Free Devil's Mountain by Bernadette Walsh

was still a no-show, I dared hope that some miracle had happened on that Mountain. I wished I could’ve asked my mother, but at that point we weren’t speaking. Or rather, she wasn’t speaking to me.
    The day after we’d returned from Ireland my mother donned her good black skirt and heels and met me at our apartment for lunch. When I opened the door, she gasped.
    “What, Ma?”
    She touched my cheek. “Your face? What happened to your face?”
    “Nothing happened.” I pulled her into the apartment. “Come in, don’t make a scene in front of the neighbors.”
    Once inside the door she grabbed a fistful of my hair. “And this? What did you do to your hair?”
    “Ouch, you’re hurting me!” I twisted away from her.
    My mother’s face was pale under her meticulous makeup, and she looked old, frail.
    Vulnerable. “Tell me you didn’t, Caroline,” she pleaded, her voice high and thin. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
    I pulled away from her and walked into the living room. “What are you talking about?”
    She followed me. “You know what I’m talking about. Tell me you didn’t make a deal with the devil.”
    I flounced onto the couch, like a petulant teenager. “Jesus, Ma, you’ve really lost it, you know that? I went on a vacation. That’s all.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you’re fooling?” She sat next to me and took my hand. “I’ve always loved you, Caroline, and I’ve always thought you were a lovely girl. Sweet.
    Kind. But truth be told, no beauty.”
    “Thanks a lot.”
    “You know yourself it’s true.” She touched my face again. “But how? How do you explain this?”
    “I’m relaxed?”
    He pale face flushed with anger. “Stop playing with me, Caro! What did you do? What did you promise Mary? What did you promise Him?”
    Visions of the pucan , His black eyes boring into me, flooded my brain. Visions of Him possessing me. I shook my head. “Nothing. There’s nothing to tell.”
    She leaned away from me. “You’re lying. They’ve gotten to you. That devil and His bitch. They’ve got you now.”
    I reached for her hand. “Mom, I went on vacation. Mary was very sweet to me, very kind.
    She’s not scary and she didn’t ask anything of me. She didn’t do anything.”
    She pointed to the heavy gilt mirror across from us. “Did she not, love?” She pinched my cheek, hard. “Then how do you explain this?”
    Tears filled my eyes. “I’m the same. I’m the very same.”
    “Jesus, Caroline, you even smell different. Can’t you smell Him?”
    “Mom, you’re losing your mind.”
    She shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. “No, love, it is you who is lost.”
    My mother was never in a room alone with me after that. She did her duty all right. She appeared at mandatory functions. Thanksgiving. Christmas. But she never met me for lunch again, or came to my house. Offered no congratulations when I announced my much longed for pregnancy. Three months after Aidan was born, she convinced my workaholic father to take early retirement. They moved to Florida soon after, far away from their five children. Far away from me.
    Bobby too, essentially was motherless during the nine months of my pregnancy. Two weeks after our trip, Mary was found wandering around Kilvarren village without her coat or shoes, babbling gibberish. It was my Aunt Dorothy who coaxed her into her shop and called Orla. Mary spent close to a year in the county home, a sad stone building ten miles outside Kilvarren. Aunt Dorothy said it was shameful Orla signed her into such a place. According to Dot, psychiatric care at the county home, if you could even call it that, consisted of drugging the patients to the gills and making sure they didn’t get rained on. I tried talking to Bobby about it, suggested we bring her to New York, but he shut me down. He said he’d left home and he wouldn’t overrule Orla. He was sure she knew best. It was only after Aidan was born that Mary got herself