Because You're Mine

by Colleen Coble

  She recalled that inner voice. “God told me I’d be okay.” Thankfulness welled in her soul, but she still couldn’t let go of the last trace of her bitterness toward God for taking Liam.

  Barry’s smile faltered and he drew back. “That’s good. I should call my parents and let them know. They were so worried. I’ll have to leave the room to call. I can’t get a good signal in here. I’ll be right back.”

  Somehow she didn’t believe Patricia would be anything but happy if Alanna suffered in the throes of snake venom. The thought of facing that woman again made her almost wish she could stay here another night. Almost.

  When she was still feeling fine by ten, the doctor released her. Barry brought the car around, and she stepped out into the sunshine. Everything felt different this morning after the panic of the night before.

  Driving home, the car rolled past Hibernian Hall. The white, Greek-style building glowed in the sunshine, and she remembered the triumphant concert Ceol had enjoyed here just hours before Liam’s death.

  She peered through the window. Was that Jesse on the steps of the building? It was, she decided. He stood talking to a man by the front door. She wondered why he would be there.

  “Cold?” Barry asked, leaning forward to flip the blower down.

  “Thanks,” she said, not wanting to explain that she wasn’t cold. They were close to his mansion by the Battery. “Could we stay for a few days at your Bay Street house? It’s gotten so hot and humid.”

  He frowned. “There’s so much to do out at the estate. I intend for it to be the most gloriously restored mansion in the Low Country. The contractor is coming to look at the kitchen today.”

  “Can’t we stay in comfort while it’s being worked on?”

  “I need you to oversee it, Alanna. I thought you liked it.”

  “I do,” she said hastily. “But I’m pregnant, and the heat bothers me. The thought of taking on the project right now is more than I can handle. You’ll need to do it. You know what you want anyway.”

  He pursed his lips and nodded.

  “And I’m a little disconcerted by what’s happened. What if another snake gets in?”

  “Keep your French doors closed and you’ll be fine.”

  “It’s so hot though. I can’t bear the heat and humidity. Ireland has cooler, rainier weather.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” he said. “I might sell the house by the Battery. Blackwater Hall will be much more awe-inspiring when it’s finished.”

  She could push the issue and insist on moving to the city, but was it worth it the battle? Barry was doing so much to help her, and she couldn’t seem to appreciate it.

  She looked away from him, out across the Atlantic where storm clouds roiled. Her emotions were running high. She dreaded returning to the house in the shadow of the live oaks, though she kept telling herself it was just a house, nothing more or less. The churning in her gut had no basis in reality. She had nothing to fear.

  Barry drove out of Charleston and turned onto a small country road. “A shortcut,” he explained.

  The line of trees ended and she saw a settlement of trailers and fifth wheelers interspersed with homes that looked new. In the center stood a Catholic church. It was a ragtag community that roused a homesick sensation.

  “Stop a minute,” she said. “What is this place?” But she knew. Oh yes, she recognized that assortment of dwellings, and she tasted something bitter on her tongue.

  He pulled his car to the side of the road and stopped. “An Irish gypsy community.”

  “Irish Travellers, here?” she asked.

  “They’ve been here for over a hundred years,” he said. “Polluting the landscape. I tried to get them out, but their claim on the land was airtight.”

  She tried not to wince. His caustic words showed her how right she’d been to hide her background from him. “How are they affording such nice houses?” she asked, studying the children playing tag in one yard. One little girl in particular caught her eye. Dressed like she was ready to compete in a beauty pageant, complete with tiara, she wore a face-splitting smile.

  “The men take to the road every summer doing home-improvement jobs. It’s pretty lucrative. And there are some who say the scams they run fill the coffers too.”

  “Just because they’re Travellers doesn’t mean they’re criminals.”

  He held up his hands. “What’s got you riled? Just because they’re Irish doesn’t mean they reflect on you.”

  She’d caught the note of contempt in his voice. Alanna turned her gaze back on the settlement. What would he think if he knew he’d married the daughter of Travellers? Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different.

  “I’d like to buy a basket.” She pointed to a roadside stand where baskets of Irish design hung.

  He rolled his eyes. “I’ll buy you some authentic sweet-grass baskets instead of these cheap things.”

  She didn’t wait for his approval and threw open her door. “I want one of these.”

  The woman sitting in the stand watched her approach. “You like a basket, missus? I have good prices.”

  Though the woman’s words were friendly enough, Alanna wasn’t sure about the intense stare from the woman’s brown eyes. “They’re quite lovely,” she said, though now that she was closer, she saw the cheap materials and workmanship.

  Her mother used to make baskets. She dimly remembered sitting on the floor beside her mother in a booth much like this one. A trug basket to hold cut flowers would be a good choice. She picked it up. “How much?”

  “For you, thirty dollars.”

  “Too much.” Alanna haggled her down to twenty. Barry had gotten out of the car but stood back leaning against the hood. She fished a bill out of her purse and handed it over.

  She could smell Irish stew bubbling in the pot over the open fire, an aroma she hadn’t inhaled in years. Nostalgia swept over her. That life hadn’t been so bad, even with her foster mother’s harshness. At least she’d the freedom to play barefooted in the dirt.

  “I will throw in a smaller basket,” the woman said suddenly. “You wait here.” She exited the back of the stand and went to a small trailer. The glance back toward Alanna before she entered the trailer held speculation. Almost recognition, though Alanna was sure she’d never seen the woman before.

  “You done?” Barry called.

  Alanna didn’t really want a smaller basket. She’d only bought this one so she could see a tiny part of her past she’d all but forgotten. If the woman came back out, she might make it difficult for Alanna to get away. She grabbed her basket and joined Barry at the car.

  His nose wrinkled at the sight of the basket. “There are much better ones around, sugar. We’ll stop on the way home.”

  Alanna got into the car and fastened her seatbelt. As Barry pulled away from the ditch, she saw the woman come out of the trailer with a cell phone in her hand. She was talking animatedly into it and waved for the car to stop.

  Barry accelerated. “I don’t like the way she was staring at you. They probably recognized your accent and thought they had a gullible one on the hook.”

  Alanna said nothing though she bristled at his tone. She wanted to tell him the truth about her past, but the fake story their first manager had concocted sometimes seemed more real than the actual life she’d experienced. Why was she even thinking about all this? She’d never find her mother or her sister. She and Liam had tried many times. She had to accept the fact that she was alone in the world.

  Except for God. She pushed away the whisper in her head. If God had answered any prayer, it had been Jesse’s, not hers.

  Barry reached across the seat and took her hand. “Are you okay, Alanna? I’m sorry if I was a little gruff.”

  “Just a little homesick.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “I know you’ll never forget Liam, but I hope you can move on. We’ve got a future together if you’ll open your hand and take it.”

  She stared into Barry’s warm e
yes. “Maybe you’re right.” It was about time she forgot the past altogether and just looked to the future. She knew he would do all he could to make their future together a good one. She squeezed his fingers. “You’re a good man, Barry Kavanagh.”

  He smiled. “Too bad there’s no demand for good men, huh?”

  “Let’s go out to dinner tonight, just the two of us?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Really? How about we take in a concert too? I’ve got tickets to Hibernian Hall. A small symphony event.”

  She kept the bright smile on her face. Marriage was all about compromises, of each one growing and giving. She and Liam hadn’t liked the same things either, but she’d learned to enjoy making him happy.

  Twenty-Three

  Barry stopped by the grocery to get milk then continued on to the house. The car rolled up the long driveway, and the shadows thickened as the trees blocked out the sun. An unfamiliar vehicle sat in front of the house.

  “Who’s here?” she asked.

  Barry frowned. “No one I recognize.”

  The beat-up pickup had more rust than paint. One tire was almost flat. “Maybe it’s the contractor,” she said.

  “He wouldn’t be parking a vehicle like that in front of my house.” Barry parked behind the truck and got out. He grabbed Alanna’s bag from the backseat. She got out and approached the porch behind him.

  A woman rose from the rocking chair at the end of the porch. Her hair was a gaudy dyed red, and she wore a skirt that was too tight across her stomach. The leather on the toes of her brown shoes had been scuffed away. The lipstick she wore was a slash of red that had bled around the edges of her mouth a bit.

  Alanna took all this in with one glance. She didn’t recognize the woman, and she saw from Barry’s blank gaze that he had no idea who she was either. Pasting on the smile of a hostess, Alanna approached the woman with her hand outstretched. “How are you? Can I help you?”

  The woman took her hand in a sweaty grip that felt too much like desperation. Her green eyes searched Alanna’s. She gave a tentative smile. “Alanna, you’ve not been changing in all these years. I could have picked you out of a crowd.”

  Alanna tried to pull her hand away, but the woman kept hold. “Do I know you?”

  “You’ll not be knowing your own mum?”

  “Pardon me?” She couldn’t have heard the woman right.

  “It’s me, dearie. Your mum, come to see you.” She released Alanna’s fingers and fanned her face with her hand. “It’s deadly hot here. Might you be having some iced tea to offer me?”

  My mum? Alanna took a step back. Her gaze searched the woman’s face, and she found a familiar landmark to guide her in the tiny mole by the corner of her mouth. Many people had moles, she told herself. Her mother’s memory had long been buried in the mists of one foster mother after another. The only thing she remembered was the scent of heather.

  And that aroma was wafting up her nose.

  Thunder rumbled overhead as Alanna gaped at the woman. The weather forecast for the weekend promised heavy downpours and possible flooding. Alanna nearly let loose a flood of her own—of tears. Her mother’s appearance here unsettled the future she was trying to build. How would she explain all this to Barry?

  “Come in, let’s talk this out.” Barry held open the door for them. “Alanna, would you bring in some iced tea?”

  My mother? Still in a daze, Alanna went past him into the house and to the kitchen. The pitcher of tea and glasses full of ice were on a tray before she realized she’d prepared them. She carried the refreshments into the parlor.

  “It’s sweet tea,” she said. “That’s all we have here.”

  “Sounds lovely,” her mother said. She hiked her legs onto the ottoman Barry had brought her, revealing a run in her hose.

  Alanna exchanged a glance with Barry. His manners were impeccable, but she knew he was as perplexed as she was by her mother’s appearance. And was the woman even her mother? She poured the tea and handed one to the woman who called herself Maire Costello.

  Maire took a sip of tea. “You’ll probably be wondering how I found you.” She put down her glass and rummaged in the gigantic cloth bag at her feet. She pulled out a newspaper with an air of triumph. “The minute I was seeing this, I knew. Knew it was my Alanna. I imagine you’re surprised to see me.” She opened the paper and revealed the article Alanna had seen at the hospital.

  Surprised was an understatement for the gobsmacked sensation reeling in Alanna’s brain, but she just nodded. Barry took her hand, and she curled her fingers around his. The comfort he offered was a lifeline in this sea of confusion.

  She heard steps from the hall. Patricia stepped into the room followed by Richard. Patricia’s eyes widened when she saw Maire. Her gaze swept the woman from her scuffed shoes to the spot on her scarf. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know we had a guest.”

  “This is, ah, this is Alanna’s mother.” Barry’s fingers twitched in Alanna’s hand.

  Alanna bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood. Her gaze went back to the woman. Her mum? Really and truly? The woman’s skin was that pale coloring found on many redheads, including Alanna. Maire’s eyes drew Alanna’s attention—clear green with gold lights, just like her own.

  A sudden rain lashed the screens in the windows and began to blow onto the wood floors. Barry sprang to close the panes, and his father hurried to help him. The three women stared at one another, and Alanna had no idea how to ease the tense atmosphere. She wasn’t comfortable with either woman.

  Maire twisted her hands in her lap and glanced at Patricia. The fear in her eyes made Alanna frown. She would have guessed that Maire knew Patricia. Her mother-in-law had a warning glare fixed on Maire, who kept her gaze down.

  “How . . . how will I be knowing you’re really my mum?” Alanna eased onto a chair.

  “All you need to be doing is to look at the two of us. You’re the spitting image of me when I was your age.”

  Alanna suppressed a shudder. She saw no hint of herself in this woman, other than the eye color and skin tone. The hideous dyed hair covered whatever the natural color might have been. “I think we’ll need more proof.”

  Maire shrugged, then hefted her bag onto her lap and began to dig through it. “Here we be.” She dragged out a large manilla envelope. “Your birth certificate is in here, and some pictures of the two of us.”

  Alanna’s hand trembled as she took the envelope and opened it. A birth certificate fell out. The name on the certificate was Alanna Maire Costello. Born to Maire and Robert Costello. Her birthdate of September fourth. She laid it aside and picked up the first of the pictures. A chubby-cheeked baby smiled a toothless grin at the camera. The writing on the back read: Alanna, age six months.

  “The baby could be anyone,” she said, though something about the sofa behind the child was familiar.

  Maire leaned forward and jabbed a finger at the photo. “It’s you, lass! Your hair and eyes. Don’t be telling me you can’t see that.”

  Alanna bit her lip and pulled out the other two photos. One was a picture she’d seen before. It had been snapped just before her father died and her mother took off. She was sitting on her daddy’s lap, and his chin rested on the top of her red curls. Pressing her trembling lips together, she looked at the last picture.

  Her three-year-old self held the hand of a young woman. The young woman could have been Alanna today. Curly red hair, vivid eyes, wide smile. The two of them stood in front of a basket stand much like the one she’d seen in the Travellers’ community earlier today.

  Air didn’t want to fill her lungs no matter how fast she pulled it in. “Why did you leave me?” she managed to whisper. “You just left me at home and never came back.”

  Patricia took the pictures from Alanna’s numb fingers. “I think we’ve heard quite enough of this scam. I’m going to ask you to leave. You people are well known for your con jobs. I’m sure you cobbled this picture together on one of those photo editing programs. You
saw this picture in the paper and thought you’d seize an opportunity to ingratiate yourself here. It won’t work.”

  Was Patricia right? But no. Alanna recognized the picture of her dad. That hadn’t been altered. “I don’t think she’s lying.” Her gaze locked with Maire’s defiant one. “Where is my sister? Why you did it doesn’t matter. Where is Neila?”

  Patricia stood. “This has gone on long enough. I want you to leave.” She grasped Maire’s arm and yanked her from the chair. The other woman stumbled and nearly fell. She grabbed for her bag and succeeded in catching it by its handles.

  Alanna sprang to her feet. “Don’t touch her!” She wanted answers first.

  Patricia continued to propel Maire toward the door. Alanna ran to block their path. “Let go of her! Barry!” she called over her shoulder to her husband, who had just shut the door to keep the rain out.

  Barry came up behind her. “What’s going on?”

  “This . . . this woman is claiming to be Alanna’s mother. She’s here to try to con you out of money,” Patricia panted.

  “Let her go, Mother,” Barry said. “Now.”

  His mother released Maire’s arm. “If you want to swallow her lies, be my guest.” She stormed off to the stairs. A few moments later, the door to their suite slammed.

  Barry glanced at Alanna. “I’d better go talk to her. I’ll be right back.” His quick steps went up the stairs.

  Alanna clasped her trembling hands together. “Come back to the living room,” she told Maire. She couldn’t let herself even think the word mum.

  Maire studied her face, then nodded. “But only because you asked me.” She followed Alanna down the hall to the parlor.

  Maire guzzled the tea, but Alanna couldn’t have swallowed a drop. She should sit, but her inner agitation made her pace the floor. “What do you want from me?”

  “Why, child, I don’t want anything other than to get to know my daughter.”

  Alanna eyed the woman’s smile. “Why now, after all this time? You could have found me anytime.”

  Maire shook her head. “I tried. Social Services told me nothing. I think they were prejudiced against me. I overheard one of them calling me a ‘bloody tinker’ and then she came back and sent me on my way.” She gave an indignant sniff. “I moved to America twenty-five years ago, but I never forgot my lass.”