Song of Erin

by BJ Hoff

  ANONYMOUS

  By four o’clock, Terese was planning a scalding speech for Brady Kane—who was late, as usual—when she finally saw him coming up the path.

  Closing the door quietly behind her, she hurried out to meet him. “Jane is sleeping,” she warned, putting a finger to her lips.

  He grinned, pulling her up close for a hug. “Good. That’s how I like Jane best.”

  “Will you stop now? The neighbors will be watching.”

  “Let them watch,” he said, dipping his head for a kiss. “Won’t they just think what a lucky man that worthless American is to have such a gorgeous lass after him?”

  Terese gave him the elbow and pulled away. “There’s no one after you except the devil himself, you conceited Yank.”

  He laughed at her. “Ah, now, T’reesie, why can’t you just admit that you find me irresistible entirely?”

  She glared at him. “Aren’t you even beginning to sound like a pigheaded Irishman, you fool? And will you stop calling me that silly name? My name is Terese.”

  Brady lifted an eyebrow. “Aren’t we in a state today? I thought you’d be all excited about the play tonight, not carrying on like a bad-tempered fishwife.”

  Terese mellowed a bit at the thought of the play. She had never in her life seen the sort of thing Brady had been telling her about, where people in bright-colored costumes got up on a stage and acted out stories. She was excited, and that was the truth, but it wouldn’t do to have him taking her for granted. Besides, he seemed to like it when she showed a bit of spirit.

  “Jane hasn’t agreed as yet that I can go,” she cautioned glumly.

  His dark eyebrows drew together in a frown of impatience. “You shouldn’t even have to ask. The old crone isn’t entitled to your soul, Terese, not for a measly two shillings a week. Stand up for yourself.”

  Terese squared off with him in the middle of the yard. “Two shillings a week might be nothing to a rich American like yourself, Brady Kane, but ’tis the hedge between myself and the poorhouse. I have to keep my position.” She paused. “And don’t be calling Jane a crone.”

  “Your position,” he said, his mouth turning down. “The woman treats you like a slave.”

  “That’s not true a bit!” Terese glanced back toward the house. “Didn’t she tell me right from the start what she expected? She asks nothing more than what I agreed to.” She saw the tight set of his mouth, his stubborn frown, and added, “The only reason you don’t like poor Jane is that you know she doesn’t like you. She doesn’t trust you.”

  He pulled a face, as if surprised to find her defending Jane. In truth, Terese surprised herself. Without question, the woman could still set her teeth to grinding with her cantankerous ways. But even though Jane liked to goad her at every chance, for the most part they lived together peaceably enough.

  “‘Poor Jane,’” Brady mimicked, “doesn’t like anyone. The woman’s disposition would curdle new milk.” He shifted his sketch pad to his other arm and withdrew an envelope from his pocket, bringing it close to Terese’s face. “The tickets,” he said. “Give us a smile and a kiss now, or I’ll go and find myself a girl who’s not so cruel.”

  Hands on her hips, Terese stared him down. “You didn’t tell me I had to pay for my ticket, Brady Kane. Didn’t you say it was to be a treat on you?”

  He inched closer to her. “The play is your treat. The kiss is mine.”

  “You’re a fool,” Terese said, trying to keep a straight face.

  He grinned at her. “Ah, but you’re a lovely girl.”

  “Light in the head, that’s what you are.”

  He dangled the tickets in front of her.

  “And late again as well,” she reminded him. “What kept you this time? I suppose you stopped by Gabriel’s house on the way.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not all that late.”

  Terese bristled. She had nothing against Gabriel—the man had been kind to her, in his fashion—but she’d seen how Brady’s eyes turned all soft when he looked at Roweena. She didn’t want him looking at anyone that way except herself. Too much depended on it.

  “Did I tell you how pretty you look?” he said. “Dressed up just for me, did you?” Again he tried to steal a kiss, and this time Terese allowed it but quickly turned her face so he managed only a light peck on the cheek. “I’m not dressed up, you great amadon. I have nothing to dress up in.”

  “Still, you’re gorgeous. Go and tell Jane good-bye now. And get a wrap. It’s already turning cool.”

  “If she’s still sleeping, I’d hate to wake her. She’ll be cross.”

  “Fine,” he said, catching her hand as if to start back down the path. “We’ll go without waking her.”

  “Indeed we will not,” Terese warned. “But you’ll come in.”

  He grimaced but let her lead him to the door. “I don’t see why I can’t just wait outside.”

  “ ’Tis not proper. You’ll come in and make a greeting and tell Jane you’ll be very careful of my safety and have me home immediately after the play.”

  He bared his teeth. “She thinks I’m the wolf at the door.”

  “Jane is known for her discernment of character,” Terese said archly, pulling him toward the front door as she went to check on her employer.

  Inside, they found Jane sitting in the shadows by the window, no longer dozing. Her flint-edged stare darted from one to the other as they approached.

  With only a slight hesitation, Brady started in on the exchange that had become a kind of ritual between him and Terese’s employer. “Good evening, Mrs. Connolly. And how are you this fine day?”

  The look she turned on him would have withered a snake. “I am exactly as I was when you last inquired, which was not all that long ago, it seems to me.” She glanced at Terese. “You’re walking out with him again?”

  “Do you mind terribly?” Terese held her breath. She would defy her, if it came down to it, but she would rather not. Jane was a fright when she got upset, those poor gnarled hands shaking and crimson splotches breaking over her skin.

  Jane cast a disdainful look at Brady Kane. “Sure, and you must have something better to do, girl.”

  Brady merely smiled—a thoroughly unpleasant smile.

  Terese hurried to take an edge off the tension between the two. Brady was convinced that Jane didn’t like him, and there was no denying that’s how it seemed. Terese was fairly certain, however, that her employer’s behavior toward Brady wasn’t born so much of dislike as simple contrariness. Jane had seen early on that she could rile Brady and from then on took pleasure in doing just that. She did the same thing with her, but Terese had toughened herself to the constant barbs, could actually ignore them—most of the time.

  “Please, Jane,” she said in a tone as ingratiating as she could manage. “Tonight’s the play—you remember, don’t you? I’ve been counting on going, if you can make do without me.”

  Terese couldn’t understand for the life of her why she wanted this eccentric old woman’s approval, yet more and more often of late she found herself striving for at least a measure of it. At the moment, she was deliberately shining up to her, of course, but even so she really did want Jane’s favor.

  Jane lifted a hand in a weak motion of dismissal. “Go on, then. I’ll not keep you from your folly.” As if she’d only then thought of something else, she turned to Brady. “What do you know about this—play business, Brady Kane? Is it a decent event, where you’re taking the girl?”

  Brady gave another tight smile. “Entirely respectable, I assure you, Mrs. Connolly. It’s a play based on the legend of Grania and Dermot. One of the traveling guild wagons is performing it in Galway, just for tonight.”

  “There’s very little respectable about that legend,” Jane said, her eyes narrowing as if to challenge his opinion. “Grania was a stubborn, selfish girl bent only on having her own way. Got her man killed in the process, as I recall. But then he was a fool for taking up with such a wild, heathen
girl and no doubt deserved what he got.”

  Terese saw the way Brady was staring at Jane, as if some unidentifiable object had just sprouted from her head.

  Jane’s eyes flared, and she cracked a decidedly nasty smile before turning back to Terese. “Didn’t I say to go on, then? ’Tis not for me to keep you from squandering your time.”

  Outside, Terese linked her arm through Brady’s as they started down the path. “I don’t know how you put up with her; I swear I don’t,” he said. “That woman would drive a saint to murder.”

  “She’s not so bad, once you get used to her,” Terese insisted. “In truth, she’s decent enough to me, in her own way.”

  He shot her a look of disbelief. “I’d be interested in knowing what ‘her own way’ might be. I’ve never heard her give you a kind word yet.”

  Terese shrugged, then smiled a little. “I didn’t say she was kind. But she hardly ever calls me a ‘wild island girl’ anymore. And she now allows me two cups of tea a day, instead of only one.”

  They turned into the lane leading away from the house. “Oh, well, of course that makes all the difference,” he quipped. “Next thing you know, she’ll be offering you a raise in wages.”

  “And wouldn’t I be glad to take it?” Terese muttered.

  “You could probably find something better in the city, Terese,” he remarked, as he did at least once every time they were together. “Perhaps something in one of the shops.”

  Terese pulled her shawl more tightly about her, already chilled from the wind off the bay.

  Brady noticed. “Don’t you have a coat or something heavier?” he asked.

  “Wouldn’t I be wearing a coat if I had one?”

  “We’re going to get you a coat,” he said firmly.

  “You’re going to stir your own stew,” Terese fired back at him. “I’ll be buying a coat for myself when I’m inclined, you insufferable rich Yank.”

  “Why do you keep calling me rich? I’m not rich.”

  “All Americans are rich,” Terese said. “Everyone knows that.”

  He looked at her, slowing his pace to match hers. “Is that what your brother told you in his letters?”

  Terese didn’t answer right away. “No,” she admitted. “He told me jobs were often hard to come by. Especially for the Irish.”

  Brady nodded. “I’m afraid he’s right. Have you heard from him yet, by the way?”

  Terese shook her head, not wanting to spoil her earlier mood.

  “How long has it been since you wrote to tell him where you are?”

  She tensed. “I’ve written twice. Jane loaned me the paper, and I posted the last letter three weeks past.”

  “Well, Pennsylvania’s a long way off,” he said somewhat lamely. “But you’re sure to hear something soon.”

  Terese knew he was only trying to reassure her, but with every passing day she grew more anxious. If something had happened to Cavan, she didn’t know what she would do. He was all the family she had now.

  For years she had counted on joining him in America, where the two of them would build a better life for themselves. He was her big brother, but he was little more than an obscure shadow in her memory. She could hardly recall what he looked like. Of course, he would no doubt be greatly changed by now. Even so, she wished she could remember his face more clearly.

  But tonight she didn’t want to think about Cavan. She wanted to make the most of every minute of this special evening, wanted to enjoy hanging onto the arm of a handsome lad, going out for an evening to a play, just like the girls in America undoubtedly did. Just for tonight, she didn’t want to think of anything unpleasant, anything worrisome. She didn’t want to imagine Cavan meeting with some terrible misfortune or accident, and she certainly didn’t want to think about what she would do if she never heard from him again.

  Tonight, she wanted to savor each moment, make the most of it, make it last as long as possible. Tonight, she didn’t even want to think about America.

  They had plenty of time before the play, and on impulse Brady led her onto one of the streets fronted with small shops. True to form, Terese’s mind focused solely on the event to come—the play—and the detour only made her impatient with him. When Brady tried to lead her into one of the shops, she resisted.

  “We’ve gone too far already. Didn’t you say the performance was just off the quay? We need to be turning back—”

  “We’re far too early. Let’s have a look around,” he said, tugging her along beside him.

  “I’d not want to be late. You said we should watch from the front, so we can see everything that’s going on.”

  “And so we shall. But we’ve plenty of time. Come on now.”

  “I think we should be going back,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

  “Terese,” Brady said, at the same time pulling her the rest of the way into the shop.

  Her eyes widened as she saw where he was leading her. A row of cloaks hung against one wall, while tables neatly stacked with woolens took up most of the floor space. On the opposite wall, bolts of material filled the shelves.

  With the sharp eyes of the generously whiskered owner following their every move, Brady led Terese down the row of cloaks, until one caught his eye. It was a brilliant, regal green, velvet soft and meticulously sewn.

  “Here,” he said, “put this on.”

  Terese stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

  “Come on, try it on,” he insisted, holding out the folds for her inspection.

  Still, she hesitated. The owner wedged his way between the cloaks and one of the tables and began to comment—in the Irish. At a loss, Brady asked Terese, “What’s he saying?”

  She looked from the owner to Brady. “He says he’ll make us a generous offer, since the weather is warming. But, Brady—”

  Brady whipped the cloak free and draped it about her slender shoulders, then stood back just enough to have a look. With sudden mischief in her eyes, Terese spun around, and Brady caught his breath. He had never seen her in anything but her old frayed dress and one other, equally as worn, that Jane had collected for her somewhere. At this moment, with the splendid green wrap drawn close about her throat and the fiery riot of hair haloing her face, she might have been the daughter of the High King himself.

  He let out his breath in a low whistle as he studied her. “I wish I could paint you right now, at this moment,” he said softly. But even as he spoke, he knew he could never capture the passion, the mercurial spirit or formidable will that lent the fire to her beauty. She was beyond depiction. She was magnificent, and so fiercely alive she almost frightened him.

  “Tell him we’ll take it,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Her smoke blue eyes grew enormous. “Brady, you can’t mean to—”

  “Ask him the price.”

  She did, then relayed what she obviously thought to be a monumental amount. “ ’Tis outrageous!” she blurted out.

  “We will take it,” Brady interrupted. “Tell him you’ll wear it from here, not to wrap it.”

  “Brady! No, I can’t—”

  Brady turned to the owner himself, gesturing his intent, and soon they were on their way out of the shop.

  The entire distance to the quay, he relished the sight of her touching the soft wool, eyes shining with a smile for him at every stroke. She was light on her feet at any time, but now she virtually danced, a vision in emerald, a glory to rival the Galway sunset and the jeweled mountains. She was enough to make a man’s heart go wild.

  Clearly, she was overwhelmed…delighted. Never before tonight had Brady enjoyed giving a gift quite so much.

  And never before tonight had he wanted something so much, yet hesitated to take it, for fear it might consume him.

  22

  STAR OF DESTINY

  The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

  The best lack all conviction, while the worst

  Are full of passionate intensity.

&nb
sp; W. B. YEATS

  Brady tried to see the performance through Terese’s eyes, for it was a new experience, an exciting one for her, and she was obviously enthralled with it. But he had to stretch his imagination to the limits, for he had seen a number of stage plays in New York and Dublin, and tonight’s production was without a doubt the poorest he’d ever witnessed.

  The performance was given inside a rickety auditorium by a small traveling group, most of whose members looked too old for life on the road. They also looked hungry, and probably were. The costumes were shabby; the sets were inferior—and for the most part, so were the performers. The actress who played the lead was too clumsy on her feet and too jaded in appearance to make a convincing Grania, but even so, at moments she became a spirited, if not inspiring, rebel. And of course the legend itself was intriguing enough that it held even an indifferent audience captive.

  Terese was anything but indifferent. It seemed to Brady that she scarcely caught a deep breath until the last line was spoken. Throughout the entire performance, her face was radiant, her eyes shining, so much so that the height of Brady’s own enjoyment came from watching hers.

  She was a sight in that emerald cloak, statuesque and vibrant, her hair aflame in the light from the lanterns—a vision that would steal any man’s senses. He was feeling especially fond of her tonight, even tender, in light of their approaching separation—of which she as yet knew nothing. He held her hand throughout the performance, and when she reached to clutch his arm at a particularly moving scene, he found that he rued the assignment that was about to take him away from her.

  Tonight, for the first time, he realized how foolish he had been, what a mistake he had made, to think he could leave her behind, even for a brief time, with no regrets.

  Terese did not weep easily. She had struggled through too much pain, too much anguish in her life, to indulge her sorrows with tears. But when the last line of the play was spoken, the curtain drawn, she wept. Overcome by a sense of loss that the experience must come to an end, overwhelmed even more by a dawning awareness that there was something in this night more significant than the play itself…something waiting for her discovery…she found herself unable to control the storm of emotion sweeping through her.