by JoAnn Ross
“With the milking?” This was a first. Nora couldn’t remember the last time her father had been anywhere near the milking barn.
“Oh, you seem to have that in hand well enough,” he said. “Besides, I never have understood these newfangled machines. Now, if you needed someone to milk the old-fashioned way—”
“I’d still have to go out and find John.” Her smile took any sting from her playful accusation. “As Kate always says, the gods gave us all our own talents, Da. Yours isn’t farming.”
“And isn’t that the gods’ own truth?” He sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve been as bad at parenting my children as I’ve been a farmer.”
“No, that’s not true at all! You’ve been a wonderful father.”
“I wanted to be.” He sighed again, tipped over an empty milk can and perched atop it. “But things got difficult after your dear mother passed on.”
“It was a hard time for everyone.”
“Aye. But hardest on you. Because I wasn’t pulling my weight.”
“You were grieving.” Nora had almost forgotten how silent he’d gone, barely saying more than two words at a stretch for months.
“My children were grieving, as well. And I was too blind to see it.”
Nora wondered what had brought on this uncharacteristic introspection. “It’s all in the past now,” she said. “We all survived.”
“Thanks to you.” He took out his pipe, looked around the pristine barn, then, seeming to realize smoking wasn’t in order, returned it to his shirt pocket. “I don’t believe I ever told you how much I appreciated the way you took charge of the house. And the children have grown up to become a credit to your mothering talents.”
“Thank you. But they were good children to begin with. I just gave them a little direction.”
Her father had always been lavish with compliments. But they’d been only surface statements, meant to charm. Never had any of them made her eyes grow moist as they did now. She wondered again what had brought all this on, then felt her blood turn to ice as a possible answer came into her mind.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Me?” He put a hand against his chest. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because it’s not like you to be so serious. And because Dr. Flannery—”
“Don’t you go paying him any mind. What does he know? He’s still wet behind the ears, Nora. Why, the last time I was in there for that examination you insisted on, I took a close look at that fancy Latin medical degree hanging in that fine oak frame on his wall, and do you know what I discovered?”
“What?”
“That the ink was still wet.”
She laughed as she was meant to. Then immediately sobered. “I worry about you.”
“You worry about the entire world, Nora, darling. It’s one of your finest traits. It’s also your curse. Because sometimes you care too much.”
“I’d like to know what’s wrong with not wanting my father to drop dead some morning of a heart attack.”
“Now, that’s not going to happen.”
“Dr. Flannery—”
“Jaysus, don’t I wish old Doc Walsh hadn’t retired? Ever since that pup Flannery took over his practice, things have gotten depressingly grim down at the surgery.”
Nora pounced on his muttered complaint like a barn cat might pounce on a fat field mouse. “So, he has told you something.”
“Only a bunch of fancy medical words that boil down to the simple fact that while I’ve always done my best to avoid growing up, I’m not getting any younger. Then he charged me ten pounds to tell me what I already knew.” Brady took out the pipe again, but resisted filling it. Instead, he turned it over and over in his hands, as if choosing his words carefully.
“But I don’t want to ruin a lovely spring evening talking about Dr. Flannery. Fact is, I’ve been doing some thinking.”
Realizing that she wasn’t going to learn anything more about the state of her father’s health, Nora decided that since he’d obviously had some important reason for tracking her down, she should at least hear him out.
“Oh?” she responded noncommittally.
“About you.”
“I see,” she said, not seeing anything at all.
“I was wondering if you ever think about what you’ve missed, giving up your vocation.”
The question came as such a surprise, she couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping. “Oh, Da.” She went over to where he was sitting, crouched and twined her arms around his shoulders. “I never truly had a vocation. I suspected that was the case even before Mam died. And I was certain when I agreed to marry Conor. And when the midwife placed Rory in my arms, not a single doubt remained that I’d done exactly the right thing in leaving the convent.”
“You’re a natural-born mother, ’tis true,” he agreed, his eyes going bright with unshed tears. “You should have more children.”
“I’d like that. Especially now that John and Mary will be leaving home soon. But perhaps it might be best if I were to find myself a husband first.”
“Father O’Malley would undoubtedly prefer that order.” He gave a quick grin that reminded Nora more of the father that could be both charming and exasperating at the same time. The father she adored. “Did I ever tell you how your mam and I met?”
“Of course. At the horse fair in Ballinasloe. You were there to tell your stories. And she was the horse trader’s daughter.”
“The horse trader’s beautiful daughter.” He gave her a long perusal. “You have the look of your mother. The coloring’s different, of course, since you inherited your grandmother Fionna’s bright hair and Eleanor’s was jet-black. But you favor her around the eyes. And your mouth’s just the same…
“There are times, when you smile, that my foolish heart skips a beat because it gets confused and believes Elly’s come back to me.”
“There are times when Rory reminds me of Conor in that same way,” Nora admittedly quietly. A cow mooed impatiently, reminding her that if she wanted it to stand still for the milking, she’d best be hurrying up with the feeding.
“Aye.” He fell silent for a time. Understanding that this conversation was far more personal—and thus more difficult—than any of the stories that tripped so easily off his tongue, Nora waited him out again. “Your grandfather Noonan didn’t want your mother marrying me.”
“Really?” Her only memory of her mother’s father, who’d died when she was younger than Rory, was the scent of horse and leather clinging to his clothes, and the peppermints he always carried in his shirt pocket for her.
“They were from Dublin. City folk, from south of the Liffey. Oh, he wasn’t about to let his only daughter take off to the west with some poor farmer who was scarcely more secure than a traveler. A man who’d never be able to buy her all the knickknacks and doodads women like.”
“Mam was never interested in possessions,” Nora assured him. “She cared about people. About family.”
“Aye. That’s what she tried to tell her father when I asked for her hand, but he was a hard and stubborn man, and not one given to compromise.”
“Yet you were married.”
“Only because of the kidnapping.”
“What?” Nora stared at this man she thought she knew so well. “You actually dared kidnap my mother?”
“Well, she wasn’t your mother at the time, mind you,” he said. “And besides, ’twas her own idea. So her father would have to permit the marriage.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, of course, things are different now, what with young people living together right out in the open without even bothering to stop by the church to exchange vows along the way. But in those days, if a young woman spent the night with a man, no matter how innocent the occasion…”
“Her reputation would be ruined if they didn’t get married,” Nora guessed. Despite Mary’s accusations about Jack’s new girlfriend supposedly sleeping around, it wasn’t tha
t different even these days out here in the country.
“Aye.” He chuckled a bit at the long-ago time. “Your grandda Noonan couldn’t get Elly to the altar fast enough. He even tried to bribe the priest into forgoing the usual posting of the bans, because he was fearful she was pregnant and he didn’t want people gossiping about his short-term grandchild.”
“But she wasn’t. Pregnant.” Nora couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with her father. “Wait.” She held up her hand. “Forget I asked that.” Nora didn’t want to think about her parents’ sex life.
“Finn was born nine months to the day of our wedding night. And then Michael. And as much as I love both your older brothers, I have to confess that I wept like a baby the stormy day you came into the world.” He rubbed his chin and his eyes took on a faraway look, as if remembering the event in detail. “A man always wants sons. I suppose you could say we even expect them.
“But ah, Nora, when I looked down at you, with that fuzz of me own mam’s brilliant hair atop your wee pink head and your wide blue eyes that hadn’t yet turned to emerald, I told your mother that no man had ever been so blessed. To have such a perfect wife. And equally perfect daughter.”
Nora’s eyes filled at the obviously heartfelt revelation. “Now look what you’ve gone and done,” she complained, sniffling back her tears. “You’ve made me all weepy.”
“You should never apologize for weeping, Nora. Didn’t God give us tears to help us keep our emotions from getting all bottled up? Even if there are some who won’t be understanding that it’s better to let those feelings out and fresh air in?”
“Ah.” Nora nodded, finally understanding her father’s unexpected appearance in the milking barn. “I was wondering if you were going to ask me about Quinn.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him, daughter—with your heart on your sleeve and shining bright in your eyes. It’s the way I remember your mother looking at me.”
“And the way you looked back at her?”
“Later on. In the beginning I suspect I had more of the look of how Gallagher looks at you, when he thinks no one is watching.” Brady began fiddling with the pipe again. “Men aren’t the same as women, Nora. My da once told me that a woman has to be in love with a man to want to make love to him. But a man just has to be in the room.”
Even though she was growing nearly as embarrassed as Brady obviously was by the turn the unusually intimate conversation had taken, Nora laughed again. “Is it always that way, do you think?”
“Most cases I know of, aye.” He pulled off his cap and dragged his fingers through his curly gray hair. “Jaysus, I wish your mam was here to have this talk with you! It’s a mother’s duty, after all, to discuss such things with her daughter.”
“But I’ve already been married.”
“You were a child. You loved Conor the way a young girl loves an older man who sweeps her off her feet. You were blinded by a bright dazzling sun, Nora, which worried me at the time, but in truth, I was so relieved you were going to marry and take the burden of the younger children from my shoulders that I refused to admit to myself that the marriage wasn’t in your best interests.”
“I loved Conor. I would have made it work.”
“You would have tried,” Brady allowed. “And had your heart shattered in the trying. You weren’t the first woman in Conor Fitzpatrick’s life, Nora. And although it pains me to say it, darling, you weren’t the last.”
Oh, God. She’d known that of course. Even as innocent as she’d been, she’d sensed the fact of Conor’s infidelity with a wife’s intuition of such things. But until now, she’d never so much as allowed herself to state that terrible fear out loud. And if others in Castlelough had known about his other women, which she realized now they undoubtedly had, none, not even Kate, had ever dared say it to her face.
She swallowed, trying to push the words past the lump in her throat. “If it pains you so to tell me this, how do you think it makes me feel?”
“I’m sure it’s far from easy. But I also notice you’re not arguing the point.”
Nora turned away and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. It hurt. Heaven help her, it hurt horribly! She didn’t want to deal with this. Not now. Not when she was so confused about her feelings for Quinn.
She took a deep breath, then whirled back toward him.
“Why?” she asked on a fractured desperate sound. “My husband has been dead for five years. Why bring this up now?”
“Because I was a selfish bastard when you needed a father’s protection. I should have kept you from marrying a man who was so wrong for you.”
“There wouldn’t have been anything you could have done. After all, you’ve already told me that Grandda Noonan couldn’t stop Mam from marrying you.”
“Aye. And he was wrong about what was truly good for his daughter. Because although I tested her temper more often than perhaps I should have, Eleanor was happy in our marriage. But he had no way of knowing I could make her happy at the time, so he did what he thought was best. He fought for her. To protect her.”
Brady pushed himself off the milk can with a weariness of body and spirit Nora hadn’t witnessed since her mother’s death. When he enveloped her in his arms, she remembered him holding her exactly the same way the first time she’d fallen off a horse. At the time, unable to draw a decent breath, she’d been certain she was dying. But it turned out that she’d only had the wind knocked out of her, and later he’d taken her into town for ice cream. Strangely, she felt exactly the same way now.
As she breathed in the familiar comforting scents of hair tonic and tobacco and felt the outline of the pipe he always carried in his breast pocket, Nora wished her current troubles could be solved with a vanilla ice-cream cone.
“If Conor was the sun, Quinn Gallagher is the cold dark side of the moon, Nora. And while I might be able to understand how you’d find yourself drawn to a man who’s the exact opposite of your first husband, I’m fearful he’s going to hurt you more than Conor Fitzpatrick ever could have.”
Nora opened her mouth, prepared to argue. But couldn’t.
“You may be right.” There wasn’t any reason to try to keep fooling herself. She’d already reached the point of no return, whatever happened between her and Quinn during the next three weeks, she’d foolishly let him into her heart. Deep enough that she knew he’d be taking a bit of it with him when he left Castlelough.
Which of course, she reminded herself firmly, he’d be doing. “And I don’t mean to quibble, Da. But I seem to remember you throwing Quinn and me together that first Sunday morning.”
“Ah, but that was before I knew his true nature.” Brady frowned. “Now I suppose you’ll be telling me that you can handle whatever the Yank dishes out?”
She met his worried look with a level one of her own. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“And don’t I know that? But of all the eligible bachelors in Castlelough, why did you have to pick the American?”
“I didn’t pick him. Kate believes Mam did. Because he’d be a challenge. As her own husband was.”
Brady gave Nora another long look. Then chuckled. “Aye, that sounds just like something your mother would do.”
They both began to laugh at the absurdity of it all, which was how Quinn found them, father and daughter, arms wrapped around each other, tears streaming down their faces.
“I’m sorry.” Uncomfortable with such an open display of emotion, he began to back out of the open doorway. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Don’t worry about it, my boy,” Brady said, swiping at his wet face with the back of his hands. “I was just about to be on my way into the village. You can take my place helping Nora with the milking.”
He left before Quinn could think up a good excuse to escape with him.
“Nice place.” He looked around the remarkably clean barn and decided open-heart surgery could be performed on the spotless concrete floor. “I guess I expected
something a bit more primitive.”
“Ah, there you go again, Mr. Gallagher,” Nora said with an impertinent toss of her head that, if Brady had witnessed it, would have reminded him again of her mother. “Trying to fit everyone into tidy little boxes.” She poured the last of the grain into the final trough. “I’m disappointed. I would have expected a famous writer such as yourself to have more imagination.”
There was something different about her. It was as if she’d let down her guard and was giving him his first glimpse of the woman who’d been brave enough to take on a ready-made family before she was even out of her teens.
“Sometimes it helps to be able to pigeonhole people.”
“Stereotype, you mean.” She went back down to the beginning of the row and began attaching the inflations to the cows’ swollen udders. “Let me guess, if you’d given the matter of my milking any thought, which I doubt you have, you would have pictured me doing the work by hand, while sitting on a three-legged wooden stool, wearing a dirndl.”
“And a scooped-neck cotton peasant blouse to show off the tops of your milky white breasts,” he finished for her. The fantasy of unlacing that white blouse had tortured him during the more pastoral of his erotic dreams concerning this woman.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“That’s the one thing you couldn’t do, sweetheart.” Starting at the other end of the line, he began attaching the octopuslike hoses to the teats of the feeding cows. “You frustrate me, frighten me, turn me on, but—”
“Surely you’re not serious? I frighten you?”
“You’re right. Frighten isn’t the right word.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Actually, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, you scare the living bejesus out of me.”
Surprised that he’d make such a startling admission in such an easy tone, Nora glanced up, then stared at the sight of Quinn doing what to her had become routine. “What are you doing?”
“Helping out like Brady suggested.”
“But you know what to do.”
“I told you I knew a bit about farms.”
“Well, knowing a bit about farms and knowing farmwork are two very different things.”