Kathleen would definitely not be able to clean it all up herself.

                "What happened here?" a voice asked from the door, surprise echoing in his voice.

                They both turned, seeing Danny standing there, basket in hand, prepared for a shopping trip.

                "A little problem at lunch at Danny," Gard Sullivan explained. "The store’s closed for now, until I get as much information as I can."

                The younger man nodded, turning his attention to Kathleen, seeing her distraught expression. "You just let me know when you need to get this cleaned up and Emma and I will be down to help."

                Her eyes brightened, a smile creeping across her face as she regarded the younger man. "Oh thank you, Danny, that’s so kind of you."

                He offered her a smile as he settled the basket on the floor near the door then left, making his way back outside.

                Brian pulled up in front of Fitzgerald’s pub, coming to a stop right in front of the dark red sedan. He was excited about seeing Morgan again. It had been years since he’d last seen her, and then she had been a budding young teenager, trouble following her wherever she went. He sat for a moment, in his SUV, looking out the front window toward the pub, trying to determine what she’d look like in his mind before he actually saw her.

                "Dark hair, dark eyes," he muttered to himself, concocting an image of beauty in his imagination, making himself smile. "Brian, you’re too old for that."

                The door opened and he stepped out, tucking the ring of keys into his pocket before locking the door and making his way toward the yellow faced building labeled Fitzgerald’s Pub.

                As he stepped inside, he heard the quiet chatter of two women. Quickly, he assumed that Oonagh had made friendly contact with Morgan and was pleased to see that he was right. The proprietor of the pub stood on the far side of the bar, drying a glass with a soft towel, while Morgan sipped at a cup of coffee, seated gently on a bar stool.

                Upon seeing her, his breath caught in his throat. She was far more attractive than he’d actually imagined, though she was also young enough to be his daughter.

                "Morgan," he said quietly, seeing her slowly look up, eyes falling on Oonagh.

                "Brian Quigley," she replied, turning to look at him, a bright smile crossing her lips.

                "Oh my God, you’ve grown up," he said, holding out his arms to her as she slipped off the stool and crossed the room toward him.

                They embraced warmly, like two old friends. Oonagh watched in amusement, happy to see Brian smiling. Even with Sean and Niamh back in town to stay, he’d found little reason to smile. His dear daughter seemed to only have eyes for her husband and thoughts for the baby on the way. Kieran, Brian’s grandson, was excited about the thought of a little brother or sister, but Brian was not. It wasn’t that he didn’t want another grandchild, but he wasn’t sure how Niamh was going to be able to deal with it.

                "That happens when time goes by," remarked Morgan as she pulled back from him.

                He laughed softly and dropped his hands from her arms. ‘Yes, unfortunately it does. And with growing up, some of us grow out as well," he commented, laying his hands on his belly.

                Their conversation took them into the small, attached sitting room, followed by Oonagh with a cup of tea for Brian and another cup of coffee for Morgan. They both thanked her as she settled the delicate china cups on the low coffee table in front of the comfortable looking sofa. Quigley watched as the barkeep smiled at them, then left, closing the lace curtained double doors behind her as she went.

                "So what brings you back to Ballykissangel?" Brian asked, taking a sip of his tea.

                "Wanted to settle down with my life," Morgan replied, lifting the tiny china cup in her hand, settling it in her palm as she looked at it, watching the inky liquid creep around inside of it. Her thoughts swirled in her head, resembling the movement of her drink to an amazing extent.

                "I take things in Dublin weren’t as good as you’d like them to have been."

                She smirked, lifting the cup from her palm to take a drink. She’d always loved coffee, being one of the few to choose it over the ever present hot mug of tea. "Definitely not. Far too busy for me. I much prefer the quiet life of the country."

                "Should have thought of that in the first place," he commented, returning his tea cup to the stability of the table.

                Morgan frowned at him. "I don’t need a lecture, Brian."

                "I wasn’t planning to give you one."

                "Oh really? I seem to remember getting a lot of lectures from you as a child."

                "You needed them then."

                Morgan narrowed her eyes at him, though it more in a good natured gesture of playful argument. "Well, I definitely don’t need them now. I spent my time paying for my mistakes."

                "So I’ve noticed." He looked at her, studying her. She’d turned into quite a lovely young woman, soft, dark hair falling to her shoulders, bearing a slight wave to it, the kind of style and shine that many women paid heavily to be given to them in a salon. With her it was all natural, nothing about her was faked or paid for. Morgan hated that, always had. He remembered when Niamh first wanted to get her hair colored, to lighten the tones of it up a bit, but Morgan had been adamant that she should leave it just the way it was. Brian had little say in the matter since at the time her mother was still alive and she’d given Niamh the permission to do so. Morgan had been rather upset, but knew that it was her friend’s choice to do what she wanted to do.

                "I learned Brian, believe me, I learned," she said, her eyes fixated on her drink.

                "We’ll find out who did this, Kathleen," assured Frankie as she stepped out of the store and took a cursory glance around town. She highly doubted anyone in town had anything to do with it, but she couldn’t rule out the possibility. Though from her short investigation, she figured that it had to have been someone older, at least in their late teens, early twenties and most likely male. That encompassed only a few people in town, and they were all good citizens. With that thought in mind, she turned her suspicions toward Cilldargen and their recent gang related crimes.

                "Thank you, Frankie," the older woman replied in relief. "When can I get things cleaned up and back on track?"

                "Anytime you’d like," the Gard smiled at her, offering her a reassuring smile with her words. "If you find anything out of the ordinary, though, please let me know."

                "I will," Kathleen promised, wringing her hands slightly as she glanced back into her ruined shop.

                "Don’t forget to talk to Orla about the beverage stand," Father Mac reminded Aidan as the two priests left the confines of the church. The sun shone brightly down on them as Father Aidan showed his mentor to his car.

                "I won’t. I’ll speak to her straight away."

                The older priest nodded to him as he pulled his car keys from his pocket. "Call me then and let me know what she says," he continued, unlocking the door to his car and opening it. Father Aidan held it open as the older man settled into the driver’s seat.

                "I’ll call you as soon as I find out her schedule," Aidan assured him, smiling with as much cheerfulness as he could muster.

                Father MacAnally could see that something was on the mind of the parish priest, though he didn’t feel it was his place to ask, or to interfere. "Then, with that in mind, have a good day, Father," he said, bidding Aidan good day as he closed the door to his car and started it up.

                Aidan watched him leave, letting out a relieved breath as he did. He felt a certain fondness for the older priest, but he didn’t particularly care for the meticulous way he ran the parish. It was his parish, but Father Aidan tended the flock, and with that thought in mind, he wanted to be able to point them in the directions that he felt were comfortable for them.

                Soft laughter caught his attention, pulling him from within his silent reverie to glance across the street. Brian and the lovely young woman he’d seen earlier stepped out, her hand squeezing his arm as the mirthful sound erupted from within her.

                Aidan’s felt his heart stop for a moment as he watched her, seeing the joyous look on her face, the beautiful way the sunlight caught her dark hair, highlighting the deep auburn hidden beneath the chocolate waves. He knew that it was wrong to notice such things about a woman, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. She was most lovely, and definitely filled with a fire that he hadn’t seen in anyone in years.

                He continued to watch as she settled into her car with the help of Brian. For a split moment, he admired Brian for being able to be so close to her with such freedom and abandonment, though he forced it away quickly, turning to make his way back into the church.

                "Follow me and I’ll show you to the cottage," Brian smiled down at her as she rolled down the window of her car.

                "Lead the way," she said with a smile, watching Quigley move up to his vehicle.

                A moment later, the two cars sped out of town, heading to the south and to her new home.

                "I love it, Brian," she stated as she stood in the front room, admiring the new coat of paint that had been added that morning. "It’s so much nicer than I thought it would be."

                "Did you really think I’d let you have some old dump?" he queried, smirking at her, arms crossed over his chest.

                Morgan laughed and shook her head, taking another look around. "No, of course not," she replied, making her way over to the large window on the far side of the room. The view encompassed the hillside and the lake below, giving her a perfect place to sit and think. It was more than she had hoped for.

                Brian stood watching her, still marveling at much she had grown up since he’d last seen her almost twenty one years before. She’d gone from a gawky little girl with legs much too long for her body, to a lovely young woman, slender and shapely. If only he was younger.

                "You never did tell me why you decided to come home," he stated, moving to stand near her, noticing the resemblance that she held to her brother.

                Morgan took a breath, dropping her eyes from the window to instead offer an intense scrutiny to the windowsill. "I was hoping to talk with my brother. Make peace in a way."

                "I don’t know how he’ll feel about that."

                "I know. We never really did get along."

                Brian frowned, remembering the arguments and the threats that had ensued between her and her brother. The final disagreement had led to her departure from Ballykissangel and to a life that she was not ready to face. But apparently, or at least as far as Brian could see, she’d done fairly well.

                "He’s not here right now anyway," he said after a moment silent contemplation. "He’s on a fishing trip. Probably be back in a week or two."

                She nodded, some of her dark waves shrouding her face, hiding her pained expression from view. Morgan didn’t want Brian, or anyone else, to see how much the fights with her brother had hurt her, but she knew that it wouldn’t be long before it would all come out and most likely start all over again. It was the last thing she wanted.

                "Well, at least that will give me some time to get my thoughts together," she commented, lifting her head, letting her hair fall back some. Seeing her brother again had been all that was on her mind for a very long time. She had no other family than him. If he didn’t want to see her, talk to her, or even listen to what she had to say, she might as well have nothing at all.

                Darkness fell on the tiny town. Fitzgerald’s closed up at sunset, as usual, though no one seemed to notice on that night. Everyone was worried about the midday break in at the store. Danny and Emma had spent most of the late afternoon working to help Kathleen clean up the mess left by the thief. Aidan and Orla had joined them later, making sure that Kathleen was feeling all right about leaving the store that night. The older woman was worried, it was obvious, but there was little she could do about any of it. Frankie assured her that she would keep a watchful eye on the store, just to make sure that nothing happened again.

                And that was exactly what Frankie Sullivan, town Gard, was doing. She sat across the road and down the street a bit from the store, tucked away inside her car, eyes glued to the storefront. Everything seemed to be quiet so far, so she decided to have a little bite to eat. About halfway through her meal, a resounding crash brought her round. The Gard bolted from her vehicle, racing pell mell for the store, flashlight in hand, billy club in the other.

                A shining light flittered around the store as glass shattered from somewhere near the back. Frankie took this as her cue to leap into action. Quickly, she darted around the back, finding the delivery entrance open, lock broken and hanging at an angle from the wooden door. A terrible frown crossed her lips as she peeked inside, noticing the light darting around the interior of the store. A feeling came to her that the assailant was not armed, so she entered, carefully stepping over pieces of broken glass and puddles of sauces and vegetables.

                Near the front, a hunched figure argued with till, trying desperately to figure out how to open it, to get the prize that taunted him from within.

                "Looking for something?" Frankie asked, flipping on her torch, shining it directly into the eyes of the figure.

                Surprised to see anyone else in the store, he gasped and lurched back, blinded momentarily by the bright light from her torch. He growled, trying to get his vision back, but she was too quick for him. It took her no time to catch him, throw him off balance on onto the floor. Unfortunately for her, she had nothing to secure his wrists with so she used the next best thing; a roll of black electrical tape hidden under the counter.

                Several trips around the suspects wrists and he was bound tightly. Frankie smirked as she tucked the roll of tape, significantly smaller than it was, back into its place on the shelf under the counter. "There, now I think you have some explaining to do."

                Kathleen was in shock the next morning to see her store a wreck again. Tears sprang to her eyes as she observed the wreckage of her store. "Danny and Emma did so much to help me," she whispered, shaking her head as Orla laid a hand on the older woman’s shoulder.

                "We’ll all help again, Kathleen."

                She nodded, though nothing that Orla could say at that moment helped take away the overwhelming sense of loss that she felt as she gazed around her once immaculate store.

                "Kathleen," Frankie called from the sidewalk, her voice beckoning the older woman.

                "Yes?" she asked, sadness lacing her words.

                "We have the suspect in custody," the Gard replied, seeing Kathleen’s sadness turn into relief. "I caught him last night in the act. He’s being transported to Cilldargen for questioning in another robbery attempt there."

                Orla smiled at Frankie. "That’s great news."

                "Yes, it is," Kathleen agreed, thanking Frankie heartily.

                "Good to hear they caught the man," Aidan said from where he sat on his stool, sipping at his cup of tea and glancing over the morning paper. "Did you tell Kathleen that we’d all help again?"

                "Yes, I did," Orla answered, wiping down the end of the bar where Brendan usually sat with Sean. "Seems kind of strange not having them here right now," she mused, more to herself than to her brother.

                Aidan nodded absently, glancing up as the door to the pub as it opened. Morgan stepped in, closing the door quietly behind her.

                "Good morning," Orla greeted her. "What can I get you?" The blonde sister of the parish priest smiled at the newcomer, offering her a welcome that she desperately needed.

                "I’d love a cup of coffee," she replied, moving over to the bar to take a seat near Aidan. "Morning, Father."

                He nodded to her, extending his hand to her. "And a good morning to you. I’m Father Aidan O’Connell, parish priest at Saint Joseph’s."

                Morgan clasped his hand tightly, smiling at him, her eyes sparkling with the soft light cast by the lamps of the pub. "Morgan," she introduced, purposely leaving her last name a mystery. The tightness of the town made her a little nervous at the moment, so she felt it safer to let her surname stay hidden until a more appropriate time.

                "Welcome to Ballykissangel, Morgan," Aidan replied, letting go over her hand as his sister sat down a small, ceramic coffee cup, filling it to the brim with the dark liquid of choice. "And this is Orla, my sister."

                "Pleasure to meet you," the bar keep said, slowing the stream of coffee to a slow drip then nothing as it met the lip of the mug.

                "And you," Morgan said, pouring a little sugar and cream into her drink before stirring it up. "So, what goes in this town that I should know about?"

                Aidan chuckled and looked at Orla, then back at Morgan. "Well, there’s the Saint Joseph’s carnival coming up in a couple of weeks, and other than that, not much."

                Morgan glanced at him over the brim of her cup, letting the steam warm her cheeks for a moment before taking a drink. The hot liquid permeated her body, making her feel comfortable for a moment. Something about coffee always made her feel able to speak to others. Maybe it was the idea of sharing information over the steaming drink, but it seemed like such a friendly potable.

                "Sounds like fun," she commented, settling the cup back onto the counter.

                "It always is," Orla mentioned, turning her attention to Aidan for a moment as she asked him about her service at the beverage counter for the carnival.

                Morgan wasn’t exactly interested in the conversation, since it seemed to not even include her, so her eyes fell to the paper that lay forgotten on the counter top. She skimmed over the words, searching for something that might hold some interest for her.

                "Will you be attending?"

                Her head snapped up, catching the bright blue eyes of Father Aidan regarding her. She felt her heart skip a beat, leaving her breathless a moment. It took only that long for her to remember that he was a Priest. "If I have time, I’d love to."

                "Great," he said, finishing off the last of his tea. "Thanks, Orla. Must dash."

                He bade farewell to his sister, then shook Morgan’s hand again in a friendly gesture, offering her a friendly word and a kind good bye to which she reciprocated with the same warmth.

                As she watched him go, she felt her cheeks warm, her eyes moving over him a moment before she turned back to Orla. "How can a man like that be a priest?"

                Orla laughed, shaking her head in amusement. "I’m not sure. You’d have to ask him."

                Morgan left the pub a little while later, having had her cup of coffee and a nice chat with Orla. She found the woman extremely easy to talk to and had a feeling that the future held a good friendship for them both. Her eyes glanced around the town, noticing the proximity of the church and the Garda across the street, then the small store just down the way. The emptiness of her icebox propelled her to the shop.

                "Good morning," greeted the older woman, standing tall from where she’d been cleaning up something broken on the floor. "You must be Morgan."

                Her brow raised and she smiled at her, then took a look around the store. "Word travels fast in this town." Morgan took a step forward, making sure not to let her foot fall on the remnants of a shattered jar. "Looks like a hurricane went through here."

                "Not a hurricane," a voice said from the door, causing Morgan to turn and Kathleen to look over her shoulder. Frankie stood there, hat tucked under her arm as she smiled at them. "A thief from Cilldargen, who is now safely in confinement in said town."

                "Good to hear," Morgan mentioned, turning her eyes back to Kathleen a moment. "If you need any help cleaning up, I’d be more than willing to lend a hand."

                Frankie stepped into the store, side-stepping the same broken jar Morgan had. "I’d also be willing to help."

                Kathleen smiled at both of the younger women. "I would be most appreciative for that."

                The three women started to work on the store, picking up the shattered jars and damaged boxes, settling what was still sellable back on the shelves. They had introduced themselves to each other while working, though Morgan still left her surname to herself. Neither of the others made any mention of it, so she felt comfortable with it.

                An hour or so later, with most of the floor cleaned and the items returned to their shelves, the three women took a break, Kathleen offering a mug of tea to the others, who gladly accepted.

                "So what brings you to Ballykissangel?" asked Frankie after Kathleen had disappeared into the back.

                Morgan looked over at her, head tilted to the side slightly. "Just needed to start over."

                "Been there myself. Found this a great place to do just that."

                "Glad to hear it," Morgan replied, then looked up as the tiny bell above the door chimed.

                Niamh stepped in, basket in one hand while her other hand was holding the tiny appendage of her son. Morgan recognized her almost immediately. She was Brian Quigley’s daughter, the girl she used to play with as a child, before hell had broken loose and she’d left. Morgan wanted to say hello to her, but she wasn’t sure yet if she wanted everyone to know her, so she stayed quiet.

                "What happened here?" Niamh asked in surprise as she noticed some broken bottles and crushed fruit still lying on the floor. Frankie explained it to her, assuring her the perpetrator was in custody and in Cilldargen as they spoke.

                "That’s good to know," she replied, taking a relieved breath as she laid eyes on Morgan. Her head tilted to the side as she regarded the woman that stood before her. Something about her made her wonder if she knew her.

                "Hello," the boy said, smiling up at Morgan, who smiled in return, kneeling before him.

                "Hello there. I’m Morgan. What’s your name?"

                "Kieran," he replied, moving to hide behind his mother’s leg.

                "Handsome young man you have there," Morgan stated, standing tall as she offered Niamh a friendly smile.

                "His father always thought so," she returned, still trying to determine whether or not she knew her. "Niamh Dillon."

                Morgan smiled and nodded to her. "Nice to meet you."

                With a returning nod, Niamh stepped past her and went about her shopping, leaving Morgan frowning slightly.

                "It’s not you," Frankie assured, laying a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. "She’s always been a little different since her first husband died."

                Kathleen nodded her agreement as she returned handing them each a mug of tea. "Ambrose was a good man, it’s a shame he died in such a way."

                Morgan bobbed her head up and down slowly, glancing down one of the aisles toward Niamh. They had never been the best of friends, but at one time they had gotten along. But time changed them both. Much more than either could imagine.

                "Dad," Niamh called as she entered Brian Quigley’s sprawling home.

                "In here," he answered from the study. He glanced up as she came in, noticing the frown on her face. "What’s wrong?"

                "That new woman in town, Morgan."

                "What about her?" he asked, looking back down at some papers that lay scattered on his desk.

                "Who is she?"

                "A teacher from Dublin," he replied, signing his name with a flourish to one of the papers, sliding it aside to pull another one forward.

                "No, Dad, I mean who is she. She looks terribly familiar."

                Brian sighed, not really wanting to let Morgan’s identity out since she’d asked for it to be a secret until she was ready. "She’s a friend from Dublin, Niamh. You might have seen her before."

                Niamh frowned deeply, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared down her father. He wasn’t going to tell her who the woman was. When Brian Quigley gave his word to keep something a secret, he did, and she knew that he wasn’t about to let out whatever he was hiding.

                Orla smiled at Morgan as she entered Fitzgerald’s a while later. "Back again?" she asked with a friendly tone to her voice.

                Morgan chuckled and took a seat at the counter, smiling and nodding to the woman that sat at the end of the long wooden bar. "Not much else to do right now, and anyhow, I was helping Kathleen clean things up at the store."

                "That was awfully nice of you," Orla replied, settling a cup and saucer in front of her as she poured her another cup of coffee.

                The dark haired woman watched the stream of liquid as it filled her cup. "Hate to see anyone having a difficult time."

                Orla agreed with her, noting that she would have helped, but Oonagh was busy and she couldn’t get away. "By the way, this is Siobhan, the town vet."

                Siobhan nodded to the newcomer, holding out her hand. The two women clasped hands warmly as Morgan introduced herself once again.

                A conversation began among the three women, light friendly chatter about the weather, the people, the town and such. Though when the door to the pub opened and Niamh stepped in, a deep frown on her face, the chatter came to an abrupt halt.

                "Who are you?" she asked, glaring down at Morgan where she sat on the bar stool.

                Morgan blinked, realizing that Niamh might have figured it out, though she didn’t want to take the chance that there was a possibility that she hadn’t. "Morgan, I’m a friend of your father’s."

                "Yes, I know that. But you look awfully familiar to me."

                "Maybe you saw me once or twice when I came to visit," she offered, sliding off the bar stool.

                Both Siobhan and Orla could see that Morgan was hiding something, something that made her uncomfortable. Apparently so much so that she didn’t want to reveal it. They glanced at each other, then back to the others.

                "I know you from somewhere and I don’t think it has anything to do with visiting my father."

                Morgan offered her a friendly smile and a slight shrug. "If you’ll excuse me, I have something to do." With that she started for the door, leaving Niamh aggravated and confused.

                "Father Aidan," Morgan’s voice was quiet as she entered the church, respecting the general holy etiquette of silence within the walls of God.

                "Yes?" he asked, glancing up from where he’d been polishing a candlestick. "What can I do for you?" His smile was bright, his eyes shining as he looked at Morgan.

                "I’d like to make confession," she whispered, her voice barely audible though Aidan heard her perfectly.

                "Of course," he replied, nodding once to her. He settled the candlestick on the altar, returning it to where it had been before. Slowly, he started for the confessional, entering cubicle where he sat to listen to the confessed words of his flock.

                Morgan followed him, entering the other side. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." Her voice was still quiet, filled with a gentle distress. Most would not have heard it, or even noticed that she felt such discomfort, but Aidan was trained in such matters.

                "How long has it been since your last confession?"

                She took a breath, closing her eyes as she thought. "Almost a year, Father."

                "Go on, my child," he replied, feeling a little uncomfortable with the phrase ‘my child’, but he’d always used it and it seemed proper to the situation.

                "I came to Ballykissangel to start over with my life, but I’m afraid that I can’t hold back much longer on who I am."

                Aidan furrowed his brow as he glanced toward the tiny little window that separated the two of them. "And what do you mean?"

                Her eyes closed, head falling back against the wooden wall of the booth where she sat, fingering the red velvet cushion beneath her. "I’m Brendan’s sister."