The Eden Tree

by Doreen Owens Malek

  Linn stared at him, incredulous. “Con, you’re not telling me she believed that nonsense!”

  He shrugged. “She used to put a cup of milk out on the back step every night of her life for a passing fairy man to refresh himself. They love milk, you see, almost as much as they love drink. And she thought the bribe might keep the bad luck off the house.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “It was gone every morning.”

  “Oh, I get it,” Linn said derisively. “Your house was the rest stop for the little people, sort of like the leprechauns’ motel.”

  Con laughed. “I think it more likely that we were a soft touch for every cat in the parish.”

  Linn shook her head. “And how do you feel now, after being raised with all those fantastic imaginings?”

  He turned his head. “Well, as an educated man, I know that superstition is the enemy of enlightenment and progress. But I must admit that whenever the conversation turns to pookahs and banshees and things that go bump in the night, I’m Irish enough to listen with one ear.”

  Linn sighed. “I guess that never leaves you.” She glanced at him and smiled tenderly. “I hope it never does. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

  Con turned the car into the lane that led to Ildathach. “Do you think Bridie is at the house yet?” he asked.

  Linn glanced at her watch. “It’s early still. Probably not. I think she’ll go for the groceries first.”

  Con looked over at Linn. “Good.”

  She smiled at him. “I thought you were anxious to get to your manuscript.”

  He coughed. “Not that anxious.”

  When they reached the house, he got out and followed Linn inside. Ned appeared from somewhere and demanded attention. Con picked him up and rubbed his ears, murmuring to him softly. Linn had time to put her purse on the table before Con dropped the cat and pulled her into his arms.

  “Come inside to the bedroom,” he said. “I want to conduct an experiment.” He lifted her blouse from the waistband of her slacks and put his palm flat against her back.

  “Would this be in the interest of science?” Linn murmured, closing her eyes as his hand traveled around her body to the front, seeking her breasts.

  “You could say that,” Con replied huskily, guiding her through the door to her room. “I want to see if you are as lovely under the sun as you are in the moonlight.” He swung her up in his arms and deposited her on the bed, falling next to her immediately and gathering her close. He kissed her face and neck, leisurely at first, and then with mounting intensity as Linn responded, pressing eagerly against him. He rolled her over and undid her buttons, stripped the blouse off and threw it on the floor. Her bra followed, and with a muffled sound, half sigh, half groan, he began to make love to her as the morning sunlight streamed across the bed.

  * * * *

  Con’s exit beat Bridie’s arrival by about ten minutes. Linn was looking for a skirt to wear that evening when she heard Bridie enter through the kitchen, accompanied by Terry, who was serving as beast of burden. They were unpacking the bags when Linn entered.

  “Good morning,” Bridie said, glancing at Linn. “I’ll have some breakfast in a minute.”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” Linn replied, declining to explain that she had been to Ennis and back at the crack of dawn. “I’m not hungry.”

  Bridie peered at her narrowly. “What’s up with you, miss?” she asked. “You’re looking mighty smug.”

  Linn turned away, alarmed that the changes wrought by the night should be so apparent in her face. She wanted to avoid a discussion of the previous evening at all costs. She didn’t need another lecture or an inquiry into the state of her relationship with Con.

  “I have some letters to write,” she said, glancing at Terry, who was watching her with a small smile on his face. She had the uncomfortable feeling that the kid could tell exactly what she was thinking.

  “I’m off to school, Ma,” he said, strutting past Linn and heading for the door. He glanced over his shoulder at Linn and then turned away abruptly, his boots clicking on the tile floor. Linn followed the progress of his slim, lithe form as he departed, struck again by his aura of worldly wisdom, of knowledge beyond his years. Then she looked back at his equally sharp mother.

  “I think I’ll be busy for quite a while,” Linn said. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

  Bridie examined her curiously, but Linn fled before she could say anything further. She shut the door of the bedroom behind her and locked it, feeling like a fugitive from an inquisition. She wanted to savor the wonder of the last twelve hours with Con free from Bridie’s well-meant but nagging probing. She flung herself on the bed and relived every moment from her meeting with Con in the glen, hugging the pillow in an excess of happiness.

  And so, pretending to catch up with her correspondence, she dreamed the day away.

  * * * *

  When Con arrived that night to pick her up, Bridie had left for the evening and Linn felt free to fling herself on him as he came through the door.

  “Ah,” he said, laughing, “missed me, did you?”

  “I did.”

  “And where’s herself?” he asked, glancing around for the housekeeper.

  “Gone home.”

  “You said nothing to her about us?”

  “Not yet. I want to keep it our secret for a while.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Con answered, “though I doubt you’ll be able to conceal much for long. That woman operates from hidden signals like radar.”

  Linn held him off at arm’s length and glanced at his clothes. “Is that what you’re wearing?” He was attired in a pair of jeans, slightly less disreputable that the ones he usually wore, and a soft woolen sweater the color of heather which emphasized his eyes. He looked great, but hardly like lecturer material.

  “Oh, aye,” he said, “it’s all very informal. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

  “Is this all right?” Linn asked him, spinning around to display her camel skirt and beige cotton top.

  “It’s more than all right. I love your clothes, and how you look in them,” he replied. “I also love how you look out of them.” He took her hands, transferring both of hers to one of his and tracing her mouth with his other thumb. “I love these lips,” he murmured, kissing them, “these beautiful eyes,” he went on, touching them with a forefinger, “this glorious hair.” He released her hands and bunched her hair into both of his fists, rubbing his cheek against the flaxen mass that spilled through his fingers. “I love every inch of you, Aislinn.”

  Linn swayed against him, her lashes fluttering downward. “Con,” she whispered, “don’t say things like that or there will be no lecture in Kinsale tonight.”

  He let her go reluctantly, opening his hands and allowing her blonde tresses to fall to her shoulders. “It’s a good thing for my reputation that you’re such a responsible little American,” he said dryly. “As I recall, punctuality is highly prized in the States.”

  “That’s right, and I’m going to get you to Kinsale on time. Let’s go.”

  They left hand in hand. Linn noticed that Con was very pensive during the drive. He selected the southern route along the water, and the salty sting of the ocean breeze invigorated Linn as they drove along with the windows open to the air. The sky was inflamed with an orange sunset as they neared the seaport town of Kinsale.

  “You’ve been so quiet,” Linn commented. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking about the chance that brought you to me,” he answered, dropping his hand to the seat between them and clasping her fingers. “It might never have happened, you know. You might have spent your whole life in the States, separated from me by thousands of miles of land and sea.”

  Linn glanced at him in the failing light, a little frightened at his tone. At a time like this it was easy to believe his stories about his mother; he had a fey streak himself.

  “Why worry about that now?” she asked softly. “It didn�
�t happen. We’re together and that’s all that matters.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He smiled reassuringly. “It must be this sunset. There’s a legend that a bloody one like this is a vision of the battle of Clontarf, where we lost Brian Boru.”

  “‘Oh, how can I live, and Brian be dead?”’ Linn recited.

  Con shot her a look, impressed. “‘MacCaig’s Lament,’” he said. “I’m surprised you know it.”

  “We have books in New Jersey, Con,” Linn answered dryly. “Some of us even read them.”

  “I’ll wager your father taught you that one,” he said, unconvinced.

  Linn sighed. “You’d win the bet.”

  Con nodded. “Seamus knows it in Gaelic. He cries every time he recites it.”

  Linn looked around as Con turned off the main road and headed into Kinsale. It was a picture postcard town right on the bay, with sailboats and other small craft tied up at the wharf which jutted into the sea. Con drove through the cobbled streets down to the dock and parked at the water’s edge.

  “The meeting’s in the library,” he said, taking her hand. “It’s just here, beyond the corner.”

  Con was welcomed like visiting royalty by the undergraduates who had assembled to listen to him speak. It was easy to see that this was no group of literary luminaries, but an eager bunch of students who seemed stunned that Con had even consented to talk to them. They hung on his every word. Linn was touched that he had come so far to address this motley crew who had nothing to offer but their love of literature and their willingness to learn. But that was what had drawn him to them, she saw; they were kindred spirits and he knew it.

  By the time he finished talking and answering their questions they were all old friends, and Linn found herself accepting an invitation to dinner at the local seafood restaurant. It was set up on pilings above the water on a sort of boardwalk that extended into the bay, and all the walls were glass. It was illuminated by floodlights from every side. While dining you felt as if you were in the middle of the inlet. Con drew Linn into the discussion, explaining that she was an English professor from America. Linn was soon debating the merits of everyone from James Joyce to Oscar Wilde with the bright, informed college kids. Their lilting voices and the wine with which Con constantly replenished her glass combined to induce a state of euphoria that had her expounding at length on subjects she wouldn’t have touched a few days earlier. Con smiled indulgently and encouraged her, and he laughed out loud when she protested that the dish she was served was not the scallops she had ordered. The things on her plate looked like fried eggs. These were fresh scallops, Con explained, not the cookie cutter American version that were presented like little half-dollars. Linn tasted one gingerly and pronounced it delicious. She wound up eating all of her fish and half of Con’s chowder. They lingered late, and by the time the group broke up she was full—and very tired.

  Linn and Con wandered down to the quay, watching the boats bob at anchor in the moonlight. Linn put her head on Con’s shoulder and gazed out across the shimmering water.

  “Do you see how the moon makes a path across the waves?” she asked dreamily. “There’s an American Indian legend that says when a warrior dies his soul takes that path to the next life, skimming over the sea to a place where the animals are plentiful and everyone lives in harmony with nature. When I was little we had a place at the Jersey shore, and during the summer I used to sit on the porch and stare out at the ocean, trying to catch a glimpse of a shadow that might have been a soul in transit.”

  “You must have been a fanciful child,” Con said, hugging her close.

  “I guess I was. Stories like that always seemed more real to me than the six o’clock news.” She turned her head to look up at him. “It was very nice of you to come here and speak to those kids,” she said quietly. “I could tell they really appreciated it.”

  He lifted his shoulders, dismissing it. “I enjoyed myself. That’s the future, kids like that, and we’d best do what we can to shape it.”

  “I noticed that girl named Shelagh was an enthusiastic admirer,” Linn added dryly. “She put her hand on your leg. Twice.”

  Con grinned. “She was touching me to make a point.”

  “Oh, I agree, but not a point form your discussion.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Jealous, were you?”

  “Certainly not. But if she’d grabbed you one more time, I was planning to club her with my bottle of Liebfraumilch.”

  “I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” he replied, chuckling. Con raised his arm above Linn’s head to look at the luminous dial of his watch. “We’d best be on our way, my lady,” he added. “We’ll get back in the middle of the night as it is.”

  Linn reluctantly let him lead her back to the car. She curled up next to Con on the seat and fell asleep with her head against his arm.

  * * * *

  Linn woke as Con lifted her out of the door.

  “Where are we?” she mumbled.

  “Back home.”

  “At the house?”

  “At the cottage.”

  Linn leaned heavily on his arm and sleepwalked inside, falling on the bed the instant she saw it. Con moved about the room in the dark and Linn heard the clink of his keys against the desk.

  “Do you want a fire?” he asked.

  “It’s not really cold but that doesn’t matter. They’re so romantic, they always make me feel like Catherine Earnshaw staving off the chill of the Yorkshire moors.”

  “Does that mean you want one, or not?”

  Linn took off her shoe and pitched it at him. It struck the wall and rolled harmlessly into a corner.

  “You must be waking up if you’re able to throw things at me,” he commented, piling logs on the hearth.

  “Con?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did you ever bring Kate Costello here?”

  There was a pause, and Linn was sorry she’d asked. Then he said shortly, “No.”

  “You don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to,” she added.

  “There’s nothing to say,” Con stated flatly, setting a match to the kindling at the base of the stack. “I liked Kate well enough but it was nothing like with you. She always knew that; I never misled her.’‘

  “She must hate me now,” Linn said.

  “I doubt it,” Con said neutrally. “She is a practical woman; she’ll move on and do well elsewhere.”

  “I don’t think you’re so easily forgotten,” Linn replied.

  Con pulled his sweater over his head and then joined her on the bed.

  “Aislinn,” he said quietly, “why do you do this to yourself? Forget Kate, forget Tracy, forget anyone else but you and me. The past is dead; it has nothing to do with us now. It was a hard lesson for me to learn. You know how I clung to that resentment of your father, but now I can see that for what it was: blind stubbornness. If I can release that grudge can’t you release these images you have of the time before I knew you?”

  “Yes, I can,” Linn said simply. “And I will.”

  Con stretched out next to her and drew Linn against him. She ran her hands over the smooth expanse of his chest and kissed his satiny shoulder. His skin was warm, fragrant, redolent of the life that pulsed beneath it.

  “I’ll never have to be alone again,” she said.

  “Neither one of us will ever be alone again,” Con replied, stroking her hair. He kissed her brow lightly. “I love you,” he whispered. “It’s such a relief to be able to tell you that, to stop fighting it. When I said it last night I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.”

  “I thought I’d never hear you say it.”

  “Did you?” he asked.

  “Yes, I did. I thought you’d let me go before you gave in to your feelings. I thought you were a pigheaded idiot.”

  “I was that,” he agreed.

  Linn sat up and kissed him, touching his lips ligh
tly with hers. His hold tightened immediately and he reached for the buckle of her belt, trying to undo it with one hand. Linn helped him and slid off the bed to undress. Con shed his jeans and pulled her back down to him. He just held her for a moment, running his hands over her body, and she shuddered with the exquisite sensation of his hard, capable fingers touching her everywhere, telling her without words that she was loved and cherished, desired and protected.

  “Make love to me,” Linn murmured.

  Con didn’t answer, but began to kiss her with an intensity that demonstrated he had heard. He moved over her, drawing her to him, caressing her with increasing ardor until Linn was writhing restlessly beneath him, demanding the ultimate embrace.

  When he entered her she clung to him, welcoming the sweet weight of his driving body on top of hers. And when it was over she lay awake long after he fell asleep, staring over his dark head at the flames, which danced and blurred before her eyes.

  * * * *

  Linn slept fitfully that night, perhaps because of the sleep she’d gotten during the car trips. She finally gave up near dawn and rose, careful to steal away from Con without disturbing him. She drew a blanket over him to combat the early morning chill and pulled on her clothes, then padded quietly to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. When it was ready she took it to the door and slipped outside.

  It was barely light, and the birds were just beginning to sing. Linn hugged herself and sipped her drink, sitting on a tree stump at the edge of the clearing and watching the first faint streaks of pink and yellow brighten the eastern sky.

  Do I deserve such happiness? she wondered. Does anyone? Could it last? She understood now why lovers savored every minute, having that which they feared to lose. She followed the progress of the sun as it climbed the sky until it was too bright to look at any longer. Then she went back inside.

  Con was sleeping as she’d left him, on his stomach, his arm thrown out across her pillow. Crossing the room to put her cup in the sink, Linn paused at the stack of manuscript pages on top of the typewriter. A handwritten note was clipped to the first page. She picked it up.