Early the next morning, before dawn, she drove home through Kildare and Naas, the tree-lined roads of Ireland's horse country, past white fences and lime-rich grass, gracious, ivy-shrouded estates, their chimneys breathing white smoke into gray skies, and playful foals with burnished coats, their legs so impossibly thin it appeared an act of courage to lope across the meadowlands.
Johannah replayed her conversation with Jack Rafferty. She was surprised at the tiny tug of pleasure his attention brought her. Twelve hours later, the thrill, the rush of satisfaction, the surge of power that comes to a woman when she learns a man finds her attractive after she'd long ago relegated that part of life into the distant past, still lingered. Still, she didn't intend to dwell on it for very long and she didn't regret refusing his advance.
Advance. She considered the word, wondering if it was too strong, sounding it out loud, rolling the syllables off her tongue into the silent, heated air of her car. Yes, she decided. It was definitely an advance, subtle, noncommittal, but well within the range of the definition. She chuckled at the idea of Jack Rafferty in Tralee, keeping her company, sitting beside her at Mass, walking with her in the evening. Anyone she brought home would raise eyebrows, but Jack Rafferty in the flesh, a man so unlike Mickey Enright he could be a different species, would render her family as silent as door posts.
The humor of the potential situation faded. Johannah, all alone in her small car with hours of travel ahead, allowed herself to be completely honest. She didn't want another marriage like her last one. In fact, she was quite sure she didn't want another marriage at all. It was much more comfortable living alone. At least she thought it would be, given her limited experience. She didn't suffer from headaches anymore, nor did she talk to herself in the mirror, imagining conversations she would never have the nerve to engage in. It wasn't Mickey's fault. He wasn't a brute or even unreasonable. The worst that could be said of him was that he was a bit selfish, but then what man wasn't? Johannah blamed herself for overreacting. It was her own nature that was lacking. She was a woman uncomfortable with conflict. Even the slightest hint of it would send her into maneuvers designed to bring on the inevitable aching head and clenched jaw. Why would she put herself through that again if it could be avoided? Because you're fifty years old and the possibility of climbing into bed all alone for another three decades is too sad to think about.
Forcing herself to relax her grip on the wheel, Johannah slowed to a stop at the round-about and looked to the right. She mustn't feel sorry for herself. That led to depression and one depressed female in her house was enough. More than that, she mustn't make foolish decisions based on emotions that weren't real.
Pulling out into the line of traffic, she indicated her exit, moving smoothly toward the Tralee Road for the three hour drive home. It was only half eight when she turned down Oakpark Road, made a left on Racecourse, a right on Clash and stopped at the station crossing. The gate was closed. She looked both ways. Not a train in site. The gate was still manually maintained by the Mahoneys who lived in the small house off to the side. Their shades were pulled.
Irritated, Johannah was about to turn around, retrace her route and drive home from the other side of town when suddenly the thought of another twenty-five minutes in the car, after climbing out of bed before dawn and driving the better part of four hours, was too much. Paddy Mahoney was paid to man the station. He could catch his sleep on someone else's watch. What would Kate do? Was this what she meant by the Irish accepting a level of discomfort that wouldn't be tolerated elsewhere?
Pressing the horn, Johannah relished the piercing, dissonant beep. Then she waited. Still no sign of life from the house. Once again she pressed down on the horn, harder this time, releasing and pressing again and again, until the front door of the gatehouse opened.
Mrs. Mahoney, clumsily tying the sash of her robe, ran out. "Have you lost yer mind, Hannie Enright? T'is eight o'clock in the mornin'."
Johannah rolled down the window. "The gate's closed and there's no train."
"Would it be too much for yer ladyship to go around? We've been up half the night."
"I've been driving since before dawn, and yes, it would be too much."
Open-mouthed, Lizzie Mahoney stared. "What's gotten into you, Hannie? Is something wrong?"
"Not at all, Lizzie. I expect you to do your job, that's all."
"The night was a long one."
"It happens to all of us. But this is your job. You're blocking the road. What if an ambulance needed access?"
"I don't see flashing lights, Hannie."
Johannah gave up and rolled up the window. "Maybe automation wouldn't be such a bad thing," she muttered.
At the roundabout heading toward Kilorglin, she inhaled deeply and smelled the salt-laced air of the open Atlantic. Her mood lifted. No matter what, it was always a grand feeling to come home.
* * *
Mickey
Once again it was hot, too hot for comfort, but the view was lovely, palm trees and white sand and water so clear and pale a blue it looked like the water in the Aquadome in Tralee. Peter was already there before him, a small white-clad figure sitting on the sand gazing out at the sea.
Mickey sat down. "Where are we this time?"
"Maui. It's one of the Hawaiian Islands."
Mickey shaded his eyes. "I know that."
Peter looked surprised. "Really? I didn't. When I was alive, there wasn't much world to know about. We're on the northeastern shore. Not too many tourists here. I wonder what it was like when it was new."
Mickey looked around at the pristine loneliness, the jagged, lava-rock shoreline, the white foam on the blue water, the rutted, twisting road that dropped off beyond the cliffs. "Probably not much different than this."
"Maybe so." Peter shrugged. "I thought you might like it."
Alarm bells rang in Mickey's brain. Since when had Peter ever taken his preferences into consideration? "Why?" he asked warily.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Why does it matter that I like it?"
Peter looked affronted. "You're insulting me. Everything I do is for your own good. This entire endeavor is for you."
Mickey was not to be placated. "It's a reasonable question."
"I suppose it is." Peter stood, brushing the sand from his robe. "Walk with me."
Side by side, without speaking, they walked the length of the beach, the only sound the drum of waves against the shore.
"It would be best if you simply told me," Mickey said at last. "I'm imagining the worst."
Peter stopped and studied the horizon. At last he spoke. "You've done well, better than I expected."
Mickey shook his head. "Nothing has changed. Kate is confused. Liam seems well enough, but then he always manages to land on his feet. Dolly isn't happy either."
Peter looked at him. "You haven't mentioned Johannah."
"No." Mickey smiled sadly. "I suppose that's because I don't know her anymore. She isn't the Hannie I remember."
"Are you giving up?"
"Let's just say that my goal has changed."
Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm delighted to hear it, my boy. I was beginning to be worried."
Mickey's eyes twinkled. "If I didn't know better I'd say you've grown fond of me."
"Not at all. I never become personally involved in my projects. It isn't encouraged."
Mickey changed the subject. "I've a few things left to do."
"I can give you a bit longer. We're not quite out of time." He hesitated.
"What is it?"
"Advice isn't something I normally indulge in."
Mickey smiled. "You're making an exception?"
"Just this once." Peter clasped his hands behind his back. He chose his words carefully. "You must remember that everything moves forward as it is intended. There are no random acts, no impulsive decisions, no changing of fate. It will help you bear whatever comes, no matter what it is." His black eyes blazed with passion. "Remember
our Savior and His sacrifice."
"You don't often invoke religion. Why is that, I wonder?"
"Would you consider yourself a religious man?"
"No."
"More's the pity." Peter's face relaxed. "You have your answer."
"How long do I have?"
"Long enough."
Mickey held out his hand. "Slán anois."
Peter gripped it. "Go dtí go gcasfar le chéile sinn arís."
Mickey's laugh echoed through the pristine air. "You know more than you'll admit, my friend."
Chapter 27
Johannah
"Hello," Johannah called out. "Anybody home?"
"We're in the sitting room." Book in hand, Liam rose from his chair and kissed his mother's cheek. "Nan and I are keeping ourselves company. You're home early."
"I finished up and saw no need to stay longer." She rested her hand on her mother's shoulder. "How are things, Mom?"
Dolly glanced up from her knitting. "I have no complaints."
Johannah's eyes widened. "That's wonderful."
"Except that you keep this house very cold, Johannah. If you pulled the curtains it would stay warmer."
"Maybe, but then we would need more light, wouldn't we? Can I find your jumper?"
"I'm all right with the blanket on my knees. What trouble did you stir up in Dublin?"
"Let me change and make some tea for all of us. Then I'll be right in to tell you everything. Where's Kate?"
"Working."
"That sounds promising. Where?"
Liam settled back in the chair. "She's at Kelliher's, but don't get your hopes up, Mom. She's still determined to teach Dermot a lesson."
Johannah stopped at the door, turning back to look at her son. "Is that what you think she's wants, to teach him a lesson?"
"What else?"
"She might want to be done with him."
Dolly dropped her knitting. "What kind of language is that? She wants nothing of the sort."
Liam nodded. "I agree with Nan. It doesn't sound like Kate. She's not that cold."
Was everyone blind? Ten minutes ago Johannah had been hungry for the sight of her family. Now, already, she was annoyed with them. "We'll see," was all she said.
Upstairs, in her own bedroom in front of the long mirror she kept tilted at a twenty-five degree angle because it took off two stone, she stripped off her bracelet, set it on the chest and stepped out of her skirt. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and her hand stilled on the top button of her blouse. In the shadowed half-light of late morning, the lines around her eyes blurred. She looked young, very young, nearly as young as Kate. Kate, who at this very moment might be planning a life with Ritchie O'Shea, just as Johannah had once hoped to have with his father. Hoped in such a context was an understatement. Such a sad little word. It had been so much more than that. The bans had been read, the arrangements made, the families united in anticipation of the day when Johannah Little and Francis O'Shea would be wed in St. John's Parish Church.
Sighing, she lay down on the bed. Just for a few minutes she would close her eyes and rest.
The double ring of the phone woke her. Groggily, she rolled over and picked it up. "Hello."
"You're home." Maura's no-nonsense voice flowed through the wires.
"Just."
"Are you up for a drink, or is it too soon?"
"Isn't it a bit early?" Johannah thought of Liam, deep in grandmother duty, attempting to study. "Can we make it later?"
"How late? It's already half nine."
"You can't be serious." Johannah sat up, struggling to clear her mind. "I've slept away the entire day. I need to get my mother into bed."
"No problem. I'll give Milo his supper and be over at nine. Shall I bring the wine?"
"If you want more than tea."
"Red or white?"
Johannah laughed. "Whichever you prefer."
"I missed you."
Johannah was touched. Maura didn't run to sentimentality. "I wasn't gone long."
"It's not the distance, although knowing you're five minutes away is comforting. It's that you were unavailable."
Johannah frowned. "Is something bothering you, Maura?"
"I was thinking what it would be like if you weren't around. Who would I talk to?"
"You have Milo."
"Don't be daft, Hannie. He's my husband. I can't talk to him. He's the one I talk about."
It was a ridiculous statement and Johannah should have laughed. Normally, she would have, but this time it struck her differently. It wasn't at all funny. It was sad. "Don't be maudlin. I'm not going anywhere."
"Thank God," Maura replied. "I'll see you at nine."
* * *
Maura opened the door without knocking and tiptoed through the hall into the kitchen. "Is everyone out of the way?" she whispered.
"There's no need to whisper. Liam's out and my mother's sleeping."
"Is this her usual time?"
"Like clockwork."
Maura found two wine glasses in the cupboard and settled into a chair. "She closes up a bit early doesn't she?"
"You would, too, if you were up at four in the morning."
Maura groaned. "My God, Hannie, how do you do it?"
Johannah applied the corkscrew to the wine bottle. "I have a good friend who brings wine and conversation."
Maura lifted her glass. "Fill it to the brim. I walked over."
"I can't offer you a bed but the couch is available."
"Milo would have a coronary."
Johannah opened the glass doors of the hutch and replaced the wine glasses Maura had chosen the Waterford. Then, filling both glasses, she sat down across from her friend.
"Mmm." Maura nodded approvingly. "Nice touch. I'm honored."
"We deserve the best. Besides, who am I saving them for?"
"Kate, or Liam's wife, maybe."
Johannah tried not to sound bitter. "I'll be dead before Liam matures enough to settle down and it's clear that Kate has no interest in preserving tradition." She smiled. "I didn't mean that. I love them dearly. You don't look sixteen with your hair tied up like that. How is it that you never change?"
"You're trying to distract me."
"Maybe, just a bit."
"Tell me about Dublin."
Johannah felt the heat in her cheeks. "Everything went as expected."
"Are you sure, Hannie?"
"Quite sure." She looked up, her eyes meeting Maura's. "What have you heard?"
"That Jack Rafferty couldn't take his eyes off you, that he wined and dined you and barely spared a word for anyone else."
Johannah's mouth dropped open. "You're not serious?"
Relenting, Maura laughed. "Not entirely. But the word is out there might have been some interest on his part."
"If there was, I'm sure it didn't last until I was out of the carpark and on the way home."
"Why would you say such a thing? You're a lovely woman. You have an education and a job. You own your home and your children are grown."
"My children may be grown but they live with me, as does my grandson and my confused mother. Can you imagine someone putting up with that if he didn't have to?"
"Mickey did."
"Mickey and I were a lifetime married. The children were his. He had to put up with everything. It's the bargain he made when he stood beside me in church and made promises."
"He did a great deal more than that and you know it."
Johannah was silent. She did know it. Mickey's heart had always been in the right place. Because of it, she'd forgiven him countless times.
Maura pressed on. "Are you not the least bit interested in Jack Rafferty?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"What would you say?"
"He's handsome and brilliant and interesting, and no one I'd ever be comfortable with. Why are you asking all these questions? Is this what you meant when you wondered what it would be like if I wasn't around?"
"You
're not old. It's possible you might start again and there's no one new in Tralee."
"Maybe I'll find someone old from Tralee."
"Like Patrick?"
"No," Johannah said quickly. "There's nothing for me there. Besides, it's been just a year. I'm not ready for that yet."
Maura poured another glass of wine and changed the subject. "What's happening with Kate?"
"I don't know. Liam thinks she won't actually divorce Dermot. He said she's teaching him a lesson."
"Do you agree?"
Johannah rubbed her forehead. "I think she'll leave him, especially if she finds a job in Cork or Dublin."
Maura sat up, her brown eyes wide and troubled. "Is she looking?"
"Apparently."
"Because of Ritchie O'Shea."
Johannah's fingers slid up and down the stem of the wine glass, appreciating the delicate etching, the heavy crystal, the contrast of fragile stem and heavy goblet. "I don't know."
"You must tell her, Hannie, before this goes any further."
Johannah formed her words carefully. "What is it you think I should say?"
"Tell her the truth."
"What version would that be?"
Maura leaned across the table and covered Johannah's hand with hers. "Give her some credit."
"Katie always did favor Mickey."
"She loves you. That won't change. You've been a brilliant mother. Besides, Mickey never held any of it against you."
"Didn't he? I've been an adequate mother, Maura, at times a distracted mother, nothing more than that."
"How is that any different from the rest of us?"
Johannah shook her head as if to rid herself of troubling thoughts. "You called me. Tell me what's new with you?"
Maura leaned back in her chair. "Milo wants to retire."
Johannah waited.
"Did you hear me, Hannie Enright? My husband wants to retire."
"Is that bad?"
"It's terrible. He'll be home all the time, in my business, leaning over my shoulder. I won't have a moment's peace." Maura looked stricken.
"You work together now. How will it be different?"
Hannie Rising Page 17