To Feel the Sun
by Aurette
Epilogue
One Year Later
There was something about Ireland that made you just want to sing. At least that's how I felt as we wandered over the beautiful rolling green. "Siuil, siuil, siuil a ruin," I sang, skipping ahead of our little group. And of course, in Ireland, you had to sing in Gaelic. The surroundings inspired me to sing one of the songs from my freshman year of college, from our Irish chorus. The one I had a solo in. "Siuil go sochair agus siuil go ciuin."
Sarah joined me on the last two lines of the chorus. "Siuil go doras agus ealaigh lion, Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan."
"You two are insane," Cassie announced, her accent soft and amused. "What are you singing about anyway?"
Instead of replying, I just went on to the next verse in English. "I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red." I threw my arms out, and twirled around in a circle. "And round the world I'll beg my bread, until my parents shall wish me dead."
"Very uplifting," Cassie retorted.
We just ignored her. Once again, Sarah joined me on the last line of the verse, "Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan." We were walking on a road to a small fishing village, snapping pictures all along the way from where the taxi dropped us off and just generally annoying the wildlife and anyone passing by.
I was about to launch into the verse again, when my cell phone rang. I sighed, and checked the ID. "It's my agent," I announced.
Jonah came up behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist. "Aren't you going to answer it, my little prostitute?"
"Naw, I'll check the voicemail later. I'm on vacation. I can worry about reading the proofs later. Publication isn't slated for another eight months." I slipped my phone back in my pocket, hugged Jonah, and kissed him before we continued walking again.
"Did he just call you a prostitute?" Cassie asked, staring at the both of us in horror.
"That's what dyeing petticoats red means," Jonah answered. "The singer in the song said she'd become a prostitute and beg for her bread to help her love who's away at war."
"Okay, seriously, that song is bloody depressing."
"A lot of traditional Irish songs are. Wait until you get into a pub and start the men in on singing about the IRA." Jonah smirked as if he knew something we didn't. We'd only been in Ireland for a day, though Sarah was especially anxious to hit the Irish pubs and snag her a man with an accent and a guitar.
"The retirement plans?" Sarah asked, in as equal horror as Cassie.
"No, doofus, the Irish Republican Army." I slapped her gently her on the head. She scowled at me and poked me in the ribs. We would have descended into a full out tickle fight, but Jonah interrupted us.
"We're almost there." Jonah pointed out the buildings at the end of the stony road. Before us was the fishing village his Seanáthair lived, and where Jonah lived for a year when he was eleven. We picked up our pace. Sarah and Cassie because they were tired of walking as Jonah had insisted, and Jonah and I because we wanted to see his Seanáthair. Jonah told me his name was Pádraig O'Mara. If that wasn't an Irish name, I didn't know what was.
"Lord ha' mercy, if it is na our own Jonah O'Mara, back from 'Merica!" An older women ran out from a building and pulled Jonah into a hug. She must have been watching for us from her window. Either that or the Irish have psychic powers. "I dinna believe Pádraig that ya would really come."
"Of course I came, Máire. I missed all of you!" Jonah placed a kiss on the top of her head. The woman, about my mother's age, was even shorter than I was. Her red hair was streaked with grey and she had gorgeous green eyes as her gaze swept over the four of us. She was all smiles, happy that her wayward Jonah was back.
"Come, come, Pádraig is waitin' for ya." Máire ushered us down the street. The town was pretty small, but it beautiful. Right out of a story book. Stone and brick houses lined the streets, with thatched roofs. It had been a rainy morning, and a couple children were playing puddles with rubber boots on over their jeans. Men worked in their front and side yards, mending fishing nets while women gossiped over fences as they watched us parade down the main street. The storefronts were quaint with hand painted signs labeling the grocery, fishing supplies, and doctor's office.
We stopped at the last house on the road, the back of which looked over out at the sea. A sign hanging from the eave read "The Last Homely House." I had to laugh. I guessed it was Pádraig O'Mara's house, if the Tolkien reference was any indication. Máire proved it by gesturing emphatically at the door. "Go on in, he's feelin' much better these days."
"He never told me he was poorly!" Jonah looked upset, but the woman hastened to ease him with a pat on the arm.
"Do na trouble yourself, lad. Go on in, he's waitin'."
Jonah went in, and the three of us followed behind, feeling a bit awkward going into the stranger's house. It was just as quaint as it looked from the outside, cluttered with fishing supplies and books and framed photographs of Jonah's family in every available space. It was cozy and I could imagine spending a summer in such a cottage. Jonah looked around the sitting room, and made his way towards the tiny kitchen. "Seanáthair?" he called out.
In the kitchen, an old man about the age of my own grandfather was standing at a stove. He was in the process of putting a kettle down when he turned. When he recognized Jonah, his face lit up, making him look at least fifteen years younger. "Jonah, my boy? Ya really came t'see this old man?"
"Of course, Seanáthair. I couldn't forget you after everthing." Jonah pulled his grandfather in a tight hug. He hadn't seen him since he graduated college with his bachelor's degree. Over eight years, give or take.
"Where is she, now?" the old man asked, looking at the three of us girls watching the scene with tears in our eyes. Hey, we were female, and it was touching, okay? "Which o' th' lovely twins is she?"
Jonah came over, and took my hand. He pulled me under his arm with a kiss on my forehead, and led me back towards his grandfather. Pádraig smiled widely at me. I could see where Jonah got his devastating good looks. The man may have been seventy, but he was still handsome, with smile wrinkles around his eyes, pure white hair, and the bluest eyes in a land of green.
"Seanáthair, I'd like to introduce to you Grace O'Mara. My wife."
Fini
Author's Note: Thanks to all my reviewers! I love you all, and you've made this whole thing worth it. It's not mentioned explicitly, but Jonah and Gracie are on their honeymoon (with two other people XD). They found away around the no boyfriends rule, don't you think?
Be on a looking for a new story (tentatively titled Dream Brother) and updates on I Imagine Me and You, if you want more of my writing!
soli Deo gloria