The Boggart
by
Cassandra Rademacher

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The boggart looked at Quentin solemnly. "All right, me friend," he said finally, "what is it y'would do with me, then?"
Quentin was non-plussed. He'd never seen such a creature before in his life and certainly had never expected to reach into the wall and catch one. "What are you, a leprechaun?" he finally asked.
The boggart laughed heartily. "A leprechaun! And what would the likes of that be wantin with the inside of these walls, I'd like to know? Don't you know anything about your people at all, man?"
"My people? What are you talking about? What are you doing here, anyway, and why were you trying to pour paint over my portrait?"
"Ah, so you DON'T know about your people then. Pity that. Would you like me to tell it you, then?" "Yes, I would." Quentin regarded the creature suspiciously. "But no tricks, and no trying to get away, understand?"
"And how would I be doing that, when it's in the palm of your hand I am sitting and you could crush me like a ripe tomato? And I am no leprechaun, like I told you, to be tricking you and then running away with me gold."
"All right, I'll ask you again. Just WHAT are you and what are you doing here?"
The boggart sighed and sat cross-legged on Quentin's palm. " I suggest you be doing the same, me boy, as the tellin will take some time."

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It's English you believe you are, and it's not something I'll fault you for. The Collins history in America begins with the story of Joshua and his fancy lies. You'll know, of course, that Barnabas never did go to England as his father claimed. There is no English branch of the family and there never was. How do I know that for sure, you ask? Well, didn't I come here myself with your ancestor Eamonn? Who is that? Why, he was the middle son of the Cullane clan of Sligo, that's who. And me, it was his servant I was and servant to all the earlier Cullanes and Collinses until the Great Hunger. Patience, boy, I will tell you all from the beginning.
My name is Fearghal, and I'll have told you that I am a boggart. I guess you might also know it as the Sassenach call us--brownies. Me an my wife Aisling--what, y'didn't think I'd live in these great halls and walls ALONE did ye?--come to serve the Collinses because it suited us to. Boggarts have minds of our own, y'know. We make mischief only when we're offended. Otherwise, we're loyal as dogs and better looking and better smelling to boot. Oh, Ireland was a wild and fierce and beautiful place then. We owned it all; it was ours.
Well, the troubles started. This was years before you was born. Don't give me that look---I KNOW how old y'are. I'm talkin YEARS, me boy. Fat Henry the Adulterer was the start of it all, him sinnin and weddin and killin anyone he pleased. He set himself up his own church and then the great old sinner had the nerve to proclaim himself king of Ireland. Not just laird, y'understand, but KING. These troubles in Ireland been goin on a lot longer than you have, sonny boy. The Cullanes were lairds--they owned the manor. The men were in that uprising led by Hugh O'Neill which was put down by the Sassenach. After that, they began movin in, those Orangemen. They took the land from the owners and divvied it up. Then they turned around
and rented little slivers of it right back to the owners, and giv ' them the honor of bein called tenants. Can ye imagine the gall of that?
Well, twas about the time Cromwell invaded Ireland to put down the patriots that Eamonn had to leave. Those Orangemen finally came to Cullanewood--yes, boy, there was a Collinwood in Sligo--and took it for themselves. Eamonn's two older brothers and dada were kilt, and there was naught left but his old uncle and his mam and wee brothers and sister. His mam bade him go as he would be kilt by the soldiers the moment he was caught. And she bade me and Aisling to go with him, to protect him and help him where we could. And this we did.
We came here, to this wild, cold place. The one remembrance of home is the sea, near what your people named Widow's Hill. In Ireland, you see, we have wild and wet and cold weather, sure. And we have fog of a day and of many a night. But there were also many soft days, when the rain would fall lightly on the fields but the air would be warm. And we would have some sunny days, too, and we'd be filled with the warmth. Here there only seems to be cold, wet wind and rain with hardly a soft sweet day to come.
Why didn't y'know you was Irish, you say? Well, I'll tell you then. In this New Country we'd come to, the SassenachEnglish, you call 'em, were everywhere. They'd got themselves a "charter", y'see. Church of England and what-you-call "Puritans" everywhere, preaching gloom and doom. Matched the weather, they did. They FEARED Papists. Well, I had to do what I
could to help young Eamonn and I did. Got him a piece of paper that granted him all this land these buildings stand upon. Got him land by the sea which he loved so. He needed to get himself set up as laird of a new manor and to do that, he needed not only the land and the big house, he needed a woman and family. D'ye think any of the Prods would have anythin to do with the likes of a Papist? Well, I see you're no dummy. Well, then, Eamonn Cullane became Edward Collins. Ah, I know what causes you to jump so. Well, family names do run on don't they?
Protect Edward Collins I did though I could do nothing for his poor brother Amadeus, who came to this country as well when he grew bigger and his mam had died. Y'havta understand that we boggarts cannot win the fight against the evil of the powerful witches and warlocks in this world. We do what we can to help--but we cannot defeat an evil as great as that. Although I will say that my Aisling whispered in the ear of the fair Miranda when Amadeus asked her to testify against that warlock Judah, curse his name! And for why else would Miranda need to testify against Judah when she had everything to lose? She did! An' the onliest other help we could give then was to see no harm come to Liam CollinsI mean William, an him the younger son of puir Amadeus an his wife. Sure an didn't we keep young William away from here, an he earnin his fortune in New York an marryin there an fatherin children himself. An so ye see, sonny, my Aisling and I have been here a long, long time helpin your
family early on to make the money and the name they did. Didja know dour ole Joshua had more than a drop of the rebellious Irish in him? You knew he stored guns in the empty room in the mausoleum? Your cousin told you that much and that's about all he knew, poor cursed soul. Well, I'll tell you where some of them guns come from. Back in Sligo, Eamonn and Amadeus had left their uncle, mam, a young brother and sister. Well, twas the children of this brother and sister that become all inflamed over the Revolution. Twas helpin they wanted to do. Back home the men was always talkin together, tryin to rise up against the English. That's why they were all on fire about the Americans, y'see.
The Americans was doin somethin they wanted to do, breakin free. Donal Cullane collected up what he could and smuggled it and himself over to the colonies. He met up with Joshua an the two of them set up a gun and powder smugglin operation. Oh, how it filled their hearts with joy! Young Barnabas and Sarah never knew who Donal was. It was a secret, to protect them all y'see. Jeremiah knew, but was foresworn not to tell. I think poor Naomi knew, though I never heard Joshua speak a word of it to her. No one would dare tell old lemon-puss. She disproved of everything!
Do y'see now that had young Barnabas known that Donal Cullane was his blood relative, he mighta known better about announcing himself three times as a cousin from the English branch of the family. Ha! A Collins a Sassenach! And you'd've been fooled yourself, wouldn't you when Mr. Barnabas come to your time? You'd not been to Ireland as you had to England,
had you? No, boy, that is NOT why I'm against your family now. Be patient, I'm getting to that part now!
I told you about Donal to show you that family HELP each other, don't you know. Well, I guess maybe you don't. It don't look to me like you or your brothers or sister helped each other much out at all, and don't get your back up. Y'know I'm right! Y'know what happened here in 1840. I could save Quentin (who you was named after) and Tad from drownin, but I couldn't
save 'em from that cursed Judah Zachary. But Barnabas done that. When 'twas all over, I thought I could do poor Quentin and Daphne a good turn by givin them a place to go to, to get over their hurt. Boggarts can do lots of magical things, like you seen. One thing I did was to push the old Cullane papers out where they could find 'em. Oh, excited they was! They'd no idea! They was both all for goin over to Ireland and findin what kin they had. They told Desmond and Leticia Collins all about it, and they wanted to go over, too. They took Tad with them and left him off at school in Dublin while they went on to meet their relatives.
This part I don't know first hand meself, but was told me by the far gorta. Well, I'll tell you what that is in a minute if you'll just let me do the tellin! Young Quentin and Daphne, Desmond and Leticia arrived at Sligo and were met with joy and happiness by their relatives.
They were shown the old home, now occupied by an Sassenach laird. The far gorta told me it was like this....
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After the comforts of Collinwood, Quentin and Daphne were appalled by what they were
seeing. They were staying at the "home" of their cousins, Brendan and Aileen. The "home" was
a sod cottage, white washed on the outside and covered with thatch. Beautiful red roses grew
up around the door, but inside it was dark and dirty. One room was all there was--with a
fireplace at the center and a window in one wall. There was a rough table for eating, some
wooden benches for sitting, and a single bed in the far corner. Brendan and Aileen shared the
bed with their two children.
"Quentin, where will WE sleep?" Daphne whispered worriedly. She didn't want to be
rude.
"Well, they're family after all, and it's a big bed," Quentin began. At Daphne's alarmed
expression, Quentin smiled and stopped. "There's always the floor," he said. "But I'm sure they
have a loft and that loft has hay in it." Daphne didn't feel especially reassured. Other Cullane
relatives had begun to arrive. They also lived in tiny cottages on tiny plots of land. Leticia was
frankly curious, and the relatives were equally taken with her and her unusual accent. "Are ye
Orange, then?" little Liam, Brendan and Aileen's 6 year old son, wanted to know.
"Wot, are ye color-blind, then? Do I look horange to ye?" Leticia retorted, not
understanding.
"Liam is asking if you are an English Protestant," Desmond explained.
"Ohhh, 'ere now, I may be English but I don't 'appen to be protestin or otherwise," Leticia
said gaily. The family loved her for her open friendliness.
"And would y'like to be seein the original family home?" Brendan asked. He took the
young couples and all the other relatives along to see the huge dwelling on the hill--where the
Collinses originally lived. "The landlord lives there now," Brendan explained with little
bitterness. "He's not as bad as some."
In the evening, the entire family descended on Brendan's cottage. Quentin and Daphne
were shocked to learn that their relatives lived almost exclusively on "praties" (potatoes).
Brendan bragged he could eat twenty pounds of them in a day. For this special occasion,
though, Aileen splurged and had three of the chickens killed. "We've lots to feed here," Brendan
announced. "It's real butter we'll be having on our bread this night." The families brought what
they had to share, willingly and happily.
"I don't mean to be rude," said Daphne to Aileen. "There is just so many people here and
you have so little food."
"Ah, we don't mind the sharing, darling," Aileen replied. "It's our way. No one goes
hungry around here."
The bodhran and tin whistles came out, and so did the whiskey. The family danced and
sang into the night. Quentin found himself having more fun than he'd had in ages, and Daphne's
face rapidly became flushed from the exertion of the wild dancing. To everyone 's surprise,
Leticia was quite accomplished at the jig. She led Desmond for a few minutes, but he caught
on very quickly.
"Shanachie! The shanachie is here!" one of the young ones squealed in delight. It was
an honor to have the presence of a storyteller at a gathering. Everyone, young and old, sat down
to listen. It was a magical night.
Quentin and Daphne spent several weeks in the loft of their cousins, enjoying the loving
boisterousness of their family. Eventually, though, they felt the pull to move on and not overstay
their welcome.
"But you'll come back," said little Liam hopefully.
"Oh, yes, we'll be back. We'll definitely be back," Quentin promised.
******************************************************************************

"It wasn't but five years later that the black plague and death descended upon poor Ireland.
You could smell it . One morning, Brendan woke up to the stench of death in the air. He went
out to his fields and was horrified to find that the stench of putrefaction was strongest here.
Digging his hands into the soil for the precious praties, he came up with black mush smeared
over his hands and arms. He screamed. They were hard times," the boggart said, shifting his
weight.
"Yeah, I remember hearing talk of it," Quentin said faintly.
"Oh, is that so?" the boggart said scornfully. "I can just imagine you did! And all the
while thinkin to yourself the scummy buggers deserved it, filth that they are!"
Quentin swallowed, but couldn't say anything. He flushed with shame.
"Well, I'll tell you what yer fine family did about it. The ones here thought like you.
And , you know, they passed that attitude on to your snotty brother Edward and your uppity
sister Judith!"
"I'm not like them," Quentin spat angrily in defense.
"Aren't you? Didn't you think you was so much better than everyone else? Didn't you
think them worse off than you was yours to take advantage of? Didn't you think you was so
much better than poor little Jenny, who never did nothin wrong except love you--and she in a
lower class, God rest her sweet soul?"
Quentin flushed a darker shade of red.
"And you thinkin the gypsies and Irish are just about one and the same, I'll bet!" the
boggart continued spitefully, enjoying the misery he was causing Quentin to feel. The boggart
took a deep breath. "I was here when the letter arrived in 1847. The first two years were hard,
sure, but everyone was helpin each other out. They were hungry but not yet starvin. Poor
Brendan didn't know where Quentin was, hopin he was here. What was here was that witch what
sold her soul to the devil, Edith!"
"Grandmama?"
"Yes, boy, your grandmother. She made a pact with that devil Judah Zachary back in
1840. Did y'know that yer grandfather killed her? Or tried to? And that that pact brought that
miserable witch back to life?
'Oh, I must've passed out from the shock of it,' says she. Huh! And when they left, Quentin and
Daphne so bitter-hurt that they'd be given Collinwood to Edith and hers until they returned. So
there was Edith and two of her boys. One of them was your da, Aron, only just married then.
And I wanted them to help, yes I did, so I brought out them same papers what Quentin and
Daphne had seen."
"But Grandmama didn't want to help," Quentin said softly.
"Whist! The moment she found out Gabriel'd been that much Irish she about popped her
cork! The scandal of it all! Papists at Collinwood! "
The boggart began an accurate imitation of Edith's voice. "No one is to know about this, Aron.
We're decent, upright people here. I won't have anyone thinking we're Pope lovers! We'd be
ruined. We wouldn't be accepted by The Families." Fearghal folded his arms. "And so, because
she wanted to keep herself in high society, Brendan's pleas for help went unanswered."
"Did my great uncle Quentin know what happened?"
The boggart's expression softened.

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The cries of the baby went unheeded. "Quentin!" Daphne called. "You have to come
and read the newspaper!" Quentin came to the table and took the paper from Daphne. Only
when he began reading did she turn to the baby, make herself comfortable in a chair, and begin
nursing her.
Quentin read of the British government's attempt to aid the starving Irish by setting up
a public works program. "My God!" Quentin was horrified. Out of touch with the world for
so long, he was appalled to read of the failed attempts to feed the hungry. "But it isn't fair!
They shouldn't be starving--they have grain and cattle. Why aren't the British allowing them to
eat the grain and the cows?"
"Quentin, your family is still there. Maybe we should help them somehow," Daphne said
urgently.
"Well, I'm sure Edith is doing something," Quentin said. "But you're right. We need to
go back. Maybe I can talk to the new Prime Minister, Mr. Russell."
"But, Quentin, you don't know him, do you?" Daphne asked.
"No, darling, but we do business with his government. Surely he'll at least meet with
me."
When they arrived in London, Quentin presented himself at 10 Downing Street and
requested an appointment with the new Prime Minister, Mr. Russell. He was effectively put off
and returned to the hotel, irritated. He was surprised to run into a harried looking Desmond in
the lobby. "Desmond, old man! I thought you and Leticia'd gone home long ago!" In spite of
his irritation, Quentin was delighted to see his cousin.
Desmond was also delighted. "Quentin! I'm so glad to see you. Leticia and I didn't
know where to reach you. We've been here the last year with the children..."
"You mean your whole family is here! Old man, I'm sorry we've been out of touch so
long..."
"It's been terrible, Quentin, you don't know, and Leticia, she's trying to hard to help but
she's expecting again, you know, and with the boys..." Words poured rapidly from Desmond's
mouth.
"What? Leticia is expecting? Why are you here? What's going on?" Quentin
interrupted.
"Well, this plague is just terrible, Quentin, and this government isn't doing anything to
help the people back in Ireland. Well, and they're OUR family, too, so Leticia and me--we've
been back and forth a few times with money and food and other things, but it just isn't enough,
Quentin. People in America are trying so hard to help--didya know that the Indians sent over
all the corn they could spare? But it just isn't enough! People are dying all over, and no one
wants to listen!"
"What are you talking about, Des? I read that the British government had set up a road
works project and soup kitchens...."
"Aw, Quentin, that didn't last very long, and it didn't help at all. How can starving people
build a road? They were supposed to work a day to earn a meal and they were dropping dead
in the road! There were riots at the soup kitchens because there just isn't enough food to go
around!"
Quentin stared, appalled.
Desmond went on feverishly, "It's even worse than that, Quentin, you just don't know.
The English, they don't really want to help. I know because I've been talking to them, fighting
with them. They have this idea that this is how they can solve their 'problem'."
"Solve what problem? What are you talking about?"
"I'm saying that they want them people OFF the land. I'm saying they blame those poor
people, saying they're ignorant scum and just good for breeding babies. I'm saying that they want
to take that land from what they call the "croppies" and turn it into pasture land for cows! I'm
saying they're telling the landlords to evict the farmers!"
"No!" Quentin breathed, very softly, unbelieving. "Have you talked to Mr. Fowler?"
Desmond laughed. "Oh, Quentin, he's worse than Prime Minister Peel ever was. He
doesn't want to have to think about this. He wants the Irish out, too." Desmond paused, running
his hands through his hair. Quentin noticed how tired he looked, dark circles under his eyes.
"Quentin, I'm going back over there again. I don't think anything I can do is gonna help much,
but I gotta do it. You'll come with me, won't you? I've brought food, blankets, clothes....I
wanna see how Brendan and Aileen are."
"Of course," Quentin said, feeling stunned.
"Daphne's with you, huh? And the baby? They shouldn't go. They should stay here with
Leticia and the boys. Keep each other company." Desmond hesitated, then added: "And Mother
would like to see Daphne and the baby too, you know."
"Yes, Daphne would want to see Leticia and the boys," Quentin agreed blankly. He
started a little and looked at Desmond sharply. "Aunt Flora's here, too?"
"Yes, well, it's a long story, Quentin," Desmond said uncomfortably.
"Well, tell me! What's going on?"
"Well," Desmond began, reddening, "the first time we went to make a trip over
here...well, you know how Mama is, she wanted to start a drive right there in Collinsport to raise
money and food and clothes..." He trailed off.
"Yes? Well?"
"Well...I mentioned it to Aron, and the next thing I know all Hades is broken loose. Edith
came flying over to Rose Cottage with Aron and Cal, and we had a big row. Edith, she, well,
uh...." Desmond trailed off again. Then he looked at Quentin squarely and said, "Look, Quentin,
that sister-in-law of yours and those two boys don't want to have anything to do with this. They
don't want anyone to know about our family here. They threatened Mama, said she was crazy,
said they'd expose her for the fool she was..." Desmond stopped again, momentarily, trying to
control his anger as he remembered the argument. "The long and the short of it is, we left.
We've been here over a year now. We go back and forth to Boston and New York, and we raise
what we can amongst the Irish there. They all want to help. Most people do--but not Edith.
I don't think we'll go back, Quentin. Not while she's alive, anyway."

All around was quiet desolation. Quentin had never seen anything like it in his life;
Desmond seemed resigned to it. Flora, who'd insisted on joining them, sat in appalled silence.
They drove a wagon load of supplies down the rutted road that led from the sea to the Cullane
family's village. It was so still; nothing seemed to move. Yet , people were everywhere. Some
stood, stark scarecrows, watching them drive by. A few bony, despairing faces peered out at
them from the cottage windows as they passed. There were even a few lying by the side of the
road, too weak to move. At first, Quentin jumped down from the wagon, wanting to do
something. He wanted to provide food, water, or some kind of comfort. The person lying in the
road stared at him apathetically, too weak to even swallow. Quentin didn't even know if it was
a man or a woman.
Sometimes, they got a little news. That the landlord of Sligo had tried to hold on as long
as possible; had given out all the stores of grain and killed all the cattle he had in defiance of
Crown orders. When Parliament increased the taxes on the lands, pressure was put on the
landlords to collect the rents (how?) and if no rent could be collected, to evict. The landlord was
almost in bankruptcy before he agreed to the evictions. Cottages were tumbled down over the
heads of those who were being evicted. Those evicted either hid under the debris to die of
starvation or began to walk down the road and walk until they dropped. Some of the Cullane
families had already been evicted, but not Brendan and Aileen.
Quentin felt a deep sense of foreboding as they pulled up to the cottage. No one was
about. Quentin and Desmond jumped down from the wagon, Desmond turning to assist Flora
down. They approached the cottage. There was a terrible stench of death about. Inside the
cottage, on the bed Daphne had once feared sharing with so many, lay what was left of the
Cullane family. Brendan was stick thin, barely breathing. Aileen held the "least'un" in her arms.
They were dead. Beside them was a little girl, also dead. Their lips were all bright green.
"Ohhh, God," said Quentin, feeling his stomach heave.
There was a light moan from the floor near the bed. Desmond ran to see who it was and
turned over the stunted body of Liam, the once sturdy little child. Liam was still breathing, very
laboredly. His lips were green, too. Desmond picked the child up--he was as light as a small
puppy.
Brendan roused himself. "Ahh, Quentin, is it?" he mumbled. "You came back then, eh?
And how is fair Daphne?"
"Brendan--" Quentin began, and then had to stop. His dying cousin was concerned about
his well being! Quentin's eyes filled up and the tears spilled down his cheeks.
"We won't have had a proper wake for Aileen and the wee bairns, but we must bury them,
" Brendan mumbled, trying to get up. "We must bury them--the fever--"
"No, Brendan," Quentin urged his cousin to lie back. "Des and I will take care of it.
Don't worry." His throat constricted with tears.
"Desmond, Quentin, we have to get a fire going," Flora said sensibly, struggling to control
herself. "We've got to get some soup into these two that are still alive. We've got to get them
away from that bed and onto something dry. Then we can worry about the dead."
Once the fire was going, Flora found the old iron kettle and began heating a thin gruel.
She didn't know much about starvation, but she intuitively knew that Brendan and Liam were too
weak to be able to eat anything substantial. Quentin and Desmond found stale hay in the loft,
brought it down, and laid fresh blankets from the wagon on top. They laid Brendan and Liam
atop the blankets. Flora ladled up two small bowls of the gruel. She handed one bowl to
Quentin and approached Liam with the other. Tenderly, she supported his head against the crook
of her arm and attempted to feed him the gruel.
Brendan attempted to sit up, but he was too weak. "Help me, Des," said Quentin.
Desmond supported Brendan while Quentin spooned a little gruel into his cousin's mouth. A
little spilled out. "Don't mind me," he murmured. "Please save Liam. He's all that's left."
"Now, come on, old man, you'll be all right, too, but you've got to eat some of this,"
Quentin urged.
"Aye, and Aileen an I, we wanted to save the little ones. We wrote, an we asked..."
Brendan's voice trailed off, and his eyes grew hard. Then they closed.
"Is he--?" Desmond asked.
"He still seems to be breathing," Quentin answered. He felt Brendan's forehead. "He's all
burning up."
"Is it family, you are?" came a voice from the door. Quentin looked around. He
recognized the old shanachie, bent and rail-thin. There were other people behind him, ragged
scarecrows. Quentin wasn't sure he recognized them.
Quentin cleared his throat. "I am Quentin Collins. I was here almost five years ago with
my wife Daphne. This is Desmond, who came with Leticia. And this is my Aunt Flora, from
America."
"I thought I'd recognized ye," the old shanacie said softly. "It's glad I am to see you.
Might you have brought some extras?
These of us out here are hungry, too."
"We came to share whatever we have with you," said Flora.
"Go mbeannai Dia is Muire duit," the old man said prayerfully.
Certain that Brendan was not dead and was only sleeping, Desmond and Quentin got up
to serve the people who were outside. Some of the folk were stronger than others and were able
to eat solid foods. Some slurped bowls of gruel as if it was water and they were dying of thirst.
One child gulped down three bowlsful and then heaved into the grass. His belly had shriveled
and was unable to hold that much food.
"I am sorry, sir, I have forgotten your name, " Quentin said to the storyteller.
"Ach, it's all right, then. I am Tomas Scanlon, Mr. Collins."
"Call me Quentin, please. Please, can you tell me how long it's been this bad?"
"I didn't know things were like this," Desmond said in despair. "I woulda come back
sooner."
"Dinna worry your head about that, lad. It's like this everywhere. Ireland is a cursed land
now. There's nothing left to share, and we're all dyin."
Slowly, painfully, the story came out. After the first two hard years, the potatoes came
back again. People were hopeful that it was over. The landlord allowed his tenants to use the
grain and cattle intended for export. The villagers were even more fortunate in that they were
able to forage along the shore, taking whatever shellfish they could find. Unfortunately, no one
had a currach sturdy enough to go out into the deep sea and bring back fish. The following year,
the blight was back. All the crops were lost, and the stench of the rotting mess of potatoes
spread over the entire country. For the first time, the villagers stopped sharing what they had for
they had next to nothing, now. When the shellfish and the livestock and the grain was all gone,
they ate seaweed. When they could no longer get the seaweed, they began to eat grass.
Flora was weeping openly. "That's why their mouths are green."
"Aye, that's right, mam. The grass doesn't really fill us up, y'see, but the little ones--they
eat it and eat it, hopin it will."
"Tomas, my cousin said he wrote and asked something before he passed out," Quentin
began tentatively.
"Oh, aye," Tomas answered seriously. "I knew that he did. He was tryin to write to you,
I think. He wanted to send Liam and Maura to ye, he did, hopin to spare them the worst of it.
He got a reply back from someone else in your family. We didn't know where you'd gone."
"Do you know who wrote back?"
"The great lady of the house, Brendan said. Said she didn't care to hear from any of them
again and not to bother, pretty please. Brendan clenched his fist and said if he could talk to her,
he'd say 'go n-ithe an cat thu is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat.'" He smiled gently. "That means,
' May the cat eat you, and may the cat be eaten by the devil.'"
Desmond burst out with nervous laughter, and even Flora and Quentin smiled at the image
of Edith being eaten by a cat. As for the cat being eaten by devil, well, hadn't that happened in
a way with her?
During the night, Brendan began raving out of his head, calling to Aileen. One of the
women in the yard was alarmed. "I heard the banshee wailing last night," she whispered to Flora.
"Sure, and she was wailing Brendan's name." Normally eager to develop storylines around the
supernatural, Flora merely looked at the woman. She was too overwhelmed to see the story
possibilities in anything. Whether there had been a banshee or not, Brendan died toward dawn.
"We don't mostly like to touch 'em when there's been fever," the woman explained,
reluctant to help prepare any of the bodies for burial.
"Well, I don't care! They'll be washed and buried decently!" Flora declared. In the end,
the women in the yard ventured in to help.
"I've got to keep this boy alive," Quentin said despairingly to old Tomas. "For Brendan
and Aileen's sakes, I've got to keep him alive and keep him with me."
After burying the dead, the Collinses settled into the cottage to tend Liam and bring him
back to health. They shared their stores with the other cousins. After a week, the supplies were
seriously depleted. "Quentin, I'm gonna havta go back and see if I can't get more money and buy
food," said Desmond. "We won't be able to go on with what we've got much longer, and we
have no money left to buy anything."
"As if there was any food here to buy," Quentin said bitterly.
"Yeah, well, we're not gonna give up on these villagers. They're our family," Desmond
replied stoutly. They both realized Liam's eyes were open and he was looking at them.
The boy had been regaining his strength slowly. He had to be at least twelve or maybe
even thirteen years old, but he was no bigger than an eight-year-old. "Liam, how are you
feeling?" Quentin asked, trying to sound cheerful. The boy merely looked at him. Quentin
knew he couldn't even begin to guess what the boy must have been feeling.
Just then, there was a commotion in the yard. A woman's voice rang out. "Away
with ye, then! We've not enough for ourselves, let alone a stranger!"
Quentin and Desmond went out into the yard. The various cousins surrounded a stooped,
emaciated man with straw-like hair. His clothes hung loosely on his body, and his hands looked
like skeletal claws protruding from the sleeves of his torn coat. "I smelled the fire," the man
explained pleadingly. "I've had naught to eat in days, not even the grass."
"An so it's been for us 'til the Americans came and saved us," the woman answered. "An
we have none left to share, I tell you. They're kin to us and you're not. You can't be takin the
food out of the mouths of us and our babes!"
The scarecrow hung his head in despair, and turned to go.
"Wait!" Quentin called. The man stopped and turned to face him. The family backed
away to allow Quentin to approach the stranger. "Mister, you'll have my share. I understand the
feelings of these people, but I'm not hungry and it's no hardship to me to give you what I have."
Desmond came to Quentin's side. "I'll give you whatever I've got to eat, too, mister. I
was just tellin my cousin how I was gonna go back and try and bring more supplies back
anyhow."
The scarecrow looked at the woman who'd been speaking earlier. She looked shamed.
"Go on with you, then. It's what we woulda done before, had we not been so hungry ourselves."
Around the makeshift campfire outside, the scarecrow sat between Quentin and Desmond
and enjoyed his meal. He listened while Quentin poured out his frustration. "I know I probably
couldn't have saved everyone, no one could do that. But if I'd been there when the letter came,
I would've done something! God knows, I'd've brought as many over as I could. I should have
known better than to suppose Edith would do anything to help anyone over here! If I could see
her, I'd curse her and every one of her progeny, evil witch!"
"There, there," the stranger said soothingly. "Remember, my son, that it was Paul who
wrote: 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.'" A peculiar look came over his face. He took
Quentin's hand in one of his bony hands and Desmond's in the other. "I was hungry and the least
of these. Yet you fed me. Bail o Dhia is Muire duit." Then he vanished. Quentin and Desmond
leapt up.
Several family members were already crossing themselves. "A far gorta!" came several
voices at once.
Quentin turned to the cousin closest to him. "A what? What did you say he was? What
did he say?"
The woman crossed herself again, white to the lips. "A far gorta. A man of hunger--a
spirit. I've not seen one ever, but I've heard they've grown from this famine. They wander the
country, searching and starving, like us. If you give your food freely and unselfishly, you'll be
rewarded with good luck. And that's the God's truth, as well as I know it."
"Good luck, eh? Well, what did he just say?"
"He said: 'The blessing of God and Mary on you.'" She seemed to be in awe of Quentin
and Desmond.
Quentin's hand still tingled from the far gorta's touch. He couldn't find a single thing to
say.
******************************************************************************

"What good luck?" Quentin demanded. "My grand Uncle Quentin and his wife went
down on a ship returning from the Orient. I never heard that there was any baby!"
"Och, so why would you believe your family history about that? Had it been so truthful
up to then?" the boggart retorted scornfully. "I'll give you the truth of it, boy. Sure an your
Uncle Quentin did never drown. It's just he never returned to Collinsport. An him an your Aunt
Daphne had more than just the one child. They kept Liam and treated him like a true son even
when they had three of their own, an another girl to boot."
"Oh, yeah? And why is this such a big secret? What kind of a creature did HE turn out
to be? The Loch Ness Monster?"
"Ye're an idiot, ya are!" shouted the boggart. "Mind your manners! Your uncle was a
verra brave man and y'should be ashamed of yerself to speak of him so! Well, I'll tell you then!
Your uncle and your cousin Desmond and their families, they stayed in Ireland. They bought
the laird's manor, they did. Yes, your original home, dolt! An what's more'n that, they joined
the underground. Ah, brave boys they was, brave boys. An I could tell you tales about them.
No, there was no curse and no shame on them two good men. It was like a heavenly light fell
on them and theirs and they did never have no bad luck atall. Y'have kin there, still--descendants
of them two and Liam. They call call themselves Cullane, their birth name. They done right
well for the people all right. They were there when the Republic was born. Your kin to this day
is tryin ta get the whole country united!"
"Oh," Quentin muttered. What could he say? "I don't know what to say. I didn't know,
and I'm shocked. But I don't understand why you were trying to pour paint on my portrait. And
why have you been playing tricks on Carolyn and Willie?"
"Ah, an now we come to the end of it," said the boggart, his face returning to its normal
shade of pink. "I heard about what happened, of course, from the far gorta. He come to me in
a vision, like. He told me the way of it and how it happened that your 'Grandmama' had given
the back of her hand to the family. He told me what it twas yer uncle said. And, sonny, you'll
be rememberin that I told you in the beginnin that we boggarts serve of our own free will--unless
we're offended. And, boy, I was grievously offended. I no more wanted to serve the likes of
you than I wanted to turn Orange meself. An I wearied of bein any service atall. Me and
Aisling were in agreement on that, and we decided we would dedicate ourselves to causin as
much devilment and torment as we could for Edith an hers."
"So you've been here blowing out candles and hiding the silver ever since?" Quentin
asked, a little smirk on his lips.
"Aye, amongst other things." The boggart looked at Quentin slyly. "Like providin keys
and scissors an such."
Quentin felt himself go cold. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I think y'know, me boy," the boggart answered nastily. "There was one who was
locked up fer no good reason in your time, puir sweet soul that she was. An she, given a key,
had Aisling whisperin in her ear about where to find the room--your girlie's room!"
Quentin relived the scene in a burst of white rage. Jenny's murder, Magda's curse--all on
account of....he squeezed his fist shut as tightly as he could.
"OH, NO YOU DON'T!" roared the boggart. Quentin felt white-hot heat in his hand, and
his eyes flew open wide at the billowing white clouds pouring out from between his fingers. To
his utter shock and dismay, the burly body of Count Petofi stood before him. As Quentin began
to back away, the Count moved forward swiftly, grabbing Quentin's collar with one hand to pull
him closer. The other hand, encased in the black glove, swept up and back. Then it swung
forward. The Count slapped Quentin fully across the face. The blow sent Quentin stumbling
backward over a table and onto the floor.
As Quentin rose to his hands and knees, he heard a beastly roar. Looking up, he saw that
Petofi had become a massive beast--a huge wolf on two legs with slavering jaws. The beast
approached Quentin, who screamed in real terror and scuttled under the table. Petofi began
laughing. From under the table, Quentin watched the beast become gray dust which swirled and
then seemingly was sucked under the floorboards, as if by a vacuum cleaner. Quentin felt his
body trembling with shock. When he was finally able to move, he gingerly touched the drying
blood on his chin, which had spilled from his already healing, split lip.
******************************************************************************

As Quentin explained the whole story, Barnabas' expression changed from one of frank
astonishment to deep solemnity. He sat now, seriously regarding Quentin, his hands steepled
together at his chin. Julia twisted her necklace chain in an old habit usually reserved for her
gloves.
Finally, Barnabas said, "It all sounds so incredible. Father never said anything at all about any
family in Ireland."
Julia said, "It doesn't surprise me." She thought that this secret heritage was one
explanation for Barnabas' frequent spells of deep melancholia. Barnabas gave her a long,
searching look, arching an eyebrow but said nothing.
Quentin, who had long chafed under the knowing looks exchanged between the two old
friends, asked irritably, "Why doesn't it?"
Julia, recovering quickly and thinking rapidly, responded in a measured, even tone of
voice. "Well, I am not surprised that Joshua would keep it a secret. He had a reason to, during
the Revolutionary War. In terms of explaining what had happened to you, Barnabas, I believe
your father was trying to protect you by saying that you went to England instead of Ireland."
"Indeed? How so?"
"Think about it, Barnabas. Had Joshua Collins said you'd gone to Ireland, what would
have happened if a family member went there looking for you? He would find your family, yes,
but no trace of you. How would your father have explained that? Or suppose Quentin HAD
gone to Ireland instead of England, trying to look up the family. He'd find people who'd never
heard of you. "
"Then I really would've tried to run the sword through you," said Quentin. "What a
surprise that would have been for us both."
"Well, be that as it may, what are we to do about this creature? There must be a way to
get rid of it. Julia, there must be some information about boggarts in the library or in that net
of yours."
Julia laughed. "Well, I'm sure it would be easier to find out more about the boggart in
'that net of mine.'" Julia maintained her office in her old room at Collinwood. There were some
comforts she was not willing to do without, and technology was one of them.
The three friends retired to her room, and Julia seated herself before her computer.
Although her fingers were becoming twisted with arthritis, they moved nimbly over the keys.
Quentin watched over Julia's shoulder; he also enjoyed modern technology. Barnabas, however,
remained uninterested and even a little suspicious of it. He paced nervously behind them.
"Look, here, Barnabas, I found something in the folklore FAQ file. " Barnabas stopped pacing
as Julia began to read. "'It is generally rather difficult to distinguish the bogle from the
boggart...'"
"Julia, wait," Barnabas interrupted. Julia and Quentin looked up and around at him,
puzzled. Barnabas pointed to the wall and shook his head. "Let me read it with you." He
leaned over Julia's shoulder, peering at the screen.
"Do you need your glasses?" Julia asked as Barnabas squinted and shifted uncomfortably.
"It's just that the print is so small on that thing," Barnabas complained. Julia clicked the
mouse and there was a whirring sound as her printer activated. She took the sheet off the screen
and handed it to her old friend, who held the document out at arm's length to read it. Julia and
Quentin read silently from the screen. The information stated that, in addition to what Fearghal
had told Quentin, boggarts were generally believed to be "dim-witted" and could possibly be
tricked into leaving. Otherwise, the boggart would stay until he was good and ready to leave.
"Well," said Barnabas finally. "It certainly seems as if it should be relatively easy to rid
Collinwood of this creature."
"I don't know," Quentin said doubtfully. "I don't think this is entirely accurate. I don't
think it'll be that easy."
Barnabas arched his eyebrows and walked away, hands behind his back. "It's
understandable that you would be frightened of this creature now, Quentin."
"It's not just that," Quentin protested. "Look, maybe we'd better discuss this more
OUTSIDE, if you know what I mean." Barnabas nodded in agreement.

Later, Quentin returned to his room still filled with doubts about how they could get rid
of the boggart. He felt that Barnabas still didn't understand, but then Barnabas always was
stubborn and unwillingly to listen once his mind was made up. Quentin had to smile at that.
Another stereotype explained? He went into his room and flicked on the light--and nearly
jumped right out of his skin.
The boggart sat on the turntable of his old gramophone, calmly watching him. "Scared
ya now, did I?"
"I thought you hid in the walls all the time. To what do I owe this honor?" Quentin said,
trying to sound light and sardonic.
"I toldja before. It's weary I am of all this."
The boggart seemed resigned and sad, not at all inclined to turn into a ravenous werewolf.
"I didn't know," Quentin ventured. "I didn't know about those people in Ireland. It wasn't my
fault."
"Those people are yer family."
"Yes, I know that now. And I'm sorry about what Grandmama didn't do. I don't know
what I would've done. I would like to think I'd have been like my great uncle, but I don't know.
It wasn't fair to blame me for something I didn't do."
"Och, but who said curses are ever fair? Your own cousin can talk to you about that, an
you know well yerself."
Quentin sat down heavily on his bed. The memories came flooding back, washing him
over with his guilt. "I never meant to hurt her," he said. "I only wanted to stop her from
injuring Beth. Why did you do it? If you hadn't given her the key or the weapon, I never would
have killed her. I wouldn't be cursed myself."
The boggart sighed heavily. "Were I human, me boy, I'd be feeling the weight of the guilt
you do. Lad, I never wanted to see that puir girl kilt neither. I felt sorry for her, I did. An it
was just supposed to be a wee bit of mischief, d'ye see? Worst I thought was maybe she'd do
a job on you like that there, what's the name of that young lady? Lorena Bobbitt? What sliced
her husband's (here the boggart made a sweeping motion with his hand) prized possession off?"
Quentin's eyes grew as round as saucers, and his mouth fell open. Then he threw his head
back and laughed until the tears came.
"Here, now, wot's this, ye fool?" the boggart said, grinning. He even chuckled.
"Where is my Uncle Quentin now? Did that blessing make him immortal?" Quentin
asked finally, wiping his eyes.
"Immortal? A blessing, is it? I'd think you of all people'd know better, me boy."
"So he died?" Quentin felt inexplicably deeply disappointed.
"Aye, he did. 'Twas 1900, I think. He'd had a full life, he did. He and his Daphne. She
only survived him by about six months, I think. All their bairns were full growed and had many
bairns of their own."
"I wish I'd known him. I didn't have anyone like him or Desmond in my life, you know.
My parents didn't live very long after I was born. I don't remember them at all, and I don't even
know very much about them. Grandmama and Edward and Judith practically raised Carl and
me."
"We-lll, ye dinna miss much. Yer father was not so different from that snotty big brother
o'yours. Difference was, he was a fallin down drunk. Mortified yer Grandmama and yer mam."
"Oh, that's comforting," said Quentin. "I never felt like anyone but Grandmama loved
me, except maybe Carl. I wonder what I would've been like if I'd known my Uncle Quentin?"
The boggart took note of the sadness and regret in Quentin's voice.
"Well, ye're still a babe in the life of an immortal. You could go to Ireland, meet your family.
Y'might meet yer old uncle. Stranger things have happened here, have they not?"
Quentin looked thoughtful. Then he became aware of his surroundings and the fact that
the boggart was still sitting on the turntable, musing thoughtfully too. Quentin cleared his throat.
"That would be nice. I'd like to see what Ireland looks like. You talked about how green it was.
It's not so green here, is it? Except for the holly trees."
The boggart's eyes brightened. "Holly trees? And have ye holly trees about now?"
"Yes, didn't you know? Have you really been inside here all these years?"
"We-ell, except for all them years in what ye call 'The Auld House'..."
"And you said you were tired of sitting in here. You'd like to go out and see the hollies
while they're still green, wouldn't you?" Quentin asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his
voice. It was working! The boggart was hooked!
"Aye, I would that," Fearghal agreed in a dreamy voice.
"And you could stay out the whole time that the hollies are green, couldn't you?" Quentin
urged softly.
"Aye, that I could," Fearghal agreed. He stood up. Quentin sat up a little apprehensively
but the boggart made no threatening move. "And would ye be opening the window for me now,
boy?" Quentin stood up and moved to the window, unlatching it and opening it wide. For once,
it wasn't raining, and warm sunshine streamed into the room. "Oh, aye, to see the hollies again,
" whispered the boggart. He looked at Quentin. "I'll be thankin you for the idea, sonny, and I'll
be sayin slan agat to ye."
"What's that mean?" asked Quentin and almost cursed himself for asking a question that
might distract the boggart.
"It means good bye, but 'tis said to one who is remainin. Fear not, boy, I'll be seein you
again." With that, Fearghal dissolved into a thin stream of wispy, foggy material and floated
delicately out the window.
Quentin shut the window and latched it. "I think not, my friend. Julia and Barnabas were
right. You fell for it, and now you won't be able to get back in. Not ever." He found that he
had mixed feelings, some of which was a sense of regret. He wouldn't see the strange little
creature again.
However, as Quentin prepared to walk down the path to the Old House, he heard
Fearghal's voice from the holly tree. "Dim-witted, am I? I think not, and ye may tell yer
wiseacre friends I said so! Ye didn't fool me, ye young fool! And didn't I be tellin you I was
tired of it all? Did ye not see that on yon net screen?"
Quentin gulped in surprise. Now he remembered--the folklore had also mentioned that
a boggart would leave of his own free will "once he tired of his sport." Fearghal was laughing
and chortling with glee at the expression on Quentin's face. "Hah! Hah! Didn't know I could
READ, did ye now? And it's goodbye I'll be sayin to ye again for I and my Aisling are back off
to home! Keep well, Quentin Collins! Watch your posts!" Like the Cheshire cat, the boggart
faded away until only his smile was left, and then that went up in a puff of smoke, too.
******************************************************************************

The seasons were about to change again when Quentin received an e-mail from one
Eamonn Cullane. "Greetings," it read, "I have met an interesting friend of yours and have
learned that we are related. Fergus believes you would accept an invitation to visit. I would be
delighted to have you come and stay with us for awhile. If you are not occupied at the moment,
would you care to come and meet your family in Sligo? By the way, it may interest you to know
that there is a Quentin Cullane here, too, named for a mutual ancestor of ours. We hope you will
reply back soon."
Quentin stared at the screen thoughtfully. Well, why not? It was about time for him to
move on again, anyway, before the questions began about his ever-youthful appearance. He only
returned now to Collinsport because of Barnabas and Julia anyway. They would understand he
had to go; they always had. Soon, there'd be no reason to return at all. And what had Fearghal
(Fergus now, Quentin supposed) said anyway? Perhaps he would even meet his uncle somehow.
Stranger things HAD happened.
****************************************************************************

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