L. Beth Campbell
Self-Published Romance Writer

Nothing could have prepared me for the lasting effects of jet lag. I had scoured multiple articles with tips on how to reduce the grogginess, including making gradual changes to my sleeping schedule to accommodate the time change that comes with a transatlantic flight. One would think that sleeping as much as possible on the plane would guarantee enough energy upon landing, but about two hours before we arrived at the destination, I had woken up without being able to get more rest. My saving grace was the pack of dark chocolate-covered espresso beans that Kendrick surprised me with when he offered to help me pack for this trip. Jet lag was a small price to pay to see the beauty that surrounded me.

 

Ireland wasn’t my first choice as the destination for this family vacation. My older sister, whose boyfriend comes from Irish descent, had been studying Irish history and culture and was the first to voice her opinion when our parents asked for our input. My younger brother graduated from high school a few weeks ago and had suggested Rio de Janeiro or somewhere in the Amazon. On the other hand, I had been begging for a trip to Italy for years. Usually, I was told a vacation like that for all five of us wasn’t in the budget. This time though, I was outvoted. I know it wasn’t on purpose, but I couldn’t deny that I hadn’t seen this happen in other situations in my family. It came with the territory of being the middle child. Again though, there wasn’t much I could complain about since most people my age didn’t have parents who would bring them along on free vacations. My friends in their mid-twenties were all spending their money and vacation time on domestic road trips within their limited budgets.

 

Today might have been the first day I felt adjusted to the six-hour time jump between home and here. Ironically, today was also our last full day in Ireland before our flight back to the United States. Per my mother’s request, we’re now outside of Cork to spend what time we have left at the Blarney Castle and Gardens, our last adventure before the train ride back to Dublin.

 

By the time we arrived at the entrance to the grounds, my sister had already memorized the map and planned which routes to take to make the most of our few hours here. Meanwhile, I was trying to make sense of why there’s a Blarney Castle different from the Blarney House. It seemed that the appeal of the castle was more how old it was for something that’s still partially standing—especially old to American tourists living in a country that’s only about 250 years old. “The original Blarney Castle is thought to have been built before 1200,” my sister read from her guidebook before securing it in her backpack.

 

The crunch of gravel underneath our feet combined with the smell of recent rain invigorated my senses. As I had promised to Kendrick, I stopped to take photos every few yards or so, increasing my pace to keep up with my sister after I’d captured the image on my phone. Every night when I had connected to the hotel’s wifi, I sent him a few highlights from our excursions of the day. It’s not nearly as fun as it would have been to experience all this with my best friend, but it’s better than the process was during the days of developed film and disposable cameras. Thanks to advances in technology, I could FaceTime with him or type out a novel-length text to give a summary of the day’s activities.

 

“Keep up, slowpoke,” my sister joked as she decelerated her pace. Hours from now, she would be begging me to share these very photos that delayed her plans to walk all the trails on the grounds. That’s the biggest difference between our personalities though. Kathleen traveled through life at 100 miles per hour in an attempt to experience as much as possible in little time while I preferred to take the time to be intentional and live in the present. To this day, I was still uncertain how our parents could have biologically produced two daughters who were so very opposite.

 

“Why exactly did you want to start on the forest trail route rather than go to the castle first?” I asked her out of curiosity. To me, it would make the most sense to go straight to the castle first and then use the remainder of our time to walk the various other routes and attractions that this estate had to offer.

 

“You’ll see,” she responded as if she were keeping a secret to herself, though I couldn’t imagine anything here that could warrant that type of reaction. Supposedly, these gardens were said to contain a level of enchantment, particularly the section known as the Fairy Glade. The Seven Sisters resembled by the standing stones were just one of the many legends tied to this region of Ireland. It seemed strange to me that they would purposely keep a section named the Poison Garden with warning signs posted. Surely the occasional tourist ignored the strong suggestions and decided to touch one of the toxic plants. Those were the type of people who had to learn lessons the hard way.

 

“The Wishing Steps,” I read from the sign, almost running into Kathleen who had stopped before the first step.

 

As if she had memorized the line from her guidebook, she stated, “You’re supposed to close your eyes and think of a wish while walking down and back up the steps. But you can’t think of anything else other than that one wish. Then, your wish will come true within a year. I have a suspicion of what you’ll wish for though.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, unsure if I should be offended by her statement.

 

“Ari,” she started with her nickname for me, “I’d be surprised if you wished for anything other than for Kendrick to finally see you as more than a friend. You’re not exactly discreet when it comes to the crush you’ve had on him since high school.”

 

Embarrassed, I tried to cover the truth by saying, “There are more important things in my life to wish for than something I could change if I wanted to.” Like a raise, for one. Even a new chair for my desk would make work slightly more pleasant. Although those were both things I could do something about if I were willing to. As much as I wanted to deny it though, Kendrick was the only thing I could think about as I cautiously climbed up and down the steps with my eyes shut. Kendrick’s dark brown hair that curled when he went too long without a haircut. The way his cerulean eyes sparkled when he teased me about how color-coordinated my office supplies were. How he always brought an extra cookie for me when we ate lunch together in the break room at work. It was difficult not to want someone whom I’d thought about every day for years.

 

Once I was finished with the ritual, I waited as my sister performed the same, a smile playing on her lips. She made it look effortless while it had seemed daunting to me to walk up and down stairs with my eyes shut.

 

“Okay, now we can go to the lake and then to the castle last,” she said once her eyes were open again. “I want to make sure that we get to see the lake, so I think it’s best if we leave the line for kissing the stone until closer to the end.” I didn’t question why people would stand in line to kiss an Irish stone, knowing that it would only open the floodgates of information she memorized on the train ride from Dublin to Cork.

 

The Irish countryside was a depth of green that rivaled that of rainy springtime in Missouri, yet here, it was early summer. I imagined that a leprechaun would be camouflaged well among the emerald countryside, hiding as a rare type of fairy in the foliage.

 

“So, is this Blarney Lake?” I asked cheekily as we approached the eerily calm body of water.

 

“Blarney Lough, to be more exact,” she corrected. “Supposedly this lough was once thought to have an abundance of leeches.” I shivered at the idea of an animal sinking its teeth into my skin to suck my blood. “Calm down, they never found evidence of medicinal leeches in the wild. Enough people frequent here that it would be common knowledge if leeches were lurking around. It’s about as unfounded as the legend of the treasure that was thought to be at the bottom of the lough.”

 

“Not that the two are related,” I mused out loud, “but I’m not sure if leeches are an effective way to guard an underwater treasure. As gross as they are, they don’t kill their prey fast enough.” The plants in the poison garden might have been more efficient for that type of job, but then the wildflowers wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable. I attempted different angles to take photos of the landscape with the sun filtering through the trees.

 

“Sullivan would love all this,” she said, quietly enough that she might have meant it for herself. I had never known what to say or how to react when she brought up the topic of her boyfriend, so I defaulted to my usual response of pretending that I didn’t hear her comment.

 

We took a full lap around the lake before heading back toward the castle area on the other side of the grounds. After passing the private walled kitchen garden, Kathleen led us from the lake walk path to the woodland walk toward the Blarney House. The towering mansion better fit what I’d imagine a castle to be, but my childhood was strongly influenced by Disney princess movies. The architectural style was like that of smaller castles in Scotland, though this was an island away. When I looked carefully, I could see shifting shadows through the open windows of the house. “Does someone actually live here?” I wondered aloud to my sister.

 

“Yes, Sir Charles Colthurst,” she responded nonchalantly.

 

“I’m not sure what’s stranger,“ I said, “seeing people move inside a house at a popular tourist attraction or that he has to deal with tourists ogling at his house consistently. I would hate the lack of privacy that comes with an infamous estate.” She shook her head with amusement before persisting that we continue on the path back to the castle.

 

Centuries ago, Blarney Castle must have seemed grand. Any structures built without the modern technology and construction equipment that we have now would have taken years to build. Like many other castles and fortifications in Europe, the castle that remained likely wasn’t the original one built, though this one had been here since the 1400s. Or maybe that was just the tower. While my sister was a helpful source of information, she was far from the level of a professional tour guide. One day, when I had the money to pay for my own vacations, I’d pay the extra fee to have a tour guide who could give me accurate facts about the attractions.

 

Modern-day buildings weren’t built to withstand centuries the way this castle was. The most obvious evidence of aging was in the green that grew along the cracks and crevices, combinations of what must be vines and mildew that wouldn’t pass current health standards for living quarters. The lack of an HVAC system was clear by the fireplaces large enough for humans to comfortably stand in, purposely built opposite the areas that would be warmed by the sun. They may not have had the conveniences that we took for granted now, but they were clever enough to plan and work with what they had.

 

My sister, ever the adventurer, climbed into the abandoned fireplace, not caring what spiders may have taken up residence there. It made sense that this would be the Family Room, as stated by the signs. I tried to imagine a medieval family situated around cooking beef and spending quality time together. Vegans and vegetarians were likely unheard of in those days. Another advantage of our era compared to then was that with the way we bought our raw meat, we could disassociate it from the animal that was killed to provide that meat.

 

In the castle interior, a set of wooden stairs ascended toward the location of the infamous stone. Another set of stone stairs through a narrow and low corridor later, and we were standing in a line. Unlike the lines at most amusement parks, this one came with a nice view of the countryside from a higher perspective.

 

I couldn’t quite decipher the expression on my sister’s face as she chose her words carefully. “Ariella, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Legend or not, you should do it just to say you did. Maybe you’ll tell your kids about it one day, and they’ll want to come here to experience it for themselves.”

 

While there were several versions to the story, the one consensus of the legend seemed to be that anyone who kissed the Blarney Stone would gain the Gift of Eloquence and the Gift of Gab, two things which I did not naturally possess. Kathleen did not need those things since she got the fair share of it at birth. Powers or not, I wanted to have at least one good story to take back home with me, something that would impress Kendrick and our roommates. The idea of lying down and leaning backward over the large crack of open air was unnerving, but for once, I wanted—needed—to be brave.

 

“I’ll do it if you go first,” I consented to her. “And I want you to record it in case no one believes me when I tell them.” A victorious smile stretched across her face.

 

Once we were close to the front of the line, I watched the others in front of us to mentally prepare myself. Lie down on my back. Hold onto the two poles. Don’t freak out when the worker helps to keep me from falling through the gap between the ground and the wall. Lean backward to kiss the rock. Easy enough. The line moved faster than I would have anticipated until Kathleen was the one hovering over the edge. I was ready and not ready as I mimicked the same motions I’d witnessed dozens of times. Nothing extraordinarily special. No tingling feelings of magic or gained superpowers. Only the adrenaline from the split second that I looked down in midair. I kissed the Blarney Stone.