Shannon's Daughter

by Karen Welch

  A minute or an hour later, he couldn’t be sure which, he was awakened by a rhythmic scraping. That adrenaline reserve flung him from sleep, off his bed and into the corridor before he had time for conscious thought. Haloed in the doorway of her room, Peg was hopping on one foot while unsuccessfully dragging her cast along the floor.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in a hissing whisper.

  “What does it look like? I’m trying to get to the bathroom. I’m not a camel, you know.”

  The urgency in her own hiss prompted him to hold out his arms. “Here. Let me carry you.”

  “I don’t need carrying! Just give me your arm. I can hop, I think. This stupid thing weighs a ton.” She reached, nearly losing her balance, and caught one of his forearms in that all too familiar grip of hers. “Hurry!”

  Hurrying was unrealistic, but they managed to make the few steps to the bathroom door without incident. He escorted her as far as seemed feasible, releasing her only when she’d grasped the edge of the basin and turned in the proper direction to achieve her purpose.

  “Wait outside,” she snapped impatiently. When he hesitated, assessing the security of her position, she fixed him with a scathing glare. “Go! Now!”

  He slouched outside the door, brooding on the bizarre twist of fate that had thrown him into such a situation. Bad enough that he’d endured the day’s ordeal, but now his night promised nothing but the same kind of trauma. He took a moment to bitterly regret agreeing to bring Peg and Michael back to town. A polite refusal, the suggestion that one of the other men in the family would be better equipped, and he could have avoided that horrific drive, a possibly disabling back strain, and the humiliation of playing nursemaid to an ill-tempered woman-child.

  “Kendall? I’m done.” Stunned by the soft, girlish tone in her voice now, he cautiously opened the door to be greeted by a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she sighed. “I knew I’d never wake Dad in time. He sleeps like a log once he’s taken his pills.”

  It would have been fruitless to point out that her father had taken those same pills at her insistence. Besides, he felt perversely gratified by her trust. Probably fatigue and the illusion of helpless innocence before him, he mused, as he offered his arm and they hobbled back toward her room.

  When she was safely on the bed, he made the fatal error of asking if there was anything else she needed. “Stay with me? I’m not at all sleepy now.”

  There was nothing to do but take a seat on the hard wooden chair by the bed. Mildly queasy, no doubt the aftermath of the most recent adrenaline surge, he dropped his head in his hands.

  “Poor Kendall. I suppose you’ll hate me now, after all I’ve put you through. I meant to apologize earlier for being sick all over you.”

  Despite his present state of exhaustion, he recognized when he was being manipulated by a female, even a very young one.

  “I don’t hate you. I’m just tired. And you should be too.”

  “I took naps, remember?” She was silent long enough to cause him to raise his head warily.

  “You’re sure I can’t get you anything?”

  “I’d love some more ginger ale, but then I’d just have to. . . again.” She cocked her head toward the door with a meaningful twist of her lips.

  “Then we’ll just make another trip down the hall. You can’t go without fluids. You’ll get dehydrated. And cranky.” He couldn’t help grinning at her. In her soiled, rumpled clothes, her hair a tangled mess with one braid unraveling, she looked more like a street urchin than a self-proclaimed princess.

  She grinned back, a gamine-like smirk. “Cranky? I’m never cranky.”

  “Ha! We can debate that later. Now I suppose you’d like that ginger ale on ice, wouldn’t you?”

  “Uh-huh. And a straw, please. There should be some in the drawer by the sink.”

  Chapter Seven

  Katie arrived at seven, entering by way of the rear stairs as usual. On a normal morning, she’d have found Peg in the kitchen with juice and dry toast, while her father sat with a mug of tea eagerly awaiting his fry-up. At the sight of a disheveled, bleary-eyed man at the sink filling the kettle, she let out a little shriek and would have retraced her steps in terror, had not Peg, now on the sofa in the sitting room, intervened.

  “It’s all right, Katie. Kendall is my cousin. He’s also my Sir Galahad.” She pointed meaningfully to her cast. “I had a little accident yesterday. Kendall rescued me.”

  “Good heavens, Miss! What have you done to yourself?”

  Curtly, as befit his current mood, Kendall supplied, “Broken ankle. Lucky it wasn’t her neck.” He handed Peg her juice and scowled down at her. “I’ll leave you to fill Katie here in on the details. I’m going to clean myself up a bit, if you don’t object. I can’t stand myself much longer.”

  “Go ahead. Are you sure you don’t want me to help you to the bathroom?” She scrunched her freshly scrubbed nose and grinned.

  “Brat!” he called over his shoulder, hurrying toward the possibility of at least brushing his teeth before she had any further need of him.

  He’d been wakened at first light by Peg’s stifled giggle. “You snore!” Having slept the remainder of the night in the chair, his neck was stiff, his legs numb, and he felt sure he had drooled all over himself.

  “So do you,” seemed a fitting response. “How’s the leg? It obviously didn’t keep you awake.” She looked annoying fresh beneath the mop of tangled hair.

  “It’s not so bad. But I’m gross. Look in the wardrobe. My bathrobe is in there. It should be decent enough. Just get me to the bathroom and I can do the rest.” Orders given, she beamed a winsome smile in his direction. “Please?”

  She did a remarkable job. Face washed, teeth sparkling and her hair brushed to a deep golden sheen, he was grudgingly impressed. “You look quite human again. Considering.”

  “Thanks. Now take me to the couch, please. I couldn’t stand another minute in that bed. Katie’s going to have to fumigate the whole room.”

  “Yes, m’lady. Would you like for me to carry you, or would you prefer to hop your way there?” He stood back, watching her pivot on one foot.

  “If I didn’t like you so much, I’d make you carry me again. But since you’re such a nice guy, I’ll hop. How’s your back, by the way?”

  “Probably fractured in several places, but never mind that. A hunchbacked violinist may not be that rare a sight.” As they shuffled toward the sitting room, he nodded toward Michael’s closed door. “Should we wake your father?”

  “No. Let him sleep. When he gets up, he’s going to insist on taking me to the hospital for an x-ray. Going down those stairs might be harder than coming up. Maybe I could just roll down. What do you think?”

  “I think we’ll come up with something, rolling not being an option since you’re far from round.” Peg had giggled as she arranged herself on the couch, and in spite of himself, he’d laughed too.

  As he went through the motions of washing up, shaving and brushing his teeth, he considered the likelihood of getting her downstairs without breaking both their necks. Resigned to the fact that he’d been elected her official caregiver, he wondered if anyone else in the family had given a thought to lending a hand. The irony of the matter should have rankled—after all, he was only family by marriage, while the rest of them were genuine Shannons—but he knew he’d be illogically put out if relieved of his duties now. Perhaps this was self-imposed penance for yesterday’s negligence. Or perhaps he’d become overly involved with Michael and his daughter because he identified so closely with their situation. An ill-equipped albeit devoted parent and a sensitive, precocious child made for a pairing which closely matched his own with his mother. Whatever the reason, he would make himself available for as long as necessary, or for as long as his strength held out. At least Peg’s misfortune had given him cause to feel useful for the first time in months.

  Peg had been right in saying her father would not rest until an x-
ray was taken and his fears that she might be crippled for life due to a country doctor’s ineptitude dispelled. Assured by Peg that she was up to the trip, as quickly as he could eat and dress, Michael had the car waiting by the door. Katie had helped Peg into a more suitable outfit of skirt and blouse, and her right foot now sported a sturdy sandal. As he bent to lift her from the couch, Kendall said softly, “You’re pretty sore, I imagine. I’ll try not to hurt you further.”

  “I’m okay. I hate hospitals worse than I do doctors, but I might as well get this over with, so Dad’ll stop fussing.” She pouted slightly, and it occurred to Kendall she might have put up a brave front this morning for her father’s benefit. Just the effort of dressing seemed to have taken its toll on her spirits.

  He eyed her bare legs and the narrow skirt with a scowl. “I can’t guarantee to protect your modesty, miss. That hemline is rather high.”

  “Don’t worry. I doubt anyone’s going to be peeking.”

  He snorted a laugh. “All right, hold on tight, now. If we go down, we go down together.”

  Descending the narrow stairs was actually far simpler than mounting had been, although his pace was apparently faster than Peg expected. By the time they reached the bottom, her terrified squeal turned to giggles.

  “Didn’t frighten you did I?”

  “Only for a second. Were you trying to?”

  “I was trying to make it as painless as possible for both of us. You took me too literally about holding on tight. Good heavens, girl, you’ve got the strength of ten men in those skinny little arms of yours.” He maneuvered her into the car, pleased to hear her still laughing. If he’d been her father, he told himself smugly, he would have considered her comfort first, rather than putting her through this ordeal.

  The visit to the hospital proved beneficial in more ways than one. Not only were Michael’s fears laid to rest when the x-ray showed the clean fracture perfectly realigned, but on their return to the flat, a pair of crutches was waiting. In addition, the arrival of a private duty nurse was anticipated by nightfall, courtesy of Patrick Shannon. Kendall wondered if his mother had nagged Patrick into action. Eloise at least understood the demands of an immobile patient.

  By early afternoon, most of the women of the family, including Hannah bearing an offering of freshly baked teacakes, had descended on the flat, or more accurately, they had overrun it, in Kendall’s opinion. He found himself skirting the walls, trying to keep an eye on Peg as she reclined in silence on the couch.

  Redundancy seemed a real possibility. His mother, for one, seemed to be summing up his service to the cause, as though his usefulness were at an end. Catching him alone in the kitchen, where he’d escaped to refill Peg’s ginger ale, she indicated as much.

  “Now that she’s all settled in, Kenny, you need to get yourself back out to the farm. There’ll hardly be need for you here, with the nurse on hand.”

  “I know, Mum. I plan to go back out tonight. But Peg’s come to depend on me. She’s not so sure about a perfect stranger, I’m afraid. Poor kid, hasn’t she been through enough?”

  Pinned beneath one of his mother’s more penetrating gazes, he sensed a lecture coming. “Kendall, if the girl were older, I’d think you’d developed feelings for her. Since she’s just a child, I can’t understand your devotion, unless you feel you’ll win Michael’s favor by coddling his daughter.”

  He clenched his jaw. Too tired for patience, he swallowed his initial terse response. “Mother, don’t be ridiculous. The only feelings I have are guilt. If I’d paid proper attention, Peg wouldn’t have been hurt. As soon as I can gracefully do so, I’ll be more than happy to leave her in more capable hands.”

  “You are planning to attend the party tomorrow night, I hope. Maeve is quite put out with you as it is. She said something to the effect that she feared you found the company here too unsophisticated. It won’t do to insult them. I have it on authority that Adelaide and the girls will be relocating to London in the very near future. They may well look to you to provide an escort, at least until they get to know the right people there.”

  He was left feeling like a scolded schoolboy, his face burning with unspoken irritation. When he took Peg her drink, she fixed him with another kind of gaze, her tired eyes signaling a silent plea. “Do you need something else?”

  “No. I just think I’d like to take a nap. Would you mind helping me to my room?”

  He cast a puzzled glance around the room. How did one prompt a mass exit of females now settled in for a good gossip? It was Peg who provided the solution.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m feeling a little queasy,” she announced to the room at large. With a look of desperation and her teeth clenched, she turned to him. “Kendall, would you mind? I think I might. . .you know. . .again!”

  While the ladies rose and expressed sympathetic dismay and a few half-hearted offers of assistance, not one of them followed as Kendall hastily scooped up the patient and made for the bathroom. He gave a bitter thought or two to the Shannons and their lack of nurturing instincts as he hurried down the hallway. When he reached the door, Peg pinched his ear and shook her head. “Not really! Just take me to my room, silly!” she hissed.

  With a silent, “Ouch!” he continued down the hall, depositing her unceremoniously on the bed. “You didn’t have to pinch me! But I must say you put on a very convincing performance back there.”

  “I told you I could be an actress. Are they leaving?”

  He peered down the hallway to see the ladies gathering their things. “Yes. Now you can have your nap and I can at least have a few minutes peace and quiet. Where did your father get off to?”

  “He said he needed to get away for a bit, to let off some steam. I expect that meant a stop at the nearest pub. Poor Dad, he never handles it well if I’m sick or something.” As an afterthought, she said sincerely, “Don’t worry, he won’t get drunk. If there’s one thing my dad can do, it’s hold his drink.”

  “Ah, well that’s good to know. Now how about that nap? You’ve earned it.”

  “Will you sit with me? Just for a little while?”

  He eyed the chair with disdain. “Why not?”

  He thought she might fall sleep immediately when her eyes closed and she sighed deeply, but instead, she started talking. “Your mother doesn’t want you to stay here with us, does she?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I could see her talking to you in the kitchen. You can tell a lot from a person’s body language, you know, the way their turn their head and use their hands. She wasn’t happy with you.”

  “My mother is often unhappy with me. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Peg! You really are a brat! Why would I lie about a thing like that?”

  She grinned, her eyes still closed. “I like it when you call me a brat. Isn’t that funny?”

  “It’s merely the truth.” He was relieved she’d abandoned the subjects of his mother and his honesty.

  She was silent for a good two minutes and his hope rose again that she’d fallen asleep. “Yesterday, you called me ‘sweetheart.’ Twice.”

  “Did I?”

  “Um-hmm. You thought I couldn’t hear. But even when I passed out, I knew what was happening. It was funny, like I was floating up above us, and I could hear what everyone was saying.”

  “I see. You weren’t just pretending to faint, were you, actress that you are?”

  “No. That was real. Still, I heard you. You called me sweetheart.” In spite of herself, she was drifting off, her voice soft and slurred. “I liked that. It was nice. Not like when old people do it, more sincere, like you really cared.”

  He watched her relax, her hand sliding onto the coverlet and her head sagging to one side. “Brat,” he whispered. Perceptive brat. Peg Shannon possessed some sort of radar, a sixth sense which gave her insights no one her age should be privy to. He’d have to watch himself, or she’d begin to read something into his conce
rn for her which, at least for now, he’d prefer she not suspect. How she’d managed to soothe his soul and at the same time claim a sizeable piece of his heart, he had no desire to examine too closely. There was one thing he was sure of, meeting Peg, allowing himself to care for her, seemed to have set him on the path back to living.

  New York City—1952

  Chapter Eight

  In the years before they met again, Kendall frequently wondered about the girl who’d made his first encounter with the Shannons so memorable. He received reports of course, from his mother, from Adelaide and Maeve and even Agnes. Now residing in London, the McGill ladies were a larger part of his social life than he’d have chosen if asked. That said, he’d become accustomed to playing escort when required and learned to ignore much of what annoyed him about each of the girls, specifically Maeve’s unceasing discussion of her romantic escapades and Agnes’s constant censuring of the same. If those two were really sisters, offspring of the same parents, he had difficulty understanding how they could be such polar opposites. Maeve, he worried, would end up in serious trouble if she kept up her pursuit of men, in particular those of dubious reputation, and Agnes would quite possibly become a nun.

  His only direct contact with Peg was a card each December, an engraved Christmas card—probably one of hundreds designed for Michael’s annual social and business mailing list—on which she had hand-written “Happy Birthday, too! Peg.” He hadn’t responded. After his return from Ireland, Peg was so much on his mind he became concerned for his mental stability. Leaving her proved to be a gut-wrenching experience. He worried about her trip back to the states, fretted that her father would not take proper care of her once they were home again, lost sleep countless nights fantasizing about sailing to New York to rescue her from some unknown but awful state of affairs. Only when he returned to Oxford did he begin to shake off the effects of his encounter with Peg. He’d thrown himself single-mindedly, even a little desperately, into his studies and eventually found some relief.