“It is, Mr. Tierney,” replied Sean promptly. He grinned. “I’ve brought your daughter from America to visit you.”
The man squinted into the weak sunlight. “Is that so?” he said amiably, as if daughters from America appeared on his doorstep every morning. “Tell me your name, lass.”
Mollie’s throat felt like steel wool. She cleared it and attempted the words. Incredibly, they came out. “Mollie,” she croaked, “Mollie Tierney.”
Sean straightened his bike. “I’ll be leaving you to get acquainted.”
He couldn’t really mean to ride away and leave her with this stranger. Mollie panicked. “When will you be back?”
“Patrick will take you home. He has a pony trap. It’s the best way to see the island.”
Mollie stammered. “I don’t think—”
“Come now, Mollie,” Sean mocked her. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of horses.”
She watched helplessly as he turned the bicycle around and swung his leg over the bar. “Not afraid, exactly,” she mumbled.
He had ears as sensitive as a fly trap. “What is it, then?”
She swallowed and lifted her chin. “Nothing. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
He winked at her, and this time his smile was warmer. “I never doubted it, lass. If things don’t work out, I’ll be down at the Silver Seal for an hour or so. Just follow the road. You can’t miss it.”
Relieved, Mollie straightened her shoulders and turned to face the man who was her father.
CHAPTER 5
Patrick Tierney was still handsome, with fine sharp features, brown skin lined from weather, and eyes the piercing aquamarine common to men who live on water-locked land. Under the wool cap, his hair was thick, wavy, the hairline young, the color white without a hint of its former darkness. Lean, clean-shaven, and spare of flesh, he showed no evidence of the alcohol her mother said he drank to excess.
“Will you know me when you see me again?” he asked softly.
The words were the same ones Mabry had used, but the tone was different. Mollie smiled. “I would have anyway. I’ve seen pictures.”
“Your mother still has them, does she?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, but I was younger then.”
“Some things don’t change,” Mollie said simply.
He looked at her, this time more closely. “What do you know about change, Mollie Tierney?”
She shrugged. “I’m here.”
“Why is that, I’m wondering?”
She wrapped her arms around herself and clamped down on her lip to stop the shivering. “May I come inside?”
He frowned. “Of course. Come in, lass. The shock of seeing you here in the flesh after all these years has made me forget my manners.”
Patrick Tierney didn’t look shocked. He didn’t look particularly pleased, either. Mollie preceded him through the Dutch door he held open for her and looked around at the snug cottage. It was small but clean, with whitewashed walls, tiny windows, and a slate floor. A fire smoldered on the hearth. Suspended from a hook over the open flame, a blue cauldron bubbled, throwing off a meaty, appetizing smell. Two chairs stood on opposite sides of a low table, and shelves heavy with books lined the walls. The fire, the food, the warmth of the tiny cottage, and the anxious restless night she’d spent took their toll. Her eyes felt heavy.
“Would you like a cup of tea, lass?” Patrick Tierney asked.
Mollie sat down in one of the chairs. “Yes, thank you.”
She watched her father move about his kitchen, scouring the teapot with water from the kettle, shaking in loose tea leaves, assembling milk, sugar, cups, and spoons. It was all so comfortable, so familiar, and yet it couldn’t possibly be. She ran her fingers over the carved wood of the chair and breathed in the essence of the cottage. It was cozy and clean, with handmade furniture and everything in its place. Once her mother had crossed this floor, cooked at the old-fashioned stove, eaten at this very table. Mollie thought of her glass-and-chrome kitchen in Newport and couldn’t imagine it.
When the tea was ready, Patrick sat across from her. He kept his eyes on her face. “You look tired. Have you had enough rest, or shall I turn down the bed for you?”
Mollie rubbed her eyes. “I’ve been poor company. I’m sorry.”
Patrick smiled. “You’re not accustomed to the air here. Would you like milk in your tea?”
“Yes, please.”
He poured milk and steaming tea into a china cup and passed it to her. She stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup and sipped it.
“What brings you to the island, lass?”
Mollie swallowed and looked directly into her father’s eyes. Her well-rehearsed story of the teaching exchange, her fellowship, and the desire to try life away from Southern California disappeared.
“All my life I’ve wanted to meet you,” she said honestly. “The opportunity arose, and I took it.”
“Was it that important?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mollie considered his question. She knew it would be asked, but she hadn’t really formulated an answer. “Where a person comes from determines who they are,” she said at last. “I don’t really know who I am, not completely, anyway. I think that’s because I don’t know you.”
“You have your mother.”
“We aren’t alike. Surely you can see that.”
Again he smiled. “I wouldn’t say that quite so vehemently. There are qualities you both share. But maybe that’s due to where you were raised rather than genetics.”
“Why didn’t you ever come to visit?”
His answer surprised her. “I did, once. I made it to your stepfather’s front door. But then I changed my mind. It was clear I didn’t belong in California. Heat addles the brain, and the air—” He shook his head. “I couldn’t breathe there.”
“I could have come here.”
He shook his head. “For a long time you were too young to come alone, and having Emma here would have been difficult.”
Patrick’s answers weren’t particularly evasive, but they weren’t telling her what she wanted to know. “Why did she leave?”
“Emma wasn’t happy here. After a while we didn’t get on.”
“Why couldn’t Danny have gone with us?”
Her father’s lips tightened. “Losing one child was difficult enough, lass. Would you have begrudged me two?”
Mollie was frustrated. Patrick Tìerney was either obtuse or an expert at manipulation. She would come out and ask him, and if he told her she would know. If he didn’t, she would have lost nothing. “Why didn’t you ever want to see me? Weren’t you the least bit curious?”
The eyes that looked at her across the low table were kind and blue and completely veiled against her. “It wasn’t like that,” he said gently. “I’m sure your mother told you how it was. Don’t go making me recall events that happened a lifetime ago, events I’d rather not sort through again. It’s enough that you’re here now. Perhaps we can start again.”
She leaned forward and spoke passionately. “You’ve missed my whole life.”
His lips twitched. “Surely not your whole life, Mollie Tierney. After all, you’re still very young.”
For a long moment Mollie stared into the blue eyes twinkling at her. Finally she laughed. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for now. She wasn’t one to dwell on missed opportunities. “You’re right. I suppose there’s no point going over what can’t be changed. What would you like to know about me?”
Now he was looking at her as if she pleased him very much.
“How long will you be staying on Inishmore?”
“For the school year. I’ve accepted a teaching fellowship.”
“Are you set for accommodations?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all right, then. Will you be staying for supper? The lamb stew is nearly finished.”
Two hours later, filled up on tender stew and milk-s
weet tea, Mollie sat behind her father in the pony trap, a rug tucked in around her legs, while he pointed out the sights of the island, the lighthouse, the fields of limestone coloring the island green, the three tiny towns clustered together among the verdant hills, the Celtic crosses, the jagged cliffs, the artists’ haunts, and, above it all, hovering like a protective sentinel, the ancient Celtic fort of Dun Aengus, half gone now but no less impressive than it must have been to the ancient Celts thousands of years ago.
The Norman marcher lords had bypassed this land entirely. There were no stone towers, no granite castles, no history of recorded battles and stolen land, no enmity between Gael and Sean-Ghall. This windswept coastline stood alone, a limestone rock that few wanted and where fewer stayed, a land of men with eyes like blue glass who made their living from the sea and women whose faces had the permanent mark of too many hours squinting at the horizon wondering, always wondering, when tragedy would fall.
It was early fall, and the weather was already cold. Seasons on lnishmore were determined by sunlight. The green limestone turf was green in both winter and summer, and clouds, giant powder puffs, hung suspended in the heavy, rain-wet air, white with the sun behind them, gray-black in the rain. The terrain was treeless, with an endless spider-webbing of rock walls, their stones uprooted from the fields and piled on top of each other without mortar, without gates.
Listening to her father’s melodic voice, watching him expertly ply the reins and guide his Connemara pony around precipitous turns, Mollie stared at the back of his white head and wondered why, in all that long sun-drenched afternoon, she had seen no evidence that he had a drinking problem.
She had little experience with alcohol abuse. Her stepfather was fanatically health-conscious, and her mother never had more than two glasses of wine at a time on any occasion. Could a man who drank excessively go an entire afternoon without touching a drop? Could a man as pleasant and gentle as Patrick Tierney really be an alcoholic, as her mother called him?
“Do you see Danny’s children often?” she asked, her voice carrying through the wind.
“I saw more of them when Danny was living.”
Mollie mulled that one over in her mind. Surely he couldn’t object to Sean. Sean O’Malley was educated, intelligent, and employed in a capacity unrelated to water and weather conditions. No. It must be the other way around. It must be Sean who objected to Patrick.
“We’re nearly there, lass.” Patrick broke into her thoughts. “It looks as if you’ve got company.”
She hadn’t locked the door. Alice Duncan told her it wasn’t necessary. Now it stood ajar, and through the long ocean-facing windows, Mollie could see movement. Patrick pulled back on the reins, stopping the trap, and Mollie jumped out and walked through the open door.
Eight-year-old Marni sat on the couch holding her baby brother. Caili sat beside her, her thumb wedged into her mouth. In the middle of the room, his hands clenched and a wild look on his face, stood Sean O’Malley.
Something was terribly wrong. Mollie sat down beside Caili and wrapped her arms around the child. “What’s the matter?” she asked Sean.
“Did you know?”
“Know what?” Mollie was bewildered.
A thin white line appeared around his lips. “Did you know about Danny’s will?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, and threw it at Mollie. “Read it,” he ordered.
With shaking hands, Mollie smoothed out the note and read. Then she read it again. Caili snuggled closer, burrowing her face as far as it would go into her aunt’s shoulder.
Wetting her lips, Mollie tore her eyes away from the note and forced herself to look at Sean’s face. “If you’ll explain to me what it is that’s bothering you, maybe I could—”
“Are you simple, Mollie Tierney?” he flung at her contemptuously. “Does it need spelling out for you? You come here with your fancy clothes and your American manners and your bank account, and you tell me you’re here to find your roots? Do you really think I don’t know what your purpose is?”
Mollie’s face whitened, but her chin was up and her words were firm, deliberate, carefully chosen. “Your sister and my brother made a decision that has nothing to do with me. Don’t blame me because they didn’t choose you or anyone else on this island to raise their children. And don’t blame me because my mother wanted to be sure you were fit to raise her grandchildren.”
She watched the tide of red wash across Sean’s cheeks.
“It won’t be as easy as that,” he muttered. “I won’t give up without a fight—” He stopped, looked at the bewildered expression on Caili’s face and the haunted one on her sister’s, and caught himself. A strained smile replaced his own murderous look. “Don’t worry, Marni. It’s all right, lass. Don’t pay any attention to me. A day or two with a solicitor in Dublin will sort everything out.”
The baby began to fuss. Sean lifted him from Marni’s lap.
“Grandda’s here,” Caili announced, slipping from the couch and running to Patrick’s side.
Her grandfather scooped her up in his arms as naturally as if he’d done it every day of his life.
“What do you think, Patrick?” Sean’s voice carried a desperate note that rubbed Mollie’s heart raw.
Patrick shook his head and smoothed the dark head resting on his shoulder. “Shall I help with the girls tonight, or can you manage on your own?” he asked, ignoring Sean’s question.
“If you’re going to Dublin, they can stay here,” Mollie said quickly. “There are more than enough rooms.”
Marni rose from her place on the couch and tugged on Sean’s arm. Bending down until her lips nearly touched his ear, he listened to her whispered confidence. Then he straightened, finally sure of himself. “Thank you both for your hospitality, but the four of us will be sleeping at home as usual.”
Mollie reached for the backpack she’d dropped on the floor and rummaged inside for her wallet. She tore off a piece of paper from a pad and wrote down her mother’s phone number. “I don’t know all of the legal ramifications, but it wouldn’t hurt to call my mother. You’re not really on opposite sides, you know.”
“No, thank you.” Sean’s mouth was a tight angry line. “It won’t be necessary. I’ll leave the details to an attorney.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Mollie said.
“Leave it, lass,” her father broke in. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Mollie cleared her throat. “Have the children eaten?” she asked Sean.
He looked surprised and then embarrassed. “Luke’s been fed, but I didn’t even think of the girls.”
“Never mind.” Mollie stood and walked toward the kitchen. “I have soup that Alice Duncan brought over yesterday and bread and cheese. I’ll make grilled cheese sandwiches. They’re fast, and everybody likes them.” She smiled over her shoulder at her nieces.
“Have we ever had grilled cheese, Uncle Sean?” Marni asked her uncle.
“Aye,” her uncle said absently. “It’s toast with cheese in the middle.”
Marni sighed with relief. “That’s all right, then.”
“Will I like it?” Caili asked.
“Well enough,” said her sister in a voice low enough for only Caili to hear. “It’s plenty for tea, I suppose. Maybe she’ll have some biscuits to go with it. Remember to say thank you, Caili, whether she does or not, and don’t be a bother to her always asking your questions.”
“I’m not a bother. Aunt Mollie likes my questions.”
“How do you know?”
“She asked about the bunnies.”
“She didn’t. Really?’ Marni appeared suitably impressed.
Caili nodded. “Aye, she did. There are spotted ones in America.”
“She told you that, did she?”
Again Caili nodded.
Marni stood and walked to the bookshelf. From there she could peek into the
kitchen without anyone knowing she had a purpose other than to glance at the selection of books. Her aunt was slicing cheese on the breadboard, humming as she worked. Marni remembered her mother humming just so when she’d prepared meals. Not that she would ever compare Aunt Mollie to her mother. The woman was friendly and kind, but she wasn’t Marni’s mam. If only Mam would come back. There would be no need for Aunt Mollie to cook for them anymore.
CHAPTER 6
The unfamiliar single ring of Sean’s international phone call sounded three times. A man’s voice, pleasant, warm, very American, answered.
Sean exhaled and spoke quickly. “This is Sean O’Malley. May I speak to Emma Reddington, please?”
A moment’s hesitation. Then, “I’ll see if she’s home.”
Could a house be big enough that a person was home and the others not know it? Or perhaps it was a polite way of warning him that Emma might not want to accept his call.
The minutes ticked by. Sean looked at his watch. Four in the morning. Eight o’clock in the evening in California. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Emma Reddington. Damn all solicitors, anyway. If clients could work everything out among themselves, where did the lawyers earn their fees?
“Hello, Sean.” The woman’s voice was lovely, friendly and welcoming, like Mollie’s. The blood left his head. He felt faint. “Hello, Mrs. Reddington. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you. Is everything all right?”
“Aye. The children are well.” He drew a deep breath. “I was wondering if we could settle this matter between us, without lawyers.”
“Oh?”
“I’d rather not drag this out, for everyone’s sake.”
“Is there a problem?”
Was there a problem? He couldn’t sleep, his appetite was nonexistent, he hadn’t written anything worth reading in weeks, and she wanted to know if there was a problem.
“Sean?”
“There’s no problem, Mrs. Reddington. I think it might be better if the only family left to Danny’s children aren’t feuding amongst themselves.”
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