Toward the Sea of Freedom (79 page)

Sean was amazed to see his mother waiting at the gate to the school. And the man beside her—he was excited at first because he thought it was Peter Burton, but then he saw that this man was taller than the reverend. He reminded Sean of someone, or something. He quickly said good-bye to Rufus Cooper and walked over to his mother and the man.

“Sean.” Kathleen beamed at her boy.

Sean looked at her suspiciously. Some change had taken place in her. There was a light in her eyes he hadn’t seen since she was with Peter Burton. Since before his father died.
Ian.
His father? Sean was no fool. As a child, Ian’s rejection and his clear preference for Colin had hurt Sean, but he had long since moved on from the man he called father. The complete lack of affection and bond had made him curious. And Kathleen’s marriage certificate had not been hard to find.

Sean slowly approached his mother and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Sean,” said Kathleen. “This is Michael Drury.” There was an exuberance in his mother’s voice that he had never heard before.

Sean offered his hand to the man. “Didn’t I see you in Tuapeka, Mr. Drury?” he asked courteously. He now recalled more clearly. Mr. Drury had been with Miss Portland—and Mr. Timlock. They had sometimes gone to Peter Burton’s services on Sunday. “How is Miss Portland doing?”

Sean saw his mother’s features darken, and Michael Drury’s face reddened. “Good,” he muttered. “Very good, as far as I know.”

“Mr. Drury and I know each other from Ireland,” said Kathleen. “We’re from the same village. And now, well, now, he wanted to meet you.”

Michael stood in front of his son and looked into the narrow face where, along with Kathleen’s straight nose and her high cheekbones, he saw his own features. Sean’s eyes were light green, and they looked at Michael curiously.

His son! Michael’s heart overflowed with emotion and love, but he did not know what to say to him.

“You, you’re sixteen now, Sean?” he stammered. “And, and you’re still going to school?”

Sean did not dignify this with a response. After all, it was obvious.

“Are you a good student?”

“A very good student,” Kathleen answered proudly. “Sean will be going to university next year.”

“University . . . when you think how we only got a few hours of education with Father O’Brien. It took me hours, Kathleen, to write you that letter. Did you get it, at least?”

Kathleen nodded and looked at him. “I still have it,” she admitted, “but there was nothing I could do.”

“You did the right thing, Kathleen. You did it for him. And it was worth it. A, a real good boy.”

Sean was annoyed. What was that supposed to mean? His mother did not otherwise tend to parade him in front of random acquaintances like a trained seal. All of this could really only mean one thing. In which case, they both owed him an explanation.

Sean waited until he could finally hold Michael’s gaze again, then held it fast.

“Mr. Drury, sir,” he said with a clear voice. “You, you wouldn’t happen to be my father, would you?”

“I’m awfully sorry, Lizzie.”

Michael really did not look as if he regretted anything. Quite the contrary; Lizzie had rarely seen him shine from the inside like this.

“But you do have to understand—”

“What?” asked Lizzie. “What do I have to understand? That our engagement is over, that all our plans are overturned, that your love for me has run out from one moment to the next—all because a woman appears whom you haven’t seen in seventeen years? With whom you share nothing except a homeland and an illicit past?”

Lizzie had to fight; she could not simply give up, even if at the moment she wanted nothing more. But Claire was right: Michael and Kathleen would have to come down from the clouds and begin to think again. Then, she needed to be there, and she could not look haggard and red-eyed and desperate. Until that morning, Michael had loved her. His love could not have disappeared completely in an instant.

“Lizzie, it’s Kathleen,” Michael said, misty-eyed. “You know—”

“Yes, I know she was your puppy love, and you even wanted to feed yourself to the sharks just to see her again. But that was half a life ago, Michael.”

Lizzie laid her hand on top of his. She was sitting in her hotel room—what had been
their
hotel room. Michael had rented another—one of the things for which he now demanded Lizzie’s understanding.

Michael withdrew his hand gently. “For me, it’s like it was yesterday,” he explained. “And she, she’s the mother of my son.”

“I’m also the mother of your son,” Lizzie blurted out. “Or your daughter.” She laid the hand he had rejected on her stomach.

“You’re with child?” he sounded more disbelieving than overjoyed.

Lizzie nodded. “Does that change anything?”

Michael chewed on his lip like a schoolboy. “Lizzie, all this, all this is too much at once. I need to figure things out. First with one thing, then the other. I . . .”

“So, it doesn’t change anything,” Lizzie said. “What are you thinking, Michael? You don’t want to marry—at least not me. I get that much. But what about the farm? What about our plans?”

Michael shrugged. “We need to think about that,” he said.

“We?” asked Lizzie. “Does ‘we’ mean you and I or you and Kathleen?”

Now Michael really did look pained. “Both. I, we, why don’t we sleep on it for now, Lizzie? Maybe—”

“Maybe I’ll just vanish like a bad dream?” she asked. “The child along with me? Maybe there’ll only be Mary Kathleen to think about when you awake?”

“Lizzie, Lizzie, you have to understand. I’m grateful. For, for everything. In a certain way I love you. But Kathleen . . .”

“This morning you loved me in more than ‘a certain way,’” Lizzie said bitterly. “But yes, you sleep on it and talk to Kathleen about it tomorrow. Maybe she’ll think of something. I’m sure she’s always wanted a lovely little farm in Otago.”

Michael’s face lit up. He did not seem to perceive the sarcasm in her words or the hurt in her voice. “Really Lizzie? You wouldn’t mind? I mean, if I kept the farm, that is? Half the money belongs to you, naturally. There’s no question of that. I would only need to see if the MacDuffs would allow installment payments.”

Lizzie could hardly believe it. Was he really so dense? Had he really thought she meant it like that? Or did he only understand things as they suited him at the moment? Lizzie wanted to cry, but she controlled herself. She could cry when Michael was gone.

“Well, this Mary Kathleen of yours will surely have something to contribute, won’t she?” Lizzie asked icily. “After all, she’s been so successful in outfitting brides—unless she happens to want the groom herself.”

Michael shook his head. “Lizzie, don’t accuse her of anything. She doesn’t want to take anything away from anyone. It’s just, it’s simply fate.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes.

“But you’re right, Lizzie. If Kathleen sells her share in this business, we can afford the farm.” Michael laughed. “You see, I wouldn’t even have thought of that either. I’m really sorry, Lizzie. We, we were good together. But with Kathleen . . . well, you have to understand.”

“And what about his bride?” asked Claire. As they did almost every evening, the two friends had sat down to dinner together with their children. Although Kathleen usually cooked, that day she had not. There was just bread, cold meat, and cheese.

“About whom?” asked Kathleen.

She still had an unearthly glow in her eyes. What had happened was incomprehensible. She and Michael were reunited. Sean recognized his father. If father and son had done nothing but embrace each other, her dream would have been complete.

Ultimately, they had tried to explain everything to Sean, who had listened to the confusing story in silence. When Sean wasn’t able to take any more, he had made excuses about being needed.

“We’ll talk more about it soon,” Michael said.

Sean ran off, and Michael and Kathleen had walked the streets of Dunedin for a few magical hours, catching each other up on their lives but more than anything just reveling in being together again. Finally, Michael had known it was time to go; he owed Lizzie an explanation. Kathleen understood and agreed. She had returned home drunk with happiness.

But now Claire seemed to have objections.

“Miss Portland,” said Claire. “The lady to whom Michael is engaged.”

Kathleen made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, she’ll understand. Those two are more like good friends.”

“Oh?” asked Claire. “That’s not what it looked like to me. I thought Miss Portland was very much in love, and Mr. Drury could hardly wait to see her in her dress, even before their wedding day. Which brings bad luck, as we’ve established once again.”

“Bad luck?” asked Kathleen, taken aback. “But Michael and I are happy. I can’t even believe he’s back.” She smiled at everyone around the table. No one smiled back.

“You may very well be happy, but you’re not the only one in this whole wide world, Ma,” Sean remarked drily. He had always shown understanding for his mother, but the events of that day had surpassed his comprehension. “I, for one, am not all that happy, and as for Miss Portland . . .”

“But you’ve found your father!” Kathleen said. “That’s certainly wonderful. Or, or do you not like him?” Kathleen’s expression turned from delight to concern.

Sean shrugged. “I don’t even know him,” he said. “I’ve seen him for a few minutes of my entire life, and there’s not much to say about that. He only has eyes for you. Who knows? Maybe he’s very nice.”

“Oh, he’s definitely nice.”

“But surely not as nice as Peter Burton.”

Kathleen frowned. “How can you compare them? Peter—”

Claire stood up. She had heard enough of the matter. All she wanted was to scream at Kathleen and shake her. But she had to make a final attempt; she owed it to Peter.

“Kathleen, I’ll grant that at the moment you’re in a—well, let’s say, an exceptional mental state. But Peter Burton is a good man, and he’s been wooing you for years. You grew close to him, you’ve been affectionate with him—and he helped raise your children. For a few months, you’ve both been suffering like dogs because this dreadful Father Parrish convinced you that you were guilty of all that’s wrong with the world. But now, from one moment to the next, he’s, well, what, Kathleen? Just ‘a good friend’? Like Miss Portland to Mr. Drury?”

Kathleen looked at her, uncomprehending. She seemed to want to reply, but Claire did not let her speak.

“And what about Mr. Drury anyway, Kathleen? Will Father Parrish concede him to you? Or is there another devil in the details?”

“Father Parrish?” Kathleen had clearly also forgotten him.

“You’re talking like a head-over-heels schoolgirl, Kathleen, but you’re thirty-three years old,” she said. “Maybe you should take some time to think. Come along, Chloe, we’re going over to Jimmy’s. Why don’t you come, too, Heather? Your mother needs some peace and quiet.”

“I’m going over to the Coopers,” grumbled Sean, reaching for his jacket.

When everyone had gone, Kathleen pulled Michael’s old letter from its hiding place. For the first time in such a long time, she felt no loss or sadness in reading it, only overwhelming joy. Claire was right. She felt like a teenager in love. She pressed the brittle, faded paper to her chest and danced through the apartment, and when she finally fell asleep, it was with Michael’s letter against her heart.