My Christmas Goose Is Almost Cooked

by Eliza Watson

  “No, it’s not. He’s also likely not Michael Daly. They wouldn’t have gotten married in England and had their wedding photo taken in Dublin.”

  “Would have been rather odd,” Sadie mused. “He might have been a Dublin rellie of the Daly landowner and how they’d met.”

  Sadie slipped the photo from the corner tabs and turned it over. Scrawled on the back in faded ink was John Daly and Bridget Coffey. No year.

  “Ah, brilliant,” Declan said. “Now you know his name, and he was likely from Dublin.”

  It confirmed Grandma had indeed married an Irish gent named Daly. However, the certificate I’d found online definitely wasn’t Grandma’s. The story that she’d run off to England to marry her childhood sweetheart—a forbidden love—was so romantic I wanted desperately for it to be true.

  Sadie handed me the photo. “Your family should have this.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted photographic evidence of Grandma’s first marriage. It wasn’t like I could frame it and set it next to my grandparents’ wedding pic. Had Grandpa known about the marriage, or had she kept it a secret from him to protect his feelings, as well as her own?

  I zoned in on a silver broach with emerald-colored stones on Grandma’s high-collared dress. Although the pic was black and white, I knew the colors because the pin was in Mom’s jewelry box. I’d once taken it without permission to play dress-up, and my mom had wigged out since she’d worn it for her wedding. Mom would really wig out that she’d worn the broach from Grandma’s first marriage.

  A marriage the family hadn’t even known about.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Don’t be too disappointed the marriage certificate you found wasn’t your granny’s,” Declan said, pulling out of Sadie’s drive. “Knowing her husband’s name was John, and likely from Dublin, is massive. How’s your mum going to react to the snap?”

  I stared at Grandma’s wedding photo, nibbling on my lower lip. “I’m not sure if I’m going to tell her. My mom wore that same broach for her wedding.”

  “Ah, right, then. That could be a wee bit disturbing.”

  “My mom and she were never real close, and I’m afraid this is going to be pretty upsetting.”

  Declan reached over and placed a hand on mine. I relaxed back in the seat. Our trip had gotten off to a rough start, encountering Liam in the pub, but our relationship was getting back on track.

  “You’ll know when it’s the right time to tell her.” He slipped his hand from mine and shifted into third gear. “We’ll look up the Flannery china factory when we get home and see if we can find any information.”

  When we get home.

  That further calmed the uneasy feeling in my stomach over Grandma’s wedding photo. I slipped it in my purse. Sadie and Seamus had offered to contact a cousin, who knew everything about their family—and everyone else’s—to ask if she knew the background on Grandma’s husband. Knowing I’d return in March with Rachel had made saying good-bye easier.

  When we arrived at home, Declan’s mom ushered us inside and caught the front door before the wind took it off the hinges. “I’ll put the kettle on, and you can tell me all about your visit.”

  I swept my hair back from my eyes, no beret to contain it. “I’ve never been so windblown in my life.”

  “It’s going to get worse,” she said. “They’re calling for gale-force winds late tonight, up to one hundred twenty kilometers per hour. They’ve already hit England. Hopefully, our electric stays on. Would be a shame for the yard not to light up.”

  Zoe came bounding down the stairs. “Would be mad to see the Grinch and his sheep flying over the pub tonight during the Christmas party.”

  “It would not,” Jane snapped.

  “Are you connecting in Heathrow?” Declan asked me.

  I nodded, my heart about stopped. “You think there might be an issue with flights?”

  “If the winds are fierce, they might already know if the incoming flight from the States is messed up. It’s likely the same plane returning to Chicago. Do you get text alerts from the airline?”

  I shook my head, unaware such a thing existed.

  “We should check your flight.”

  I’d been worried about transferring planes by myself at one of the world’s busiest airports. I’d never dreamed there might not be a plane to transfer to! I grabbed my flight info from my purse while Declan booted up the computer on a desk in the living room. We all peered anxiously over his shoulder while he accessed my reservation.

  Canceled.

  My stomach dropped. “They have me rebooked on a flight getting in at noon Christmas Eve day. My mom is going to freak. We spend that day preparing food for our annual party.”

  So much for making up for being a bad daughter the last two years. I couldn’t blame this year on Andy.

  Declan checked flights at Dublin airport. “It’s already knackered from delays at Heathrow.”

  “What about another airport?” Desperation filled my voice. “Isn’t there a Shauna airport?”

  Jane and Zoe exchanged panicked glances.

  Declan’s hands froze on the keyboard, his body tense.

  I’d said Shauna instead of Shannon.

  Who named a flippin’ airport after a girl? I had Shauna on the brain. And now Declan knew I had Shauna on the brain! I’d lucked out that he hadn’t heard me blabbing to Rachel, but he’d definitely heard me this time.

  A cow mooed in the distance. Peat crackled in the fireplace. It was as if Shauna’s name hadn’t been spoken in the house since her death. It undoubtedly hadn’t.

  My heart thumped wildly in my chest. I finally muttered, “I’m sorry.”

  Jane blew out a ragged breath. “It’s about time we talked about her. Shauna died, but we act as if she’d never even lived. That isn’t right.”

  Declan shook his head, gaze glued to the computer. “We’re not discussing this right now.”

  “Then when?” Jane demanded.

  “Not now.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I want to.” Jane frowned. “You aren’t the only one who loved her.”

  Declan shoved his chair back, the legs scratching across the wood floor. He sprang up. The look of pain in his eyes made my heart ache. Before I could extend a comforting hand, he stormed from the room. The front door slammed shut. A car hummed to life, and Declan sped out of the driveway.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, staring down the hallway in shock.

  “He’s as stubborn as his father.” Jane burst into tears and flew up the stairs.

  “Fancy some tea?” Zoe asked.

  Seriously?

  She shrugged. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without some family drama. After three years, the silence is finally broken. About time we talked about Shauna. Mum and I don’t even talk about her to each other.”

  “Declan probably won’t talk to me ever again.” A sick feeling tossed my stomach.

  “If he doesn’t come back, I’ll take you to the airport.”

  “You think he might not come back before I leave?”

  “Who knows. Mum’s right. He’s a stubborn arse sometimes.”

  I went from bringing Declan home and saving their family Christmas to ruining it. Maybe Cullens B & B still had room at their inn. If I couldn’t get out of the country, I had to at least get out of this house.

  * * *

  I trudged outside in the duck wellies to the far end of the backyard, attempting to get cell service, steering clear of the barking-dog alarm. I also didn’t want everyone to hear what would undoubtedly be more family drama when I told Mom about my flight and ruined my family’s Christmas.

  I avoided calling Mom and checked my e-mail. Bernice had sent me several links to contests she’d entered on my behalf. I clicked one, and up popped a picture of an Irish terrier puppy, a Dublin dog club giveaway. A dog? Besides the challenges of getting a dog back into the US, I’d never owned one. My last pet was our cat Izzy while growing up. Maybe Declan’s parents would want a r
eal dog rather than merely a barking alarm. I replied, thanking Bernice, debating whether to tell her I traveled too much to own a pet. If I sounded unappreciative, she might stop entering me in contests. Yet, what other crazy contests was she signing me up for?

  The cold, brisk wind whipped my hair against my face, making my eyes water. I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of freshly fallen rain and damp earth, trying to calm the icky feeling in my stomach as I called Mom. Plastering on a perky smile, I started our conversation with my visit to Sadie’s house and Grandma’s childhood home. I left out the part that I’d hoped it might have been next door to her husband’s family estate. And that a stupid bird living in the dwelling had stolen my beret.

  “Did you know your grandma Mary Coffey’s family owned a teacup manufacturer, Flannerys? That’s where Grandma’s cups came from. She couldn’t have hated her entire family to have kept the cups and traveled so far with them. Do you still have some of her collection? Mine says Flannerys on it.”

  “Teri kept them. With her hoarding issues, I’m sure she still has them. I’ll ask her.”

  A sense of relief washed over me.

  Mom sounded genuinely enthused and a bit intrigued for the first time since I’d started researching Grandma. Was it because she was currently on the green tea health bandwagon, or was it relief that I’d discovered Grandma’s family had been china makers rather than sheep thieves?

  “I was thinking I might make my mom’s bread for the party.”

  It’d been so long since Mom had made the brown bread that my memories of its taste had long faded. Her desire to bake it was a good sign my research was bringing her closer to her mother. A sign that I shouldn’t tell her the truth about Grandma’s first marriage and her wedding broach.

  Instead, I broke the bad news about my canceled flight.

  Silence filled the line. A sheep baaed in the distance. A text alert shrilled in my ear, startling me. I pictured Mom’s lips pressed into a thin line, disappointment in her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll take the bus from O’Hare so nobody has to pick me up. I’ll be home to help before anyone arrives. I’m sure Rachel will help out.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Her tone was matter of fact. “But what about you? Over in a strange country all by yourself?”

  Grandma must have been lonely that first Christmas in America without her family or friends, if her husband hadn’t immigrated with her. How difficult, moving to a new country and building relationships from scratch. However, I had few relationships in the country I’d lived in for twenty-four years.

  “Sadie lives nearby if I need anything.” However, she was on her way to Cork to spend the holidays with her son. “And my coworker Declan lives in the area.”

  That Declan was a coworker was the only thing Mom knew about him. Even though Rachel was now aware of our relationship, I still wasn’t prepared to deal with Mom’s concerns over my ability to choose a nice young man after dating Andy for two years. I was a total hypocrite, wigging out on Declan for wanting to introduce me as merely a friend to his family.

  “Rachel’s helping with Dad, isn’t she?”

  Mom was likely rolling her eyes at the thought of my sister helping out. I’d have thought the same thing a few months ago, but Rachel was changing. She’d gone home to help with Dad. Before, she’d have sent me home and stayed in Dublin to work on Flanagan’s meeting.

  “She’s over at noon today,” Mom said with a hint of doubt.

  “I didn’t do this on purpose.”

  “I know, dear. I have to go. Your father needs me.”

  Click. She was gone. I hadn’t heard Dad calling out to her in the background. Was she upset, or had she really had to go? She hadn’t had a meltdown, yet I was riddled with guilt. Reverse psychology. Act fine to make me feel even worse. Why couldn’t I just be happy that she hadn’t started crying?

  The text alert shrilled again.

  Rachel, wondering about my visit with Sadie.

  Emotionally drained, I had zero energy for another conversation. However, Mom might direct her anger at Rachel, blaming her for my job, the canceled flight, and Ireland’s unpredictable weather. I had to warn my sister so she wasn’t blindsided. And this was our journey. I wanted to share it with her. I called Rachel and recounted my visit with Sadie and promised to e-mail a picture of Grandma’s home and her wedding photo. I told her Grandma’s hubby’s name was John, not Michael, and he’d likely lived in Dublin, not the son of a wealthy landowner next door to Grandma.

  Rachel gasped. “How mysterious and romantic would that have been?”

  My sister never romanticized anything. I’d bawled through the movie Ghost despite Rachel droning on about the improbability of the afterlife and Whoopi Goldberg’s psychic abilities.

  “Why’d she keep the marriage a secret?” she said. “I wonder if Grandpa even knew. They married in 1947, eleven years after she immigrated. What did she do all those years?”

  “I’m not saying anything to Mom until I know the entire story. She’s already upset that I’m not getting home now until Christmas Eve day, thanks to gale-force winds.”

  “Oh shit. I bet she freaked out.”

  “She was actually eerily calm about it.”

  “She’s probably popping Teri’s anxiety meds, with everything going on.”

  “That would explain it. Can you help her get ready for the party?”

  “Of course. Did you get an extra night at the B and B?”

  After keeping Declan a secret, I had to tell Rachel the truth. I couldn’t risk damaging our relationship any further.

  “I’m staying at Declan’s. His parents are home. His mother insisted.” I sounded like a teenager justifying a sleepover at a girlfriend’s house. “But don’t tell Mom.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  I wasn’t sure if she sounded surprised that I’d shared this information with her or that my relationship with Declan was more serious than she’d thought.

  “I hope it goes well.”

  I admitted that it wasn’t going particularly well since I’d blurted out Shauna’s name.

  “Wow, that sucks. I’m so sorry.” Rachel sounded sympathetic and genuinely concerned. “Call me if you need to talk.”

  “Thanks. I will.” I smiled, relieved that I hadn’t totally effed up our relationship.

  “Oh, and Gerry Coffey called me last night.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To talk. He’d come to the hotel to say good-bye, but I’d already left.”

  How romantic was that?

  “He wants to get together in March.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yeah, it might be fun to hook up when I’m in town.”

  Is that what Declan and I were doing? Hooking up when we were on site together? Rachel didn’t sound like she’d meant to imply that, but the thought had popped into my head…

  A flash of red and green ran down the road beyond the yard. I squinted in the distance. “I have to go. There’s…sheep, I think, in the road.” What I was going to do about it, I had no clue. However, if Declan returned driving like a maniac, he might hit them.

  Declan had once explained that bright splashes of color on sheep’s cream wool coats helped designate ownership if they wandered off. These sheep were fully dyed, looking like they were wearing Christmas sweaters. I traipsed across the lawn, my feet sinking into the squishy grass and soil. I joined Zoe on the road, thirty feet from the sheep. No cars coming, I snapped a quick pic of the animals staring at us.

  “What should we do?” I whispered.

  “Walk slowly toward them and baa quietly. It calms them.”

  I took a cautious step forward. “Baaaaa.”

  Their dark eyes watched my every move.

  I leaned over, bracing my hands on my knees, at eye level with the animals. “Baaaa.” My voice grew louder. Looking a tad freaked out, they trotted over to a low-lying fence area and jumped back into the field.

  “Oh, h
i, Carrig,” Zoe said.

  I turned to find a guy, thirtyish, in jeans and a flannel jacket, giving me a curious stare. “A sheep whisperer, are ya?”

  “Um, I was just trying to get them out of the road.”

  “Ah, a Yank.” He nodded as if me being American explained my bizarre behavior.

  Zoe burst out laughing. She’d set me up, knowing this guy was heading over to round up his sheep. Yet I was still proud of myself for herding sheep off the road and into the field, possibly saving their lives.

  The guy shook his head. “You’re both mad as the arse who dyed my sheep. Would guess it was Declan if he still lived here.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “Calm down. We’re just having some craic.”

  “Ah, great craic, is it? When I find the wanker who did this, I’m going to crack his head and decorate his lawn with sheep shite.” He stormed off, cussing.

  “Declan and he don’t fancy each other. Goes back to fourth grade and Megan McDuffy. And when Declan was ten, he painted Carrig’s favorite sheep with a lovely Monet landscape.”

  “Omigod. What did your parents do?”

  “Told him it was brilliant. They’ve always encouraged his art. He didn’t realize the practical purpose for the dye. He thought their wool was a blank canvas for painting.”

  A sheep was nosing around by the lowered fence, planning its escape route.

  “Hey, get baaaaack from that fence,” I said.

  It trotted off into the field.

  Zoe laughed. “Fair play to ya. You’re now an official sheepherder. Like Heidi in the Alps. Or more like, Caity on the Bog. Maybe you could have your own reality TV show.”

  “Oh yeah, I’d love the entire world watching me baa like a crazy person at sheep.”

  I gazed out over the rolling hills, imagining pastel-painted sheep resembling an Impressionist landscape. I could herd the sheep, and Declan could paint them. Living a simpler, stress-free life where I didn’t have to worry about massive debt and contracting my next job, merely spinning our colorful wool into stylish sweaters shipped around the world. However, learning to spin wool likely required good coordination skills. Maybe we could dye their wool for every holiday and our pictures would go viral on social media, earning us millions.