Mabry O’Farrell, the island healer and midwife, was the only one who appeared unaffected by the weather. To Mollie she looked like a pagan goddess. She stood apart from the others, somehow more substantial, more connected to the rest of them than the ineffectual priest whose voice was lost in the maelstrom of nature’s clashing elements. She wore a black cloak that billowed about her figure like wings, and her long gray hair streamed out behind her, drawn away from her skull as if a powerful hand had combed it back. She stood motionless, hands at her sides, her body braced against the wind force pressing against her, her eyes leveled on the priest.
Raising his right hand in the sign of the cross, he uttered the closing benediction, “In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.” Then he stepped back and Mabry stepped forward.
Three times she circled the coffin, sprinkling first red powder, then blue, then gray in three linking circles on the face of the wet wood. Where the powders touched, they crackled and smoked. Sulphur filled the air.
Mollie wrinkled her nose against the smell, tried to wring out her hair, and gave it up. There wasn’t a dry spot on the island. The smoke thickened. The lines ignited, forming three glowing circles on the coffin. As if on cue, the women began to wail, a lonely, piercing, inhuman keening, calling up voices from the past, from other centuries, other lifetimes, voices that pierced the wet wool of Mollie’s coat to burrow deep beneath her skin, wrap around her heart, and squeeze until she gasped for air.
Then it was over, the coffin lowered into the ground, the obligatory shovels of earth thrown in, and the weary, heart-sore survivors marched back to town, to life, to aged whiskey and dark beer, to hot food and sincere toasts, to long stories, tears, memories, and finally laughter, reluctant at first but more enthusiastic as the night grew older until it was finished and Danny Tìerney had been laid to rest with the same ritual that had passed through so many generations of islanders that no one living knew its source, except, perhaps, Mabry.
CHAPTER 3
Finely drawn. The words leaped into Sean’s mind the moment he saw her, and with them came an awareness of how understated she was compared to her mother.
No one had to tell him that Mollie Tìerney was an American. It was her skin that defined her nationality. Nowhere in Ireland could a woman have acquired that gold-touched look, that subtle luminous color that exposure to months of perpetual sunlight could bring. Even more than her accent, it was her skin that gave her away, that and her teeth.
She had those American-girl teeth, even and perfectly straight, very white, as if she’d spent a lifetime in braces and fluoride. Americans cared about those things. They knew nothing about their ancestors and even less about their history. Few could go back more than two generations if asked to compose a family tree, but they all had the kind of teeth that would feature well in a mouthwash commercial.
He absorbed it all in those first seconds. Straight hair, expensively cut—brown, some might call it, yet brown wasn’t the right word for the shades of tobacco, honey, and wheat that skimmed her shoulders. Other than a hint of violet on the lids of her eyes, she was cosmetic-free. A pretty girl, especially pretty, and determined. Sean would grant her that. She had the kind of confidence that comes from warm air, unconditional acceptance, and a lifetime spent in the pursuit of recreation. She’d been on the island for nearly two weeks now, ever since the funeral. Her mother, after a few obligatory visits to her grandchildren, had gone home with her husband. Why was the girl still here?
The baby squirmed in his arms. Sean shifted him from one shoulder to the other. “What can I do for you, Miss Tìerney? The girls aren’t home. They’re with your father.”
“Yes, I know,” she said crisply, flashing the full power of her smile. “I came to talk to you. You’re very hard to pin down, you know.”
Sean’s stomach churned. It needed only this. He couldn’t very well refuse to allow her in the house. After all, she was Danny’s sister. “What did you want to talk about?”
Again she smiled, two rows of even white pearls. “I’m cold. May I come inside?”
She was standing on the doorstep, the wind playing havoc with her hair. So much for Irish hospitality. Ashamed of his manners, Sean rallied and stepped aside. “Will you come inside, lass? I’m not much of a housekeeper, but I can manage a pot of tea.” It would be just his luck if she planned on a lengthy visit.
“I’d love a cup of tea, Mr. O’Malley.”
“Sean,” he corrected her. “Call me Sean. We’re family, after all.”
She held out her arms for the baby. “I’ll take him. You can make the tea.”
He handed Luke to the stranger who was his aunt. “Kerry never mentioned whether you had children of your own.”
She nuzzled Luke’s little neck and followed Sean into the kitchen. “No. I’d like to be married first.”
Sean grinned and measured out the tea. “That’s the best way, I think.” His smile disappeared. He wouldn’t wish a Tierney on anyone on the island. “I hope you’re not thinking to find someone here. There aren’t many who would suit you.”
Resting her lips on the baby’s downy head, she looked up at him. “How would you know who would suit me?”
He shrugged and kept his eyes on the kettle. “You’re an American, a city girl. Most of us haven’t the kind of education you have.”
“You do,” she countered.
Over the baby’s head, their eyes met. He couldn’t resist. “It isn’t that I’m not tempted, lass,” he said evenly, “but I’m not in the market for a wife and I’ve children enough at the moment.”
Was he mistaken, or did those eyes she so quickly veiled with her violet-tinted lids dance with mischief?
“It doesn’t matter whether you’re tempted or not, Sean O’Malley, because you aren’t my type.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What is your type?”
“Someone who returns my phone calls.”
Her eyes were blue, vivid against the warm gold of her skin. The kettle whistled. “Well, then, Miss Mollie Tierney, how will you be taking your tea?”
“Milk, please, and sugar.”
He shook his head. “Americans don’t drink milk with their tea. They like lemon and honey.”
Expertly, she lifted Luke to her shoulder, mindful of his head. “You have a great many notions about Americans. Were you there long enough to know us so well?”
“I’ve never been there,” he admitted.
“I see.”
He waited for a caustic remark. Tierneys were never short on words. Instead, she handed him the baby. “He needs his diaper changed. I’ll pour the tea. Will the girls be home soon?”
“Soon enough, but not for tea.” Cradling Luke in the corner of his arm, he disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes later he came out again, alone.
Mollie had poured the tea, added milk and sugar, and found a tin of biscuits he didn’t know they had. She arranged all of it on a tray and carried it into the living room.
“Where’s the baby?”
‘Napping, I hope. I was about to put him down when you arrived.”
“I’m sorry.” For the first time she looked contrite.
“It’s not a problem,” he assured her. “Luke sleeps whenever he’s tired. Nothing stops him.”
“Good.” She gestured toward the tray she’d assembled. “I hope you don’t mind.”
He sat down across from her. “Not at all. You’re a take-charge sort of person, aren’t you?”
Without the slightest twinge of self-consciousness, she considered his question. “Probably,” she admitted. “I’m a teacher. We’re accustomed to being in charge. I’m sorry if I’ve been presumptuous.”
Presumptuous. How many on the island even knew what the word meant? “Don’t be. It was just an observation. I suppose it’s natural for me to compare you with Danny.”
She lifted her cup halfway to her mouth and stopped. “Are we a like?”
She looked startled.
Hastily, he regrouped. “I haven’t noticed a resemblance, but you haven’t been here long.”
“What was he like?”
He stared at her, and the rage he’d kept fairly bottled up spilled over. “What do you want to know, Miss Tierney? Danny the fisherman, the drunk? Danny the father? Danny the husband, Kerry’s husband? What was marriage like for the two of them? Did they ever, in their years together, have a meeting of minds, a communion of souls where their thoughts overlapped? I can’t imagine it. But then I can’t imagine a man who drowns himself in drink and forgets about his three children who need him.”
She was staring at him with those eyes that saw more than he intended her to see. He looked down at his hands. He’d worked the biscuit into crumbs. Shrugging, he smiled, a quick twisting of his mouth. “That was uncalled for. Your father is the one to ask about Danny.”
Mollie changed the subject. “Have you always lived on Inishmore?”
“Until I went away to university.”
“Were you and Kerry close?”
“Yes,” he said shortly, swigging down his tea, wishing it were something stronger. Were all Americans this casual about personal matters, or was it a particular characteristic of this one?
“Tell me about the girls.”
Sean relaxed. That he could do. “Marni is eight,” he began. “She’s smart, smarter even than those two levels above her.” Pride surged through him. Marni was a love, responsible, bright, perceptive. His only worry was that she took too much on herself. “Caili’s turned five,” he continued. “She’ll be in school next term. She’s a charmer, fey-touched, we call her.”
“Fey-touched?”
He thought a minute. Such a common term for an islander, but for an American, an outlander, something else entirely. “It means to be filled with a different kind of understanding from the rest of us. I suppose you might call it a powerful intuition.”
“Like having the Sight?”
Sean looked surprised. “Now where would a woman like you learn of the Sight, Miss Tierney?”
She tilted her head. Sean watched her hair, the shining mass of it, swing against her cheek. Her hands, one holding the saucer, the other the handle of her teacup, were completely steady.
“My mother lived here for eleven years. I was born here. It would be a remarkable thing, don’t you think, if I knew nothing about this part of my heritage?”
“Your mother hated it here,” he said bluntly. “I wouldn’t have thought she would bring up the subject of Ireland at all.”
Mollie set the cup down on the tray and carefully wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin, “You have a great many misconceptions, Sean O’Malley,” she said quietly. “Is it me, or are you always like this? ”
He expected fireworks, tears, a setdown at the least. Mollie Tierney’s poise shook him. Apparently, dignity wasn’t completely extinct in America, or perhaps there was more to her mother than the gossips had repeated.
“I’ve had a bad few weeks,” he confessed. “I’m sorry, lass. It’s a poor sort of welcome I’m offering you. Forgive me.”
‘Tell me about it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Tell me about your bad few weeks.”
She took him aback. That directness again. “It’s nothing for you to be worrying over.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He frowned, exasperated. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I am.”
“I’ve lost my sister and her husband. Three children including a newborn infant have no parents except me. That would give any man a few sleepless nights.”
“Isn’t there anyone else to care for them?”
Sean bristled. “No one else they know and trust, except for your father. Patrick loves them, but he could never manage on his own. Besides—” He stopped. Out of loyalty to Patrick, an islander, he wouldn’t refer to his weakness for the drink.
She surprised him. “How are you managing? Kerry told me that you taught at the university.”
“When did you meet Kerry?”
“I didn’t. We wrote, regularly. She was a lovely person.”
Reluctantly, Sean warmed to the American girl. “Aye,” he said softly, “she was.”
“Are you still teaching?”
He shook his head. “I’ve taken leave for the term.” No need to mention that he would be working at his writing.
“Will you continue to write?” she asked, again surprising him.
Kerry would have told her. “Aye. I’ve a few things in the works.”
She smiled. “Thanks for the tea. I should be going now.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I’ve rented a cottage just beyond Kilronen. It’s lovely. The windows look out on the ocean. I wanted something special. I’m going to be here for a while.”
Sean nodded, confused. “I know the place. A couple from Dublin lease it out. Still, I suppose it’s not what you’re used to.”
She laughed. “I hope not. Why would I travel eight thousand miles to live in a place exactly like home?”
Could Danny and this woman really share a gene pool? “Why, indeed?” He frowned. “I believe I may have missed something. Are you paying us an extended visit?”
“I’m the new primary school teacher on the island. I thought you knew.”
“No. Isn’t this rather sudden?”
“Not really. It’s an exchange program.”
“Who’s being exchanged?”
The red rose quickly in her cheeks. She had Irish skin after all.
“No one,” she admitted. “Ordinarily someone takes my place and I take hers. There wasn’t anyone here to spare, but I wanted to come to the island. Besides, Alice Duncan needs the help. I have the advantage because I was born here.”
“When did this come about?”
Her blush deepened. “I’ve known for a while that I wanted to come.”
“For how long?”
“Five years,” she confessed, “ever since Kerry started writing to me.”
Sean’s head spun. Five years. Kerry had known her five years and never said a word. Why?
Without warning, the door flew open and a small girl threw herself into Sean’s arms. Panting, she forced the words past her lips. “I ran all the way, Uncle Sean. Mabry O’Farrell was on the road. Marni says she’s not wicked, but she scares me.”
Sean settled the little girl on his knee. “Mabry O’Farrell is an old woman, Caili. She’s no more wicked than I am. She’s never hurt anyone.” The child’s dark curls felt silky under his hand. “Where’s your sister?”
Caili’s finger found its way into her mouth. “She’s coming,” she mumbled, staring with wide green eyes at the stranger who sat in her mother’s chair.
Sean kissed her head. “Will you welcome your Aunt Mollie, lass? She’s come to spend some time with us.”
The child sat up. “With me?”
“Aye, and Marni and Luke.”
Caili slid from her uncle’s lap and approached Mollie. “I’ve a bunny,” she confided. “Uncle Sean won’t let me keep it in a cage, but he comes at night. I watch him.”
“Do you?” Mollie appeared suitably impressed. “What color is he?”
“Brown,” said Caili. “Are bunnies not brown in America?”
“Some are white. I’ve seen black ones and spotted ones.”
Caili clapped her hands, setting in motion the springy curls around her head. “May I go to America, Uncle Sean? I want to see the spotted bunnies with Aunt Mollie.”
“Aunt Mollie isn’t going to America for a long time. She’s come to be the new school mistress.”
Caili’s eyes widened. She moved closer to Mollie and leaned against her knee. “Will you teach at my school, Aunt Mollie?”
Sean watched Mollie’s arm settle naturally around his niece’s shoulders and pull her close for a quick hug. The two had met
before, but only briefly, at the wake. Mollie had kept to herself since then.
“Yes, love,” she said. “We’ll see each other every day and be great friends.”
Caili shivered with delight. “I like you,” she decided. “Even if Marni doesn’t like you, I will.”
Mollie’s eyes warmed. “That’s a relief. Is Marni difficult to please?”
Sean stood and walked to the window. Coming up the rise was his older, more serene niece. “See for yourself.”
Keeping Caili’s hand in her own, Mollie joined him at the window.
Marni was nearly at the door when she looked up and saw them. She grinned, and Sean’s heart turned over. Where there were once two perfect teeth was now a large irregular gap. He waited until she walked through the door. “You pulled it out,” he accused her.
Shaking her head, Marni dug into the pocket of her jumper, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her uncle. “I didn’t have to. It fell out, and Grandda gave me this to save it.”
Sean groaned and peered inside. “I suppose you’ll be expecting a fortune for a tooth of this size.”
Marni considered the matter. “It’s my best one,” she said after a minute’s deliberation.
“I’ll take the matter up with the tooth fairy.” He gestured toward Mollie. “Your Aunt Mollie is here for a visit. She’s come to teach primary school on the island.”
“We’ve met before,” Marni said. “You’re Da’s sister.”
“She is,” broke in Caili, “and she’s going to teach at our school.”
“Welcome,” Marni said formally. “I hope you’ll like it here.”
“Thank you, Marni. I like it very much already. I’ll like it even more if you and Caili come to visit me often.”
Marni relaxed. She looked at her uncle. “May I, Uncle Sean?”
“You may, if it’s convenient for everyone. Run in and check on Luke. He’s been asleep for a while now.”
Spellbound Page 2
