Father Patrick Hannan was lying on the rocks, eyes open and staring up at us while a river of blood flowed from his shattered head to mingle with the water in the rock pools. Kathleen lay lifeless on top of him.
“Oh, no. Kathleen, my little girl!” Irene wailed as one of the policemen grabbed her arm before she too went over the edge. At the sound of her mother’s voice Kathleen stirred and tried to sit up. “Mama?” she called plaintively.
Archie, Terrence, and the policemen were already slithering down the cliff nearby to reach her.
“Careful, sir,” one of the policemen warned as Archie went to scoop her up into his arms. “She may be badly injured. You should wait for a stretcher.”
Archie and Terrence were on their knees beside the little girl.
“Does it hurt you to move, sweetheart?” Archie asked. “Are you badly hurt?”
Kathleen looked at him with wonder. “Papa?” she said.
A makeshift stretcher was brought down from the house and she was carried up to safety. Remarkably she only suffered a cut knee. Her great uncle had broken her fall. And more remarkably, she began speaking again. Hesitantly at first, but it was as if the great weight she had carried for eight years had been taken from her shoulders. And now that the family knew the truth and the terrible injustice that she had suffered, they couldn’t do enough for her.
I found myself alone as they carried Kathleen back to the house. Suddenly I wanted to feel Daniel’s arms around me. I made my way back to the cottage. Daniel was sitting up in the chair in the bedroom. He looked up expectantly when I came in.
“What was all that commotion about? I heard shouting and screaming. What was it?”
“Patrick Hannan. The priest. Kathleen’s memory returned and she recognized him as the man who killed her sister and threw her body over the cliff,” I said.
“The priest. Well I never.” He said. “And to think I missed out on all the excitement. You were there, you lucky devil. Come and sit beside me and tell me all the details.”
His jovial tone was too much for me. “It wasn’t funny,” I retorted angrily. “How can you be so callous? This was a horrible man who killed little girls and…” my voice cracked, “and he grabbed Kathleen and threatened to hurl her over the cliff. Then Kathleen threw herself at him and they both went over.”
And to my embarrassment I burst into tears. Immediately Daniel had enveloped me in his arms. “It’s all right. You’re safe now. I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Are they both dead, Patrick and the little girl?”
“He is. She landed on top of him and he broke her fall. Only justice really for what he did to her sister,” I said, swallowing back my sobs.
“And how did they find out he killed her sister?”
“I did a little investigating of my own. I found out why Brian Hannan invited us here.”
“I might have known,” he said. “You never can leave well enough alone, can you? You get yourself involved and then you wind up in trouble.”
“I solved your case, Daniel Sullivan,” I said as anger replaced tears. “I found that Patrick Hannan had been quietly killing little girls in each of his parishes. Brian Hannan discovered that too, and that was why Patrick had to kill him.”
Daniel took my face in his hands. “Molly, what am I going to do with you?” he asked tenderly. “How can I make you behave like a normal wife and leave investigating to those whose job it is?”
“You weren’t able to do it,” I said. “And Chief Prescott certainly wasn’t up to it. Somebody had to find the truth before poor little Kathleen was blamed for these murders too and shipped off to an insane asylum.”
“So you did it.”
“Yes,” I said, as I realized with pride what I had accomplished. “Yes, I did.”
* * *
So Kathleen was restored to the bosom of her family. At my suggestion Dr. Birnbaum was summoned and suggested that her introduction to normal life be a gradual process. So a trained nurse was hired and Gus volunteered to be with Kathleen during the first difficult weeks. She was very proud of what she had accomplished.
“I was telling Sid that maybe I should go to Vienna and study with Professor Freud, so that I could work with traumatized children,” she said.
“That would be wonderful,” I agreed, “but I’d miss you.”
Gus shook her head. “Sid doesn’t want to go. She says there is so much to be done in New York and she doesn’t really like Austrian food. So I’ll content myself with being Kathleen’s protector and guide.”
“And you will write that paper on the language of twins to read at Vassar,” I reminded her.