“I’ve come to drive you two home,” he said, looking surprised and touched at her fierce hug.
“Go ahead without me,” Sean said. “I’ve a few things to attend to.” He rested his hand on Mollie’s shoulder. “You take the packages. We’ll divide them up later. Thank you for the day. I enjoyed it very much.”
Without meeting his eyes, she nodded. “Good night.”
Mollie watched him walk into the mist until it swallowed him completely.
“Are you all right, lass?” Patrick asked.
Her reserve broke. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She shook her head, and a hiccupping sob worked its way up from her throat. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come, and she could only shake her head helplessly.
“There, there, love,” Patrick murmured, gathering her into his arms. “Cry if you need to. It’s all right.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Mollie sobbed.
“Then I’ll not take you there. You’ll come home with me, and we’ll sort it out. Nothing’s impossible when two heads work together. You’ll see.”
The soothing words eased some of the ache, and before long Mollie was seated inside the trap, her legs wrapped in a woolen blanket, her feet warmed by a hot brick, listening to the comforting sound of her father’s voice urging his pony over the narrow roads of Inishmore.
CHAPTER 24
Patrick Tierney looked at his daughter’s swollen face and said nothing until she was comfortably tucked into his easy chair, a blanket around her legs and a cup of tea in her hands. He was fairly sure he understood the nature of her discontent, but until she put it into words he would not presume upon her privacy. After adding more turf to the fire, he sat down across from her and spoke of other things—his grandchildren, the holiday to come, the gifts he had purchased, the food he would contribute. When he had reached the last reserves of his conversation, Mollie’s tears were spent.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. We all get blue from time to time.”
She stared into the fire.
“How was your journey to Galway?” he ventured.
He loved the way her cheeks colored, not rosy pink like an Irish woman’s but softer, like ripe peaches.
“I shouldn’t have gone,” she confessed. “I knew when Sean asked me that it would only make things worse.”
Patrick let her talk. He knew with Mollie, as with Emma, it would help.
“Mother said,” she continued, “that exposure would help. She said if we spent time together, our differences would divide us, and the attraction I felt for him would fade.”
“Did she now?” He would not criticize his former wife, but Emma had her own way of seeing things. There was no crime in looking at the world through the narrow tunnel of her own vision, not unless one disregarded the possibility that there might be another way. Some attractions might fade with exposure, but love, true love, deepened. Only lately had Patrick realized that love could last, unshaken, across decades, despite obstacles thrown in its path. “Perhaps if you had years, your mother’s advice would apply.”
“That’s what Sean said. He’s convinced I would lose interest like Mother did.” Horrified at her insensitivity, she looked at him. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize for the truth. All that’s in the past. It no longer has the power to bring pain.” He smiled. “I think it’s more likely that Sean’s nature is a cautious one. He’s wondering if he could ever be sure any woman would stay true in these times. I understand that his adjustment from the island to the mainland wasn’t an easy one. Perhaps he’s doubting his own judgment.”
“He said I could never live here permanently.”
“Could you?”
Mollie hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Patrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes blue and kind and earnest. “Don’t be trying to change the measure of a man, Mollie Tierney. That was your mother’s mistake, and look what it brought the two of us. Sean has the children to think of. Until that’s settled, he won’t be leaving Inishmore. Unless he comes around to your way of thinking on his own, there will never be peace or happiness between the two of you.”
“It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”
The lines around Patrick’s eyes softened. He reached across the space between them and squeezed his daughter’s hand. “I don’t think you’ll be wanting a life on this island, lass. There’s no future here, unless you intend to open a restaurant or a lodging house. The young people are leaving us. There’s opportunity on the mainland, computers and such.”
Mollie laughed through her misery. She’d used similar words to try to convince Sean. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Patrick nodded and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me of the news from Galway.”
For another hour or so, Mollie warmed herself by her father’s peat fire. The knot of tension in her stomach relaxed, and her depression lifted. The world looked rosier in the small room lit with the soft glow of sweet-smelling turf. Regretfully, she looked at her watch. “I haven’t even called Mother.”
“She knows I went to fetch you,” he assured her.
“I should be going.”
“Aye.” He set down his cup. “I’ll hitch up Brownie, and we’ll be off.”
It was seven o’clock when the pony trap pulled up to the door of Mollie’s cottage. Every window was dark. Only the porch light glowed through the mist.
Patrick helped her down, unloaded the packages, and handed them to her. “It looks as if you’ll have to fend for yourself, Mollie, my girl. I should have thought to offer you a bit of something to eat.”
She kissed his cheek. “I’ll manage. Thank you for the ride and the conversation.”
He tipped his hat. “It was my pleasure.”
The door wasn’t locked. Mollie turned the bolt and, without flipping the light switch, made her way up the stairs. Russ’s door was closed. He kept odd hours because of his schedule, but her mother’s door was cracked open and the reading lamp was on. Mollie knocked gently.
“Come in.” Emma’s voice was groggy with fatigue.
She stepped into the bedroom. “I’m home.”
“How was it?”
Mollie shrugged. “Enlightening.”
“Are you all right? You look as if you’ve been crying.”
“I’ll be fine with some sleep. How were the children?”
Emma laughed. “Exhausting. I don’t think I’ve fallen asleep this early in years.”
Mollie crossed the room, leaned over, and gave her mother a quick kiss. “Christmas is only three days away. Do you realize that this will be the first Christmas I’ll spend with both my parents?”
Emma was silent for a minute before answering. “I don’t want to spoil your pleasure, Mollie, but don’t forget that it’s the first Christmas the girls will spend without Danny and Kerry. There will be some difficult moments.”
“We’ll have to keep them busy.”
“I’m counting on you for that.” Emma brightened. “Ward called before you came home. He’ll be here soon.”
“Does he need a ride from the airport?”
“No, just from the ferry. I’ll meet him.”
“Good night, Mom.” With a sense of relief, Mollie opened the door to her bedroom and closed it behind her. She wasn’t tired as in needing sleep, but her mind was weary and her eyes burned. Kicking off her shoes, she stepped out of her slacks and sweater, pulled aside the covers, and climbed into bed.
The smell of bacon woke her. She turned to look at the clock. It was after eight in the morning. Mollie swung her legs over the bed, found her robe and slippers, and walked downstairs to the kitchen.
Russ bowed to her with a flourish, “I’ve made pancakes.”
Mollie pushed the hair back from her face. “I can see that. Where’s my mother?”
“She went into town for groceries. I told her I’d take care of you.”
“Where di
d you learn to cook?”
“The same place you did. In my mother’s kitchen.”
Mollie sat down at the table, picked up a piece of bacon, and nibbled at the edges. “Was she a good cook?”
“Terrible.” He grinned. “Mom’s idea of a good meal is canned fruit cocktail dumped over cottage cheese. It was learn to cook or starve.”
Mollie laughed. “You’re joking.”
“No. I’m not.” He set a plate of perfectly browned pancakes in front of her. “There’s no maple syrup on the entire island, but butter and powdered sugar are almost as good. There’s jam if you prefer.”
“This is fine,” Mollie said when she’d finished swallowing the first mouthful. “It’s better than fine. It’s delicious.”
“Thank you.” He sat down across from her and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Is the way to your heart through your stomach, Mollie?”
His voice had changed, lowered, gone serious. She looked at him. “Why would you want to know the way to my heart?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“I must be losing my touch.”
“Don’t,” she said evenly.
“Don’t what?”
“Complicate things. It’s nice the way it is. I feel comfortable with you, but that’s all.”
“Is there someone else?”
“On this island?”
“What about Sean O’Malley?”
“Sean has no romantic interest in me.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She turned her attention back to her pancakes. “What are you asking?”
“Do you have any interest in him?”
“You’re confusing me with Beth.”
“Am I?”
She stood and walked to the sink, where she rinsed her plate. “This isn’t the way to my heart, Russ. Don’t badger me.”
“I’m trying to figure you out, Mollie. You say you’re not interested in taking this any further, and yet you won’t tell me why.”
She turned around. Her hands found the pockets of her robe. “Does there have to be a reason? Not every woman is looking for a man, or maybe I just don’t think of you that way. It’s possible to know that about a person right away.”
He was silent for a minute. “I suppose it is.”
“I’m sorry.”
He smiled. “I’m sure you are.”
He really was very nice. “I’m truly sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t think twice about it,” he said lightly. “It hasn’t gone as far as that.”
“Thanks for breakfast.”
“You’re welcome.” He changed the subject. “A few of us are getting together at Clancy’s tonight for a Christmas party. Will you join us?”
“Can I let you know? I have a few things to do, and I don’t know how long they’ll take.”
“There’s no pressure, Mollie, and if you’re thinking it’s a date, it isn’t intended that way, either. No one’s really organized it. Whoever shows up is welcome.”
She nodded. “Are you working today?”
“Every day, until the job is done.”
“Don’t worry about the kitchen. I’ll get dressed and clean it up. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you,” he said again.
Cold air swirled about the large figure of Colin Keneally as he stood on the threshold of the Tìerney cottage, twisting the brim of his hat between his hands. The burly fisherman was slow to speak and slower to move except on the water-slick deck of his fishing boat. There the man fairly crackled with energy. Today, with the icy north wind at his back, he moved and spoke with his usual onshore hesitation.
“I’ve come to see if anything’s changed.”
Sean crossed the floor of the small room, reached around the big man, and closed the door. He gestured to a chair. “Will you have something to warm you, Colin?”
“Aye, a wee dram it will have to be, Sean.”
Sean disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of whiskey. He broke the seal, poured a generous amount into a tea mug and a much smaller portion into a paper cup. He handed the mug to Colin and sat down across from him. “Miss Tìerney has contacted a lawyer. He’ll be coming to the island to talk with us the day after Christmas. We’ll know more then.”
“Will there be any money for us to hold out the winter with, Sean?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes these things take time.”
The man’s large fingers, torn and scarred from rope burns and fish hooks, tightened around the mug. “We don’t have the time, Sean, not unless the fishing bans are lifted.”
“That won’t happen. If the fish aren’t allowed to repopulate, you’ll starve in the years to come.”
“Better than starving this year.”
“I’m sorry, Colin, but I wouldn’t count on it,” Sean repeated.
The fisherman turned the cup around in his hands and watched the whiskey swirl like liquid amber in his cup. “My mother’s sister has an inn in Roscommon. She needs a man to help out around the place. There’s room for Mary and the children.”
“You’ve lived here all your life. Your home was your father’s and his before him. What will happen to it if you leave?”
Colin shrugged. “I’ve no choice in the matter. At least I’ve a place to go, and my children will have food in their stomachs this winter. There’s many who won’t.”
“What about the dole?”
“The dole won’t feed nine children, Sean. There will be more than a few who will tighten their belts before another month passes.”
“Don’t give up yet. Wait and see what the lawyer says. We’ll meet with him at the community center. He’ll figure something out.”
Colin drained the last of his whiskey, set the mug on the floor, and stood. “More likely he’ll tell those who have a place to go to get out while they can.”
Sean watched the man leave. Colin was right. All lawyers were the same. Daniel O’Shea would be no different, not the Daniel O’Shea he remembered, a hot-tempered, ambitious young Irishman out to make a name for himself. O’Shea only took the big cases, the precedent-setting ones that made the papers. He wouldn’t have the news they wanted. He would do what it took to win, earn his fee, and cut what losses he could.
What gnawed at him was that Colin would consider leaving the island. Colin was a Keneally, a family name as old on the Arans as O’Malley. Keneally with their distinctive red-gold heads and square jaws were once sprinkled across the Arans as numerous as the un-mortared stone fences that crisscrossed the rocky fields. Now Colin, Mary, and his children were the last to hold the original name. There were Connellys, the anglicized version of the old name, but only one family of Keneallys, and now they were leaving.
Two of his girls were the same ages as Marni and Caili. He could still hear Mollie’s words. Once the children are grown, they won’t stay. Every fisherman on the island will be leaving, every family with young children. Who will Luke and the girls grow up with?
She was right. Others would follow suit. Large families would go first, and then the others would follow until Inishmore would resemble a retirement community, quaint villages where only the elderly lived, and every summer tourists would come to swig Guinness, ride bicycles, hike to the forts, buy Aran sweaters, eat in the restaurants, and catch the ferry back to the mainland. A few would stay the night to hear traditional music in the pubs and talk to the natives, hearing the Gaelic lilt in their voices, listening to the tales of how it had once been, imagining the ruthless struggle for survival depicted in the O’Flaherty film continually showing at the tourist center.
Slowly, one pebble at a time, from the steady conversation of the original thatched cottages, due to lack of interest and the expense of repair, to the satellite dishes displayed on roofs all over the island bringing in CNN and rap music, the foundation of everything he’d known was being shaken loose.
CHAPTER 25
Mollie breathed in the fog-drowned air and continued walking down the road away from town. She missed the piney smell of Christmas. On Inishmore, the holiday was a bedlam of sensory stimulation, smells and food and music, but no wreaths, no garlands, and no ribbon bedecked Douglas firs or Ponderosa pines. The day was a holier one than in California. Every islander had his nativity scene proudly displayed, and the three churches on the island, their bells clanging, offered mass on the hour. Nothing was open, not a single pub, not even the smallest convenience store. Other than families making their way to and from the services, the roads were quiet.
Mabry O’Farrell, dressed in her usual black, dug in her garden for winter herbs. She waved and called out as Mollie walked by. “Would you care to come in for a cuppa, love?”
Mollie shook her head, thanked her, and moved on. Farther down, an elderly woman, clumsy in her wellies, her head covered with a red scarf, filled her buckets at a roadside spring and struggled to carry them home. Buckets of water meant a dry loo and no running water.
Two boys, Alice Duncan’s students, scraped periwinkles from rocks along the shore, and Colleen Seoighe, her head down and carrying a covered plate, nearly bumped into Mollie. She backed away apologetically. “Here I am, wool-gatherin’ again.” She laughed. “I’m sorry, Miss Tierney.”
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Seoighe.”
Colleen nodded. “Happy Christmas to you, too, lass. And are you appreciatin’ your holiday from the children?”
“Definitely.”
Again the woman laughed. “I know. All six of mine are here. There isn’t a moment to breathe. I’ll be on my way now. Say hello to your mam for me, won’t you Miss Tierney? My husband says we’ll be leaving after the new year, and I don’t know whether I’ll be over to see her before then.”
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