The Last Bride in Ballymuir (20 page)

“
I’m tossing nothing
away!”

“
No more,” he said, then
walked away, the sound of his heels on the hard road an echo of
that night so long ago. He was almost back to his car when he
stopped and turned to look at her, his expression flat. “I’ll be
free of you now.”

I’ll be free of you
now.
As if she’d somehow held him
in a spell, as if by saying those words, he could
undo the past and move on. She hugged herself for warmth, for
comfort.

Gerry pulled by slowly, his eyes cold and
straight on, never once moving in her direction. With the gait of
an ancient, Kylie got into her car and turned back toward home.

Michael sat at an old oaken table in Jenna
Fahey’s kitchen, the cookbooks he’d borrowed piled in front of him.
She chatted amiably as she bustled about, never slowing from her
tasks. He asked her a few questions about America, a country that
had always intrigued him with its vitality and confidence. She
mentioned that she was originally from Chicago.

“
So, why did you leave?” he
found himself asking.

Her smile was bright. “I’d done all the
damage there a girl can do.” She looked down for a moment, then
back to him. “Actually, I left to train in France. After working
under a few different mentors, I decided it was time to be on my
own.”

“
But in Ballymuir? It’s
hardly on the beaten path.”

“
To me, it’s home,” she
said. “When I landed in Ireland for the very first time, I had a
sense that this is what had been missing from my life. The
mountains, the green...”

“
Even the rain?”

She laughed. “Even that. This house is where
I was meant to be. I can’t think of a place with better atmosphere
for a restaurant.”

“
You know,” he mused,
thumbing through one of the books, “I’d always thought of cooking
as some
sort of genteel pastime—ladies
making tea cakes and
fussy
desserts.”

“
And now?”

“
Now I think you chefs are a
violent lot.” He held up the book. “All this talk of carcasses and
skinning!”

She laughed. “You’ve been living in your
sister’s house too long. She’s turned you into a vegetarian.”

“
Not exactly, but you know
I’ve never given too
much thought to where
those tasty cuts of meat come
from.”

“
Well, if you’re
weak-stomached, don’t.” Their shared laughter faded away to the
sound of someone nervously clearing her throat.

“
I’m sorry if I’m
interrupting anything—”

Michael looked up to see Kylie in the kitchen
doorway. “Vi had told me that I’d find you here, was all, and
I—”

He subtly pushed aside the
cookbooks. No point in having the woman think he’d gone soft
in
the
head.
“You’re not interrupting anything. I was, well,” he trailed off
with what he knew was a foolish grin, “taking a break.” At Kylie’s
lack of an answering smile, he began to worry. “Why aren’t you to
school by now? Are you not well?”

Kylie hovered in the
doorway, and the American woman moved to greet her. “You must be
Kylie O’Shea. I’ve seen you at church, but you’ve usually got a
little more color to you than you do right now. Come in and sit
down,” she said, ushering her
toward the
table before Kylie could object. “Can I get
you some tea?” At Kylie’s murmured assent, Jenna turned and
busied herself in the kitchen.

Michael stood and pulled out
a chair next to
his
own. After Kylie sat, he moved close to her. Her face
was drawn and her
mouth
had thinned to a sad curve. He
wanted to hold her.

“
What happened?”

She just shook her head.

“
Michael, I’ll leave you to
finish putting the tea together,” Jenna said from the doorway.
“Since it doesn’t involve skinning or carcasses, I’m sure you can
handle it. Oh, and after Kylie’s feeling more, ah, energetic, why
don’t you show her what you’ve been up to around here? I’m sure
she’ll be as impressed as I am.”

He nodded his thanks and
turned back to Kylie.
“Hang on, let me get
you a bite to eat. I don’t like the
way
you’re looking.” Rummaging about, he found some brown bread and a
pot of strawberry pre
serves. By the time he
had that together, the water for
the tea
was ready and he set it to steep.

Michael sat down again, and
slathered the preserves thick on a piece of bread while he talked.
“It’s
not that I’m not pleased to see you,
because I am. But
I need to know what
happened.” He handed Kylie
the bread and
waited for her to take a bite, then chew
and swallow. “Now tell me.”

“
I called in sick. First
time since I started to work
there,” she
added, “so I’m hoping they’ll forgive me.”

He found it no great
surprise that she’d feel guilty.
She could
find a way to feel remorse over the clouds in the sky.

“
And are you
sick?”

She took her time in answering. “Heartsick, I
suppose.”

“
Why?”

She ran a finger around the
rim of her plate. “I don’t
want to talk
about this. I don’t want to stir things up.”

“
Judging by your appearance,
things have been stirred already.”

Her shoulders slumped even lower. “Gerry
Flynn— you know, the Garda—I think he’s been following us.”

No news there.

“
It’s not surprising,” he
said calmly. “A man with a past like mine is bound to attract some
attention. Don’t let it worry you, though. It’s not as if I plan to
do anything wrong.”

“
I know... I know.” She
paused, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. “It’s just the
thought of having eyes on me, even when I don’t know, and in my
most private moments.”

“
It’s a hard thing,” he
agreed, recalling how dehumanizing it had been to live that way.
Something— please, God—Kylie would never experience. “But I don’t
think they’ll be doing more man driving by now and
again.”

“
But aren’t you
angry?”

“
More resigned.” He nudged
at the bread to remind her that it waited for her.

“
Well, I’m angry for you.
It’s not right, the way you’re being singled out.”

“
I did that for myself over
fourteen years ago. And even though I’ve been released, I hardly
fall in a
class with petty criminals.
Jesus, I’m sorry, Kylie,” he
quickly added,
chagrined at how close to her heart he’d struck. “I wasn’t meaning
your father.”

“
Da’s crimes were hardly
petty. And it’s not Da I’m worrying about, it’s you.”

“
Don’t, then. I can take
care of myself.”

“
That doesn’t stop me from
caring for you,” she replied before turning to her
bread.

He poured her a cup of tea. “So that’s all
that has you heartsick, then? Worry for me?”

“
That’s enough, isn’t it?”
she answered after a moment, eyes focused on her cup as she stirred
in a fat lump of sugar.

It wasn’t. Not for a woman like Kylie, with
her innate strength and resilience. But he wouldn’t press things,
wouldn’t look any closer at this gift of her presence.

“
Spend the day with me.” he
urged.

“
But your work, won’t Ms.
Fahey be angry?”

“
I’ll get enough done. Stay,
and I’ll teach you how to be a carpenter’s assistant.”

“
All right,” she said, and
he was pleased to see that some of her color was returning. After
one last bite of bread, Kylie added, “But we might be better served
if I stayed here and had your employer teach me how to
cook.”

He laughed. “All too true, but I’m keeping
you to myself.”

He led her to one of the
second-floor suites, which was finally taking form. The plasterers
had come and
done their part, leaving him
with details like the cove moldings and baseboards.

Kylie smiled as she walked about, peeking in
corners and admiring the view from the bank of windows overlooking
the bay.

“
Pity Jenna Fahey’s not
married,” she said. “This little alcove would make a perfect
nursery.”

Her expression grew dreamy. In that instant,
Michael saw her with children of her own—loving, living, laughing
with a vitality that made his heart turn over.

Of all his regrets over the
blows life had dealt him, perhaps the greatest was that he’d never
know the joy of a child of his own. His gaze settled on Kylie. She
found life difficult as the daughter of Black Johnny. How would the
daughter of an even blacker soul,
his
soul,
survive? Better not to come into the
world at all than to arrive the daughter of a killer.

He cleared his
throat.
Back to the present. You’ve
enough to deal with already.

“
Well then, here’s what
we’re to do,” he said in as level a voice as he could find. “Pick
up that pad of paper and pencil over there, and I’ll call down
measurements to you. We’ll rough-cut the moldings and prime them
today.”

“
We’ll
cut the moldings? Are you expecting me to use that beast over
there?” She pointed at the table saw, with its radial arm and
rigged out to be any man’s dream.

“
I’ll do the cutting,
thanks, but you’re not sneaking away before the painting’s begun.
Speaking of
which, go look in the back of
my car. You should find
a shirt big enough
to cover those fine clothes of yours.”

“
They’re not so fine, but
they are all I have. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“
Make it no more, or I’ll
dock your wages,” he replied with a growl.

Kylie paused in the doorway. “I don’t want
your money.”

“
Then what do you
want?”

“
Why, whatever other favors
you might be willing to give.” She finished with a wink and a
suggestive little bump of her narrow hips, then flew from
sight.

It was some time before
Michael worked his slack
jaw shut. Soon
after that, he gave in to laughter. Pure,
joyous laughter.

Kylie walked into the bedroom suite, a fine
men’s dress shirt in her hands. Surely this couldn’t be the garment
that Michael had sent her for. She knew little enough about men’s
clothing, but recognized quality when she held it.

“
This was all I saw, and it
hardly seems the thing to be painting in.”

“
It’s exactly the thing,” he
said. “Vi pulled it from a box the other day, and tossed it my way.
I think it must have belonged to one of her men, because she
muttered something about opinionated Frenchmen. It’s too small for
me, but I thought it might make good rags.”

Kylie clutched the shirt
tighter. The man was mad.
“Rags?”

“
No?” he asked, obviously
unimpressed by the hand-tailored work he’d discarded.

“
It’s mine now,” she
announced.

Busy running a tape measure from corner to
corner in the sunny room, Michael nodded absently in response to
her declaration of ownership. When he called a measurement to her,
she put aside the shirt and jotted a note on the pad after
confirming the number. On they went until he had all that he
needed.

He switched on the saw and began cutting
pieces of wood to the lengths he’d called. Kylie would have thought
he was oblivious to her, except for the quick glances she felt come
her way. That, and from the warmth and contentment that filled the
room, cheery as the sun itself.

At loose ends, she picked up
the shirt and tugged
it on over her own
proper blouse and skirt. After but
toning
the cuffs, and then from top to bottom, she chuckled at the
whimsical picture she made, elegant business layered over frayed
schoolteacher.

Looking down, Kylie frowned. Her dark-blue
wool skirt still peeked from the bottom of the oversized shirt.
Much as she hated the skirt, she would even more if it were dotted
with paint. It had to go. Glancing at Michael, she saw that he had
his back to her. No loss of dignity if she were to just slip her
hands up under the shirt, like so, and quickly unbutton and unzip
the blue wool, then slide it off.

With a last wriggle and a
sigh of relief, she accom
plished her task.
She folded the skirt and tucked it in a relatively debris-free
corner of the room. All she was showing was a little knee and only
a few inches higher where the tails of the shirt cut upward.
Besides, she still had her stockings and shoes on. Hardly enough to
inflame a man, now was it?

When she again looked at
Michael, she saw that at one point or another he had turned to
face
her.
Mouth
agape, he stood with his hand poised in midair over the last piece
of wood. Best to brazen it out, she decided.

“
I hope you don’t mind my
getting rid of my skirt. The shirt didn’t quite cover it, and I’ve
a feeling that I’m going to be rather sloppy.”