A father for Niamh

   Niamh is a young Irish girl, with bright blue eyes, flaming red hair, freckles, and pasty white skin that burns within minutes in direct sunlight. Having just discovered who her father is, her desperate need for counsel has brought her home to a familiar place.

Her late mother, a free spirit, seduced the wrong man, a man she should have left alone. Months later, when she found herself pregnant with Niamh, she did what any desperate, young woman would have done, she confronted the man. The reception he gave her was not what she had hoped for.

Today, Niamh sits on the cold stone steps of the town church, contemplating how difficult it must have been for her mother to confront a man who loved another and tell him that she carried his child. His life and dreams would be torn apart; such is Niamh’s dilemma now.

She wonders if the sky that morning was lit up in crimson hues much like this day? Did her mother battle with herself about the right thing to do? Did she expect the man to leave all he had to be with a young woman, just a girl he probably regretted ever being with?

Ireland, she realizes, is still very much a religious country; the church still influences the Irish people’s everyday life, especially a pregnant teenage girl on her own. This place isn’t a modern city like Dublin or Belfast, but a small town near Donegal on the northwest coast. Everybody here knows one another, and gossip is their entertainment. A story like this is just the spark this town craves to ignite a wildfire of gossip. The old women in the fish market will be talking about this juicy bit for months.

For all her faults, Niamh’s mother did the best she could; she always provided a roof over their heads, food on their table, and love for her precious daughter. A father's love though, she couldn’t fake. She never had answers to the barrage of questions Niamh would pummel her with about her absent father.

Niamh feels lucky to have a longtime friend in the local parish priest, Father Ryan. He is a handsome man but twenty years her senior. He always has the answers to her toughest questions, and though they might not always be what she wants to hear, he always sets her on the right path. During her teenage years, Niamh would frequent the church more often as her mother became increasingly absent. Niamh came to rely on Father Ryan more, possibly putting the young priest in a difficult position.

Shy and reserved, Niamh was a little different from the other children. Growing up in a single-parent family made her the focus of childish scorn, which drove her deeper into her emotional shell. Her peers teased her incessantly until she became so accustomed to it that she barely noticed. Eventually, she became an outcast, branded the weird girl, and then puberty made her tall, slender, and almost lanky, a characteristic that would make her even more of an outcast. Children can be cruel; do they even realize the damage that they do?

She hears the rumble of the priest's motorbike coming from the valley below. The single-track road winds through the hills and valleys, giving the motorcycle enthusiast a great thrill. The sound of his Suzuki’s engine grows ever louder, reverberating off the stone walls and cobbled streets. Soon she can see Father Ryan as he turns the corner and coasts his flashy red motorcycle to a stop in front of the church steps.

“Morning Niamh,” he says pulling off his helmet.

“Good thing you’re bald or you would have helmet hair,” Niamh jokes.

“Sorry to hear about your mother passing, but I’m glad to see you’ve decided to come back home. Dublin is no place for a young girl.”

“This is my home after all, everyone I love lives here,” Niamh says.

“How’s University?” he asks, climbing from his motorcycle.

Niamh stands, and brushes herself off a bit, “Grand.”

“Let me get the place opened and lit up and I will be with you in a minute, okay?”

“Sure thing Father,” she replies.

Father Ryan unlocks the church’s huge wooden doors and walks inside, then reappears a few minutes later as the lights gain momentum and spark to life. Rays of sunlight shine through the open doorways revealing the magnificence of the interior of the old church. The nuns have been busy, Niamh thinks. Everything is polished to perfection.

“Marvelous day isn’t it?” he asks.

“Grand day Father,” she replies.

The priest smiles at Niamh.

“Well, what can I do to help my favorite parishioner?”

“Confession Father,” she says.

He gazes at her quizzically.

“All the way from Dublin for confession, It must be a whopper."

“Well it’s not so much confession; it's more like a question, well it could be a bit of both really Father. I need to...I want to... Oh crap, this is hard! ”

“Don't stress my dear, sit down in the pew, settle yourself, and tell me everything,” he says, leading her into the church.

"This is not a good idea!" Niamh stops to turn and run, shaking.

"Confession is good for the soul, and so will whatever it is you need or want to say," he says laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch just the confidence she needs.

She sits down next to him but the words just won't come, she struggles to say what is on her mind, and finally, she gives up and lowers her tear-streaked face into her hands.

Father Ryan's heart breaks as he watches the young woman he knows so well struggling.

“Just ask me what it is that you want to know, if I can help I will... You know that,” Father

Ryan says gently.

“Really?” she drops her hands and looks up at her friend, her tears stilled for the time being.

“Of course Niamh. Just say whatever is in your heart."

She takes a gulp of confidence and looks him in the eyes, those inviting bright blue eyes.

“Why haven’t you ever told me you were my Father?” she asks.