Robert Tiltons news had thrown him. Caitlin hadnt mentioned that her husband intended a stopover in Kildare which probably meant that she didnt know. He didnt relish telling her. Her initial coolness following the cruinni and their breakfast together the next morning had settled into a tentative camaraderie. He looked forward to their conversations when she came to the barn in the morning. He hadnt expected her to be as knowledgeable as she was about the training of yearlings, and wondered if Sam Claiborne was feeling the pinch of her absence from his stables.
He almost stopped in at Kathleen Finchs for a proper dinner but changed his mind when he saw that Lana Sullivan was working the tables. The girl was fishing for a man and Brian had no intention of taking the bait. With a brief wave he hurried past, ignored the disappointed look on the waitress face, crossed to the other side of the street, and headed home.
The barns were quiet in the evening, clean and uncluttered. Blankets, baskets, linseed oils, and liniments were stored away in tack rooms. Brian walked down the aisle of C-Barn, inhaling the odors of alfalfa, sweet grass, hay, and leather that never failed to excite him. Unlike a racing stable where a groom or exercise boy was responsible for one or two yearlings, a stud farm exerciser cared for a number of horses, simultaneously, at different stages of maturity. Mares could be with their foals out in the paddocks or in their stalls, either in heat or readying to foal. Colts, depending on their need to grow into themselves or put on weight, were still with their dams grazing in the lime rich pasturelands. Some preferred the stalls at night and were brought inside while others stayed out in the open. An exerciser had to be intuitive to the needs of his horse, watching for mood swings and body language. A reluctant gait could mean a desire to stay inside. Ears perked forward could signal a colts excitement for the rich pasturelands outside the training areas.
Kentucky Gold and her foal were in the paddock just outside the barn. Brian leaned over the top rail of the fence and studied the pair. The colt, Brian noted with satisfaction, was growing into a beauty: muscular, graceful, a shapely head, and more importantly, the strong straight legs, short canon bones, smooth knees, and forty-five degree pastern angle of a champion. He also had something else that made the adrenalin surge through the stud managers veins. He had a wide jaw which meant good airflow. Only five percent of all thoroughbreds were born with a jaw like that. Now, if inbreeding, the foe of a thoroughbreds healthy respiratory system, hadnt already predetermined his air passages, this colt might very well live up to Caitlins expectations.
Brian had made a detailed study of speed relative to thoroughbreds. Conformation, gait analysis, heart score, muscle fiber, and bloodline were not nearly as important as airflow, the ability of a horse to take in air as it ran. Airflow was something that could not be accurately measured until a colt was at least a year old. Not all racehorses who were born with that identifying trait were winners, but all who were, without exception, had the generous jaw signifying wide air passages. A horse needed air to stay the pace, and this one, he predicted, would have the staying power to last the distance and run to win.
Rounding the back corner that led to the training track, he stopped abruptly, unprepared for the rush of pleasure that washed over him. Caitlin was riding Indigo Blue.
He watched as she walked him first and then tightened the reins, chirping gently, trying to give the colt a feel for her weight, her experience, and the bit in his mouth. Heading down the backstretch, she leaned forward, mouth beside his ear, rump above the saddle.
Indigo Blue responded, taking the bit in his mouth, pulling out, increasing his tempo. Caitlin bent double at the waist, her legs completely straight, boots dug into the stirrups. She waved the whip in front of the colts eyes. He lunged forward, hooves tearing up the turf, sliding by the three-eighths pole, striding hard.
Brian whistled and pulled out his watch. Caitlin was rounding the final length now. He set the second hand. Faster and faster she urged the colt. He was running at top speed now. Her head was close to his ear. Another burst of speed and he was through the wire. Brian looked at his watch and then looked again. A perfect twelve-clip, a record. By God, the woman could ride!
Later, after shed cooled him down, he joined her in the barn. He could hear her voice, soothing and warm. Dont worry, love. Youll have your supper soon. You deserve it after the way you ran.
He watched the slender fingers rub and knead and stroke the animal into quivering ecstasy. Hes spoiled enough, Brian said at last. Therell be no livin with him.
Caitlin looked up, smiled serenely, and went back to rubbing down the colt as if she knew hed been watching her all the time. Once again Brian was struck by her poise and wondered how long it had taken a poor Irish girl from Kilcullen to acquire such confidence, and at what price.
Ive nothin in my refrigerator, but I could offer you a cup of tea, he said, prepared for her usual refusal.
Surprisingly, she agreed. Ill finish here and then see if your refrigerator truly is bare.
After he fed the colt and she washed her hands, they walked to his cottage. He opened the door, allowing her to precede him into his small cottage. Brian filled the tea kettle, crossed his arms and settled back against the counter to watch her work. Youre good at this, he said approvingly.
Caitlin handed over the vegetable peeler and looked at him skeptically. I need four carrots peeled and sliced. Can you do that?
Im not an idiot, Caitlin, he said. How do you suppose I feed myself when youre not here?
Her eyebrows rose and once again he noticed the darkness of her eyes against pale ivory skin, Irish skin that not even the sun of fourteen Kentucky summers had darkened.
I assumed you ate in the stud kitchen.
Brian shook his head. Only for lunch and tea. The rest of the time Im on my own.
She turned back to the counter, picked up a knife and proceeded to chop celery into small half moons. Then you wont botch up the carrots.
He finished his task and watched in awe as she scooped the carrots into a pot, sauteed them with celery and onions, dropped in chicken bouillon cubes and boiling water, all the while adding spices he didnt know he had, sprigs of coriander, crushed garlic, ginger. Then she pureed the entire mixture in his blender, ladled out two soup bowls, splashed a dollop of cream on top of each and carried them to the table. If you have bread were in good shape, she pronounced.
Brian produced a loaf of wheaten bread and a butter dish, and sat down across from her. He did not have an adventurous palate but after the first suspicious taste, he needed no further encouragement. Youre incredible, he said when the last delicious spoonful had joined the others. Is there anythin you cant do?
Her eyes darkened and her lips parted. For a minute Brian thought she was about to disclose something of herself. But the moment passed with a nod of her head and a brief laugh. There are many things I cant do. Im glad you enjoyed the soup.
Have you always been this creative in the kitchen?
She appeared confused by the question and it took her a full minute to answer. I dont know, really, she said slowly. Not here in Ireland. There was never enough time for it. The only thing I ever thought about was horses.
She looked over his head at the clock. Ive got to run. Sorry to leave you with the dishes.
He lifted an eyebrow. Its fair, I think. You cooked.
She nodded and stood.
Caitlin. He tried to keep his voice light. Theres somethin you should know.
Standing in the doorway, her face shadowed by the halflight from the porch lamp, she looked about twelve years old and very vulnerable. His heart contracted. He swallowed and rushed the words to get them over with. Your husband is comin to Antrim to preside over the flat races.
She stood erect, motionless, allowing the words to wash over her. Finally she spoke. How do you know?
He pulled the Racing Gazette from his pocket and crossed the room to hand it to her. Theyve written him up.
She read quickly and gave it back. Damn Brits, s
he muttered. I suppose they couldnt find an Irishman to run their bloody race.
He bit back a grin. Apparently not.
Caitlin laughed. Thanks for the warning.
Is that what it is?
Theres no love lost between Sam and me, she confessed. Our meeting, if there is one, wont be pleasant. If he tries to take Irish Gold I wont be able to stop him.
She looked resigned rather than miserable or outraged. Brians curiosity was aroused. Brigid Keneally didnt wear the appearance of a stern parent. Why had her daughter learned to expect so little? Without thinking he reached out to her, his hands closing around her shoulders. No one will take your colt without legal authorization and that takes a great deal of time. Irish Gold could very well be a four year old by then. Do you understand me, Caitlin?
He held his breath while her eyes moved over his face, judging him, gauging his sincerity, skepticism etched on every lovely, discriminating feature. Caitlin was not a woman who trusted easily. For reasons he couldnt explain, the very thought of the heartache she must have endured brought him to a dangerous level of compassion. He had been known to do foolish things, things he regretted, when he allowed emotion to take over.
Slowly, Caitlin released her breath, nodded, and stepped back through the doorway. Reluctantly Brian released her. Something wasnt quite settled despite her nod and the look of relief on her face.
Youre not afraid of him, are you? Brian asked gently.
She looked startled. Sam? Good Lord, no. Hes harmless. The worst hes ever done is bluster absurd insults and he only does that when hes had too much to drink. He never even raises his voice.
Brian wondered if she was in a state of denial or if that pride she held before her like an ancient battle targe wouldnt allow her to voice just how much her husbands insults had affected her. Shed obviously forgotten that he knew Sam Claiborne. The man had a lethal temper. Ill walk you home.
No!
Her hand was pressed flat against his chest. Brian couldnt deny the panic in her voice.
I mean, no thank you, she amended quickly. I need a few minutes alone.
He refrained from reminding her that she was alone and probably had been for quite some time before he returned from Newberry. Good night, then, he said formally. Thank you again for dinner.
His cottage, traditionally owned by the stud manager, was set back beyond the roll of a hillock. Assumpta OShea had planted a circle of pines that, over twenty years, had grown into a thicket ensuring peace and privacy in an environment that was rarely either. Brian was at the crest of the hill whistling for Neeve when the shrill double ring of his telephone broke the quiet. He jogged down the path and answered on the fourth ring. The voice on the other end made him wish hed allowed the message machine to take the call. Hello, Lana, he said, keeping his voice neutral. What can I do for you?
Im having a party, Saturday next. Its my birthday. Will you come? Everyone will be there, she said babbling over his silence.
Ill be happy to come if I can get back in time from the Tattersall auction.
You were first on my list, she confessed. I dont mind if youre late.
He closed his eyes. Why this, the last complication he needed and the worst he was at managing? What time?
Eight oclock, at my mothers. Dont worry about bringing anything. Its all arranged.
He hung up the phone and sank wearily into the cushions of the shabby sofa. Now, on top of everything else, he needed a gift. What did a man buy for a young woman whose attentions he wished to discourage? Immediately he thought of Caitlin and just as quickly rejected the idea. A man did not ask a woman to buy a gift for another woman, no matter how desperate he was. It was possible she would select exactly the right kind of nominal present or, if she were unhappy with him and had the barest hint of spitefulness in her nature, she could choose something that would have him walking down the aisle by spring. No, he would find something on his own, something completely neutral, that could in no way be misunderstood.
11
Brigid deposited the last item into Siobhan Callanans basket, rang up the total and handed over the change. Thats two guineas, three shillins. Will you be needin anythin else? she asked the woman politely.
Not today, unless you have somethin for my wrist. It aches now that the weathers turned.
Brigid took a measuring look at the hand livered with brown age spots and made her pronouncement. Soak it in hot water, love, or wrap a heatin pad around it. No sense spendin money that wont see results.
Siobhan nodded. I hate feelin the years. She smiled and the change of expression lit up what had once been attractive features. It seems like just yesterday that the chaps were lined up for a dance. Do you remember how it was, Brigid?
Brigid murmured something suitable. Through the store window, she could see Annie walking slowly down the street. Frowning, she looked at the clock. School wasnt out for another two hours. Let me help you with the door, Siobhan, she said, lifting the basket and coming out from behind the counter.
Ten minutes later, after her friends usual lengthy goodbye, Brigid hung the CLOSED sign on the door and hurried home. Annie was barricaded in her room. Annie, Brigid called out, are you all right?
For a long time there was no reply. Finally, the muffled reply came through the door. Im fine, Gran.
Why are you home so early?
Again nothing. Brigid chewed her lip. If Annie had been one of her own daughters she would have marched right in and demanded to know what was wrong. The absurdity of such a thought hit her immediately. More likely if Annie had been one of her own, she wouldnt even have noticed the child was upset. She had been too preoccupied with putting food on the table to keep an eye on anything so trivial as a childs moodiness.
Caitlin was at the stud. Perhaps she should find her and bring her back. On the other hand, Annie hadnt been very receptive toward her mother lately. Brigid resolved to try this one on her own. She turned the knob.
Annie lay on her stomach on the bed, her face buried in a pillow. Brigid sat down beside her and gave in to the urge to stroke the dark curls. What is it, love? she said gently. Did somethin happen at school?
The child shook her head but a tell-tale sniff gave her away. Brigid leaned over and kissed her granddaughters head. Life was difficult for children today, what with people divorcing, moving, pulling them in different directions without so much as a by-your-leave. They had no control over their own lives, forced to make the best of whatever was decided for them.
Shed never considered the matter before, but even with all her money worries, the responsibilities, and not enough time to think things through, she would much rather be an adult than live her childhood over again. It was criminal to tell the young that childhood was the best time of their lives. More likely it would make them end it all prematurely by jumping into the River Liffey. Perhaps Annie needed a bit of grandmotherly wisdom.
I know none of this has been pleasant for you, Annie, she said, brushing away hair from the girls flushed cheeks. In fact, it really is unfair.
Brigid could feel some of the tension leave the girls rigid body. Youve had to move away from your home, your friends, your father, and grandmother t come here, a place youve never been before. I certainly wouldnt want t do it. Your mother did, but that was her decision. No one even asked how you felt about it.
Annie was actively listening now. Brigid continued. The thing is, your mother couldnt leave you and she couldnt stay where she was. A woman cant leave her children, Annie. Theres somethin in us that cant make such a separation, not when children are young.
Annie turned over and Brigids eyes widened at the girls tear-swollen face. Something was terribly wrong. What happened t you, lass?
I hate that stupid school, the child sobbed, fresh tears brimming over, spilling down her cheeks. The girls hate me. They make fun of my clothes and the way I talk. No one will play with me. I eat lunch in the bathroom all by myself.
Oh, Annie. Perhaps it will get better wit
h time, Brigid offered helplessly.
Its getting worse, Annie wailed. I left because I couldnt stand it anymore. Im not going back, Gran, not ever. No one can make me, not my mother and not you, she finished, her voice cracking miserably.
Something told Brigid this was no childish tantrum, solved by a piece or two of shortbread and a cup of hot tea. Annie was moody but she wasnt defiant. Brigids heart ached. Strange how one could see things more clearly when one skipped a generation. Hush, lass, hush, she crooned, cradling the child against her chest as if Annie were no more than a toddler. If its that bad you shant go back. Ill speak t your mother.
She wont listen to you, said Annie bitterly. She doesnt listen to anybody. My daddy didnt want us to go away. He told me. She snuffled into Brigids neck. I just want to go home, Gran. Nothings right here.
Brigid thought carefully before she spoke. Is there no compromisin, love?
What do you mean?
Can you think of no way t meet your mother in the middle?
Why?
Brigid bit her lip. Be reasonable, Annie. Your mother isnt goin back t Kentucky. Do you really want t live so far away from her?
You said she wouldnt leave us. Annie said after a minute.
Clever child. I dont think she will, but its a risk youll be takin. She was very unhappy livin with your da. I dont think Ive ever seen her so unhappy. Do you want to send her back t that?
Im unhappy, too, mumbled Annie.
Your birthdays comin up, isnt it?
The child nodded, a slight, imperceptible movement of her head.
Youll be eleven years old. In another seven years youll be grown. Then you can decide where you want t live.
Annie drew back in horror. Are you saying I cant go home for seven more years?
Of course not. Brigid didnt know whether to laugh or cry. Youll go back t visit your da as often as you want.
IRISH FIRE Page 11
