Irish Eyes – Chapter Four

 

Cael emerged from her bedroom wearing a St. Louis Cardinals t-shirt from their 2006 World Championship. It was two or three sizes too big for her body and draped over her like a blanket, its lower hem reaching her knees. The loose grey cotton shorts she had on were nearly covered by the length of the shirt. Her hair looked no better than it had when she changed, although she did wash stains off her cheeks. She looked like she had just woken up from a night of lovemaking and had thrown on her boyfriend’s clothes.

In the light of a fully-lit room, Gwen was even more amazed at her child’s appearance. Years of wondering what having a daughter would have been like came to their unintended fruition right before her eyes. Cael was absolutely beautiful, at least through Gwen’s mom-lenses. Even in her unkempt state, she could tell there was potential for Cael to be quite the pretty girl. She was taller than Gwen by a couple of inches, which had to make the newly christened female feel a lot better about her diminished height. Her legs looked absolutely great and wistfulness clouded Gwen’s mind as she tried to imagine Cael in a skirt and heels. Part of her knew that it was too soon to be having these fantasies. She still had a frightened and confused child on her hands that needed her support above all else, but after twenty years of perpetrating a lie she felt she was entitled to daydream about the possibility that this would bring her and Cael closer together.

“This is certainly going to take some getting used to, isn’t it?” Gwen remarked.

“I don’t want to get used to it, Mom. I want to find out why I’m like this so that I can change back. I have three months until I have to report to training camp.” Cael had a grimace on her face as she spoke. She wanted to get back to her life as soon as possible and at the moment and she assumed that her mother’s story would give her the information she needed to undo the transformation.

Gwen patted the cushion next to her. She needed her child close to her if she was going to relive one of her biggest regrets in life. Cael seemed to have other plans though and took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, leaving quite the buffer between herself and her mother.

“Is there anything you need before I start? Like most meaningful stories, this is going to be a long one.”

“I’m fine, Mom, or at least as good as I’m going to get with a pair of ripe mangoes strapped to my chest.” Cael replied in a snarky tone.

“I’m just making sure you’re comfortable is all. Now, I suppose the best place to usually start a story is the beginning, but I think I’ll start it with something a little more impactful. On October 21, 1987 you were born Caitlyn Rose Foley, a beautiful baby girl that took after my side of the family. It was both the happiest and saddest day of my life. I remember holding you in my arms, wrapped in a tiny pink blanket and thinking that you were the most perfect little girl I had ever seen.” Gwen recounted.

She reached back to the end table and produced Cael’s baby book. It was a hard bound tome of all of Cael’s finest moments in his lifetime. The cover was blue with the words “Our Special Baby Boy” printed on it as well as a picture of Cael in a baseball uniform around the age of seven. Gwen opened the book to the first page, where a mock birth certificate sat with two little footprints on it. It was not an official document, but more the kind that you often see framed or in baby books like this particular one. Cael had seen it before, but her mother instead pulled away the static cling plastic and then carefully lifted it, cracking the decades old dried rubber cement. There was another folded page and a picture beneath it. These Gwen showed to her daughter.

Cael looked at the picture first. It was of her mother holding a child in her arms, wrapped in a knitted pink blanket. The baby in the picture did bear a strong resemblance to some of the other baby pictures that Cael had seen of herself.

“The nurse took it.” She explained, even though she did not explain why it was necessary for her to do so.

Cael then unfolded the piece of paper, which was an official record of birth. It listed St. Canard’s Hospital as her place of birth with the name Caitlyn Rose Foley in the appropriate spot. Sure enough, Michael and Gwen Foley were listed as the parents and it was dated October 21^st, eleven days before the day Cael knew as her birthday. Cael looked at her mother as if to ask if this was real. At the same time, she was thinking about the name Caitlyn. Would her friends call her Cait? Why did her mother choose such an odd variation instead of the more traditional spelling? She was not sure it fit her, but then again, there was no chance of her going by that name anyway.

“Yes, that’s your real birth certificate. I just couldn’t throw it away. I knew I would have to tell you someday, I just hoped that it would be under better circumstances.” She lamented.

“I don’t think there is any such thing as circumstances in which it is a good time to tell your son that he was born a girl. I doubt I would have believed you anyway if it wasn’t for the life-threatening pain and transformation.”

“Oh dear, was it that painful? I didn’t even ask. I feel horrible.”

“Yes, it was horrible. I’m still sore from it, but it’s no worse than after a long, hard day’s practice now. I’d rather not think about it though. Can we get back to the story?”

Gwen conceded, even more worried about Cael than she had been. She was not sure that telling this story was the best thing to do right now. She should have taken the time to ask her own questions before delving into the past.

“There was another moment on that same day that stuck out to me—your father’s reaction. Now, to explain that, we do have to go back to the beginning, June of that same year. It was the day that we were able to first determine your sex on the ultrasound. Of course, we had been hoping for a boy all along. More specifically, your father had been praying for a boy. At this point, I just assumed that he wanted a son because it is every father’s dream to have a son. It’s like a ritual to pass on their manhood to the next generation, but I learned otherwise on that day.” Gwen explained.

Cael was listening, but at the same time thumbing through the early pictures in the book to compare them to the picture of her as a baby girl. Gwen pointed to another one of the early pictures, indicating that she was a girl in that one too.

“He became distant when he heard the news that you were going to be a girl, completely withdrew from me and spent hours on the phone with relatives back in Ireland. All the while, he told me not to tell anyone what gender you were. Then, one day, he came to me, sat me down and explained. He told me that we needed our first born to be a son no matter what, that we could not allow you to be female.” She continued. “Your father comes from a very ancient family, one with very strange beliefs, customs and superstitions by modern standards. One of these superstitions was that in order for the family to prosper, every first born child in the family must be a son. He recounted tales of those that broke the chain and how their lives were riddled with bad luck. He talked about branches of the family that suffered mightily during the Great Potato Famine and his Great Uncle that lost everything during the Dust Bowl. They all had first-born daughters. He said that we would be dooming ourselves to poverty if we allowed you to remain female.”

Cael’s attention fully returned to her mother’s story as she swung her legs up onto the couch, sitting so that her feet were on the middle cushion with her knees raised up and bent slightly. At the moment, her father sounded about as illogical as those that drank the Kool-Aid at Jonestown.

“Naturally, I thought all the stories were irrational. Those were major catastrophes in the histories of Ireland and the United States, and had nothing to do with some distant member of the family that happened to have a baby girl. He countered by saying that there were other members of the family that survived through the same eras without any problems and that they all had first born sons. This should have been a red flag, but I loved your father dearly and did not want to risk losing him over his family’s beliefs. Besides, he said that he had a solution to the problem.”

A solution was exactly what Cael was looking for and she reasoned that whatever had worked for her father so many years ago would probably work just as well now. Her eagerness to hear what it was showed as she perked up and leaned in closer.

“He asked me if I believed in faery folk. Rather than say something condescending, I just nodded a reply. There was this creature, he said, called a Púca. It was a shapeshifter that guarded over the harvest and would grant any request or answer any question on November Day, the day you now consider your birthday. He said that you can always tell a Púca by its black hair and glowing yellow eyes.” She stopped for dramatic effect and to give Cael the brief second she needed to make the connection to the Mr. Rourke she met at the hospital.

It took less than that second. Cael’s thoughts drifted back to that day, the fear that she felt being around that man, how he seemed to know her intimately. The dots were starting to connect, but there were still many questions to be answered as well as new ones that arose. If you had to ask the creature for help on November 1^st, did that mean that she would be stuck this way for a whole year? She hoped that was not the case, despite what both her mother and Mr. Rourke had told her.

“You were due the first week in November, so I’m sure you can surmise what the plan was. I placated him at the time, but secretly I still thought it all to be a bit of nonsense and that once he saw his baby girl that all of his superstitions would fly right out the window. Months went by and that brings us back to the day you were born and his reaction when he first saw you.” Gwen’s tone shifted to a more somber one. “It was not what I had hoped for. He refused to even hold you until you were free of anything identifying you as a girl. He confiscated the pink blankets the hospital wrapped you in and replaced them with a color more befitting a boy. There was no ifs, ands or buts with him. You were going to be a boy even if it killed him. I was not allowed to tell anybody that you were a girl when family came to visit. Other than your birth certificate and that one picture, there was to be no mention of you ever being a girl. Even those things I had to hide from him when the time came.”

Cael’s expression seemed to drift toward something more dark and serious as well. She was already starting to play out scenarios in her head without hearing the rest of the story. At the very least, her father was instrumental in changing her in the first place. She was not sure whether she should revere him for giving her the life she had before or curse him for removing the possibility that she could have led a perfectly ordinary existence. She was leaning towards the former currently, but only because she loathed the body she was trapped in. She could not imagine an entire life as a girl.

“I knew that your father’s brainsick scheme would rear its ugly head again from that single moment. I pleaded your case, finally telling him that the entire thing was nothing but a bunch of hooey, but he was insistent. Once again, I was worried that I was going to lose him and with a newborn to take care of, I could not risk that. Before the week was up, the three of us were on a plane to Ireland.”

 

***

 

The Golden Vale stretched out across the countryside. The undulating green pastures, hills and mountains made it look like a haven of beauty and tranquility during most parts of the year, but the cold and rainy weather of late October just made Gwen Foley miserable. The small truck that she was now a passenger in had seen better days and she was sure that it was going to break down at any moment. She clutched little Caitlyn tightly to her chest. Her baby was barely a week old and had spent the entirety of that week nestled in Gwen’s arms, wrapped in a light blue blanket as they waited in airports and train stations. It all led up to this moment, being trapped in a rickety old truck on a gravel road. Caitlyn was sleeping like an angel, having the benefit of her mother’s warmth and the thick knitted blanket that she was bundled in. Gwen wanted nothing more than for this trip to be over with. The sooner they reached Southfork, the sooner she could be done with this unpleasantness.

Michael Foley was no help to his young wife. The auburn haired man was preoccupied with driving the small truck that he had borrowed from a family friend in Tipperary. The windshield wipers barely worked, so even with the rain at a light drizzle, it took all his focus to keep his eyes on the road. Gwen’s moaning was just getting on his nerves. It was not his fault that she did not take him up on his suggestion to wear something heavy and woolen. He knew better, having spent quite a few winters in the Galtees at his aunt’s house. Nothing was a good substitute for the encompassing warmth of a good sweater. He made it a point to pack a few of them before they left the United States and was already reaping the benefits of that decision.

“Why are we in this rust bucket?” Gwen asked, frustrated. “Nothing works in it and it feels like the wheels are going to fall off at any second. I know it’s a gravel road, but this is ridiculous.”

“This was all that Barry could spare for us. Maybe if you had a little more faith in your husband, we would have had more money saved for this trip.” Michael shot back.

The two of them had been arguing at a nearly constant clip since Caitlyn’s birth. Michael was sure that he was doing what was best for their family, but Gwen doubted that he was completely in control of his mental faculties—faery folk, indeed. She no longer was sure that their marriage would survive this insane quest of his. The idea that some mythical creature could grant his wish for their daughter to be a son was borderline dangerous. She wondered if all married couples had problems this early on. They were a far cry from the naïve young couple they had been when they met. Michael’s accent won her over the moment she met him, but he was no longer a graduate student working on his law degree and she was no longer a perky undergrad. If nothing else, she knew that other couples did not have magical beasts come between them.

“Still, you should have thought about this a little more before you just accepted it. We could have called a cab or something. Caitlyn is barely a week old. Do you know how sick she’ll get if this car breaks down and we get stuck out in the cold?”

“Cael will be fine.” Michael announced, making sure to reinforce the masculine name he had chosen for his child. “We’ll be at Aunt Brigid’s very soon. Now if you could, please stop bitching about every little thing.”

Silence took over for the rest of the trip. Gwen was sick of her husband and regretted ever leaving her home country in the first place. She could have been at home showing off her baby girl to her friends and family, doting attention on her and adjusting to life as a new mother rather than this. She was ready to see it through to its conclusion however just to be able to say “I told you so” when all was said and done.

When they went over the next horizon, Gwen finally saw their destination. Southfork was barely a town at all. It was more of a smattering of traditional stone buildings built around a fork in the road. It was mainly there to service all the surrounding farms, providing the necessities that they could not get themselves. The little hub had a few stores, a service station and of course a pub. There were also a few cottages in and around the tiny town. Like the other buildings they were made of stone and were exactly what Gwen had expected for a rural European town. There was an overgrown tree right in front whose leaves were falling off and a door that she was right in thinking was made of real wood instead of the cheap stuff that they used in construction back home. A familiar face waited for them out front.

She had only met Michael’s Uncle Aidan once, at their wedding. He was what Gwen imagined that Michael would look like when he was older. He was built strongly and much like Michael wore a heavy wool turtleneck sweater. His hair was closer to the shade of red that she naturally associated the Irish people with, though it was beginning to fade in color as he got older. He took a long drag of his cigarette and then flicked it to the pavement as they stopped in front of the stone cottage. Gwen double checked Caitlyn’s wrappings to make sure she was not too exposed to the weather and then stepped out to greet the man.

“This must be the little ill omen then.” He spoke, taking one look at the sleeping little girl and poking a fat finger at her.

“Hello to you too, Aidan.” Gwen grunted, taking a step away from the man as she waited for her husband.

“Good to see you again, my boy.” Aidan slapped Michael on the back and lifted a pair of suitcases out of the back of the truck. “You know, me and Brigid miss having you around. It was a sad day when you moved to the States.”

“Thanks Uncle Aidan. I miss this place too. There’s no substitute for some good country air. Where is Aunt Brigid anyway?” He asked, receiving a glare from Gwen, who was not amused at the way dear Uncle Aidan was treating her so far. She never got the impression that he had such a low opinion of her before. She suspected that she was being blamed for giving birth to a girl.

“She’s inside. Has a nice stew on the stove and some warm bread baking in the oven. Thought you two could use some warming up after your ride over.”

“That sounds absolutely brilliant.” Michael stated enthusiastically. He always did like Aunt Brigid’s stew and had not had a good bowl of it in ages. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful, Gwen?”

“Yes, just peachy.” Her sour tone was reflected in her face. “Can we please go inside now?”

Aidan whispered something to Michael, which was met with uproarious laughter from both men. So far, this was not what she imagined when Michael told her tales of growing up. Michael was nearly thirty now though, so perhaps things had changed since he left to go to college in America. Then again, maybe you had to be Irish to understand the way that Aidan acted.

The inside of the cottage was cozy. Gwen was instantly hit with the smell of bread baking when Aidan opened the door. It was enough to lift the glum, if only for a short period of time. The warmth invited her in and drew her toward the aroma that no person could resist. Her cheeks flushed when she realized she was practically drooling. Brigid did not seem to notice though. She cheerfully smiled at Gwen with her plump rosy cheeks and her mousy brown hair. She was the exact opposite of Aidan, which made them quite the couple. Short and stout with round little spectacles on her face and always cheerful, that was Brigid.

“Here, let me take the wee one, Gwen, dear. You take a seat by the oven and warm yourself up with a bowl. I hope you brought your appetite.” Brigid took Caitlyn and Gwen put up little fight before settling herself down at the kitchen table. “She’s a little darling, isn’t she? Takes after her mother too, I see. What are you calling her?”

“Caitlyn Rose, and yeah, there’s very little of Michael in her right now, but then again, he’s not too interested in her either. He refuses to call her anything other than Cael.” Gwen took a big spoonful of meat and potatoes, shoveling it into her mouth like she had not eaten in months. The stew soothed her nerves and warmed her body as it traveled down her throat. “I’m a bit worried about how he’ll treat her after this doesn’t pan out.”

“Don’t you worry yourself none over Michael Foley, dear. He’s got a good heart and would come around eventually. Men will be men. Sometimes you just have to let them find out that they’re wrong for themselves for them to learn.” Brigid tickled Caitlyn’s chin and the child responded with a cute little yawn and squeak. “However, I would not be so quick to deride Michael’s beliefs and call them nonsense.”

“Oh come on, Brigid, don’t tell me you believe in faery folk and family curses.” Gwen stopped with her spoon an inch away from her face to speak.

“Well, not entirely, no. I believe that we make our own luck in life and that perhaps the superstition part of it is a bit silly, but there are many things in this world that are not easy to explain. Some of the things I’ve seen up in these hills certainly seem to match the stories I heard as a child. Whether they’re elves and faery folk or not, I’m not sure, but I would prepare yourself for the possibility that they are real.” Brigid rocked Caitlyn back and forth in her arms, smiling down at the child with a bit of longing. “I’ve never been able to have children of my own, so the Foley family curse never affected me. Maybe you should start thinking about it though. Are you ready to give up your daughter to keep your husband happy and would you love Caitlyn any less if she were a boy? These are the questions you should be asking yourself.”

“I don’t know. It still sounds a bit s—”

“There you are!” Michael walked into the kitchen and right over to his aunt, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “You two weren’t saying anything bad about me, I hope.”

Michael lifted the lid on the pot of stew that still sat warming on the stove. That little whiff put a smile on his face about a mile long and moments later he was joining Gwen at the table to have some bread and stew.

“Oh no, we were just having a bit of girl talk. I was just telling Gwen how beautiful she is. If I looked like that when I was twenty-four I would have had the men around here pounding at my door to get at me. She was going to give me some beauty secrets.” Brigid ably ladled some stew into a bowl for Michael without losing a step with the baby. “You know how lucky you are, right Michael Foley?”

“Indeed I do.” He looked over at Gwen with compassion in his eyes for the first time in a while and squeezed her hand. Gwen suspected that it might be an act, but even the brief moment of respite from their arguing was pleasant.

“Gwen, we set up a crib upstairs from when Michael was a baby. How about you take little Caitlyn upstairs? It could give you a chance to lie down and rest a bit yourself. November Day is still a few days off, but I bet you have a lot of things to think about before then.”

Gwen nodded and took Caitlyn back into her arms, giving Brigid a kiss on the cheek before ascending the stairs to the second floor where the bedrooms were. As she passed through the living room, she saw Aidan stoking the fire. She had nothing to say to him, not after how she treated her and Caitlyn outside. The second floor was more of a balcony that overlooked the floor beneath it, with two small bedrooms and a bathroom.

Between the crib, their suitcases and the full sized bed in their room, there was not much room to move around, but Gwen was still grateful to have a place where she could take a nap. Carefully, she set Caitlyn in the old wooden crib. It was an original, much like the rest of the house and she suspected it was a lot safer and sturdier than the plastic pieces of junk that were recalled every year back home. She was lucky to have such a calm baby. As she reflected on her child’s behavior, the thoughts of subjecting her to some beast she had never heard of before frightened her. Brigid’s warnings did not go unheard and made Gwen just a little bit nervous as she fell onto the mattress. Was there really a chance that all of this was real?

 

***

 

Late evening, November 1^st brought the first reprieve from the cold and rainy weather since the Foleys arrived in Southfork. It was fitting that the miserable conditions let up just in time for their mission into the hills of the Golden Vale. The stars twinkled in the sky in a never-ending sea almost biblical in nature. It may not have been Christmas time, but the night made her think of those following the North Star to reach a lone manger. Such a thing must have happened on a night like this. Their purpose for being out tonight, however, did not seem as noble to her. She and the babe cradled in her arms were hostages of her husband’s machinations. Her thoughts were troubled with the possibility that Michael would react badly when his plans were not fulfilled in the way he intended. There was a real chance that he would take it out on her or Caitlyn, the only one who was completely innocent in all this.

The Foley family was not alone on the clear November night. Michael’s Uncle Aidan and Aunt Brigid both were along on the journey. Aidan stuck with the other men, while Brigid made sure that Gwen was in the right state of mind and that Caitlyn was doing okay. Their posse also included two men that were not part of the family circle. Sloan Cullen led the party. He was a local guide and friend of Aidan’s that supposedly knew where the Púca nested. A resume of hunting for the Loch Ness Monster and tracking down pixies impressed Michael far more than Gwen, however. Instead, it made her even more skeptical of the burly man with the thick, rust-colored beard. The last member of the group was the one that left Gwen with the most questions. Dr. Desmond Healy was by all accounts a rational looking man. He was perhaps only ten years older than herself, young by most standards. He was roguishly handsome with a five o’clock shadow and spoke in a way that made you immediately respect him. Gwen’s first impression had been uniformly positive after he joked with her about not pointing out the irony that he was a doctor named Healy. He was along to confirm that there was nothing wrong with the baby after the so-called procedure was finished as well as to sign off on its birth for legal purposes. This all meant that he believed in folklore just as much as the rest of the pack, which gave Gwen pause.

“This is as far as we can go by by motor vehicle,” Mr. Cullen announced as the group stood under the stars. “From here on out, it will have to be on foot. The hills provide quite an arduous climb at times, so if anybody thinks they can’t handle it, please speak now.”

The four men at the head of the group looked back to the women, who were trailing behind by a few paces. Gwen glared at them for even contemplating leaving her behind.

“Oh no, like Hell am I going to let you four drag my daughter off into the mountains without me. I’m sticking to you like glue to make sure she’s safe.”

Gwen would have no trouble keeping up with the men, who were all carrying heavy backpacks filled with supplies that they might need when they got there. She was happy to have nothing but her child in her arms and even that burden could be shared with Brigid on occasion. Caitlyn was once again as serene as can be. Her deep blue eyes were fixed on the twinkling expanse above her and from Gwen’s perspective, it appeared as if her eyes had kidnapped the stars and were holding them to appear even more magical. She loved the color of Caitlyn’s eyes. Picking up that recessive trait made her stand out even more. Gwen had no doubt that the spark behind Caitlyn’s irises would someday draw in men like a horse to water. That was if her sex was not changed. Gwen laughed a little at the thought that it would. Her momentary relapse in sanity the night before was long gone. She was entirely certain that this trip would just be a waste of time—a long, tiring waste.

As they walked, she noticed that Dr. Healy was constantly checking his watch and after doing so, the other men would give him a quizzical look. The activity continued as the band carefully passed through the hedgerow at the boundary of the first hill. It was overgrown and high enough to reach Gwen’s throat, which made it particularly difficult to pass through. The passageway was barely wide enough for a person her size on all fours to pass under. With Caitlyn in her arms, her movement was hindered enough that the tiny branches scratched against her skin and the tiny needles pricked her. Despite the discomfort of the dried needles, they were fortunate that it was the dying season. These same hedges would have had sparse room for passage during the growing season.

“Is there someplace more important you need to be?” Gwen asked, once on the other side of the hedge.

Aidan grunted disapprovingly as if to bemoan Gwen’s question as being typically female. The doctor however hung back and joined the ladies for the next leg of the trip. He seemed to struggle to walk at a slower pace, his strides nearly taking him away from their side.

“No, I’m just making sure that we will arrive on time. I suppose they have not told you much about the Púca, have they? I’m not surprised. Michael did say that you were a skeptic.”

“I prefer to say that I’m a realist. I’m honestly shocked that somebody of your level of education could believe in a bunch of fairy tales. Then again, Michael should be no exception to that.” She responded, keeping her criticism in a quiet tone of voice.

“Your problem is that you are city folk. You grew up in a big American city where the concept of magic is only found in Disney movies. Out here in the country, in the old country, things are much different. Ireland is the birthplace of magic. At one time or another, we’ve had all manner of beasts, creatures and what not traveling through our land. Some of them have just stuck around longer than others. I myself saw a sylph when I was a child. I found it difficult not to believe when I saw a beautiful woman that consisted of nothing but the breeze. She smiled and waved to me and then was on her merry way. You’ll find that most people out here have similar stories. Whether it be fairies, goblins, elves or the being you Americans associate with our country—the leprechaun—you can bet that somebody here has seen it.”

“That’s all your eyes playing tricks on you. It’s like people making UFOs out of weather balloons. People see what they want to see and rather than rationalize it, they come up with fairy tales.” Gwen could see from the knowing smile on the doctor’s face that she was not getting through to him.

“We’ll see if you’re saying the same thing an hour from now. I’m sure the Púca will make a believer out of you. Bewildering and frightening us normal folk are some of their favorite activities, but perhaps we will not get a show, considering that it is the Púca’s day. Today is the only day of the year where you can guarantee a little civility from them. Let’s just hope that we find one fast. It’s already getting late.” Dr. Healy said as he looked down at his watch again. After a brief second, he left Gwen’s side and rejoined the men.

That must be the reason he keeps checking his watch, Gwen thought. She reasoned that he must have wanted to make sure that they arrived before midnight. In fact, all the men seemed rather concerned by the same thing.

“Pick up the pace. We’re running a little behind.” Sloan called out.

Gwen’s feet shuffled frantically to keep up with the pace that the men now wanted to set. While the land was mostly empty farmland and pastures, eliminating the hardships of an actual mountain or forest, the hills were still steep and soon she found herself short of breath in the cold night’s air. Brigid seemed to have equal difficulty keeping up as she was huffing and puffing like she had not seen a day’s exercise in years before long. Gwen wanted to stop and give the woman a hand, but she waved her off with a smile.

“I’ve still got plenty of energy in this body. Don’t worry about me, I’m not an old woman yet.”

Sloan stopped at the edge of a plowed field with a sparse few cabbages still left in the ground. His hand was held up, indicating that the rest of them should stop too. Were they taking a break? Gwen did not see anything special about this field other than it was the first one she had seen with anything still growing in it. It was the end of the harvest though, so there was nothing strange about empty fields.

“This is it,” Sloan announced. “See how the farmer left a share of the harvest behind? Definitely a clear indication that a Púca lives here. Well, it looks like the tip I received was a good one. Michael, Aidan, I want you two to prepare the offering. If we want to see anything tonight, we need to make sure that we have something to entice it out of hiding.”

The instructions were quickly carried out. The supplies that were so important to bring along turned to be a veritable smörgåsbord of different foods. There was squash, some of Brigid’s homemade bread, carrots, potatoes, a bottle of milk, a nice big slab of raw beef and a pot of rum. Michael laid a sheet out across one of the more barren parts of the field and then he and Aidan began to arrange the foods in a way that resembled a Thanksgiving centerpiece. It certainly looked festive if nothing else.

“I want the rest of you to just sit and wait, but be very aware of what is going on. Remember, the Púca is a shapeshifter. It could appear as any one of us and although the dark hair and glowing yellow eyes would give it away, you should still be careful.” Sloan instructed them.

Waiting, could the night get any more exhilarating? At least they were working on a time limit. If midnight came and went, there was a good chance that they would give up this nonsense and go home. Gwen snuck a peek at Dr. Healy’s watch and gathered a rough estimate of how long the wait would be. Forty-five minutes and then she could go back to the warmth of Brigid’s cottage, have another bowl of her delicious stew and then return to the States where Michael would come to his senses and everything would be normal again. Another of the backpacks was filled with kindling and enough wood to get a campfire going, not that it was necessary with so little time left, but for Caitlyn’s sake, Gwen was glad to have a little bit of warmth going again.

The minutes passed and Gwen found herself daydreaming as the rest of the group told tales of the mythical creatures they thought they had encountered over their lives. She could care less if Sloan Cullen found woodwose tracks in the Highlands, nor did she care that Aidan believed he had encountered a merrow on a rocky shore in his youth. She took a side glance at the bounty of food left for the creature and snickered a little when she saw a black-furred rabbit hunched over the pot of rum, trying to get inside of it. Not only was the sight of a rabbit trying to drink rum funny, but the fact that their plan would be unraveled by a harmless bunny rabbit made her laugh all the harder. She was obviously the first to notice the furry little creature as Sloan was still going on about banshees or some other foolishness. She was quite high on herself as she watched the rabbit continue to plunder the gifts they had left.

Her gawking gaze was soon noticed by someone though. The rabbit turned its tiny head, its whiskers twitching as it stared right back at Gwen. She gasped, jostling Caitlyn in her arms, as it peered at her with its yellow eyes that burned in the night.

“It is impolite to stare, child.” The rabbit spoke in a voice that made the earth move.

Like thunder had just interrupted their picnic, Michael and the others all turned to look at the rabbit as well. They panicked and rushed to their feet as it lost its form and became nothing but a featureless black mass. The change made it look like it had disappeared, but it was soon apparent that it was still there. The mass doubled and then tripled in size and new features formed. The glowing eyes returned on a long face followed by a flowing mane. Four legs sprouted forth, each ending in a heavy hoof. The Púca was playing games with them, now standing before them as a stallion, blue flames erupting from its snout as it stared them down like a bull ready to charge.

“Look out! Don’t let it lift you onto its back! It will take you on a wild ride and drown you in the lake.” Sloan Cullen shouted.

“Preposterous!” The Púca bellowed. “I would do no such thing. You have me confused with a kelpie, my dear man. Besides, on such a glorious day, I am content to eat the feast which you have brought me and of course grant whatever request you might have of me.”

The horse seared the slab of beef with its breath and then took a bit of it, chewing loudly on its meal. Gwen shivered in fear, clutching Caitlyn to her breast. Seeing a horse eat meat like a wolf was about the most unsettling thing she had ever seen. There was no chance she was going to let her daughter anywhere near the beast. The instinct to protect her child outweighed the utter shock she had from the fact that she had been wrong about everything.

“Now, which one of you is here to commission a favor?” The Púca asked, its maw still full of juicy red meat.

Aidan and Sloan both gave Michael a look, urging him on with their eyes, but the man was fear-stricken. None of them wanted to upset the Púca by making him wait for them to gather up their courage, thus Michael received a shove to the back which made him step forward away from the safety of the circle. The man was used to standing before intimidating judges in the courtroom, so this should have been a breeze for him, but he still found himself clearing his throat while the creature stared him down.

“Well, spit it out already.” The Púca demanded.

“Sorry, my name is Michael Foley. My family has lived on these lands for g—”

“Foley… Foley…” The creature mused. “Where have I heard that name before? Would you be related to an Eileen Foley that has her husband spray pesticides on the leftover crops and threatens to call the police on children at Halloween, or are you of the clan Foley that believes their family can only prosper under the guidance of a male heir?”

“The latter one, Sir Púca.”

“Good, because I hate that other woman. I probably would have turned you all into cabbages or eaten your livers if you were related to her.” He said with a wry grin, snorting out another burst of blue flames after. “I suppose this means you’re here to ask me to remove the cloud of misfortune then? I’ve had generations of Foleys visit me and it’s always the same story. I’ll tell you what I’ve told the rest of them. If there really is a curse on your family, I am unable to remove—”

“You misunderstand. We have not come to remove the spell. We just want to circumvent it.” Michael interjected.

“You’re interrupting me now.” The Púca was outraged. “You have no idea how lucky you are that today is my festival day. You humans always amuse me with your requests, so if I am able, I will grant whatever it is you wish. So, enough with the mindless prattling. Get to the heart of the matter.”

Gwen was slinking back further away from the beast by this point in time. If she made a break for it, she could probably be halfway down the hill before anybody noticed she was gone. By that time, midnight might have passed and she could assure that nothing would happen to Caitlyn.

“We have brought my newborn daughter here before you at great expense. As you know, our family believes that the first born must be a male for our family to prosper, so I ask you just that. I want you to give me a son in the form of my daughter. Transform her into a male.” Michael stated, gaining a bit of confidence.

“Oh my, that is an interesting proposition. I can see where that would get around any hex that was placed on your family. I certainly am capable of doing it too.” It spoke before its body balled up into a mass of black goo that shimmered before it started to reform again. This time the effect was changing into a tall crooked man. The black hair and glowing yellow eyes were the same, but otherwise he appeared mostly human, well at least as human as Nosferatu looked.

“Is that the child?” He asked, pointing a long gnarled finger with an overgrown fingernail towards Gwen and Caitlyn. “Bring her to me.”

“No! You can’t have her!” Gwen screamed, surprised by the strength of her own voice.

Her fight or flight instincts were all flight at the moment as she pivoted and prepared to take off down the hill as fast as her legs could carry her. Caitlyn began to sob, spooked by the screaming and being woken up in the middle of her nap. The brief bit of chaos and noise in the proceedings were quickly quaffed by Brigid, who was waiting for Gwen to do exactly this. She put her fat fingers on the terrified woman’s shoulders and looked her straight in the face.

“Remember what I asked you dear. Would you love Caitlyn any less if she was a boy? Look deep in your heart. You know that she will always be your child no matter what her sex is. This is not worth disrupting your marriage over.”

Brigid’s friendly eyes pierced through Gwen’s soul like a million tiny little daggers. There was wisdom in her words, but she was not a mother. How could she understand? Gwen looked around for a sympathetic face. When she came to her husband’s she saw something else that she had not expected. While he did not say a word, his eyes looked forlorn, pleading with Gwen to make the right decision. It was a look of sincerity, one that reminded her that he had the best intentions at heart and would not be doing this if he thought Caitlyn would get hurt. Finally, she looked down at Caitlyn’s scrunched up and tear-filled cheeks. She stared long and hard at her daughter, preparing herself. Caitlyn would always be her child, male or female. She stroked the baby’s cheek and gave a sad smile before popping a pacifier in the girl’s mouth and handing her over to Michael, whose arms were outstretched.

Even with her consent, the trauma of the event nearly crushed her. She rushed into Brigid’s arms and began to sob, staining her cheeks as she watched. It was funny, but this was the first time she had seen Michael hold Caitlyn as if she were actually his daughter and not a stranger. The moment was brief, but it helped Gwen cope with her emotions. She turned away though as her daughter was handed off to the Púca. There were some things that she just did not want to see.

“Have you picked out a name for the child?” The Púca questioned Michael as he cradled Caitlyn in the nook of his bent arm, looking at the peaceful child like a cat watching a caged bird.

“Cael Ryan Foley,” was the answer given.

“A suitable name for an Irish boy, it is indeed. Allow me a bit of room, but do not stray far.”

The Púca’s eyes glowed even brighter than before and he started to mumble in an old tongue. His lips were moving faster than a speed talking auctioneer’s, making the already incoherent language even more difficult to understand. Michael could feel the static energy hanging in the air as he watched. His eyes remained focused on his child still safely nestled in the Púca’s arm, suckling on the rubber tip of her pacifier. Nothing was happening. Michael briefly wondered if perhaps this was all a trick as faery folk were quite fond of practical jokes, but his lapse in trust vanished when tendrils of black ooze flicked out from the creature’s arm and wrapped themselves around Caitlyn.

It was not long before he could no longer see his daughter’s face through the building cocoon. The material that surrounded the child was similar to how the Púca looked when he transformed. A tiny little hand was the last part of Caitlyn that anybody would see. The wrappings ballooned out into a sphere and hovered in front of the Púca, colors swirling in the black surface. Then, just as quickly as it began, the process was over. It would be a relatively painless change compared to what the child would experience years later. The ebony bubble floated over to Michael and then lowered. A portal opened in the side facing him and he could see his child still suckling on the pacifier inside as if nothing had happened. The changes were so subtle that Michael barely noticed. The baby was a bit bigger now, its facial structure having changed in the slightest of ways, leaving only the warm brown eyes as a sign that something happened, at least from what Michael could see.

“Take your child. Cael Foley is born.”

Michael reached inside and pulled out the bundle, cradling Cael in his arms. He looked down at the now baby boy, unsure if anything had really changed. Of course, those doubts were easily removed by a quick peek inside the baby’s diaper. It was small, but it was a penis. There was no question that Caitlyn was now Cael. Michael grinned with joy, proud to hold his son in his arms, so much so that he did not notice the Púca creep closer to him. It extended its grubby fingernail to Michael’s forehead and slashed across the skin. The cut left behind looked like it had been made by a razor blade. It was a thin cut that gushed just enough warm blood to accomplish the job the Púca intended. A single drop splashed onto Cael’s forehead.

“Ow! What was that for?”

The Púca just grinned at him, showing its sickly shark-like yellow teeth.

“Your fates are now tied, Michael Foley. Enjoy the rest of your lives.” With that statement, the Púca vanished as if he had never been there in the first place. His body was literally sucked into the ground so rapidly that Michael was sure that he had performed another magic trick.

“You can look now, Gwen.” Michael announced to his wife, carrying their changed child over to her side so that she could see. “There is someone here that would like to meet you. Say hello to Cael.”

Gwen opened her eyes and gazed into the deep brown eyes of her baby. They were a different color now, but one glance and she knew that Cael belonged to her just as much as Caitlyn ever did. They were, after all, the same child. Celebrating began soon after. It was a joyous occasion and the first time that the group was all on the same page. If only they had bothered to check Dr. Healy’s watch. The time was 12:27, nearly a half hour after midnight.

 

***

 

While her mother’s story was certainly interesting, Cael reacted rather painlessly to it. The tale changed nothing about her situation. She would still be stuck like this for quite some time, a whole year if her mother’s warnings about the Púca were to be believed. That particular point did not sit well with her. She had too much riding on her future to spend a whole year as a woman. There was nothing in the story that would indicate what could happen if someone summoned the Púca on a day other than November 1^st either. At least she knew what she had to do now. The first chance she got, she was determined to fly to Ireland, visit that same farm and change herself back. She had never met Uncle Aidan and Aunt Brigid, but she surmised that they would be more than willing to help her out. Normally it would have been difficult to wrap her mind around a concept such as faery folk, but her mother’s description of the Púca in its human form matched Mr. Rourke’s appearance perfectly. Lingering questions clouded Cael’s mind, however, as the story failed to answer the most important question of all.

“If I had known that things would have turned out like they did, I never would have handed you over, Cael. You could have lived a normal life.” She spoke in a solemn tone. Her hand rested on Cael’s outstretched leg, caressing her smooth skin an an effort to comfort her.

“I had a normal life though, Mom. Twenty-one years of one, in fact.” Cael saw that her mother was in need of consoling just as much as she was. Her questions could wait a little. “Think about it this way: if you had run away and not handed me over, I probably never would have known my father, or I would have been one of those kids that’s bounced between both parents every weekend. Honestly, it seems like you did the best thing for the family. Besides, I loved my childhood and even though this is just me looking back on what I had, I don’t think I would have liked growing up female. Don’t blame yourself for what happened to me. You’ve done everything you could have done to make my life as good as it’s been.”

“You have no idea how much that means to me, Cael.” Gwen wiped the oncoming tears away from her eyes. She was trying to hold them back, but then Cael finally made the move she was hoping for the entire story. Her daughter crawled across the couch and embraced her mother tight. The tears kept coming, happy tears for the first time in days. She knew there would be a lot of strife over the next couple of weeks, but nothing could have been sweeter at the moment. She dabbed her eyes again and then looked to Cael.

“Do you have any questions about what happened? I’m sure I left something out.”

“Oh, I have questions. I think we could fill a novel with the number of questions I have, but I don’t know if you have the answers to them all.” She sat up a little straighter, though stayed by her mother’s side as she prepared to ask. “Let’s start with something simple. You showed me my real birth certificate, so how was I able to get a driver’s license or vote? You didn’t do anything illegal to make me an American citizen, did you?”

“That was one of the reasons that Dr. Healy was there. First of all, to make sure that there were no complications when you changed, but also to sign off on a record of your birth. After that, we had to take you to the American Embassy and get a consular report of birth abroad.” Gwen explained. “We were very careful to make sure that we were always with you when you needed a birth certificate for anything. There would’ve been no good excuse we could have come up with to explain why we’d lied about where you were born, after all.”

Cael thought about what she would ask next. The biggest question of all still loomed, but it was one that she was not sure if her mother could answer. As she contemplated, she received a pleasant surprise. Mask made his way to their side, seeing cuddling going on that he was not involved in. In typical cat fashion, he had to make sure he was part of any important family business, whether it be reading the paper, doing bills, putting up the Christmas decorations, or group cuddles. He leapt up onto the couch and gave the strange girl a quick sniff, his whiskers tickling her leg. Then he unceremoniously hopped right up into Cael’s lap and curled up like he had done thousands of times before. She gave him a little scritch behind the ears, which he appreciated. Cael was happy that her cat still knew who she was, but she could not shake her depression completely.

“This is so hard, Mom. When Dad had his accident, I was doing my best to keep everything inside. I wanted to be strong for you, but then this happened. Now, I can’t keep my emotions in check. I’ve been a girl for what—three or four hours? I know I’m still in shock, but my brain won’t shut off. All throughout your story, all I could do was think about how this is going to impact my life.” Cael exclaimed. “What happens if this is permanent? I really don’t want to be a girl. What happens to my future because of this? I have baseball camp starting in three months. What am I going to tell Brooke or my friends? What is Dad going to think when he wakes up? I don’t want him to reject me. I know I have you and Mask that will always be there for me, but I need my friends, I need my Dad.”

The momentary happiness was gone. Cael had hit on the thing that Gwen had avoided telling her so far, wanting to give her time to grieve for her lost manhood before she gave her more bad news. Her head drooped and her eyes betrayed the fact that there was a feeling of hoplessness creeping into her again.

“Cael…” She paused, building up the courage to say it. “I should have said something earlier, so I don’t know how to say this now, but your father is d—”

“No! He can’t be dead!” Cael shouted, scaring away her furry companion. She was both devastated and angry by the news, the floodgates opening again in her ducts. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? He’s not allowed to die when I’m going through this!”

“Cael, I think you’re going through this because he’s dead. Remember the end of the story when the Púca said that your fate was tied to your father’s? The timing is just about right. I think you started to change the moment he died.” Gwen tried to explain, hoping that the answer to Cael’s biggest question would ease the blow somehow. “I’m so sorry.”

Cael’s eyes were as wide as an owl’s. There was no way she could parse what had happened to her with her father’s death. Her mind was about to break at what that could mean. She was angry with her mother for not telling her the truth sooner, making her listen to that whole story before telling her that her father was dead. In retrospect, the story could have been told later. However, she knew she should have been even angrier with her father. She had a shoulder to place the blame on, but she was not ready to make that leap yet. Her mother tried to hug her and squelch the pain that was becoming so entwined with her very being, but that was not what she wanted. She nearly shoved her mother off her in her attempt to escape. Standing and moving away quickly, toward the hallway.

“Don’t touch me—not now. I need some time to myself to think. Please Mom, I can’t deal with this with you around.”

Gwen’s heart broke as Cael turned her back on her and ran off back to her bedroom.

~ by Kacie Cross on November 20, 2008.