Between Two Worlds (16 page)

“You’re telling me your appointment book is filled for the
afternoon?” he teased.

“As a matter of fact, it is. I’m heading back to the boarding
house. I promised Charlotte I’d help with the pies for tonight’s dessert.” It
was an outright lie, but she couldn’t risk being alone with him. After the
attack by Hooper, she felt vulnerable, and she knew what vulnerability could
lead to. Comfort. And any fool knew what kind of trouble comfort could lead to.

She stepped out onto the wooden walk and turned to face him. “I
really am looking forward to tomorrow, Gabriel. Thank you for inviting me. Have
a good evening.”

“You, too.”

Standing in the warmth of the sun, she looked up to take in
tangerine-colored rays of sunlight streaking the sky.

“Your hair’s glowing,” he noted.

“Is it?” She ran a hand through her hair.

They gazed into each other’s eyes again. Her nerves rippled
beneath her skin. Gabriel stirred her in a way no man had before. She felt like
a shy kitten under his intense stare. “Well, goodbye,” she finally managed to
utter. Waving, she started walking backwards down the boardwalk.

Gabriel stepped out of the doorframe and leaned against the side
of the building. “Bye-bye.”

“See you tomorrow,” she called.

“Delaney, Watch ou—” He was too late with the warning. One eyebrow
lifted, and he grinned when she bumped into the local banker.

“Oh! Excuse me,” she apologized to the gentleman. He tipped his
bowler hat and walked on by. When she looked back, Gabriel chuckled. “Silly
me,” she laughed, shrugging her shoulders.

“Silly you,” he said.

“Bye-bye.”

“Until tomorrow.”

She nodded and finally turned around and strode down the walk
briskly, this time facing forward. Her whole body felt to be on fire. It was
probably one hundred degrees in the shade.  But Delaney knew it wasn’t the
temperature or the darn constricting clothes that caused her body to heat and
flame. Gabriel got her hot and bothered! She placed the back of her fingers to
her forehead and thought she might actually swoon.

Knowing she shouldn’t look back, but unable to stop herself, she
peeked over her shoulder. Gabriel continued to lean against the building. He
looked as confident as ever, and his scorching gaze lingered, following what
seemed to be the sway of her hips. She snapped her head back around, grabbed
her dress into her fist so as not to trip over the hem, and picked up her pace.

~ * ~

Delaney heard the music even before she reached the steps of the
boarding house. The sounds floated from out of the front parlor through an open
window. She slinked into the house and peered inside the parlor. Ike Kingston
was hunched over the piano playing a classical piece by Beethoven while Lucinda
stood at his shoulder, her moon-shaped face beaming with pride. He was a
remarkable pianist, especially considering he only had one hand. When the tune
was over, Lucinda squeezed his shoulder and bent to give him a tender peck on
the lips.

“Bravo!” Delaney cheered, as she walked into the room clapping. Ike
and Lucinda whirled. From the pink tint that reddened his cheeks, Delaney
guessed Ike was either not used to being acknowledged for his piano playing or embarrassed
at having been caught kissing in a public place. She congratulated him.

“That was beautiful, Ike. How did you learn to play like that?”

“Oh, my mother taught me when I was a boy.”

“His mother also taught him how to bake bread and sew on a
button,” Lucinda added. Her hand remained firmly planted on her fiancé’s
shoulder.

“Ma wanted me to be well rounded.”

“A wise woman,” Delaney said. “All men should be so well rounded.
I enjoyed hearing the little bit that I did. That was Beethoven, am I correct?”

“You know your classical music, Miss Marshall.”

“I recognize the famous pieces. My mother listened to classical
music, mostly when she was washing dishes or cleaning the house. I didn’t mind
some of it, but I really didn’t appreciate that type of music when I was young.
When I was a teenager I only wanted to listen to the Backstreet Boys, 98 Degrees,
and the Spice Girls.” Delaney stopped, read the confused looks on their faces,
and backpedaled quickly. Would she ever get used to this time travel business? She
covered her mistake by mentioning her Celtic background. “My mom was Irish, so
she loved those traditional ballads as well. Her favorite was The Last Rose of Summer.
Do you know it, Ike?”

He straightened his back and recited the first stanza in a lilting
voice.

The two women smiled at one another. “You do know it,” Delaney
stated.

Ike nodded. “It’s a poem by the Irish poet, Thomas Moore. Ma
versed me in poetry and literature, too.”

“Isn’t he simply wonderful?” Lucinda crowed, hugging her man’s
neck.

Delaney couldn’t agree more, thinking Ike Kingston was the perfect
example of not judging a book by its cover.

Lucinda returned her attention to Delaney. “What’s your mother’s
name, dear?”

“Her name was Tara O’Reilly Marshall. O’Reilly was her maiden
name, but she used it as her middle name. She was proud to be Celtic.”

“O’Reilly, you say?” Lucinda’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that a
coincidence, Ike?” She tapped his arm.

“What coincidence?” Delaney asked.

“One of the borders here. Her name was O’Reilly. She just recently
passed. You may have noticed the black wreath on the door.”

“I did. The lady who passed away was an O’Reilly? Isn’t that
weird?”

“Quite a coincidence,” Lucinda murmured.” Ike concurred with a bob
of his head. “What happened to your mother?” Lucinda asked.

“She died when I was fifteen.”

“How tragic! I’m so sorry, dear. Such a tender age to lose a
mother.”

“Thank you.” Delaney didn’t want to talk about her mom. Discussing
her stirred up sad memories even now, so she changed the subject. “What are you
two up to this evening?”

Lucinda grinned at Ike. “He’s taking me out to dinner.”

“That’s nice.”

“Is Dr. Whitman coming over tonight?” Lucinda’s voice lifted with
interest.

“Lucy, don’t pry,” Ike said, nudging her elbow.

“It’s okay,” Delaney assured. “I’m not expecting him over tonight.
I plan to hang out here and relax this evening. It’s been a hectic day.” It
would have taken too much time and energy to tell them about assisting Gabriel in
his office with Frank and the snakebite. Not to mention her meeting the Pima
Indian, almost drowning in the river, the conversation with Donovan, and being
accosted by Warren Hooper. Instead, she asked about her landlady. “Do you know
where Charlotte is?”

“She’s in the kitchen making a cake for dessert.”

“I believe I’ll stop in and say hello.”

“She’d like that.”

“I really enjoyed your playing, Ike,” Delaney told him. “I hope to
hear you play again another time.”

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Marshall.” He tipped his head
toward her, and she excused herself and strode toward the kitchen. She pushed
through the swinging doors that divided the kitchen from the dining room and
greeted Mrs. Quinn, who was pouring chocolate batter into tin pans.

“Hi, Charlotte. Lucinda told me you were in here baking a cake. Do
you need any help?”

Charlotte slid two cake pans into the wood-fired oven and closed
the door. She wiped her hands on her apron and offered Delaney a chair at the
small kitchen table. “No thank you. As you can see, they just went in. Would
you like a glass of lemonade?” Her thin lips tilted in a slight smile.

“I’d love one. Thanks.”

Charlotte poured them each a glass and pulled out a chair for
herself. “I have the preparations for dinner ready, so I’ll sit and join you a
moment.” She took a sip of lemonade. So did Delaney. “Is your room
comfortable?” Charlotte asked, after a moment.

“Oh, yes. The bed is very soft and comfy. I’ve been sleeping like
a log.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Be sure and let me know if you need
anything at all while you’re here.”

“I will.” Delaney took another drink and then broached the subject
of the late Mrs. O’Reilly. “Charlotte, I understand you had a boarder here
until recently, a lady by the name of O’Reilly.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes and hesitated before answering. “Yes.
Fiona O’Reilly. She’d lived here for about fifteen years and died recently.
Fiona was close to eighty years old, but she was still sharp as a tack.”

“That’s incredible. I hope I live to be that age.” Delaney shifted
forward, interested in hearing more about the woman. “What did you know about
her? How long had she lived in Phoenix?”

Charlotte did not beat around the bush. “Why the questions about
Fiona, Miss Marshall?” Her gaze was filled with suspicion.

“Please call me Delaney. I was wondering because my mother’s name
was also O’Reilly. I find it such an odd coincidence. Don’t you? My mother came
from Irish roots, and I assume Mrs. O’Reilly did, too. With a name like Fiona, she
must have been Celtic.”

It seemed to Delaney that Charlotte’s shoulders grew rigid.  Her
gaze widened. Then her face softened. “Yes, that
is
a coincidence. I can
understand why you’d be curious. I’ll be glad to tell you about her. Fiona
migrated from Ireland with her husband about forty years ago. He dragged her
away from her home and family so he could pan for gold in California. He thought
he’d strike it rich, but he never did, and he ended up working in the mines for
a while. Then he took to playing cards for a living. For some mysterious reason
Fiona never would discuss, they had to leave California in the dead of night
and they eventually settled here in Arizona. The two of them lived a seemingly quiet
life for many years here in Phoenix, and then her husband died of gout
poisoning. That was twenty-five years ago, and she came to live with me. I’d
just opened the boarding house and she was my first boarder. My husband had
died, too, but luckily for me, he’d left me with this big house. I had to earn
a living somehow, and taking in boarders seemed the best solution. I was just
thirty-five at the time. Fiona and I were…well, we became fast friends. We belonged
to the same sewing circle and were close. We got along very well.”

Delaney quickly calculated Charlotte’s current age to be sixty.

“Fiona was a good one for stories about the Old World,” Charlotte
recalled. “And though I don’t condone or indulge in ale myself, I have to admit
she was at her jolliest after having sipped a few pints. She liked to dance,
too. That woman could cut a rug.” Charlotte laughed and slapped her knee.

Delaney grinned, picturing it. She liked seeing Charlotte smiling
and enjoying good memories. She figured the woman had worked hard all her life
and had few opportunities to indulge in leisure activities. She seemed pleased
to be talking about old times and old friends. A thought suddenly occurred to
her. “Was O’Reilly Fiona’s married name?”

“Oh, no,” Charlotte replied. “That was her maiden name. She went
back to using O’Reilly after her husband died.”

“That’s interesting.” Fiona was a woman ahead of her time, she
thought. “Charlotte, did Fiona know Donovan McKinney?”

“Why, I should say so! Everyone in town knows Donovan. Besides,
the Irish flock to each other like bees to honey. They share an unusual culture
that the non-Irish don’t understand.”

“Such as…” Delaney prodded.

“Such as myths and legends. Folklore. That sort of thing. You
should know, since you come from a similar background.”

Delaney sighed. “My dad’s not Irish, and my mother didn’t talk
about such things. She was proud to be Celtic, but also very down to earth. She
was a practical woman. Mom was much too sensible to believe in myths and
fairytales. She never even told me stories about leprechauns or selkies or changelings.
Of course, as a child I heard about those kinds of stories, especially the one
about the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. When I asked my mom about that
particular story, she assured me it was not real, just a made-up tale.” Delaney
realized she’d broken her rule about not speaking about her mother, but
Charlotte made her feel comfortable enough to share.

“That’s too bad,” Charlotte said, sounding sincere. “It wouldn’t
have hurt for her to play along. After all, you were just a little girl. There
would have been no harm done.”

Delaney smiled again. Charlotte had a soft spot encased inside
that hard exterior shell. “I’ll admit, it was disappointing when I found out
those things weren’t real. When the kids at school first told me about the pot
of gold, I really believed I could find it and become rich.” She gazed at a
spot on the wall behind Charlotte, remembering the rainbow that had appeared in
the sky the day she crossed the bridge. She also thought of what Donovan had
said about Samuel being cursed for stealing gold from another clan. She
wondered…

Charlotte continued to chatter like a bird, which seemed so unlike
her. “As I recall, Fiona and Donovan had some people in common back home. Yes,
the two of them were close. In fact, Donovan was the last person to visit Fiona
before she passed. I was with her at the very end, of course, but she’d asked
for Donovan and he came running.”