“You can’t do everything, Marni.”
She stared at her grandmother with round eyes. “Someone has to.”
The words chilled Eileen’s soul. At eight years old, Marni had the uncompromising, fatalistic attitude of an islander. Eileen wanted to lift her twisted hands, grab her granddaughter’s shoulders, and shake her, to cry out that a world waited for her, a world outside the limestone perimeters to which she was now confined, a world where life was not defined by the slap of ocean against shoreline, by the docking of ferry boats filled with tourists, by blankets of fog suffocating the land like a shroud, and, least of all, by the fatalistic soothsaying of an old woman who’d lived long beyond her time.
But Eileen did none of those things. Instead she smiled weakly and promised herself she would tell Sean that his elder niece carried the weight of her small family on her shoulders and it was time he relieved her of the burden.
A firm knock sounded at the front door. Offering up a prayer of thanksgiving for her reprieve, she wiped her hands on a towel and nodded at Marni. “That will be your aunt, love. Answer the door and invite her in.”
Caili dashed after her sister. “I want to!” she shouted, “Let me!”
Eileen’s lips turned up in another smile. There was nothing wrong with Caili, but wasn’t it always the way? Where there was a giver, there must also be a receiver.
Mollie Tìerney breezed into the kitchen, breathless, laughing, pulled by both little girls. Eileen watched approvingly as she kept one hand in Marni’s, extricated the other from Caili’s grasp, and held it out.
“Good evening, Mrs. O’Malley,” she said politely.
Eileen took the offered hand. “You’re welcome to stay for a cup of tea and a bite of soda bread before you take the children. Luke isn’t awake yet.”
“I’d love to, but my father is waiting outside. He drove me here in the trap.”
“Patrick needs no invitation, Miss Tìerney.” She started for the door. “I’ll tell him to come inside.”
Eileen returned alone. “He has an errand at the Sheas’. He’ll be back at half past the hour. Sit down, Miss Tìerney. Luke should be up by then.”
Mollie pulled out a chair. “Please, call me Mollie.” She looked at the spread set out on the table. “Mmmm, this is lovely. Isn’t this lovely, girls?” She slipped an arm around both little girls and pulled them close to her as if she couldn’t quite bear to part with them, not even for the meager distance between chairs.
Intrigued, Eileen sat down at the table and, under the guise of pouring tea and passing bread and butter, observed the young American woman weave her spell around the children.
Mollie’s charm was subtle, playful, intangible. Within minutes the chill disappeared from the kitchen. The room seemed brighter, and the pinched, worried look disappeared from Marni’s face. Even the ache in Eileen’s fingers had diminished. Somehow this lovely young American with her glowing skin and perfect teeth knew where she was needed and which child needed wrapping most in the warm cocoon of her love. “How is the teaching coming along?” she asked when the conversation lulled.
Mollie swallowed her bread before answering. “Very well, thank you. I met Mrs. Ryan today. Alice was ill, and she filled in for her.”
“Mary Ryan was a good teacher in her day, but it’s past time for her to be handling a classroom.”
Again Mollie laughed, a warm musical sound that lit her face and poured warmth over them all. “I can’t get used to the idea that everyone knows everyone else here. It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“It can be, but there are disadvantages to living on top of each other. We all know each other’s business, whether we want to or not.” Eileen sipped her tea. She felt the young woman’s eyes on her face. When she looked up they were still on her, appraising, puzzled. She set down her cup. “There’s a question hanging on your lips. Ask it, lass. I doubt if there isn’t one I haven’t heard.”
“It’s more of an observation.”
“Go on.”
Caili interrupted them. “May I have more bread, Gran?”
“What of your tea?” Marni piped up. “You’ll not be eating that if you fill yourself on bread.”
Ignoring her sister, Caili repeated her question. “May I, Gran?”
“Marni’s right,” Eileen answered. “You need more than bread to last you through the night.”
Caili slipped from her chair, popped her thumb in her mouth, and leaned against Mollie. Eileen noticed the way the woman’s arm automatically circled the little girl.
“What are we having, Aunt Mollie?” the child asked.
“Roast turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie.”
Marni’s nose wrinkled. “Pumpkin pie?”
“You’ll love it,” Mollie replied. “Everyone does.”
Intrigued, Eileen asked, “Where would you be finding pumpkins at this time of year?”
“My mother found them in Galway.”
“Pumpkin pie,” Eileen repeated softly. “I can’t imagine.”
“Please, join us,” Mollie said impulsively. “We’d love the company, and the girls would have their whole family together at once.”
Eileen’s eyes widened, “Is Patrick coming as well?”
“Yes.”
Patrick and Emma sitting down together for a meal? The girl was a witch. “What of Sean? Has he also promised to break away?”
Mollie smiled triumphantly. “He has.”
Eileen laughed. “Well, then, Mollie Tierney, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
It wasn’t until they were packed together in Patrick Tierney’s trap with a woolen plaid tucked cozily around them that Eileen remembered their unfinished conversation. “You never told me about your observation.”
“Oh, that.” Mollie waved her hand in dismissal. “It wasn’t anything really. I was just thinking how very like Sean you are.”
Eileen’s expression settled into the cool, implacable lines it assumed when something wasn’t clear and she needed time to sort it out. There must be a reasonable explanation for the unease she felt at the unfamiliar sound of her son’s name on the American woman’s lips, for that look in her eyes and the slight, nearly imperceptible color in her cheeks.
The only one she came up with was unacceptable to her. Sean was the only child left to her. Kerry was birthed easily, a calm child, placid, easily satisfied. Not Sean.
When he’d grown up with a mind that matched her own, when she watched him balk at senseless cruelty, when his questions became too advanced for the teachers at the island school, and when he came back to Galway, Eileen knew his path would be somewhere else. While others settled in, his road was alone. Marriage and children held out no appeal. Now here he was, a bachelor saddled with three small children, burying himself in nappies by day and words by night.
She took another quick, surreptitious look at Danny’s sister. The girl’s face was averted, her profile outlined against the deepening dusk. Mollie Tierney was lovely, slim and straight, with the golden coloring and delicate features of her mother. But she was different, too, with a sweetness and charm Eileen had never observed in Emma. From the comments of her neighbors with children still at school, those qualities carried over into her work as well. Eileen decided she could like this young woman.
But was a pretty face and sweet disposition enough to mend a family? Eileen wasn’t willing to risk her son or her grandchildren for a nebulous possibility. Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself close to the edge she normally avoided. “I’m wondering how you persuaded Sean to break away from his writing. He’s been quite busy lately.”
She watched Mollie pull a wheat-colored strand of hair away from her mouth, noticed the sudden rapid pulse in her throat and the careful way she collected herself, gathering resources from deep inside. Her clear blue eyes, warmed by a touch of green, Patrick’s eyes, flickered once, twice, before settling on Eileen’s face.
“I’m sure he is busy, Mrs. O’Malley,” she said
carefully, “but there are times when your family comes first. There isn’t anything Sean wouldn’t do for his family. I’m sure you know that.”
Eileen did know it, but she was more than a little surprised that Mollie did. Just how well does Mollie Tìerney know my son? She pushed the disturbing thought aside. Mollie was a sophisticated young woman, far too sophisticated for Inishmore, and too intelligent to repeat the heartbreak of her own parents’ story.
CHAPTER 13
Sean jogged the last quarter-mile to the cottage, stopping at the bridge to tie his shoe and finger-comb his hair. He wasn’t going to have anyone accuse him of tardiness, not tonight, not with Mollie going to such trouble to gather everyone together.
Mollie. He formed the name on his lips and smiled. He’d underestimated her. She was a determined lass, nothing like he’d expected that day she first walked in on him. What would they have done without her? What would he have done without her?
The cottage looked like something out of a Thomas Kincade painting. Every window glowed with light, and on the door was a pine wreath decorated with a large red bow, a hint of Christmas. Before he could knock, Caili opened the door, shrieked, and threw herself into his arms. He gathered her close and breathed in the aromas of sage, meat juices, apples, and cinnamon wafting from the kitchen. His head swam. Releasing his niece, he leaned against the door jamb to steady himself and watched her run back into the kitchen.
Instantly Mollie was at his side, her hand on his arm, worry creasing her brow. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. She was very close. The top of her head reached his nose, and the clean scent of her shampoo replaced the food smells. The room, a small hallway for coats and boots, separate from the kitchen, was unusually warm.
He shrugged out of his jacket, conscious of Mollie’s fingers easing the sleeves away from his shoulders and down his arms. He heard her voice, low and soft. He watched her turn away to hang his jacket. Every moment was slow, intensified. He noticed the shape of her arms, the smooth length of her neck, the warm toast color of her jumper. Like Adam with his forbidden fruit, he knew he should stop, move into the next room, shift his thoughts, but the need for a woman, a warm, ministering woman who had answers he’d never dreamed of, held him in a desperate grip.
Christ, help me. This was Mollie, Danny’s sister, but she was also a woman, a lovely woman, with long slim legs and hair loose and smooth and caramel-colored, falling to her shoulders. He remembered how it felt to have her in his arms, his hands settling on the dip at her waist, his cheek against the top of her head. Longing shook him. He couldn’t help himself. “Mollie.” His voice was rough and choked, the emotion raw on his face. He touched her shoulder. He would go no further, not unless she came to him, not unless she wanted it, too.
She turned, a question in her eyes, hesitated for the briefest instant, and then walked into his arms. Thank God.
He’d gone without for too long. The simmering need that a man, overly young for months of celibacy, carried within him ignited. He shuddered, damned his lack of self-control, and, twisting the silky strands of her hair in his hand, he pulled her head back and set his mouth on hers, hard.
He’d intended nothing more than to assuage his raging hunger, to feel once again the nearly forgotten intimacy of lips and teeth and tongue. But the sweetness of her response shook him. She would not allow him to take her mindlessly, greedily, with no thought for her own pleasure. Gently she coaxed him with light fingers and tender kisses, with murmured words and gentle exploring hands.
When his mouth softened and his hands slipped under the wool of her jumper, roaming her back, kneading the silken skin, he heard the tiny sound in the back of her throat, and his heart leaped. How long since he’d really wanted a woman, not just her body but all of her? Releasing her mouth, he pressed her head against his shoulder, buried his face in her hair, and listened to the ragged rhythm of their mingled breath.
“Sean.” The word was muffled in the wool of his jumper.
“Shh. Not now.” It was too soon to break the spell.
She rested against him, clean, damply warm, smelling of flowers and soap.
“Sean.” This time the voice came from behind them. “Mollie.” Emma’s voice, not close yet but soon.
Reluctantly he released her and stepped back. She stared at him, her eyes deeply blue, slate, the rose deep in her cheeks, waiting...for something. He touched her cheek. There would be no apology, not this time. Words had no place for what had just happened between them.
She opened her mouth to speak, changed her mind, and closed it again. Turning, she led the way into the kitchen.
Emma stood at the stove, peering into a large baking pan. She nodded. “There you are. Caili said you’d come. The others are in the living room.”
Sean greeted her. “Hello, Emma. You’re looking grand.” He meant it. She appeared to have shaken the lethargy that Mollie was so worried about.
She looked pleased. “Thank you. I’m glad Mollie persuaded you to join us. Your mother’s here, too.”
Mollie hadn’t said a word. He looked inquiringly at her. “Will you join me?’”
She wet her lips. Her voice was breathless, the words halting. “Go ahead. I have a few things to do in here.”
He frowned and forgot Emma. “Mollie—”
She interrupted him. “There’s ale in the refrigerator, or wine if you prefer it.”
Conscious of Emma’s presence, he smiled and shook his head. “Nothing for me, thanks. I’ll wait for dinner. Caili will drink her milk if I have a glass as well.”
His niece’s name had the desired effect. Mollie relaxed.
“You have a small tyrant on your hands, Sean O’Malley. I hope you realize it.”
He grinned, relieved. “I know it.”
The scene in the sitting room reminded Sean of long evenings at home when he was a child growing up in his parents’ small cottage. Marni and Caili were seated across from each other, bent over a checkerboard lying open on a small ottoman. From the triumphant look on the little girl’s face and the stack of markers in front of her, he knew Marni was allowing her to win.
Near the cozy turf fire, Patrick and Eileen shared the couch and a pot of tea. They were deep in conversation. His mother’s face was flushed. Gray-black hair curled softly around her forehead, and the lines of her face were not so pronounced in the soft lamplight. Sean could see by the position of her hands that, for the moment, her painful condition had eased.
He crossed the room and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Hello, Mam.”
“Sean.” Her face lit with pleasure. “You came, finally. I’m so glad.”
“Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t?” He shook Patrick’s outstretched hand and pulled another chair closer to the fire.
“I’ve been inviting you for weeks,” his mother said. “You’re always working.”
She had invited him, to the Sheas’ house or the O’Learys’, never home with just his family. He’d refused her. The talk would turn to Kerry, the Irish penchant for calling up the dead and invoking in them qualities they hadn’t had in life. He wasn’t ready for that. Maybe he would never be.
“Uncle Sean.” Marni looked up from the board. “I need shoes for dance.”
It meant a trip to Galway. His heart lifted. No one on the island crafted shoes for the step dancing required of all children in primary school. “I’ll see about it next week,” he promised.
Inevitably, Patrick asked, “How’s the writing?”
“It’s grand,” Sean replied. “Except for a bit of trouble with the second act.” He smiled. Patrick was only being polite. He had no interest in the writing of plays. “I’ll work it out.”
Patrick nodded, accepting Sean’s answer as he appeared to accept all things. What went on behind that complacent mask? What demons interrupted the smooth flow of Patrick’s seasons, and how could they be enough to cause a man to drink himself into oblivion? Danny’s death, Sean could understand. Yet, on
the surface, Patrick had taken his son’s loss with the same dispassionate formality with which he accepted the inconvenience of snow in October. True, his wife had left him, but that was years ago, long enough for the wound to heal into a painless scar.
Sean yearned for that time to come, when thoughts of Kerry didn’t leave him bone weary, immersed in a helpless kind of guilt that interrupted his sleep and wiped away all desire for food, companionship, or pleasure of any kind, except one, the one his frustrated subconscious wouldn’t let him forget.
His mind returned to the kitchen and the woman whose arms had provided a haven he’d only imagined could exist with another human being. That the comfort was forbidden weighed with him, but only to the extent that it would affect her. Sean knew Inishmore, and he knew Ireland. He could no more take up with an American woman, a teacher, no less, than he could eat meat on Friday or pass up the smear of ashes on his forehead signaling the beginning of Lent.
The island was small enough for disapproval to run through villages and devastate lives. He didn’t want that for Mollie, nor did he want it for Kerry’s children. The memory of Mollie’s scent tugged at him, as did the wary, vulnerable look in her eyes. He pushed it away. There would be no seduction, no matter how tempting, and anything more was out of the question. He’d had enough loss. Sean wasn’t willing to risk his heart again. He would tell her so when the time was right.
His mother had asked him a question. He could tell by her lifted eyebrows, her parted lips. She worried about him. She had a right to. He leaned forward. “I’m poor company tonight. I’m sorry, Mam. I didn’t hear you.”
“I said if you care to look through boxes, I’ve shoes from when you and Kerry were small. There might be a suitable pair for Marni in the bunch.”
Sean caught his niece’s eye. She’d heard her grandmother, and, from the slight scowl on her face, he knew she was having none of it. “No, thank you,” he said smoothly. “Marni’s worked hard at the dancing. She deserves her own pair of shoes.”
Marni relaxed, and Caili swept the last of the markers from the board. “I won!” she shrieked, clapping her hands and running to her uncle.
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