“Stop! This instant. If you do not stop what you are doing― you’ll be banished to hell forever! Your souls will burn! This is the devil’s work― the witch is making this happen!” Father Patrick lunged from his chair, racing across the platform towards Fiona’s chair.
Fiona jumped and froze when Garda Roarke simply stuck his foot out, tripping the priest as he lunged toward Fiona and causing him to tumble in a roll of robes and curses.
“It’s all here,” a voice called from the hallway. Fiona jerked her gaze up from where Father Patrick moaned on the floor to where the two muscle-men came back from the hallway, their arms filled with stacks of money.
“Please split the money there in thirds. A third for poor Sean Connor, a third for Sister Hope, and a third to be kept here until we determine if any other money was promised to others in need.”
The men nodded and moved to a small table to begin divvying up the money. Garda Roarke looked down at Father Patrick in disgust.
“Village of Grace’s Cove, in the matter of Father Patrick what say ye?”
Fiona laughed quietly at the resounding cry of “Guilty!” that filled the church. Blinking back tears from her eyes, her heart filled to the brim with love for her town and for the man who stood at the front of the church, his heart in his eyes.
“Please restrain Father Patrick and place him in the cell. We’ll be contacting the Archdiocese immediately,” Garda Roarke instructed, and one of the men came over to Father Patrick, who lay wailing on the floor. Lifting him easily with one arm, he wound the priest’s arm behind his back and marched him from the church while the villagers gave him the evil eye.
“Fiona, you’re free to go. And,” Garda Roarke turned to address the congregation, “I would like you all to know I hold Fiona in the highest esteem. She’s done nothing but help others, and she has a heart that is pure gold. Remember that, should any of you feel the need to cast judgment even after what you’ve seen here today.”
A bolt of light shot through the single stained glass window in the church, illuminating the myriad colors in the glass and bathing Fiona in painted light. If anyone had doubted Fiona was touched with a gift, they no longer did so. Fiona smiled, feeling awash in the love of her village and of the universe. It was all going to be okay, she told herself.
“I’ve an announcement as well,” John said, and turned to address the church with a smile before turning once more and walking over to where Fiona stood on the dais. “I want the entire village to know I love this woman― in all her beauty and her gentle heart. I’d be honored if she would be willing to join me on my path, wherever this life and the next may take me.”
Fiona’s heart quite simply skipped a beat for a moment as she drowned in the love that poured from John’s heart straight into hers. Her future blurred around the edges, tipping for a moment, before righting itself on a new path, with John at her side. Though they’d not been dating for very long, Fiona had known almost instantly that the man who stood before her would forever change her life. Perhaps that’s why she had pushed against him at first. It was scary to know someone could hold her heart in the palm of their hands― to break or to cherish.
“Aye, John O’Brien. I’d be honored to walk this path with you. Both now and forever,” Fiona pledged to him in front of the whole village, meaning every word of it.
“Ah, my heart,” John said, stepping up to wrap his arms around her, and sliding his lips over hers in the gentlest of kisses. Tears dripped from Fiona’s eyes and she began to tremble in his arms, the strain of the week just past finally catching up with her.
“Shh now, my love, it’s all right now,” John soothed, running his hands up and down her arms to calm her. Pulling back, he turned to stand with his arm around Fiona’s shoulders.
Just in time to see his parents storm from the room.
Bridget looked around, confusion crossing her face, before she marched from the pew to smile up at John and Fiona.
“Congratulations, and welcome to the family, John. I couldn’t have asked for a better match for my daughter. I wish you both nothing but happiness and good fortune. Now, let’s go to the pub. Time for some craic,” Bridget said, her smile drowning out the odd note of John’s parents storming from the room.
And though the crowd cheered as they began to flow from the church, Fiona couldn’t shake the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They stayed at the pub much of the afternoon, Fiona drinking cider while John enjoyed a pint. She was a bit dazed by the number of people who had congratulated her and John on their engagement― as well as the number of those who claimed they were convinced that Father Patrick’s allegations had been false.
Noticeably absent were John’s parents.
“Are you all right then, love?” John said, his face flushed with happiness as he looked down at her. Fiona’s heart swelled when she looked at him, so it took her a moment before she responded to his question.
“John, I think we should go talk to your parents. Something’s wrong. The way they left like that? And they’re not here to celebrate with us? I don’t know, I don’t feel right about this,” Fiona said, tugging on his sleeve to pull him a little closer so people couldn’t hear what she was saying.
A lively session sprung up from a few musicians cobbled into the front booth, and John ducked his head lower so Fiona would be able to hear him.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. They probably had to tend to the animals on the farm.” John shrugged but his eyes shifted to the left ever so slightly.
“John, I can tell you’re lying. That’s something you’ll have to understand about me― about who I am,” Fiona said softly, realizing suddenly just how little John knew about her. With a sinking heart, she understood that she would have to show him all of what she was. It wouldn’t be fair to their relationship if she didn’t.
“I… well, I don’t think they are too keen on us marrying, is all,” John said gently, worry crossing his face.
“I can’t say I blame them after everything that’s happened this week. We should go talk to them. I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot,” Fiona said. Besides, the O’Brien farm was on the way to the cove. She’d need to take John there if she wanted him to understand the person he was marrying― and the lineage he was marrying into.
John nodded and stuck two of his fingers between his lips, turning to emit a sharp whistle that cut through the noise and music in the pub.
“Thank you all for celebrating with us and for your support today! We’re going to meet up with my parents now. Please― carry on.”
Cheers met his words and the band struck up a very dramatic wedding march song, making Fiona laugh giddily as they exited the pub, with a quick detour to say goodbye to Bridget on the way out.
“I’m so happy for you,” Bridget whispered in Fiona’s ears as she pulled her tight in a hug. She swallowed against the tears that threatened to spill.
“We’ve yet to see how his parents will be,” Fiona whispered back. Bridget pulled back and met Fiona’s eyes.
“All you can do is be yourself, love. Nothing more and nothing less. Let your own truth shine and leave it up to everyone else to decide what they’ll do about it.”
Fiona nodded at her mother’s words.
“I’m going to take him to the cove. Show him everything I am,” she said.
“As you should. If that light shines bright for you again, being with him is your destiny,” Bridget said.
“Ah, so that was the light’s real meaning then!” Fiona nodded, comprehension dawning as she realized what the cove had been trying to tell her that day. It only stiffened her resolve to make nice with John’s parents and show him just what she was about.
“Go. Show him your heart. The cove is telling you this is right. Trust yourself and don’t let the O’Briens intimidate you.”
“I love you,” Fiona said fiercely, drawing her mother in for one more hug, smelling the sc
ent of lavender in her hair, before releasing her to smile brightly at John.
“Let’s be on with ourselves then.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Fiona was giddy with excitement and nerves as they bumped up the curvy road that led to the O’Briens’ farm. A warm glow from the cider made everything seem a little softer around the edges, and dulled her worry about talking to John’s parents a bit.
“Why do you think your parents left instead of coming to celebrate with us?”
John shrugged, his concentration on the road ahead. She wanted to push him on this point, but perhaps the first lesson of being in a committed relationship was to know how to choose her battles wisely. She didn’t press.
In moments, they crested the hill to the O’Brien farm. The sun hung lower in the sky, its rays dancing across the turquoise water, and a gull swooped lazily in a circle over the sea. Fiona couldn’t help but think that the O’Briens had chosen a perfect spot for their farm. It was almost as good as the spot that she so desperately wanted to be hers. Idly, she wondered if there was some way the O’Briens would be willing to sell it to her and John to start their family home.
Their family home.
Just the thought made her squirm a bit in her seat with the giddiness that had been rushing through her all afternoon. It was such a sharp contrast to the worry and fear that had sat like a stone in her belly all week. It was nice to think about the simple pleasures of starting a new life with a man whom she was certain was meant for her.
The O’Brien farm consisted of a large whitewashed stucco house with pretty green shutters and window boxes holding cheerful red flowers. Several outbuildings were clustered behind the house, with long walls of stacked stone and wire fencing making up the pastures for their animals. As John put his truck into park and turned the engine off, his little lamb toddled around the corner of the house.
“He’s getting bigger. I can’t believe he knows the sound of your truck.” Fiona couldn’t help but laugh at its cheerful bleats as it danced outside of the truck, waiting on John.
“I’ve named him Lir. He’s a cute one at that,” John smiled as he got out of the truck. Fiona got out and crossed to pat Lir on the head.
“It’s funny― he acts a bit like a dog, doesn’t he?” Fiona said, cocking her head at the fuzzy little guy.
“I’ve never had a lamb act like this before. Hard not to like him though,” John agreed, reaching out to slip Fiona’s hand into his. They couldn’t dawdle any longer. The O’Briens would have heard his truck by now. Straightening her shoulders, they walked silently up the walk, gravel crunching under their feet, until they reached the bright green front door.
“I feel bad that I didn’t bring a gift or anything,” Fiona whispered as she looked up under her lashes at John.
“You’re family now. No need to bring a gift,” John pointed out and pulled the iron lever that disengaged the latch and pushed the door open.
“Ma? Fiona and I are here,” John called.
“Yes, well, I’ve eyes in my head now, don’t I?”
Celeste O’Brien bustled down the hallway, an apron tied around her waist and flour on her hands.
“Mrs. O’Brien, lovely to see you again. Would you like me to take my shoes off?” Fiona asked politely.
“No, that’s fine. Come on back to the kitchen now, I’ve got to keep kneading my dough,” Mrs. O’Brien said, her lips in a tight line. She shot John a look that made Fiona raise her eyebrows behind the small woman’s back as she hurried back towards the kitchen.
Fiona glanced quickly around as they moved down the hallway. Two front rooms lined either side of the hallway, one looking to be a small library and the other a formal sitting room with a small fireplace. Framed pictures covered the walls, and Fiona was itching to peruse some of the photographs of his family members. They turned to the left at the back of the hallway into the kitchen, which Fiona wished Bridget could see. Her mother would have swooned over the size of it. With two stoves, a peat fireplace, two sinks, and a place for a long table― it was the size of their entire cottage in one room.
A squat cobalt blue vase sat in the middle of the table, a few of the same red flowers from the front window boxes poking out. A lace doily― ironed perfectly― sat beneath the vase. Matching lace placemats lined the table and Fiona wondered if she was expecting company.
“Are you expecting company? I’m happy to help,” Fiona said, gesturing to the lace placemats on the table.
A look of confusion crossed Celeste’s face and she glanced quickly at Fiona before looking at the table.
“No, Fiona. We always eat off lace placemats in this household.”
Might as well toss a glove at her feet, Fiona thought as she raised an eyebrow at the woman who was to become her mother-in-law. It appeared that the gauntlet had been thrown.
“That’s quite lovely of you to provide so nicely for your family,” Fiona said, syrupy sweet as could be.
Celeste looked at her suspiciously, and went back to kneading her dough. “Well, now, when you’ve a man who comes home every night instead of going straight to the pub, you should put on a nice table for him,” Celeste said pointedly, flipping the dough on her table.
It was one thing for Celeste to put Fiona in her place. But to take a shot at her mother and father? Not happening, Fiona thought as her temper began to rise. Before she could speak, John cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“Stop it right now, Ma. This is the woman I’ve chosen to be in my life. She isn’t going anywhere. There is nothing you can say or do that will make me change my mind. Either you accept that and make nice, or you’ll be seeing less of me around here. And shame on you for being mean about Fiona’s mother. You know Bridget has to be one of the kindest women in town. I’m right ashamed of you, I am,” John said, his hands on his hips.
Fiona wanted to crow in delight at the flush that crept up his mother’s cheeks.
Instead, she took the high road.
“John, I’m sure it’s just a lot to take in all at once. This must come as a surprise to her as we haven’t been very public about our dating. I’m quite sure that after a little time to absorb the news, she’ll be much more amicable to our relationship. Isn’t that right, Mrs. O’Brien?” Fiona said sweetly, throwing the woman an out.
Celeste let out a small sigh and then picked up her dough and put it in a pan, covering it with a dish towel. Reaching for a towel to wipe her hands, she turned and smiled at the both of them.
“Yes, it’s just quite a shock, is all. Why don’t we take tea outside? It’s still a lovely day and I’m sure your father will want to come speak with you.”
It wasn’t an apology― but a small olive branch. Fiona would take it, for now.
“I’ll just set the water to boil. Take this tin of biscuits out with you now,” Celeste said, handing off a pretty blue and white tin of name-brand biscuits. Fiona was getting the message loud and clear: The O’Briens did well for themselves.
Unlike her family.
It was funny; she’d never really considered her family to be poor. Granted, she knew they needed to work hard to make money, but their needs were always met. Her mother had raised her to never compare herself to others― so she’d never thought twice about others with more money than they had. As far as she was concerned, the more you had, the more you had to take care of.
For the first time, though, she felt the sticky shame of not being good enough creep in. It was abundantly clear that Celeste had expected John to pick a different type of woman for his wife-to-be. Perhaps highly educated and from one of the finer families in town― maybe even from Dublin. Settling down with the local daughter of a drunk and a weaver had most likely not been in her plans for him. Fiona lifted her chin higher as Celeste came out with a pot of tea and several cups on tray. She refused to be embarrassed by who she was and what she came from. Bridget had raised her to work hard and to be kind to others― something she had said would never do Fiona wrong. Ti
me to put that into practice.
“Tea?” Celeste asked.
“Yes, please,” Fiona said, smiling widely at Celeste, hoping to charm her.
Celeste just turned her eyes to the fields, and waved to where John’s father was pouring feed into a trough.
“It’s pretty out here,” Fiona said as Celeste turned back and poured her a cup of tea. It was pretty outside. There was a wood table with another pot of flowers in the middle and several chairs pulled up to all face the ocean. With the sun shining and a gentle breeze, Fiona would have called it the perfect spot for tea.
Aside from the cold wind blowing from her soon-to-be in-laws, that is. Fiona pasted a smile on her face as Mr. O’Brien shed his rubber gloves and made his way across the yard. Lir bleated at him and bounced over to bump his head against John’s leg.
“Ah, a cup of tea mid-day is always nice isn’t it?” Mr. O’Brien said, with a twinkle in his eye as he smiled kindly at Fiona. So it was just Mrs. O’Brien that Fiona would have to contend with, then. She smiled up at him, admiring how handsome he was and imagining that John would age well, if his father was anything to judge by.
“You know Fiona, don’t you, Henry?” Celeste said evenly and Henry’s smile broadened.
“Sure and I do, at that. ’Twas right glad I was to see that silliness of a trial dispensed with today. Though that was some news about Father Patrick, wasn’t it?”
Fiona positively beamed at the man. It was always nice to be in the company of people who refused to ignore the elephant in the room. Fiona saw Celeste press her lips together again from the corner of her eyes.
“It was a rough week for me, that’s the honest truth of it,” Fiona said, taking a small sip of her tea. “But I’m lucky to have a lot of people who support me.”
“So what really happened with Sinead then? I’m dying to know what was really wrong with her,” Celeste said, her eyes brightening at the prospect of gossip.
Fiona looked at her askance.
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