Spellbound

by Jeanette Baker

  Alice Duncan pulled her coat tightly around her. “I still think it’s odd that we’ll be having Christmas dinner at your ex-wife’s home, Patrick. I don’t feel comfortable at all.”

  “It’s my daughter’s home,” he reminded her, “and it’s the first time in twenty-eight years I’ve shared Christmas with her.”

  Alice relented, and the expression that softened her face whenever she looked at Patrick came over her again. “You’re right, of course. I should be grateful I’ve been invited.”

  Taking one hand from the reins, he covered hers and squeezed it gently. It was nothing short of a miracle that this woman, decent, warm, educated, had loved him for all these years. “Mollie likes you,” he said simply.

  “I wonder if Emma does.”

  Patrick shrugged. “We’ve not discussed it. It doesn’t matter. Emma isn’t part of our lives, Alice. Her approval isn’t necessary.”

  “Have you told Mollie?”

  “Not yet. But I’m sure she knows. Not much misses our Mollie.”

  Alice settled back against the padded seat, and once again Patrick marveled at how easy it was when you measured up in the eyes of a woman who really loved you. How easily life flowed. He resolved to make up the years they’d missed starting immediately. His family would be gathered. He would announce their plans today.

  He looked at Alice, at her sensible haircut, at the roundness of her cheeks, at her sturdy figure and capable, square hands. This was the woman he would look at across his breakfast table for the rest of his life. She smiled at him. He felt a surge of happiness. Clucking to Brownie, he urged the pony over the rise and onto the gravel driveway of Mollie’s cottage.

  They were the last to arrive. Mollie opened the door and took their coats. She led them into the living room, where strains of “The Little Drummer Boy” sounded from the stereo speakers. Sean and the girls were intent on entertaining Luke. Seated in chairs pulled close to the fire, Eileen and Russ were in deep conversation with a handsome older man who could only be Ward Reddington. There was no sign of Emma. Mistletoe hung over the doorway. Patrick stopped directly under the arch and, in front of everyone, took Alice in his arms and kissed her thoroughly on the lips. She blushed and laughed.

  Mollie’s eyes were wide with surprise, but her manners were beautiful, a credit to Emma. “My goodness. What a lovely way to start the celebration.” She kissed her father on the cheek and then leaned over and did the same to Alice. “Do we have more to celebrate than Christmas?” she murmured.

  “I’m not—” Alice stopped, tongue-tied, and looked at Patrick.

  “We do,” he said promptly, “but our news will wait. Where is your mother?”

  “In the kitchen.” Mollie dipped a ladle into the punch bowl, poured out two cups, and served them. “I’ll introduce you to Ward, and then I’ll go check on her. Help yourself to the starters, but don’t eat too much. Mother’s outdone herself. She’s never had a crowd this size, and she’s in heaven.”

  Emma was stirring gravy with one hand and opening the door of the oven with the other when Mollie walked into the kitchen. “Would you check on the turkey, Mollie? I’ve turned it so the thermometer is in the back, and I don’t want to leave the gravy.”

  Obediently, Mollie found the oven mitts, pulled the bird out, and checked the temperature. “It’s done,” she said.

  “Take it out and let it stand,” said her mother. “We’ll eat in about thirty minutes.” Smiling, she focused on the gravy. “Is everyone here?”

  “Yes.” Mollie hesitated. “Alice seems especially happy.”

  “She’s very nice,” Emma observed. “Don’t you think so?”

  “Uh-huh.” Mollie dipped the basting brush into the meat juices and painted the sides of the turkey with long, casual strokes. “She’s lived here a long time.”

  “She was here before I came,” said Emma.

  “Did you know her very well?”

  Emma measured out a quarter-cup of wine and added it to the gravy. “She was your father’s friend before we married. Neither of us saw her much after.”

  “How well did you know her?”

  “Well enough, I suppose.” Emma thought a minute. “I wonder why she never married.”

  The turkey glistened with juices. Mollie continued to baste. “Maybe because the man she wanted was already taken.”

  Emma turned off the flame under the gravy and gave Mollie her full attention. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  Mollie bit her lip. “I think they’re seeing each other.”

  “Who?”

  “My father and Alice.”

  “Do you mean as in dating?”

  Mollie nodded. “It may be more than just dating.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose not.” She looked at her mother. “It shouldn’t.”

  “But it does?”

  She took a minute to answer. “Yes,” she said, embarrassed. “It does.”

  “Have you thought about why that is?”

  “I haven’t had time. I just found out.”

  Emma smiled gently. “Everyone is entitled to some happiness in this life, Mollie. Your father has been alone for nearly thirty years.”

  “It’s just that—” She stopped.

  After removing the basting brush from Mollie’s fingers, Emma set it on the counter, turned her daughter around, and rested her hands on her shoulders. “You expected, after all these years, to have him to yourself, and now you’ll be sharing him with Alice.”

  “That’s not it,” Mollie protested.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Not exactly. I didn’t expect to have him all to myself. I knew there were Danny and the children.”

  Emma waited.

  “A woman is different,” Mollie finished.

  “How?”

  “It isn’t that I don’t like Alice, but she isn’t family.” Mollie was close to tears. Ashamed, she turned away. “I know I’m being childish and terribly selfish.”

  “I don’t think so,” Emma said softly. “You’ve been amazing. I’m proud of you. If anyone is to blame for your not having known your father all these years, it’s Patrick and me.”

  It was more than that, but Mollie left it alone. There was no point in worrying Emma. She worried too much already. Her pointless matchmaking attempts had proven that. She changed the subject. “Shall we take everything to the table?”

  Emma nodded. “Call the girls. They’ll want to help. You decide where everyone sits.” She hesitated. “If you don’t mind, Mollie, I’d like you to seat Ward at the head of the table. This has got to be awkward for him.”

  Mollie smiled. “Don’t worry. Ward will be fine, Mom. He always is as long as you’re around.”

  Warm was the word that leaped to Mollie’s mind when she looked at her family gathered around the large dining table. For as long as she could remember Christmas meant Ward and her mother, just the three of them. They would sleep late in the morning, have a leisurely breakfast of cinnamon rolls and coffee, open gifts, walk along the estuary down to the shoreline and back, eat dinner, linger over coffee, and go their separate ways, Mollie to visit friends and Ward and Emma to an evening movie.

  It was the children, Mollie decided, looking at the bright eyes and expectant faces of her nieces. They were incredibly well behaved considering the number of gifts in the living room with their names on them. Children made all the difference. There was something about children and Christmas that made sense.

  She glanced across the table at Sean. His lips were clamped around a green bean, and his eyes twinkled down at Caili. Quickly, the little girl positioned her lips around her own bean. As if in response to some secret cue, they simultaneously slurped them down. Caili squealed with laughter.

  “Sean,” his mother admonished him. “Don’t be playin’ with your food. What kind of example is that for the children, and with company about? Shame on you.”

  Sean grinned. “I’m
sorry, Mam.”

  Eileen’s lipped twitched. “You’re not sorry at all,” she said. “Everyone will think you were raised in a pigsty.”

  Mollie laughed. “Don’t worry, Mrs. O’Malley. Sean’s manners are beautiful in public. He isn’t at all embarrassing.”

  “Thank God for that,” muttered his mother under her breath.

  “When can we open our presents?” Caili asked.

  “When you’ve had your dinner,” replied Sean. “Every bite.”

  Caili looked doubtfully at the huge plate Emma had filled for her. Her lower lip trembled.

  Sean relented. “Don’t worry, lass.” He began dividing the food on her plate. “There now. This should keep a tiny mite like yourself filled up until breakfast. Can you manage this?”

  Caili’s smile returned. She nodded and applied herself to her food.

  Content in his chair, Luke banged a wooden rattle on the tray. Mollie watched Marni move a goblet out of danger and marveled, once again, at the child’s maturity.

  “Everything is delicious, Emma,” Alice said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “You’re very welcome. Mollie helped with the cooking.”

  Russ shook his head in mock regret. “Don’t try to marry her off, Mrs. Reddington. It won’t work. Trust me.”

  Sean’s fork stopped in midair, halfway to his mouth. Mollie’s face reddened.

  “Shame on you, Russ Sanders,” Emma replied playfully. “As if Mollie needed help finding a husband.”

  “Thank you,” said Mollie. She looked pointedly at Russ. “Just because I’m immune to your charms doesn’t mean I’m not interested in marriage altogether.”

  Russ pounded his fist against his chest. “Cruelty, thy name is Mollie.”

  Patrick interrupted. “As long as we’re speaking of marriage, I have an announcement.”

  All eyes turned toward him. Fingers of ice clutched at Mollie’s heart. Don’t she pleaded silently. Not here, not yet.

  Alice flushed and looked down at her lap.

  “I have asked Alice to marry me, and she has agreed.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence. Emma spoke first, her voice warm and accepting. “Congratulations, Patrick. What wonderful news.”

  Ward reached across the table and held out his hand. Patrick took it. “It is wonderful news, Patrick,” he said. “What a surprise.”

  “It’s rather sudden, isn’t it?” Eileen asked.

  “We’ve been friends for years,” replied Patrick, “and we’re no longer young.”

  Alice looked at Mollie. “You haven’t said anything, Mollie.”

  She smiled and hoped it looked natural. “I’m happy for both of you.”

  Alice relaxed. “That’s a relief. I prayed that you would feel that way.”

  “Will Miss Duncan be our new grandma?” asked Caili.

  Patrick smiled. “In a manner of speaking.”

  Marni spoke this time. “What shall we call you, Miss Duncan?”

  “Alice is fine with me,” she said. “I know it will take some getting accustomed to.”

  “Will you still be our teacher?”

  “I will.”

  Marni frowned. “I don’t think we can call you Alice at school.”

  “No,” agreed Alice. “Mollie is your teacher. What do you call her at school?”

  Marni thought a minute. “I don’t call her anything.”

  “I call her Aunt Mollie,” Caili said.

  Patrick interrupted them. “You’ll do whatever makes you comfortable. We’ve had mothers and fathers teach their own children here on the island. It makes no difference when it comes to learning.”

  “Will you have a ceremony?” Russ asked.

  Alice and Patrick looked at each other. “We’ve spoken of going to Dublin,” said Patrick. “We’ll have a civil ceremony at the government building. I’ve a bit put aside. We’ll wait until the summer when Alice has her holiday from school. That way we can plan a visit somewhere.”

  Summer. Mollie relaxed. Summer was months away. She would have time to acclimate herself to the idea of Alice and her father. Across the table, Sean caught her eye and smiled. The memory of what they’d shared earlier and her own resolve rose inside her chest. The ache of what it meant for Alice to have a place in her father’s heart lessened. After all, change was a good thing. She smiled back.

  Russ pushed back his chair and nodded at Emma. “Thank you for an excellent meal. I’ve got to motor to Inishmaan to relieve some of the others for a few hours, but I’ll be back.” He rested his hand on Marni’s head and then Caili’s. “There are some packages in the living room for the two of you from me. Don’t wait to open them. I may be late.”

  “The trip isn’t a long one, but there’s a storm watch,” Sean warned him. “It could be dangerous.”

  “I won’t try coming back if it looks bad.”

  Sean frowned and would have said more but thought better of it.

  “Russ is nice,” observed Caili after he’d left the dining room.

  “Yes,” Emma said. “He is.”

  “Do you think he’s nice, Mollie?” asked Caili.

  “Yes,” replied Mollie, “and now I think it’s time to open presents.”

  Russ forgotten, the girls leaped from their chairs and ran into the living room. The adults followed, Emma, Ward, and Eileen first, then Patrick and Alice. Mollie waited for Sean to unbuckle Luke from his chair and carry him into the living room.

  “They’re right, you know,” he said conversationally. “Russ is quite nice.”

  “He’s more than nice. He’s perfect.”

  “He’s interested in you.”

  “I’ve never encouraged him.”

  “Sometimes that doesn’t matter.”

  “He’s intelligent and rational,” she explained “He’ll move on easily, especially when he finds someone who appreciates him.”

  The baby reached out and grabbed a handful of Mollie’s hair. They stopped, and Mollie held Luke while Sean worked open the small fists. She felt his breath against her ear. “Do you think the same can be said for everyone?”

  She lifted her chin and looked directly at him. “I think I’ve passed the stage of moving on easily.”

  “You and I, perhaps,” he agreed, “but not the children.”

  Mollie knew what she wanted. She also knew the odds against it happening, but she wasn’t ready to give up, not now, not after today. Maybe whatever was between them wasn’t enough to make him change his life, but it meant more to him than he knew. Mollie resolved to make him know. She wasn’t a martyr. She wanted no part of an unequal partnership where one loves more than the other. Relationships like that always seemed sadly pathetic to her. But if it was a matter of opening one’s eyes, of showing him the possibilities, that she could do. It was only the beginning. If Alice, a woman in her middle fifties, could find happiness, so could she.

  CHAPTER 27

  Sean turned on the reading lamp beside his bed and leafed through the gold-edged pages of the volume of poetry Mollie had given him for Christmas. William Yeats, a first edition. Where could she have found such a treasure? He remembered their conversation at Kenny’s Bookshop. She must have purchased it there. He was surprised that Kenny had let it go to anyone other than a collector. Mollie had powers of persuasion that amazed him. She’d gathered their scattered family together, managed to talk Daniel O’Shea into coming to Inishmore, and now a rare first edition.

  He read the lines she’d noted with faint pencil marks. He smiled. She was partial to Yeats’s love poems. The stirring ballads of revolution were left spotless. Come live with me and be my love, and together we will all the pleasures prove. He ran his fingers over the famous words. Strange, how people were all the same. Even a wealthy Protestant like Yeats yearned for a woman he couldn’t have. Although, Sean remembered, he did marry her in the end. Sean wondered if Mollie knew the story and then decided she must. She was a teacher, after all.

  Leaving the bo
ok on the nightstand, he turned out the light, pulled the comforter over him, stretched out, and clasped his hands behind his head. Rain and a wild, roaring wind battered the windows. The girls, accustomed to the weather of their native island would sleep through it, but Luke might wake. It took years to adjust to the wailing sound that fisherman attributed to lost silkies.

  A nagging anxiety he couldn’t quite place kept his mind alert even as his tired eyes closed. Maybe if he slept, it would disappear by morning. Tucking the pillow closer to his cheek, he turned over and deliberately tried to relax. Slowly the tension eased. His mind drifted. His breathing normalized and he slept.

  The wind had gentled but a steady rain still drummed on the roof when Sean’s alarm blared to life. Groggily, he reached over and turned it off. There was no hurry. It was the day after Christmas. No one was expecting him anywhere and he had enough work to keep him busy. Propping himself up on his elbow, he pulled the Yeats volume from the nightstand and began to read. There was a time, during his university years and later, when he’d read Irish authors daily, the real ones, Synge and Behan, O’Flaherty and Heaney, the ones who had introduced the world to the realities of growing up poor and Catholic, in English-occupied Ireland.

  Yeats was a paradox, a poet, born and raised an aristocrat, with an appreciation for the common man. In many ways he was like Mollie.

  The telephone jarred him from his thoughts. Quickly he picked it up before the second ring. He needed a few more minutes of solitude before the children descended upon him.

  “Sean?” The harbor master’s deep voice carried a note of alarm.

  “Aye, Graham. What can I do for you?”

  He came right to the point. “We’ve an emergency on our hands. There’s no word of the American, Russell Sanders. Two of his colleagues expected him last night. It looks like he took the boat out shortly before the worst of the storm hit. He didn’t return it to the slip. Can you tell us anything?”

  Sean swore under his breath. “Russ had dinner with my family last night at Mollie’s cottage. He left before eight.”