“It is kind of magical,” Briana realized.
They continued along the path, the rhythmic creaking of leather blending with the soft lapping of the water against the rocky shoreline.
“Sorry I was so… moody this morning,” Nora said softly.
So we are going to talk about this. Briana wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, having never done this before with anyone. There’d never been anyone worth talking things through with before.
“Was there anything in particular wrong?” she asked. “Did I do or say anything?”
“No.” Nora reached for her hand and kept it as they walked the horses side by side. “No, it wasn’t you. It was all me. Instead of enjoying the morning, taking each day as it comes, I was already thinking ahead, counting down time. Sheila helped me see how silly that is.”
Bri’s heart lifted, but only a little. Time was counting down, like it or not. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she wasn’t listening when Nora said, “I saw Amy today.”
It took a second for that to sink in. “Sorry?”
Nora turned to her, deliberately keeping hold of her hand when Briana would have pulled away. “I should say, I spoke with Amy today. I was on the computer, doing some work on Sheila’s website, when she found me and asked if we could talk. So we did a video chat.”
She faced the trail again, leaving Briana to try and read her profile.
“And how did that go? Is she coming for her visit?” Briana tried to keep her voice even, but she wasn’t certain she succeeded.
Nora smiled, though it seemed a sad smile. “No. She isn’t coming here. And she doesn’t have Tracy anymore. They broke up. And she knows I’m seeing someone.” Nora looked at her again. “So now she knows that she doesn’t have me anymore, either. That was hard.”
Bri felt as if she were riding a green horse—one which was going along nicely, but could explode into a fit of bucking at any moment, trying to throw her. She needed to keep her seat. “Hard for you?”
“The hard part for me was seeing her so sad at realizing she’s alone now. That’s going to be an adjustment for her.”
Briana relaxed and let go of Nora’s hand. “But it’s an adjustment you had to make.”
Nora nodded. “Yeah. It was almost a relief for me. I didn’t tell her that,” she added quickly. “But I’m so much happier now.”
Briana steered them onto a trail that veered into the woods, enveloping them in deeper shadows. She drew Lizzy to a stop and waited for Nora and Stubbs to come up beside them. When they did, she leaned over to kiss Nora, and found Nora already coming to her. The kiss lingered, soft and achingly sweet.
When they parted, Nora traced a tender finger along Bri’s cheek.
They rode on. Briana thought about everything Nora had said, about how much happier she was now. For Bri, she knew what she was feeling was more than happy. Ambling through the woods, surrounded by the things she loved most—Shannon, the horses, the countryside around Cong—she knew that Nora would forever be among those. Briana had never been in love. A month ago, she wasn’t sure she ever would be. It felt bittersweet that now she was, it was with someone who might not be in her life much longer.
Nora had declared her independence from one unsatisfactory relationship. And she’d just said herself, she wanted to take one day at a time. Bri had no idea what that would mean come a month from now.
Chapter 14
A soft misty rain fell as Nora pedaled toward Cong.
“Are you sure?” Sheila had asked as they loaded the basket and panniers with boxed candles and soaps and with jars of salves and lotions, covering them with oilcloth. “We can always drive this lot in later.”
“One thing I’ve learned,” Nora said, zipping up her rain jacket, “if you wait for the rain to stop to do anything here, it’ll never get done. I’ll drop these off to the shops on the list, and then go home for a hot bath.”
She took the trails through the woods to avoid traffic. Keeping an eye out for horses—she chuckled now to think how ignorant she’d been that first morning—she took now-familiar paths toward the village.
The rain was blocked somewhat by the overhanging trees, but everything gleamed with moisture, the leaves all heavy with a steady drip of the rain that had made it through. She paused the bike, inhaling the mossy scent of the damp air. Nothing back in the States would ever compare to this for her.
She pedaled on, riding into Cong where the tourists still crowded the streets, rain or no. Mondays were as busy as weekends now they were in August. She made her deliveries, greeting the shop owners by name, accepting checks from them for Sheila. She went to the bookstore and picked up a couple of new books, carefully placing them in her basket and covering them to keep them dry.
Pushing her bike through the crowded streets—and touching the old Celtic cross as had become her habit whenever she was in the village—she crossed the river and mounted to begin her trek to Sióg Cottage. She’d started a pot of chili that morning. Briana had never had it, and Nora thought it might be fun to introduce her to something from America.
They’d been trading nights between her cottage and Bri’s place at the stables. If the ghosts were upset by this arrangement, they were hiding it better. The cottage hadn’t been torn apart lately. She and Briana still weren’t sleeping in the front room on the nights they did stay at the cottage. The dreams had been less intense, less realistic, and she hadn’t actually left her bed that she could tell.
Their last few nights together had been different—due to the start of Nora’s period— but the cuddling and talking had been nice. Briana had opened up so much since Nora met her. She talked about how she used to skip school to steal away to the local track, pestering the trainers to let her do training rides until she finally got her jockey’s license, and she spoke of the early days when she was excited to race, often winning. Nora told her more about her work at the university library. It sounded kind of dull and ordinary to her ears, but Briana seemed interested.
It felt as if they were settling into a routine—the routine of a couple. An actual couple.
Funny, she mused as she pedaled. I never wanted to be a couple with Amy. Not like this. Not seeing each other every day, spending every night together.
But with Briana, it felt so natural, so easy.
The one thing Nora didn’t talk about was her writing. If Briana noticed the growing pile of paper with line after line of handwriting, she didn’t ask, and Nora didn’t think she’d tried to read them. On Nora’s days off from the nursery, when Briana was working, her imagination had continued to chug along, filling in the gaps her dreams left unanswered—the day-to-day lives of Móirín and Donall and their family. She still burned to find out what happened to them.
So absorbed was she in her own thoughts that she nearly fell off the bike when she wheeled up to the cottage, and a figure moved in the shadows. Eve was waiting for her, a bag on one shoulder, her lit candle-lantern in the other.
“Oh, you scared me!” Nora pressed a hand to her racing heart.
She gathered her books from the basket and unlocked the door. “Won’t you come in?”
Eve followed her inside. As before, she stopped and stood, as if testing the air or searching for something before following Nora through to the kitchen.
“It smells good,” Eve said.
“Thanks. I got a pot of chili going this morning.” Nora hesitated. She really, really wanted to take a hot bath to chase off the wet chill from her bike ride and then get into dry clothes, but it seemed rude to cut this visit off abruptly.
“How’ve you been?” Eve asked, setting her bag and lantern on the table. She swept off a cloak and hung it on a peg near the door.
“I’ve been fine,” Nora said hesitantly, wondering if Eve could possibly know that she hadn’t been here every night, and that on the nights she was here, she hadn’t made herself as open to the ghosts as before.
“Why are you carrying your lantern in the
daytime?” Nora wondered.
“It may be dark before I get back to my cottage. I’ve a few other stops to make.”
Eve’s green eyes scrutinized her, and Nora was suddenly reminded of the old photo Mamma had sent. In the confusion of her chat with Amy, she’d forgotten all about it.
Eve reached into her bag and withdrew a small jar with a cork sealed in place by wax. “I know you haven’t been sleeping all that well…” She glanced over with an almost accusing look. “So I thought I’d make you a tonic to help. Just put a few drops of this in your tea each evening, and you’ll sleep much better. ’Tis only for you, though.”
“Thanks.” Nora set the bottle on the counter.
Eve swung her cloak around her and slid the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
“Have—?”
Eve turned to her.
“Have you ever been to America?” Nora blurted.
Eve’s face was as ethereal and otherworldly as ever, but there was a subtle shift in her features, her eyes.
Nora felt a slight prickle run over her skin, as if a chill breeze had filled the room. She told herself it was just the ride in the rain.
“Long ago,” Eve said. She reached for the handle of her lantern.
Breathlessly, Nora asked, “How long ago?”
But Eve only smiled and turned to go. “Give Briana my best.”
Nora had her warm bath and then changed into dry jeans and a sweatshirt. The chili was simmering on the cooker, and she was wishing she had thought to pick up some bread to go with it.
“Anybody home?” came a voice from outside.
She opened the door to find Orlagh McCarthy standing under an umbrella. Farmer McCarthy waved from the idling truck.
Orlagh held something wrapped in a green-and-white gingham towel. “I was making some of my soda bread, and I…” She hesitated. “I felt the urge to bring you some.”
“Thank you,” Nora said. “Won’t you come in?”
Orlagh craned her neck to look past Nora into the cottage. “Oh, well… Maybe just for a moment, then.”
Nora went back into the cottage, and Orlagh stepped onto the covered stoop, setting her umbrella down. Sliding one foot over the threshold, she hesitated, as if waiting to see what would happen. When nothing did, she stepped completely inside, looking rather breathless at her own daring.
“I don’t know how you knew the bread would be so welcome this evening,” Nora said when Orlagh thrust the towel-wrapped loaf into her hands. “I was in the village today and forgot to pick some up.”
“Oh, this is better than even the bakery can make,” Orlagh said. Her brow creased. “And I’m not sure, either, what got into me. Usually, when I bake, it’s first thing of a morning, but this urge just came on me…”
She glanced around. “You’ve fixed the place up nice.”
“Thanks.” When Orlagh stood there, Nora asked, “Was there something else?”
Orlagh’s eyes got big. “Well,” she began, turning to peer back toward the truck where her husband waited. “I haven’t told himself about this, but I had a dream, two nights back.”
“Yes?” Nora prompted when Orlagh paused.
“It was about this cottage,” Orlagh whispered. “I saw you, and a woman with black hair, and… and a little girl, also with black hair, wearing—”
“A yellow dress.”
Orlagh’s eyes got even bigger as she nodded.
“What about them?”
“That was the odd part,” Orlagh said, frowning again. “They each took you by a hand, and they led you from here, through the fields and the woods. And all of a sudden, you all disappeared, like smoke. I woke up with my heart pounding.” She laid a hand on her ample bosom.
A beep from the truck startled both of them. Orlagh jumped.
“I’d best be going or James’ll have a fit that his supper is late.”
“Thank you again for the bread.”
Orlagh reached for her umbrella and stepped back out into the rain. “You’ll have a care.”
“I will.”
Nora waved them off. That made two unexpected visitors so far this evening. She put the bread in the oven to warm and made herself a cup of tea, pondering what Orlagh McCarthy’s dream meant. Was Móirín reaching out to others now? Trying to prod Nora back on track? She picked up Eve’s tonic, wondering what it would do exactly. She wiggled the cork, cracking the dark red wax. She held the little bottle away, half-expecting a cloud of vapors to escape when she tugged the cork free, but there was nothing. A cautious sniff provided no more information about what was in it, as the liquid inside didn’t smell of anything. She carefully tipped just a few drops of the clear concoction into her tea. She took a small sip, but it hadn’t changed the taste of the tea at all that she could tell. She drank her tea as she moved about the kitchen, setting the small table with a crock of butter and plates for their bread.
Outside, the rain continued to come down softly. The front door was open, with an old towel spread on the floor. When Shannon stepped inside, she obediently stood on the towel until Nora could wipe her big paws dry. Briana followed, smiling at them.
“Hi,” Nora said, giving Shannon a last rub and Briana a long, lingering kiss.
“Hi, yourself.” Briana inhaled deeply. “Oh, that smells good. I’m near to starving.”
“Come on in,” Nora said, leaving Bri to hang up her rain jacket.
Shannon followed her into the kitchen, where a bowl of kibble waited.
Nora dished out two bowls of chili. “I can’t take credit for the bread. Orlagh McCarthy—”
As she reached into the oven for the bread, she had a forceful image of others having done this same thing, here in this room, when the bread was baked by a wood fire. It was like her vision, the one she’d had upstairs, guided by Eve.
She swayed, and the bread dropped onto the counter with a clatter. She braced herself with one arm.
“Are you all right?” Briana asked, hurrying over to wrap an arm around her.
Nora nodded. “I’m fine. Just… just hungry, I think. Let’s eat.”
They sat, but Briana kept casting worried glances in her direction. Nora waited for Bri to take her first spoonful of the chili.
“How do you like it?” she asked. “I didn’t make it hot. I wasn’t sure if you like spicy food.”
“I’ve never had this,” Briana said, smacking her lips as she tasted it. “It’s almost like Mexican, but different. I like it. It’s brilliant.”
She reached into her back pocket and slid a piece of paper across the table before buttering a slice of bread.
“What’s this?” Nora picked up the paper and unfolded it.
Inside was a colorful drawing of a stick figure reading a somewhat lopsided and enormous book.
“Kieran?” she asked, grinning.
“We’ve been commanded to go to Dublin this weekend.”
“Really?” Nora put the drawing down and spooned up some chili. “Sure.”
She ate and realized Briana was frowning. “What’s wrong? You don’t like the chili.”
“No, I like it.” Briana stalled by eating some more before saying, “Well, I all but promised you Kerry and Dingle and the Cliffs of Moher, didn’t I? And we’ve yet to do that.”
Nora didn’t answer immediately. She busied herself buttering her own slice of bread, but inside, her guts were churning—and not from the chili. She was shaken—and a little thrilled—by the calm, the certainty she’d felt at Briana’s words, the knowledge that they’d have a lifetime to do those things.
But all she said was, “It doesn’t matter. We’ll go to Dublin and see your family this weekend.”
The baby wails piteously as Donall carries her to his sister. “I’m sorry,” he says helplessly. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Niamh turns her back and unbuttons her dress, tucking the babe to her breast. “The poor wee thing is starving.”
In the month since Rowan disappeared, Móirín h
as become a ghost of herself. She who couldn’t stop crying after Aoibheann’s birth now can’t shed a tear. She won’t eat or speak. And her body can’t give over any milk.
For days, she wandered the woods and fields herself, calling and searching. But now, she has taken to her bed, numb to the world, leaving Donall and the children adrift, almost as if she has died.
“Still no sign?”
He shakes his head and squats to poke at the fire. “Nothing. We’ve searched every day. Asked any travelers we’ve seen. Left notices in the village. It’s as if the sióg have taken her into a sídh, leaving no sign of her in this realm.”
He watches his little sister, but a child herself at nineteen, her red head bent as she croons to comfort the baby as she feeds her. How did she grow up so fast, a mother herself now? He remembers pulling her hair and teasing her mercilessly when they were children.
The past feels so much more welcoming than the present—with five children looking to him to make things right. Tears sting his eyes. He angrily swipes them away.
She glances up at Donall. “I don’t know what I’d do if one of mine died—”
“Don’t say that!”
She purses her lips, silenced by his reprimand, but it’s clear her thoughts continue. He drops to a chair, his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Niamh. Only I don’t know what to do.”
She doesn’t respond immediately. For long minutes, they sit in silence. Niamh’s own baby gurgles from her cradle while her two-year-old plays with a stick, whacking it against the floor. Donall picks him up to bounce him on his knee.
“Keith has had a letter from his brother in America,” Niamh says at last.
Donall stares at her. “You’re not thinking of going?”
She avoids his startled gaze. “There’s nothing in Ireland for us, Donall. If it hadn’t been for you and Móirín and your ties to Ashford, we’d’ve starved this past winter.”
A Bittersweet Garden Page 20