The Pub Across the Pond by Mary Carter

Author:Mary Carter [Carter, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2011-08-29T04:00:00+00:00

After her third full hour of obsessing, it dawned on Carlene that maybe she could learn something about her property at the Ballybeog Museum. She stood in front of the museum door and said a silent prayer before entering. Her positive thinking must have worked—the door swung wide open. She paused in the entry. “Hello?” She heard the ticking of a clock, the squeak of floorboards. It smelled musty and somewhat lemony. She stepped in. It was a one-room museum, two hundred square feet of memorabilia. Carlene felt as if she were standing in her grandmother’s attic. She was alone in a space cramped with objects she could actually pick up and touch, if she so dared. This was what museums should be, not standing in line with a hundred seventh graders to look at something behind six-inch Plexiglas. Most museums left Carlene feeling overwhelmed, overstimulated, and totally useless because she knew all the facts, names, and dates she had just jammed into her brain would disappear the minute she stepped into sunlight. But here, she could breathe; here, she might even be able to remember.

Carlene stood irresolute, unsure what do first. Commandeering the center of the room, and the only thing under glass, was a model of the town. On the walls were photographs, mostly black and white, of Ballybeog throughout the years: IRA soldiers, businessmen, schoolchildren, and families. Shelves ran the circumference of the room, littered with artifacts: coins; bomb casings; keys to who-knew-what (keys to the castle?); old liquor bottles untouched, the alcohol coagulating inside the dusty bottles; medallions; small, defective toys, such as a china doll with long blond hair but only one blue eye.

The room also contained a small desk. Shoved in the farthest right corner, it was cluttered with books and papers, and a chair. On the chair sat a purse. Someone was around and would be back any second. They were the trusting sort, either that or they were convinced no one would come in while they were gone. It must be nice to live in a place where you felt free to leave your purse open on the chair. Carlene was disappointed. Being alone in here made her feel like she was trespassing, and she was hoping to find someone around to tell her if they knew anything about underground structures in Ireland. She had to be careful; she didn’t want anyone to know she’d found one on her property. It was her delicious secret for now.

Unfortunately, the folks in Ballybeog seemed to have an insatiable curiosity for every move she made. She would have to proceed carefully with the chitchat, or “chin-wagging,” as Riley called it. She stepped over to the model of the town and read the placard. BALLYBEOG, 1592. She loved the miniature replica of the walled town, showing all four original “gates” or entrances. A brochure next to the model provided the basic information she already knew: The town was invaded by the Normans, the Vikings, Cromwell, and the Black and Tans.

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