The Eden Tree (22 page)

Con nodded. “Seamus knows it in Gaelic. He cries every time he recites it.”

Linn looked around as Con turned off the main road and headed into Kinsale. It was a picture postcard town right on the bay, with sailboats and other small craft tied up at the wharf which jutted into the sea. Con drove through the cobbled streets down to the dock and parked at the water’s edge.

“The meeting’s in the library,” he said, taking her hand. “It’s just here, beyond the corner.”

Con was welcomed like visiting royalty by the undergraduates who had assembled to listen to him speak. It was easy to see that this was no group of literary luminaries, but an eager bunch of students who seemed stunned that Con had even consented to talk to them. They hung on his every word. Linn was touched that he had come so far to address this motley crew who had nothing to offer but their love of literature and their willingness to learn. But that was what had drawn him to them, she saw; they were kindred spirits and he knew it.

By the time he finished talking and answering their questions they were all old friends, and Linn found herself accepting an invitation to dinner at the local seafood restaurant. It was set up on pilings above the water on a sort of boardwalk that extended into the bay, and all the walls were glass. It was illuminated by floodlights from every side. While dining you felt as if you were in the middle of the inlet. Con drew Linn into the discussion, explaining that she was an English professor from America. Linn was soon debating the merits of everyone from James Joyce to Oscar Wilde with the bright, informed college kids. Their lilting voices and the wine with which Con constantly replenished her glass combined to induce a state of euphoria that had her expounding at length on subjects she wouldn’t have touched a few days earlier. Con smiled indulgently and encouraged her, and he laughed out loud when she protested that the dish she was served was not the scallops she had ordered. The things on her plate looked like fried eggs. These were fresh scallops, Con explained, not the cookie cutter American version that were presented like little half-dollars. Linn tasted one gingerly and pronounced it delicious. She wound up eating all of her fish and half of Con’s chowder. They lingered late, and by the time the group broke up she was full—and very tired.

Linn and Con wandered down to the quay, watching the boats bob at anchor in the moonlight. Linn put her head on Con’s shoulder and gazed out across the shimmering water.

“Do you see how the moon makes a path across the waves?” she asked dreamily. “There’s an American Indian legend that says when a warrior dies his soul takes that path to the next life, skimming over the sea to a place where the animals are plentiful and everyone lives in harmony with nature. When I was little we had a place at the Jersey shore, and during the summer I used to sit on the porch and stare out at the ocean, trying to catch a glimpse of a shadow that might have been a soul in transit.”

“You must have been a fanciful child,” Con said, hugging her close.

“I guess I was. Stories like that always seemed more real to me than the six o’clock news.” She turned her head to look up at him. “It was very nice of you to come here and speak to those kids,” she said quietly. “I could tell they really appreciated it.”

He lifted his shoulders, dismissing it. “I enjoyed myself. That’s the future, kids like that, and we’d best do what we can to shape it.”

“I noticed that girl named Shelagh was an enthusiastic admirer,” Linn added dryly. “She put her hand on your leg. Twice.”

Con grinned. “She was touching me to make a point.”

“Oh, I agree, but not a point form your discussion.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Jealous, were you?”

“Certainly not. But if she’d grabbed you one more time, I was planning to club her with my bottle of Liebfraumilch.”

“I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” he replied, chuckling. Con raised his arm above Linn’s head to look at the luminous dial of his watch. “We’d best be on our way, my lady,” he added. “We’ll get back in the middle of the night as it is.”

Linn reluctantly let him lead her back to the car. She curled up next to Con on the seat and fell asleep with her head against his arm.

* * * *

Linn woke as Con lifted her out of the door.

“Where are we?” she mumbled.

“Back home.”

“At the house?”

“At the cottage.”

Linn leaned heavily on his arm and sleepwalked inside, falling on the bed the instant she saw it. Con moved about the room in the dark and Linn heard the clink of his keys against the desk.

“Do you want a fire?” he asked.

“It’s not really cold but that doesn’t matter. They’re so romantic, they always make me feel like Catherine Earnshaw staving off the chill of the Yorkshire moors.”

“Does that mean you want one, or not?”

Linn took off her shoe and pitched it at him. It struck the wall and rolled harmlessly into a corner.

“You must be waking up if you’re able to throw things at me,” he commented, piling logs on the hearth.

“Con?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you ever bring Kate Costello here?”

There was a pause, and Linn was sorry she’d asked. Then he said shortly, “No.”

“You don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to,” she added.

“There’s nothing to say,” Con stated flatly, setting a match to the kindling at the base of the stack. “I liked Kate well enough but it was nothing like with you. She always knew that; I never misled her.’‘

“She must hate me now,” Linn said.

“I doubt it,” Con said neutrally. “She is a practical woman; she’ll move on and do well elsewhere.”

“I don’t think you’re so easily forgotten,” Linn replied.

Con pulled his sweater over his head and then joined her on the bed.

“Aislinn,” he said quietly, “why do you do this to yourself? Forget Kate, forget Tracy, forget anyone else but you and me. The past is dead; it has nothing to do with us now. It was a hard lesson for me to learn. You know how I clung to that resentment of your father, but now I can see that for what it was: blind stubbornness. If I can release that grudge can’t you release these images you have of the time before I knew you?”

“Yes, I can,” Linn said simply. “And I will.”

Con stretched out next to her and drew Linn against him. She ran her hands over the smooth expanse of his chest and kissed his satiny shoulder. His skin was warm, fragrant, redolent of the life that pulsed beneath it.

“I’ll never have to be alone again,” she said.

“Neither one of us will ever be alone again,” Con replied, stroking her hair. He kissed her brow lightly. “I love you,” he whispered. “It’s such a relief to be able to tell you that, to stop fighting it. When I said it last night I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.”

“I thought I’d never hear you say it.”

“Did you?” he asked.

“Yes, I did. I thought you’d let me go before you gave in to your feelings. I thought you were a pigheaded idiot.”

“I was that,” he agreed.

Linn sat up and kissed him, touching his lips lightly with hers. His hold tightened immediately and he reached for the buckle of her belt, trying to undo it with one hand. Linn helped him and slid off the bed to undress. Con shed his jeans and pulled her back down to him. He just held her for a moment, running his hands over her body, and she shuddered with the exquisite sensation of his hard, capable fingers touching her everywhere, telling her without words that she was loved and cherished, desired and protected.

“Make love to me,” Linn murmured.

Con didn’t answer, but began to kiss her with an intensity that demonstrated he had heard. He moved over her, drawing her to him, caressing her with increasing ardor until Linn was writhing restlessly beneath him, demanding the ultimate embrace.

When he entered her she clung to him, welcoming the sweet weight of his driving body on top of hers. And when it was over she lay awake long after he fell asleep, staring over his dark head at the flames, which danced and blurred before her eyes.

* * * *

Linn slept fitfully that night, perhaps because of the sleep she’d gotten during the car trips. She finally gave up near dawn and rose, careful to steal away from Con without disturbing him. She drew a blanket over him to combat the early morning chill and pulled on her clothes, then padded quietly to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. When it was ready she took it to the door and slipped outside.

It was barely light, and the birds were just beginning to sing. Linn hugged herself and sipped her drink, sitting on a tree stump at the edge of the clearing and watching the first faint streaks of pink and yellow brighten the eastern sky.

Do I deserve such happiness? she wondered. Does anyone? Could it last? She understood now why lovers savored every minute, having that which they feared to lose. She followed the progress of the sun as it climbed the sky until it was too bright to look at any longer. Then she went back inside.

Con was sleeping as she’d left him, on his stomach, his arm thrown out across her pillow. Crossing the room to put her cup in the sink, Linn paused at the stack of manuscript pages on top of the typewriter. A handwritten note was clipped to the first page. She picked it up.

“Dedication,” she read. “For Aislinn, my woman made of moonlight, who saved me and enslaved me with her love. Everything I have to give is yours.”

Linn blinked back tears and replaced the slip of paper, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. At the same moment a sound from Con made her glance in his direction.

He was sitting up in bed, foggy with sleep, calling for her.

“Aislinn?” he said, glancing around, his voice concerned.

She stepped into his range of vision.

“Good morning, darling,” she said. “I’m right here.”

He turned his head to look at her and smiled.

Chapter 9

The next two weeks flew by in a golden haze of happiness. Linn resumed work on the house, while Con finishd his manuscript. He took frequent breaks to contribute to the renovations, putting up shelving, knocking down walls and generally making himself useful with hammer and saw. He made a daily supply run to transport necessary items and buy what he needed. He was in such high spirits: whistling, singing, and laughing at almost anything, that Bridie discerned the change immediately. She began dropping broad hints about weddings and prenuptial consultations with Father Daly. Linn did her best to shut her up but Bridie was not easily squelched.

Linn wrote a joyful letter to Karen Walker, telling her all about Con, and she forced herself to ask Sean in for a talk when he arrived on his milk route. She apologized for her behavior the night of the festival and Sean was gracious about it, making her task less burdensome with his understanding attitude. He said that he had known about Linn and Con all along but he’d hoped to take advantage of their rift and ingratiate himself with Linn. He wasn’t surprised that they had worked things out and he wished them well. Linn was relieved, though she felt slightly guilty that she didn’t receive the cold shoulder she thought she deserved.

One day in mid-August she and Bridie were hanging new drapes while Con nailed up freshly painted shutters outside the windows. He was roaring some old standard at the top of his lungs.

Bridie shook her head. “I’ve never seen that boy so happy, but I do wish he would give my poor ears a break.”

Linn grinned sympathetically. Con couldn’t sing worth a damn; all his efforts were droning and uninflected, like Gregorian chanting. This did not, however, prevent him from blistering the air with tuneless renditions of everything from “Kevin Barry” to “In Heaven There Is No Beer” ( souvenir of Fordham).

“Aislinn?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you going to do about him?”

Linn glanced at the older woman, her mouth full of pins. “Do? I’m going to be with him and love him, that’s what I’m going to do,” she replied, mumbling around the pins.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

Whatever Bridie was going to say was interrupted by Con’s bustling entrance through the front door. He deposited an empty paint can on the floor.

“I’m off to buy more of that,” he announced, seizing Linn around the waist and kissing her soundly. “How do you fancy a trip to Ashford Castle tonight?” he asked.

“Ashford Castle?”

“Aye. It’s an eleventh-century castle converted to a fine hotel and restaurant, about an hour’s drive from here in County Mayo. I wouldn’t want you to think that the Kinnon Arms was all we had to offer.”
 

“Isn’t it late to get a reservation?”

He winked. “I have friends in high places. Get out your best now, and I’ll be back for you at six.” He grabbed Bridie, danced her a few steps around the hall on his way out and then departed, humming loudly.

Flustered, Bridie patted her hair. “That man is impossible these days. I think I liked him better when he was miserable.”

“What am I going to wear? I’m afraid my ‘best’ isn’t very good. I brought only travel clothes with me.”