Spellbound

by Jeanette Baker

  Emma remained silent.

  “Why did you do it?”

  A full minute passed. Finally she answered. “There’s chemistry between you. It’s clear to anyone who cares enough to pay attention. Even the children sense it. But chemistry alone isn’t enough. It’s the everyday living that makes a relationship work, as well as similar values and shared backgrounds. The sooner you realize how different you are, the better. The only way to find that out is for the two of you to really know each other. You’re intelligent, and so is he. You’ll both see it once you wade through the attraction.”

  “What if we don’t?”

  “You’ll face some heartache.”

  “Why are you so sure it couldn’t work?”

  “I know this island, Mollie. There’s nothing for you here. You haven’t made a single friend since you’ve been here. Your life is caught up in your job and the children and Sean. You haven’t seen a movie or gone to the theater or even to a bookstore. You can’t take a class or hear a lecture or go to a concert unless you count whoever’s playing at one of the local pubs.”

  “There are bookstores all over Ireland.”

  “You know I’m right. Don’t think I don’t understand your attraction to Sean. He’s a very appealing man, and he has the children.”

  “What do they have to do with it?”

  “They’re part of the package, and they adore you.”

  Mollie sighed. “That’s what Sean said. He thinks I want him because of the children.”

  “Good Lord. It’s come to that already?”

  “If you’re asking if he knows how I feel, the answer is yes.”

  “Oh, Mollie.” Emma’s eyebrows rose in dismay. “It gives him a tremendous advantage. How could you do such a thing?”

  Mollie hid her face in the folds of Emma’s sweater. Her voice was muffled. “It just happened. I’m not myself when I’m around him.”

  Emma stroked the heavy, honey-gold hair spilling into her lap. “I’ve never worried about you before,” she said softly. “It’s an odd feeling.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be all right in the end.”

  “It isn’t the end that concerns me. It’s all the stops along the way.”

  Mollie yawned and closed her eyes. It was late. The evening had turned out much better than she expected.

  CHAPTER 23

  The small commuter plane seated eight, two single-file rows of four seats on either side of the narrow aisle. Mollie swallowed and sat down behind the pilot. Sean took the seat across from her and smiled bracingly. They were the only two passengers.

  “Six minutes, Mollie. That’s all it takes, and we’ll be on the mainland.”

  “It’s so small.”

  “Large or small, planes fly on the same principle,” the pilot assured her as if comforting frightened Americans was part of his job. Straightening something over his head, he pulled on several levers, adjusted his head- phones, and the plane roared to life. “Fasten your seat-belts,” he shouted above the din.

  With shaking fingers, Mollie managed the clasps. The plane bounced down the bumpy runway toward the sea. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the movement. They were moving faster now, gathering momentum for that final, climactic thrust when the wheels left the ground and somehow, miraculously, the silver, bullet-shaped body propelled itself into the air.

  For Mollie, every flight was the same. Normally she wasn’t a particularly fearful flier, but she hadn’t ever gotten used to the idea that a heavy body, a combination of physical materials, metal, plastic, fabric, and wire, filled to capacity with people, could actually stay up in the air. It was an aerodynamic miracle she refused to take for granted.

  She felt the tilt of the plane and, only a minute or two later, its leveling out. The engines were louder than she remembered. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and peered out the window. The ocean was terrifyingly close.

  Sean leaned across the aisle. “We’re nearly there,” he said.

  “So soon?”

  “It’s a six-minute ride,” he reminded her.

  She felt better.

  “There.” He pointed to a spot outside her window. “That’s the landing strip. It’s a bit rocky going down.”

  Her fingers clenched around the armrests.

  He grinned. “We haven’t lost anyone yet, Mollie, but we can take the ferry back if you’d rather.”

  “Could we?”

  He whistled under his breath. “This really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  She looked at him curiously. “What about you?”

  “The odds are with us.”

  Their landing was surprisingly smooth. Mollie followed Sean to the terminal, where he engaged the man at the gate in conversation and came away holding a set of car keys.

  “Did we need to rent a car?” she asked.

  “It’s a loan. Robbie Anderson is a friend of mine. Well drop the car with his wife when we’re in town.”

  Connemara’s brush and wild grass in the dead of winter was tobacco-gold bog land, flat plains with silver lakes and pools of fresh rainwater, a contrast to the green limestone of the Arans. Occasionally a small cottage no bigger than a shed with a thread of white smoke escaping the chimney interrupted the landscape.

  “It’s so empty,” Mollie said, her voice reverent.

  Sean kept his eyes on the narrow road. “All of the West is like this. The land can’t support more than a few.” He glanced over at her and grinned. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  “No. I don’t. I should do more of that. It would be a shame to spend a year here and see nothing of Ireland.”

  He nodded. “Donegal and the north are worth the drive. Most tourists visit Cork and Waterford. They’re lovely, but the real Ireland is to the west and north.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She rolled around the idea of leaving Ireland. A month ago it had stirred to life an ache in her stomach. Now it was different. She pushed the thought away. “How far is it to Galway?”

  “Another ten minutes or so.” A frown marred the space between Sean’s eyebrows. “I’m new to this, Mollie. I’ve never bought an entire Christmas before. Caili isn’t a problem. She’s Kerry all over again, not bashful about what she wants, but Marni’s not so outspoken. She’s a bit too old for dolls. At least I think she is,” he said helplessly.

  “She likes to read,” Mollie offered, “and she’s artistic. We’ll find enough to make her smile.” Without thinking, she reached across the space that separated them to touch his arm. “Don’t worry. Marni’s still a little girl, and she isn’t hard to please.”

  He covered her hand briefly with his own. “I’m counting on you.”

  Mollie bit her lip and turned to look out the window. The signs in Irish and English pointed them toward Salthill and Galway. Sean took the road toward the bay. Expensive homes with large windows, many advertising bed-and-breakfast accommodations, faced the sea.

  “How far away is your house?” Mollie asked.

  “We passed it a few minutes ago.”

  She looked at him, surprised. “I’d like to see it. Why didn’t you say something?”

  He ignored her question. “If there’s time, I’ll give you a tour on the way home. Your mother tells me that Salthill is like Newport.”

  Mollie looked at it with her mother’s eyes. It did look like Newport. The boardwalk with concession stands closed for the winter, the wide sidewalk for biking and jogging, the ferris wheel, the gift shops, and above it all, set back on lawns with panoramic views of the island, spacious well-kept homes that would fit nicely into Spy Glass Hill, the neighborhood where Mollie had grown up.

  Sean followed the road past the old Claddagh houses to the north end of the city, drove across the bridge, pulled into a multilevel carpark, and found a space. Galway was the largest city in the West, and Saturdays were busy.

  Mollie buttoned her coat and reached for the door handle, but Sean was already there. He opened the door and helped her ou
t.

  “For a man who doesn’t own a car, you have lovely manners,” she teased him.

  “Actually, I do own a car, but I don’t need it on the island. As for manners, isn’t that how it’s done in America?”

  “Not often enough. It was a lovely gesture. Thank you.”

  He smiled at her. “You’re very welcome.”

  The shops, brightly lit and decorated for Christmas, were warm and welcoming. Immediately, Mollie found a cable-knit sweater for her mother in a soft blue, a nubby tweed jacket for Patrick, and an Irish wool cap for Ward. A muffler for Alice, a delicate teapot for Eileen, and toys for the children were purchased in less than two hours.

  The door to Kenny’s Bookshop rang merrily when Mollie followed Sean inside. She looked around in amazement. Familiar with the large chain bookstores popular in California, she had expected the world- famous Kenny’s to be the same. Instead, it looked more like a public library with rows of wooden shelves and hardcover books, their spines facing out. Small hand-written signs indicating the genres were tacked to each shelf. Oils painted by local artists adorned the walls, and a winding staircase led to a second floor with more books and a reading room. Mollie, whose idea of heaven was an afternoon with a book, was immediately attracted to the shelf of Irish writers. Her eyes were drawn to the first editions. She pulled out a volume of poetry written by Yeats.

  An hour later Sean found her seated cross-legged on the floor, with two piles, one small, one large, in front of her. “Find anything?”

  She looked up guiltily. “What time is it?”

  “Time for lunch. Did you find anything for Marni?”

  She nodded. “And for Caili and Luke.”

  “Luke? Isn’t he a bit young for reading?”

  “He’s old enough for someone to read to him, and it will be good practice for the girls.”

  Sean looked doubtful. “Won’t he tear the pages?”

  Mollie held up a picture book with stiff cardboard pages. “Not these.”

  He took it from her hand. “How long have we had such things?”

  “Long enough for you to know about them. Don’t you read to the children?”

  “Of course I do. But we have real books with paper pages. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  Mollie took the book back. “If you don’t want it—”

  “I didn’t say that. I do want it. I’ve just never seen anything like it, that’s all.”

  “I can buy it for him,” she offered, “if you’re watching your budget.”

  “For Christ sake, Mollie,” he said, exasperated. “I’m not so poor that I can’t afford to buy a book for my nephew.”

  “Are you always so irritable when you’re hungry?” She heard the sharp intake of his breath. His left eyebrow quirked dangerously. Keeping her expression bland, she braced herself. Seconds passed. His lips twitched.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a saucy lass?”

  “All the time.” She kept a straight face. “In exactly those words.”

  He pulled her arm through his. “Shall we buy these books and find something to eat before I murder you?”

  “Definitely.”

  The restaurant sat on the curb of a quiet street, small with dark wood floors and wingback chairs arranged in intimate groupings around round tables covered with white cloths. The waiter led them to a seat near the fireplace. Mollie stripped off her gloves and rubbed her frozen hands.

  Within minutes bowls of hot pureed soup, brown bread with pats of butter, and two foaming glasses of Guinness appeared before them.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Do you come here often?”

  “When I have a reason. I thought you’d appreciate something different from the usual pub fare.”

  She tasted the soup. “It’s delicious.”

  “You looked like you needed warming.”

  The soup was followed by slices of roast beef, parsleyed small potatoes, and a mix of perfectly cooked carrots and green beans. Sean ordered another two glasses of ale and a pot of tea.

  By the end of the meal the rosy glow that began with the first taste of her soup extended to all parts of her body. Mollie leaned on her elbow and stared into the blue-tipped flames of the fire. She was incredibly content sitting in the semidarkness filled with food, surrounded by warmth.

  Sean’s voice was buttery soft. “What are you thinking?”

  Mollie looked at him, at the triangle of white teeth and firm lips, at the way the lines deepened around his mouth, softening the hard angles and planes of his face, at the blue-green eyes with their sweep of dark lashes and the tiny crow’s feet fanning out from their corners, evidence of too much wind and sun on Irish skin. Time stopped. She heard the drip of water in the outside gutters and the sing-song siren of a police car, the ringing of church bells signaling afternoon mass.

  The edges of the world outside the restaurant were muted by a soft mist, and somewhere in the kitchen, she recognized the yeasty aroma of rising bread. Suddenly she felt exposed, her nerves sharp and vibrating, her eyes burning and stretched inside their sockets.

  She found the words and said them, knowing it was a risk. “I’m wondering if you have any idea how attractive you are.”

  She saw his hand clench, and watched the sudden tightening of his jaw.

  “That’s a grand compliment coming from a girl from California.”

  “Yes,” she said evenly. “It is.”

  “Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea,” he said.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Can we salvage it?”

  “That depends on what you mean.”

  He laughed harshly. “You’re quick, Mollie Tierney. I’ll give you that one.”

  She waited silently.

  He shook his head and swore. “It isn’t that I don’t want it or, God help me, that I’m not tempted, but it’s a dreadful risk. Can you understand that, Mollie? If you would only understand that, we could—”

  She interrupted him. “We could what, Sean? Sleep together? Love each other? Say goodbye in June? No, thank you. I don’t want to end up with a broken heart.”

  “Better that than raise the hopes of three children who don’t deserve another loss.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “Because it’s true. Can you live on our island, Mollie, or even in Ireland? Can you give up the world you’re accustomed to?”

  “Not permanently. But I’m not opposed to spending time here.”

  “That won’t work for me.”

  “Not even if there was enough incentive?”

  “No.”

  She leaned forward. “Why not? You’re an educated man. You aren’t limited to living on Inishmore. Once the children are grown, they won’t stay if they’re to make anything of themselves, especially now. Every fisherman on the island will be leaving, every family with young children. Who will Luke and the girls grow up with?”

  “The island is their only stability just now. They’ve lost everything else. It’s not the first time the island’s been evacuated,” he said. “Even if the children do leave, it will be to Galway or Dublin, not California. That isn’t so far away they can’t come back to visit.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “You don’t understand, Mollie. I’ve spent years away from the island. I encourage everyone to try it, but I don’t want to live in California.”

  “I’m not asking you to live in California.”

  “My answer is no.”

  She reached for her water. Her hand shook. It was hard to swallow. Carefully, she set down the glass. He didn’t see it, the blind selfishness of his decision, the happiness he was throwing away because he wouldn’t compromise.

  She opened her mouth to continue her argument when it hit her, the revelation that silenced her and left her staring miserably down at the napkin in her lap. She was an idiot. Worse, she was a presumptive idiot. He wasn’t in love with her. What he meant and was too polite to say
was that he didn’t care enough. There was no reason for him to make concessions. What he wanted was an affair. He was a man, after all, a man who found her attractive. But he wasn’t in the market for anything permanent, not with her. Warm waves of humiliation washed over her.

  Mollie turned toward the fire, grateful for the heat, hoping he would think the color gilding her face was the result of her proximity to the flames and two glasses of Guinness. Rain splashed against the windows and drummed on the roof. “It’s time to go,” she said quietly.

  “The wind is fierce. We’ll wait a bit for the weather to let up. Our ferry doesn’t leave until four.”

  No mention of showing her his home, of closing the distance between them. “Will it run in bad weather?”

  He smiled, and her heart flipped.

  “This isn’t bad weather, Mollie. If the ferry closed down every time it rained, it would never run.”

  She did it every time, emphasizing their differences, revealing to him how inadequately prepared she was to live in his world.

  Robbie Anderson’s wife was a pleasant woman with a round freckled face and twin daughters who looked exactly like her. She wouldn’t hear of them taking the bus back to the ferry terminal. Piling her daughters into the car with the presents, she squeezed into the backseat beside them, insisting that Sean drive and Mollie sit beside him while she talked incessantly from the time they left Galway until they reached Rossaveal.

  Mollie was grateful for the diversion. Nothing more was required of her than an occasional monosyllabic answer. She was miserable. The ferry ride loomed before her and then her mother’s inevitable quizzing. The solitude of her own room had never seemed more appealing.

  Dutifully she murmured her thanks. Burdened with a mountain of presents, she was unable to wave goodbye to the Andersons. Sean purchased their tickets. Relieving her of most of the bags, he led the way up the gangplank into the cabin, deposited the packages on another seat, and sat beside her near the window. Immediately the engines roared to life.

  Somehow she managed the journey, smiling at times, responding when appropriate, even managing enthusiasm for the Christmas holiday only three days away. She was emotionally exhausted when they pulled into Kilronen Harbor. Patrick’s pony trap waited in the wet darkness. She could barely make out her father’s outline leaning against a piling. No one had ever looked more welcoming.