“It’s Derry. He’s furious with me. And I don’t understand why. I almost get the impression he doesn’t want to see me again.”
The older woman enfolded her in a warm hug. “I’m so sorry. Come, let’s have some tea and talk.”
Katie walked into the kitchen, filled the kettle and set it on the stove. “I went out to see him this afternoon as soon as I got home. I wanted to tell him that I’ve decided to switch my topic for the Clancy grant. I’m going to write about him—to reveal the truth, somehow. So whatever Alistair Proser is going to write won’t be the end of it—Derry won’t be branded as a traitor or a double agent or worse. And when I got out to the Stones, he was so completely different-”
“Wait,” Mary held up her hand. “What are you talking about? Who’s branding Derry a traitor?”
“Alistair Proser. He’s the son of my department chair, and already has an international reputation as a top scholar. He’s got some idea that Derry was a double agent for the British during the Rebellion of 1798 and betrayed his own brother. And that’s why he disappeared from history—he had to go into hiding because the Irish had a price on his head—”
“That can’t be true.”
“Of course it isn’t true,” Katie said. “Only goodness knows how Alistair has put this all together. And I wanted to set the record straight, before it could even be established as the record—do you understand what I mean?”
Mary nodded soberly. “I think I do.”
“But in order to do this—to publish a rival paper at the very same time as someone like Alistair—well, it isn’t going to be easy, you understand? I have to be careful—I can’t let Alistair or his father know, because you’ve seen how Reg Proser feels about me. So I wanted to tell Derry what I decided, and I went out there, and it’s like he’s a stranger. He accused me of using him as a means of furthering my career—and that’s not my intention at all. If anything, if I go ahead with this, I’m potentially jeopardizing my career. Reginald Proser is watching me like a hawk. He doesn’t like me and he’d leap on any excuse to get rid of me—”
“Katie, I’m sure it’s not that bad, is it?”
Katie shrugged. “I’ve seen what academic enemies can do, Mary. It’s not pretty.” She busied herself getting out mugs and plates and spoons. “But that’s not what’s upset me. It’s Derry. He’s acting like a stranger. Worse than a stranger. He’s angry at me. For no reason.” Tears filled her eyes again and her voice shook.
“Ah, Katie.” Mary patted her back. “Can’t you see? He’s not really angry with you. He’s just trying not to let you get attached to him. Can’t you see that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Katie, why do you think I left East Bay? Oh, there was that trouble with Reg Proser, that’s true. That was part of it. But that wasn’t all of it. Mostly it was Derry.”
“Derry?” Katie paused in pouring milk into a little pitcher. Mary nodded and there was a deep sadness in her eyes. “Come on. Let’s have our tea.”
Katie placed the mugs and saucers and sugar on the tray and carried it out to the living room. She placed it on the coffee table. When they were settled with steaming mugs in their hands, she turned to Mary. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Of course,” said Mary. “It was so long ago, now. But it always seems like yesterday whenever I see him. He hasn’t changed at all, of course. He’s exactly the same as the day I met him on the beach when I was sixteen.”
“Sixteen?”
“I grew up in Pond House, you know. My father had died in World War Two—didn’t even know he’d had a daughter. My grandparents took me in after my mother died. And I guess I always knew as a child that there was something different about this house. My grandfather knew all about Derry, you see. Every once in a while, I’d nearly catch them together. Made me extremely curious, I can tell you. And then one fine September day, much like this one, right after I turned sixteen, I was sitting on the beach, and my grandfather and Derry walked out of the woods. I’m not sure who was more startled—me or my grandfather. But he introduced us, and said Derry was just a friend from Ireland, and ordered me back to the house. Well, after that, I haunted the woods—if you’ll pardon my expression. And inevitably, I suppose, Derry came and talked to me. He was lonely, and so was I. I was always a little bit different from the other kids, you see. And my grandfather’s reputation didn’t help.
“So anyway, we got to be friends. And then, less than a year later, we got to be more than that.” Mary looked down at her lap. “I’m not sure how he felt about me. But I loved him with every ounce of passion in my schoolgirl soul. I even went to East Bay because I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him. And then there was the trouble with Proser, and it was becoming painfully obvious, even to me, that there really wasn’t much point in the relationship. It couldn’t even be called a relationship. What could we do together? There wasn’t a shred of normalcy to it. And so even though it tore me apart to do it, I left East Bay. And I didn’t come back even when my grandfather died. That infuriated my grandmother, who promptly wrote me out of her will. But my grandfather had left me some money, and so when I decided I could finally risk coming back, I had enough to do what I pleased.
“But I don’t think I could’ve come back to Pond House. I wouldn’t have come back here at all.”
Katie took a sip of tea. Mary’s face was soft and far away. Clearly, she had loved Derry very much. “Do you still love him?”
Mary shrugged and faced her with a sad little smile. “Once you love someone, can you ever really stop completely? Don’t you think there’s a part of you that just keeps loving that person, despite what grief they cause? Derry was my first love. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over him, really. But I can tell you this. He does love you, Katie. He’s spoken of you in a way I’ve never heard him talk of anyone. And when he’s thinking of you, it’s as though no one else exists. If he’s told you he’s angry with you, trust me, he’s only trying to protect you. He’s only trying to make things easier for you.”
“Protect me? From what?”
“From being hurt. From coming to terms with the fact that you can’t have anything real together. I’m sure this is his way of trying to get you to let go.”
“I don’t intend to hold on to him.”
“But how do you think he feels about you? He’s told me himself he loves you. Believe me, he never cared about me a tenth as much. But I know he was very, very sorry he ever caused me a minute’s worth of pain. It was only inevitable. There can’t be a happy ending to this, Katie. Surely you see that.”
Katie twisted her hands in her lap. “I do see it. I guess I didn’t want to think about it, though. I just wanted to take one day at a time, and hope that somehow—”
“Somehow you could find a way to be together? How likely is that? Don’t you want a real man? Someone you can snuggle up with in bed at night? Someone who can accompany you wherever you need, or want, to go? Someone who can some day give you children?”
Katie was silent. “Yes,” she said, at last. “Of course I do. I want all those things.”
“Then if this is Derry’s way of trying to make it easier on you, and on him, maybe you could try to accept it. We’re assuming he’s stuck here. But what if there’s a way to set him free? Don’t you want him to go on?”
Katie shrugged miserably. “Mary, you’re right. Of course I do. I wouldn’t want him not to have a chance to leave this place—pleasant as it is.”
“It’s pleasant for you and me and anyone else who can leave when they choose. I wouldn’t want to be stuck in those woods and on that beach for eternity, would you?”
In spite of herself, Katie laughed. “Of course not.”
Mary patted her knee, then took a deep breath. “You know that I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately. I have friends, too, who agree with me that there may be a possibility of interrupting the energy that flows through here, at some of its weaker points. So what
I wanted to let you know was that we are planning to try and hold it back, and at least allow the possibility for Derry to escape.”
“And he’d be free.”
“Yes.”
“And gone.”
“Yes.”
Their eyes met and held for a long moment. “I know that’s best. When will you do this?”
“In a week and a day. We must wait for the darkest time of the moon. Catherine—that’s my friend who’s quite knowledgeable about such things—believes that there must be the least possible interference from other outside energy sources as possible. Are you upset with me for arranging this? I’ll understand if you are.”
Katie shrugged. “That wouldn’t make sense, would it? I know that it’s best for Derry to be free. You know a lot more about such things than I do. I only want what’s best for him. No, I’m not upset with you. I’m upset in general.”
“What will you do?”
“About the paper?” Katie clasped her hands together over her knees and gazed out the window. “I was thinking of abandoning the project altogether. But I have to believe that you’re right. I can see why Derry would do such a thing, especially if he thought there might be a way to leave soon.” She sighed. “It isn’t fair to him to allow Alistair to publish such terrible things about him. If someone doesn’t dispute Alistair, Derry will be branded a traitor and a spy. People will just accept what Alistair says. I mean, Derry’s really just a footnote in history. Once there’s a plausible explanation offered, I doubt anyone will take the time and trouble to investigate it further.” Her eyes filled with unexpected tears, and she swallowed hard. “I feel as though I owe Derry that much, at least.”
“What about the Prosers?”
“Oh, I can handle that, I think. I’ve already talked to Daphne Hughes. She’s going to help me do some of the research, and my sister’s boyfriend in Ireland is going to collaborate with me. So I’ll have ways of keeping the heat off me.”
Mary drained her mug. “That’s wise.”
“If you—um—if you should see Derry, please tell him that I understand.”
Mary sighed. She gave Katie a sad smile and nodded in the direction of the woods. “I think he’ll know. And I think that when he does, he’ll not only be grateful, but he’ll admire your courage.”
Katie met Mary’s eyes with a sad smile of her own. “I’ll hope so. It’s the best good-bye I can think of to give him.”
As Mary walked through the woods, she gradually became aware of Derry beside her.
“How is she?” he asked quietly.
“As well as you can expect anyone to be,” Mary answered. “She’s upset. Your treatment didn’t exactly help, you know.”
He made an agonized sound that could have been a groan. “What would you have me do, Mary? You tell me to back away, to leave her alone? What should I have said? She’d have ignored the truth.”
Mary paused, considering. “You’re right. She would have. Perhaps it’s best this way.”
He muttered a curse beneath his breath. “I cannot see how.”
Mary stopped in midstep and closed her eyes. “I’m too tired to go through it all again with you, Derry. I’ve spoken with Catherine and we’re arranging the ritual in eight days. But do Katie a favor and let her get used to the idea of being without you, all right?” In the fading light, she could just about make out his eyes, and the sharp angles of his face seemed to make him look like a death’s mask. She shuddered in spite of herself.
He turned away and spoke in a bitter voice. “As you say, Mary. I know you’re right. It may tear my soul apart, but by the fate that binds me here, I know you’re right.” He faded into the cold twilight, and Mary closed her eyes and murmured a silent prayer for his ultimate rest.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next few days passed in a haze of hurt. Katie felt as though she sleepwalked through the days, going through the motions of acting out her life. And at night, she collapsed into a heavy sleep, from which she rose as if drugged. Mercifully there was no sign of Derry, either in her waking moments or in her dreams. It was as if he’d simply removed himself from her existence. Which, she realized glumly after nearly a week with no contact whatsoever, was exactly what he’d done.
She had a desultory conversation with Patrick Ryan, but without her enthusiasm, she knew the project would lag. Daphne called and left several messages, but she couldn’t bring herself to return the woman’s calls. She was tempted more than once to call Meg, and unburden herself long distance. But the thought of trying to explain the events of the last month and a half to her sister, let alone the complicated emotions that were tearing her heart apart, seemed too exhausting a proposition.
She forced herself not to stand for hours and stare out the window into the woods on the other side of the pond. But all her waking hours were haunted by the siren song of the Stones within the forest, and she found herself pacing restlessly from room to room, only her pride preventing her from seeking him out.
Nearly a week went by, and each day that passed seemed like one more lump in her heart. Each day brought her closer to the day when the possibility of ever seeing Derry again would end forever. One evening, after class, she made a cup of tea and lay down on the couch. Her head ached and her eyes felt as though coins had been taped to the lids. She covered herself with her patchwork afghan and dozed.
He was kissing her, his mouth warm and sweet and tender, and his strong arms embraced her, wrapping around her, holding her close. Nothing existed except the sensation of his mouth on hers, his body on hers. She gave herself up to it, relaxing totally, and together they floated in soft haze.
Finally he pulled away, and she looked up into his eyes, eyes so deep a blue, she felt as though she could drown in their depths forever. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “Forgive me for sending you away.”
“Derry, I love you,” she sobbed. “It hurts so much—”
“I know, I know.” He soothed her hair back from her temples. “But it’s the only way, careen. We cannot be together—eternity stands between us. I would give my soul to spare your hurt…” He hesitated, then crushed her close. Longing washed over and through her like a wave, and she clung to him, exalting in the certainty that he did love her.
Katie opened her eyes. His presence gently faded, but the feeling of love, strong and certain and real, stayed with her. She glanced at the books piled haphazardly on the coffee table. If they couldn’t be together, she could at least make certain that his name wasn’t sullied. She threw back the afghan. It was time to stop mooning about and get to work. She dug into the notes she’d made during her conversations with Derry. She quickly typed an E-mail to Patrick, careful to include every scrap of information she’d managed to glean so far.
She bit her lip and inwardly berated herself for not taking better notes. She should have had the presence of mind to review the notes immediately after she’d talked to him, and made sure that she’d included everything he’d said. But she hadn’t thought that there could have been a limit to the time they’d spend together. She hit the “send” button and sat back, her arms folded over her chest.
She had just picked her pen to begin outlining the project when the telephone rang. She was surprised to hear Patrick Ryan’s voice. “Pat,” she said. “Don’t you two ever sleep?” At once, the implicit innuendo of what she’d said hit home, and she blushed.
He only laughed softly. “Only when we need it.” He paused, and then said, “I read your E-mail. There’s a lot of information there, if we can prove it.”
“I was thinking diaries or journals. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a possibility, at least for the ones who were members of the gentry. But more than half of these men weren’t much more than peasants. They probably couldn’t read, let alone write.”
“Well, let’s start with the most likely. Let’s just split the list in half, shall we?”
“Sounds fine to me. You’ll pop me an E-mail in a day or tw
o?”
“Absolutely.” As soon as she’d hung up, Katie grabbed her pen and made a list. She’d swing by the town library tomorrow on her way into class, and see how Daphne was coming. Hopefully, she’d know in a day or so which documents and materials would be difficult to find. At least it was a place to start. She glanced up and around the room. Derry’s presence had faded, but despite the absence of any sense that he was close, she spoke aloud. “You see, my dear Derry, we can make a difference for each other. And we will.”
A late-afternoon squall lashed against the windows of the classroom as Katie paused in her reading and looked up. Twenty pairs of sleepy eyes looked back at her. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. The expressions on the faces of these eighteen and nineteen-year olds were the same as the ones her little brother used to wear when he’d wake up from his nap. She sighed softly. The most merciful thing would be to dismiss them all and assign them just that. A nap. Tucked inside her bag was the latest message from Daphne Hughes that most of her inquiries had borne fruit. An early dismissal would mean she could stop at the library and still get home before dark. Daphne must have been working night and day on the project, like a bloodhound on the chase, to accomplish so much in so little time. It was nearly the middle of October, and Katie was getting nervous. The January fifteenth deadline was looming ever closer.
But instead she said, “All right. Now that we’ve reexamined some of the language Freiere uses on the last couple of pages, what do you think he means by that passage?”
There was a slow stir in the rows. It rippled over the class like a shallow wave as students turned their heads one way or another, glimpsing to see if their friends and peers dared an answer. Predictably, with practically the same precision as a flock of birds, they turned hack to gaze at her.
Oh, no, thought Katie, I’m not bailing the lot of you out this time. “Well, now, let’s look at it another way…” Her words were interrupted by the slam of the door. She looked around to see Alistair Proser leaning into the classroom, wearing a furious expression. “Alistair?” she blurted.
The Ghost and Katie Coyle Page 17
