A movement distracted her. She heard a familiar voice. "Kate. Are you waiting on anyone?"
She looked up and smiled. "Patrick. How nice to see you. I was meeting Dermot, but he's gone home. Would you care to join me?"
"I'd like that. Can I get you anything? Another coffee or a scone?"
"Actually I'm having a latte. I'd love another."
"Like your mother. I'll be back in a flash."
I'll be back in a flash. He sounded just like her father. In fact, he reminded her of Mickey. Not that he looked anything like him, but the mannerisms and the way he phrased his speech. Nan called him Mickey, but then how dependable was she?
Carrying two lattes, he set them on the table and pulled up a chair. "How are things?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Quite well, actually. I have an interview in Dublin at a clinic. They need a dietician. I've never used my degree, but they're willing to start someone in an entry level position."
"That's quite a bit of news, Kate. What does your mother say?"
Kate flushed. "I haven't told her yet. The truth is, I'm afraid."
"Of your mother?" He looked astonished.
"It was always easier to talk with my dad," admitted Kate.
"You must miss him."
"Every day." Her eyes were very bright.
"You're not giving your mother credit."
She frowned. "Sorry?"
"Your mother will be pleased that you've taken this initiative. Any mother would be proud of you, but your mother has gone to great lengths to give you an education. She would want you to use it, if that's what you really want. Dublin is a four hour train ride. You can come home every weekend if you like. She knows that."
"She'll miss Evan."
"She'll miss you even more, but look at you, cheeks rosy, eyes bright, a smile on your lips. She'll be thrilled and proud that you're following your dream, even though it will be a period of adjustment for all of you."
"How do you mean?"
"You'll have to find someone to care for Evan when he's not in school and you're working."
Kate bit her lip. "He's never been around strangers, not without one of his family nearby. He loves the crèche, but he didn't in the beginning."
"You're accustomed to having your mother nearby as well. I know you went to America when you were in school, but you didn't have a small child. It's difficult without friends and family. But, you're a smart girl. I'm sure everything will be fine... eventually, as long as you're following your dream."
"It's funny you should say that. Those are the exact words I used with Dermot, following my dream." She laughed. "Actually, you've been an inspiration."
"Me?" He looked skeptical. "How?"
"You're not a young man and yet you've come to Tralee, a stranger, and started again, spoken to strangers, made friends, taken chances. I think you're very brave."
"Do you?"
"Yes. You remind me of my father."
"Really?"
Kate nodded. "Mostly it's because you're easy to talk with. Ask anyone. Mickey Enright was a great one for conversation."
"What would he say about moving to Dublin?"
She hesitated. "I don't know. My dad wasn't one for moving around. He liked our family to stay together. He didn't want me to marry Dermot but once I did, he embraced him as one of the family. I think he'd approve if he knew how unhappy I am here. Even the Kerry accent makes me want to explode."
"But you lived in America. Did that bother you?"
"No. Why should it?"
"They speak a different kind of English over there in America?"
She shrugged defensively. "In a manner of speaking."
"What about your dad? Did he have a Kerry accent?"
Kate looked at him, finally realizing where his questions were leading. "Yes, he did. What are you trying to say, Patrick?"
"Nothing very profound. Sometimes the things that bother us are due to a state of mind. This is your home and it isn't all bad. You'll want to come back for Evan's sake and your own. You both have roots here. Someday, you'll have reason to appreciate them."
He finished his coffee and stood. "I'll be off now."
She caught up with him at the door. "I'll walk you to your car."
"Thanks very much, but I walked."
"Then I'll give you lift, wherever you're going."
"Actually, I was on my way home and I need the exercise. It isn't that I don't appreciate the offer."
"If you're sure."
"Completely. Say hello to your mother for me."
"Patrick?"
"Yes."
She hung back, suddenly self-conscious. He was a comforting man, solid, level and kind.
"What is it, Kate?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure. It's just that I have the oddest feeling."
He waited.
"I will see you again, won't I?"
He smiled. "That you can be sure of."
Chapter 37
Johannah
Jack Rafferty turned the key in the ignition and allowed the car to idle in the circular gravel driveway leading to Johannah's front porch. "I'm mystified. You said to wear something very casual and to eat first. Where are we going?"
Johannah glanced at his navy cashmere sweater and creased wool trousers, then at her own denims and sweatshirt. "I had something else in mind when I said casual."
"Am I overdressed?"
"Never mind. Have you heard of the Sean McCarthy ballad competition?"
"I have. He was a songwriter from Listowel, wasn't he?"
"Actually, he's from a small village near Listowel called Finuge. Quite a few writers have come out of Listowel because of Bryan MacMahon."
"Ah, the Master."
"You've heard of him?" She looked surprised.
"We're not totally devoid of Irish culture in Belfast, Johannah."
"Really?"
He looked amused. "Really."
"Do you speak Irish?"
"No. Do you?"
"I do. I work for the government. All of us are proficient in Irish. It's a requirement. Do you play an instrument, step dance, sing? Do you have a party piece?"
"No to all of the above. Do you?"
"Of course. What about Irish history? Do they teach you Irish history in Belfast schools?"
"No, again."
"Well then." A small satisfied smile played at the corners of her mouth. "You have a lot to learn." She pointed to the sign at the roundabout. "Turn here. We'll take Racecourse Road and avoid the town."
"I do know Bryan MacMahon, John B. Keane and Sean McCarthy. Don't forget, we have Seamus Heaney."
"Yes, you do."
"He pales beside your Yeats and Wilde."
"They were Protestants. I don't count them."
"They were sympathetic to the cause for Irish freedom."
"They didn't write about the Irish experience. I don't blame them. They couldn't."
He smiled. "There's a lesson in this somewhere. I'm trying to figure out what it is."
"Not at all. I wouldn't presume such a thing."
"Are you always this opinionated?"
"Heavens, no. I spent most of my life stifling my opinions. I don't intend to any longer, however, so beware."
"Warning taken." He looked out the window at the patchwork beauty of the tilled fields, cows stretched out in sated contentment, sheep knee deep in grass, and gilt-edged clouds settling over the mountains. "This is beautiful country, heaven on earth."
"It is," Johannah agreed. "Kerry is one of the do not miss stops for tourists. I've lived here all my life and I still appreciate our scenery. We're nearly there. Pull up onto the footpath behind the other cars. It's only a short walk." She nodded at his tasseled loafers. "I hope your shoes survive the journey. This is sheep country."
She led him to a whitewashed structure with a thatched roof. A round, full-faced woman with a great deal of missing teeth stood at the door. "That'll be ten euro each," she said.
Jack reached in
to his pocket but Johannah stopped him, pulled out her own wallet and a twenty euro note. "I invited you."
The room was set up with folding chairs in rows and risers to the side, all facing a make-shift stage. A single light bulb hung suspended from the ceiling. People, well-dressed and otherwise, sat in small groups chatting companionably. Johannah chose a seat close to the door. "In case we have to make a quick escape," she whispered.
"Have faith," Jack replied and took his seat.
Soon, a large man with a mop of white hair wearing a sport coat with frayed sleeves stood, a signal that the entertainment would begin. Johannah opened her program. Fourteen ballads and their artists were in competition with each other for the thousand dollar prize. "These are all originals," she said in a low voice. "Are you prepared?"
"More than that. I'm intrigued."
She smiled. "Right answer. Try to remember your questions and, if I can, I'll answer them when it's over."
For two hours, men and a few women from Galway to Wexford, Dublin to Tralee, sang and played their tunes for three judges who listened, rubbed their chins and wrote not a single note. In the end, Pete Gilroy, who sang of the changes in Galway took the prize.
"Lovely music," Jack remarked when they were in the car on the way back to Tralee.
"A bit rough," replied Johannah, "but sincere."
"What's Jimmy Dennihan's connection?"
"He's from the area. Do you know him?"
"I follow football to a small extent. But I also know him professionally. I had no idea he was a music lover."
"It's more a matter of preservation of the arts," explained Johannah. "Ireland is suffering from a loss of population and reduced social contact. Small businesses are dying and the Internet has taken the place of gathering at the local shop and pub. Not that we have a lack of pubs, but a festival is a good way of keeping people together. Tralee is an exception. We're a town, not a village, and filled with European Union expatriots. Few of us know everyone anymore. I suppose it's the price of progress. Did you enjoy the evening?"
"I did. Does that surprise you?"
She nodded. "A bit."
"Why is that?"
She hesitated. "I really don't know how to say this."
He waited, expertly maneuvering the narrow country roads.
"You seem very worldly, very sophisticated. I wanted to show you how I live, where I live. These are my roots."
The high beams of a car in the distance blinded her for an instant before the driver flicked them off.
Jack glanced at her and then turned his attention back to the road. "Where do you imagine I come from, Johannah?"
"How do you mean?"
"I was born in 1957 into a Catholic family in West Belfast, the seventh child in a family of ten. We lived in the Divas Flats on the Ormeau Road. Before that we lived in a row house where the toilet was outside in the yard and nine families shared the one. I grew up with violence all around, the RUC and British Army on one side and the IRA on the other. It was expected that once we came of age we would join. The riots, the marches, the checkpoints and the burnings saw to it that we would."
"Did you?"
"No. I bolted. I took the ferry to London and never looked back. What you see before you is a man who reinvented himself through manual labor, schooling and falling into the right company at the right time. So, you see, I may be bereft of Irish culture as far as language and music, but I know my history and I've paid a price. My parents are dead and the rest of my family doesn't speak to me."
She waited a long minute before answering. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I had no idea."
He pulled into her driveway. "You've a lovely home here. You've done well for yourself."
"The house belonged to Mickey's parents. It came to him without a mortgage, and then to me when he died. Neither of us really earned it."
"But you're maintaining it."
"Yes."
"I had a lovely evening." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Good night, Johannah."
"Would you care for a cup of tea before you go?"
He hesitated and then grinned. "Thanks. The invitation is tempting, but I've an early day tomorrow and a report still to go over tonight."
"Another time, perhaps?"
"I look forward to it."
He waited until she was inside the house before driving away. Without turning on the light, she watched from the window until his tail lights disappeared beyond the bend. Jack Rafferty was not what she'd expected. There was more to him than she'd imagined. She'd wanted him to come inside for a cup of tea. In fact, if she was completely honest with herself, she'd wanted quite a bit more. Quite rapidly, he was stripping away her defenses and it scared her.
Chapter 38
Kate
Kate fastened the middle button of her jacket and turned to the side evaluating, in the ladies' mirror, whether she should go for the more professional silhouette or stick with the casual. She'd pulled her hair back and twisted it into a low knot at the back of her neck, fastening it with a clip from her bag. Her white blouse under the navy jacket was pressed and crisp and her gray skirt was both flattering and practical. Professional, she decided, was more appropriate. She would keep the jacket buttoned. The heels were nice, too. It never hurt to dress up and the black pumps added just enough height. She breathed deeply, smiled at her reflection in the mirror and exited the room in search of a lift.
The woman at the desk smiled warmly and picked up the phone. "Welcome, Mrs. Kelliher. Don't bother sitting down. I'll tell Mr. Cleary you're here. He'll see you immediately."
Less than a minute later, she was seated across from the hospital administrator she'd spoken with on the phone. "Thank you for making the journey, Mrs. Kelliher," he said. "Did you fly or take the train?"
"I flew Ryan Air from Faranfor. It's less than a forty minute flight. I'll do a bit of shopping and return later today."
He came right to the point. "I've looked over your application. Your marks are impressive, as are your recommendations."
"Thank you."
"May I ask why you waited so long to seek employment?"
Kate's heart pounded. She smoothed her skirt. "I married shortly after coming home and had a child. My husband and I worked together in his family's business. I never planned on that becoming a permanent condition. I always wanted to use my education and now that my son is of school age, it's possible."
"We don't get many applicants from Tralee. You understand that the position is in Dublin."
"Yes."
"Is your husband willing to relocate?"
"We're separated."
"I see."
Kate leaned forward. "Half of Ireland is separated, Mr. Cleary. I have an education. I'm qualified for this position. I must work to support myself and my son. I would much rather be gainfully employed than on the dole. From the description on your website, you have a problem. You need my services."
James Cleary formed a pyramid with his hands and rocked back and forth in his chair, something he did when he was thinking deeply. Finally he spoke. "We're a senior center. The difficulty is transitioning elderly patients into eating healthy meals after they've eaten white bread, black pudding and sausages for seventy years. Most think it's absurd to consider such a change given our residents' advanced ages, but heart attack is a painful death and even when it can be avoided the surgeries are more uncomfortable as well as expensive. Do you have any ideas, Mrs. Kelliher?"
She scooted the chair closer to his desk. "The caloric requirements for the elderly are quite low. The key is small portions and presentation. Egg-white omelets with low-fat cheese, tomatoes and mushrooms are appealing as well as beans, turkey sausage in small amounts, a variety of vegetables, fish, sauces made with low sodium broth, herbs and fat-free yogurt. Chicken can be prepared so that it's delicious, served with brown rice and boiled potatoes. There are endless substitutes for salad crème, eggs and cooking oil." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Frozen yogurt, sor
bets and ice cream can replace pastries. Bread and milk are difficult but I've found that if the transition is gradual, the change can be made. That leaves room for a treat now and then, birthday cake or a scone with jam. Seniors have difficulty with too many vegetables and dairy. That must be taken into account as well."
"You've kept up, despite the lapse in your work history."
"Changes are always being made. I'm interested in food as well as health. There is a dramatic link between protein and cancer. I don't expect seventy-year-olds to give up meat, but there are ways to make attractive, tasty meals without an excess of protein."
"It would help our budget as well.""Yes, that, too."
He reached across the table to shake her hand. "You've made a very favorable impression, Mrs. Kelliher. I'm convinced. However, I must go over your qualifications with our board of directors. I'll be contacting you either way within the week."
She stood. "Thank you, Mr. Cleary. I look forward to hearing from you and hope the news is positive."
Kate bubbled with excitement. Standing in line at the Ryan Air gate and filled with new purpose, she desperately wanted to confide in someone. Pulling out her mobile, she scrolled through her contact list until her mother's number appeared in the window. Then she hesitated. Johannah would pretend to be pleased but her heart wouldn't be in it. She was against the split with Dermot and would miss Evan terribly. There was no point in upsetting her until Mr. Cleary confirmed that Kate had the job.
The line was moving. Slipping her mobile back into her bag, she handed her boarding pass to the attendant and walked across the tarmac to the plane, considering her options. Liam felt as Johannah did. She wouldn't call Liam. Nor would she call any of her friends. The girlfriends of her school days had become casual acquaintances after marriage and motherhood and wouldn't be more than mildly interested. That left Ritchie O'Shea and Dermot. Ritchie would be happy for her. He always encouraged her to leave Tralee, think for herself and use her education. She would call Ritchie as soon as the plane landed.
Hannie Rising Page 24
