“Tell him I want that
picture of my grandmother!” she said. “It’s in Grannie’s old trunk! Bridgie
told me she put it there.” (Grannie was Michael’s grandmother, my grandmother’s
sister.)
Years
ago, my aunt lent a photo of her grandmother, my great-grandmother, to Michael’s
mother Bridgie for inclusion in a historical publication. My great-grandmother
was a schoolteacher, and the publishers wanted to feature her in a Who’s Who
type section. Sadly, by the time I went over, Bridgie had passed
away.
Undaunted
by family intrigue, Michael gave me a grand tour. We saw the remains of the
house where our grandmothers grew up, the ruins of the schoolhouse where our
great-grandmother taught, and the cemetery where many family members rest. He knew
nothing about the photo, though he knew about the trunk, stored in the ruins of a cottage near his childhood home.
“Look all you like,” he said. “But I’m telling you, my
father wouldn’t touch that trunk, and neither will I.”
Michael has a touch of the Blarney about him, yet he seemed quite serious when we reached the cottage. I'd no sooner opened the trunk when a
shrieking flock of
crows flew above us. The wind rose and tore off a piece of the old door. I
thought it was great fun, but Michael quickly left the place and said he’d wait
outside.
I
never found the photo, and I didn't care. The trunk had captured me. I closed it up and wondered where it came
from, how it got there, and what it had seen and heard. And let’s not forget
the sound effects. Whether the crows and the wind were a coincidence, or
whether Ireland had cast another of its spells, I had a story—if Grannie would
let me use her trunk.
Apparently, she didn’t mind. Here’s the Blurb and an Excerpt
from Unholy Crossing.
Blurb
A Spectral Stowaway Opens the Door to Ireland's Pagan Past...
A Spectral Stowaway Opens the Door to Ireland's Pagan Past...
It’s 1912, and America has lost its charm for Noreen
Carbury, an educated young lady from Ireland. For five long years, Noreen has
looked after the children of Boston’s well-to-do. Homesick and vexed by the
gentry’s demeaning views toward immigrants, she schedules a voyage to visit her
family in County Sligo.
Beneath the clothing and gifts she packs in her steamer
trunk, Noreen conceals a wooden box whose grisly contents she’s promised to
transport to Ireland. She boards a splendid new steamship expecting a crossing
fit for a queen, yet her trunk has somehow harbored a spirit who plagues her
during the week-long trip. She believes that once she delivers the box, the
phantom will leave her alone. Although she keeps her promise, the visitations
grow more sinister, pitting her strict Catholic upbringing against Ireland’s
pagan past.
To protect the reputation of the man she loves, Noreen says
nothing of the mysterious incidents. For decades, she bears the burden alone,
until the elderly woman she becomes confesses the spine-chilling tale of the Unholy Crossing.
Excerpt
The Laconia sailed east, past the islands in Boston
Harbor. Soon she would turn northeast. Toward Ireland.
Toward home.
I unlocked my cabin door and gasped at the room’s icy
temperature. Annoyed that the heater had failed to perform, I eyed the button
that summoned the steward. As I crossed the room to push it, I glanced at the
photos on the desk and froze.
What I’m telling you now is the truth, I swear. As I gazed
at the portrait of Ned and me, a golden glow rose from the top of the silver
frame. A dark-haired image appeared between us.
Had I drunk more wine than I should, you ask? On my word, I
did not. The woman was there, in the portrait, staring. Staring at me. Smiling.
* * * * *
Unholy Crossing - A Novella/Novelette Available in Print and
eBook from
