“Don’t forget the dog,” Trace said, putting his hand on Molly’s shoulder. “They’re returning a lost, pregnant dog to her owner.”
Every person in the room turned to stare at him.
“No one mentioned that,” Liam said dryly.
Molly and Trace shared a guilty look. “We forgot,” she admitted. “But somehow, they found out who the dog belongs to, and they were going about ten miles or so out of town to return her.”
Liam and Shane stood at the same time. “We need to get up there and fan out.”
“And someone needs to go to the jewelry store,” Darcy said, coming back into the room. “They dropped off a pin to be repaired and were supposed to pick it up, but they haven’t shown up yet, and they’re closing soon.”
“Okay, now we have a plan,” Dad said. “Let’s break into groups and go.”
As they coordinated that, Molly took one more sip of coffee and closed her eyes.
“Feel better?” Trace whispered. “We have a direction now. And a posse.”
She barely smiled. “I’ll feel better once those two are back in my arms, and not a minute before.”
Chapter Eleven
As the car got colder and the dog got deeper into her labor, Pru really questioned her decision to stay. Not that taking that hand-drawn map and powering through the snowfall on foot to find Bill Cutter made any sense, but at least she’d have done something. But if that something had been leaving Gramma Finnie in this car alone while Pru trudged through unfamiliar terrain and knocked on the door of a complete stranger, then staying was the right decision. Cold, worrisome, and unfortunate, but right.
Of course, they were safer and stronger together, and someone might come along the road and see them. Too bad they didn’t get stuck in a ditch on the main road, where they’d be visible to anyone driving by—not that they’d heard a single car in the time they’d been sitting here. They were just far enough away from the road and around a corner that someone would have to be looking for them to find them.
However, if Pru knew the Kilcannons, someone would be looking for them, especially now that she’d been unable to reach Mom for hours. That’s why she’d walked up the road and tied her red Christmas scarf to the tree branch at the turn, hoping Mom would see it.
While they waited, it got colder and snowier, and poor Blue hadn’t stopped panting except to whimper and adjust herself on the back seat. Pru had found one old blanket in the trunk, which Gramma refused to wrap up in. Instead, she laid it out on the back seat between them, creating an extremely makeshift whelping box. They’d scared up some hand sanitizer and a basic first aid kit, which would be quite useful if Blue needed a Band-Aid, sterile eye patch, or some ibuprofen.
But Pru wasn’t too worried about Blue. She and Gramma both had seen plenty of litters born, and most of the time it was just a long process, but not painful or dangerous. Blue didn’t really even need their help unless something weird went wrong. Hopefully, Mom and Trace would show up soon, and this whole “adventure” could come to an end. Along with Pru’s allowance for a year, but she had that coming.
She checked her phone again, which still had no service and, darn, almost no battery as the phone exhausted itself searching for a signal. She turned it off, tried Gramma Finnie’s, which had about the same amount of battery and no service, either.
“Mom must have lost her mind by now.”
“Mmm. She’ll get over it.” Gramma stroked Blue’s head again, but the dog sort of shook her off, clearly not wanting any affection.
“I hope she’s over it by the wedding,” Pru said glumly. “So much for the somethings, huh? We’ll be lucky if we get to go to the wedding. We’ll be the something missing.”
Gramma Finnie snorted a quick laugh. “They can’t ground me.”
Pru gave her a look. “They’ll take your keys.”
She didn’t seem fazed, but concentrated on the dog. “Donchya be worried, lass.”
“Who? Me or the dog?”
“Both of you.” Her smile was not quite as wide and warm as it had been two hours earlier. She tucked herself deeper into her down jacket and tried not to shiver, which just broke Pru’s heart.
“Take the blanket, Gramma.”
She shook her head. “Blue needs it. It’s comforting her.”
Pru exhaled into her cupped hands and rubbed them together. “I’m going to go down to the road again. Flagging someone is our only hope.”
“You tried five times already, and there hasn’t been a car.”
“Sixth time’s the charm.” She grabbed the handle, but Gramma reached over Blue and pressed on Pru’s jacket.
“Look. We’re gettin’ one. I want you here with me.”
Pru looked down to see Blue’s distended belly suddenly grow huge and hard, then contract into a tight ball. The dog dropped her head down between her legs and went completely silent.
Five minutes passed, maybe more, but slowly, very, very slowly, a dark wet lump emerged from her, spilling out onto the blanket, completely cocooned in a thin, transparent sac.
“Oh!” Gramma and Pru made the sound at exactly the same time as they were able to make out the puppy’s head, not much bigger than Pru’s thumb, and its itty-bitty legs.
It was all black, or at least looked that way now, and utterly still. Blue stared at her puppy like an alien had just fallen from the sky, inching her nose closer, then jerked back, startled by the very scent of it.
Pru cracked up at the reaction, and Gramma Finnie shook her head and tsked noisily. “You’ll get used to it, Blue. Go on now, lass. Give your baby a lick. Break that sac.”
As if she understood exactly what Gramma was saying, Blue leaned close again and stroked her tongue over the puppy’s head, and the second time, the sheer sac split open. Out popped the little head, eyes glued shut, fur glistening. Blue kept licking until the tiny creature was completely free and started to roll into the crack between the seat cushion and the back.
“Oh no ye don’t, wee one.” Gramma expertly slipped her hand under the body, cupping it around the puppy, cooing to Blue with gentle, encouraging sounds. “Let’s give you an Irish blessing, puppy.” She raised it slightly, holding the tiny, mewing creature with tender hands. “‘May strong arms hold you, caring hearts tend you, and may love await you at every step.’”
“That’s what you said to Fiona,” Pru said with a smile.
“Aye, and when you were born, lass.”
Blue settled into a different position, her mesmerizing gaze on the puppy, then Gramma, as if giving permission to help out with number one while they waited for number two.
“Any idea how long before the next one?” Pru asked. “I think I should turn the car on and try to warm that little thing up a bit.”
Gramma nodded. “Do that, please, and I’ll try to put him in the blanket.”
“You sure it’s a him?”
“Not yet, but I don’t want to poke this little body. We’ll find out soon enough.”
“Name?” Pru asked.
“Well, we have Blue. Let’s call this little something Borrowed.”
Pru gave a dry laugh. “Oh, this is so not what Mom had in mind when she gave us this job. But I like the way you think, Gramma. Think there will be four?”
“There could be two, four, or fourteen.”
“Oh God.” Climbing into the driver’s seat, Pru turned on the ignition and switched up the heat. It didn’t help much, but it took the chill out of the car after a moment. “Gramma, what will we do with them all? We’re going to have to find Bill Cutter or at least call the sheriff. Something.”
“We’ll figure it out, child. Borrowed is breathing fine and not fussing, so let’s count that blessing.”
“Okay, I’ll go try the street again, then we’ll just wait.” Pru let out a sigh. “I have never in my life been in so much trouble.”
“Oh, I have,” Gramma said with a quick laugh. “It’s kind of fun.”
Pru turned and stare
d at her. “I don’t think it’s fun to be in trouble.”
Her blue eyes glinted. “It is for the right reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
“You go stand on the road for two minutes, no longer. See if that red scarf is still there, then hurry back, child.”
Pru sensed there was more to this list of instructions. “And then?”
She sighed. “Then I’ll tell you how I got that pin back and why some trouble is worth getting into.”
Pru couldn’t wait.
* * *
Spring was in the air, and County Wexford was awash with green that May of 1946. The kind of green that hurts your eyes and heart. The kind of green that seeps under your skin and gives you hope. The kind of green that makes a fifteen-year-old girl want to climb on a horse and ride bareback over the hills in search of love and her first kiss.
But sadly, Finola Brennan wasn’t climbing anything but the hayloft that fine green afternoon, tossing down bales to the livestock below, a hymn still in her head from yesterday’s Mass. The closest she could get to the green hills today was a glimpse of the grass outside through the space left by a few missing wood boards in the wall.
There, she could see Da hard at work with a shovel in his hands, digging a trough for the new pigs that were just born. Edward and Jack had just ridden off in the cart to join Patrick in the north pasture, leaving her with the hay bales.
But what she really wanted was to be out there. On a sigh, she settled on a bale and leaned over to suck in some spring air and stare at the hills just as the silhouette of a man appeared on the crest of one. She stared at him, taking in the long, easy strides of the stranger, unable to look away as he got closer and closer. He wore a cotton shirt, suspenders, and trousers and the strangest-looking flat cap she’d ever seen. It looked more like a soldier’s hat.
“What do ye want?” Da called out to him, making Finnie suck in a surprised breath. He was normally so hospitable to guests, and strangers, too.
“I’m looking for a lass named Finola Brennan. I’ve been told this is her home.”
Another gasp, but this time Finnie slapped her hand over her mouth to silence herself. He wanted her? The man came closer, and while his face was still in shadow, she could certainly make out his fine form, lanky and lean, but no lad, for sure.
“Have you now?” Her father leaned on his shovel, no hand extended as the young man came closer. From this angle, she couldn’t see his face at all, but she recognized the hat now. British Army. But that was no British tongue he was speaking. That was an Irishman.
So she understood why Da was so ice cold.
He’d no love for the Irish boys who’d snuck off to fight the war. In his opinion, they were all complicit in the tragic death of her sister. Not that his thinking made a lick of sense, since not only had one had Vi’s heart when she ran away to London, but Timothy was with her when a German bomb took out the boarding house where she lived.
Fact was, Vi went off to London to help the war effort and save lives, and it mattered not that some of her Irish menfolk had done the same. If not one single Irishman had decided to fight—and it turned out that nearly four thousand of them had—Vi would still have gotten on that boat that chilly December morn.
And she still would have died in the rubble next to Timothy Donovan.
It was the Germans, defeated and miserable, whom her father should hate. But since Vi died? Mammy and Da hated everyone.
“Is she here, sir?”
Finnie pushed down on her knees to get a better look just as the young man reached the split-rail fence. He stopped there, slowly took off his hat, and looked past her father to the barn and the house.
And Finnie’s heart just about stopped dead in her chest.
“Seamus Kilcannon,” she whispered. “As I live and breathe.”
“I have something to return to her, sir.” His voice floated up through the air, much deeper than she remembered, but still strong and sure. She’d heard that voice in her head a thousand times. Every night since she’d come home from the port, she’d fall asleep and think of the lad who went to war with her pin. Had he made it? Had he lived? Had he ever thought of her again?
Obviously, he had. A thrill unlike anything she’d ever known pulsed through her body, making her feel like she’d suddenly come back to life. Since Vi died, the world had been gray and brown and sad and miserable. But today seemed brighter. And now? She itched to run down there and throw herself into his arms, but—
“I have this pin, sir.” He held out his hand to give something to her father, while Finnie pressed her fists to her lips.
He has Vi’s pin. Her heart literally soared, flying around her chest like a dove over cliffs. He had the pin and brought it back to her! She scrambled to her feet, barely able to rise fast enough. Seamus Kilcannon had come back, and he’d brought the very pin she’d given him!
Her head spinning so fast it made her dizzy, Finnie lifted her work skirt and threw herself onto the loft ladder, slipping twice as she rushed to get down. She hit the ground, tripped over a hay bale, and righted herself, running to the door and around the front of the barn.
“Get out of here!”
At Da’s ferocious command, she froze. Then, silent, she peeked around the side of the barn to watch the exchange in horror.
“Never come back here, do ye understand?” Da’s voice rose and cracked, and Seamus backed up, but didn’t look shocked. Her father wasn’t the only Irishman who didn’t like the young ones who’d broken with the country’s neutrality.
“I wanted to return Finola’s pin.”
“Never say her name!” her father shouted. “And this?” He raised his hand, presumably holding the pin. “This isn’t hers! Go now. Get far away.”
Da didn’t wait for a response, but spun on one booted foot and marched toward the house without noticing Finnie hiding around the corner. He made it halfway to the house and stopped, holding up his two hands with the pin between them, reminding her of the priest raising the communion host.
But there was no reverence in this move. Nothing at all holy in the dark curses he let out. He ripped his hands apart with a violent jerk, throwing the pieces to the ground on either side of his boots.
And Finnie’s heart broke right along with the precious pin.
She stayed stone-still as he strode into the house, his boots making the whole front porch quake. As soon as he was inside, she raced to the spot, dropped to her knees, and smashed her hand on the ground in search of the last bit of Mary Violet she might ever have left.
Almost instantly, the pin pricked her palm, and she grabbed the broken piece, lifting it to see he’d cracked off one of the shamrocks. Was the other one—
“Finola?”
She turned slowly at the sound of the young man’s voice, meeting an intense gaze that, like before, seemed to slice right through her. He was so different, yet still the same.
“Seamus,” she whispered. “You’d best leave.”
“No.”
She blinked at him.
“I want to talk to you.”
In spite of the May sunshine, chills blossomed up her arms, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. It was like every night when she’d close her eyes and try to tell herself a story to go to sleep, like Vi used to. She’d make up a place and a person…but it was always Seamus in those still-awake story dreams.
But in her imagination, he looked like a scared lad trying to run away to war. Not like this. Not a young man with whiskers and shoulders and the hint of a sly smile.
She glanced at the house, half afraid Da would come back out. “Up the road. To the east. Under the alder tree. Wait for me.”
He nodded once, put his cap back on, and left, half running across the grass as if he, too, expected to be stopped by Paddy Brennan.
While she waited for him to disappear, Finnie searched the grass for the broken shamrock, but couldn’t find it. After a few minutes, she stood and made a deci
sion she somehow knew would change her life.
Without so much as a glance over her shoulder, she took off, practically leaping over a hay bale, throwing the gate open, and running full force up the first hill toward the road. She looked back once as she ran down the other side, to make sure she couldn’t be seen from the house, and only then did she slow to a trot.
By the time she reached the alder tree, she’d almost caught her breath. But when she saw Seamus Kilcannon sitting under it, his cap low, a long piece of grass in his mouth, she was breathless again.
“Ye kept yer promise,” she whispered.
He slid the hat off and grinned up at her, and his handsome face came to light. He was a strong-boned young man with dancing eyes and charming lips that made her think of one thing only.
“Now I want that kiss, lass.”
That was the one thing.
He stood, surprising her with his great height. Oh yeah, war had changed him. “Took me nigh on two years to find you, Finola.”
He’d looked for her since the war ended? She nearly swayed. “I thought maybe…”
“I made it,” he said simply.
“How did you…” She lifted the broken pin still clutched in her hand. “Did you look for this for two years, too?”
“Never sold it.” He took a few steps closer, forcing her to look up. Way up. She was a small girl, and he was…not small. “I got back to the cart vendor, the one where you’d been. He took pity on me and bought my lamp. I went back to return the pin, but you’d been long gone.”
Oh, why had she rushed away from the port?
So she could have this moment, she supposed.
“I thought it was a sign I had to keep the pin for luck, so I did.” He gave a smile that tripped her heart. Maybe broke it. “Kept it in my pocket wrapped in your little lace kerchief from the time I got on the boat until today.”
She felt her jaw loosen at the admission. “You did? All that time?”
“See?” He pulled the bit of linen and lace from his pocket. “I don’t know who has the initials MVB, but I’ve rubbed my fingers on the stitches a thousand times.”
The Herald Angels Sing Page 9
