by Karen Welch
Laughing, he tweaked one of her braids. “Has anyone ever told you how outrageous you are, Peg Shannon?”
She nodded primly. “Dad tells me all the time. I take that as a compliment, thank you very much. That’s better than being sweet, or nice, I’m sure. I can’t afford to be those things. I have to learn to hold my own in a world where sweet and nice will get run right over.”
Their conversation was halted by the arrival of his mother and Patrick. In the ensuing chaos of greetings and introductions, Kendall realized Peg had disappeared. Locating her finally in the kitchen watching Hannah peel a small mountain of potatoes, he insisted she come meet his mother.
“I will, later. There was just such a mob out there.” He took her hand, leading her gently toward the door.
“Nonsense. They’ve scattered now anyway. Something about a bird’s nest. Mother’s out here waiting to meet you.”
His mother, as he’d feared, treated Peg as though she were just another of the children, passing her over with a bland smile while continuing her conversation with Michael. “I so appreciate the kindness you’ve shown Kenny. I know he was a little timid about coming ahead of us to meet all of you on his own.”
“Oh, he’s been in good hands, m’ dear. My Peg took him under her wing the moment he arrived, and now they’re practically inseparable. Isn’t that right, lad?”
“It is, sir. Mother, I want to properly introduce you to Miss Anna Margaret Shannon, a most extraordinary young lady. Peg, this is my mother, Eloise.”
Focusing on the girl standing before her, her right hand regally extended, Eloise smiled, the kind of ingratiating smile which always caused him to cringe. “This young woman is your daughter, Michael? Why, I was expecting a little girl. I’m so pleased to meet you, dear. How are you enjoying your visit to Ireland?”
“Frankly it was pretty awful until Kenny got here. But now things are going along much better.” She cast a sideways glance in his direction, her lips twitching irrepressibly, before going on sincerely. “You might want to hurry and freshen up, Aunt Eloise, while the bathroom’s free. Once the kids start lining up before supper, it’s every man for himself.”
As Kendall carried her bags upstairs, Eloise eyed the less than grand décor of the farmhouse with something close to fear. “Patrick suggested we take rooms in town, perhaps near Michael, but I thought it would be more convenient if we stayed here.” He noted the nervous quaver in her voice.
“Don’t worry, Mother. It’s a bit rustic, but everyone’s quite civilized. Once you get settled in, I’m sure you’ll manage. You’ll have to get into the spirit of being a Shannon sooner or later.” Opening the door to the bedroom, he led the way in. “See, Aunt Adelaide made sure you have everything you need, including a wash basin and a pitcher of nice fresh well water. As Peg said, there’s only one bathroom, currently shared by the fifteen of us.”
Eloise’s dismayed gasp was exhaled in a resolute sigh. “You seem to be enjoying yourself, dear. How nice that you’ve formed a friendship with Michael and his little girl.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t call her that to her face. Peg Shannon may look like an adolescent girl, but beneath those braids, she’s far more intelligent than any of her older cousins, and a great deal more fun to be with. ”
“That may be the case, Kenny dear, but I hope you haven’t snubbed the others. I’d hoped you’d find you had something in common with Sean’s youngest, Jack, is it? And what about the McGill girls? You have been paying proper attention to them, I hope? You are, after all, a guest in their home.”
On any other day, he would have bristled at his mother’s tone, but he recognized that today, faced with meeting the Shannon clan, her insecurities were in control. Propriety was all important to Eloise, as was just the right blend of admiration and gratitude toward those who might improve her previously tenuous social and financial standing. He’d hope now that she and Patrick were married she might start to relax and enjoy her new-found security.
“Mother, please don’t fret. Everyone here is so friendly, so hail-fellow-well-met, there’s no need to walk on eggshells. Jack and I get along well enough, and as for Maeve and Agnes, they’re just typical girls, although quite different sorts of typical, as you’ll soon see. All of the Shannons are so bent on having a good time together, there’s no call to make a fuss over any one of them. Now why don’t you freshen up and rest for a bit? I assume Patrick has been waylaid by Aunt Addie. She’s been as excited as a child all day, waiting for him to get here.”
“They’re very close, only two years apart in age, I think. Patrick says since she’s the baby, he’s always watched out for her. Losing her husband last year and being left here with the farm, well I’m afraid Patrick feels called upon to step in and help her decide how she’s going to manage on her own.” During this sighing monologue, she’d slipped off her shoes and stretched wearily on the bed. “Kenny, dear, could you dampen one of those little towels for me? I’m afraid all this traveling has quite worn me down.”
After draping the towel gently over her eyes, he lowered the window shade and was just about to make his escape when she stretched a languorous hand in his general direction. Patting the mattress, she waved him closer. “Sit with me for a bit, please. We don’t get the opportunity to visit much these days. How are you feeling?”
Perching on the edge of the bed, he stared at the floor, knowing there would be no avoiding this “chat.” Much as he liked to believe he’d cut the apron strings, Eloise had yet to acknowledge his independence. “I’m fine, Mum.”
“You seem pale. You’ve never fully recovered from your surgery, have you? Are you sure the doctors in Oxford knew what they were doing?”
“I’m sure they could remove an appendix without complication. You worry too much.”
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t call me when you were hospitalized. That hurt me, Kendall. I’m your mother, after all.”
“You were on vacation with Patrick, if you’ll remember. Grandfather and I agreed there was no need to disrupt your plans. Mum, we’ve been over this already. I’m fine. Now why don’t you try to rest for a bit?”
When he made a move to rise, she caught his arm. “How are your grandparents?”
“They’re well. Grandfather’s enjoying his retirement. Gran is as busy as ever with her friends and her church work. They always ask about you.”
“I hope they understand. . .” He was almost taken in by the catch in her voice.
“Mother, please. What do you want me to say? I think Grandfather understands that you have a new life with Patrick, but you know Gran is hurt that you’re obviously avoiding them. She’s told you so herself. I’d rather not be in the middle, if you don’t mind.”
“I just don’t want them to turn you against me.”
“Mum! Don’t be ridiculous. They would never try to do that.” He took her hand, patting it gently. “For Father’s sake, we have to go on being a family as best we can. Isn’t that what you’ve all told me?”
She nodded silently, her lips set in a trembling line that predicted eminent tears.
“I owe them a lot. And I love them. Just as I love you.”
“But you turn to them more often than to me. I know you do.”
“Just to spare you, Mum. You’ve already been through so much.”
“I don’t want you to feel I’ve abandoned you, darling. I’ll always be your mother.”
The conversation having run its predictable course, Kendall bent over and brushed a kiss to her cheek. “And I’ll always be your little boy. I know, Mum.” He got to his feet, giving her hand another pat before laying it on the bed and turning to leave.
As he expected, she chimed in with the inevitable last word. “I’m proud of you, Kenny, for finding your place here with the Shannons. Your future can only benefit from their interest in you. Michael especially, I understand, is an extremely generous patron of the arts and musicians in particular. Well done, darling. Mother knew you�
��d make a good impression.”
He scowled at the door, grinding his teeth, before murmuring over his shoulder, “Right, Mum. Try to rest now. I’m sure Patrick will be up shortly.” As he softly closed the door, making sure the latch clicked, he found himself feeling extremely grateful for Patrick Shannon; and more than a little sympathetic toward the man who would have the honor of living with Eloise into old age.
Chapter Four
“Your mother’s very pretty. You look a lot like her, you know?” The disembodied voice startled him from his woolgathering, but there was no need to turn around. That voice could belong to only one Shannon. He continued to stare into the thick night surrounding the farmhouse, shaking off the melancholy of an hour’s ramble in the not so distant past.
“Do you make it a habit, sneaking up on people?”
She joined him on the step, her pert profile outlined against the lights from the house. “I wasn’t sneaking. You seemed to be somewhere far, far away, though.”
“Not so far.” He searched for an appropriate path back to the present. “Just thinking how fast the time here is going. What are you doing out here? I thought you were helping prepare the little ones for bed.”
“Done. They’re not so bad, you know, once you get to know them. I suppose they felt the same about me at first. I am the only American cousin, after all.”
They sat in silence for a time, until from inside the sound of music, a scratchy phonograph record, broke the mood. Laughter and teasing voices competed with Deanna Durban singing “Begin the Beguine.”
“Maeve wanted to practice dancing with Jack. For the party, you know.” Peg’s opinion of said party, an event planned for the coming Saturday night, was all too obvious.
“Don’t you like parties?”
“Sure. I guess. Small dinner parties are okay. But dancing parties, I’m not so wild about. I had to go to cotillion all last winter and frankly, being pushed around by clumsy boys with sweaty hands was a real disappointment. Connie’s older sister Prue made it sound really romantic, but obviously the boys in her class were a cut above ours.”
“Those boys will grow up to be far more interesting in a year or so.”
“Don’t talk to me like some wise old uncle, Kendall. I don’t like it.”
He thought he heard tears in her voice, and turned to study her face in the dimness. “I didn’t mean to. I’m just suggesting you give the opposite sex a chance to prove itself to you. Girls mature more rapidly than boys, or so I’ve been told.”
She was either considering what he’d said, or nursing some wound, he wasn’t sure which. “Would you dance with me?” was the last thing he expected to hear her say, given her prickly mood.
“Out here, you mean?” He nodded toward the enclosed garden beyond the kitchen door.
“Why not?”
He decided it wouldn’t hurt to humor her. Getting to his feet, he held out his hand. “Miss Shannon, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
The music had changed to a waltz, and when she came into the frame of his arms, she began to count under her breath. Between beats, she whispered, “I’m not very good. Are you?”
“Passing. Just relax and listen to the music. Let yourself move with me, not quite so independently.” He felt her draw a deep breath and exhale. “That’s it. Don’t think about where we’re going. Just follow me.”
They circled the narrow lawn several times, in and out of the halo of light. “How old were you when your father died?” He was startled by the question, even more so by the tremor in her voice.
“Twelve. He’d been ill for years. We were prepared, or as prepared as one can be for that kind of thing.”
She tensed slightly beneath his grasp. “I was just a baby, not even a year old when my mother was killed. I don’t remember her at all.”
“I’m sorry. That must be very hard.” He saw tears shimmering in her eyes as they passed through the light again. “Peg, please. . . can I help?”
Now in complete darkness, she stopped moving. After an awkward moment, he gathered her closer, placing a tentative hand on her hair. She seemed suddenly alone and in need, someone he instinctively understood. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being silly,” she whispered. “It was watching the little kids, the way their mothers were fussing over them, putting on their pajamas and tucking them into bed. It made me wish. . .” A soft sob took her final words.
“Shh. I understand. And it’s not at all silly. It’s normal. I cried myself to sleep for months after my father died, and me a great hulking school boy.”
Sniffing, she raised her head and he could just make out a crooked little smile. “You were never hulking, I’m sure.” Stepping away from him, she wiped at her face. “I’m fine now. I don’t usually do that where anybody can see.” Rather than turning back toward the stoop, she took a few paces into the darkness.
“There’s nothing wrong with crying, you know. Especially over something like that.”
“Promise me you won’t tell anyone? Dad would worry if he knew.”
“If you like, but surely he would understand.”
“Probably, but we almost never talk about her. It hurts him too much. And I never knew her, so it shouldn’t bother me. You can’t miss someone you never knew.” Her voice tapered off, and she fell silent. Kendall wondered if she wasn’t talking to herself anyway.
The noise inside the house rose as a more raucous tune began to play. When Peg turned toward him again, he was struck by the remoteness of her expression, as if she’d intentionally closed that vulnerable girl deep within herself. “Tell me about your father. Dad said he was a musician, too.”
Oddly, he was relieved. His father was a subject he seldom had the opportunity to discuss, not because it was painful, but because once dead, everyone seemed to believe Kendall had lost interest in him. “He played the cello. His professional career was cut short by poor health, but I remember him practicing at home when I was very small. Bach, for hours on end. He had rheumatic fever as a child, and his heart was always weak. By the time he was in his early thirties, he was an invalid, confined to bed or on good days, a chair. That’s how I remember him best. He was quite good-natured about it all. It was my mother who fretted. Father would say, ‘Now, Eloise, it could be worse. At least I’m not healthy enough to chase other women or go out gambling every night.’ He was like that, always joking about what was really a dire situation.”
“Was your father a Methodist?”
“What? How did we get off on religion?” It was a subject he’d been carefully skirting as the only Protestant in this gathering of Catholics.
“Agnes told me your mother is Catholic, but you’re a Methodist. I just wondered how that happened. Not that I think there’s anything wrong with Methodists. ”
He cleared his throat, fighting a smile at her wide-eyed earnestness. “My father was Methodist, as are his parents. My parents took me to both churches when I was a child, but they left it to me to choose when I was old enough.”
“And you chose to be a Methodist.” She seemed to ponder that statement for a moment. “Why, if you don’t mind my asking?’
“I don’t mind, although I’m not sure I have an answer. I always liked going to church with Father. When I was very young, we most often went with my grandparents. We’d take the train up to their home in Hertford on Saturday afternoon, spend the night and after church have lunch with them. Those are some of my fondest memories of him, with his family in his childhood home. The church was smaller, the service simpler. . .and in English, of course. I suppose I chose his religion to try to hold on to that part of him. Not that I’m all that religious. He’d probably be a bit disappointed in me in that respect.”
“He sounds nice. I bet you’re a lot like him. Is that what you plan to do, become a professional musician, too?”
He smiled down at her. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”
“How else am I going to learn the things I want to know? People don’t t
ell kids things, you know, unless they’re preaching or just bending your ear about the good old days. And while they still see me as a kid, I’ll keep asking questions. Why did you change the subject?”
He let out a sigh. “Because I’m not sure of that answer, either, I suppose. That’s what I thought I wanted, but whether I’m good enough, or I’ll get the right opportunities, it’s too early to say. My current teacher is very encouraging, but he never fails to point out that there are far too many good violinists. You have to be ambitious, push your way to the front, to become a professional. And then you don’t make any real money, so you have to be willing to sacrifice, too.”
Peg nodded knowingly. “A lot of my father’s friends are musicians. Dad says it takes an enormous ego and a very small appetite to be a success. My mother was a singer, you know. Or maybe you don’t. She’d worked her way from singing in bars to the Broadway stage, a very small role, when Dad met her. He said once she was the hungriest woman he’d ever taken to dinner.”
“That sounds about right. Not that I’m in danger of starving. My grandparents are paying my way through university. I think they hope I’ll decide to teach at least. They’re proud of me, I know, because they were of my father, but they also know how hard the life would be.”
“What does your mother say?”
He chuckled. “My mother believes I’ll be the most famous violinist in the world someday. She’s a dreamer, my mum. Of course dreaming has worked for her. She’s a Shannon now, after all.”
“Maybe you will become famous. What’s to stop you?”
“I’m good, but I’ll never be great. I’m afraid I lack that spark, that thing that makes people take notice. But good might be enough to get me a chair with a respectable orchestra someday.”
They settled on the stoop again. Inside the music and laughter went on, but Kendall tuned it out. Talking with Peg was an experience unlike any he’d known, one he found gratifying and at the same time slightly mystifying. Obviously they had things in common, the loss of a parent, a sense of not quite belonging here. But there must be something more for him to feel such a kinship with a girl he’d met only a few days earlier. When she leaned closer and said under the burst of laughter inside, “Do you think they’ll noticed we disappeared?” he caught her scent, sweet, warm and slightly earthy. Stunned by his visceral response, he leapt to his feet.