My Irish Lass

Well, it's Saturday and I'm sitting down to write this week's story.  An Irish theme, I think.

The weather here has turned beautiful and stepping outside is heavenly.  The warm sunshine feels good and the smell of orange blossoms permeates the air.  I love it right now. The good news is I'm not allergic to orange blossoms but once they are all in bloom it can become a little cloying.  Until then, I enjoy.

Hope you all have a good day.  

“Faith and Begorrah,” Paddy Quinn said to his deputy, Jack Murphy, in his best Irish Brogue.  “Friday is St. Patty’s Day and you know what that means.”

“Yeah, well I supposed half the town will be at O’Reilly’s getting drunk and the other half will be over at Galway Bridge looking for leprechauns and ghosties.”

“Yeah, Really.  I guess it’s what we should expect living in a town called Emerald Isle.”

“It’s all because of that damn book that lady wrote thirty years ago.  It was fiction but try telling that to anyone and they look at you with a weathered eye.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“That’s right you’ve been here less than a year.  Well, this gal came to Emerald Isle because she was writing a book about the Irish influence in America.  Since three-quarters of our population is of Irish descent, and the other quarter doesn’t count, Emerald Isle was the setting for her book.  It was supposed to be a historical reference but it turned into gibberish.  Well, I say gibberish, but some people believe her cockamamie story and it practically incites a riot every year at Galway Bridge.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, her story went that she was doing her research and sitting out on the grass near the bridge. The sun was beginning to set and, according to her, a golden beam came down from the sky and left some gold coins scattered in the area it touched. Leprechauns came along and collected them putting them into the pots they were carrying.  When they spied her, they gave her a few of the coins.  Now you know this is malarkey, but she swore it to be true and provided some old Irish golden coins as proof.  The story spread like wildfire and soon people from far and near were coming to Emerald Isle to see if they too would get some gold coins.  It got so bad that we had to put a halt to the traffic – the bridge was too old to support that much traffic on a daily basis. 

The ferry couldn’t handle the traffic either, so they doubled their rates and soon the hordes quit coming.  But, each year on St. Patrick’s Day the story sees the light of day and people come and inundate Emerald Isle looking for their pot of gold.  Most just sit quietly and hope for a leprechaun sighting but others have a little too much ale and cause havoc.”

“A couple of years ago, some of the local townsfolk decided to join in the fun.  The wee ones dressed as leprechauns and others as ghosties.  They would camp out by the bridge and soon as night fell, out they would come, supposedly granting wishes and casting spells but never throwing any coins.  There weren’t too many complaints from the tourists, after all, what were they going to complain about.  However, each year the crowd grew because The Irisher, the local paper, reminds everybody and the throngs appear. That particular year, it was a rowdy bunch out from Boston.  They began teasing the leprechauns and fondling the ghosties. It wasn’t until one of the ghosties punched one of the hecklers in the nose. She landed a good punch because blood started spurting like a fountain and minutes later there was a brouhaha that ended up with a couple of trips to the clinic and a couple of people spent the night in jail. Since then I always hire extra help from the mainland for that day.

“So, I guess asking for the day off is out of the question?

“You got that right, why?”

“Well, my wife wanted to do something with me on that day.  She said it’s a surprise, but I guess I’ll have to let her down.”

"I bet money it was something to do with the nonsense that goes on our on Galway Bridge."

“You may be right.  When you were talking about the first punch, you said she.  Was it someone I know.”

“Yup, it was and is.  I'll tell you something I’d like to forget and I think she would too.  It was my wife that landed that fateful punch.  When all was said and done that night, I came home and took her over my knee.  After a couple of good swats, the wailing in our bedroom was louder than any wails down at the bridge."

“You didn’t?”

“I did.  It always worked with me and with her too because she hasn’t been back.  As a matter of fact, she makes it a point to be off island on St. Patty’s Day.”

St. Patrick’s day came and the usual throngs of people appeared on Emerald Isle. The weather was horrible, cold and rainy and once night came, most people got up and started leaving.  Suddenly a white horse came riding out of the midst carrying someone dressed all in white and throwing out coins from a golden kettle. The folks on the ground didn’t know it was those only those chocolate coins wrapped in gold so people began fighting with each other trying to get the coins.  A couple of the tourists ended up in the river and had to be fished out.  It was a mess, but finally the officers were able to get things under control.

Paddy Quinn was writing his report when a call came in.  It was from Mitch McIntyre saying one of his horses had been stolen. Paddy took down the particulars and set out an APB for the stolen horse. On his way out to Mitch’s place, he spotted a horse running in the field.  Sure enough it was Mitch’s horse and he was heading for the barn.  That probably meant that whoever has stolen him was in trouble.  He turned on the car’s spotlight and started heading in the direction from where the horse had come.

About ¾ of a mile away, he saw someone, limping and dragging something behind them. He didn’t want to take a chance on getting his patrol car stuck in the muddy field, so he started walking toward the person.  As he got closer, we recognized what was being dragged.  It was the ‘golden’ kettle.  Here was his horse thief and the one who started the ruckus earlier by the antics. 

The problem was, the closer he got, the more he realized he knew who was walking toward him. Limp and all, there was no mistaking his wife.  Tall and proud, her white garment was wet and clingy and he recognized all her delicious curves. Her red hair was hanging in wet tendril’s around her face and he could tell she was fighting made by her stance.

“Megan, what the hell were you thinking? Stealing a horse and creating havoc?”

“I didn’t steal the horse.  I left Mitch a note telling him I was borrowing his horse.”

“And what about the rest?”

There was no answer.

“Megan, I asked you a question?”

“I thought it would be fun, I didn’t think it would get out of hand.” She haughtily responded.

“You’re out of hand.  You not only lied to me, you know how I feel about this kind of nonsense. Don’t you think as the wife of one of the law officers of this town, you should be a little more circumspect?” 

With that, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder and strode back to the cruiser.

He deposited her in the passenger seat, checked in with the station, called off the APB and signed out with the station for the night.

When they arrived at the house, he picked her out of the car and carried her into the house and upstairs to their bedroom.  He sat her down on the bed and went to turn on the shower.  Coming back to her, she looked almost angelic sitting there.  He looked at her ankle that was swollen to twice it’s size. He probed and prodded and she dealt with it in silence.  Determining it was sprained, he carried her into the shower and propped her up on the shower bench, adjusting the heads so the water cascaded down her body. He undressed and joined her, washing and rinsing her hair before washing the rest of her. When he was done, he toweled her off and laid her back down on the bed. 

He went back to the bathroom and got the ace bandage, but stopped at the closet on his way back to her.

“So do you have anything to say?”

He was greeted with silence.  “Well, before I ice and wrap your ankle, we’re going to have a little discussion.  The last time we had this discussion I spanked you with my hand.  It worked for a while, at least I think it did, but I’m trying something a little different this time.  In honor of St. Patrick’s, I’m going to do to you what my da used to do to me when I was naughty. 

He pulled up his da’s thick Irish leather belt. His father had told him it had belonged in the family for generations.  “As I recall, I used to do a little jig while I was getting my butt busted.  I don’t imagine you want to be doing that on that ankle, so why don’t you turn over on your belly and lay down across the bed.”

She still had not said a word since he’d picked her up.  “Are you ready?”

He warmed her bottom up a bit with his hand before he applied the belt.  The red stripe against her pale skin made him wince and he held back on the next swing.  He landed a stripe right below the first.  He rubbed the stripes before landing two more in rapid succession.  She still had not made a sound of reacted to the whipping. 

His final swing of the belt was on her sit spot and that got a reaction.  He put down the belt and rubbed some of the sting away.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Finally, she speaks.  Can I get you anything.”

“Yeah, how about of belt of that damn Irish Whiskey you're so fond of,  ice and not just for my ankle but for my ass too.”

He laughed.  “that’s my Irish lass,” he said as he kissed her head and went to do her bidding.

An Irish theme it is. I hope you enjoyed this little diddy in honor or St. Patrick's Day.  My dad's side of the family is all Irish so we always celebrated the day - often with a party at one of my gran's sisters. It was great fun but like everything, things started changing as folks moved on and away, including me. What are you doing for the day?

See you later for more Aimless Ramblings.