An Irish Christmas Part 4

Love, Jamie

I reread the note and wondered what kind of wild-goose chase my son had taken off on today, and who on earth were these "musicians" and how had he met them so quickly? Young people these days-it almost made my head spin. But then I reminded myself that Jamie was an adult, and if he was old enough to join the Air Force, which I hoped I'd be able to dissuade him from doing, then he was certainly old enough to hop on an Irish train and see the sites. Besides, I told myself, as I leisurely bathed and dressed, a quiet day to myself wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps I would explore a bit of Dublin. Maybe even do some shopping. I'd promised Sally to look for some fisherman knit sweaters, and I'd heard there was beautiful crystal to be found in this country. Then, by evening, Jamie would return and we could have a nice dinner somewhere. I'd ask the concierge downstairs to recommend a good place.

After a light breakfast of a soft-boiled egg, served in a fragile porcelain eggcup, which was a new experience for me, along with toast and delicious jam and some nice Irish tea, I decided it was time to see a bit of Dublin. Dressed warmly and armed with my umbrella and trench coat, since it had just started to rain again, I inquired at the concierge desk. Fortunately, this man's accent was easier for me to understand. Plus, I knew it was good practice.

"I've heard Dublin has some good museums."

"Aye, we do. All sorts of museums. History and art. What sort of things are you interested in?"

"I like art," I said. "Not that I'm much of an expert. But I did enjoy seeing the Louvre in Paris." I remembered how Hal had patiently accompanied me that day. The poor man really didn't care much for art, although he appreciated the architecture.

"Do you like modern art?" he asked hopefully. "We have a wonderful place."

I wasn't terribly fond of modern styles like cubism or Pica.s.so, but his enthusiasm caught me off guard. "Sure," I said.

Then he told me the name, which was quite a mouthful. "But you'll need a cab," he said as he pulled out a city map and pointed out some other sites as well as the better shopping areas that I might be interested in. Then he had one of the bellboys call a cab for me, and I set out for what I hoped would be a delightful adventure.

Unfortunately, within minutes I began to wish I had Jamie along to help "translate." The cabby, like the one last night, had a heavy Irish accent, and it seemed the harder I tried to understand him, the worse it got. Finally, I pulled out a fountain pen and a piece of notepaper from the hotel and wrote down exactly where I wished to go, The Hugh Lane Munic.i.p.al Gallery of Modern Art. The note did just the trick, and before long I was dropped off by an old but impressive-looking building. And to my delight, the "modern art" in this museum featured some of my all-time favorite artists, including Monet, Degas, and Manet. I suddenly began to appreciate Ireland's history, realizing that the interpretation for "modern" was all a matter of perspective. To Ireland, an old country, these impressionist painters were considered "modern."

After that, I took another cab over to the National Museum of Ireland. The art museum had whet my appet.i.te, and I was now intrigued by Ireland and its history. The museum was quiet, and other than a surprisingly well-behaved cla.s.s of elementary school children, I had the place almost entirely to myself. So I took my time as I studied ancient weapons, beautifully carved furniture, silver and gold sculptures, ceramics and gla.s.sware, as well as lots of other things.

For some reason I felt particularly taken by the Irish harps, or perhaps it was their history. I learned that England, in an attempt to oppress Ireland, had banned the harp several hundred years earlier. The ruling Brits feared the Irish's love of harp music would lead to nationalism, and so they killed all the harpists and burned their harps. It broke my heart to think of that sweet music being stolen from the Irish like that-it felt so wrong, criminal even. However, I discovered that the Irish did salvage some of their lost music by gathering the few surviving harpists and secretly having them write down what music they could remember. I supposed it had been better than nothing, but so much of the music, not to mention those ancient harps, had been completely lost. Such a shame.

With a sense of melancholy, I decided to take advantage of the break in weather by walking back to my hotel. It was nearly one now, and I was hoping that Jamie might've gotten back earlier than expected. But there was no sign of him. I asked the concierge about the place where our former president's family had immigrated from, and he told me that it was near the town of Waterford.

"Where they make crystal?" I said.

"Aye. And there are bus tours that go up there." He pulled out a brochure and handed it to me. "If you'd like to see the factory."

"I'll think about that," I told him. Then I returned to the hotel restaurant and ordered some lunch. It felt odd eating alone for the second time today. I didn't like to think of myself as a needy sort of woman, the kind who must always have a man in tow to feel at ease, but suddenly I wasn't so sure. Hal had always taken such good care of me. He was the kind of man who opened doors, took me by the arm, carried my bags, and just generally made my life smoother. It hadn't been easy getting used to taking care of myself this past year and a half. And yet, I felt I'd made progress. I felt that I was getting more comfortable with my widowed status. Still, would I have attempted this trip on my own? Having Jamie along had seemed to make it easier, but then he certainly was nowhere to be seen today. I hoped that all was well with him. And, again, I told myself that it was for the best. We both needed our s.p.a.ce today. Perhaps it would bolster my spirits and help me to say the things that needed saying.

Following lunch, and a continued break in the wet weather, I walked over to a couple of sites that weren't too far from the hotel. I toured the National Museum until I felt as if I'd absorbed as much art and history as was possible. After that, I found my way to a nice little shopping district. The one thing I had learned in my world travels (although relatively few) was that shopping, particularly for women, came easy, it seemed we all spoke the same language when it came to opening up one's pocketbook and purchasing something. Shopkeepers were always friendly and willing to take time to explain things like merchandise quality, money exchange rates, or even fashion tips. And so by the end of my day, I had splurged on several fisherman knit sweaters, two mohair blankets, and other various Irish souvenirs. Most of these I had sent to Sally and her family, although it was doubtful that they would make it by Christmas. Still, it saved me from having to pack them about the country for two weeks. The rest of the items I'd had sent along to the hotel.

My biggest splurges of the day came from a shop that specialized in Donegal tweed. Ireland is known for its fine wool, and Donegal is considered the best. For Jamie, I purchased a brown tweed sports coat that I knew would look handsome on him. For myself, I was easily talked into a cla.s.sy black-and-white hound's-tooth suit.

"Miss Doris Day, herself, purchased the exact same suit," she a.s.sured me.

"Really?" I said, not sure that I believed her, or that I really cared.

"'Tis lovelier on you," she said in a hushed tone, as if Doris herself was in the next dressing room. That was when I knew this saleslady was good. Still, I had to agree with her, the suit did look awfully nice on me.

"I'll take it," I told her.

"We have a lovely Irish linen blouse that is perfect with this suit."

Naturally, I was a pushover. But, all in all, it was a wonderful way to spend my first full day in Ireland. And it helped to distract me from worrying about Jamie. At least for the time being. However, when I got back to the hotel and it was after five and dark outside and, according to the front desk, Jamie still hadn't returned, I wasn't sure what to think. So I wrote out a message and handed it to the clerk.

"Please give this to my son when he gets in." I wasn't going to take any chances of missing Jamie. I could imagine my wayward boy getting in and then popping back out without even letting me know that he'd gotten safely back to town. Jamie had always been a fairly independent boy, but he'd gotten even more so once he'd gone off to college. Not that I minded-I thought independence and confidence were good traits. But sometimes I did worry about him. For instance, the weeks preceding this trip . . . even though Jamie had been helpful at home, he'd also been known to disappear without telling me he'd even gone, and sometimes for hours at a time. And if I'd ask him where he'd been, or what he'd been doing, or who he'd been with, Jamie would often turn evasive and defensive, as if it were none of my business.

It wasn't that I thought he'd been up to no good, but I was curious. And I was aware that many of his friends didn't live in town anymore, and I couldn't help but wonder what it was he did with his spare time. Goodness, wasn't that what mothers were supposed to do? Just because our children grew older didn't mean we quit worrying, did it?

I went up to my room and began to put away today's purchases. I paused to take out the lovely mohair blanket that I'd gotten for myself. I shook it out and admired its colors, a delightful mix of mossy greens and rusty reds, then laid it across a chair. It would be nice to have this throw on these long Irish winter nights. The climate was so different than Southern California. Then I removed my new tweed suit from the box and carefully hung it up in the closet. Very cla.s.sy. And then, because it was chilly in the room, I slipped on the cardigan fisherman knit sweater and checked it in the mirror. I hadn't intended on getting one for myself and hadn't even tried it on at the shop, but after finding lovely ones for my sister and her family, and a pullover for Jamie, I thought, why not? And, as I studied my reflection, I thought perhaps I'd made the right choice after all. It really did look rather good on me. I think it actually made me look younger. I struck a pose, putting one hand on my hip and jutting my chin out like a model, then laughed at myself. Sally had always thought that I looked like Audrey Hepburn, although I felt sure she was only being nice. Still there was something about this sweater with my dark hair pinned up in a French roll that almost made me think there was a faint resemblance.

Finally, it was half past seven and I still hadn't heard a word from Jamie. I'd tried knocking on his door, but no answer. I even called down to the front desk; no one had seen him. Now I hated feeling like a fretful granny, but I couldn't help but begin to imagine the worst. After all, we were in a foreign country-who knew what could go wrong? What if something terrible had happened or what if he were unconscious and no one knew who to contact for him? It wasn't as if my son was wearing a dog tag, and even his California driver's license would be useless in reaching me here in Dublin. Why hadn't I thought of this before?

What if Jamie had been robbed at knifepoint? Or kidnapped by Irish thugs? Or hit by a car? I'd heard stories of American tourists who had stepped straight into oncoming traffic, all because they were looking the wrong way, left instead of right. Oh, why hadn't I thought to warn him about that sort of thing? Soon I was pacing again, fretting and pacing, pacing and fretting. And finally I knew that the only thing I could really do was to pray. I remembered how often Hal had told me this very thing. "Don't worry, Honey," he'd say calmly if Jamie had stayed out a little late when he was still a teen. "Pray instead." But Hal's faith had been stronger than mine. His experience with G.o.d had seemed more genuine than my own. And it was in moments like this that I dearly missed that man. And so I prayed. And before long I did begin to feel calmer.

At eight o'clock, I called for room service. Although I didn't feel hungry, I thought a light meal could be a distraction. I ordered the lentil soup and a Caesar salad and hot tea. I was sitting alone in my room, barely touching my food, when I heard a knock at the door. Preparing myself for the worst, perhaps a policeman to inform me of an accident, I went to answer it.

"Hi, Mom!" Jamie said cheerfully. His cheeks were ruddy and his dark hair was curling from the moisture in the air. Suddenly I was torn between wanting to take him over my knee, or to simply hug him. Fortunately hugging won out. Although it was a damp hug.

"Where have you been?" I demanded as I pulled him into the room. "I've been worried sick." I used the linen napkin from my neglected meal to wipe my eyes, trying to conceal the fact that tears of relief were falling.

"Sorry, Mom. Didn't you get my note?"

"Yes. But you said you'd be home this evening."

"It is this evening."

I nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. But I guess I thought you'd be home in time for dinner."

"I actually sort of thought I would too." He glanced over to my tray. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're safely back. Do you want to order room service?"

Soon we both had a tray of food. I ordered something more tempting than my lukewarm lentil soup, and we sat in my room, eating happily together, and Jamie told me all about his excursion. And I told him about mine.

"I think we both had lovely days," I had to admit as I went to get the items I'd purchased for him.

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing, Mom," he said with a youthful enthusiasm-a tone I hadn't heard in his voice, it seemed, in years. "I really like this place-I feel like I fit in here-in Ireland, I mean. I can't even explain it really, but it's groovy."

I suppressed a smile as I handed him the pullover. "I like Ireland too, and this is a real Irish fisherman knit sweater."

"For me?" He stood to examine it better.

"When in Ireland . . ."

He quickly pulled the sweater over his head, emerging with a big grin and ruffled hair. "How's it look?"

"Perfect," I said. "Very handsome."

"But do I look Irish?" he asked hopefully.

I nodded, hoping I wouldn't start crying again. "Oh, yes, very much so."

"Cool."

Then I showed him the tweed jacket, which fit him perfectly and actually gave him the appearance of a young country gentleman. "They say that Donegal wool can last for decades," I told him. "If you take care of it properly. The tag tells how."

"Thanks, Mom. I really like it." But it was the sweater that he put back on. "I was thinking about going down to that pub again tonight. It's called Flannery's and it's about a thirty-minute walk from the hotel. That Irish band is going to be there all month, and I really wanted to hear them again. Do you want to come along?"

I considered this. On the one hand, I felt flattered that he was actually inviting me. On the other hand, it was past nine now, and it had already been a very long day. That, combined with my worrying this evening, and I felt exhausted. "Maybe not tonight," I said. "I'm still a little jet-lagged plus I didn't sleep too well last night."

He nodded. "Man, was I surprised that I slept like a baby. Then I got up feeling great. I think this Irish air agrees with me."

I smiled. "Well, it's probably a lot cleaner than Southern California. But it's a lot cooler too."

"This sweater will be just the thing for that. Thanks again!"

"I'm glad you like it, Jamie. And have a good time tonight, but do be careful, okay?" Then, even though I didn't want to sound like a complete worrywart, I warned him to remember that the traffic came from the opposite direction. "Tourists have been known to get killed after looking the wrong way and then stepping out."

He just laughed. "Yeah, I know, Mom. I already figured it out."

Then, just like that, he was gone and I was alone again. And although I was hugely relieved that he'd made it back safely, and that he'd had a great day, I also felt like I might've missed an opportunity just now. I considered his high interest in Ireland, how much he seemed to love everything about the country and, well, it seemed like it had been my perfect chance to tell him the truth-to just get it over with. Then, I reminded myself, we still have lots of time, nearly two weeks. Maybe the smart thing would be to simply let Jamie have a good time, to experience the culture, the people, and to completely fall in love with the country. And then, when the timing was perfect and he was ready to hear the truth, then I would tell him.

8.

Jamie On our second day in Ireland, Mom showed me the sites in Dublin, which was actually somewhat interesting. Then on our third day, we rode the train to Waterford to see the crystal factory. To my surprise that was fairly interesting too. Then on Tuesday, after I had a late night listening to the guys at Flannery's again, we got up early and flew in a small plane to Galway, then got onto a bus that was headed to a region called Connemara. Mom seemed to have it all worked out, and I couldn't help but be curious.

"So, what's in Connemara anyway?" I asked her as I looked out the fogged-up window to see lots of green rolling hills and soggy-looking sheep.

She shrugged in a slightly mysterious way. "To tell you the truth, I don't really know," she admitted. "I just heard about it once and wanted to see it for myself. Some people call Connemara the Emerald of the Isle, and I've heard it's supposed to be incredibly beautiful." Then she told me how an old John Wayne movie had been filmed somewhere around there. "I just loved that movie."

"A Western?" I stared in disbelief. Mom usually went out of her way to avoid watching any kind of Western, and it was Dad who'd been the John Wayne fan.

"Of course not. A Western in Ireland? No, John Wayne played a prizefighter from America who came over here and fell in love with an Irish la.s.s. It was a charming movie."

"Oh."

"I can hardly believe it's only a week before Christmas," Mom said.

"Yeah, they don't seem to make nearly as big of a deal of it as they do in America. I almost forgot it was the holidays."

"I have noticed an occasional wreath here or there, or a small Christmas tree in a shop," she pointed out.

"But not all the trappings and tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs that get plastered all over the place back home. And none of that tinny old music."

"I think it's rather refreshing. I get so tired of all the commercialism and the pressure to do so much in so little time. By the time you decorate and send out cards and make cookies and buy far too many gifts and go to parties and cook a big dinner, it's practically over with and you're completely worn out. I don't recall it being anything like that when I was growing up. In fact, my parents always kept the holidays fairly simple, a candlelight service on Christmas Eve and a nice family dinner on Christmas. Besides a tree and a few gifts, it wasn't such a big ordeal back then."

"So, what are we doing for Christmas?"

Mom frowned slightly. "To be honest, I don't really know, Jamie. I guess I hadn't really thought that out. Of course, we'll be at the hotel in Clifden all week. But maybe we can find a church with a Christmas Eve service." She got a wistful look. "Perhaps a candlelight service like when I was a girl."

"Yeah, I guess that could be interesting."

"And then we'll find a nice restaurant for Christmas Day. I wonder what the Irish eat for Christmas . . . maybe the fatted goose and plum pudding, or is that British?"

"What if all the restaurants are closed?"

Mom's brow creased now. "Oh, dear, I hadn't even considered that."

Now I felt bad for worrying her. "We'll figure it out," I said quickly. "Worst-case scenario, we'll get provisions from a grocery store and just make do. Have an indoor picnic or something in our hotel room."

She smiled now. "That sounds like fun."

Mom returned to writing postcards and I continued to watch out the window. It really was beautiful landscape, so green that it seemed almost unreal. At first the clouds had hung so low that they gave the countryside a misty, almost haunted appearance, but after a while they began to lift and eventually the rain shower quit as well. I'd already heard that this was one of the wettest spots in the world, and I'd started to wonder if we'd ever see blue sky again, but by the time we reached our destination, the small seaport town of Clifden, the sun had actually made an appearance.

The bus dropped us right in front of our hotel, which was on the main drag, and the driver even helped us get our bags inside. On the way into town, I'd noticed there were several pubs, and one of them had a sign that said live music, and I was eager to check that out.

"This looks like a cool little town," I said to Mom after we got checked in and were riding an ancient elevator up to our floor. I hoped the tiny "lift," loaded with us and our bags, wasn't going to give out before we reached the third floor.

"I think I'll be taking the stairs after that ride," I told Mom when we finally got out.

"It'd probably be quicker," she said as she handed me a large bra.s.s key. "You're in 302 and I'm in 304. And there are no phones in the rooms."

"How about TVs?" I joked. Even our big hotel in Dublin didn't have televisions in the rooms.

"I think I'll put my stuff away, then check out the town," I told Mom as I unlocked my door. "How about you?"

"I might take a little walk," she said. "Maybe mail my postcards. And I'd like to find a bookshop since I finished my paperback."

"Want to meet up for dinner?"

"Yes, that sounds good. How about 6:30 in the lobby downstairs? Maybe one of us will find a promising restaurant by then."

I tossed my bags into the room, then closed and locked the door. "See ya," I called as I headed for the stairway. I wanted to check out that pub, the one with the live music sign. Hopefully I could talk Mom into going there tonight. But, even more than that, I wanted to find someplace with a piano. Maybe there was a music store in town. Or maybe one of the pubs would have a piano. Perhaps I could offer to play for a Guinness. I laughed to myself as I hurried down the street. Or maybe they would offer me a Guinness to quit playing.

The wet sidewalks were steaming in the afternoon sun, and the temperature felt warmer than it had in days. But it was the air that got my attention. It smelled so fresh and good, breezing in right off the sea, I thought that if a person could bottle this and sell it, they would soon become rich.

I ducked into the first pub and looked around to see if there was a piano in sight, but no luck. I checked several others, but again no luck. Even the one with the live music sign was pianoless.

"Whad'ya 'ave?" the man behind the bar asked.