The Wild Mountain Thyme

by Kathryn Scarborough

  Right here and now, Megan Kennedy, say goodbye to the charming Yank and send him out of your mind and across the Atlantic.

  Chapter 35

  He stood outside in the cold drizzle, staring at the gray granite of the building, trying to figure out which was the window near Megan’s desk. He knew which floor she was on. But it was harder to pinpoint her exact window on the massive floor. No, this was not the time. He had to think. He had to plan.

  He walked to the corner and waited for the bus. He took the second bus that stopped in the gloomy afternoon rain. He knew where he could go to think. There was only an hour or two of daylight left, and it was important that he think.

  The bus moved across the capital down the Finglas Road to a suburb that once was the countryside, out of the city to Glasnevin Cemetery.

  After thirty tedious minutes of stop and go traffic, the bus finally let him off at the cemetery.

  He looked about, half expecting someone to tap him on the shoulder and ask him why he was there on such a dismal afternoon. Dodging behind a mausoleum for a minute to catch his breath, he moved back onto the path and walked quickly to the Republican section.

  It was a great place to think among long rows of grassy mounds, all neatly placed headstones and monuments that were inscribed with the names of martyred and venerated patriots.

  He saw the grave of Maud Gonne MacBride, a pretty woman with dark, soulful eyes. She was the founder of the Daughters of Erin, and had been dead a hundred years and more. There rested the Countess Markievicz. An Irish lass married to a Polish count. She’d fought alongside the men in the 1916 Rebellion. And of course, the great patriot O’Connell, a distant relation, and the one who’d brought the English to their knees and had freed his beloved country.

  He wondered what they would think of him and his devotion to duty. And his patriotic zeal to kill all the loudmouthed Irish Americans he could.

  He heaved a great sigh, filling his lungs with the loamy smell of melting snow and newly-turned earth. He walked quietly among the headstones, his thoughts in turmoil—racing, racing, until he put his hands against his temples to slow the thoughts down. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. With a deep breath, he finally fixated on one thought.

  It was time to do another one, and then he could go get Meggie.

  Chapter 36

  Megan wore a dark bottle-green velvet dress that fitted to perfection across the bust and hips. The low neckline and sleeves were edged with a light, frothy lace. Stunned into silence for just a moment by Megan’s beauty, Jim swallowed hard and then gave her a peck on the cheek. She blushed prettily and introduced him to her roommate Teresa. Teresa’s personality and looks were the complete opposite from Megan’s. She was voluptuous and brassy but sweet. She was the kind of woman that loved to share a dirty joke and smoke a cigar with a guy. Not his type but he respected the fact that the two women got along like sisters.

  He couldn’t believe the beautiful Megan was here with him. He was the luckiest man in the world. Now, if he could convince her that she was the luckiest woman, everything would turn out great. But something had been troubling her all night. What it was and when it started, he couldn’t be sure.

  Megan had been pulling away from him emotionally all day. It started in the car on the way to Dublin. She was putting up a wall, brick by brick, with him on one side and her on the other. He’d hoped that a wedding supper in this quiet, elegant restaurant would help lighten her mood and ease her into married life with him.

  He’d asked around and found out this was a prime place for romance. The restaurant was rather more subdued than anything he’d seen yet in Dublin. The bars and places where he’d eaten since arriving were on the rollicking side. Those were not the type of place to have an intimate, quiet dinner with the woman he loved.

  The waiters were dressed in tuxedo shirts and vests, and bow ties that fit right in with the dim lighting and the barely audible classical music in the background. They bowed a little from the waist each time they came to the table and hovered about like mother hens.

  Jim looked about appreciatively; a wedding supper, that’s what this was, a wedding supper. Now, if he could get her to lighten up and convince her about the honeymoon.

  Jim reached across the tiny table for Megan’s hand. She had spent more time looking at her plate than at him, and it had frustrated him to no end. When would she look at him with those smoldering deep green eyes? When?

  Something was going on inside that journalist’s brain of hers. Something that was not positive about the two of them, and it didn’t look good.

  “Megan, I was thinking.”

  “Hmm—charming, glad you took it up.”

  “Huh?” Jim sat back. He was confused.

  “Thinking.” Her mouth quirked up in a smile.

  Jim refrained from rolling his eyes and got right to the point. “Listen, I’ve got to go back to Boston and get my affairs settled. Why don’t you come with me? You could meet the family and the guys at the Globe. Then we could come back here, if Flynn will hire me, and find a nice apartment.”

  He’d done a lot of thinking about this move. He knew he’d miss Boston and the family, but it would be a whole lot harder on him if he didn’t stay with Megan.

  It wouldn’t be much of a hardship. He kind of liked it here, and the Mighty Flynn could grow on him. He paused a moment, studying her quick intake of breath and wide-eyed look. Then she ducked her head.

  “What do you think?” Jim asked.

  Megan looked up at him slowly and stared at him. He couldn’t read her thoughts, although he’d been able to see inside her mind all too easily over the past few days. She took a deep breath before she started speaking very softly.

  “Jim, I think it better that you go back alone. We can see each other from time to time, if you like, but I can’t think that it should be a permanent arrangement.”

  “But why? Come on Megan. You know what Seamus said. We’re married.” He quirked that smile at her. “You know you can’t get a divorce in Ireland. At least that’s what Grandma used to tell me. I suppose that was over fifty years ago, though.” He looked up at her, grinning for all he was worth. When he saw the look on her face, he felt like a balloon slowly deflating. What if she changed her mind? What if she didn’t want him after all? Both of those thoughts sent a cold chill up his spine.

  “Look,” he said. He had to play his cards right. He had to be convincing and not shoot off his mouth before he could settle her down, until he could settle both of them down. He spoke to her very quietly, leaning forward and stroking her hand. “Why won’t you give it a try? I know you have feelings for me. You can’t tell me otherwise. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Don’t you remember that dream? We had the same dream, together, every night we were in Sligo. Every night. Don’t you remember what happened last night? We’re made for each other,” he said, expansively holding out his arms, enjoying the fact he had her complete and totally embarrassed attention.

  “Jim, the whole business is too strange for words. Really, can’t you see?”

  “So you want a church wedding to do it up good? Okay by me.”

  Jim pushed back his chair, rose, then dropped to his knees in front of Megan and grasped her hand. He suppressed a grin at the chagrined look on her face.

  “Megan, will you marry me?”

  Megan turned every shade of red as a chorus of, “good show,” “right on, my man”, and a flurry of applause was heard from every corner of the restaurant. Megan gestured for Jim to get up as she looked about seeing the smiles, the raised glasses, and the applause from the other patrons.

  “Will you please get up?” she said from between clenched teeth as her gaze darted about the room again. Jim sat back down, still holding her hand. She pulled her hand away and took a quick drink of her wine. Jim cradled his chin in his hand, gazing at her adoringly.

  “Sorry if I embarrassed you, but you’ve got to know, I’m crazy about yo
u, and I want to marry you—again.”

  Megan heaved a great sigh and shook her head slightly, looking down at her plate. She was quiet for several long moments before she looked up again, and shook her head once. Megan looked overwhelmed, as though she’d just come from some dear departed’s funeral. A lump formed in Jim’s stomach and that ominous lump grew larger by the second.

  She was going to turn him down.

  “We can’t disrupt our lives like this. Weren’t you settled before you came over? I’m just beginning to make it as a writer. People are realizing that I’m something more than a silly female looking for a husband and that I can actually do something besides smile and giggle. And I’m enjoying being alone. I’m just fine, and I know you are.”

  Jim sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Jim took a rather long moment before he spoke, hoping against hope that he’d say the right thing. He leaned forward, and made sure Megan alone heard his words.

  “I was miserable before I came to Ireland and met you. I haven’t felt alive in a very long time. Alive and aware that there has been something else out there besides just me.” He leaned across the table and placed his hand on Megan’s.

  “Megan, I can’t go back to the way it was. I love you, you’ve changed the way I feel about everything. I can’t go back to Boston alone. I want to be with you.”

  A lone tear edged down Megan’s cheek. She quickly dashed it away as the waiter came up to the table.

  Jim stared at her for a moment. He had to do something, anything, to keep her from feeling that they were better off apart. Seamus had brought them together. Yes, brought them together. So if he’d brought them together, they were meant to be. Why was Megan fighting their getting together? Why was her level-headed common sense getting in the way?

  ****

  “And what is it you’ll have me do, Iggy? You said yourself that the Head Man says they’re as good as married.”

  “Aye, ’tis true enough, but you know we must stand on ceremony. ’Tis the only way the lass will feel done good and proper.”

  “Och, and then what? The Holy Father himself saying the words over ’em? I tell ye, ’tis a bad thing when the Man Upstairs says they are, and the puny little humans say they aren’t.”

  “Now, Seamus, what needs doing needs doing. Ye must convince the lass to go to America and—what?” Iggy stared off into space for a moment. “Oh, Glory be. There’s trouble down there. Ye can go and do your good deed, Seamus. You’ll be remembering that you can do one thing for Jim-lad; to help him save the lass.”

  “Save the lass, but I—”

  “Seamus, they’ll be needin’ you right enough. You can grant Jim one wish to help him in his earthly endeavors, but only one wish. Now, off wi’ ye. There’s trouble brewin’, and he’ll be needin’ his great uncle times six to help.”

  ****

  “May I bring you anything else, sir?”

  Jim gave the waiter a cold look. “No, just leave. We’ll be done in a minute.” The waiter faded into the background. The subtle clink of china and silver were heard just below Megan’s sniffling.

  Jim let out a pent-up breath. “I just don’t see it. Nothing is worth losing this—this relationship that we have. Nothing! If God Almighty says we’re married, who are you to say we aren’t? Come on.” In exasperation Jim stood and threw a wad of bills on the table.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  Chapter 37

  They walked out into the night, trudging through the newly fallen snow. Jim said nothing, but Megan could feel his anger radiate from him so hotly the snow should have melted under his feet. They caught a cab, and an ominous silence shrouded the back seat.

  At the door to Megan’s apartment, Jim took her hand, his voice as soft as the night outside and asked, “Why are you fighting this?”

  “Because I just can’t grasp it. And when I think I do, all I see is you on your merry way, without a look back to see where you’ve been.”

  “You are so wrong, Megan. I’m in it for the long haul. Think about it tonight. Try to see it the way Seamus has it planned.”

  Something in Jim’s voice, something in the sound of his words, startled Megan into looking up into his face. He turned away from her quickly, but not before she saw the hurt in his eyes. She’d hurt him. She’d been working so hard at not getting hurt herself that she’d hurt him.

  “Oh, Jim—”

  “Good night, Megan. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He stalked away, each long stride carrying him farther away from her. She shut the door and leaned her forehead against it, tears coursing down her face, silent sobs shaking her shoulders.

  He was gone. She’d pushed him away. He was gone and she’d never see him again, and it was her own fault.

  Why, oh why, had she done it?

  A shell of misery closed about her. Tears ran down her face and dropped onto the lacy collar around her throat.

  She stood at the door, she didn’t know for how long, when she heard a knock. He’d come back! She just knew it! He’d come back and she could make amends and they’d live happily ever after and—

  Megan dashed the tears from her cheeks, straightened her skirts, hoping she didn’t look too awful and threw open the door.

  “Oh Jim, I—”

  There in the open doorway, sheathed in his massive brown overcoat, stood Richard.

  Chapter 38

  “Coming, coming.” Teresa turned one groggy eye on the clock. “Bleedin’ 7:35! Who is it bashing down my door at 7:35 in the morning?” She bundled the bathrobe tight, scuffed into her slippers, and opened the door. “God! O’Flannery, you handsome devil. Do you know the time? Come in, before you wake up the neighbors.”

  “Sorry, I know it’s a little early, but I had to see Megan.”

  “You look like hell, O’Flannery.” His clothes were rumpled and it looked like he’d slept in them all night. Well, maybe not slept considering the circles under his eyes were almost as dark as the man’s baby blues.

  “You don’t mince any words, do you?” Jim rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin, and by the look she was giving him, realized he probably should have showered and shaved before coming over.

  “Never have. Have a seat. I’ll get some coffee started. The noise of my making the first pot always wakes up Meggie, and then I don’t get yelled at for waking her up.”

  Jim settled onto the overstuffed, flowered couch and stretched out his legs. He felt better just being near her. He knew they could iron out all these differences. He knew it. He just had to work on her a little longer. These feelings she had must just be wedding jitters. He could understand that well enough. Jim also knew that she’d have to be placated with a ceremony. Placated wasn’t the right word.

  When he gave ceremonies by and large any thought, he realized that there was a great comfort for the average person in societal continuity. Maybe it was a girl thing. But that wasn’t right either, because he wanted a church wedding, too.

  So maybe a guy thing would be to get rid of the hideous couch he was sitting on. Yeah, a guy thing, he thought as he looked at the grotesque piece of furniture. Maybe they could give it to Teresa.

  Teresa came into the room with a tray of cups, coffee pot, and condiments. She’d dressed in a pair of dark purple sweats, Jim was glad to note. No more body parts peeking out that he’d have to ignore.

  “She’s not up?” Teresa looked toward Megan’s bedroom door.

  “No, I guess I dozed off for a second, but I haven’t seen or heard anything.”

  Teresa set the tray on the table, and Jim, in his near comatose state, reached for a cup and poured. Teresa shrugged her shoulders, walked to the back of the apartment, and rushed back into the room just as Jim set his cup down again on the tray.

  “She’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “Her bed’s not been slept in, and I found this.” Teresa held up a much-used hairbrush and a purse. “She’d never leave without th
ese. I can’t think what has happened.”

  Jim felt the blood drain from his face. She couldn’t have been that upset. He walked to the doorway and took a cursory look about her room. Neat and tidy, just like Megan herself. No sign that she’d ever lived there at all. He looked quickly in the closet and on the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

  “She’s either stark naked or still got on the dress she wore last night.”

  “Well, we can leave out the naked bit. I know Meggie. Besides, it’s January and freezing. She’d wear a robe into the bath if it served a purpose. What on earth could have happened to her?”

  “It can’t be anything good.” Jim struggled to get the panic rising in his throat under control. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trouser leg.

  “What time did you get home last night, Teresa?”

  “About one in the morning. I thought she was asleep in here. She usually is.”

  “I left her off around nine thirty. Ten hours, ten hours, where the hell could she be?”

  “I’d bet my knickers that she just didn’t wander off. Megan would never leave without her bag and a coat. And she certainly wouldn’t have gone off with that dress on. She loves that dress, and she’s only worn it once before when she and Richard—” Teresa looked at him out of the corner of her eye and cringed just a bit hoping she hadn’t said too much.

  Jim blew out a disgusted breath. “Then why the hell did she wear it last night?”

  “Because she knows how you love green, and that’s the only green posh frock she owns. And Mr. O’Flannery, she’s as superstitious as the rest of us, and she thought that the wearing of it with you would negate any bad karma from Richard.”

  Jim raised his hands in surrender and sat abruptly on the couch, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  He looked up at Teresa.

  “Where could she be? Where? I’ve got to find her.”

  Teresa looked at him, and all too clearly Jim read her anxiety. She moved to him and laid her hand on his arm. “She told me Richard had tried to contact her several times, and she’d told him to piss off. You don’t suppose—?”