The Last Bride in Ballymuir (7 page)

Some forms of prodding were more tolerable
than others.

“
I might,” he said in an
offhand way while mentally ticking down a list of tools he’d need.
And space to work, he thought, glancing around Vi’s crowded studio.
But if he moved aside that pile of canvases, and perhaps that bench
over there...

“
Don’t even be thinking of
it,” Vi warned, now looking at him through narrowed eyes. “Not a
thing moves in this room. If you’re needing more space while you
work, I know of some a bit out of town.”

He felt himself being led down a path,
complacent as any sheep. “A bit out of town” probably translated
to miles and miles away from Kylie and the danger Vi seemed to
think she posed.

“
I’m sure you do. But all
I’ve promised to do is repair that chest,” he reminded
her.

“
You’ll be doing more. Grand
things,” she murmured with a faraway sound to her voice.

“
Whatever it is you’re
seeing, keep it to yourself.”

Looking almost muzzy with
sleep, Vi shook her head, then gave him a broad smile. “Seeing? I’m
see
ing no more than you are, Michael
Kilbride. A future
long put off and ready
to be taken. And a chest to be mended,” she added.

With a smile of his own, Michael turned to
the work that he’d loved as a youth, and time flew by.

Just before lunch, Vi and he
walked the few blocks
to the bank and
conducted their business. Account open and feeling almost a proper
citizen, Michael stopped back at the studio and retrieved Kylie’s
bouquet. He doubted that she’d be free to have
lunch
with him, but she should be able
to take flowers from
an admirer. Following
Vi’s grudging directions, he soon found himself where he wanted to
be.

Michael stood next to
Kylie’s rusted car, Just out front of Gaelscoil Pearse. The school
was more an arrangement of trailers than the building
he’d
expected. In a broad
field to the side of the trailers were swing sets, a slide, and
other random bits of playground equipment obviously pieced together
from donations. It was lunchtime, and the children were out to
play. Their laughter and shouts to
one
another came to Michael,
lightening a mood
that
was already nothing short of uncharacteristically
optimistic.

He saw her then, standing in the middle of a
ring of children, as though she were the sun and the children
basked in her warmth. On the boys’ faces, he could see something
near adoration, and they were nowhere near old enough to recognize
the full impact of Kylie’s appeal. Ah, but he was.

Michael had never thought
himself a romantic man. In that moment, though, he felt romantic.
If
he
were a poet,
he’d give her the words. But he wasn’t rich with verse, and the
best he could offer was a bunch of flowers well on the way to
wilted.

But even giving her flowers seemed a bit
much, what with a dozen and more curious pairs of eyes looking his
way. He glanced at the trailers. An older woman wearing a stern
dress and an even sterner expression stood on the steps of the
building closest to Michael. He worked up the same sort of wave
that had gotten him into Spillane’s this morning, and got the same
semi-welcoming response. Chafing under the woman’s gaze, he set the
flowers on Kylie’s car. He promised himself he’d come back for them
when he felt less conspicuous.

As he neared her, he
realized that she was singing for the children. Her voice rang
clear and sweet.
Michael smiled as he
recognized the words to
Oro se
do Bheatha Abhaile,
a
folk song about Galway’s leg
endary pirate
queen, Grace O’Malley. The children joined in for a rousing chorus,
welcoming Grace home from her fight to keep Ireland free of
marauding foreigners.

Just as Michael reached their little circle,
the last notes of song had drifted off in the breeze. His applause
quickly drew their attention.

“
That was brilliant,” he
said.

“
Gaeilge, le do
thoil,”
Kylie directed in a voice he
supposed was meant to be stern. Her glorious smile
rather softened the effect. Her hair rippled in the breeze,
swirling around her shoulders, and her long skirt—blue with a
scattering of pale flowers—danced, too.

“
In Irish? You want me to
speak in Irish?”

“
That’s the sole language
permitted on school grounds,” she replied in English, for which he
was thankful. “We’re not called All-Irish for nothing.”

“
Well, then I’m afraid
you’ll be calling me silent.”

The children laughed. Using
one hand to push her rich brown hair away from her face, Kylie
asked them something in rapid-fire Irish. He picked up the
word
Bearla,
meaning English, and easily interpreted the children’s
enthusiastic nods.

With a smile of pure mischief, she looked
back to Michael. “They’ve agreed to show a little mercy on a
visitor. You may speak your English, and we’ll keep to our Irish.
If you miss anything we’re saying, I just might translate for you,
if you make it worth my while....”

He could think of many ways in which he’d
love to make it worth her while, but he suspected her mind wasn’t
traveling quite the same path.

“
And what would that take?”
he asked, letting a bit of what he was thinking show in his
eyes.

Color rose in her cheeks, but her voice
remained level. “A story, of course. You’ll tell us a story, and
I’ll pass it along in Irish.”

A story. He could recall a tale or two his
grandmother had told. Looking at Kylie’s slender form and hair so
sleek he longed to touch it, one story came to mind. “Then it’s
about Oisin’s mother you’ll hear,” he said, “for she reminds me of
you.”

One of the young girls closest to Kylie
raised her hand. Kylie nodded, and the girl murmured something to
her teacher.

Kylie laughed. “Well, Niamh says if that’s
the case, she wants to know whether you knew me when I was a fawn,
or only since I’ve taken human form. And she is a bit concerned you
might leave me to an evil druid when you’re done breaking my
heart.”

Perhaps he’d not thought through his choice
of story quite carefully enough. “Well then, how about the story
of—”

His words were cut short by shrill screams
coming from nearby. Michael looked over to the play equipment. A
child was dangling off the top of the slide, caught by a cord at
his jacket’s collar. Clearly panicked, he gripped at the clothing
pulled taut around his neck. His mates stood on the ground,
pointing and screaming.

“
Dear Lord,” he heard Kylie
cry, but he was halfway across the flat field by then.

Michael was up the slide in what seemed one
great leap. He gripped the boy by the shoulders of his jacket, and
using both hands, hauled him to safety.

“
Steady, now,” Michael said.
“I’ve got you.”

The jacket’s cord had lodged tightly between
the floor of the slide and a metal bar meant for the child to hold
onto as he readied to go. The boy had seen a few too many rich
meals, and his weight had worked against him. He was still gasping,
even though his breathing was now unrestricted.

“
It’s a bit of a scare
you’ve had,” Michael said as he finally worked the boy free, “but
you’ll be fine.” He glanced to the base of the slide and saw Kylie
standing there, her face still pale with alarm. “I’ll be sending
you down to Miss O’Shea. You ready?”

The child managed a weak nod.

Michael looked down at Kylie. “Ready?”

“
Yes.”

Michael waited until the boy was in Kylie’s
protective grip before backing down the steps. His own heart
drummed with the residual alarm coursing through him. He walked to
Kylie and settled a hand on her shoulder, as much for his comfort
as hers. When she looked up at him, he was humbled by the gratitude
shining in her blue eyes.

“
It was a near thing” she
said. “How can I ever thank you?”

“
I did no more than anyone
else would have done.”

She smoothed the boy’s dark hair. “I’m sure
Alan, here, thinks otherwise. As do I.”

They were joined by a cluster of adults,
including the stern woman Michael had noticed earlier. She was
clearly Kylie’s superior, and took charge immediately. The Irish
flew too fast and furious for Michael to follow. He glanced away,
thinking it might be time to make his escape. The bright bundle of
color on top of Kylie’s car caught his attention. He’d entirely
forgotten the flowers.

“
Be right back,” he said to
Kylie, who managed a distracted nod, while still comforting Alan
and fielding whatever questions her employer was sending her
way.

Once back at the car park, Michael delayed a
bit, hoping the stern woman would go back inside. Watching Kylie,
even from a distance, was such a pleasure that he didn’t mind the
wait. He scarcely noticed when a white car pulled up on the other
side of him. He did notice, though, when a uniformed officer
stepped out and headed his way.

The sick feeling in the pit of Michael’s
stomach had nothing to do with guilt or innocence. Then again, none
of his few but memorable contacts with the law had, either.

“
Fine day,” the officer
said, ginger-colored brows raised at a quizzical angle as he took
in the bouquet Michael held in a white-knuckled grip.

“
Fine enough,” Michael
returned, instantly mistrusting the man—no, boy—with his smug face,
which scarcely needed to be shaved.

The officer glanced across at the schoolyard.
“Looking for anyone in particular, Kilbride?”

Michael exhaled in a slow,
even gust. He shouldn’t
have been surprised
that the authorities knew he
was here, but
he was. He’d begun to feel welcome and
let
down his guard. A mistake. Keeping his expression impassive, he
said, “I’ve brought flowers for a friend.”

“
Then you’d best deliver
them and move on. Standing in front of a schoolyard like this, it’s
a sure way to draw our attention. A fine target it would be,
hmm?”

“
Target for what?” Michael
returned, sounding calm and level. Amazing, considering the
horrific images spinning out in his head. Anger ratcheted tighter
and tighter with each beat of his heart.

“
We’re watching you,
Kilbride.”

“
So watch,” he said, adding
a silent
you bastard.
After tossing the flowers back on the bonnet of Kylie’s
car, he walked off.

Nothing had changed. Not a miserable, goddamn
thing.

Chapter Five

There are two sides to
every story,
and twelve versions of a
song.

─
Irish Proverb

Kylie had been watching Michael, her heart
still beating a wild dance beneath her breast. When the Garda
approached, the rhythm had changed to something thick and knotted.
She knew Mairead, the school’s principal, was asking her something,
but Kylie honestly didn’t care what.

She watched as Michael walked down the road
in long, angry strides. The lovely flowers that had been no doubt
meant for her lay in a heap atop her car. The officer—Gerry Flynn,
heaven help her—flashed her a dark look, climbed in his car, and
drove off.

“
Five minutes until class
begins,” she reminded her students. “You’d best play while you
can.”

She gave Alan one last hug and turned him
over to Mairead, so that his parents could be contacted. Kylie was
sure he’d be fine once the last of the fright wore off, and he owed
it all to Michael. She’d never seen a man move with such
determination.

“
On with you,” she said to
the rest of the children still milling about. They scattered like
spring lambs on a fine morning.

But much of the shine was
off the day for Kylie.
She went to her car
and gathered up the flowers, feel
ing sorry
for them. Touching a fingertip to the bruised blossoms, she looked
for Michael. She could
see him far down the
road, heading for open country.

A terrible thought struck
her. Had Gerry warned
him off? After all,
she and Gerry shared an ugly past.
Not that
he was likely to raise something that stood to harm his reputation
far more than it ever could hers. It would be easier for him to
simply mention
that she was Black Johnny’s
daughter. Her father had
destroyed more
lives and dreams than just hers.

Shaking her head, she walked back toward the
school buildings. No, her father couldn’t have been the reason for
Michael’s leaving. Even she couldn’t spread the burden of her
family guilt that far.

Then what of Michael? He
didn’t seem the type to have trouble with the authorities. But she
hardly
knew him, she reminded herself. And
more than once
she’d proven she was no
great judge of character.

“
Kylie!” Mairead, the
school’s principal, was hurrying her way. “That was some bit of
wildness with Alan, and quite a guardian angel the boy found
himself. Is the man a friend of yours?”