The Wild Mountain Thyme

by Kathryn Scarborough

  She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. He kept his eyes straight ahead, his shoulders hunched, and his chin almost to his chest. He had a gray sort of look about him. She guessed she needn’t give him too much grief. Jim looked as though he’d had it this morning. The strain of telling her the story of his father’s death and that fellow he’d thought was Richard had taken it out of him all right. She hoped, she really did, that he wouldn’t take all these ideas about premonitions too seriously, but of course, to him, those emotions were dead serious.

  And then there was their near miss on the staircase. On the staircase, like a couple of teenagers. She’d have to get her own head examined when she got back to Dublin.

  And then she remembered…the dream she’d had about Jim flooded her mind. She turned her head slightly, catching a peek of him from under her lashes.

  He must have felt her watching him, because he turned his head and gazed at her.

  Suddenly, he turned on his blinker and stopped the car on the shoulder.

  “Are you ill?” she asked.

  Jim put the car in park and put his arm nonchalantly across the back of his seat as he angled his body toward hers.

  “No, I’m not ill. But I’ve got something to say, and now is as good a time as any.”

  “We’re likely to be hit, sitting on the side of the road in this way. Don’t you think we’d best get to an exit?” she said a little nervously as a huge truck came awfully close to the little car.

  Jim looked out the back window. One truck and then another followed closely and sped past them. The little car trembled in their wake. Their car might be swept away with them. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, not fazed at all by his own and Megan’s demise by truck.

  “No, I think we’ll be fine. Now, about last night,” he said in a no-nonsense voice, cocking his brows down at her as though she were a child he was remonstrating.

  “We’ve said all we need to say about that subject.” Megan turned her head and looked out the window. She felt her shoulder come up to ward off his glare.

  “Not me. I don’t think so.”

  Megan crossed her arms over her chest, raised her chin a notch, and gave him the very best glare she could muster.

  “Megan, did you have a dream for the past few nights? A dream about the two of us?”

  She felt a flush climb up her neck and settle on her cheeks.

  “So you did.”

  “Well, what of it?” What had he seen? But it was more important now to keep herself tough, not giving in for a second even though she was consumed by curiosity wondering what he’d seen.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Seamus made the dream come to us. He’s determined to see us married. I’m not sure why. I think he believes it will save me from myself. It’s sort of his celestial mission.” Jim grimaced on the word mission and then took a deep breath. He angled his body closer and bent his head until his lips met hers in a long slow kiss that sent Megan’s nerve endings out of control.

  She broke away after a moment, her lips trembling.

  Jim shook himself a moment, and then looked at her. He tried to recognize the emotions lingering on Megan’s face. He hoped, in his heart of hearts, that she felt as he did.

  “Do you realize how serious this is?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the noise from the highway. “I know it’s past the time when I can live without you. Like it or not, there’ll be a part of me that I leave behind if I go home and you stay here. And the problem is; can I live without the part of me I’ll leave behind?”

  “Surely, by the time you’ve gone back to Boston, you’ll have changed your mind,” she said, gazing out the side window, refusing to look at him.

  Jim grasped her chin and turned her face to him.

  “No, no I won’t. Regardless of what Seamus says or does, I know this is what was supposed to happen. The dream was so real, and both of us had it, as if our life together were ordained. As if it were meant to be. You are a rare woman, Megan.”

  “But Jim…marriage, children? Wasn’t that the last thing on your mind when you got on that plane in the States last week? Hadn’t you been hurt by a woman and decided that your poor heart should rest a while? Wasn’t that foremost in your mind, to leave it off with women until whenever?” she said, throwing her arms open wide.

  “Now, where did you hear all that? Did Seamus tell you, or was I talking in my sleep?” Jim asked.

  “I haven’t any idea. I know this is too big and too monumental to be decided on the side of the road.”

  Jim turned and looked out the windshield, cringing slightly when a huge truck whizzed by. The little car rocked in its wake, in danger of being tossed to the other side of the road.

  “This is not the safest spot to have an amorous conversation.” Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel a moment, then put the car into gear and moved onto the highway. They travelled along in silence for a while, the rain beating against the windshield, the wind buffeting the little car. Jim hummed tunelessly.

  Megan’s thoughts crowded all of it out until she heard Jim speak.

  “Say, why don’t you come back with me to the hotel tonight? We could get a nice dinner, a few drinks, and maybe…” Well, hell, it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  “And maybe nothing, boy-o. Don’t you remember all the sound reasons why we shouldn’t get involved?” She smiled to herself; now wasn’t this just like a man?

  “Things have changed since last night,” he said as he stroked her hair before his roughened thumb moved slowly across her neck. Megan’s breath caught in her throat as the subtle friction sent a riot of chills up her spine. It would take so little to fall into bed with him, so little and her resolve cracked by the second. And if she did, then what? Would she come away with yet another broken heart?

  “Jim, I think…”

  “Megan, we can’t fight against something that’s meant to be. I know I’m sounding like Methuselah, old-fashioned, and silly, but can’t you see?” His voice was quiet and silky, and the sound of it touched her skin like warmed bed sheets on a cold night.

  “Maybe the whole reason that I’m here and that we met is that we are meant to be. No matter how pragmatic you are, you know that things like people meeting and accidents that aren’t really accidents happening are the puzzle pieces of the universe fitting together. For all intents and purposes, that is. There are no accidents, no coincidences. What did Einstein say? ‘God doesn’t play dice with the universe.’ ”

  He moved his hand back to the steering wheel and held on tight, glad for the rough textured cover of the wheel. Pushing over the small bumps and points of the cover gave his hands something to do and helped focus his mind. He stared straight ahead, thinking he’d said too much. Quoting Einstein? He had spoken before his brain was in first gear. Jim saw Megan glance his way. She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but was too polite to do so.

  Jim stared out the windshield as another huge truck rumbled past. This time, the truck seemed to take the little car along with it. It would be very prudent to move a little quicker in the slow lane. Not only for safety’s sake, but it would keep him from feeling like an idiot as he rambled on about the great plan of the universe. As if he knew anything about that. He changed the subject.

  “When we settle in tonight, we’ll start working on the story, and if anything else pops up, you know, about the two of us; then I guess we can work on that, too.”

  “Very well.” Megan cringed when another truck passed them, but sighed and turned to look out her window. Maybe if she put some distance between herself and Mr. O’Flannery, she could begin to think straight again.

  “Would you like me to drive?” she asked as her shoulder came up and her head turned away from the rumbling truck.

  “No, that’s okay. How much farther do you think it is?”

  “About another hour.”

  “Good, I’m getting really hungry. Is there a place to stop around here to eat?”
/>   “Hmm. Maybe. Let me look at the map and you look for the next exit.”

  “Right-o, old chap,” said Jim in a mocking English accent.

  Megan raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a steady look before she turned her attention back to the map.

  “Oh aye, let’s go to Castle Pollard. It’s twenty kilometers or so off the highway, but we can see the Abbey there. It’s the one I did a story on.”

  “I read that,” Jim told her.

  “My story?”

  “Yeah, I read it on the plane coming over. Very well done, I’ll say.”

  Megan felt her face flush. “Thanks. It’s very inspiring, that place. You know that the water actually flows uphill.”

  “Huh?” Jim glanced at her, looking at her lips and remembering what they felt like on his. He straightened in his seat and cleared his throat.

  “There’s a grand hotel there. They have wonderful food. We’ll have lunch and then I can show you the abbey.”

  “Great, only we’ll have to ask someone about our story or we won’t be able to charge lunch to the Globe.”

  “Oh, silly man, I’ll pay for lunch,” Megan said with a laugh.

  “Never. It’s not in ‘Gentlemanly Behavior 101.’ ” Megan laughed again, still looking at the map.

  “The next left exit, turn off.” Megan glanced up at his profile. Could she ever become immune to those wonderful eyes and that hair? She tentatively reached out and brushed some hair back from his forehead. The silky strands ran through her fingers and refused to stay put.

  “I know. It always does what it wants to regardless of what I try to do to it. When I was in college, I used to put that gel stuff on it so it wouldn’t get down in my eyes. One summer, I gave myself a buzz cut because I worked for a landscaper. When there was no hair, it couldn’t get in my face all the time.”

  “It’s so soft. Well—” Stop acting like an idiot Megan, she told herself. “It’s not far down this road, less than twenty kilometers to the north.”

  The silence settled over them in the little car. But Jim felt a prickling along the back of his neck. A prickling that could only mean one thing—Seamus.

  “Ah, yes, Fore Church and Benedictine Abbey. Founded around 650 AD,” Seamus said as though he were reading from a guide book. “St. Feichin, an Ascetic Monk, died there in 664 of the yellow fever. A well that has such a powerful current it is said to flow straight up, and the stream is one of what is known as ‘The Seven Wonders of Fore.’ Not a small wonder boy-o. But I don’t believe there are any priests there these days. I suppose you could dedicate yourselves to one another at the church until we get back to Dublin and have a real priest say the words over ye.”

  Jim let out a huge sigh and broadcasted his message, silently but stridently. “I thought I got rid of you. I was hoping desperately that I’d gotten rid of you. So what’s the deal, why aren’t you gone?”

  “Well, I’ve been back to the old hearth upstairs. Been talking to the chaps about all this goings on down here, and they said—now I have this straight from the big guy himself—”

  “You mean…?” Jim asked.

  “No, not that high up. My superior. He said that I can help you with your other problems, supernaturally speaking, you know. But only the once. So when you ask, you’d best make sure that it is only the once.”

  “Cool. Okay, Seamus.” Jim smiled, but he continued to focus his thoughts as loudly as possible to Seamus. “You can stay, I might need you. But when I start kissing this girl, bug off, understand?”

  “Jimmy lad, there’ll be no carnal knowledge without the blessings of a priest on my watch. But I may reconsider if you dedicate yourselves at the Fore Church. You have another ten kilometers to think about it.” With that, Seamus pulled on both ear lobes and disappeared.

  Jim sighed hugely. He didn’t know or understand anything that Seamus was talking about. But he did know that he’d fallen for this woman, hook, line, and sinker, and there was no going back. He truly felt a cord had somehow inexplicably tied itself to his heart and the other end was tied to Megan. It was a very odd metaphor. But it was truly how he felt. If they moved apart from each other, the cord might rip out his heart. He knew he wanted Megan, and he needed no convincing to want to be with her forever. The prospect of being without her was becoming more and more daunting.

  A step toward commitment and marriage was huge and momentous and of inconceivable magnitude. How could he be sure that Seamus was who he said he was and that he had Heaven’s blessings in this venture? Actually, not analyzing the hell out of it made the whole prospect seem extremely and strangely natural.

  “What’s the problem?” Megan asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Chapter 21

  Megan looked at him for a long moment. He had that leprechaun look again. Sometimes she worried about his sanity, and sometimes, she believed there actually was a Seamus standing there talking to him urging the two of them to get married.

  Megan closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Suddenly, fragments of a dream floated through her mind, a tantalizing bit here, an almost remembered bit there. Then all at once the fog blew clear, and she saw herself as clearly as if she watched a scene in a movie. She was standing at a stove, stirring something in a pot. A little boy ran through the doorway of the kitchen. He had coal black hair and green eyes. The boy looked a lot like her father and his name was Seamus. Good God! How had that come into her subconscious?

  She clicked her tongue and shook her head before she opened her eyes. She refused to think about what the baby on her hip looked like, even though his wee face peeked at her from around a corner in her subconscious.

  Megan shifted in her seat and closed her eyes again. This was too silly by half. She sat quite still for a few moments, letting the rhythm of the tires off the pavement lull her into a relaxed, contented mood. They traveled for a few minutes before Megan opened her eyes and looked around.

  “Ah, here we are. Let’s stop here at the Moffat Arms and have a meal. I’m done in thinking of food and not having any,” Megan said. “I don’t think that I can wait till the abbey.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Jim parked the car, grabbed his briefcase, and opened the door for Megan. She could get used to having a gentleman around to help her out of cars and into rooms.

  The Moffat Arms was perhaps eighteenth century, whitewashed, three storied, and with two chimneys. It had probably been built as an inn and remained so to this day. The front door opened into a small foyer that spilled into a cozy room. Huge wooden cross beams hung in the low ceiling, darkened by hundreds of years of wood smoke and tobacco. The floor creaked and groaned under their feet and seemed to be devoid of even surfaces or angles. In front of a fireplace that took up a good bit of the facing wall, tables and benches were placed in several conversational groupings. Jim ducked his head to pass through the door and stood for a moment, appreciating the ambiance of the place.

  “And good day to you.”

  “Good day to you, too. What’s on the menu?”

  “We’ve a lovely lamb stew, just from the pot, it is.” The man continued to wipe glasses and stare at Jim.

  “You’re American, are you?”

  “Yes, I’m from Boston.”

  “Ah, home of the late Mr. Kennedy, is it?”

  “Right. How about bringing us a couple bowls of that stew and two Guinness?”

  “Right you are.”

  Megan and Jim seated themselves and only a few minutes passed before a woman brought them their meal.

  The stew proved very tasty and Jim had already finished when the barkeep came to their table, wiping his hands on a towel.

  “You know there was a man here a bit ago. Had on a big coat and a hat, inside mind you. Wanted to know if there were any Americans in town. Thought he might be looking for you.”

  Jim and Megan looked at one another for a moment in stunned silence and then turned as one to stare at the keep.

  Simultaneousl
y, they spoke.

  “When was he here?”

  “Oh, been an hour or more. Told him it was the wrong time of year for tourists, but I did send him on to the abbey. Always brings in sightseers. Was he looking for ya? Have you lost him from somewheres?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Jim lied, nodding his head. “He’s my cousin. We did lose him. I really appreciate it, mister.” Jim shook the man’s hand and then helped Megan on with her coat as they headed out the door. He dashed back to the table to drop some bills and looked at the publican before leaving.

  “Thanks, mister,” Jim told the barkeep again.

  After, Jim turned on the engine and started driving toward the abbey. He turned to Megan. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  She looked at him, her lips so tight they hurt. She gave him a swift nod but continued to grab onto the dashboard.

  “I don’t suppose you think he’s our killer, do you?” Jim asked.

  “You mean, do I think that Richard and the killer are one and the same? I don’t know, but I do believe this one may be our man. You may have fantasized that you saw Richard. I mean, of all the men in Ireland, you think you saw Richard? Black Irish or no.”

  “Black Irish or no, my fanny, I told you last night that something big was about to happen. I knew it.”

  “Jim—”

  “Jim nothing. God, I love it when I’m right.”

  “Oh, stick it,” Megan said as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t, no, turn here. Can you see the twin towers? Very unusual. Now I think we should split up and then we’ll cover more territory in case he’s about.”

  “Oh no. We’re sticking together. Safety in numbers. You are going to be like a growth on my side.” Jim stomped on the brakes and sent the loose gravel under the tires in all directions.