Spellbound Page 5

  “I agree.”

  “Then you’ll come.”

  “Come?” Her voice turned wary. “To Inishmore?”

  “Aye.”

  “I don’t think I can do that right now.”

  “Why not?”

  She hedged. “It might be a bit difficult.”

  “For whom?”

  “For me.”

  He couldn’t help himself. “It’s difficult for my nieces, Mrs. Reddington. They’ve lost their parents. It’s difficult for your daughter, who’s enduring a bit of culture shock living on an island no bigger than a postage stamp with people very different from those she’s accustomed to. It’s also difficult for me, a man caring for two little girls and an infant all alone. For you, it would be merely inconvenient. Surely a bit of inconvenience isn’t too much to ask of a woman considering taking on the task of raising three young children.”

  The silence was thick between them. Finally, she sighed. “I see what you mean,” she said at last.

  He waited.

  Again, the silence. “There’s more opportunity for them in California,” she said at last.

  “Undoubtedly. My home is in Galway. Inishmore is only temporary.”

  This time he heard her surrender. “I’ll discuss this with my husband and call you back.”

  “Thank you.”

  The warmth returned to her voice. “How is Mollie?”

  “Enduring, Mrs. Reddington. That’s all there is to do here. I’m sure you already know that.”

  “Good night, Sean.”

  He stared at the phone. She didn’t like him. He hadn’t intended her to. Children were a serious matter, particularly these children. They’d had enough disruption in their lives. Once she took them away, there was no turning back.

  Papers were strewn across the bed in disorganized piles. If he left it until morning, he might get three hours of sleep. After sweeping aside the mess, he stretched out and closed his eyes. Sleep brought relief. For a few brief hours he wouldn’t have to think.

  The alarm had bleeped its series of three a dozen times before Sean groggily lifted his head, reached out, knocked it over, swore, found the right button, and turned it off. With eyes at half mast he looked at the time in disbelief, groaned, and threw back the covers. The girls would be late to school again. Christ, how had Kerry done it all? Three well-scrubbed children, a clean house, meals on the table at regular times. Were women born to it, or was there some secret society that kept the smooth workings of a home exclusive to the feminine gender?

  Sean splashed water on his face and pulled on a pair of frayed denims. Peering into his nieces’ bedroom, he called softly, “Caili, Marni, time to get up. Hurry. It’s late.”

  Marni was up in a flash. “Oh, no,” she moaned. “Did you oversleep again?”

  Guilt sharpened his voice. “My night didn’t end until a few hours ago, Marni. You’re old enough to be waking by yourself.”

  “I would if the alarm clock was in my room,” she mumbled under her breath. “Never mind, Uncle Sean,” she said placatingly. “I’ll make oats while you take care of Luke.”

  Sean breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God for Marni. Maybe he would put the alarm in her room. It certainly wasn’t doing him any good.

  Luke smiled at him and chewed his fist. Sean’s throat closed the way it always did when he saw Luke first thing in the morning. He lifted the baby from the crib and buried his face in his chubby neck. Poor little tike. He had no idea of the drama being played out around him, no idea that his world wasn’t a normal one. “I’m sorry, Luke,” Sean murmured against the baby’s cheek. “It’s a poor sort of life I’m providing for you. Don’t hold it against me.”

  The baby smiled, batted his incredibly long eyelashes, and pressed his open mouth against his uncle’s shoulder.

  Sean grinned. “Come along, lad. I’ll fix you up and then we’ll have some breakfast.”

  Caili walked into the room. “Marni says the oats and tea are ready.”

  Sean finished diapering the baby and lifted him to his shoulder. “Are they now? Isn’t Marni a grand girl?”

  “I lit the fire all by myself,” Caili announced proudly.

  Sean grinned and ruffled her hair with his free hand. “You’re a clever lass. What would I do without the two of you?”

  The oats were perfect. Another woman thing, Sean thought ruefully. His own were too watery one day and too dry the next.

  “We’ve been late to school three days this week,” Marni observed. “Aunt Mollie doesn’t like it when we’re late.”

  Swallowing the last of his tea, Sean pulled two pieces of toast from the toaster and buttered them. “I’m sure she doesn’t.”

  “She says it disrupts the class.”

  Even toast didn’t taste the same. “I’m sure she’s right.”

  “Aunt Mollie says we should go to bed earlier.”

  Sean gritted his teeth and glanced guiltily at the mountain of paperwork on the counter. “So, we’ll all go to bed earlier.”

  Caili piped up, “Aunt Mollie says—”

  It was too much. “Caili.” His voice was strained. “Shall we put what Aunt Mollie says to rest for the morning?”

  Caili’s green eyes widened. “Don’t you like Aunt Mollie, Uncle Sean?”

  “Of course I like her.”

  “Why can’t I talk about her?”

  Two pairs of eyes, one green, one gray, looked at him accusingly. He sighed. “Just for this morning, give it a rest. That isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

  Caili sulked. “I was going to ask you when you would work late again. You said we could stay with her when it happened again.”

  “Tonight,” Sean promised automatically, wondering if it were possible to love three human beings as much as he did and still wish himself rid of them for a time. “I’ll ask her if you can stay tonight. Hurry now. Leave the dishes and go on to school.”

  Both girls brightened visibly. Gathering their belongings, they opened the refrigerator, pulled out their lunches, kissed their uncle, and ran out the door and down the path.

  Mrs. Harris took Luke in her arms and nuzzled his cheek. “How are you this morning, love?” She set the baby down on a blanket on the floor and returned to Sean. Her smile faded. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you, but I can’t be keeping them here after five, not with the boys home. My house is too small to have three more children underfoot. Perhaps Patrick can manage them when you’re working late.”

  “I’m sorry for your trouble, Mrs. Harris. Patrick would be glad to keep them, but it’s a long journey from the school. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “He has the pony cart.”

  “Patrick Tierney won’t be doing me any favors.”

  “It’s the girls he would be accommodating, Sean O’Malley, not yourself.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he repeated.

  She handed him a covered plate. “I made a bit of extra for tea. There’s no sense wasting it.”

  He lifted the cloth and grinned. “Shepherd’s pie. My favorite.” Bending down, he kissed her cheek. “How would I manage without you?”

  She blushed and waved him away. “Go along now and be back by five.”

  Sean walked down the winding road bordered with stone fences toward his sister’s cottage, the cottage that he now shared with her three children. It was the soft season on the island, when all the tourists had gone and Inishmore was left to the Irish, when the skies were in constant transition and clouds hung low to the earth, when yellow grass fringed the limestone hills and the sea changed from turquoise to silver and the days were soft with lonely mists. This land where his ancestors had climbed the jagged cliffs, shouted their warnings, weathered the elements, and survived was part of him, wrapped around his heart with ties that bound no matter how he tried to escape them. Without Kerry, it wasn’t nearly the same. If he lost the children, and when his mother passed on, there would be no reason for him to return.

  Did Emma, a w
oman approaching her sixtieth birthday, really want to raise her grandchildren? The question haunted him. He passed the last red fuchsia of the season, swaying in the wind, and the yellow gorse blooming on a green hillside above Curwin Sound. It stayed with him as he sat down at his desk in the bedroom that doubled as an office to work on the same scene that had eluded him for weeks. He pushed it aside while he finished, but it was with him again later when he walked to the dock where he stopped to speak with local fishermen who’d caught their limits and come in early.

  Sean was so caught up in his dilemma that he nearly forgot his promise to the girls. It was three o’clock before he called the school office and left a message for Mollie that he would stop by after her students had gone for the day.

  When he showed up at the door of her classroom, she was seated behind her desk with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. Like Kerry, she was pretty, but warmer, more golden—sun-touched, he would have said if he was of a poetic turn of mind, which he wasn’t lately, and if he ever was again it wouldn’t be this woman who inspired him. Mollie Tierney was a potential trouble source. It wasn’t easy jumping into the fire the way he had, taking on the care of two little girls and a baby. He wondered how much of his fumbling she reported to her mother.

  Ashamed of his uncharitable thoughts, which he knew even in his worst moments were a stretch at best, he spoke before he lost his nerve. “Good afternoon.”

  She looked up and smiled. She always smiled, a lovely separating of her mouth revealing those perfect teeth. Were women from California always happy, or was it just a characteristic of this one?

  “I got your message,” she said. “How can I help you?”

  An innocent question, if only he dared answer honestly. How could a beautiful young woman the children adored help him? She would fall on her face if he told her the truth. “You said the children could stay with you for a night if I was in a tight spot.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “In a bind?”

  “In a manner of speaking. The thing is, the girls would like it very much, and I could use the time, I’m a bit behind. It’s Friday, and I thought—”

  She didn’t wait for him to continue. “I’d love to have them. Luke, too. Shall I pick them up?”

  He shook her head. “I’ll deliver them with their things and Luke’s carriage. Will tomorrow afternoon be soon enough to collect them?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon will be fine,” she assured him. Her voice gentled. “How are you managing?”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked everywhere but into her eyes. “Fine, thank you.”

  She stood and walked around her desk to lean against it. She wore something that was long, below the knee, and softly flattering, blue, the same color as her eyes. She crossed her arms. “Kerry was a lovely person. You must miss her very much.”

  Her sympathy tore at his insides. He couldn’t speak of Kerry. Not yet.

  He changed the subject. “Your mother thinks the children would be better off in California.”

  “California can be very tempting,” Mollie said slowly. “It has everything—mountains, deserts, recreation, restaurants, wonderful stores, entertainment. My mother never cared for Inishmore.”

  “And what of you, Mollie Tierney?” he asked softly. “Do you think they would be better off in California with your mother?”

  In the background he heard the ticking of the clock.

  The children were gone, but the room was still warm from their bodies, and this woman who looked too much like the one who had driven Patrick Tierney to drink stood across from him with something in her eyes that was very close to pity.

  Her answer surprised him. “I’m not sure.”

  His eyes burned, and he felt the tension in his neck. That was the only explanation he could think of for what he said next. “I don’t want to lose them.”

  “It hasn’t come to that.”

  “And if it does?”

  “California isn’t that far away. People write plays and teach in California.”

  Her cheekbones were high and carved like Danny’s had been, but her mouth was different. Mollie Tierney had a generous, lovely mouth. He clenched his fists. He wouldn’t go there. He would never go there. He turned to leave.

  He couldn’t remember the walk back home or the people who greeted him. Once again Mollie had managed to shock him. California wasn’t that far away. Was she insane? His life was here. His work was here. Reason told him that California was the land of the screenplay. Still, he couldn’t imagine living in such a place. His voice was Irish. The first rule for a writer was to write what you know. What did he know about California? The woman was insane.

  Caili’s clothing was tumbled together in her bureau drawers. He must remember to help her fold it. Marni’s was ordered neatly—socks, underwear, and pajamas in the top drawer, play clothes in the middle, and sweaters in the last. He pulled out what he thought they would need, folded them neatly, and placed them in a knapsack. Luke was easier. Babies had no separate clothing for home and school. Diapers, a few toys, and a container of formula would do it.

  Looking at the mountain of clothing, he felt a stab of guilt. Mollie was on her own, a single woman. What was he doing imposing on her this way? He thought back to her smile. She hadn’t hesitated, not even for a minute. Perhaps she was lonely. There weren’t many young people her age on the island, and those who were weren’t in her league. Presumably, Mollie Tierney had come to Inishmore to find her family. Other than Patrick and a few remote cousins, Luke and the girls were it. Besides, he rationalized, the experience wouldn’t kill her. It might make her more wary, but perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps it would teach her to think twice before she wished for something.

  Caili was beside herself with joy. “You won’t come before tomorrow afternoon, will you, Uncle Sean?’

  “No, lass,” he promised.

  Caili executed the first few steps of a jig beside Luke’s carriage. “No matter what, you won’t come early?”

  She stumbled over a rain-slick rock. “Easy, now.” He reached out a steadying hand. “I told you I wouldn’t. Have I ever broken a promise?”

  Marni frowned and pushed Luke’s buggy across a rut in the road. “You don’t make many promises, Uncle Sean.”

  “All the more to trust me.”

  “It’s just that I want to stay for as long as I can,” Caili explained. “Aunt Mollie is lovely. She makes lovely food, and she tells stories and sings songs.”

  “A veritable saint,” Sean murmured.

  Marni looked at him sharply. “We’re nearly there, Uncle Sean. Are you sure you want us to go? We don’t have to, you know.”

  “Marni!” Caili wailed.

  “Enough of that,” Sean interrupted. “Your Aunt Mollie is expecting you. I wouldn’t dream of disappointing her so by telling her I’ve changed my mind. Besides, I’ve work to do. You’ll be asleep by the time I’m finished.”

  Mollie’s cottage was at the end of a long unpaved road. A black-and-white dog pricked up his ears and watched their approach from a hill dotted with shaggy-haired sheep. Smoke curled up, smudging the darkening sky with feathers of white. Against the slate-gray sky, the cottage welcomed them, a beacon of yellow with a thatched roof and red door. Something meaty-smelling and delicious wafted through the air.

  Caili sniffed appreciatively and broke away from Sean’s hand, running ahead. “She’s cooking something grand,” she shouted back over her shoulder.

  Mollie saw her from the kitchen window, opened the back door, and called out to them. “Hello. I hope you’re hungry.”

  She was wearing something different, dark slacks and a turtleneck. How odd to be noticing a woman’s clothes. Sean couldn’t recall when he’d ever done so before. Her hair looked very gold against the black wool of her sweater.

  “I won’t be troubling you for a meal, Mollie,” he said, handing her the bag containing the children’s c
lothing. “You’ve done enough already.”

  She smiled. She was always smiling. Were there ever two siblings so different on the face of the earth?

  “It’s no trouble,” she said, “but I understand if you have things to do.”

  He chastised himself all the way home. Why hadn’t he accepted her invitation? He had to eat. Now he was facing a meal of scrambled eggs and brown bread in a lonely kitchen. Pride was the culprit. It wasn’t the first time it prevented him from doing what he really wanted. Even though something told him that Mollie Tierney wasn’t one to keep score, he couldn’t help thinking he should have something to offer her in return.

  “Mrs. Harris was out of sorts today,” confided Caili. She pushed another fried potato into her mouth and attempted to get the words out from around it.

  “Stop it, Caili,” Marni said, disgust wrinkling her nose. “You know you’re not supposed to talk with food in your mouth. Mam would scold you.”

  “Mam isn’t here.” Caili had finished her potato. “She hasn’t been here for ever so long. I don’t think I can remember her.”

  Marni’s face whitened. Her fork stopped in midair. “Don’t say that,” she choked. “Don’t ever say that. She’s our mother, and we’ll always remember her.” She appealed to Mollie. “Isn’t that so, Aunt Mollie?”

  Anything, she would say anything, whatever it took, to wipe the terror-struck look from the child’s face. “Of course you will,” Mollie replied heartily. Please, let her answer be the right one.

  Marni relaxed. “I told you,” she said in a superior voice. “Aunt Mollie knows.”

  Caili continued eating. “This is good,” she said. “What is it?”

  “Taco burgers,” replied Mollie. “They were supposed to be tacos, but the grocery store here hasn’t heard of tortillas.”

  “What’s a tortilla?”

  Another reminder of how far away Mollie was from home. “Round flat pieces of cooked flour or corn meal. They’re filled with meat, lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese, folded and eaten with your fingers. I decided on burgers when I couldn’t find them. Do you like them?”