Since the day I left Ireland, 43 years ago, I’ve been followed by a ghost….

In the beginning, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. And to be honest with you, it still

isn’t…. It first started with sounds. I thought it might have been a voice. Then, I felt there was something happening in the shadows around me, particularly at night. I’d seem to sense movement; then, when I’d turn, it would quickly disappear. And now, I feel my eyes being strangely drawn to certain words in books and newspapers — as if some one is steering my eyes….

In 1942, I was a seventeen year old colleen with flaming red hair — but a truly innocent seventeen, mind you! I lived in the Irish country town of Ballynacarrigy, less than a hundred miles west of Dublin. My parents were rigid devil-conscious Catholics, and highly protective of my sister, Nellie, and me. So sheltered we were, that we’d never even been treated to a simple discussion of the “birds and the bees.” We often felt that mother and father hoped we’d accept ourselves as the product of immaculate conception.

We we’re innocent, but yet, even more curious!

Nellie and I, at least, knew we were different from boys. When mother bathed

our younger brother, Terence, we’d sometimes look through the crack in the door. Our imagination filled in the blanks.

So, it was with this barest of introduction into womanhood that I traveled to the West Meath County Fair with my family during June of that year.

The fair was a jumble of midway games, scurrying children, and color — oh, the glorious color! I can see it swirling before my eyes even to this day. And everyone seemed to be bouncing to the Dublin Piper band that strutted up and down the midway. It was such a happy time! Oh, and the fair wasn’t just for young people, you know. Mother brought her jellies for judging, and father helped in the cattle competitions.

After we settled the wagon, Nellie and I were allowed to wander from our parents and explore the fair ourselves.

We toured the midway from end to end and back again until we came upon a crowd of giggling children. They were circled around the most beautiful boy my eyes had ever seen. He was charming the group with finger magic, making coins disappear, and all that. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was just grand.

I said, “Nellie, you go on by yourself and I’ll catch up.” Of course, I never did. The boy was charming me right along with those children. Every once in a while, he’d stare at me for a few seconds with those dark, smiling eyes and wink…. I felt chills down to my toes!

His hair was very dark, too, almost black, and clumps of it fell across his forehead. He was all of six foot, and wore a gray blouse. It looked overflowing, probably his father’s. And then those tight overalls. Grand, he was! Did I say that already? If I close my eyes, I can see him as clearly now as I did then.

Just as I began to feel foolish, having stood there for such a long time, a few of his friends spirited him off to the huge wooden pavilion where the dance contest was about to begin. I followed at a distance, like a faithful puppy dog, and sat behind a post near the edge of the dance floor.

He was announced by the master as Timmy Halloran. He stood very proudly. All the girls were staring with their mouths open. He was gorgeous. His partner was his sister, Shannon.

The competition was keen, but it was clear to me that the way the two of them fairly glided across the floor was something special. They won the blue ribbon easily. The crowd cheered wildly.

By then, it was late afternoon. Timmy and his family began to mount their wagons, and finally left in the direction of Lough Iron.

I followed them, on foot, for a distance, desperately not wanting to lose sight of him. But soon, they disappeared over the crest of Grady Hill. I remember feeling a bit fainty when I thought that I may never see him again.

On our way home, Nellie was particularly fascinated with the way I jabbered on about him. She laughed and said, “Maybe I’ll tell mother that you’ve become a woman.” I gave her a “please don’t” glance. She never betrayed me.

But then on a Friday night in mid-July, there was a turnabout dance on the town common to celebrate the strawberry harvest. You know, that’s where the girls ask the boys to dance. Nellie and I went, but not without a head full of “what not-to’s” from Mum.

Well, we were having the usual gab with the girls when a wagon suddenly turned into the square. My heart almost jumped from my body as Timmy climbed over the side. He looked especially elegant. All the girls were lusting after him. even Nellie, I didn’t think I had a chance with him. Oh, I was pretty, though. No, I was quite pretty, but….

Well, when the fiddler struck up, I could hardly contain myself. Maybe the devil did get hold me… I don’t know. But I stood up, walked boldly across the common, held out my hand to Timmy and asked him, “Would you like to dance?” Don’t ask me how I did it, but I did…. Nellie was aghast, and the other girls were fuming!

He reached for my hand and said, “Yes, I would.” Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. For a short time, we were the only ones dancing. I wasn’t as skilled as his sister, but I could hold my own with the other girls.

We danced all night. No one else laid a hand on him. And, by the time the music ended, I was hopelessly in love with him. Sure, I would have to admit that maybe I didn’t know what love was then, but I knew I was feeling something. And I surely hoped it wasn’t something coming from the devil!

We talked endlessly between the sets. I couldn’t shut up and neither could he. He was 18, and a shepherd…. Now, don’t laugh! Shepherding, at that time, was a quite honorable profession. He had chattel. You know, property. He owned over a hundred sheep. He told me that each time they were sheared, he brought home good money. He also tended his flock over the hills and meadows near the lake on land his parents gave him. So, he had a certain future!

He held my hand for the longest time before he went home…. Then just before he climbed into his wagon, he kissed my cheek. Oh, my, it was a tender kiss. I remember …. My face was burning.

As the wagon moved away, he waved to me until he disappeared into the night. The last thing he said was that, although shepherding was an everyday responsibility, he’d find a way for us to be together again. And as he said that, he squeezed my hand.

I was still floating as Nellie and I made our way home. I could tell that Nellie was a wee bit jealous. She seemed to take some satisfaction in pointing out that Timmy wasn’t Catholic. Don’t ask me how she found out but, like a good sister, she never shared that secret with the rest of the family.

Two days later, I finished my chores in record time and set off for town. I told mother I’d be visiting friends. Actually, I was on a quest and I fully realized that girls shouldn’t be making first moves, but I wanted to see Tim, and I didn’t care how it appeared.

I skipped through the common and quickly out the lake road. I must have walked

for a half hour before climbing a ridge that overlooked the beautiful green valley by the lake. The hills that rose up from the valley were criss-crossed with stone fences and hedgerows. For a moment, it took my breath away.

Then, there in the center of a large meadow at the foot of the hill was a patch of white, moving ever so slowly amid the green. Timmy told me he was the only herder in the lake area, so it had to be him.

As I began to move down the hillside, I was surprised how nimbly I climbed over the stone fences and pushed through the hedgerows. I snagged my cotton dress on the branches a few times. I hoped I wouldn’t have to explain that to Mum when I got home.

As I came closer, I saw that black hair flying in the breeze, and waved. Timmy waved back and ran up the slope to meet me. When he reached me, he swept me into his arms and lifted me off the ground. Then he kissed my lips — the first time I’d kissed any boy that way.

I stayed with him all day. Most of the time we sat together on the straw-covered dirt floor of an old shed. He told me all about sheepherding, probably more than I needed to know. He also read me his favorite poems by Yeats from a well worn book he carried in his long coat.

He would jump up every few minutes to gather his flock and recover the strays. Then, ten or fifteen minutes later, he’d return to the shed.

Before I left for home that day, we kissed and held each other for the longest time. And despite the smell of sheep all over his clothes, which might tickle Mum’s nostrils, I left, determined to visit him as much as I could that summer. And, of course, I was concerned how long mother would go along with my little white lies.

So, that little shed became a home away from home for me much of that summer. There were many afternoons I’d return to Ballynacarrigy with straw on my clothes no matter how hard I brushed myself along the way.

Then, one day just before school started, I scrambled down the hillside once again. Timmy told me I was like a sure-footed goat the way I worked my way down into the valley. A sure-footed goat was not exactly the way I wanted to appear to him, but he said it so nicely, all I could do was smile.

Well, anyway, he rushed to meet me, as always, and held me in his arms, neither of us wanting to let go, like we were in danger of falling off the earth. He finally whispered in my ear, “I love you, Ellen.” He said it over and over. I told him I loved him too, and we fell to the ground laughing with joy. The tall grass hid us from the world, and we made love together, wonderful love. You know what I mean. Neither of us had ever done such a thing before, but somehow, we fumbled through it.

There was a chill in the air but, occasionally, the sun would peek through and warm our bodies. We hardly noticed! Surely, my mother would have seen Lucifer at work on that hillside, but, at the time, I thought that something as wonderful as what I felt for Timmy, and he for me, could certainly not have been evil.

Suddenly the sky began to blacken in the east. Timmy got himself together and scurried back to the sheep which were beginning to become skittish. He worked furiously, together with his black and white sheltie, to clear the flock into a pen before the squall hit. In the meantime, I rushed back to the shed to stay dry. The rain had just begun to pelt down spitting up dust from the dry ground. Finally, Timmy returned to the hut, shaking the wetness from his hair and coat. I was huddled in the corner of the straw floor trying to keep warm.

He looked down at me, out of breath, and told me again that he loved me. He knelt beside me, and tilted my face toward his. We kissed — and before the storm passed, we’d made love again, despite the leaky roof that sprayed rain drops all over us. I hadn’t the slightest idea as to how I would explain the condition of my clothes to Mum. Nevertheless, as I climbed the hillside to return home that day, I wanted everyone, the whole world, to know about Timmy and me. Of course, no one would. I’d even kept my secret from Nellie.

The very next day, I hurried out to the valley again to tell Timmy that I wanted others to know about us, especially Nellie and my parents. My little white lies, although probably acceptable to the elves, were beginning to make me feel guilty.

That morning the sheep were clustered close to the road. But someone else was tending the herd. I walked up to the man, older than Timmy, and asked him where Timmy was. He turned slowly and, with tears streaming down his face, he said, “Timmy was killed last night in an accident up by the house.”

“No, that can’t be true, sir,” I said, shaking.

“It’s true, Ma’am,” he answered. “Timmy’s me younger brother. Somehow, one of our wagons got loose and rolled down the hill out of control back at the barns. It hit Timmy and crushed him. He died during the night.” The man sobbed unashamedly through his words.

He was very matter of fact with me. I understood. He knew nothing about Timmy and me, either…. but It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck me. My knees buckled. I had to hold on to the fence. I turned and quickly scrambled up the hill, falling, picking myself up, and falling again. I began running blindly down the dusty road toward town. I cried all the way home.

Two days later, I attended Timmy’s funeral at the Multyfarnum Abbey. I finally told Nellie and my parents everything. At first Mum was upset with me for not being truthful with her, and Nellie allowed that she knew something was going on and didn’t make a fuss. But we proved, once again, that we were a close family because Mum, Dad, and Nellie comforted me and we all made the trip to the Abbey.

The pastor asked if any in the church wanted to share their reflections about Timmy, and many did. I wanted to tell everyone how I felt, but I bit my tongue and remained quiet.

He was buried afterwards in a country cemetery behind the abbey. I stood alone with my family at the fringe of the mourners in a misty rain. My heart was truly broken. Meghan, it may not have been fair to your father, but, to this day, I still haven’t gotten over Tim. I don’t think I ever will.

After the ceremony at the grave, a young boy, also one of Timmy’s brothers, walked back to me.

“You Ellen?” he asked.

I said, “Yes, I am,” and he handed me a small envelope. I opened it, shielding it

from the rain. In it, I found a ragged piece of paper.

It was a poem. I never learned who wrote it, but I still remember the words:

There is a lady sweet and kind,

Was never face so pleased my mind;

I did but see her passing by,

And yet I love her till I die.

The boy told me that Timmy had torn it from his book just before he died and told him, “Give it to Ellen, the beautiful girl with the red hair.”

Nellie left for America less than a year later, and I followed within six months. I couldn’t bear being so close to Timmy, but yet so far.

We settled in Dennis, Massachusetts, a small bayside town in the north center of Cape Cod. Nellie and I lived with my Uncle Pat’s family. They had plenty of room. Uncle Pat owned an Irish pub in Harwich, where Nellie and I both took jobs.

I had moved thousands of miles from Ireland, yet I still walked the Dennis beaches each morning, and, every once in a while, I thought I heard Timmy calling me, “Ellen … Ellen.”

Then one morning some months later, all of us made the almost obligatory pilgrimage to the Barnstable County Fair in Falmouth, at the western end of the Cape. When we arrived, Nellie went off with some of the children while I set out by myself.

Just like the old days, I was naturally drawn to the baking, jam, jelly, and flower exhibits. I recalled how Mum and Grammy, usually reserved women, would become fiercely competitive whenever they entered their creations into those contests that usually highlight the Irish country fairs. I could picture them flitting among the tasters to see how they were faring.

I gradually moved to the livestock areas which had always been my father’s bailiwick. He was one of the most respected animal judges in all of West Meath. I finally worked my way from the cattle stalls to the sheep pens.

I stopped at one of the pens and was looking over some small lambs — tiny balls of wool they were. Just then, the young farm hand at the far side of the pen turned slowly and greeted me with a slight wave of his hand. But when he doffed his hat out of courtesy, a shock of jet-black hair fell across his forehead and his dark eyes smiled, and he winked at me.