“I would take the smallest Mac with you, Michael. As you can see, Hotmail and Yahoo are your sites. Sometimes one site will go down,” Sara said.
“I’ll buy a phone card once I’m there. I had my cell changed to an international plan.” Michael flopped down in the chair. “When do I leave?”
“Pretty soon. I have two possibilities, either next Saturday or the following Tuesday.”
Michael felt as if he were in a daze. “Then, Tuesday it is. I’m looking at this journey as an adventure.”
“Que sera! You’ll do fine.”
“I’m on my way over to the realtor’s to authorize removing the property from the market.” He paused at the door, turning with a quirky smile. “Your dad is beginning to look at me with a jaundiced eye. I have been around a lot recently; has he said anything to you?”
“In a roundabout way. I told him I am teaching you some computer skills and helping you with reservations to visit your uncle.”
“If the discovery comes to fruition, I don’t plan on keeping much of the proceeds. That will prevent some of the curiosity. I have no plans to change my lifestyle, other than, perhaps, buying Mrs. De’s place.”
“Wow, Michael! That would be great!”
“It would be a dream come true. See you later.”
It was mid-March, and spring was elbowing her way into the picture. He heaved a huge sigh; it was finally going to happen!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Michael made his way to Mel’s. “Adam, how goes it?”
“Same old stuff.”
“I’m going out of town next Tuesday. My uncle is pretty sick.”
“I hope it isn’t serious.”
“He’s old and has heart issues. Mrs. De’s place will be off the market for a few months, so I’ll be able to visit him without compromising her sale.”
“I’m glad she is with her son and family and not stuck here.”
The small talk progressed in a banal fashion. Finally, Michael stood up. “I’ll be on my way. Where is Joey?”
“His sister and her husband are taking him to a movie. They’re trying to spend more time with him. They’ve tried pretty damn hard to help Joey, but they can’t control his every move.” Adam appeared thoughtful. “People are ready to accept the responsibility for bad stuff—you know, so they can fix the problem. It’s an interesting concept.
“Hmm; never thought of it that way,” Michael agreed. “Wish I could be around to help.”
“It’s ok, Michael. Other than the bar, I have plenty of time to help. I’ll keep a close eye on the situation.”
“I hope you can lean on the lawyer to get him off.”
“I’ll do what I can. Maybe you will be back by then. Father Murphy also has some clout.”
“The old priest has a way with people, Adam. See you later.”
He wondered what he would come home to; he hoped Joey would not be in jail. If his mission was fruitful, he could get Joey some training, so he could get a job. Then he wouldn’t have too much free time to get suckered in with questionable people.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Early the following morning, Michael visited Father Murphy with a specific appeal.
“I have a request, Father; it’s about Joey, Ruby’s brother.”
The priest nodded as he looked up through his ancient, wire-rimmed glasses. “Of course! Poor lad, a little slow off the mark, he is. It was obvious at the court hearing; he was tricked by people a lot smarter than Joey.”
“Do you visit his family?”
“Nay, lad, but if you wish—”
“Would you keep an eye on things? I’m going out of town for a while to help out a relative. Joey hangs out playing pool at Mel’s Bar on Eighth and Columbus. There’s a bartender there named Adam.”
Father interrupted, “Aye, I met Adam once.”
Michael responded, “Adam is a nice guy. He’ll keep you informed. He’s in touch with Joey’s sister, Ruby, and Joey helps him most nights at the bar.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him, I promise. He’s a nice boy; no one should take advantage of him. If there’s a hearing, Sister Bernadette and I will attend, to be sure.”
“Take care, Father.” They gave each other a brief hug, and Michael excused himself.
As Father continued tending to the altar, he called out, “Bless you, Michael; I think it will be good to get away for a while. We’ll miss you.”
Michael turned around one last time; Father was kneeling at the altar. It was a serene moment he would hold in his heart until his return.
He continued with his farewells to the sisters.
“Don’t worry, Michael. The Good Lord will be watching o’er us, and may He keep you safe as well.” Sister Bernadette reached into her pocket and brought out a St. Christopher medal. “Here, my boy, keep this with you.”
Michael took the medal and clasped her hands in his. He winked, “I’ll be back for some of your biscuits and jam.” He still cringed about his omissions regarding his plans, even though he knew he would make it up to them in the future. His conscience nipped at him like a cold winter wind. He and Sara would figure out some way to help the convent if he was successful. He and Sara... hmm; he certainly was depending on her. A role reversal, for sure.
*******
The next few days were a blur. The process of packing had begun!
“You have a flight with Aer Lingus. It was a last minute deal. This is great; it’s non-stop. I had to give them a return date; there is only a one hundred dollar penalty for changing it. The rest of your trip will be by ferry and train.” As she rambled on with suggestions, she shook her head, “Please forgive me.”
Michael actually thought the opposite. It was great to have someone watching out for him. He gave her a reassuring grin. They had been over this so many times. He sensed she was nervous. “I hear you; the backpack will have my overnight stuff and maps.”
Sara continued, “You will be leaving from JFK at 5:40 in the evening and arriving at 5:15 the following morning on a transcontinental flight. I reserved an aisle seat on the side,” said Sara, barely looking up. “There I go again; I am so excited!”
“Wow, you’ve thought of everything! I wonder what I’ll do at five fifteen in the morning.”
“Baggage and customs will take an hour or more. You could have breakfast in town instead of on the flight. If any rooms are vacant the night before, the innkeeper, Mrs. Ryan, is ok with you settling in the room right away.”
“You did all this on the computer?”
“Yes, everything.”
“I can always sightsee for a while, maybe go over and view the Book of Kells at Trinity College.”
“Good plan. Can you think of anything else?”
“I haven’t thought of half the things you have already figured out, Sara.”
Sara looked down at her notes with a smile and a slight blush to her cheeks. “It’s been fun, Michael, truly fun—you know—doing all this.”
Michael mused, “I’m not sure I feel comfortable driving on the left side of the road.”
Sara agreed, “Their roads are very narrow and winding. I see by the blogs it is not always a positive experience, but I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’ll be able to get a car rental in Slane.”
Michael shook his head in wonder. Overall, nothing could be this simple, nothing this important and so far away. He didn’t want to be negative; however, he wanted to be prepared for the unexpected. Even a simple nosy neighbor could be an issue. “If I do find it, the next step is the Irish Ferry at Rosslare.”
“Yes, Rosslare is south of Dublin. You can take a train or bus to the Rosslare Europort.”
“My God! You have made a complete outline!”
She looked up with a sheepish grin and proceeded. “After the night in Paris, take the TGV to Lyon. This is close to the Swiss border.”
“What did you say the initials TGV stood for?” asked Michael.
“The Grande Vitesse,
or High Speed in English. Remember, transportation is on military time,” warned Sara. “The TGV travels up to 185 miles an hour, so you will arrive in quick time. In Paris, you’ll have to change to a different train station. It’s all written out for you. Paris has seven stations, so be sure you are at the right one.”
“I guess the sticky parts will be the border crossings.”
“I am afraid so, Michael. The crossing on the ferry will be the first obstacle. After that, I think you should go first class on the train. Once you are in possession of the cover, you’ll be well dressed and, I hope, looking less suspicious.
“I anticipate our Zurich connection will guide me through the last hurdle.”
“With something of this value, I imagine that your liaison will come running to your rescue. Some blogs say various smaller border towns have no customs station. Also, there is the option of staying at a French resort on the border and doing a day hike to Switzerland; just take your backpack with you and stay long enough to stash the cover in a safety deposit box. I think this last section of your trip will be decided when you’re actually at the border. Take your time and scope out your options.”
Michael took a deep sigh, “If there has to be a hitch, I guess it will be borders and customs—and keeping my eye out for anyone following me. I think the chance of the latter is remote. The only hint was that guy who came to the convent asking if Abbey had any belongings that should return to Ireland. That comment has lingered in my mind. I hope he doesn’t live in Slane and notice me as a curious addition to the community.”
“Well, it’s better to be aware of all issues. I think the Swiss will be salivating to be part of this discovery. I am quite confident I’ll be ready with the list of the proper folks in Zurich. I’m sure they will have some suggestions for a successful trip.”
“The big if, if I find the cover.”
Sara ignored the comment. “By then, I’ll have the names and phone numbers of the best possible contacts. I believe I’ve already found the best people.”
Michael found it disconcerting that he might get into trouble so far from home. “Have you included the addresses and phone numbers of the Embassies?”
“That’s a good thought.”
“The best scenario would be calling the Zurich lawyer, as it would be an attorney-client privilege conversation. It seems funny to spend so much time on a Zurich plan when the odds are far from one hundred per cent.”
“I agree, Michael, but if you do find it, I can’t imagine starting the whole process at that point. Besides—it’s fun to fantasize.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
In the middle of a dream, Michael bolted upright in bed; he was under some sort of attack. The details were not clear; there were no other people in the dream—just a foreboding feeling with hazy blue-black colors. He was being taken into custody. The border issue had been glossed over in their earlier discussions; he guessed the nightmare was related to his concerns. Oh well, it was too late to reconsider the whole venture.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Michael’s trip to the airport and security check was unremarkable. His departure was ninety minutes late. However, as the flight was only half-full, he was able to stretch out in the center seats.
Arrival in Dublin was now a more reasonable hour. The airport was bustling; it took over an hour to get through airport customs and buy some Euros. He took the commuter to downtown Dublin and continued on a local bus to the bed and breakfast. Mrs. Ryan gave him a hearty welcome. One room had not been used the night before, so she was fine with him settling in straight away.
He was aware of the change in culture. Although there was no actual language barrier, the accents, coupled with the regional adages, were confusing and humorous. Some of them had a heavy brogue, especially the older folks.
The aroma emanating from the B&B dining room was enticing. It reminded him of Sister Bernadette’s kitchen in New York—a divine smell of coffee, bacon, eggs, and toast. Since he wasn’t tired, he headed for the downtown area and Trinity College.
As he left the B&B, he noticed Dublin Bay across the street. The bus ride to town reminded him of the obvious differences in this country. The passengers had a lilt in their voices and portrayed cheerfulness; he felt less like a stranger. There was a certain vibrancy and freshness in the young people’s faces.
Upon arriving in the downtown area, Dublin appeared to be as fast-paced as Manhattan. There weren’t a vast amount of redheads, as one might have expected, but many had exceptionally blue eyes. He found a store that suited his needs and made his first purchase: a black leather messenger bag.
*******
Trinity College could only be described as a group of imposing, monolithic-sized buildings. The college was located in the heart of the city. He walked around the campus to center himself before the viewing of the Book of Kells. Trinity’s location in the bustling city made the vibrant green playing fields a luscious surprise.
The west end of the campus was laid out in five quadrangles, displaying distinguished buildings from the 18th century. The Old Library was the largest research library in Ireland, an invaluable resource for scholars. Trinity claimed to have a copy of every book published in Ireland and the United Kingdom. The buildings were medium gray stone and presented an overwhelming presence. He listened to a mini-lecture given by an enthusiastic college freshman. The student highlighted the pecking order of the scholars and teachers.
The Old Library was beyond Michael’s dreams. It reeked of regal stuffiness and reminded him of the library in the Harry Potter movie. Michael had never imagined such an impressive interior. The towering ceilings were extraordinary. The books were arranged according to size; the largest and heaviest were on the bottom shelves. The initial architect had been concerned about the sheer weight of the tomes.
It was near impossible for a student to access a specific book due to the complexity of finding the actual volume; there was no Dewey decimal system. If a student was fortunate enough to receive notice his book was available, it was necessary to read the book in the Trinity Library under the supervision of the librarian. Many of the books were written in old Latin. Adding to the mystique, there was a scent of aging paper—not musty, just old. The whole scene brought chills to Michael’s spine. He felt miniscule; his brain was playing catch-up as he slowly made his way through the great hall.
The library room was two hundred and ten feet long with a two- story, barrel-shaped ceiling. There were throngs of people filing through. The crowds made it somewhat claustrophobic. The Book of Kells was the main attraction. After passing through a few rooms housing old documents, he advanced to the area where the book was on display. Michael overheard a viewer exclaim that they should call it the Page of Kells. He stopped and took a deep breath, bracing himself for his first view of the direct link to his quest.
Two volumes were on display, although each book exhibited only one elaborately decorated page and two pages of script. The books were housed in a room with low lighting in order to preserve the page quality. The vibrancy of the drawings and lettering was incredible. As Sara had mentioned, the edges were uneven since they had been cut down during one of the later re-bindings. Viewing the actual pages was spellbinding. He lingered, trying to absorb the details. It was mindboggling to think that he and Sister Abbey would possibly contribute to this collection.
His energy was renewed after viewing the celebrated manuscript. There had been a fantasy element to all this while he was in New York. It seemed very much more real now. Still mesmerized, he found his way to the outside area. Standing by the impressive Campanile, he wanted to get going to Slane, but that would not happen until tomorrow. He left the college and moved on down the busy street.
The smaller shops had more local flavor than their American counterparts, and they weren’t as flashy. He ended up in the Temple Bar area near the River Liffey. The area was located in central Dublin where narrow cobblestone streets re
vealed a mixture of old buildings and odd architecture. There was a distinct character to this area. Everyday musicians and folks wanting camaraderie and a pint of ale intermingled with vacationers. Visitors did not feel alone in this little enclave. The spirit of the Irish culture circulated through the clamoring alleyways and narrow streets. No wonder most folks prided themselves in having “a wee bit of Irish” running through their veins.
Still attempting to digest it all, he found a small fish and chip shop. He relished the crispy, beer-battered, light crust. The Atlantic Cod was fluffy in texture, and the take-away orders were wrapped in newspaper. Dark vinegar was offered in lieu of ketchup, the latter not being readily available. A couple at a nearby table invited him to join in their conversation. They were curious about the States, particularly New York City.
He headed back to the B&B; as he got off the bus, it started to cloud over. He strolled back, oblivious to the heavy mist. The dew twinkled on the leaves and grass. He stopped a distinguished-looking older man to inquire what time the sun would set and ended up in a lengthy conversation discussing everything from soup to nuts including the old man’s dedicated service in WWII. The gentleman wore a tweed cap and carried an umbrella; his faithful Cairn terrier sat patiently while the two conversed. Michael guessed the man was close to ninety years old, but he was a consummate storyteller with a mind as sharp as a tack.
Michael was pleased with his decision to stay on the outskirts of Dublin; it enabled him to connect with the locals on their turf. He was experiencing an authentic Irish welcome. Having never been outside the States, the whole experience was an eye opener. The center of the universe was not the USA—it was everywhere.
He arrived back at the inn just before nightfall. He crossed the street to the promenade adjacent to Dublin Bay. The bay bordered the city on three sides. He meandered along, admiring the vibrant sunset. The River Liffey came off the bay and flowed directly through Dublin City. James Joyce had used the bay for much of the action in his book Ulysses.
Upon arriving at the guesthouse, he peeked into a little sitting room for guests. It contained an old fashioned fireplace burning peat. Mrs. Ryan explained peat was a precursor to coal and was easily dug up from the bogs outside the towns. There was an older “telly” in the corner. He joined a couple watching a soccer match. There was no doubt travelling alone encouraged him to reach out to others. He joined the little group in having a small glass of sherry, and then made his way to his room. He would start out on the final leg of his quest tomorrow. After all these months of planning, he was finally within hours of Slane. It was hard to believe! As he drifted off, he was thinking about the thousands of hours the monks spent scribing and grinding pigments as they created their masterpiece. He had a new appreciation for the adage “work of a lifetime.” The journey—it’s all about the journey.