IRISH FIRE (6 page)

How many shall I bring? asked Ben hopefully.

Ten or twelve should do it. Theres rain on the wind, but its June after all. I cant be providin heat for the entire village. Theres turf t add if were short on wood. Hurry now, lad. Weve dallied long enough.

Obediently, Ben ran back out the door. Brigid watched him with a fond smile on her lips. That one was a joy. Pity she never had any sons.

Annie had finished up the glasses, found the broom, and was sweeping the floor when Brigid walked back into the main room. I see you found everythin all right.

The girl nodded and continued to sweep, keeping her eyes on the floor. Caitlin would have said something. Brigid held back a snort. Caitlin would never have picked up a broom in the first place.

An amused voice broke through her thoughts. I see you have them working already.

Brigid turned toward her daughter and caught her breath. Had she changed so much or was it familiarity that had hidden what was so obvious now that she hadnt seen her daughter in years? Caitlin, with her elegant clothing, her tousled hair, her creamy skin, and those eyes, slanted and dark as a druid priestess, looked nothing like Sean Keneally. In fact, she looked like no one Brigid had ever seen before. Fourteen years in America had turned her into an aristocrat, a woman who no more belonged in a working class pub than the Queen of England. Whatever was she doing here? What had she expected of them all when she made the decision to come home?

Caitlin yawned and lifted the hair from the back of her neck.
Kentucky Gold
foaled this morning.

Annie laughed out loud and danced around the broom. What is it?

A colt, her mother answered. Shall we think of a name?

Annie hesitated. Daddy likes to name our colts. Wont he be mad?

I dont think so, replied Caitlin evenly. In Daddys absence, Im sure he would be pleased to know that you named
Kentucky Gold
s colt, Annie.

Ben stumbled through the door, rubbing wood shavings from the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Ive finished, Gran. When will you open the pub?

Brigid nodded at the clock. It wont be long now.

Ben looked at his mother. Did you wash the dishes, Mama? Weve been giving Gran a hand in the pub.

Caitlin lifted one eyebrow. So I see. Have you had your fill or do you want to come with me and see
Kentucky Gold
s colt?

Ben hesitated, eyes lowered, indecently long lashes sweeping his cheeks. Gran said she needed us to help.

Brigids heart turned over. Youve done a fine job, lad, she assured him. Run along now and see your mums colt.

You can finish up in here, Ben, his mother said. Above the childrens head her eyes met Brigids and locked. Ive still the breakfast dishes to do.

Ill help you, said Annie.

Brigid reached for the broom. Youve both done well. Thank you.

Youre welcome, said Annie politely, slipping her hand into Caitlins and leading her back toward the kitchen.

Ben pointed to a case behind the bar with brightly wrapped packages. What are those? he asked.

Biscuits, replied his grandmother. I believe you call them cookies in America.

May I have one?

Brigid laughed. You deserve at least two. Slide the glass open and take some for yourself and your sister. She hardly tasted her breakfast.

Annies sad, remarked Ben wisely.

Brigid stopped sweeping. Is she now? Why is that, Ben?

He spoke around a mouthful of cookie, crumbs gathering at the corners of his mouth. She misses Daddy and Grandma Lucy and her friends and her room.

Dont you miss those things?

Ben shook his head. I like it here.

More than Kentucky?

He nodded emphatically. Nothings far away here and theres more to do.

Brigid straightened her shoulders. She felt lighter somehow, as if a large heavy bundle had been lifted from her shoulders.

Perhaps, after a while, Annie will see it as you do.

Ben nodded, swallowed, and reached for another biscuit.

A
nnie picked up the bowl dripping with soapsuds, rinsed it carefully in a tub of warm water, and wiped the sides, the bottom, and the rim as methodically as if shed helped dry dishes every day of her life.

Caitlin, warmed by a stream of milky sunlight just appearing over the roof of Feeneys hardware store and the rare camaraderie of performing a necessary chore with her daughter, was lulled into a tranquil mood. I think Ill make some pancakes, she said, opening the cupboard above her head. Youd like that wouldnt you, Annie? Pancakes sound better than Grans oats, dont they?

Annie nodded.

Caitlin began pulling sugar, flour, and baking soda from the cupboard. Annie, she looked back over her shoulder, check inside the refrigerator and see if there are any eggs left. Well use butter if theres no oil.

Following her mothers instructions, Annie measured out the ingredients while Caitlin worked quickly, sifting together the flour, baking soda, and salt. After mixing in the sugar, she formed a well and poured in the oil, egg yolks, vanilla, and a bit of cream. Humming to herself, she whipped the whites into stiff peaks and slowly added sugar. Then she mixed the dry ingredients with the wet, expertly folding in the meringue and ladling heaping spoonfuls of batter into the sizzling cast iron skillet.

Minutes later the kitchen was filled with the tantalizing smells of a Kentucky breakfast. Satisfied with her accomplishment, Caitlin nibbled at the crisp, browned edges of the pancake on her plate. Food, delicious and expertly prepared, relaxed and soothed her. She made a mental note to herself to buy maple syrup at the grocery store.

Her daughters words shattered her calm. Mama, why dont we go to church?

Keeping her face expressionless, Caitlin swallowed the last mouthful of pancake, stood, and walked to the sink to slip her plate into the soapy water. She worked to keep her tone casual. Why do you ask?

A priest came into the pub to see us. He knew our names.

Caitlin turned around and leaned against the sink, arms crossed against her chest. Do you remember his name?

Annie nodded. Father Duran.

What did he say?

The girl shrugged and swallowed the rest of her pancake. Nothing much except that he was happy to meet us. He wants you to bring us to church. I told him we didnt go.

Oh, lord, Annie, Caitlin groaned. What did he say to that?

Annie, gratified by her mothers interest, continued eagerly. He said it sounded as if you hadnt changed much and then Gran said you had.

Dear old Mum. I always could count on her support, mumbled Caitlin under her breath.

Annies forehead creased. What?

Never mind, love. For a man who said nothing, you certainly remembered a great deal of his conversation.

He was nice but Gran wanted him to leave.

Did she now?

Annie nodded. Why dont we, Mama?

Why dont we what?

Why dont we go to church?

Caitlin surveyed her fingernails. Three weeks of hot soapy water and no dishwasher had destroyed her manicure. Mustering her courage, she met Annies dark eyes. When I was a child I went to church every Sunday of my life. I longed for a day to sleep as late as I wanted and do nothing. It was different for you. If youre curious and would like to go to church, Annie, then of course you may go.

Will you go, too?

Caitlin gave up, anything to wipe away that anxious look from Annies little face. Yes, love, if it makes you happy.

Annie picked up her plate and carried it to the sink, something shed never done in Kentucky. I would like to try it, Mama. It will make Gran happy, too.

First church and now this. Annies defection frightened her. You neednt worry about Gran, Annie, Caitlin said. Shes not the type of person who can ever be really pleased about anything.

Annies eyes widened until the ratio of brown iris and creamy skin appeared nearly the same. Why not?

She doesnt think she deserves it.

Has she done something bad?

Already regretting her frankness, Caitlin struggled to make the truth benign enough for a ten year old to understand. Its the way she was raised, love. She was brought up to believe certain superstitions. The fear that too much happiness cant possibly last is one of them. Do you understand?

Annie wrinkled her forehead. I think so. Poor Gran.

Caitlin rested her hands on her daughters shoulders. Shes not really unhappy. But shes never known any other way. Its important for you to understand that we must respect her and love her but we mustnt think we can change her. After a certain age people dont change, Annie, not unless they want to.

Annie pulled away and began to wander about the kitchen, opening drawers, fingering utensils. Shall we tell Ben about the pancakes?

Caitlin sighed. The subject was ended. Naivete worked every time. Shed used the same tactic herself when she was Annies age. Ill freeze some for him and he can have them tomorrow.

Have what tomorrow? Ben asked from the entrance to the pub.

His mother smiled. Bens well-scrubbed, chubby-cheeked appeal was difficult to resist. I made pancakes. Would you like some?

Ben thought a minute and then shook his head and held up a small package. Gran gave me biscuits. These are for you, Annie, he said generously.

Im not hungry, she said. You can have them.

He stuffed the package in his pocket and walked across the kitchen to where his mother stood. When will we go see the colt, Mama?

Caitlin kissed the top of his head. There was something miraculous about giving birth to a boya child of herself and yet nothing like her. As soon as you find your sweatshirt. Its cold outside. Bring Annies as well.

I wont be cold in the car, said Annie.

We wont be driving.

Annie looked surprised. How will we get there?

Caitlin bit her lip. It wasnt the first time Annie had inadvertently pointed out the disadvantages of her new home. Well walk.

But why? Annie wailed. Gran has a car.

I dont know how long well be gone, explained Caitlin patiently. I cant ask Gran to give up her car.

Annie pouted. All traces of the serious, thoughtful child who, ten minutes before had wanted to please her grandmother, had completely disappeared. We wouldnt have to worry about any of this if we were at home.

Oh, Annie. Im sorry that youre unhappy here. Please give it a chance.

Why cant we just go home?

Caitlin felt her right temple throb, an indication of a migraine coming on. Another few minutes of this and she wouldnt be walking anywhere. Weve been over this before, she said, trying to ignore the nagging ache. Daddy and I are divorcing. Youll go back to Kentucky to visit him but your home will be here with me. Im your mother.

I wish you werent. Annies voice cracked. I wish anyone but you was my mother.

Caitlin moved toward her, reaching out. Annie

Dont come near me, the child sobbed, backing away. I hate you.

Caitlin watched helplessly as her daughter turned, ran into her room, and slammed the door. Every instinct told her to march into Annies room and demand an apology. But then what? Annie had blurted out her feelings instead of allowing them to rage inside of her, something Caitlin had always encouraged. Should the rules change because her daughter had expressed emotions that Caitlin found intolerable? Could a ten-year-old girl actually hate her mother?

The pain had crossed her forehead. Now both temples were on fire.

Whats goin on here? Brigid stepped into the room and sniffed appreciatively. Its a lovely smell, whatever it is youve made.

Pancakes, said Caitlin tonelessly, rubbing her head.

Her mother frowned. You look pale as milk, lass. Are you ill?

Its a migraine. Ill take a pill now and maybe it wont get worse.

Brigids lips tightened. Since when have you had migraines?

She really couldnt stand much more. Since Sam decided to diddle every woman between sixteen and sixty.

Caitlin Keneally! Theres a child present. Her mothers eyes were narrow with disapproval. We may not be sinfully rich like the Claibornes, but surely you never learned such language in this house.

Her vision was going. Tiny blasts of light flickered behind her eyelids. Perhaps not
in
the house.

Mama?

Ben looked frightened. Caitlin forced a smile and pulled him close, burying her nose in his hair. It smelled like strawberries, Brigids shampoo. Dont worry, Benjie, she murmured. Its just a headache. Gran will know what to do.

Will we still see the colt?

Dont worry about that, Brigid replied. After I attend to your mother, Ill take you.

Somehow her mother did know what to do. Brigid crossed the room, scooped ice from the freezer, sealed it in a plastic bag and pressed it against the back of Caitlins neck. Blessed coolness met the pain, and a voice, incredible in its softness, whispered, Dont say anything, love. Ill take you back to bed. You can visit the foal another day.

My pills, mumbled Caitlin. Theyre in my bag.

Hush, her mother soothed her. Ill find them. Everything will be all right.

Annie, shes

Annie will be fine. Dont worry so much, Caitlin. Youre not alone here. Rest now.

With that comforting thought swimming through her haze of pain, Caitlin gulped down her Imitrex capsule, turned her face to the wall, and prayed for sleep.

It was three days before she could bring herself to swing her legs over the side of the bed and look into a mirror. What she saw made her groan. Her hair was wild and her skin and eyes had a jaundiced cast that resembled detox patients from the hospital in Louisville where Lucy Claiborne volunteered. The smell of leftover bacon from the kitchen gagged her.

Shakily, she gathered her clothing and headed for the shower. Thank God the bathroom was free. She needed to find a place to live, somewhere private, preferably with a barn, a large kitchen, and at least two bathrooms.

The inadequate trickle of lukewarm water, so different from the steaming, powerful spray in her Kentucky bathroom, barely managed to revive her. Shed forgotten how cold Ireland could be. Shivering from the lack of heat she toweled herself dry, wrapped her wet hair in a turban and quickly pulled on her clothes. She was weak as a cat, and knowing her mothers shopping habits, there probably wasnt enough in the refrigerator to feed a ghost.

The house was unusually quiet. Slipping her feet into fleece-lined moccasins, Caitlin walked down the stairs into the kitchen, turned the heat on under the kettle, and opened the refrigerator. The contents actually looked promising. She pulled out eggs, cheese, mushrooms, and a hambone with enough meat left on it for a decent omelet.

The familiar tasks of cracking eggs, slicing meat into neat, even cubes, and grating cheese restored her balance. The mindless routine of cooking always worked its magic on her. Through the colors and textures of food, she assuaged an appetite that had nothing to do with hunger. The sharp blade of a knife slicing through the skin of a tomato, the crisp tartness of an apple, the flaky sweetness of a cobbler laced with cream, the subtle hint of rosemary and sage lifted her above hurt and loss, regret and shattered confidence. Cooking brought Caitlin serenity, the glow of accomplishment. Each time, each new creation, like the act of contrition, restored her badly damaged pride.

By the time she added mushrooms, ham, and grated cheese to the sizzling eggs, and efficiently flipped the omelet on to a plate, her spirits had lifted enough to consider taking Annie and Ben with her to see
Kentucky Gold
. Food in her stomach improved her spirits even further.

Caitlin frowned. Where were Annie and Ben?

Carrying her dishes to the sink, she unwrapped the towel from her hair. Fingercombing her curls, she walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to the pub.

Kirsty, the part-time help, was serving Guinness to two patrons in the wool slouch caps typical of Irish men. She called out to Caitlin. If your lookin for your mum, shes in the store.

Caitlin nodded, walked back down the hall and through the door to the convenience store where her mother had spent the better part of her life. There was no sign of Annie and Ben. Where are the children? she asked.