Cat's Quill

by Anne Barwell

  "Christian?" Tomas asked. Cathal and his cousin seemed very different in temperament, almost opposites, from the little that had been said about him.

  "Yes." Cathal sighed, shifting his hand to wrap it around his coffee cup, the tips of his fingers overlapping to soak in the heat seeping through the crockery. His gaze shifted to the window in the far corner that looked out over the small courtyard, rather than the one facing the field, his smile mellowing into something that could only be described as melancholy.

  Heidi and Donovan exchanged a glance and then looked at Tomas as though waiting for him to say or do something. He ignored them, not wanting to disturb Cathal's memories and unwilling to engage in small talk just for the sake of it.

  In the finish it was Cathal who broke the silence, his mood shifting very quickly to something much brighter. "There used to be a small library here," he said. "I'd like to borrow some books if I may."

  "Library?" Donovan frowned, shaking his head. "You must be mistaken. The closest one is in the village."

  "There used to be a library room here," Heidi suggested helpfully. "I remember Mrs. O'Neil mentioning it once, but the books were all donated to the village library years ago." She refilled Cathal's coffee, though he hadn't asked. "They're in that room at the top of the spiral staircase. Phoebe's very protective of them."

  "That can't be all of them," Tomas started to say, then stopped, not wanting to give away the fact he'd been there.

  Donovan raised an eyebrow. "That room's just for the rare stuff," he said. "I went up there once when Phoebe was in a generous mood. It was kind of creepy, with the rocking chair and the vase of roses." He leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "There's other books in the main library which are old too, but I'm not sure where they came from. Libraries cull stuff because they run out of space. It's damn annoying when you go to reread something good and it's gone." He gestured with his head out toward the hallway. "I grabbed some of the books she was clearing out a couple of years back. She seemed pleased they were going to a good home. Come to think of it, some of them looked as though they might have come from a private collection."

  "Books should not be destroyed." Cathal looked at him sharply. "Each one is precious and is the culmination of someone's hopes and dreams." He put his cup down on the table with a thud. "They're like paintings, a record of time, place, and imagination, except they sketch with words."

  "There's crap out there too, Cat." Donovan shrugged. "I'm not one to condone getting rid of books, but sometimes you have to or there's no room for anything new. That's what she was doing."

  "People do what they need, but that does not make it right." Something in Cathal's voice suggested that he was not just referring to being rid of old books.

  "Yeah, well, not everything is how it should be in life," Donovan said, draining his coffee. "Do you want to take a look at what I have? See if there's anything you want to borrow? You can give them to Tomas to return when you're done, if you want. I've read them all, so it doesn't bother me if you keep them for a while."

  "Thank you, I'd like that." Cathal finished his own coffee, placing the cup on the table. "I can return the books myself. That won't be a problem. I need to go home at intervals, but that does not mean I cannot visit on occasion." He smiled. "Perhaps I could borrow one or two and swap them for others once I've read them?"

  Heidi nodded, answering before Donovan had a chance. "That would work well," she decided. "After all, you did say you liked the coffee and my baking. It would give us the opportunity to get to know you better." She began clearing the table. "Tomas, would you give me a hand while Donovan shows Cat the books, please?" Tomas opened his mouth to inform her that he wouldn't mind looking at the books either, caught the look in her eye suggesting that was not the correct response, and closed it again.

  "I could do that," he said, brushing his fingers against Cathal's one more time. "I'll meet you there when I'm finished." A thought occurred to him. "Where do you keep these books?" He didn't remember having seen any.

  "There's a room off the back porch I've converted into a sort of library," Donovan said. "It's just the right size for floor-to-ceiling cases and a comfortable chair. Good lighting too." He grinned at Tomas. "So what kind of books do you like to read, Cat?"

  "Anything and everything," Cathal said promptly. "I like both poetry and prose. Fiction or non-fiction, it doesn't matter. I'll read anything."

  "Okay," Donovan handed his empty cup to Heidi and pushed his chair out from the table. "That really narrows it down, huh? I have a lot of different genres. What was the last book you read?"

  "Red Sunset," Cathal replied, "and before that, In Hidden Places."

  Donovan's eyebrow rose. "Tomas's latest and that Emerys guy he's hunting for. Interesting choices."

  "I gave them to him," Tomas interrupted, daring Donovan to make something of it. "He wanted something to read, and I had them in my bag."

  A cough interrupted them. "Perhaps I should just browse your collection and see what takes my interest," Cathal said, glancing between them. Heidi stifled a grin, and Tomas glared at her. He knew what, or rather who, took Cathal's interest and didn't need comments from the resident peanut gallery.

  "Sounds like a plan to me," Donovan commented, his features suspiciously bland, although the corners of his mouth were twitching. He waited until Cathal had thanked Heidi politely for the afternoon tea and then started walking toward the kitchen door. "I've been collecting for years," he said. "Some of them are out of print. Heidi says they're harboring dust bunnies, but I can't bring myself to get rid of any of them."

  Cathal nodded in agreement. "Are you sure it's all right for me to borrow them?" he asked, his tone almost wistful. "I promise I'll take good care of them."

  "I'm sure you will." Donovan paused at the door until Cathal had caught up with him. "You strike me as the kind of guy who would." Cathal smiled and said something to Donovan in a low tone, but Tomas couldn't quite catch the reply.

  "Tomas!" Heidi sounded amused. He turned just in time to catch the tea towel she'd thrown in his direction. "I'll wash and you can dry." She was already filling the sink with hot water and detergent, the smell of citrus wafting toward him when she swished the dish brush through the bubbling water. "We'll be done in no time."

  "Okay." He glanced over his shoulder, but Cathal and Donovan were already gone, their voices fading apart from faint laughter he recognized as Cathal's. There was no need to go after them. Cathal could look after himself, and Donovan was merely sharing his love of books. Cathal would find something to read, and they would return shortly.

  "Cat seems like a nice guy," Heidi said casually, taking a wooden dish rack that Tomas hadn't noticed before off the wall. Donovan had just stacked the dishes against a glass, and he'd presumed there wasn't one. Personal preference, he supposed, sighing. Why the hell was he focusing on dish racks, of all things? His thoughts wandered further, and he nearly missed Heidi's next comment. "He's very welcome to visit for as long as you're staying with us."

  "Thanks." Tomas picked up a coffee cup and started to dry it, realizing more and more that this was not where he wanted to be at this moment. Cathal should be here helping him dry dishes, not choosing books with Donovan. Who, incidentally, had been less than subtle in the way he'd eyed Cathal up and down appreciatively earlier.

  "Are you sure you haven't missed a bit?" Heidi asked helpfully.

  "Huh?" Tomas glanced up at her to note the amusement in her eyes. Obviously subtlety was not one of his strong points either, but then he'd suspected that for some time.

  "You've been drying that cup in the same spot for the last few minutes." Heidi placed another cup in the rack. "If you want to go, I can finish up, you know." Yes, his skills were definitely more than just lacking; they sucked.

  His face flamed. "I'm fine," he mumbled. She gave him a look that reminded him of Kathleen's "you're not kidding anyone, not even yourself" one. It was obviously not as patented
as he'd presumed. "Umm, if you're sure, Heidi?"

  "I'm sure." She put her hand out for the tea towel, her smile widening.

  Not about to argue a second time, he gave it to her and bolted for the door. Once in the hallway, he skidded to a stop, his brain catching up with his instincts. Donovan had said the library room was off the back porch. Glancing left and then right, he headed right in the direction of the rear door. It made sense that the back porch would be off that.

  Sense, however, had nothing to do with it. Upon reaching said door, there was no sign of any room nearby. Nor could he hear voices. The heavy wooden door taunted him; Tomas berated himself for not asking for clearer directions and for only using the front and side doors up to now. Why on earth would a house need more than two doors? Correction, more than three doors, as one of the upstairs bedrooms had French doors which opened onto a small balcony.

  He was being an idiot. Grabbing the doorknob, he yanked on it, and when that failed, banged on the wood, muttering something extremely rude under his breath. Pulling back his foot, he was ready to give the door a swift kick when it opened.

  "Umm, hi," he mumbled to Donovan. Cathal paused, his hand over a book on a shelf a little above his head as he reached up for it.

  "Tomas!" he exclaimed, his face flushed and eyes bright. Grabbing the book he was after, he strode over to the door. "You need to look at these books. Donovan's collection is just wonderful. There are so many I haven't read and authors I've never heard of and...." His voice trailed off, his tone suddenly subdued. "What's wrong?"

  "The door must have closed behind us, and I forgot to leave the key in the other side," Donovan interjected quickly, searching through his pockets. "Yeah, here it is. Force of habit, I suppose. It's deadlocked and needs a key on both sides to open it. The one in here I leave in, and I forgot the other one. Sorry."

  "You lock your doors?" Cathal sounded surprised. He gestured with his hand to make a sweep of the room. Donovan had not exaggerated when he'd said it had wall-to-ceiling shelving. The solidly built bookcases covered three walls of the room; a comfortable-looking rocking chair sat under the window, the small table next to it just the right size for a mug and the pile of books stacked on it. "But surely all this is to be shared, and no one in your community would take what is not theirs."

  "It's a nice thought, but unfortunately not everyone thinks that way," Donovan said sadly. "Some of these books cost a pretty penny, and I'm not prepared to take the chance."

  Cathal nodded very slowly, seemingly digesting the information. "So what happens if someone is caught stealing?" he asked.

  "It depends on how much and whether it's a first offense," Tomas explained, wondering again how different things were where Cathal came from. "There would be a court hearing, and then it's up to a judge as to whether the sentence involves prison, a fine, or community work."

  "That's all?" Cathal frowned, flinching as though in response to a memory, the reaction gone as quickly as it had been noticed. His fingers absently stroked the cover of the book he was holding, tracing the outline of the embossed letters on leather.

  "Yeah. There's a maximum and minimum sentence and due process to think about, but that's the simple version." Donovan was watching him carefully. "It's not as though we're in the Middle Ages anymore. Cutting off someone's hand for stealing seems a little barbaric, don't you think?"

  "I'm not in favor of it, if that is what you are suggesting, but unfortunately if such societies still existed, my opinion would not matter," Cathal replied a little stiffly. He gripped the book more tightly, his knuckles growing white. "So," he continued slowly, "do you think consequences should be different depending on the nature of the crime?"

  Donovan nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do. It's important to look at each case individually and the reasons behind the crime. There are people who steal because they can, and others do it to stop their families from starving." His tone softened. "I wasn't suggesting you'd be in favor of anything either. For what it's worth, I think everyone's opinions should matter. Sometimes you don't feel like you can change things, but this kind of shit starts small and has to begin with someone."

  "Yes, it does." Cathal's fingers loosened around the book. "Unfortunately those in authority do not like u-- those who do." His fingers tightened again, and he visibly swallowed before speaking the next words in a rush. "History tells many tales of potential revolutionaries who were dealt with severely to keep the status quo." Stopping suddenly as if realizing what he'd said, his gaze fixed on a point between the top shelves and the beginning of a cobweb between it and the ceiling, his voice growing more distant. "I like to think that even something small, as you say, makes a difference, if not for the person concerned, then for those who come afterwards." He shifted his attention onto the scene outside the window. "I just wish the price was not so high," he finished quietly.

  Tomas didn't like the dots he was connecting. Donovan shot him a glance, part worry, part question. Instead of answering it, Tomas leaned back against one of the bookshelves and folded his arms, attempting to find something to say which might offer some kind of reassurance. But instead he found himself falling back on a cliche he'd once vowed he'd never use. "There's always a choice."

  "To roll over and play along and be safe or to do what's right?" Cathal rolled his eyes, his voice bitter. "That's not really much of a choice, now is it?"

  "Life doesn't always give you choices you want, Cat." Donovan shrugged. "But those are the breaks." He cleared his throat. "I'm missing something here, right? Are you in some kind of trouble and caught up in some weird shit I should know about? Sorry if I'm crossing a line, but this is starting to sound personal."

  "No, nothing you should know about." Cathal's tone changed instantly to something much lighter, although his eyes did not quite meet Donovan's. "This is just a subject I feel strongly about." He looked a little embarrassed. "I didn't mean it to come across as personal. I'll be more careful in the future."

  "Nah, that's fine," Donovan insisted. "If we can't talk about crap we feel strongly about, what's the point?"

  "Thank you," Cathal said quietly. He walked over to the rocking chair and picked up the pile of books. Something caught his eye, and he stopped, putting them down again and staring at the top of the shelf behind the chair.

  "Cat?" Tomas asked softly, pushing away from the wall to join Cathal. "Is there something up there you want?"

  "I can grab the ladder if you want," Donovan offered. "There's a lot of the older books up there, poetry, mostly. I don't read them as often, so I stored them up higher."

  "If that would be no trouble," Cathal replied absently, still staring at the book. Following Cathal's line of sight, Tomas peered up at it, trying to make out the lettering.

  "Keats?" he pondered aloud. Cathal had said he liked the Romantic poets. Placing one foot on the bottom shelf and carefully keeping his balance, he reached up, pleased that this was something that at least he could do with the extra couple of inches he had in height on both Cathal and Donovan. Fishing it out, he hopped back down again and handed it to Cathal.

  "Okay, maybe not, then." Donovan grinned. "A man of many talents, I see. I'll remember that one next time I want a book on one of those shelves."

  Cathal's hands were shaking as he opened the book, his lips mouthing something, although he did not say the words aloud. Tomas peered over his shoulder, hoping to get a better look and to figure out the reason for Cathal's reaction. "Cat?" he asked again, but Cathal merely smiled, his fingers tracing what appeared to be faded writing written in old-fashioned ink.

  "May I have this?" he asked Donovan suddenly, closing the book and hugging it to his chest.

  "Yeah. I said you could borrow whatever you wanted." Donovan shrugged.

  Cathal looked at Donovan directly. "No," he said, his voice a half-whisper. "I mean to keep." He glanced at Tomas and then back at Donovan, quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his tone wistful. "I'm sorry. That is a lit
tle forward. I'll borrow it, of course, and return it with the others."

  "I'll pay for it if it's for sale," Tomas offered.

  "Hey, if it's that important to you, it's yours." Donovan's tone was light but underpinned by curiosity. "Just one thing, though, okay?"

  "Okay," Cathal agreed slowly. "That is only fair." His fingers curled around the book, not quite clutching it to him.

  "Tell me why you want it, and you can have it." Donovan shrugged again. "I know you'll take care of it, and I'm not that into poetry."

  "It doesn't matter," Tomas started to say. Donovan had already said he didn't read the books up on that shelf very often. Cathal wanted it for whatever reason. That was obvious as hell.

  Cathal swallowed, his attention fully on Donovan though he moved close to Tomas, their shoulders brushing briefly. "It's mine," he explained very hesitantly. "I lost it a long time ago." Taking a step forward, he opened the book carefully so that the inscription on the inside page could be clearly read.

  Cat,

  For your birthday as we know how much you love these,

  All our love, now and forever,

  Christian and Alice.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Sixteen

  Donovan read the inscription, glanced at Cathal, and then read it again. "Who are you, Cat?" he asked. "Those names... this doesn't make sense."

  "Christian and Alice are my cousins," Cathal explained, his voice very even. "They lived here briefly. It was before you and Heidi bought the inn."

  "They weren't the people before us." Donovan frowned. "Joshua and Lilith Patterson were; I remember them from the paperwork." He read the inscription again, shaking his head. "The only person named Alice who has owned this place is that artist Tomas is so interested in." He looked over at Cathal again, eyes running up and down, lingering.