An Irish Country Christmas Read Free

Barry seemed to have been playing this dueling quotations game with O’Reilly since that day he’d arrived back in July. “One a gazelle,” he repeated, and for a moment his thoughts strayed to another beautiful young woman, but Patricia Spence was in Cambridge, had been there since September studying civil engineering. He wished she wasn’t, but she’d be coming home soon for Christmas. Barry was counting the days.
    His daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of Donal’s voice carrying above the otherwise muted conversations. “Anyway, Willy, there’s your man explaining to Mrs. Murphy that her husband has drowned in a vat of Guinness . . .”
    Donal stood with one arm around the shoulder of his best man, Willy Dunleavy, landlord of the Black Swan pub in Ballybucklebo. It was hard to tell if Willy, who was shifting from foot to foot, was uncomfortable in his morning suit or with Donal’s obviously more than happy state. Donal had originally wanted Seamus Galvin, the man O’Reilly had hurled into the rosebushes, to stand up for him, but Seamus and his wife, Maureen, and their infant son, Barry Fingal, the first baby Barry had delivered in Ballybucklebo, were now in California.
    Barry saw Willy glance at an older couple sitting in chairs at the front of the room, and he guessed they were Julie’s parents down from Rasharkin in County Antrim. By the look of her mother, who now had grey among the gold, Barry could tell where Julie had got her gorgeous hair. Julie’s father was hunched forward, taking short breaths and scowling at his new son-in-law. The Pioneers took their abstinence very seriously. Willy must have noticed. “Wheest now, Donal.” He smiled nervously at the elder MacAteers.
    Oblivious to his friend’s efforts at being tactful, Donal continued in a contrived stage Dublin accent, “ ‘Jasus,’ says Mrs. Murphy. ‘Drownded is it? In Guinness? Did he suffer?’ ”
    “Wheest now, Donal.”
    Unabashed, Donal delivered the punchline. “ ‘Not at all, dear,’ says your man.” Donal took a prolonged count before announcing, “ ‘He got out three times to take a piss.’ ” He guffawed loudly.
    Barry had difficulty controlling his own laughter. He noticed a second older couple sitting beside the first. The man was as buck-toothed as Donal. Barry guessed he was Donal’s da, and judging by the way he was guffawing, he might have had something fortifying in his orange juice too. Beside him the older MacAteer sat more rigidly and, in Barry’s opinion, was feeling, like Queen Victoria, distinctly not amused.
    Ignoring his new father-in-law, Donal bowed to the audience, clearly relishing being the centre of attention. Then he straightened and noticed Barry. He strode over, hiccupped, and said, “How’s about ye, Doc?”
    “Sorry I missed the service, Donal.” Barry shook the outstretched hand.
    “Never worry. Better late than never. I’m sure you’d someone to see to.” He stepped back. “Come on now, you with me,” he hiccupped, “and say hello to Julie.”
    “I’d like that, Donal.”
    Donal giggled. “It’s Missus Donnelly now to you, Doc, so it is.”
    Barry followed a weaving Donal past the others, acknowledging their greetings as he passed. Finally the two men reached where Julie stood. “Julie,” he said, “you’re looking lovely. I’m sorry I missed—”
    “Thank you, Doctor Laverty. No apologies needed.” She smiled at him.
    “Are you not . . .
hic
. . . are not going for to . . .
hic
. . . kiss the bride?” Donal gave Barry a shove, and he found himself just that bit too close to Julie. He laughed and took a step back. “Easy, Donal.”
    “Well, if you’re not going to, I bloody well am.” O’Reilly now stood at Barry’s shoulder. “Come here, me darlin’ girl.” O’Reilly stretched out one big hand, took Julie’s, and pulled her to him. Even in her high heels, the top of her head barely reached the big man’s shoulder. He wrapped her in a bear hug and