And he was gone.

Two weeks later, I descended into Shannon International Airport in the pale morning light. I relaxed as soon as we left the plane, as soon as the flood of Americans dispersed and the accents started to be tinged with what was, stateside, referred to as an Irish brogue. I was finally in Ireland.

Linguistically—the fourth branch of American anthropology, as delineated by Franz Boas who Had Opinions—Ireland was all torn up. There was no one Irish English accent, no “brogue” stretching from one end of the island to the other. In Ulster, they spoke similarly to the Scots, while suburban Dublin could sound almost American, and Dublin working class was non-rhotic, dropping their “r” just like in Boston. And the accent of County Cork, where we were heading, was supposed to be unusually musical.

In any case, Cosmo just rated Irish the hottest accent for the third year in a row.

I grabbed my bag and coffee and a bus south. The driver loaded my luggage into storage and smiled broadly. “Looking for your roots?”

I didn’t mind playing tourist when I was a tourist. I’d tramped around the Vatican in sneakers, and carried my camera in one hand and map in the other as I walked through Prague. But if I worked or lived somewhere, I wanted to blend in enough that people stopped me for directions. “No. I’m here to—study.”

The driver didn’t pause in throwing my luggage into the storage. “That so?”

“I guess.”

The ride to Dundoran was long and meandering but I didn’t mind, since the landscape absorbed my attention. Ireland was green; green like Oz, like emeralds and soda bottles and moss. A dozen shades of green, and to my eyes, parched by the yellow straw grasses of the Andes and the cement towers of New York, it was bliss. I leaned my forehead against the window, charting the rolling fields dotted with sheep. Sheep. I loved sheep.

I loved llamas more, but you couldn’t have everything.

The bus carried me into Cork which, much like my home, was both a city and a province. Ten thousand years ago, glaciers covered Ireland and much of northwestern Europe. When they retreated, they deposited rich soils all over Cork, making the land perfect for farming. Forests of elm and birch, hazel and alder, used to blanket the ridges and valleys of the land, but that had been cleared and replaced by bogs and peatland. Three large rivers wound through the country, forming fens and marshes. Ragged bays and peninsulas created the wild coastline: Beara, Sheep’s Head, Mizen’s Head.

I took another bus from Cork to the coastal village of Dundoran. The inn was located in the Dundoran civil parish, a mile and a half from the village and ten miles from the farm Kilkarten, well positioned for hill walking tourists and sprawling views of fields and sea. A peaked olive green roof rose over warm sandstone walls. Tall dormer alcoves curved out on either side of the main door, topped by stone balconies and more rounded windows. Baskets of flowers spilled out around the entrance, pink daises and white carnations and red tulips. Tall bright bushes backed the house, while pines cast shade over the parking lot.

The inn was the only one in the vicinity, since Dundoran wasn’t precisely a tourist location. If I’d been hiring out-of-town workers for the season, I might have tried to find a house to rent and set it up dormitory style, or set up camp near the land we were digging. But considering I’d planned to hire locals, they could have driven or taken the bus themselves, and the rates here were reasonable enough that I’d booked rooms for Jeremy and me, along with the two Irish archaeologists we’d planned to work with.

Now it was no longer relevant. I’d do what research I could, but after I’d walked over the public land and looked at the local records, I might go to Dublin and finish out the summer near Jeremy, though he’d also talked about coming down here to look at the land and local records, depending on whether I thought it worthwhile.

Inside the inn, warm sunlight slid across wooden floorboards. Across the room, a woman smiled at me from behind the counter. She reminded me of a sparrow—small and gray and fast. “Hello there, dear. You must be Natalie.”

I smiled back and rolled my suitcase over until I stood right before her. “That’s me. Are you Eileen?”

“That’s me. We’re all so excited about the dig.”

“Oh.” Taken aback, I struggled for words. “Um, well, uh, it might be delayed.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“There’s some problems with—the land. Land rights. It’s a thing.”

If she noticed my incompetence at speaking, she had too much kindness to raise a brow. “But Patrick agreed to it.”

I bobbed my head. “That’s true. But now that he’s passed, there are some—complications.”

“Hmm.” Eileen sounded like a bird whirling. “I’m sure that can be cleared right up by talking to the new O’Connors. They’re staying here, you know.”

Oh, how I knew. “Is that so?”

Wait. They? “Are there multiple O’Connors?”

Eileen smiled as she handed my key card over. “Oh, yes. Mrs. O’Connor and her three children.” She leaned forward. “You should speak to the son. He’s a tall drink of water.”

I flushed. “Oh. Great. That’s just...swell.”

Oh my God, my ability to talk should be revoked. Swell? Who said swell anymore? Next I’d be all “gee whiz!” and calling things “nifty.”

Eileen smiled, and her eyes gleamed. “His family is renting one of the cottages in the back, but he’s staying on your floor. The room across from you, if I’m correct.”

“Wow. Cool. Awesome.” I snapped my mouth shut before my superlatives reached the stars, and jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “I think I’m going to bring my stuff up now. Nice to meet you.”

My room was on the third floor, at the end of a long hallway with a faded green rug on the wooden floorboards. As promised, my door faced another painted pale green. The number 12 was stenciled on in white, while a wooden decal of a dove was attached at eye-level. I stared at it, somewhat unnerved, and then certainty filled me that Mike would step out any second. I fumbled with my keys and the fussy lock, and then let out a sigh of relief when I’d closed the door behind me.

A huge westward facing window allowed light to fill the room, and I flipped on the overhead chandelier as well. The room was large with a slanted roof over the king size bed, which had been covered in pillows and a pink and white and green comforter. Faded wallpaper showcased a print of twining orange blooms and green stems.

I rolled my bag over to the closet and then collapsed spread-eagle on the bed.

Okay. Should I knock on Mike’s door so he wasn’t surprised to run into me? After all, the first thing I needed to do was call on his aunt and express my condolences. I’d also needed to find out if her late husband had any records or stories about the land that I hadn’t heard, and which locals would be good to talk to. I should check the town hall and church records too.

And now that I was here, it seemed possible Mike would at least let me walk over the land. I could do a preliminary digging report, in case he ever did change his mind.

In case he... But it wasn’t just him, was it?

I wondered what the other O’Connors would be like.

I showered and unpacked. My stomach tightened as I put away the work clothes I probably wouldn’t get a chance to wear, but couldn’t bring myself to leave behind. Work pants and shirts, along with hiking boots, hats, gloves, sweatshirts and a windbreaker. In Ecuador, it could start off freezing in the morning and be down to tank top weather midday. I didn’t think Ireland would be so drastic. Instead, I pictured wet. Lots of wet. If I actually had been digging, another pair of boots would’ve been in order.