The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

father knew that better than anyone.
    “What did you find, for yourself, when you came back here?” he asked instead.
    “Charm, some sentiment, more of a link than I’d expected.”
    “Yeah, exactly. That’s exactly it.”
    “I meant to go back, but something else always seemed to come up. And truth is, I’m a city boy. A week in the country and I’m itchy. You and your mother never minded roughing it, but the Hamptons is about as rural as I can manage and stay sane. Don’t snicker, Carolyn,” Dennis said mildly. “It’s rude.”
    Trevor scanned his view again. “It’s a long way from the Hamptons to here.”
    “Absolutely. A couple of weeks in that cottage you’re renting and I’d be babbling. I don’t do quaint for long.”
    “But you visited, saw Maude Fitzgerald.”
    “Yes. Jesus, must be thirty-five years ago. She didn’t seem old to me, but I guess she was well into her seventies. I remember her being graceful, not creaky the way I, being callow, expected an old woman to be. She gave me tea and cake. Showed me an old photograph of my uncle. She kept it in a brown leather frame. I remember that because it reminded me of the song—what is it—‘Willie MacBride.’ Then she walked with me to his grave. He’s buried on the hill by the ruins and the round tower.”
    “I haven’t been there yet. I’ll go by.”
    “I don’t remember what we talked about exactly. It was all so long ago. But I do remember this because it seemed odd at the time. We were standing over his grave and she took my hand. She said what came from me would journey back and make a difference. I would be proud. I suppose she was talking about you. People said she had the sight, if you believe in such things.”
    “You start to believe in all sorts of things once you’re here.”
    “Can’t argue with that. One night while I was there I took a walk on the beach. I could swear I heard flutes playing and saw a man flying overhead on a white horse. Of course, I’d had a few pints at Gallagher’s Pub.”
    Even as his father laughed, Trevor felt a chill skate down his spine. “What did he look like?”
    “Gallagher?”
    “No, the man on the horse.”
    “A drunken delusion. Well, that set your mother off,” Dennis muttered, and through the line Trevor could hear his mother’s delighted laugh.
    “I’ll let you get back to breakfast.”
    “Take some time to enjoy yourself while you’re there. Get me the report when you can, Trev, and we’ll all keep next summer in mind. Stay in touch.”
    “I will.”
    He hung up, then continued to stare thoughtfully out the window. Delusions, illusions, reality. There didn’t seem to be very much space between them in Ardmore.
    He finished up what business could be done before New York opened, then took a walk to John Magee’s grave.
    The wind was high and the graves were old. The shifting of ground had tipped and tilted many of the markers so they leaned and slanted toward the bumpy grass to cast their shadows over their dead. John Magee’s stood straight, like the soldier he’d been. The stone was simple, weathered by wind and time, but still the carving was deep and clear.
    J OHN D ONALD M AGEE
    1898–1916
    Too young to die a soldier
     
     
    “His mother had that carved in her grief,” Carrick said as he stepped up to stand beside Trevor. “In my estimation, one is always too young to die a soldier.”
    “How would you know why she had it carved?”
    “Oh, there’s little I don’t know and less I can’t find out. You mortals make your monuments to the dead. I find it an interesting habit. A peculiarly human one. Stones and flowers, symbols, aren’t they, of what lasts and what passes away? And why do you come here, Trevor Magee, to visit those you never knew in life?”
    “Blood and bonds, I suppose. I don’t know.” Frustrated, he turned to face Carrick. “What the hell is this?”
    “By that you’re meaning me. You’ve more of your mother in you than ever your grandfather, so you know by now the answer to that, even if your diluted Yank blood doesn’t accept what’s in front of your face. You’re a traveled man, aren’t you? You’ve been more places and seen more things than most who are your age. Have you never found magic on your journeys till now?”
    He wanted to think he had more of his mother in him, much more than he had of his grandfather. But there was nothing in Carolyn Magee of the easy mark. “I’ve never had conversations with