Emalyn's Treasure Read online

  Emalyn sat straight up and flung the covers back.

  “Fiona!” she yelled. “Fiona!”

  “I’m here, my girl, right here with ya.”

  Through her sobs, Emalyn said, “Owen? My Owen?”

  “I’m sorry, love,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Fiona sobbed along with her, the two of them slipping to the floor and rocking back and forth in each other’s arms.

  “It can’t be true, Fiona. I felt him in bed just a while ago. I felt him.”

  “Oh, sweet girl, that was Mr. Jones. He’s been by your side since…since the tragedy.”

  “Fiona, where is my Owen?”

  Fiona didn’t respond right away.

  “Where is he?” Emalyn demanded.

  Fiona stroked her hair and her cheeks.

  “At the funeral parlor, dearest. Today is the service.”

  “Today? But it happened only yesterday, Fiona,” she said through her sobs. “Only yesterday.”

  Fiona shook her head. “Was a week ago, my girl.”

  Emalyn wiped her face with her nightgown.

  “I have to see him, Fiona. He’s all alone there. He’ll want me with him. Will you get my overcoat?”

  Fiona struggled up from the floor.

  Mr. Jones hopped down from the bed and sat down next to Emalyn. She used his broad back to help herself up. When she stood, the room spun, so she grabbed the big dog’s ruff.

  Fiona helped her slip on the overcoat and Wellies.

  “You’ve only your gown on, my girl. You can’t go out with any clothes. You’ll freeze.”

  But Emalyn didn’t care about clothes.

  “Find me the scissors, please,” Emalyn said. “Hurry.”

  Emalyn took the scissors and went to the green velvet chair. She plunged the sharp points into the cushion several times.

  “What’re you doing, Emalyn? You’ve treasured that chair since you were a girl.”

  But Emalyn said nothing. She hacked away at the cushion until she could slip her fingers around the small blue box: her treasure.

  “I’m going to Owen now,” she said and shoved the box into the pocket of her overcoat. As she walked to the door, she stopped. On a small table, she saw a beige envelope with the word Emalyn written in gold script.

  “What is this?” she said.

  “I don’t know, love. I haven’t seen it before just now,” Fiona said.

  Emalyn picked it up and turned it over.

  “It’s still sealed,” she said and stuck it into another pocket.

  “Then, leave it, my girl. It could be dangerous.”

  Emalyn shook her head.

  Mr. Jones trotted behind her as she hurried down the steps to see her Owen.

  A light snowfall and gusty winds made their pace slower, and by the time they reached the funeral house, fine crystals of ice had formed at the edges of Emalyn’s hair.

  As was customary, the door was kept unlocked so that mourners might come in at their convenience. In spite of the troubles in the town, very few people would ever disrupt the sleeping dead, partly out of superstition that they would be haunted forever, and partly out of respect.

  Emalyn and Mr. Jones stepped inside and turned to the right to find the sanctuary as it was called. A dark mahogany casket sat in the middle of the room. Altar lights from behind it cast a golden glow all around it.

  Slowly, Emalyn walked forward and saw the body of her Owen. She ran her hand along his cold cheek and kissed his still lips.

  “My love,” she whispered. “My heart. My life.”

  From her coat pocket she removed the blue box.

  “This will save you, my dearest,” she said to Owen. “It saved me long ago, and I’m asking God now to save you, to bring you back to your swan.”

  She withdrew a single feather from its small container and placed it on Owen’s chest.

  “It’s an angel feather, my love,” she said as tears streamed down her cheeks. “An angel saved me from the lightning, and when he left, I held this feather in my hand. I’ve kept it all these years, hidden it away as a treasure..”

  She caressed the white feather.

  “Please, God, send your angels to bring back my Owen to me. He is my real treasure, my swan, and I cannot live without him.”

  Emalyn said again, “Please, please, bring him back to me.”

  She waited for a sign, any sign, but nothing happened.

  Bent almost double in her sobbing, Emalyn slipped down to the floor.

  “I’ve no wish to live without you,” she whispered.

  Mr. Jones plopped down beside her and put his great head in her lap.

  When she reached into her pocket to get a tissue, she felt the envelope. After retrieving it, she broke the seal carefully.

  Across the top of the letter was written:

  Her tears blurred the lines, but she read aloud as best she could in hopes that her Owen might hear her.

  Emalyn stopped as tears poured down her face. Her heart felt as if it had broken in two pieces, one for her and one for Owen. A hollowness settled inside her, an emptiness, the ache of wanting him close to her. She slumped over and rested her head on the cold floor. Mr. Jones moved up beside her and whined.

  “You’ve lost your friend, too,” she said, her breath shallow, her breathing rapid. “The beggar Jude has disappeared. I am sorry for your loss.”

  Mr. Jones nudged at her hand, and for the first time, she let it rest on his head.

  A sensation of warmth suddenly filled her, and she took a deep breath.

  “I’m warm now,” she said to Mr. Jones. “Stay with me and let me sleep here with my Owen for a while.”

  She drifted into the needed relief of sleep.

  Sometime later, a voice woke her, a far off sound that she could barely hear.

  “Lady Emalyn,” he said. “I’m no wee angel.”

  She struggled to open her eyes.

  Percy sat on the floor beside Mr. Jones.

  “I’m no wee angel, Lady,” he said. “I thought you should know.”

  Emalyn wiped her face and rubbed her eyes, but she couldn’t find the strength to sit up.

  “What are you talking about?” She could hear the fatigue and weakness in her own voice.

  “I’m what you call illeg…illegitimate,” he said, his head lowered. “That’s what Uncle Johnny says, anyway.”

  She put her arms across the dog’s large back, and he stood carefully, helping her to sit up. She rested her head against the casket.

  “What are you trying to tell me, Percy?”

  “Them bombs, Lady, weren’t never meant for Mr. Owen and your da. They was meant for Councilor Murphy.”

  “Go on.”

  “Johnny, he’s my uncle, you see. He told me the whole story. My real mam was his sister. But my real pa is Mr. Murphy. Johnny hates him cause he left her and wouldn’t pay her no money. But Johnny says my mam didn’t want me so he had to feed me. He didn’t have no money, either, so he asked Mr. Murphy for some. But Mr. Murphy called him trash and sent him away. So, Johnny, he…”

  Mr. Jones nuzzled the boy’s hand. Percy bent down and wrapped his spindly arms around him.

  “I ain’t never had no dog,” he said.

  “Percy, finish the story, please,” Emalyn said fighting to keep her eyes open.

  “Well, Johnny got real mad at me and…well, he said he hurt me real bad. Then, he took me to Mr. Murphy’s house and left me there, but Mr. Murphy, he didn’t want me neither, so he left me out on the doorstep at your house.”

  Emalyn thought of how much Owen had cared for Percy.

  “My Owen,” she said. “If he cared for you, then I will do the same to honor our love.”

  She felt Mr. Jones close to her. He nudged his body so that her hands rested on his large back. When her hands began to tingle from the warmth of him, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her.

  She opened her eyes, a
nd this time, she saw Percy as a misguided boy, twelve years old, abandoned as a baby by his family, an unwanted little thing beaten and left. More tears streamed down her face.

  “Come here, Percy,” she said and struggled to her feet bracing herself on the casket.

  Through her sobs, she whispered, “I love you, Owen.”

  She picked up the angel feather and put it back into the box. Then she turned and handed it to Percy.

  “It’s yours now,” she said. “Keep it with you always.”

  “A feather, ma’am?”

  “Yes, a feather. It’s from an angel who saved me when I was just a little girl.”

  “But you might need it still, Lady,” Percy said.

  “You need it more,” Emalyn said. “And you know what it means, don’t you?”

  Percy shook his head.

  “It means that you are very special and that you must always act in a way that will make your angel proud of you.”

  “No one’s ever been proud of me,” he said. “Even mam.”

  “Fiona loves you with all her heart. To make your angel proud, you must love her back. Do what she asks. Stop hurting her with your fighting. Do well in school. Stay away from those gangs, and make up your mind to be of use to the community. If you do all those things, your angel will be very proud and will protect you and smile down at you from Heaven.”

  Emalyn could feel herself getting weaker, life ebbing slowly away.

  “Do you promise me, Percy, that you will always make your angel proud?”

  Percy rubbed the blue box against his cheek.

  “Yes, Lady, I promise.”

  “And you must promise to tell your mam all that you’ve told me. Tell the Bishop as well. Now, can you go and find a pen and paper for me?”

  Percy took off to the foyer and returned almost immediately with a pen and paper from the Visitor’s Guest Book.

  Emalyn managed a weak smile.

  Propped against Owen’s casket, she wrote until she had no strength left.

  Then, with trembling hands, she carefully folded the paper in half.

  “I’m very tired, Percy,” she said. “Would you help me to the pew so that I can rest?”

  When she was comfortable, Mr. Jones once again put his head on her lap.

  “Here,” she said and handed him the paper. “Give this to your mother. Make sure that you put it in her hands.”

  “But you will see her in a little while. She’d rather have it from you.”

  “I’m going to go to sleep for a bit. As soon as your mam comes in, give her that paper. Do you understand?”

  Percy nodded.

  “And take care of Mr. Jones, too. He’ll need a home.”

  “Are you all right, Lady? You don’t look so very good.”

  But Emalyn had already fallen into a deep sleep, her head resting on the arm of the pew, both hands crossed over her chest and a slight smile on her pale face.

  •••

  “Open your eyes, my darling.”

  Emalyn’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of Owen’s voice.

  “Oh, Owen, my Owen,” she sobbed.

  He lifted her into his arms.

  “Shh,” he soothed, “it’s all right, love. Everything is all right. We’re together, my swan,” he said as he covered her face with kisses that dried all her tears.

  Emalyn eyes widened. She could hardly believe what she beheld. From her deep sleep, she had stepped into a world of magnificent beauty with striking blue heavens, clouds lined in gold, and colorful gardens that seemed to stretch for miles.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  He set her down and smiled.

  “Oh, Owen,” she said. “You are my treasure, the greatest treasure anyone could have.”

  “And you are mine. Come, and let me show you our forever home. It is beyond anything you can imagine.”

  “Owen, am I dead, then?”

  “To the world below, yes, but here? No, you are alive in the Kingdom with me.”

  “But I remember falling asleep and then….hearing your voice.”

  “That’s how it is with the angels, Emmy. When Jude hugged me at the cross, I felt nothing except the warmth of his arms and the sensation of being lifted up.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  Owen didn’t answer right away.

  “I was at peace here, love. But then, I looked down on you and saw your pain. It grieved me so, but the angels told me to concentrate on preparing a place for you. They said they were helping you.”

  They walked arm in arm until they reached a lush clearing. Rimmed in golden sheen, the clearing seemed almost alive.

  “What is it, Owen?”

  “Ah, now you’ll see, my swan. I’ve chosen this spot for us. Now, watch. They’ll be coming soon.”

  Owen pointed to the bright blue heavens. “Do you see them?”

  Emalyn turned her face toward the sky. Two winged angels descended slowly to the ground. The taller of the two wore a short white tunic. His muscular arms and legs glistened in the sun. His coal black hair hung below his shoulders, and his sparkling white wings moved in smooth rhythm.

  The angel held out both arms at shoulder height, then leaned his head back.

  He whispered, but it was a whisper that echoed throughout the clearing.

  “Help me, Father, to do your bidding.”

  The muscles in his arms and legs bulged and strain showed on his handsome face.

  “Help me,” he whispered again.

  A light swooped from the sky and enveloped the angel. It swirled and danced around him in a whirlwind of radiance so bright that she had to shield her eyes.

  As quickly as it had come, the light disappeared. The angel dropped to his knees and covered himself with his giant wings.

  In the clearing stood a gorgeous house, the very image of Dunaghy Manor. It shone in the sunlight, an iridescent glow pulsing all around. Beside it was a large pond with two swans gliding across.”

  “Oh, Owen, it’s beautiful, so beautiful.”

  “Our home, my love.”

  The angel arose joined now by another man similar in appearance. The two walked toward them, huge smiles on their handsome faces, each in a short white tunic. On their muscular arms, they wore bright gold bands and on their feet, golden sandals laced to the knees, but their wings were no longer visible.

  When they approached, the taller of the two, the one who had been in the clearing, held out his hand.

  “Lady Emalyn,” he said. “All is ready.”

  Emalyn stared at the two for a moment. One seemed familiar but the other…the other was a stranger to her.

  The stranger reached to stroke her cheek.

  “I am Mr. Jones,” he said. “Thank you for sharing your food with me.”

  “Mr. Jones, the dog?” Emalyn said.

  “Well, we do what we must,” he replied.

  Owen stepped forward and motioned for the other to come closer.

  “I am Jude,” he said. “Years ago, I met you…”

  Emalyn gasped.

  “My angel,” she said. “When I was six, you saved me from the lightning, and you gave me a feather.”

  He smiled and nodded.

  “I cherished that feather,” Emalyn said. “I loved it so much that I never shared it with anyone. I should have shared it with….

  Then she looked up at Owen.

  “I should have shared it with you, my sweet husband.”

  “Ah yes,” Mr. Jones said. “Jude and I were right.”

  “Right?” Emalyn said and hugged tightly to Owen.

  “But yes,” Mr. Jones said. “We are treasure hunters. And didn’t we have a perfect find in the two of you? True love is the greatest treasure of all. Come along, Jude, we’ve work to do.”

  “Isn’t there one more surprise?” Jude said.

  “Ah, certainly.”

  The angel Mr. Jones lifted his arms.

  “Come,” he said.

  From beside
him stepped four people.

  “Mama? Papa?” Emalyn cried and rushed over to them. “Oh, I’ve missed you both so.”

  Owen ran and embraced his own mother and father.

  “Emalyn gave me a portrait of you,” he said. “I’ve longed to see you both again.”

  “Let’s be off, Mr. Jones,” Jude said. “We must check on Master Percy. Granted, you gave him to Fiona, but that boy needs special attention.”

  Mr. Jones looked back at Emalyn and nodded his head.

  “Your treasures,” he said and smiled.

  Dungarran is a thriving town at the north edge of County Tipperary just beyond the Golden Vale. Fed by the River Shannon, its pastoral lands, green and verdant, sweep along the countryside in great swaths peopled by magnificent herds of cattle and black-faced sheep. Close to the nearby town of Clonmel, Dungarran neighbors the economic hub of the county.

  People thrive there.

  Twenty years after the second bombing, the Dunaghy-Meade Celtic High Cross still stands at the entrance to the busy town, a symbol of the both the sanctity of ancient ways and the sacred duty each resident feels to honor growth and remember those who came before them.

  Aside from an enormous but abandoned castle atop a distant hill near the Galtee Mountains—a castle said to be haunted—Dunaghy Manor stands as an elegant tribute to the success of those who have lived there. Marked by a tall black gate emblazoned with a pair of swans, the manor is home to a woman named Fiona and her son, Percy, a minister in the local Anglican church. Though Fiona has no grandchildren, she contents herself with operating a large guest house designed for travelers or those who find themselves in need of a hot meal or a warm place to stay. Not even beggars are turned away.

  That this small family has been blessed by God is apparent in their loving attitudes toward others, attitudes which did not always exist.

  Young Percy, though he had a rough start, attributes his salvation to his dog, one Mr. Jones. For a short while after the two of them first met at Mr. Owen Meade’s funeral, Mr. Jones disappeared, but Percy insists that his broken heart at losing the dog brought Mr. Jones running back to him in the middle of a cold and windy night. And though the dog must be nearing thirty years of age, he never seems to age and remains Percy’s faithful companion.