Don’t be ridiculous. Why do you have to turn everything into some kind of fairy tale?
That voice in her head was so real that she stopped the bike. There was no one here to say those things to her, no one to chastise her for being fanciful, “or childish,” she knew Amy would have said. The funny thing was, she felt like a child—in a good way. No wheels but a bike. An allowance of sorts from her savings and the bit of under-the-table cash Sheila would be passing her way. A haunted cottage in a magical forest that was more than capable of firing up her imagination. But she’d learned long ago to keep her imagination under wraps, out of the sight of others. It was only in her own head that she let it run loose. But here, there were no such constraints, no one to tell her she was silly and so, no need to be the studious, dull Nora everyone back home knew. It was kind of like being reborn. She laughed and resumed pedaling.
This time, when the huge wolfhound appeared in the trail just ahead, she was prepared. She braked to a halt and saw Briana on the same reddish horse she’d been riding at their first encounter. At least she thought it was the same one.
“Hi,” she said brightly.
“Good morning, yourself,” said Briana. She nodded. “Nice bike.”
“It really is,” Nora said. “Sheila and Quinn said you were the one who told them about it. Thank you.”
Briana eyed her for a moment. “You’re welcome.”
“Can I ride along with you?”
Briana laid a hand on the horse’s neck. “It’d be good practice for her. Would you mind walking the bike at first? You’ll look like some frightful monster to her if you’re riding.”
She nudged the horse nearer so she could sniff the strange contraption. Shannon came over to say hello, her tongue lolling as Nora gave her broad back a thump.
Nora obliged by pushing the bicycle while Briana and the horse walked alongside. Shannon ranged ahead of them.
“She’s pretty,” Nora said, admiring the horse.
“She is, and knows it.” Briana chuckled. “Ginger’s only three, so she gets a little leeway yet for acting a fool when she sees strange things, but if we’re to use her at the stables, she’ll need to calm down some.”
They walked on for a bit, and then Briana said, “Get on the bike now, if you don’t mind. We’ll trot along with you and see how she goes.”
Nora mounted the bike. Ginger shied away at first, but Nora kept pedaling. Briana got the filly under control, trotting up alongside.
“Do you ride?” Briana asked, bobbing up and down in the saddle in rhythm with the horse’s gait.
“I always wanted a horse, but I haven’t ridden since I was a kid.”
“Well, if you’ve a mind to give it another go, just come by the stables and we’ll set you up.”
Nora glanced over. “Thanks.” She pointed to a fork in the path. “Is this the way to the village?”
“It is.” Briana pulled Ginger up. “Stay on it till it ends, then turn right and watch for the bridge across the river at The Monk’s Fishing House.”
“I keep meaning to ask someone… the river. It disappears in places. I thought I got lost one day when I realized the trail wasn’t next to the water anymore.”
“The river is really the outflow of Lough Mask to the north.” Briana pointed in that direction. “This entire area is limestone, riddled with caverns and underground streams. The river runs underground for parts of its course to Lough Corrib. Just stay on the path and sooner or later, you’ll come to either the village or the river.”
Nora steered the bike onto the other trail. “See you soon,” she called over her shoulder.
Briana waved, and then she and the horse and dog were out of sight.
Nora rode on, grinning to herself. She had a way of getting around, a kind-of job, and, maybe, a new friend.
Chapter 4
As promised, Sheila had coffee brewed and waiting when Nora arrived the next morning at seven-thirty sharp.
“Oh, thank you,” Nora said as she cradled the mug and inhaled the scent. “I’ve missed this.”
“Tea doesn’t do it for you?” Sheila chuckled. “I have to admit, coffee has become my go-to drink of a morning.”
“I got a cup yesterday in the village, but this is so much better.” Nora took a sip. “I mailed a letter to Mamma and Pop.”
“Do you not have email or text on your mobile?” Sheila placed a couple of scones on a plate and set them on the table.
“No internet at the cottage, and I didn’t think an international plan was worth the money. I figure I’ll find a café with internet when I need it.”
Sheila sat with her own coffee. “I hadn’t thought of that. Feel free to use ours.”
“Really?”
“Sure. It’s here. Not like you’re going to use it all up. I can barely get Quinn to get on the bloody computer to take care of our orders.”
Nora quickly swallowed her coffee. “You do online orders?”
Sheila nodded. “Thought it might be a way to spread the word. Not so much for shipping the plants, obviously. But the candles and soaps and lotions and such. We get a fair amount of business, but with my having to tend the greenhouse and the shop, and him busy at the stables all day, we don’t put enough time and energy into the website side of things.”
“I can help you with that, too,” Nora said.
Sheila grasped her hand. “I’d be forever grateful. You’re like a gift from heaven.”
“You’d be the first to ever say that.” Nora covered her embarrassment with a laugh.
“I doubt it. From the way your Mamma speaks of you to my Gran, you can do anything but brain surgery, and maybe even that if you studied it in one of your books.”
Nora grinned. “I’ll take a look at your site later.” She bit into a scone and moaned. “Forget the gardening. You should open a bakery!”
When they were done with breakfast, they headed outside to tend the tree nursery.
“We’ve over ten acres of trees and saplings to sell here. Let’s see, I can’t get used to the new system, that’d be about four hectares,” Sheila explained. She pointed to a large stand of enormous, mature woods in the distance. “And over there, another fifteen acres of old-growth trees, mostly oak and beech. We let the saplings grow naturally there and harvest some of them to transplant here with the ornamental trees. Most will be leafed out now, some still in flower.” She handed Nora a pair of gloves and a pruner. “Just wander down the rows, prune away any dead branches that show no sign of life.”
She demonstrated the proper technique, and left Nora to it while she went to tend plants in the pergola area near the shop where she could keep an eye out for customers.
Nora made her way along the rows of trees. As she worked, she read and studied the labels tied to each sapling, trying to memorize their English and Latin names, their sunlight and watering requirements, their leaf and bark patterns. Her head was soon swimming. There was so much to learn.
The sun was gentle, but she quickly realized even here, she was going to need sun protection. Her fair complexion always burned rather than tanned. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the aspen sapling she was pruning, and it came to her. That scent. The same as she’d experienced in the bedroom.
Sniffing like a dog, she followed the scent upwind to a tree that was full of clusters of white blossoms. She brought one of the branches to her nose. It was like lilac, but subtly different. She snipped one branch with leaves and a cluster of flowers. Tucking it in her pocket, she continued working.
So intent was she on her work, she lost track of time until she heard Sheila calling to her. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see that it was past one o’clock.
She jogged back through the orchard toward the shop, not able to catch herself in time when she tripped on a tree root.
“What happened to you?” Sheila asked when Nora entered the kitchen, grass stains on her knees.
“Tripped.”
Sheila shook her head. �
��You do that a lot?”
“Yeah, actually. I do. Mamma always said I was like a knobby-kneed foal, except I never grew out of it.”
Sheila chuckled. “You must be starving.”
“I am,” Nora said, rubbing her stomach. “I hadn’t realized until you called.”
She took off her gloves and washed her hands at the kitchen sink.
“What’s this?” Sheila plucked the white flowered snippet from her back pocket.
“Oh, I wanted to ask about this. The label said it’s called bird cherry.”
Sheila set the branch down and opened the fridge to pull out a ham and some stone ground mustard. “Slice that bread, will you?”
Nora sliced a fresh loaf of wheat bread. “Bird cherry?” she prompted.
“Prunus padus. In Yorkshire, they call it wild lilac. The bark peels and smells something awful. They used to tie the bark on doors to ward off the plague. More likely, the stink warded off anyone who might be carrying the plague. Why?”
Nora hesitated. “I smelled this. The lilac part, not the bark. In the cottage yesterday. When the pillow from my bed somehow threw itself onto the floor.”
Sheila paused in the middle of cutting thick slices of ham for their sandwiches. “Say again?”
“It was just before you and Quinn came by with the bike. I heard a noise. When I went upstairs, my pillow was on the floor, and I smelled this.” She pointed to the white flowers. “And…”
“And what?”
Nora flushed. “You’ll think I’m crazy, but when I caught that scent, it triggered a memory of… a dream, I think. All I can remember is a woman, and such horrible sadness as she searched for something.”
She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Told you it sounds crazy.”
“Do I look like I don’t believe you?”
Sheila scooted out a chair and sat. Nora joined her and began slathering her bread with mustard.
“Ireland is a strange country, I think.” Sheila frowned as she placed pieces of ham on her bread. “We’ve known such tragedy—wars, famine, poverty, millions of family leaving us. Sometimes I wonder how it is we keep singing and laughing and telling stories, but then I think, if we didn’t, we’d have just curled up and died off completely.”
She glanced thoughtfully at Nora. “I’ve never seen a ghost, not to have a conversation with, but I don’t think an island that’s known so much sadness could not have them. Of course, Quinn would say I’m just fanciful.”
Nora paused at Sheila’s use of that word. She finished building her sandwich and took a bite. “Mmmm.” She swallowed. “This is delicious, by the way. Quinn doesn’t believe in things like ghosts?”
Sheila snorted. “Like most men, he believes in what’s right in front of his eyes. If he can’t touch it or see it, it doesn’t exist.”
“I never thought about it at all before now,” Nora said. “What about Briana?”
Sheila stopped with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. “What about her?”
“I don’t know, exactly.” Nora pursed her lips as she thought. “From what I’ve seen, she’s all gruff with people, but then I watch her with the horses and her dog, and she’s different. Softer and gentler. And then she thought of me and mentioned the bike to you—thanks again, by the way—and I’m just like, what the hell? Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” Sheila waved her sandwich. “Briana is a puzzle. As good a soul as they make, but she’s had her hardships.”
“What kind of hardships?”
Sheila shook her head with a cryptic smile. “A puzzle only means something if you put the pieces together yourself.”
Briana mopped the sweat out of her eyes with her shirtsleeve and shifted her ladder to allow her to reach a fresh window in need of cleaning. From inside, the telephone trilled for the third time. It was probably her sister again. If she didn’t answer, Cara would only continue to call, leaving five messages a day.
Briana stomped into the house, stepping over Shannon who was stretched out on her side on the front stoop, and picked up.
“It’s about bloody time.”
“Hello to you, Cara.”
Briana went to her little fridge and got out a bottle of Coke. Snugging the phone against her shoulder, she twisted the top off and took a deep drink.
“Why don’t you get a mobile like a normal person?” Cara complained for the thousandth time.
“Because I’ve better things to do with my day than be chained to a sodding phone every minute,” Briana answered for the thousandth time. Plus one. “What’s up?”
“I’m calling to remind you that Kieran’s birthday is next week. He’ll be five, in case you’ve lost count since you haven’t seen him in ages.”
Briana closed her eyes. She had forgotten, but, “Of course, I remembered it’s his birthday,” she lied.
“Mum is having a party for him next Saturday. You will come?”
“Saturday… I don’t—”
“Bri,” Cara cut her off. “You haven’t been home since Christmas. And then only for the day.”
“This is my home, Cara. Just because the rest of you want to live in the middle of a million people, doesn’t mean I do.”
She could almost hear Cara smile. “You don’t have to live here. You only have to come for a visit. Kieran will be heartbroken if his favorite auntie isn’t here for his party.”
Briana scowled. “That was a low blow.”
Cara’s laughed tinkled through the phone. “It was, wasn’t it?”
“You do Mum proud, with the guilt, you know that?”
“If it works.”
Briana closed her eyes and sighed. “It works. I’ll be there.”
“Good. Saturday week. Be here by eleven. And plan to spend the night.”
Briana hung the phone up. Shannon lifted her head.
“Don’t ever have sisters if you value your peace.”
Shannon dropped her head back down with an exhausted groan that signified her agreement with that sentiment.
Nora woke to a dark room. Everything was still, but…
“I know you’re here.”
She lay there, listening. There was no sound now, but there had been, in her dream. The same dream she’d had nearly every night. A woman’s sobbing, a feeling of horrible loss, a voice calling… something she couldn’t quite make out. Over and over the same word, but though she strained to catch it, it was always just beyond her ability to understand.
She sat up, rubbing her face, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. At the window, she gazed out at a clear sky filled with stars. Looking back at her rumpled bed, she knew she was done with sleep for now.
She went downstairs to where she had rearranged the furniture to set her desk adjacent to the window. She flipped on the lamp, squinting until her eyes adjusted. She reached for her pen and opened the notebook she’d started to use for her novel. She fumbled for several minutes, writing a few lines that she scratched out impatiently. She tried again, working from a sketchy outline. She wrote for a few more minutes, scowling as she read what she’d written, and then slid a different blank book near, the one in which she’d started writing a journal. She’d been recording a brief summary of every day she’d spent in Cong thus far. She smiled sheepishly as her pen hovered over the page, picturing herself as an old woman, reading back over this. She wanted to be able to remember everything—even these dreams.
And as she recalled this most recent dream, the words began to flow. Her pen flew over the pages, barely able to keep up with her thoughts as she recorded the scents and sounds and images in her mind. At some point, it seemed her lamplight had dimmed, and she looked up to see that dawn had started to break. She sat back, yawning. She debated making breakfast and moving on with her day, but it was a day off from working with Sheila at the nursery.
If she were home, Amy would have been planning their entire day—flea markets, a hike on the Appalachian Trail, going into DC for the day—anything but sitting around the ho
use doing nothing.
“I can do whatever I want,” Nora reminded herself.
Smiling at that, she clicked the lamp off and went back up to bed.
Briana stood in a paddock with one of the yearlings. She had a bucket of oats and some apple slices as he crowded her, eager for the treats.
“No pushing, Tim,” she said, nudging him away. “You get these when you show some manners.”
She slipped a halter on and off his head, pleased when he ignored it completely as his nostrils quivered toward the apple. She rewarded him with a slice and then moved her hands, running them over his withers and down his shoulders to his forefeet. He allowed her to pick up his hoof and hold it between her knees. She gave him a handful of oats for that and moved on to his hindquarters. The colt was a little more skittish about having his hind legs handled, and she had to work patiently, talking to him, keeping her voice and hands calm.
She clipped a lead rope to the halter and led him around the paddock. He jumped, trying to yank the rope from her hands when a boisterous group of four German tourists trotted up, enthusiastically talking after a guided ride with Liam.
She calmed him, saying, “That’s why you’re here, to get used to the noises and the sights. Nothing’s going to hurt you.”
Enticed by another slice of apple, he followed her again around the enclosure.
Over near the barn, she heard Jimmie’s voice with another that sounded familiar. She walked to the fence and saw Nora McNeill talking to him. The colt pushed her, nosing her pockets for more apple.
She gave him a last slice and took his halter off. “Good boy.”
Hanging the halter and rope on the paddock fence, she wandered to the barn in time to hear Jimmie say, “Sure we can fix you up today. Sonya’s somewhere about.”
A Bittersweet Garden Page 6
