by Nancy Warren
At the bitterness in her tone, I looked at her. “You found him, didn’t you? Your dad.”
She glanced up at me as though shocked I’d guessed, but her face had pretty much given the game away. She nodded. “It wasn’t the joyous reunion I’d dreamed of,” she said, sarcasm dripping from the words. “He had another family.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Her shoulders went up and down once. “It’s life, though, isn’t it?”
“And, in spite of our crap childhoods, we survived,” I reminded her. We clinked glasses again and decided to order dinner. Oysters and chips for her and bangers and mash for me. Because when did I ever get bangers and mash in Seattle?
We talked of other things, village gossip, and suddenly she said, “Have you got your eye on the doctor?”
I was so shocked I bit my tongue. Ow. “Have my eye on the doctor? Dr. Milsom?” It was a pretty good guess, as he was the only doctor in town.
“Yes. I saw you watching him at the wake.”
I had been watching him. He’d been a friendly face in a crowd of people who treated me like an unexploded bomb. I was trying to come up with an answer when she continued. “A friendly warning. He’s as walled up as a maximum security prison.” Which made me suspect she had an interest there herself.
However, I was always curious about people’s stories. “What happened?”
She leaned in. “I heard his wife left him for his best friend.”
I could have laughed out loud. I knew that story only too well. But I kept my face suitably grave. “That sucks.”
“Nobody ever sees him with a woman. Though he does go to Dublin and back to London occasionally, so who knows what he gets up to there. But if you’ve your eye set on being a country doctor’s wife, I wouldn’t get too invested.”
“Duly noted.”
In one of those awful coincidences, Andrew Milsom walked into the bar exactly then. He looked around as though checking on who was there and seeing us, waved. We both waved back, and I felt terrible that we’d been gossiping about him. Not that we’d said anything bad. I was only gleaning information on my new neighbors. He went up to the bar and ordered what I was beginning to recognize was his usual drink. Whiskey, neat. He got to chatting with the bartender and another man who was sitting up at the bar. I felt that Karen was watching him too. She said, “For eligible men around here that you might actually fancy, he’s about it.”
Her gaze roamed around the pub, and she pointed out Danny, who had to be seventy and seemed to spend most of his time hanging around in Finnegan’s Grocery. “Or there’s Danny. He’s single, still has his teeth. Most of them, anyway.”
I laughed. “Thanks. I’m fine for now.”
“Have you ever tried that internet dating? That was a right waste of time.”
“Who hasn’t? And it wasn’t any better in Seattle.” That wasn’t completely true. I had met some nice men. I’d had a couple of relationships, but I could never be totally honest. There was a reason witches were so often alone.
Chapter 4
Brenda O’Donnell was as good as her word. Unfortunately. Only two days after she’d buried her father, an old Land Rover pulled up in front of my shop. Brenda got out, and I watched her open the back and haul a box of books out. With her was the young red-haired guy I’d seen telling Father O’Flanagan that he didn’t want to touch that old yew tree. He must be one of those people around town that you could hire for odd jobs. I’d have to get his information. He was young and strong, and where she had one box of books in her arms, he stacked one on top of the other and came behind her bearing two. I rushed to the front door and opened it for them.
“Thanks,” Brenda said, panting slightly.
I suspected she was just going to dump them at her feet right in the front of my store, and I couldn’t have that. I said quickly, “Bring them through here, would you?”
She didn’t look too pleased, but she followed me down one narrow corridor of books to the back, where it was slightly more open. She dropped the box with a thunk. Her companion was about to do the same. I was apologetic, but I said, “Could you take those upstairs? That’s where I keep all the stock that I haven’t dealt with yet.”
“Happy to oblige,” he said and staggered upstairs with the boxes. Brenda put a hand to her lower back and sighed. “I’m sorry. I cannot carry one more heavy item. Archie will have to bring the rest of the boxes. I feel like my back will break as it is. I push paper around all day. I’m not accustomed to manual labor.”
I felt for her, but I also wished I could be so lucky. I used to be a paper-pusher and researcher myself. Now that I ran a bookshop, if I wasn’t standing on my feet, I was hauling books around. And nobody who hasn’t worked with books knows how heavy they are. Still, she’d just lost her dad, and I wanted to be compassionate.
Brenda O’Donnell looked absolutely worn out. I could see the dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, and strain made her face look pinched and pale. Was it only grief? Exhaustion too, I thought. “I’m sorry. I remember how it was when my mother died. So much to do and you can’t think clearly.”
She looked like she was verging on tears. “That’s it exactly. I’ve got so much to do before I leave tomorrow. I don’t know how I’ll get everything done.”
I didn’t know what her situation was. Maybe she couldn’t get any more time off work, which seemed brutal when she’d only buried her father a couple of days ago. Personally, I thought it would do her good to spend a bit of time in the place where she’d grown up and where he’d passed. But it wasn’t any of my business. Maybe writing briefs and suing people was her way of coping.
Perhaps, if I hadn’t recently suffered a loss myself, I would have turned her down. How many more books did my bookstore need? And, from a quick glance in the boxes that she had brought over, there was a lot of junk in there. On the other hand, my sudden move from Seattle to Ballydehag was still fresh in my memory. In two weeks I’d not only rented out my house, but I’d given away all my kitchen stuff and more than half of my furniture. I’d only kept the pieces that felt meaningful to me. Still, I’d filled a whole storage locker in Seattle. And I’d felt more than a little stressed by the whole experience. So I decided to do her a favor.
“Don’t worry. Everything will turn out.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears. “Thank you so much.” Then she blinked them away, obviously feeling foolish at her sudden emotion. “I don’t suppose you want a very large dining table and eight solid oak chairs, do you?”
I laughed. She must know as well as everybody else did that I lived in a tiny cottage. “Can’t help you there.” On impulse, I said, “Would you like a cup of tea?” She probably didn’t have time, but sometimes a person needed a break. I could see the war going on in her face. She didn’t have time, but the longing to sit in this pretty little bookstore and get off her feet for a few minutes won out. “I’d love that.”
I didn’t even offer her a choice of tea. I knew exactly what she needed. I had a fantastic, calming brew that I’d made myself. It contained chamomile, lavender, rose hips and a little valerian root, among other things. I went into my tiny kitchen and brewed tea. Then, making sure she wasn’t looking, I waved my hand over the tea and whispered, “Let she who would sip this tea, calmness find, of anxiety be free. So I will, so mote it be.”
I poured us both a cup because, frankly, I could use some calming myself. I picked up other people’s emotions too easily. Always dangerous when they were in emotional crisis. It made me a good witch, but it didn’t help my mental state.
I brought the tea over to the two comfy chairs with the small table between them that was just perfect for this purpose.
Cerridwen came padding down the stairs, looking displeased. She’d been snoozing upstairs on the couch, and having her sacred nap disturbed by a sweaty guy hauling boxes had not pleased her. No one can do miffed like a cat.
However, she was never one to miss a warm lap and the chance
of a treat. She looked between the two of us. I suspected Cerridwen could sense emotion and knew she was needed. She jumped up onto Brenda’s lap.
Not everybody was a cat person, so I was ready to grab Cerridwen off her lap and put her onto mine, but the woman beside me sighed and sank back. “What is it about a cat? They’re just so comforting.” Cerridwen obligingly began to purr.
I could feel the woman calming down. She took a sip of tea, and that helped even more. “This is delicious.”
“It’s a special brew of my own. I’ll send you home with some.”
“Do. It’s magical.”
I chuckled. She had no idea.
Kate O’Leary, the schoolteacher, came in, but she merely greeted us both when she saw us and went about her business browsing. Mrs. O’Leary was a very low-maintenance customer. She knew the shop almost as well as I did and liked to browse undisturbed.
I said, still thinking about that heavy dining suite, “What will you do with the house?”
“Well, I won’t move back here, that’s certain.”
“It looks like a wonderful home,” I said, almost to myself.
“Aye, it is that. But it’s too big and far too much work. Besides, my life is in Dublin now.”
“It would make a wonderful bed-and-breakfast,” I said, thinking of that grand, old home fixed up and made welcoming. And cleansed of evil spirits.
“It would at that. But more likely it will be knocked down and made into some housing development. That’s what usually happens with big, old houses. Catholics aren’t having large families anymore. And nobody’s got the money.”
Mrs. O’Leary came out with four books. Two for herself and two for the school. I excused myself to ring up her purchases. Kate dropped her voice very low and said, “It’s kind of you to take an interest in Brenda. She’s had a hard time.”
I had no idea what that was about. “I feel sorry for anyone who has to move in a hurry right after their father died.”
When Brenda and I were settled once more with our tea, a plate of shortbread biscuits on the small table between us, Brenda said, “I haven’t lived here for years. I’d forgotten what it’s like with all the small-minded gossip and everyone knowing everyone else’s business. I don’t know how you can stand it after a city like Seattle. Ballydehag is so backward.”
Even though I’d only been here a few weeks, I felt my hackles rise. I’d come to like this charming village. I mean, sure, you could look up quirky in the dictionary and there’d be a picture of Ballydehag staring back at you, but after I’d been booted out of the States by some very angry witches, I’d been offered a refuge here. One I badly needed. So to hear her trashing the place annoyed me. Which, I supposed, was the first step in turning into one of those backward locals.
“It’s not so bad when you get used to it,” I said.
Cerridwen made a contented sound and rolled over, exposing her belly to be rubbed, which left her head upside down from where she watched me out of half-closed eyes. Considering that she’d only adopted me a few weeks ago, I’d fallen in love.
I politely asked Brenda how it was going with the house cleanout.
She made a face. “It’s a terrible job. I should have made my dad throw loads of that junk out over the years, but he was a stubborn old man. And he was convinced that all that rubbish would be valuable someday or he’d find a use for it. I suppose because he grew up in hard times, he never got over the idea that once something came into your life, it should never leave.”
“Pack rats are the worst,” I agreed.
“I’ve got boxes of stuff to go to Karen Tate at Granny’s Drawers to sell, and I’ll take as much of the good stuff back to Dublin as I can.” She groaned. “And then I’ll have to sort out selling the house.”
“Isn’t there anyone local who could help you? Old friends? Family?”
“No. I’ve been gone too long. My dad was never very close with his family. My mum’s people live over in County Clare.”
She sounded almost as rootless as I was. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult not to have family at a time like this.”
“Family isn’t always a blessing. In my work, you wouldn’t believe the fusses and troubles I see.”
I smiled faintly. “One advantage to being an only child, I suppose.”
“It is that.”
As Archie staggered up the spiral staircase with yet another load of books, I glanced nervously up above me. Perhaps I should find a different place to store my extra stock. Would that upstairs floor hold with all this extra weight on it?
As though she’d read my thoughts, Brenda said, “I’m awfully grateful to you for taking all the books. I’m sure some of them must have a good resale value. No doubt some of them you’ll just want to get rid of.”
There was one more box of books that Archie hefted upstairs and then, looking hot, sweaty and exhausted, he staggered back down again. I felt so sorry for him, I offered him a cup of tea. He shook his head. “You wouldn’t have some water, would you?”
I poured him a glass of my finest tap water, and he chugged it back gratefully.
Brenda hadn’t drunk much of her tea, and I could tell she wasn’t ready to go. I said, “Why don’t you finish your tea and I can run you back home?”
“Oh, that would be heaven. Just five more minutes to rest with this sweet cat purring would be like a day at the spa. Archie, you can keep going with packing the van.”
He nodded, and then with a cheerful wave, he headed out. Before he left, I asked him for his contact information. He didn’t have a card, but, in a slightly panting tone, he gave me his details, which I punched into my phone. His name was Archie Mahoney, and he did odd jobs, though not, he insisted, anything with plumbing or electrical.
Living in an old cottage and running an old shop, I would likely need his help.
Brenda and I chatted for another twenty minutes or so while she finished her tea. Then, heaving a sigh, she said, “I wish I could stay in Ballydehag longer. My work load is crushing, or I’d take a bit of a break. Things are … difficult right now.”
“I’m sorry.” I felt that she wanted someone to talk to, so I sat quietly and let her find the words. When she spoke, she seemed to be talking to Cerridwen, looking down at that sweet face. “It’s a funny thing, moving away from home and making a new life.” She glanced at me and then back at the cat. “As you know. I thought I could leave all the bad behind and begin anew. But I find myself repeating the same mistakes.”
I thought about my attempt at a fresh start and how quickly I’d botched it, interfering where I shouldn’t, again. Though I had solved a murder. Shouldn’t that count for something?
I wondered what mistakes this very together-seeming woman had repeated. I didn’t want to push. She’d tell me if and when she was ready.
She looked at me, and I saw the strain in her eyes. There was more there than tiredness. “Do you ever think we’re all cursed with a particular failing, and whatever you do, however far you run, you’ll still repeat the same patterns?”
“Oh, I hope not,” I said. “But you’re right. It’s too easy to drag that heavy baggage with us when we should leave it behind or throw it overboard.”
I sensed she was about to tell me what was on her mind when the shop door opened and two old women came in. Clara McPherson and Edna O’Grady were regular browsers, mostly because they were retired and widowed with not much going on in their lives. They walked in chatting. Brenda made a sound of horror, and I knew exactly why. If those two found her here, they’d be over with condolences and a million nosy questions. I said, “Go out the back. My car’s there. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“What about them?” she asked, standing and replacing Cerridwen in the chair’s seat.
“They can stay and watch the shop for a few minutes. They’ll be delighted.”
I dropped Brenda back at the house. A small moving van was parked outside, its back doors open. She blew out a breath. “I’ll be so glad wh
en this is all behind me.”
On impulse, I reached over and touched her hand. “When you get back home, take some time for yourself. Grief hits us in funny ways.”
She looked startled at the intimacy, then nodded. Almost to herself, she said, “And not only grief.”
On my way back, I passed the church, but it wasn’t the old steeple I noticed or the enormous banner asking for donations for the restoration fund. What I saw was a truck with a telescoping arm with a bucket on the top. A man was standing inside the bucket with a chainsaw, pruning the old yew. This was a regular occurrence in bigger cities where the telephone line people worked on phone lines and city workers kept trees trimmed, but it was odd out here in the virtual middle of nowhere. The side of the truck said Cork Tree Services. And there was a team of three working on the old yew tree beside the graveyard behind St. Patrick’s.
Obviously, the locals couldn’t be persuaded to prune the tree that was the stuff of legend, but Father O’Flanagan hadn’t given up. He’d gone to Cork city to get a crew.
I pulled up at the side of the road and watched. I was simultaneously sad to see that grand, old tree that no one had dared touch for hundreds of years being attacked with a chainsaw and pruning shears, but also the practical side of me, the one that was a newcomer like the priest, could see the benefit in getting rid of some of the enormous branches that hung all the way across the road on one side and well into the graveyard on the other. I suspected that Father O’Flanagan had been right, and one good windstorm and that thing could cause a lot of damage. Of course, everyone in town would probably say that the tree had been standing there for hundreds of years without falling down yet.
There was no one about on an overcast weekday afternoon. I wondered if the priest had chosen this time deliberately so he could have the work done before the locals set up a protest.
