The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2)

by Cynthia Ingram Hensley

  Catie took a deep breath and released it. “No, don’t cancel. If you can survive the hoity-toity do-gooders, then I shall hitch up my skirts and triumph over the folk of Ballygreystone.”

  Sean smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, Catie Kelly.”

  “I love you back.” She laid her head against his chest, wishing they could go to bed together and stay there until tomorrow. “Now are you going to the horse track, or would you rather make love?”

  He laughed. “I’d rather make love, but seeing as you’re about to keel over with exhaustion, I’m going to the track and you, mo chailín, are going to bed and stay there until you’ve had a long rest. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said quietly.

  A horn started to beep in earnest, and Sean gave her a quick kiss. “I must be off. Go to bed, aye?”

  Emma Kelly was born English, meaning she had an affinity for wallpaper—chintz to be exact—and it covered every wall and ceiling, pleasantly complementing the Irish lace that adorned all the windows and tabletops. And, to complete the quintessential Irish farmhouse, well-loved, unmatched furniture filled the rooms, creating a cozy, pulled-together décor that Catie liked. What she didn’t like was that Gabriel and Tess had been forced to move to Tess’s mother’s house to make room for her and Sean. At the moment, however, she could think of nothing but a few hours sleep, even if it was in Gabriel and Tess’s bed. She pushed open the door and drew up short when she realized the room was already occupied by a pretty young woman who was sitting on the bed nursing a baby. Tess.

  “Oh, Catie.” Tess looked up, equally as startled. “I was just… Let me—”

  “Please don’t get up.” Smiling to put her new sister-in-law at ease, Catie went over and eased herself onto the bed. She saw immediately the resemblance between Tess and her brother, Brody. Tess had the same ginger-colored hair, freckles, and green eyes. She even had the same cowlick, but fortunately, it was placed where her hair parted, causing her long strands to fall around her face in the shape of a heart. Tess was beautiful and young—two years younger than Catie to be exact and too young to be a mother many would say. But she looked so natural with the baby at her breast; Catie didn’t think she could imagine Tess being anything else.

  “All the lads were about, so Emma sent me up here to feed the babe,” she explained. “A girl can’t take three steps ’round here without trippin’ over a chap.”

  “Rather,” Catie chuckled in agreement.

  “I’m Tess by the way, Gabe’s wife, and this is Unagh, named for me granny.”

  “Unagh is it? But…I thought Gabe said she’s to be called Tuck.”

  Tess rolled her eyes then looked down at her daughter and said, “Your da’s an amadán, so he is.”

  “I like the name Unagh,” Catie blurted awkwardly, feeling out of place. She glanced at the framed picture of Gabriel holding his daughter, prominently catty-cornered on the bedside table. “Tess, I feel simply miserable that Sean and I have taken your room. You shouldn’t have moved to your mother’s. Da said the manor house has been turned into a bed and breakfast. I’m sure we would have been more than comfortable there.”

  Tess’s thin brows, which were as ginger as her hair, knitted, and Catie realized she’d said something wrong. “Sean Kelly…returned from America and stayin’ at the manor? What would the neighbors say? Turned out most like. And how might that make Seamus and Emma look to everyone?”

  “But in essence, haven’t you and Gabriel been turned out to make room for Sean and me?”

  Tess looked at Catie as if she weren’t speaking English. Then, in a gentle voice that made Catie feel utterly foolish, she said, “But we ain’t turned out. We’re stayin’ with me mam.”

  Catie looked down at her hands, beginning to second-guess her decision to attend the ceilí. How could she ever win these people over when she made things more complicated than they needed to be? It occurred to her that country folk weren’t called “simple” because they were uneducated or less sophisticated. It was because they literally looked at life more simply. “Tess, I’m sorry. I’m afraid it’s me that’s the amadán. What I meant to say—”

  “Would you like to hold the baby?” Tess asked but didn’t wait for an answer before placing the child in Catie’s arms. “Unagh, this is your Auntie Catie and your godmother,” she told the infant, who studied Catie’s face with such a creased, concentrating brow it was as if she understood her mother’s introduction. Unagh’s head was covered with soft, fuzzy hair the color of her mother’s, but her eyes were blue like her father’s, like all the Kellys.

  Although Catie laughed at Unagh’s expression, a tear slid down her cheek. Sniffing, she wiped it away with the back of her hand and looked at Tess. “She’s beautiful. Please pardon my tears. I’ve been so emotional these past few days. Most moments I don’t know whether I feel more like laughing or crying, but I’m sure if I don’t do one or the other, I’ll burst. I suppose it’s the commotion of coming home. You’re probably regretting that Gabe asked me to be your child’s godmother.”

  Tess’s mouth turned up in a soft, reassuring smile that seemed too mature for her youthful face. “Gabe wanted you and Seany to be the godparents, and he’s a good judge of character—like his da.”

  Catie nodded, understanding. “I do that a lot as well…compare Sean to his father.”

  “Seany? Like Seamus?”

  “Do you not think they’re alike?” Catie questioned.

  Tess shook her head. “Not at all. I mean they certainly favor in looks, but Sean...”

  “Sean what?”

  “It’s like me da says. When boys grow up on an island, they grow into two types of men. Those who can stand at the edge of the land with their heart fully contented with all that’s behind them and those who see only the horizon and dream of what’s beyond it. He says that’s because some boys grow to fit the land while others grow bigger than it. I mean in their hearts of course — not truly bigger.”

  Catie gazed at Tess intently for a few seconds then asked, “And you think Sean is bigger than Ballygreystone — than Ulster?”

  “Of course he is. We’re all real proud of Seany. What with ’im goin’ to America and all.” The baby began to fuss, and Tess reached over and took her. “She probably needs a burp.”

  While Tess patted the baby’s back, Catie considered what she had said, wondering if there might be some truth in it. But there were more urgent matters at hand, so she purposefully pushed the thought to the back of her mind…for now. “Tess,” she said hopefully, “would you kindly teach me how to dance a jig?”

  ***

  In the lounge below, Emma and Rose sat alone, enjoying the temporary quiet of the men’s absence. Rose studied a crossword puzzle, biting on the end of a pen, while Emma mated socks from a basket. “Rose dear.” Emma put aside a pile of paired socks and leaned closer to her sister. “There’s something I need to tell you about our Catie.”

  Rose put down the crossword, sighing. “I know already. For heaven’s sake, I used to know when that child was getting a cold a week before her first sniffle.”

  Emma nodded slow and thoughtfully. “Then the question becomes…does our Catie know?”

  “Probably not.” Rose shook her head. “But I shall take her on a stroll after church tomorrow and tell her.”

  Just then there was a loud banging overhead, making both women look up. “What on earth?” Rose said, starting to rise.

  “Stay.” Emma put a hand out. “If I went running up those steps every time I heard such a sound, I’d not have any legs left.”

  “But they’re girls, Em, not rough and tumble boys,” Rose protested but remained with an ear turned to the ceiling.

  A moment later there came a few soft squeals of laughter, and Emma smiled triumphantly. “There now, you see. They’ll be the best of friends before the sun has set.”

  Chapter 28

  During the summer in Northern Ireland, the sun rises be
fore five a.m. and doesn’t go back to the earth until almost ten o’clock. On the night of a ceilí, Ballygreystoners look on these long days as a blessing and remind each other that, when the winter comes back around, the sun will be much less generous, shining upon their patch less than eight hours…when it shines at all.

  Awake with the sunrise, Alexander Pope, Emma’s prized cockerel, saw that his womenfolk and their biddies had begun to peck the ground in search of their breakfast and decided it was high time his mistress came out to scatter their feed. So he stretched his thick, feathered neck and broke the precious silence of Sunday morning with a harsh crow towards the house. When one, two, and three calls got no movement from the inside, Alexander Pope moved closer and perched on the fence that surrounded Emma’s cutting garden and crowed again, ear splitting. Sean heard his father’s window fly up and then the shouting commenced. “Alexander Pope, ye wee bugger, if you so much as make one more sound, I’ll ring yer bloody neck, so I will.” Followed by, “Seamus, a Christian man shouldn’t say bloody and bugger on the Sabbath.” Then, just to prove who the top cock of Kells Down truly was, Alexander Pope expelled one final, “squawwwk” and then flew off to boss his womenfolk.

  Sean laughed quietly, happy to be home, and turned to Catie who was, as usual, sleeping soundly through the ruckus. Sean figured Catie could have slept through the Blitz. Unable to resist, he kissed her extended neck and then closed his eyes and breathed in her morning scent. His wife smelled of earth from the damp evening and wood smoke from the bonfire. Her cheeks were burned rosy from the sun and wind, and she slept deeply as one does when they’ve gone to bed contented with their day.

  From the first peel of the fiddle to the final soft skirls of the tin whistle, Catie had danced and clapped as good as any colleen. Her jig may have looked, at times, as if she was trying to stomp out a brush fire, but she had tried. Ultimately, that’s all that really matters to the provincial Ballygreystoner. Sean had purposefully spent much of the evening playing his guitar and singing with his father and the lads to allow her the freedom to find her place. She had worn her robin’s egg blue, short-sleeved, cotton frock. It was the dress she had often worn to the beach, not fussy or expensive, but Catie looked remarkable in it. Sean was proud of her. It wasn’t every day that a Derbyshire heiress danced jigs with working class Ulster folk and made a success of it. He smiled when she laughed out loud at Faithful Orr’s jokes, which never made any sense, was pleased when she nodded solemnly as she listened intently to Lindy Higgins’s long catalog of ailments, and minute by minute realized he was falling in love with his wife all over again.

  “What time is it?” she whispered, beginning to stir though her eyes were still closed.

  “About six,” he breathed, kissing her shoulder and sliding his hand slowly up the back of her thigh to cup the round of her bottom. “Your bum is so blessedly warm this mornin’.”

  To repay him for waking her so early, Catie pulled her ice-cold feet from outside the covers and put them against his legs. Sean squawked much like Alexander Pope had and then burrowed under the covers to bite the offending toes. Catie giggled and kicked, but he quickly overpowered her and threw back the blankets, his black hair standing on end.

  “Catherine Kelly!” he exclaimed, holding up one of her feet.

  She propped herself up on her elbows. “What?”

  “Look at your feet, girl.” Sean looked as appalled as he sounded. “They’re filthy.”

  Catie peered down at her feet and saw they were stained a deep brown. Biting the corner of her lip, she blinked innocently at her husband and said, “All the other girls kicked off their shoes.”

  Sean crawled back up the bed, overtop of her. “And if all the other girls wanted to jump from the ol’ tower house, would you join hands with them and leap to your death?”

  She was directly under him, no room for escape; not that she wanted to escape, especially since she was in a particularly pert mood. Catie shrugged rather impishly. “Last night I might have. As a matter of fact, I had such a grand time at the ceilí, you should count yourself a lucky man that I made it to our bed with my knickers on.”

  “Why you cheeky lass.” He flipped her over and started tugging down the aforementioned knickers while Catie played her part by squealing and squirming in feigned protest.

  This game went on for less than half a minute when there came a knock at the door, bringing the squealing, squirming, and panty tugging to an abrupt halt. “Seany!” his father called out.

  Sean grimaced. “Yeah, Da.”

  “Fill your boots, lad. We’ve a great many chores to do before my granddaughter is baptized this mornin’.”

  Deflated, Sean fell back down on the bed and grumbled, “Yes, Da.”

  “I reckon you’ll have to tend to the cheeky lass later,” came with a chuckle from the hall, making Sean reach down, pick up one of his boots, and throw it at the door.

  He turned back to her, propping his head in his hand and looking apologetic. “I have to go. The last one down gets the worst of the chores and the last of the black pudding.”

  Somewhat miffed that she was suddenly second best to a plate of black pudding, Catie began righting her underwear and replied snippily, “You must hurry then. I certainly wouldn’t want to stand between a man and his black pudding.”

  He grinned up one side of his face. “We’ll be more than an hour before breakfast, so try and go back to sleep. It may be that a wee bit more rest will cure that sharp tongue of yours.”

  Her mouth fell open, but he pushed it closed and kissed her. Then, with no small amount of reluctance, Sean got out of bed and began to dress. His kiss still on her mouth, Catie watched him. When he sat back down to pull on his boots, she admired the muscles in his shoulders as they flexed and contracted. She reached out and pulled a fingernail down the length of his back, pleased with the gooseflesh that rose in her wake. “Later?” she questioned in a whisper.

  Sean looked over his shoulder at her. “Later…I promise.”

  When Catie woke again, the aroma of frying meat and eggs rose on a pungent cloud from the kitchen below. At first the smell made her empty stomach yearn for its source, but then it turned abruptly, and she burped unpleasantly. Several times, she swallowed, trying to overpower the urge that was creeping over her like slow-moving mud. She felt a racing flush of heat then clammy. Then urgently, she threw back the covers and made a run for the bathroom.

  ***

  Catie reached down, picked up a handful of stones, and threw one angrily through the fence rails. “Sean’s going to be cross with me.” She threw another. “And Ben’s going to be cross with me.” Warily, she looked sideways at Rose, who was standing by, patiently allowing her to expend her temper. “Are you cross with me, Nan?”

  Rose made one of those faces, not a smile or a frown. “These things happen, child.”

  Catie looked hopeful. “You’re right. They do happen. It could have happened even if I hadn’t been less than…diligent in taking those silly little pills.”

  At that, Rose’s eyebrows shot up.

  “All right,” Catie said contritely. “They weren’t silly. Oh, Nan, what about university? And Sean’s career…what about that?”

  Rose finally smiled at her, so much her eyes crinkled. “Cambridge University has been standing for centuries. I’m sure it will be there when you are again ready. And Sean’s career will find its path with or without all of his strategic planning and devising. That dear boy must learn to take life as it comes now and again.”

  Rose was using her motherly voice, the only motherly voice Catie knew. She started to throw another rock but the thought of her mother — of Margaret — stopped her. Margaret, who had brought only two live children into the world and lost her life with the last one, Catie looked at Rose, the color draining from her face. “I’m scared, Nan.”

  “I know,” Rose said, soft and comforting as she put her arm around Catie’s shoulder. “But we shan’t feed those fears, Catherine
. You have always prevailed, and you shall in this as well. Very soon you will come to see this for the true blessing that it is.”

  After a few shared tears, both sad and joyful, they sat with their hands clasped, not speaking for some time until Catie asked if she could be alone. Rose was good like that. She would talk, listen, sit in silence with you, or leave you to your own thoughts. It was one of the things she loved most about her Nan.

  Because she was still wearing her church dress, she waited until Rose was up the lane and out of sight before climbing to the fence’s top rail and sitting down. There was a sunny, blue sky overhead. “A blessed fine day to be christened, so it was!” she had heard no less than ten times as the family stood at the church door with the rector greeting the congregation as they spilled out into the warm, summer morning. Catie thought of how proudly Sean had held up his niece and goddaughter so that folks could get a better look at the infant, who had finally fallen asleep after a red-faced, screaming protest to her baptism. The image of him with the swaddled infant in his arms made her feel sick and wonderful at the same time. Once again, she didn’t know whether she wanted to sob her eyes dry or laugh until her sides hurt.

  In an effort to move away from her emotion, she swung her legs like a carefree girl and gazed out over the rolling green pasture. Single, deep-purple thistles grew in and around clumps of wild daisies, making a flower path that wound up the knoll to the ancient abbey ruins. Sheep grazed alongside the crumbling walls, milling around the fallen rocks for the sweetest grass. From behind the abbey, a rider appeared and galloped down the far side of the hill in a fast, graceful swoop. Sean. Even from a distance, Catie knew it was her husband. Sean was giving Luas, his Irish Hunter, the run he had promised the animal that morning. She watched as horse and rider galloped hard towards the stacked stone fence that separated the fields and flew over the wall as if it were no more than a pebble in the grass. Once on the other side, he reined in the animal and turned back as if considering another jump. Luas pranced—happy, Catie thought, to once again be crossing the fields with Sean. As if sensing her, Sean turned to her and threw his hand up. He then pulled Luas about and changed his direction.