IRISH FIRE (12 page)

The child sniffed. Are you coming home, too?

This is my home. I cant live at Claiborne anymore. But if you still want to go back at the end of the term, Ill take you home to Daddy and Grandma Lucy.

But where will you live?

Im not sure. Lets wait and see. Whatever happens, Im not leaving you, Annie.

Until then, can I go to Saint Patricks?

Caitlin tightened her arms around her daughter. Of course you can, love, if its that important to you. Ill enroll you tomorrow.

To save time, Brigid had left the road and crossed the bog on foot. Overnight it seemed as if autumn had colored the land. Gorse, wild mustard, and heather blanketed the hills. Frost colored the leaves red, gold, orange, and brown. Clouds hung low, heavy, and gray in a slate-colored sky. Darkness rolled in early and lingered late. Smells of peat and burning leaves filled the air, and if one breathed deeply, the sharpness of smoke and frost and pollen stung the inside of noses sensitive and red from unaccustomed rubbing.

Mud oozed up around the sharp marsh grasses, caking the soles of Brigids boots, sending forth the sucking sounds of swamp muck, larvae, insects, and late-flying birds taking a brief respite from their journey south. Seventy-one seasons had passed her by, seventy-one autumns just like this one, warm air turning to cold, green leaves deepening to rust, all of them uneventful, busy, unnoticed, all except one.

Students were just beginning to come out of the old wood building that served as the National School for children whose parents preferred a secular education over a parochial one. Honesty forced Brigid to admit that just as many National School students went on to pass their O levels, earn their leaving certificates, and attend university as did those from Saint Patricks.

She felt the exact moment Bens dark-haired, sturdy figure came through the exit. She saw him look up, recognize her, and grin as if the sheer sight of her standing there waiting for him was his greatest wish. Her heart contracted. Had any of her daughters shrieked with delight when shed entered a room after a days absence? What was it about this wee lad that turned her resolve to mush? She held out her arms and watched him run like a homing pigeon straight into them.

She pressed her lips against his forehead. Hello, love. Was it a good day?

He nodded. My spelling words were all right and Mrs. Tott says I shall learn arithmetic tomorrow.

Already, his speech was acquiring Irish nuances. Wonderful, Brigid said approvingly. Youre a bright lad.

He tucked his hand into hers. Wheres Annie?

She wasnt feelin well and came home early. Your mums home with her.

Im hungry. Whats for tea?

Cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, Brigid improvised. They were his favorite. Theres trifle if you can manage to wait until I whip the cream.

Ben nodded, satisfied with the menu. After a minute he tugged on her arm and pointed to a spot across the quiet street. Theres Mr. Hennessey, Gran. Can we ask him about the colt?

Brigid recognized Brian coming out of the bank with Martin OShea by his side. Both men crossed the street and came toward her.

How are you and this fine lad today, Mrs. Keneally? Brian asked.

Very well, thank you, Brigid replied. Ben has a question for you.

Brian ruffled the boys dark hair with a gentle hand. What can I do for you, Ben?

Mum says youre going to start weaning
Irish Gold
this week.

Brian nodded. I am.

May I watch, Mr. Hennessey, if Im no bother? Im allowed to watch at home.

Brian glanced at Martin. What do you think, Father? Can this lad be trusted to sit quietly and watch while a skittish colt is brought out for his first day of weanin from his dam?

Martin appeared to consider the matter. Ive no idea, Brian. The decision is yours. Still, if the lad has watched at home

Brian knelt down to where he was eye level with the boy. Youve done a good job for me at the farm, Ben. I think youve earned yourself a place in the yard to watch. Tell your mother to bring you around as soon as schools out, startin tomorrow.

Bens face lit up from inside. I will, sir, he breathed reverently. Can Annie come, too?

Brian kept a straight face. Youre a hard man to drive a bargain with, wee Ben. If you must have Annie then bring her along. He stroked his chin. Come to think of it, shes done her share of work around the place as well.

Ben rushed to explain. Sometimes Mum is busy in the afternoons. If Annie is to come, we wont have to wait.

Martin laughed. A reasonable argument, although I cant remember a time when Caitlin would rather do something else than be around horses. Have you become a taskmaster, Brigid?

Brigid drew herself up to her full height and looked Martin squarely in the eye. I dont remember givin you leave t use my Christian name, young man. Your collar doesnt give you the right t be disrespectful. Youve always called me Mrs. Keneally and thats what I prefer.

The color drained from Martins face. I meant no harm, Mrs. Keneally, he stammered. Im sorry.

Brigid nodded. I should hope so. She watched the stud farm manager rise and formally shake hands with Ben. Bestowing a dazzling smile on Brian, she turned her attention to her grandson. Come along, love. Were late for tea.

Looking back over her shoulder she waved to the two men. To her satisfaction, she saw that Martin OShea hadnt quite gathered himself after the setdown shed given him. Cheeky lad. As if she hadnt turned him over her knee more times than she could count, not that it had done him any good.

Brian Hennessey was another matter. The look of amusement on his face made her wonder if she shouldnt have chosen someone else to figure in her scheme for Caitlins future. A man who understood too much too quickly would never do. A man like that could not be counted on to behave predictably.

C
aitlins hands closed around the carved arms of the chair so tightly that the knuckles showed white beneath her skin. Shed spent a great deal of her youth in the office of Saint Patricks Catholic Girls Academy and the memories still had the power to reduce her to a childish state of rebellion.

Well need your daughters transcripts, Mrs. Claiborne.

Sister Mary Lucia, a sweet-faced, petite nun in a modified gray habit that revealed auburn hair without a hint of gray was new to the school, a small detail that didnt mitigate Caitlins attitude in the slightest.

Mrs. Claiborne?

Caitlin swallowed and wet her lips. I arranged for them to be sent to the National School, Sister. Im not sure if theyve arrived. Perhaps I can send them to you later?

The nun smiled. Theres no need for that, my dear. Ill write a note and someone will bring them around. Well also need her baptismal certificate.

The remaining color drained from Caitlins cheeks. Why had she ever agreed to this? Annie isnt baptized, Sister, she mumbled.

Oh. The nun looked startled. I dont understand. Why then she stopped.

My husband wasnt Catholic. We werent married in the church. I Caitlin faltered, searched for a tactful explanation that would explain her lack of devotion, found none, and decided on the truth. Experience told her that when dealing with women like this one, it always came out in the end. I fell away, she said simply.

The nun stared at her with shrewd, all-seeing eyes. Her voice was gentle but firm with commitment. Perhaps this isnt the best place for your daughter, Mrs. Claiborne.

Oh, but it is, Caitlin blurted out, desperate now that the carrot was being held out of reach. Annie wants it, you see. Shes not like me at all. The National School isnt right for her.

Sister Mary Lucia drummed her fingers on the desk. There is a participation requirement here at Saint Patricks. We require that our parents be involved in supporting the school. Can you do that, Mrs. Claiborne?

Yes.

Annie will have to begin religious instruction. Is that also acceptable to you?

Caitlin deliberately sealed off the memory of her years spent memorizing the dreaded catechism. Of course.

There is the matter of tuition.

Caitlin waved her hand. Ill manage.

The nun stood. Fine, she said briskly. Then we shall expect you and Annie at Mass next Sunday. Malones is the usual place to outfit her with a uniform for school. Shes welcome to begin classes as soon as shes dressed properly.

Back on the street, Caitlin leaned against the flagstone-covered wall and breathed deeply. Was this really happening? Had she truly enrolled Annie, her beloved daughter, her child who found joy through light and words and music, in this place of damp stone, plaid skirts that scratched cruelly, and rules created a century ago for women who would never set foot beyond the streets where they were born, women who only a generation before birthed fifteen children and acquired tuberculosis and a cemetery plot by the time they were forty? What had she done? If Sam ever had reason to whisk Annie back to Kentucky, this was it.

Caitlin Keneally? Can it be you? A lean, black-frocked figure with a full head of silver hair stepped through the doorway of the rectory.

Caitlin sighed and straightened to wait for the priest to reach her side. Misery came in threes and here she was already at number two. Father Duran had never really approved of her. She couldnt blame him. Shed hardly been a model student.

Hello, Father.

He stood before her, a proud, handsome man in his early seventies, with the chiseled features and clipped speech patterns of an aristocrat. Were you here for devotions, lass? I didnt see you in church.

She shook her head. I was enrolling Annie in Saint Patricks. Shes not happy at the National School. A perverse impulse goaded her on. I hope shes happier here than I was.

Father Durans lips tightened and the eager, hopeful look hed worn when he first saw her disappeared. Instantly, Caitlin was ashamed. She had disliked him as a child for reasons she could no longer remember. But childhood was no longer an excuse. Shed behaved badly. Im sorry, Father, she said before she lost her courage. That was poorly done.

He looked surprised and then amused, as if he actually approved of her, a first between them. She would have walked away but he fell into step beside her, hands clasped behind his back, silvery head bent in a thoughtful position.

Whats the difficulty at the National School?

Caitlin hesitated.

Its only a question, lass, not confession.

She laughed. When did you acquire a sense of humor?

Perhaps you never gave me a chance.

I wonder why, she said out loud.

He smiled. I dont take it personally. As I recall, you didnt want any part of us here at Saint Patricks.

Caitlin stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket. It was true. Her dislike for the parish school was a feeling shed accepted as normal when she was a child.

The priest was saying something. She lost the beginning of his sentence. Im sorry, Father. What were you saying?

I was asking about our Annie.

What about her?

Father Duran looked at her curiously. You said she wasnt happy at the National School, he reminded her gently.

The move has been difficult for her, Caitlin explained. She misses her father and her friends. Apparently the girls havent exactly welcomed her.

Will you be staying in Kilcullen permanently?

Not for one minute did she believe his question was as casual as it appeared. He disapproved of her. She was divorcing her husband. The entire Catholic church disapproved of her. Father Duran would like her to pack up and move back to Kentucky with Sam.

Caitlin had grown up believing what he did, that marriage was a sacrament that only death could dissolve, but no longer, not when a marriage was so wrong. Im divorcing my husband, Father, she said bluntly. Whatever happens I wont be returning to Kentucky.

He ignored her implication. In time, Im sure that Annie will be comfortable here.

At least her clothing wont be an issue.

They reached the intersection of the street and stopped to watch as two women with the small bums, muscled legs, tightly slicked hair, and sun-leathered faces of the English racing aristocracy rode through. Their horses were high-stepping, nearly unmanageable, their eyes wild, their sleek, satiny coats evidence of generations of inbreeding, their hooves kicking up the unmistakable odors of hay and manure and road dust. Caitlin felt a pang. Once that life had been hers. She pushed the thought aside. That life included Sam. Personal happiness had its price.

Father Durans elegant high-bridged nose wrinkled slightly. He looked down at the woman by his side. This is as far as I go, lass. Its been a pleasure talking with you. I hope it wont be the last time.

Caitlin sighed and, without thinking, spoke her mind. You know it wont be, now that youve Annie in your clutches.

Michael Duran threw back his head and laughed. Caitlin Keneally, he managed at last, will you never learn diplomacy?

She considered his question. Probably not. I think Im hopeless.

He sobered instantly. You should, at least when dealing with issues regarding your children. Your husband is a powerful man. I believe youve some difficult times to weather. Keep that in mind.

He had a point. Chastened, she nodded her head. Ill do that.

His voice softened. Theres something else you should consider as well. Youre a bit weak when it comes to church doctrine. I take no position on your marriage, Caitlin. Because youre a Catholic and your marriage was not sanctified by the church, Im not supposed to recognize it.

What are you saying?

We have no quarrel with your secular divorce. May it bring you the peace that you seek. He smiled and touched her cheek lightly. Goodbye lass.

She stared at his retreating figure. What on earth had happened to the Father Duran she remembered?

She caught up with her children on the tree-lined road leading to the stud farm. Annie was holding Bens hand but he was clearly in the lead. Her daughters forlorn little figure dragging after Ben brought painful tears to Caitlins throat. Annie must have had another dreadful day. Hello, you two, she said, falling into step beside them. Reaching for her daughters book bag, she took her free hand and laced the small fingers with her own. Am I late or did you get out early?

There was a teachers meeting, Annie said dully. We got out at half past two.

Isnt that a stroke of luck? Youll have more time at the stud. Perhaps if it isnt busy, we can eat in the cafeteria.

What about Gran? asked Ben.

Ill call her, Caitlin replied. She can join us if she likes. She squeezed Annies hand. Would you like to eat out tonight, love?

Annie shrugged. I dont care.

Caitlin stepped in front of her daughter. Annie, please stop for a minute. I want to tell you something.

Annie waited while Ben looked on curiously.

I went to Saint Patricks today. Theyll take you as soon as we can get you fitted for a uniform.

When will that be?

On Monday morning if you like.

The girls eyes glistened. Will I have to go back to the National School?

Caitlin shook her head. No, love, not ever again. She hesitated. There is one condition.

Annies face closed. What?

They want you to take religious instruction and were to go to Mass on Sunday.

Is that all? the girl asked cautiously, as if not quite sure it could be that easy.

Thats all.

Bens face crumpled. I dont want to go to school without Annie, he wailed. I want to go to Saint Patricks, too. Can I go, Mum? Please?

Caitlin looked helplessly at her son. Ben, love, she began, you cant go to Annies school. Its only for girls.

I want to go, Ben repeated.

Caitlin reached for his hand and kept walking. I know you do, but even if you could go, think how your friends would miss you.

Bens forehead wrinkled. He was deep in thought. Caitlin hoped the issue was settled.

Irish Gold
was already out in the paddock when they arrived at the stud farm. She noticed Brian Hennessey standing motionless inside the guard rails.

Leaning against the fence, she watched as the colt ran frantically across the limestone turf, lifting his head, snorting, eyes wild, teeth exposed, clearly exhibiting his distress at the separation from his mother. He wanted nothing to do with the old broodmare pastured with the yearlings for the sole purpose of comforting the newly weaned foals.

For thirty-five days the colt had survived on mares milk alone. After that
Kentucky Gold
had been tied while her foal was given small amounts of crushed oats and sweet feed. Hed grown quickly, Caitlin observed, noting with pleasure his height, the white-stockinged feet, the good shoulders, and straight hind legs. He should be up to six quarts of grain by now, a healthy amount for a colt born only three months ago.

Soon it would be time to name him. In America the Jockey Club administered the naming of all thoroughbreds and rarely accepted a first choice due to its complicated reasons for disqualification. No horse could have the name of an existing horse, a deceased famous horse, a horse whod raced or served the stud in the last fifteen years, no horse could be named for a famous deceased personality, or a famous living person without his written consent. No horse could advertise a trade name and no name could be over eighteen characters.

The process was nearly as complicated in Ireland. Weatherbys of Ireland managed the General Stud book where horses were registered, bloodtyped, and tested for parentage. It was a formidable process and Caitlin did not relish the experience. She was set on the name
Irish Gold
. Annie and Ben would be disappointed if their chosen name was not accepted. Still, they were Claibornes. Theyd grown up around horses and knew, on this matter, that the rules were nonnegotiable.

The colt had settled into a tentative walk and finally stopped to sniff the grass between his long, stiltlike legs. Caitlin watched as Brian approached him holding a bucket filled with grain, a non-threatening, chirruping sound coming from somewhere back in his throat.