Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
The conversation was interrupted by the return of Terence, who entered the kitchen through the back door which led to the small rear yard.
“Back on time, for a wonder,” his mother greeted him. “Couldn’t find anybody to get up to mischief with?”
Terence grabbed a biscuit off the sideboard and Bridie slapped his hand. “Put that back, you devil; wait for dinner.”
Terence tossed the biscuit to Linn, who caught it by reflex. He flashed her another ladykiller smile and then dropped his eyes seductively. Linn was riveted. The kid’s panache was amazing; he was all of about sixteen and already he had the sexual confidence of James Bond.
Bridie glanced at Linn as the boy strolled through the room and down the hall. “That’s what God sent me for a cross in my old age,” she said. “Five others, and all together not the trouble of that one there.”
“You have six children?”
“Aye, all gone and out of the house now except Terry.”
Linn took a bite of the biscuit, vaguely ashamed. She’d been so wrapped up in herself during her conversations with Bridie, dwelling on her problems with Con, that she had never even inquired about the housekeeper’s personal life.
“Where are they?” Linn asked.
“My two girls are married, one living in the Gaeltacht up near Donegal, the other out on the Dingle Peninsula. My three other boys are scattered. Dennis is in the merchant service, Johnny works in the Belfast shipyards, and Michael is in the Waterford glass school, training to be a cutter.’‘
“And Terence?”
Bridie smiled. “Oh, I have high hopes for my Terence. He has the brains and the charm to go far if I can keep him out of the hands of the
garda
long enough.”
The garda were the police. “Has he been in trouble?”
Bridie’s lips tightened. “Only on the fringes so far but he has to be watched. He has more will than sense at this age.”
The front door opened and Linn heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Mr. Cleary entered the room. He was a wiry man of medium height, several inches shorter than his youngest son, who was on his heels.
He nodded at Linn. “How do, miss?” he said, and glanced at his wife. She silently handed him a cup of tea, which he took, seating himself at the table. He unfolded a newspaper which had been tucked under his arm. He proceeded to read it without another word.
Bridie and Linn got the meal together over Bridie’s protests. She at first insisted that Linn was a guest but finally allowed that she could use a little help. Terence hung around grabbing samples of the various dishes and flirting wordlessly with Linn. He was as quiet as his father, but he exuded an undercurrent of sensuality that was unmistakable. Linn could well believe that he’d been in trouble with the garda and a number of others too.
They ate in the dining room, which featured an ancient cherry table covered with a handmade lace cloth and an assortment of family photos on the worn sideboard. Mr. Cleary left the conversation to the women, and Linn wondered whether his reticence was natural or an adaptation to thirty years of Bridie. Linn avoided the subject of Con in the presence of the men, and so relaxed enough during the meal to feel recovered from her earlier distress. She and Bridie washed up while Mr. Cleary watched a hurling match on the television and Terry occupied himself in the yard. The Cleary men weren’t a very liberated bunch; the preparation and disposition of food was left to the women.
Linn insisted on leaving right after they finished in the kitchen. She had cried on Bridie’s shoulder long enough and had things to do back at the house.
She was treated to a whirlwind return journey on the back of Terry’s bike. As they rounded the curve of the drive they saw a figure half reclining on the front steps of the house. Linn’s heart sank. It was Con.
Terry halted the bike and Linn slipped off it, not meeting Con’s eyes. He sat in silence and watched her say goodbye to the boy, who smiled into her eyes in farewell, never looking at Con. He took off in a cloud of dust and displaced gravel.
Linn turned to meet her visitor. Con was dressed in the track shorts and shirt she’d selected earlier, the gauze bandage visible beneath the hem of his pants. He was leaning against the stone banister, a cane propped up next to him.
“Con, what are you doing here?” Linn asked wearily. “You should be home in bed.”
“I talked Neil into dropping me off on his way into town. He’ll be back to fetch me shortly.” He adjusted his position slightly, favoring his bad leg. “I’ve been calling the house all day trying to reach you. I finally tried Bridie and she told me you were just after leaving, so I thought I’d wait for you here.”
“I’m surprised Neil went along with this scheme.”
“I promised him I’d stay put and not walk much. He knew if he didn’t bring me I’d find another way here.’‘ He raised his chin and eyed her suspiciously. “What are you doing riding around with that crazy Cleary kid?’‘
“Bridie wouldn’t like to hear you say that.”
“I’m as fond of Bridie as you are but that doesn’t make her boy any less mad. He tools about on that instrument of destruction like a demon.” His jaw tightened. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
Con’s implication was clear. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Linn replied. “He’s sixteen years old.”
“Old enough for all of that.”
Linn folded her arms. “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. What do you want?”
Con surged forward and grabbed her wrist. “I want to know what Neil told you that made you dash off like that. What did he say to cause this change?”
Linn was silent, meeting his blue gaze directly.
“Answer me, Aislinn. That man runs off at the mouth like an overfilled glass. What did he tell you?”
Linn tried to shrug free but Con held her in a grip of iron. “He didn’t tell me anything I shouldn’t have figured out for myself,” she finally said.
Con gritted his teeth. “I’m going to beat him senseless when he gets here.”
Linn made a disgusted sound. “That ought to be a good trick since you can’t even walk. Besides, won’t you need him to stitch you up after your future skirmishes?”
Con tried to pull her closer and Linn resisted. “There aren’t going to be any future skirmishes!” Con fumed. “How many times must I say it?”
“Save your breath. It seems to me I’ve heard that song before. I’m going inside. I trust your ride will be here soon.”
Con didn’t release her, searching her face.
“Let me go,” Linn said calmly. He was stubborn but she knew he would never hurt her. “Neil will look after your leg. Leave me alone.”
Con’s fingers opened and she stepped away. She ran lightly up the stairs and unlocked the door, not looking back. Once inside she closed the door and leaned against it, listening.
She knew he couldn’t climb the stairs, but she wanted to make sure that Neil did come for him that he wasn’t left out there alone. It wasn’t long before she heard the noise of a car’s motor, doors slamming and the sound of raised voices. She winced, glad she didn’t have to witness the reception Neil was getting.
The car departed and silence descended. Linn was sure Con’s friendship with Neil would survive this incident, but she felt a little guilty about it nevertheless. Maybe she shouldn’t have made her response to the doctor’s recital so obvious, but it was too late now.
Linn went into the kitchen and boiled water for tea. She sank dispiritedly into a chair and contemplated her unhappy situation.
How had she, cool and careful Dr. Pierce, managed to wind up in this predicament? She was hopelessly in love with a man she barely knew, a man she feared for his power to hurt her, a man who distrusted her for reasons which were beyond her control.
What on earth was she going to do?
Chapter 6
Linn spent the week organizing work on her grandfather’s house; it was still difficult to think of the place as hers. An electrician arrived from Limerick, thirty miles to the south, to do the wiring. Delivery trucks brought a new refrigerator and stove, as well as a washer and dryer to replace the wringer model and clothesline Bridie currently used. Linn tore down the stained, wine colored crushed velvet drapes in the parlor; they’d given the whole room the atmosphere of a funeral home. She contracted painters from nearby Ennis to redo the rooms in a light cream color and selected airy, finely woven curtains from the Dunne’s catalog. As things began to take shape she felt better but nothing could remove the slow dull ache of longing for Con, which never left her for a moment. It was always there just below the surface, like a chronic pain she had to tolerate.
Mr. Fitzgibbon effected the release of Dermot’s bank accounts, which provided enough cash for her renovations with plenty to spare. Linn arranged to continue Bridie’s wages through direct payment from the lawyer’s office and gave her a healthy raise. She also called Limerick to inquire about a car rental. Linn didn’t know if Con’s Bentley had been returned, but even if it was available she felt that the situation precluded requesting him to act as chauffeur.
She saw Con from a distance several times. On the first two occasions he was walking with a cane and then later he was walking on his own, slowly but steadily. Neil had evidently prescribed exercise as part of Con’s recovery regimen. From what Linn could see Con was making almost supernatural progress. McCarthy was right; Con rebounded like a boomerang.
During his walks Con never came close to the house.
Saturday night was the Fleadh Ceoil na hEireann, or summer music festival, celebrated throughout Ireland in each town and village. Just in case Linn had forgotten about it Sean Roche called to remind her. He suggested that he pick her up at the house at seven that evening, and Linn was feeling just perverse enough to agree. She had no interest in Sean but as Con was having difficulty making up his mind about her, it might be nice to be in the company of a man who didn’t have the same problem.
Linn dressed carefully, though she didn’t know what was appropriate for such an occasion. Bridie had told her that everyone turned out for this event, and everyone included a certain someone from the gatehouse. She told herself severely that she wasn’t childish enough to dress for him, but she selected a flattering skirt and a peasant blouse which showed her creamy shoulders to advantage. And when the evening promised to be warm she was tempted to put her hair up, but she left it down. Linn stared at herself in the mirror and insisted silently that this decision had nothing to do with Con’s expressed preference. Her hair really did look better down, and that was all. She added a small print scarf and was ready.
Sean arrived on the dot of seven, beaming with his own good fortune. Ned hissed at him and slunk away into the parlor.
“That animal doesn’t like me,” Sean said sadly, settling Linn’s lace shawl about her shoulders.
“Ned is neurotic,” Linn replied. “If he were human he’d be seeing an analyst.”
Sean laughed. “Surprised I was that you accepted my invitation,” he said, standing by while she locked the front door. “I thought you might have made prior arrangements.”
“Is that so? With whom?”
Sean colored faintly and dropped his eyes. So he had heard the talk about her and Con too. This should prove to be an interesting evening.
Linn dropped the key into her purse. Sean smiled.
“Why do you lock the door? There’s nobody here who wants Dermot’s trophies.”
“American habits are hard to break,” Linn said dryly. “When we leave the house keys spring into our hands automatically.”
“So I’ve heard,” Sean replied, opening the door of his mini rover and handing Linn inside. As they drove out the lane toward the main road Linn glanced at the cottage. It was dark.
“Have you ever been to one of these things?” Sean asked, driving through the iron gates, which stood open. Con hadn’t left yet; he always closed them.
“No. This is my first time in Ireland.”
“Ah, you’ll have a grand time. We all do. This was started to revive the
Sean-Nos
singing, the old style unaccompanied chanting songs passed down in Gaelic. But it’s grown to include the ballads, which are arranged for folk instruments like the tin whistle and drum, and dancing as well. We love our traditions here, you know; they were very nearly taken from us.”
“Yes, I know,” Linn answered quietly.
“I do a newspaper for the
Siamsa Tire
, the national folk theater. We’ve established two cottages for the performance of the music, one in North Kerry near Listowel and the other at Carraig, at the western tip of the Dingle. So I’ll be a working journalist tonight, gathering information for the paper. We’re doing a series on the celebration of the Fleadh in the small towns.”
“I don’t mind,” Linn said. “Take notes if you want.”
Sean grinned. “I may at that.”
The four miles to Bally passed quickly, with Sean chatting about his work for the folk theater as well as his job with his father’s dairy. The former was his true love but the latter paid the bills. His artist’s soul was clearly at odds with his mundane occupation, and Linn almost felt sorry for him.
Linn heard the music before she saw its source. The tin whistle had an eerie, flutelike sound, which carried through the night air. It was haunting and elusive, like the notes from Pan’s pipes not meant for human ears. Sean held up a finger, listening.