by Meg Allison
Her father frowned but did as ordered. “I’m not a child,” he insisted.
“Nay, so then you should be knowing what’s best. Nourishment first, then exercise. We can’t have you fainting on us. The lass and I would have a devil of a time lifting you back up again.”
He settled against the cushions, a brow raised. “And your lad? What’s become of him?”
Maggie waved a careless hand in the air as she went about tucking the blankets around him. “Off to the old cottage. He’s afraid of what the town gossips might say now that your lass has come.”
“Is that so? And what is he so afraid they’ll say, Maggie? I get the feeling much has happened that you never mentioned in your letters.”
Maggie stilled for a moment, turned and lifted the tray of food to set it on his lap.
“There you are—all the things a body needs.”
“Maggie?” he implored, catching one of her hands in his.
She sighed and moved away. “Torin led a rebellious youth. He and his father fought often.”
“About what?”
She shrugged. “Everything, nothing. Mostly about the betrothal,” Maggie admitted. “’Tis nothing personal, Alaina dear, but the lad hated to have his life laid out before him. He wanted choices, but he felt he had none. So he turned his back on it all and went his own way.”
“Maggie, I’m sorry. I never realized.”
“Aye, that I know, Patrick. It was Michael’s thick skull that made most the trouble. The two of them were so much alike—peas in a pod. I think that’s why they butted heads so often.”
Alaina cleared her throat, her stomach clenching as she thought of how Torin must have hated her. “But surely…I mean I’ve heard many young men…” She hesitated. “…sow their oats. Why should anyone care what he does now, as a grown man?”
“Ah, if it had only been that,” Maggie said with a sad smile, hands clasped before her. “There was a lass, a pretty young thing with dark hair and eyes. She was very gentle but came from a family of brutal, cruel men. As it happens, Torin took a shine to young Brigit. He thought he was in love.”
A sharp pain lanced her chest. Alaina swallowed back the wave of bitter jealousy, quickly chastising herself for such weak-minded thoughts. It was long ago and had nothing to do with her. She hadn’t even known of the betrothal until their journey across the sea. Yet somehow she still felt as if she’d been betrayed.
“What happened?” Her father’s voice broke the silence.
“Michael refused to give Torin his blessing so they could marry. He had made a sacred promise to you, one he determined his son should fulfill. Torin set off to elope with the lass to Gretna Green. She…” Maggie’s voice caught. “She never met him. They say she fell from the cliffs—was pushed. They found her body two days later and blamed him for it.”
“No!” Alaina exclaimed. Now she understood his cryptic words last night: “… no matter what you hear…what others might say, please know I would never harm any woman…”
“They’d been seen arguing the day before and Torin…he’s got a temper, sure,” Maggie said. “But he did not kill the lass! Chances are she jumped from the cliff on her own. She was always a melancholy and forlorn sort. Not that anyone could blame her, with the life she led.”
Maggie’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Of course they couldn’t prove a thing, for he was innocent. I never doubted a moment. But gossip dies hard, if it ever does, and it takes little to rekindle the fires.”
“Maggie…” Patrick shook his head and offered an apologetic smile. “Forgive me pickin’ at old wounds. But now I think I understand the situation better. I can understand why the lad would refuse to marry. Must be a terrible burden he bears.”
“Patrick, he would never harm a woman!”
“Of that I’m sure,” he soothed. “He’s got too much of his mum and da in him. As I told Torin, I hold no interest in what others say of a man. I’ll make up my own mind of his character.”
Maggie nodded, her lips pressed together in a tight smile. “Thank you,” she said, taking his hand. Alaina suddenly felt like an intruder.
“Now then,” Maggie said. “Eat up before the food goes cold. I’ll be along to collect the dishes in a bit.” She nodded to Alaina as she left the room and shut the door behind her.
Silence filled the room.
“Darlin’? What’s going through that pretty head of yours?”
She smiled and tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.
“Come here, child.”
Alaina obeyed and sat on the bed. Her father pulled her into his arms, her head pressed to his chest. The gentle rhythm of his heart soothed her; the rush of his breath filled her senses until she felt only peace lying there in her daddy’s embrace.
“You don’t believe the gossip, do you lass?” His voice rumbled against her ear.
“No, I don’t.” She lifted her head and straightened the tray. “He could never hurt a woman he loved. I know he couldn’t.”
He frowned as he reached with one thin hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’ve formed quite a strong opinion of the lad so quickly.” He hesitated. “Alaina, I don’t want to see you hurt. Perhaps this was not the best plan.”
“He won’t hurt me, Daddy.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, not in anger…not by design. But darlin’, you’re so young. Your heart has never been tried or broken. I don’t want you brought to such a thing now when the future is so uncertain.”
She pushed away the memories and avoided his gaze. He must never know how deeply she’d been hurt or of the scars she bore—both physical and emotional. It had stayed hidden all these years and it seemed best to continue the deceit. What good would it do, after all? Alaina knew he would blame himself.
She forced a smile and cast her thoughts to better days; painful ones, but better. “I think it’s bit late to concern yourself with that now that we’re here.” Sorrow filled his eyes and she cursed her own honesty. “Daddy, believe it or not, my heart has been broken. I’m not as innocent as you seem to think.”
“Who is he?” he demanded, anger turning his face red as he struggled to sit upright. “Who dared to hurt my little girl?”
Alaina laughed. “It’s been nearly seven years, and I don’t think you want to duel James, now do you?”
His red brows rose in surprise. “James? My doctor, James Sloan? My friend?”
“Yes, that James,” she replied. “I was quite in love with him when I was seventeen.”
“He…what I mean to say is…” Her daddy swallowed hard. “James didn’t hurt you, did he, lass? Did he take advantage?”
Alaina glanced away, afraid he’d see the half-truth in her eyes. “No, Daddy. James did not touch me. He only broke my heart. He wouldn’t have anything to do with me because of his devotion to you.”
“But, he’s so much older then you, Alaina! You should have a young man, not one with a half-step to the grave.”
“Listen to you!” she exclaimed. “What a terrible way to speak of a friend. Daddy, James isn’t that old.” Alaina stood and busied herself by tucking the blankets around him, unwilling to tell her father of James’s recent proposal. “Besides, I’m four and twenty—that’s far too old to concern myself with a husband or children. I have you and Michael to look after. I need naught else.”
“Michael has his own wife now, darlin’, and I…well, my days may be numbered. I can’t stomach leaving you alone. You’d make some lad a fine wife. You mustn’t be given up hope. Torin may change his mind, after all. He finds you quite the beauty.”
Alaina felt a surge of anger she couldn’t suppress as she straightened to face him. “I do not wish to marry, anyone. Ever! Why is that so difficult to understand? I have my own money, my family. I do not need a man’s care or his rules. And I certainly do not need to endure the trials of pleasing him in bed!”
Her father’s face showed his shock, but she bore on. “I am not chatte
l, Father. I am not a concubine or a kept woman and will never be made to feel as if I’m either. I am respectable and educated. I am of great worth despite the fact that I do not have a man’s protection.”
The stunned look on her father’s face brought Alaina back to her senses. She glanced around the room, seeking escape, wishing she’d kept reign on the emotions she’d bottle up for years on end.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”
He chuckled. The sounds grew stronger until it filled the room like rolling thunder. Alaina stared, mouth agape as she watched her father. Tears streamed down his pale face as he rocked with laughter.
The door burst open behind them. “What’s happened?” Maggie asked, somewhat breathless as she took in the scene. “Patrick?”
“Oh…” he sputtered, then began to cough. Maggie raced to his side and pounded on his back until the spasm subsided.
“Now do you mind telling me the joke?” the woman demanded.
He grinned and shook his head. “’Tis no joke, Maggie. Me inion has finally stood up to her old man. She’s got that Irish fire in her after all.”
“Well, saint’s be praised!” Maggie exclaimed. “’Tis about time someone gave you what for. I’m just sorry I wasn’t here to see it.”
* * *
Over the days that followed, Alaina and Maggie forged a bond of friendship that was immediate and strong. At times it seemed as if they had known one another forever.
While Alaina missed the plantation and her brother, her thoughts were kept occupied. She and Maggie spent hours on end talking. They did routine chores and took many long walks, in-between the hours they spent caring for her father. Continual exercise, fresh and good, hearty food were Maggie’s best prescription. Before Alaina’s very eyes, Patrick steadily blossomed with strength and renewed vigor. He hadn’t seemed as happy or healthy in many years.
In Maggie, Alaina felt as if she found the mother’s love she had always craved. Maggie seemed more than pleased to accept her tentative affection as she taught her to cook and tried to help her learn Gaelic, encouraging Alaina with her relentless optimism.
“Oh, I’ll never get this right!” Alaina exclaimed one day as they washed and mended clothes together. The older woman had been trying to teach her a few Gaelic phrases, but Alaina’s tongue tied in knots over the strange sounds.
“Now, lass, you can’t be giving up so easily!” Maggie said. “Try again. Dia dhuit…”
“Jee-uh git?” Alaina tried.
“Almost, now let’s try it once more. Listen carefully and repeat after me. Jee-ah…” Maggie enunciated each syllable.
“Jee-ah…”
“gwit…”
“gwit…”
“Aye! Good! Now repeat, all together… jee-ah gwit,”
“Jee-ah… gwit,” Alaina said. “Dia dhuit!”
“Aye, very good, lass!” Maggie beamed with pride. “That’s the way you greet someone, like saying hello.”
“What does it mean, though?”
“You’re really saying, ‘God be with you’,” Maggie replied. She bent over the washboard for a moment to scrub Alaina’s fine petticoat against the rough surface. “It surprises me that your father never taught you his native tongue.”
“Well, he wouldn’t have dared,” Alaina said as she concentrated on the mending in her lap. “Mother didn’t allow it. She seemed to hate everything about Ireland…resented it for some reason. I never quite understood where her anger came from. When he spoke Gaelic on occasion, she’d give him a hateful look, turn her back and leave the room.”
Maggie frowned, holding the garment up to the light streaming in the window. “I think I’ve got this good and clean. These filthy roads wreak havoc on a lady’s fine clothes.” With a sigh, she set about rinsing the petticoat under the pump at the kitchen sink.
“Sometimes, if the past is too much a burden, a body can come to resent the things left behind,” Maggie said. “Perhaps your mother had a hard time understanding your father’s attachment to his homeland.”
“No,” Alaina disagreed. “I mean, I don’t think that was it—not completely. I have no idea why it would make her feel that way on any account. Ever since I can remember, my mother was not a happy person. She didn’t like Virginia or Aveleen and she made no pretense about it. She always spoke of New Orleans and her life there. I think she missed her family terribly.”
“That I can understand,” Maggie said, rinsing and squeezing water through the cream-colored cotton. “I missed my folks something terrible when Michael and I first married.”
Alaina frowned. “Aren’t you from the area?”
Maggie laughed. “Nay! I come from a little village near Dublin.”
“But how did you end up here?”
“Well, when I turned eighteen I got a wanderlust something fierce,” Maggie said with a smile. “Determined to see the world, was I. So, my folks sent me to visit cousins near Ballyvaughn. I’m sure they were hoping I’d get tired of new places and want to come home again. That’s when I met your father and Michael.”
The revelation sparked Alaina’s curiosity. “You met them together?”
“Actually, I met Patrick first at a ceili.” Maggie laid the damp petticoat on top of a basket of washed clothing. “Patrick was the charmer, but in a quiet way. He was so shy that first evening, I was sure he’d never ask me to dance, and half-afraid he would. But when he did I had a grand time. No one could jig like Patrick Ryan.”
Silence fell between them. Alaina felt Maggie’s memories there in the room like silent ghosts that touched their lives, relived their dreams.
“What happened?” Alaina finally asked.
Maggie turned, her smile bright and warm. But it did little to conceal the tears glistening in her eyes. “I met Michael two weeks later. He’d just come back from England where he worked for a time. I knew the moment I looked into his blue eyes that I’d met the man I’d marry. Your father introduced us.”
Alaina wondered at the tone of Maggie’s voice, but the notion that crossed her mind seemed so unreal. Had her father and Maggie been more then friends once?
The wooden planks of the table blurred as her eyes filled with tears of regret and loss. What would it have been like, to have Maggie as a mother? How different might her life have been?
“Did…did you love all of your children, Maggie? I mean, equally, without reservation?”
Maggie sat silent for a moment, but she couldn’t turn around and face her with that question lying between them. “Of course, lass. Some were easier than others and most had their unlovable moments, but, aye, I loved them all. They were each a part of me…and of Michael.”
Alaina nodded. “Daddy is like that, too,” she murmured. “He loved us all no matter what. My mother wasn’t quite so forgiving.”
Before Maggie could probe further, Alaina rose to her feet and gathered up the basket of wet clothes. “I’ll just hang these out to dry,” she said as she made her way to the back door.
When she came inside later, Maggie had finished up the rest of the laundry and begun to set things right for supper.
“Alaina, you’ve been cooped up in the house much too long. Why don’t you get some fresh air this afternoon?”
“I couldn’t leave Daddy.”
“He’ll be fine, lass. I’ll keep an eye on him while you’re gone.”
“But—”
“Nay, I won’t hear another word about it. We can’t have you getting sick on us as well, can we now?” Maggie laid a warm hand on her arm and smiled. “I find fresh air and exercise are often the best cure for what ails you.”
Maggie never ceased to amaze her. The woman had the keen instincts of one well acquainted with human frailties, yet, Alaina doubted the woman had any herself. Her gentle and forthright nature held a world of compassion.
“Thank you,” she replied after a moment. “I think I will go out for a bit.”
“Good. Follow the pat
hs and you should be fine. The way west leads to the cliffs, eastward is the Burren. One or the other ought to make for a nice bit of exercise on a fine day as this. But mind the sky. A storm can brew quick and fierce.”
“Thank you, I will,” Alaina said with a smile and went to her room to change her slippers for boots. Minutes later, she strode down the broken pavements toward the western shoreline; her cloak billowed about like a massive shadow. She smiled up at the clear, blue sky, her heart lighter than it had been for weeks as her feet moved to the beat of her heart. Maggie had been right—this was so much what she needed. Time to think, air to breathe, quiet and peace beneath the warm spring sun.
At one point the path forked in two directions. One, the more worn, she thought must head into town. The other lay still, almost forgotten as plants sprung up from the cracks in the limestone slabs. She wondered if this were the more direct route to the cliffs she’d seen upon entering the harbor?
With a slight turn on her heel, Alaina struck out down the second path, her boots forging a new route as she walked over bright green seedlings and skirted around bunches of delicate flowers growing among the rocks and furrows. The path seemed to incline and each step became more labored. Her breathing more difficult and shallow; it was a while before she noticed the strong smell of the sea and the way the wind picked up force. It swirled around her like a dust devil as it clawed at the loose bun she’d twisted her hair into earlier. Soon she relented and reached up to remove the pins from her hair before they became inexorably entangled in the thick mass.
She could barely catch her breath by the time she reached the edge of the cliff. The sight that stretched out before her nearly made her lose it again. Hundreds of feet below, the ocean rolled forward to the edge of the deep blue of the horizon. Islands to her left looked like huge stepping stones lifted by giant hands and set, just so, in the churning white foam of the blue-gray waters. The cry of gulls filled her ears along with the rumbling pulse of the waves that crashed upon the rocks below. A soft, mournful sound punctuated the endless rhythm and it took a moment to realize it was the howling of the western winds.
