Free An Open Book by Sheila Connolly Page A

smiled. “It’s Tuesday, and it’s early yet.
     Come Friday, you’ll see the place more lively. Where’re you from, then?”
    “Boston, in the States. I guess I’m used to having more people around.”
    “I’ve never been farther away than Cork City,” Rose said wistfully. “Is Boston much
     bigger than Cork?”
    “I think so,” Maura said. “It’s more than half a million, I know.”
    Rose’s eyes widened. “We’ve only about four million in Ireland, all in. Cork City’s
     got little more than a hundred thousand and some, but I’m told Dublin is over a million.
     So your Boston would be more crowded than Cork, but not as big as Dublin.”
    “I didn’t get a chance to see Dublin, just the airport.” Which had seemed smaller
     than Boston’s to Maura. “But yes, it’s pretty crowded, at least in parts. How big
     is Leap?”
    “A couple of hundred, no more.”
    “And you’ve lived here all your life? Are you finished with school?”
    “I’ve done my Leaving Certificate.” When Maura looked blankly at her, Rose went on
     to explain what that meant.
    Maura tried hard to follow Rose’s explanation of the Irish educational system. She
     didn’t mean to be rude, but the long trip was catching up with her, and she quickly
     lost the thread. She thought she understood that Rose had finished with her secondary
     education, but apparently had no plans to go on. “Listen, I’d better go see this place
     of Ellen’s,” Maura finally said. “Is there someplace to eat around here?”
    “We’re not doing food here at the moment, unless just crisps will do, and they’re
     none too fresh,” Rose said dubiously. “There’s the hotel,” she added. “And maybe the
     café’s open, though they do mostly lunches. You’d be better off in Skibbereen.”
    “I don’t have a car. How often do the buses run?”
    “Ah,” Rose said. “Well, maybe you should ask Mrs. Keohane. She’d know better.”
    “Good idea. Thanks for the tea, Rose.” Maura slid off the bar stool and almost fell
     over—her muscles had stiffened up, not that she’d been sitting long. She really needed
     to get some food and some rest, preferably but not necessarily in that order. “I’ll
     go over there now. Just across the road, you said?”
    “Well, across and down a bit. You’ll see the drive off to your right, and then you
     go down the hill, kinda. You can’t miss it.”
    Maura wasn’t so sure, especially now that it was getting darker by the minute—the
     heavy clouds showed no sign of thinning. At least there wasn’t much traffic. “I’m
     sure I’ll be seeing you again. Bye for now.”
    The straps of her bags were digging into her shoulder—how had they gotten heavier
     since she had arrived? Outside the pub Maura stopped a moment to get her bearings.
     She looked both ways—and then looked again, reminding herself that the cars would
     be driving on the left here—and then headed across the road. Rose had been right:
     there weren’t many chances to get lost. She followed the graveled drive down and discovered
     a house with its front door facing the drive. Nowhere did it indicate that there were
     rooms to let, but at least there were lights on inside. She found the doorbell and
     pushed it. She could hear it ringing somewhere inside the house, and the bell seemed
     to precipitate a clamor of childish voices, followed by footsteps. The door was opened
     by a thirty-something woman wearing an apron; the noise of clamoring children grew
     louder. The woman pushed her hair out of her face and said warily, “Can I help you?”
    “I’m Maura Donovan. Are you Ellen Keohane? Bridget Nolan said I should talk to you.”
    “Ah, of course―you’re the American. She mentioned you’d be coming soon. Welcome! I’m
     just giving the kids their dinner, but come in.”
    Maura willingly followed her in, dropping her bags on the hall floor.
    “Come on through―I’ll only be a minute,” Ellen said, striding back