IRISH FIRE (17 page)

Sometimes it isnt the animal, lad, John offered. Y know that. If hes been treated badly y cant blame him.

How much is Dempsey askin?

John was already counting his commission. His forehead wrinkled. Two thousand quid, fifteen hundred if we work it right.

Lets see what he says.

The old man beamed. Follow me, he ordered, shouldering his way through the masses to where the filly stood shackled and tied to a fence post. Jamie Dempsey, he roared over the crowd noise. Ive a buyer for your horse. If y know whats good for y, youll be here by the time Im through countin.

Instantly Dempsey appeared at his side. Im here, John.

Good lad. What are y askin for this bag of bones y call a horse?

Three thousand quid, the man replied promptly.

John shook his head sadly. Brian here will give you one thousand, not a pence more.

Shes worth more.

Come, lad. John waved his finger at the boy. Last year y couldnt give this horse away. I dont see anyone lined up t buy this year. Mr. Hennessey will give y a fair price. He lifted Dempseys hand, slapped it and let it fall. What do y say, lad? Again he picked up the young mans hand and slapped it. One thousand pounds and youve sold the nag.

Two thousand pounds, the boy said. Ill take two thousand for her.

Regretfully, John shook his head and slapped Dempseys hand harder. Fifteen hundred. My buyer will give you fifteen hundred dollars and no more. He leaned close to the boy and removed the pipe from his mouth. This isnt goin to get any better, lad. Y didnt really come here today thinkin y would sell your horse, now, did y?

Dempseys face fell. He isnt goin to pay anymore is he, John?

No, Jamie. He isnt. I wont let him.

All right, then. Its a deal.

John picked up a handful of mud and smeared it on the fillys rump. Brian, lad. Reach into your pocket and bring out your checks. Youve got yourself a horse.

* * *

Brian had never cared for Sam Claiborne. The mans arrogant disregard for the small horse breeder was enough to raise a fair-minded mans contempt. But now that he knew Caitlin, and after Rob Fowler had raised his suspicions, he could barely look at the man without a slow-boiling rage gathering in the pit of his stomach.

Seated in the stands in the center of a group of fawning Americans, Caitlins husband with his expensive flannel trousers and tweed jacket looked every inch the wealthy breeder.

The auctioneer, immaculately dressed in the customary suit and tie suitable for the Goffs annual yearling action, took his place in the box. Brian turned his attention to the filly in the center of the ring. Then he looked at his program. She was a
Suliman
filly out of
Aran Light,
a nervous, fine-boned yearling, small for a foal born in January, but with the bloodlines for enormous potential. Brian pulled the pencil from behind his ear and marked her number. The auctioneer started the bidding at ten thousand pounds.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam Claiborne hold up two fingers.

Ten thousand pounds has been offered, the auctioneer reported, do I have eleven thousand?

Brian raised his hand and nodded.

Eleven thousand pounds, the auctioneer droned, do I have twelve?

Claiborne held up another two fingers.

Twelve thousand pounds, said the auctioneer. Twelve thousand pounds has been offered.

Brian looked at his program. As much as he wanted to foil Sam Claiborne, the
Suliman
filly wasnt worth more than ten thousand guineas. Reluctantly, he kept silent while the auctioneer finalized the Claiborne offer and the filly was led out of the ring.

Six more horses were brought to the block, all with flaws that an experienced trainer wouldnt miss. Brian didnt bother bidding on them. To his intense satisfaction Claiborne Farms acquired four of the six.

When the next colt was brought before the crowd, Brian wasnt the only one who caught his breath.
Indian Summer
was a March foal but he was large, sleek, and well-muscled with the canon bones of a flat racer. Under the golden light thrown by Goffs reflective panels, his cinnamon coat gleamed like living flame. This time, Brian resolved, he would not allow Claiborne to outbid him.

The auctioneer spoke into the microphone.
Indian
Summer
out of
Donovans Lady
by
Sorley Boy
. Champions, ladies and gentleman, winners of the One and Two Thousand Guineas races, the Saint Legers, and the Darby. The bidding will begin at fifteen thousand.

Claiborne raised his hand.

Fifteen thousand pounds offered by Mr. Sam Claiborne, the auctioneer said. Am I offered sixteen? Who will give me sixteen for this splendid animal?

Eighteen thousand, someone called from the back. Brian recognized Seamus OConnor, a neighbor from nearby Naas.

Eighteen thousand is on the table, the auctioneers voice broke through the murmurs of the crowd. Mr. OConnor has offered eighteen thousand punts. Am I offered twenty?

Deliberately, Brian remained silent as the bidding continued. His reputation was well-established. He intended his offer to be the last and the highest. Sam Claiborne wasnt out of cash but he would be shortly. Hed already spent close to a hundred thousand guineas for untried horses. No stable, not even Claibornes could sustain that kind of expenditure.

OConnors last bid was twenty-six thousand. Brian watched Sam Claiborne and the man beside him engage in a swift and animated conversation. They appeared to come to a decision. Claibornes hand remained at his side. Unless someone stepped in, OConnor would walk away with the
Sorley Boy
colt.

Brian pitched his voice for the auctioneers ears. Thirty thousand pounds.

The room went silent. Few had the prestige and money of the Curragh Stud. It was an Irish stable owned and run by Irish men and women, its land rented from the Irish government. If Brian Hennessey was willing to spend thirty thousand pounds on a colt, he could just as well spend forty or fifty. There was no point in a man wasting his time or the Curraghs money for a result that was already a foregone conclusion.

The auctioneers voice came through the microphone.
Indian Summer
sold to the Curragh Stud for thirty thousand pounds.

Brian stood and walked to the exit. He would finalize the paperwork before he left and in the morning send someone from the Curragh to take possession of the colt.

Ian Cummings, the acquisitions clerk at Goffs, congratulated him on his choice, accepted his check and sent him on his way, keeping the small talk to a minimum. Auction days were his busiest.

Brian folded up his receipt, stuffed it into his coat pocket, and walked through Goffs impressive glass doors to his car. In the adjoining space, Sam Claiborne, arms crossed against his chest, leaned against the door of a late model BMW. He straightened, dropped his arms, and nodded at Brian.

Brian Hennessey?

Aye.

Im Sam Claiborne. He didnt offer his hand.

Brian waited.

I understand that youre stabling a colt that belongs to me.

Brian shook his head. Youre mistaken.

Youre Brian Hennessey, manager and trainer of the Curragh Stud, arent you?

I am.

Kentucky Gold
and her colt belong to Claiborne Farms.

Brian opened his car door. Your wife has a different interpretation. Unless I hear otherwise, from a legal source, Ill go along with her.

Claiborne sneered. Im sure you will. Caitlin has no money. Just what kind of arrangement do you have with my wife that keeps you so loyal, Mr. Hennessey?

The arrogant drawl of the southerners speech enraged Brian almost as much as his insinuation. His hands clenched around the door handle and the familiar adrenalin rushed to his brain. Ten years ago, Claiborne would have been on the ground with his mouth bloodied and at least two of his perfectly capped teeth beside him. But Brian had since learned something about self-control.

Mrs. Claiborne pays her boardin fees like everyone else, he said deliberately, but if I were you, I wouldnt go spreadin it around that my wife had no money. Here in Ireland we dont look kindly on a man who refuses to support his wife and children.

Claiborne growled menacingly. Damn you, Hennessey, thats my horse

The Irishmans eyes blazed. His arm snaked out, grabbed the American by his collar and twisted it until the mans mouth opened to suck in needed air. Dont even think of threatenin me, lad, Brian said softly. Here, your money means that you can buy a good horse, nothin more. Understand?

Claiborne, his face a dangerous mottled red, nodded desperately.

Brian released him, slid behind the wheel of his car and rolled down the window. I wont say its been a pleasure. If our luck holds we wont be seein each other again. Goodbye, Mr. Claiborne.

From his rearview mirror, Brian could see Sam Claiborne leaning weakly against his rental car. Swearing under his breath, he changed lanes and accelerated. Hed made an enemy, something he resolved never again to do, and for the worst of all reasons, a woman.

F
or Caitlin, there were moments so powerful, so rich, so filled with quivering breathless joy that everything leading up to them, all the worries and disappointments, the annoyances and failures, the losses and late starts could be looked back upon without regret. This was one of them. She glanced at Annie, standing motionless on the edge of the track, oblivious to the cold, her breath mingling with the morning mist.

The Curragh at dawn, the flattest plain in all of Ireland, the course where the ancient Celts had raced their horses two thousand years before, was a sight that few outsiders were fortunate enough to experience. Caitlin reached for Annies hand and gently squeezed it.

Out of the mist forms took shape, equine and human: jockeys, cheeks red with cold, standing in stirrups, whips in hand; horses neck-and-neck eating up the green turf, cut grass flying beneath trimmed hooves; the wide open space of it; the control, the speed; the sheer exhilarating power of standing less than ten unobstructed meters away from the finest horses in all the world. Effortlessly they ran, hooves pounding the turf, nostrils quivering, sides heaving, breath steaming in the frigid air.

Caitlin felt the energy run through Annies slight body. The childs eyes were closed, her face tilted reverently. She looked to be in communion with the sky, the fog, the cold, and the thundering hooves pounding around the track. This, she had given her daughter and she was glad. This she would always have, always remember. Nothing could take this intensity away.

Will
Irish Gold
train at the Curragh? Annie asked when she came out of her trance.

Caitlin hesitated. She hadnt told the children about the colts affliction. It takes a great deal of money to train at the Curragh, she said, and
Irish Gold
is still very young.

Annie appeared to accept her mothers statement. Thank you for bringing me, Mama, she said. It was a lovely idea.

You deserve a reward. Does the new school suit you, Annie? You never speak of it.

The child nodded. I like it better than the National School. Still, Id rather go home.

Caitlin sighed. Gran would miss you a great deal.

Like my other grandma, she said wisely. Before, no one missed anyone at all. Now Grandma Lucy is sad because were not there and if we leave, Gran will be sad. She turned her dark eyes on her mother. None of it would have happened if you hadnt moved us.

Sometimes the childs profoundness shocked Caitlin. Annie thought and spoke as if she were a sage in the body of a ten-year-old girl. Cant we just try and get through this, Annie? Please?

Thats what Gran always says.

Maybe she has a point. Maybe we should think of this whole difficult time as something we can work on getting through instead of just the way it is.

Annies brow puckered. I dont understand.

Caitlin bit her lip. How much could a child Annies age absorb? Sometimes things look different when youre on the other side. Its possible, in a few years, that you might think I was right to come here.

Annie shook her head. That wont happen, she said emphatically. Ill never think it was right for us to leave Daddy.

Maybe, Caitlin conceded. But Im your mother, Annie, and I wouldnt be setting a very good example if I allowed you to grow up believing a woman has to stay in a marriage that isnt good for her. I would never want you to live with someone who makes you unhappy. Do you want that for me?

Slowly, Annie shook her head.

Caitlin slipped her arm around her daughters waist. Something still needed clarifying. You didnt leave Daddy, love. Youre still his daughter. Hell always be your father. That wont change. Do you understand?

Yes.

It wasnt much, certainly not the whole-hearted acceptance Caitlin wished for. Still, it was a start.

She smiled. We should be getting back. Youll be late for school and we havent had breakfast yet. Would you like to eat at Kathleens before I drop you off.

Annie nodded.

Kathleen Finchs restaurant was nearly empty when Caitlin pulled her car halfway up over the curb on the pedestrian walkway to allow for two-way traffic on the small main street. John Guthrie and Kevin Foley were comparing their heating bills. She nodded to them and took a seat across from Annie at a small table near the window.

Good mornin Caitie, Kathleen called out from behind the double doors leading to the kitchen. How are you, Annie, love?

Im fine, Mrs. Finch, Annie replied.

Well have a full breakfast, Kathleen, Caitlin said. Bacon, sausage, eggs, tomatoes, everything.

Kathleen laughed. Where have you been to work up such an appetite so early in the mornin?

Annie spoke up. At the Curragh. We saw the horses train.

My goodness. Kathleen brought out the tea. You had to be up at dawn to see such a sight. Do y love horses that much, Annie?

I do, the child answered. I love them more than anything else. Except for my family, she added conscientiously.

Well then, I suppose risin with the dawn was well worth it. Ill bring your breakfast right away. She winked at Annie. If your mum will help me slice the bread youll have it that much faster.

Annie looked inquiringly at her mother.

Caitlin laughed and stood. Have a cup of tea and pour me one as well.

The two women worked quickly, Kathleen frying bacon and sausage in one pan and eggs in another, Caitlin slicing the hearty brown bread that was Irelands second staple.

Kathleens voice was a shade above a whisper. You just missed him, Caitie. He was in here no more than ten minutes before you stepped inside the door.

Caitlin plied the knife expertly through the thick crust. Who?

Why, Sam Claiborne, himself, said Kathleen, sliding the eggs on to two plates. He ate a platter full of eggs and sausage and washed it down with enough coffee to give him the runs for a week. Then he asked where he could find you.

What did you tell him?

Your mum has the only pub in town, Kathleen said reasonably. He would have found you no matter what I told him.

I cant really avoid him. Hes my childrens father. She frowned. Mum promised to see Ben off to school. I suppose its better that Annie and Ben wont be with us until we settle things enough to be civil to one another.

Kathleen arranged the bacon and sausage beside the eggs, dished up two stewed tomatoes and released the button on the toaster. He seemed a pleasant enough chap.

Caitlin nodded. Sam can be very pleasant.

Dont you miss bein married even a wee bit, Caitie?

No. Do you?

Kathleens forehead wrinkled. Sometimes, in winter when the nights are long the way they are now and Ive forgotten the feel of the sun on my skin. I cant seem to get warm. Do you ever feel the same?

Caitlins mouth turned up in a half-smile. Keeping your feet warm isnt a very good reason to wish for a husband, Kathleen.

Kathleen chuckled. I suppose so. Arent we serious for so early in the mornin? Ill bring out the plates or Annie will be wonderin where weve put her breakfast.

Caitlins car was one of the last to pull up in front of the red brick building that had served as Kilcullens Catholic girls school for nearly a century.

Annie brushed her mothers cheek in a quick kiss, pulled her book bag over her shoulder, and ran for the entrance.

Watching until her daughter had disappeared behind the carved wooden door, she negotiated a U-turn on her way back to the pub. Caitlin wasnt feeling her usual self. A strange sort of lethargy had settled over her. She didnt want to see anyone today, not her mother, not the regulars at the stud and most especially, not Sam.

The morning had been fine with a hint of sunlight but now clouds had gathered and the rain was coming down in tiny gusts that clouded the windshield, stopping long enough for the wipers to restore visibility before obscuring it again. Caitlins hands tightened on the steering wheel. What if she didnt go back just yet? What if she took the day to go into Naas or Lougrea, to look in the shops and stop in for a roll and a pot of tea or a bar meal?

The roundabout toward Naas loomed ahead. Caitlin checked her rearview mirror and merged into the left lane passing the first exit and then the second before turning onto the third. She smiled. A rare sense of adventure lightened her mood, turning her cheeks pink. How long had it been since she had a day to herself? Shed forgotten. She would pick up a jar of chocolate spread and peanut butter at the Superquinn. They were Ben and Annies favorites. Normally, she wouldnt let them eat the stuff, not the chocolate anyway, pure fudge without the slightest nutritional value. But rules could sometimes be bent and today she felt like bending them.

Her mother bent them all the time, a habit that continued to amaze Caitlin. She couldnt remember when her mother had shown the slightest bit of softness toward her own six daughters. Annie and Ben could do no wrong. Caitlins mouth turned up in a half smile. Lucy was the same way. Perhaps a grandmothers relationship with her grandchildren was intended to be easier, more indulgent than a mothers with her children.

At ten oclock in the morning, Naas, like any other Irish town at the onset of winter, was barely waking. The chemist was still closed and Gogartys Furniture and Hardware was dark inside, but the Manor Bar and Restaurant had a sign out and a young woman with an earring in her nose was sweeping the pathway in front of Evitas Boutique.

Older women dressed in woolen mittens and caps, divided pleated skirts, and Aran sweaters walked purposely down the rain-wet streets carrying home the days groceries. It would be another hour before men in business suits and women in fashionable leather jackets and pumps, their faces artfully made up with the latest that Chanel and Lanc`me had to offer, would be up and about. Everyone knew that hours were irregular in winter. No one but the occasional American traveler expected otherwise.

Caitlin pulled into a parking spot opposite the Bookends Bookstore and sat for a minute. Her breathing came faster now and the blood beat erratically in her throat. Now that her moment of freedom was upon her she felt strange, almost fearful, as if she were committing an illicit act.

Pushing the feeling aside, she buttoned her coat, reached into the back seat for an umbrella, and stepped out of the car.

Three hours later, armed with packages and flushed with the pleasure of doing exactly as she pleased, she entered the Manor Pub and Restaurant and sat down on a padded bench near the fire. Annie would be pleased with the knit cap and maple syrup. Caitlin found Pandas chocolate spread and a tin of crayons with seventy-two colors for Ben who had lately displayed an artistic streak. Shed indulged in a bottle of hand lotion and bath salts for Brigid, and when the saddlers opened at noon and the gloves she wanted were discounted, she purchased them without a twinge of conscience. It had been a productive morning, every bit as much fun as shopping in Louisville with a balance-free platinum card had been.

Lunch hour was just beginning and the pub, a cozy place with an open-beamed ceiling and picture-covered walls, was beginning to fill up. She looked at the menu and her stomach rumbled. Cottage pie with chips and vegetables would go nicely with a glass of Harp and a pot of tea.

A capable looking young man took her order and returned immediately with her ale. Sighing happily, Caitlin sipped her Harp and closed her eyes, allowing the warm fire and the golden alcohol to relax her.

A low, amused voice broke through her daze. What a surprise. We missed you at the Stud this mornin. How are you?

Her eyes opened and she smiled. Were eyes as blue anywhere else outside the Aran Islands? Brian. How lovely to see you. Im well, thank you. Will you join me?

I will if I wont disturb you. You look quite content sittin here all alone.

A lightness had taken hold of her, probably the Harp. She pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the table. Id rather have company.

He glanced briefly at the nearly empty glass in front of her before settling himself in the chair. What brings you to Naas on this fine day?

Caitlin turned to look out the window. You must be on the good side of a piece of news. Its been wet since morning.

Aye, so it has. Brian nodded at the man waiting tables. Before long a pint of Guinness had joined Caitlins Harp at the table.