Evan shrugged. "I can't remember. Where are we going?"
"To Chris Larkin's music store in the square. We're picking up a tin whistle."
"I know that. But which way are we going?"
Liam was perplexed. How many routes into town would a four-year-old be familiar with? "Which way would you like to go?"
"The long way."
He had no idea what Evan was talking about but decided to humor him. "The long way it is," he said and kept walking down the path through the rose garden, through the gate to Denny's Street.
"Is this the longest way, Uncle Liam?"
"It is, lad."
"My daddy's store is this way," Evan confided.
"So it is."
"I go there every Sunday."
"Do you now?"
Evan nodded. "Garvey's is next door and it has ice cream."
Liam laughed, scooped the child into his arms and set him on his shoulders. "You little scamp. Your mind was set on ice cream all along, wasn't it?"
"I came right out and said it, just like you told me to."
"Yes, you did. If anyone deserves ice cream, it's you. Shall we find your tin whistle first?"
"Yes."
Later, in the music store, after rejecting several whistles of the green and gold variety, Liam settled on an original Clark's, black with gold lettering. "This is the one, Evan. Look, the holes are small enough for your fingers. It's important that you're able to cover the hole completely or the note won't be true." He demonstrated with a quick slide up and down the scale.
"May I try, Uncle Liam?"
"What about your ice cream?"
"First I want to try the tin whistle."
"That's the spirit." He led Evan out of the store to a stone bench near the center of the square. "You'll have your first lesson straight away. Watch me."
For the next fifteen minutes Liam blew into the mouthpiece while he coaxed the small fingers over each hole.
"When can I blow, Uncle Liam?"
"When you feel comfortable with the notes."
"I want to blow now."
Liam handed over the tin whistle and watched Evan alternately fingering and blowing, occasionally managing the two at the same time. "You're a master, Evan, the most talented four-year-old tin whistle player on the planet."
Evan beamed.
"Hello, there." Ciara McCarthy in a gauzy blouse and short denim skirt materialized out of nowhere.
Liam clapped Evan on the shoulder. "Ciara, this is my nephew, Evan Kelliher. He's learning to play the tin whistle."
"I can see that. How many lessons have you had?"
"Just one," replied Evan. "Uncle Liam bought me this whistle." He held out the instrument. "Do you want to hold it?"
"I certainly do." Ciara accepted the child's offering, inspecting it carefully. "Lovely. Probably the loveliest one I've seen. What are the holes for?"
"You press your fingers down and blow into the top," Evan explained.
Ciara blew into the whistle. "Like this?"
Evan nodded. "You're squeaking. Hold your fingers over the holes."
Ciara handed it back to him. "It's harder than it looks, isn't it?"
"Uncle Liam says I'm talented."
"I'm sure he's right."
"What does talented mean?"
Ciara laughed. "It means you've great potential."
Evan looked confused.
"It means you'll be very good very soon."
The frown cleared from between Evan's brows. He nodded solemnly. "I think so, too."
"Ciara," a harsh voice called out from the shadowed entrance of the hardware store. "We're goin' now."
She sighed. "I've got to go. Nice meeting you, Evan."
Liam stood. "Don't leave. I'll give you a lift home."
"No," she replied quickly. "It isn't necessary. I'm here with my brothers."
"Tell them you're staying."
"No." She sounded almost desperate. "It's fine. I'll see you later."
"Ciara—" Liam reached for her arm.
"Please, Liam," she pleaded. "Don't cause any trouble."
"Why should there be trouble? I'll take you home. There's no harm in that."
Two thick, masculine figures separated themselves from the shadows and walked toward them. Liam recognized the McCarthy brothers, Anselom and Paddy, from the Crescent. He stood his ground.
Paddy's thick hand circled his sister's arm. "Didn't you hear me? I said we're goin' now."
She jerked her arm away. "I'm coming."
Liam straightened to his full height. "I'll drive Ciara home."
Anselom pointed a stubby finger at his chest. "Mind your own business. This is a family matter."
"She doesn't want to go," replied Liam. "I'll drive her home."
Evan slid off the bench and slipped his free hand inside Liam's. "I want to go home, Uncle Liam."
"Listen to the lad," said Anselom. "Take care of your own family and leave us to ours."
Liam's eyes narrowed.
"I'll be fine, Liam," Ciara said quickly. "I don't want any trouble. Take the boy home."
Evan pressed against Liam's legs. "Please." His voice was a whisper.
Torn between a contrary streak in his temperament, Ciara's obvious embarrassment and Evan's plea, he stepped back. Sanity told him to think of the child. More than likely Kate would never allow him out with her son again if he created a scene. He squeezed Evan's hand. "We'll go home now, lad, and show the whistle to your mom and Nan. Say goodbye to Ciara." He deliberately ignored the McCarthy men.
"Goodbye," said Evan obediently.
Ciara smiled. "Enjoy your whistle," she said before walking quickly across the square.
"Don't be sniffing around my sister," warned Anselom, "or we'll come after you."
Liam leaned in close to the thick-featured face. "Fuck you, McCarthy," he said, his voice no more than a whisper.
Anselom McCarthy's fists balled but Liam stood his ground.
Ciara, hands on her hips, called out from the entrance to the square. "Are you coming or not?"
Paddy stepped in front of his brother. "Leave it. The peelers will be pullin' you in, not him."
"We're not finished, Enright," Anselom growled.
Liam, still holding Evan's hand, walked back through the park toward his car. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he didn't feel the resistance pulling at his hand.
"You're walking too fast, Uncle Liam," Evan complained.
Immediately, Liam slowed down. "Sorry. Is this better?"
Evan nodded. "I don't like those men."
"It's probably better that you don't."
"Do you like Ciara, Uncle Liam?"
Liam shrugged. "I thought I did. This isn't the best time to answer your question."
Again Evan nodded. "It's probably better that you don't."
He laughed. "I think it's time we found you an ice cream."
Chapter 32
Mickey
He'd nearly given up and decided to leave when she appeared at the door of the café with Maura Keane. Mildly annoyed that his conversation with her would be curtailed by the presence of her closest friend, yet realizing how absurd his feelings were, he smiled and gestured to the two nearest chairs. "Will you join me? Coffee is always better with company."
Without the slightest hesitation, Maura pulled the chair up to his small table and sat down. "How are you, Patrick, and where do you keep yourself all day? I don't see you about in town."
"I suppose we don't move in the same circles."
Maura's bright brown eyes probed. "That's a good one." She glanced up and accepted the coffee Johannah held out to her. "What circles do we move in, Hannie?"
"Sorry?"
"Mickey says we don't move in the same circles."
Johannah stared at her. "You called him Mickey."
Maura's brow wrinkled. "Did I?"
He nodded. "I heard it, too."
"I can't think why I would do such a thing."
"Never mind." Johannah handed her a napkin. "What were you saying?"
"I don't remember." Maura held her hand against her forehead. "Yes, I do. I wondered where Patrick kept himself all day. I never see him in town. Do you see him, Hannie?"
"All the time," replied Johannah. "I can't take more than a step without bumping into him. He's become a regular nuisance." She winked at Patrick.
He laughed. "What have you ladies been up to today?"
"Walking," replied Johannah, "in Ballyseedy Woods. We started from Ballyard and walked along the Killorglin Road."
"That's quite a hike and the road is narrow."
"Hannie knows that road like the back of her hand. She would walk that way with Mickey when she was young, as well as others." Maura lifted her eyebrows meaningfully.
He looked at Johannah, waiting for her to divert the conversation, but she didn't. There was nothing he could do but express interest. "Is that so?"
Johannah explained. "She's talking about a romance I had long ago with a man in town. I told you about him. It was over thirty years ago, before I married Mickey."
"It wouldn't have been if he hadn't left you at the altar," Maura added.
He frowned. "Surely not."
Johannah shook her head. "There was never an altar. It was over long before that."
Not so long before, he recalled.
Maura echoed his thoughts. "Not that long."
"That's enough, Maura." Johannah's tone was firm. "It's ancient history and no one is interested."
He watched Maura sip her coffee and wondered what her game was. Once again he changed the subject, addressing Johannah. "How's that grandson of yours?"
"Nearly another year older. We're having a party for him and it looks as if we're inviting the town. Consider yourself officially invited, Patrick."
Maura looked surprised. "You haven't invited me."
Johannah stared at her. "It goes without saying. You've been to every party I've ever given. Of course you're invited."
Mollified, Maura finished her coffee and stood. "I'm off. I have inventory to check in." She kissed Johannah's cheek. "Look after yourself, Hannie. Goodbye, Patrick."
Johannah waited until she'd gone. "I apologize. Sometimes she can be a bit much."
"She's always been quite a character."
Johannah frowned. "Excuse me?"
He rallied. "Is something wrong, Johannah? You look bothered."
Johannah rubbed out the crease between her eyebrows and smiled. "How do you always know how I'm feeling?"
For some reason, speaking became difficult. He swallowed. "I feel as if I've known you for a very long time."
Impulsively, she reached across the table and touched his hand. "You've become a very good friend, Patrick. I feel fortunate to have met you."
"So," he said, after an uncomfortable silence, "tell me what's wrong."
She sighed. "It's Kate. She's so unhappy. It breaks my heart."
"Has she ever been happy?"
Johannah shook her head. "I don't think so. I wouldn't say she's been depressed or miserable, but when I look back it seems as if she's never satisfied."
He could feel her thinking. "Do you feel guilty?"
"I suppose, and in so doing, I've reacted the wrong way. I've tried to make her smile even when it wasn't the best for our family. Kate's smiles, because they're so rare, come at a price. I start out with every intention of being firm, but she wears me down. I give in more than I should and now she's an adult who can't cope with disappointment." Her eyes were very bright. "Yes, I feel guilty. I certainly had a part in creating the person she's become. I'd hoped she would have sorted it out by now."
"What about her father?"
Johannah shrugged. "Mickey indulged her, too, but not in the same way. He left Kate to me." She looked down at her hands. "He preferred Liam. I suppose that's natural."
"Why would you think that?"
She flushed. "Don't all men prefer sons?"
"Not necessarily."
Abruptly she stood. "I must go. It was lovely talking to you, Patrick. Evan's birthday is next Saturday at one o'clock. Please come."
"I'll do that." With a thoughtful look on his face, he watched her leave the café.
* * *
Johannah
She turned right on Castle Street and left on Denny's Street, walked quickly past the Grand and Imperial Hotels and turned left into the town park toward the rose gardens. Roses soothed her. Ireland and summer roses, the two went hand in hand. The English boasted of their roses, but until one saw the lovely clustering array and variety of Irish roses, from butterscotch gold and deep purple to the purest white, one had not yet experienced the top tier of the species.
Finding her favorite wrought iron bench, beneath heavy trees, enough removed from the footpaths to be sheltered from view, Johannah sat down and considered her predicament. Why, after thirty years of disinterest, had the whole Francis O'Shea mess come up again? She hadn't far to go for the answer. It was Ritchie and the fever in his blood to be different, to want something more, to go against the flow. It was bred in him, that restlessness of spirit, the risk-taking, wild yearning that simmered and boiled and overflowed in half the population of Ireland, depositing them on distant shores in search of a way of life that made it impossible to ever return to the gray skies and green patchwork fields of their homeland.
It simmered in Kate, too. Why wouldn't it? She was part of it, a fey child, all eyes and limbs and air-light bones and streaming hair, always looking to the West, drawn to the sunlight, such as it was. When she'd left for America, Johannah hadn't expected her to return, except for visits. She welcomed the idea believing that Ritchie O'Shea would be banished from her daughter's mind forever. She wanted Kate to find someone wonderful in America, in that continent of dense population, that diversity of nationalities and gene pools, someone far removed from Ireland and Kerry and Tralee. But instead, Kate came home, settled in, married Dermot, produced Evan.
Foolishly, Johannah believed the wanderlust had left her, that she was content. Honesty forced her to examine her conscience. Had she really expected Kate with all her expectations and the rich potential of her mind to be happy living above a hardware store, filling in at the counter, working in the council offices? Dermot was a lovely man, but was worthiness strong enough to replace excitement? Could dependable, gentle Dermot Kelliher replace the charismatic excitement of Ritchie O'Shea? Kate said she was no longer infatuated. If that were true, the closely guarded secrets of Johannah's past could remain her own. If not.... She rubbed her arms. Lord, she missed Mickey. He would have laughed at her, just as he had years ago when the possibility of Kate and Ritchie had first risen. Once again she felt the burn in her chest that she recognized as anger. How dare he leave her alone like this, when there was so much of life to get through, before everything was sorted out?
Chapter 33
Liam
Johannah, busy at the cooker, looked up and smiled. "I'd almost given you up. Did you find the tin whistle?"
Evan held it up. "Ciara said I'm going to be very good, didn't she, Liam?"
Liam nodded. "She did."
His mother's eyebrows rose. "Ciara?"
"We met her in the square." Liam's reply was terse, a clear sign he wasn't interested in continuing the conversation.
Kate was pulling folded serviettes from the sideboard. "I hope you're hungry, Evan. Nan's making shepherd's pie."
"Not too hungry," replied Evan. "I ate—" he stopped, flushed, and looked at Liam.
"I bought him an ice cream," Liam confessed. "It was small enough and he deserved one." He rested his hand on his nephew's head. "We walked from the library into town and he never complained."
Evan beamed proudly. "Uncle Liam nearly had a row with Ciara's brothers."
"What?" Kate and Johannah spoke in unison.
Liam sighed. "Is there any hope of a cup of tea?"
"As soon as you explain yourself," replied his mother.
/> "It wouldn't have come to anything, not with Evan there."
Kate's cheeks were very pink. "I certainly hope not."
Silently, Liam found a mug in the cupboard, set it on the table and filled the kettle. "I told you, Evan was never in any danger. Anselom McCarthy and I had words. That's all."
"What words?" asked Johannah.
Liam gritted his teeth. His chest felt tight and the blood pounded in his temples. "It's my business. I know I'm dependent on your hospitality but I'm still an adult. I don't have to share everything."
"You most certainly do." Johannah's voice rose. "Especially when it concerns all of us."
"It doesn't."
"Evan," said Kate, "run upstairs and practice your whistle. When you're ready, I'll have a listen." Obediently, he left the room. Without speaking, she picked up the kettle, filled the teapot and added two bags of tea. "Are you all right, Liam?" she asked, her voice low and calm.
"I'm grand," he replied, and then changed his mind. "No, I'm not. I offered to take her home and she left with them." He spat out the pronoun. "Anselom and Paddy were itching for a row, making threats and she still refused my offer and went with them. Don't cause any trouble, she said. The trouble is with them. It's always that way with those people." He stopped, suddenly aware of his words. "I didn't mean that," he said quickly. "She's not like that."
"No," replied Johannah, "but they are. And they won't change. You know that, Liam. No one has to tell you."
Kate poured tea into the mug and handed it to him. "You never told me how you got on with Dermot."
"Not now, Kate."
"Ok. Whenever you're ready."
Her acquiescence shamed him. "I'm sorry. It's just that I'm not in the mood. We'll talk later."
"No problem. It'll wait."
Grateful for the reprieve, Liam escaped upstairs.
* * *
Betty's Pub didn't fill up until after ten. Liam unzipped his jacket, shook the rain from his hair and looked around. Ciara was deep in conversation with one of the regulars. She glanced his way and waved him over but he ignored her, choosing instead to greet Patrick who stood at the other end of the bar, an untouched pint in his hand. "Patrick, you look like you need company."
Patrick laughed. "How are you, Liam? Can I buy you a pint?"
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