Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
Sean turned red, confirming Bridie’s suspicions.
“As I thought,” Bridie said airily. “Be off with you. And tell your father that it will be the usual order, thank you very much. Two quarts of milk, a pint of cream and a pound of butter every other week.”
To his credit, Sean stood his ground even though he was clearly burning under Bridie’s condescending treatment. He ignored the older woman and said to Linn, “I’ll not deny I wanted to meet you, miss. Will you be coming to the festival?”
“What festival?”
“It’s a fair in the town. I thought if you came in to Bally you might spare me a few minutes. I’d like to talk to you about the States.”
“Sure, I guess so,” Linn answered, mindful of Bridie hovering in the background, her ear on a stalk. “I suppose I’ll go if everyone else plans to be there.”
“Grand.” Sean beamed. “Champion. I’ll look for you, then. Good day for now.”
“Goodbye,” Linn called after him as he trotted back to his truck. He roared off in a cloud of dust as Linn turned back to face Bridie’s disapproving stare.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked Bridie irritably. “If there’s a local fair why shouldn’t I go? And why shouldn’t I talk to him if I want to? I’ve been cooped up in here all week listening to you lecture me on what an amazing collection of junk my relatives managed to amass.”
“Don’t get testy with me, my girl, just because he hasn’t come by to see you.”
“Who?” Linn demanded, pretending ignorance.
“Him you were hoping for when the knock came at the door. Him that you watch through the window with your tongue on the floor.”
Linn winced at Bridie’s graphic description. She didn’t answer.
“He’s a good lad,” Bridie observed quietly.
Linn knew she wasn’t referring to Sean. She still kept silent, not knowing what to say.
“I said, Connor is a good lad,” Bridie repeated louder, as if Linn were partially deaf.
“I heard you. I never said he wasn’t.”
“Fine figure of a man, too,” Bridie added.
Linn was not about to debate Con’s obvious attributes with Bridie. “I suppose so,” she replied mildly.
“You’ve done more than suppose, Aislinn Pierce,” Bridie stated tartly.
Linn turned on her. “What do you want me to say? He obviously isn’t interested in me so it doesn’t matter what I think of him, does it?” Even as she was speaking she resented Bridie’s ability to waltz her expertly into a corner and force her to admit her feelings. Bridie’s talents were wasted dusting furniture in Ballykinnon. She could be making a fortune dissecting hostile witnesses.
Bridie smiled wisely. “Oh, he wants you; any fool can see that. But something is holding him back. What might that be?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Indeed?” Bridie wasn’t convinced.
“Indeed no. And in case I haven’t told you it’s none of your business.”
“It is my business when the two of you tiptoe around here circling one another like a mare and a stallion at the Bantry Fair. What’s up with you, girl? Keep dragging your feet and you’re going to lose out, if you take my meaning. The man has a way with him and you’ve no lack of competition. That Kate Costello down at the Kinnon Arms has been after him for years. Are you going to stand about like a chess piece and let her snatch him from under your nose?”
“And what do you suggest I do?”
“Stop mooning through the rooms like a lovesick calf, for a start. Why hasn’t he been back? Did you have a tiff?”
“Not really. He thinks there are reasons why it… wouldn’t work out and so he doesn’t want to take it any further, that’s all.”
Bridie snorted. “That boy always did think too much. If he just followed his heart he’d be a lot better off, I say. He’s all the time trying to cover his feelings, putting on that mask.”
“I wish I could tell what he was thinking,” Linn mused, almost to herself. “Sometimes it seems I can, but other times he looks at me out of those cool blue eyes...” She let the sentence hang, unfinished.
Bridie watched her closely. “Think he’s a cool customer, do you?” she asked, picking up on Linn’s metaphor.
“Not always,” Linn answered vaguely. She’d seen him flash very hot on a number of occasions.
“You’d be wrong if you do,” Bridie stated flatly. “He’s got a temper on him like a volcano, and you don’t want to be around when it erupts. Don’t mistake control for lack of feeling. He just keeps himself in rigid check, is all.”
Linn sighed. “Bridie, I know you’re trying to help but there’s nothing I can do once he’s made up his mind. If you know him as well as you say then you also know how stubborn he is. Now let’s have the tea and then get on with the list of repairs. I want to order a new refrigerator and get an electrician in here to rewire the house. We’ll never be able to handle the new appliances with the old fuse box.” Linn made for the kitchen with a determined expression. The subject was closed.
Bridie followed with the restrained air of a woman who meant to have her say at a later date.
* * * *
The next day Linn was scrubbing the tile in the front hall on her hands and knees when Con walked through the door. She scrambled to her feet, flustered.
He handed her a stack of mail. “I’ve brought the post from the village,” he said shortly.
“Thank you.” Their fingers touched briefly as he withdrew his hand.
He nodded, looking around at the interior of the house. “How are you getting on?”
“Fine. Bridie’s helping me with the housework. We’re almost finished.”
As if on cue Bridie appeared from the parlor. Linn closed her eyes for a second in silent prayer. If Bridie said anything to indicate the subject of their recent conversation, she wasn’t going to live long after Con left.
“Connor,” Bridie said briskly. “Been busy these past days, have you?”
“Aye. There’s a good lot to be done.”
“And you’re writing as well?”
“I am.”
“Then that explains why we haven’t seen much of you. We’ve been wondering how you’ve been keeping.”
“Have you?” Con asked, glancing at Linn.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you to take a look at that drain out back. It’s stopped up again and you were so clever about fixing it last time. Would you give it a go? There’s a good son.”
Con shared a half smile with Linn that indicated he wasn’t taken in by this blarney. “You can spare the speech; I’ll have a look at it.” He went through the hall and out the back door. Linn followed his progress with her eyes.
“Bridie, he’s limping,” she said when he was out of earshot.
“Oh, aye, he does that off and on. There’s a piece of metal left in that leg yet. I’ve seen him drag it before when he was tired.”
Linn’s face was shadowed with concern. “But he must be in pain much of the time,” she murmured.
The older woman’s face softened at Linn’s anxious tone. Why she’s in love with him already, Bridie thought. But she doesn’t know it yet.
“Go and talk to him, lass,” Bridie urged gently. “You’ve missed him so.”
Linn didn’t need any further encouragement. She brushed her hair back off her forehead and glanced into the hall mirror as she passed. She’d pinned her hair up on top of her head that morning but it was half down now from her exertions. There was a smudge on her nose and her blouse had a wet stain from the cleaning rag she’d been holding. This didn’t even slow her down. Bridie was right; she’d missed Con far too much to waste this opportunity.
Linn found him digging out the cairn next to the well, removing the debris which had been clogging it. He looked up at her, his hands covered with muck.
“Lovely job,” he said, commenting on the task at hand. “It’s no wonder she always gets me to do it.”
Linn smiled. He bent over with his back to her, and she let her eyes dwell lovingly on the perfect symmetry of his body. It was cooler than usual and he was wearing a charcoal gray Aran sweater that made him look like an iconic poster from the Irish Tourist Board. His mink colored hair caught and reflected the bright sunlight. Linn tore her gaze away. She wouldn’t be caught staring.
Con straightened. “There. That’s done. Let me have something to wipe off this mess, will you?”
Linn got him a rag from the house. When she returned, he took it from her gratefully and cleaned his hands. He met her eyes.
“Why do you put your hair up like that?” he asked softly. “It looks so beautiful down about your shoulders.” He reached out with a slightly grimy forefinger and loosened one of the pins that held it. The flaxen mass cascaded over his hand.
“Ah,” he murmured. “That’s better. Aislinn with the amber hair. You should always leave it just like that.”
Linn caught his hand and held it to her cheek.
“I’m dirty,” he protested, making no move to pull away.
“I don’t care,” she whispered.
He took a step closer. “Aislinn, why do you encourage me?” he muttered harshly. “I’m the man you said no to on the mountain.”
“I don’t care about that either.”
“Then why did you refuse me?” he demanded angrily. “Do you wish so much to hurt me?” He whirled away from her, incensed again at the memory. He strode rapidly around the house and Linn ran after him, almost crashing into Bridie as the housekeeper brushed past Con on her way outside. Con continued on his path, not looking around at her.
“What ails him?” she asked Linn. “What did you say to him?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know; I can’t seem to do anything right,” Linn wailed. “He blows hot and cold by turns; he’s got me spinning like a top.” They both looked up as Con vanished into the distance, walking as fast as his halting gait would permit across the lawn. Linn sagged against the doorjamb, exasperated to the point of screaming.
Bridie put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “He’s not easy, lass. I know he’s not easy. But he’s worth far more than a dozen like young Sean Roche who tease and play but never put themselves on the line. Con works straight from the heart. If you win him he’ll be yours forever.”
Linn turned her head to meet Bridie’s intent gaze. Then she nodded slowly.
“Yes, I can sense that,” she said quietly. “I think I’ve known it from the beginning.”
There was a pause before Bridie cleared her throat and said briskly, “Now take yourself back into the house and finish that floor. You can’t leave it half done; it looks like the before-and-after pictures in a magazine advert.”
Linn smiled wanly and went inside, Bridie’s words repeating themselves in her mind.
If you win him
, Bridie had said.
Linn picked up the bucket of soapy water and moved it to a new spot on the tile.
She wanted very badly to win him.
* * * *
The weekend came and Bridie stayed with her family in town. Linn spent Saturday going through the books in what was laughingly known as the library. This was a back bedroom with a massive fireplace, the walls lined with shelves. Books were stacked from the floor to the ceiling in a haphazard fashion that would have sent any self respecting librarian running for the bottle. There was also a black-and-white television which received three stations, RTE (Radio Telefis Eireann) 1 and 2, and BBC Wales. Linn spent Saturday night trying to start a fire and watching an old British war movie on the Welsh channel. When she finally got a blaze going she switched to RTE 1, which was giving the weather report. She watched in fascination as the “news presenter,” as they were known in Ireland, gave the forecast in English and then switched smoothly to Gaelic, repeating what she had just said in the native language. The Irish were valiantly trying to resurrect their dying tongue and all signs and public notices, as well as broadcasts, were done in both English and Gaelic. All media personnel had to be bilingual. Linn listened to the liquid syllables of the poetic tongue, the spoken version of which was musically beautiful, and wished that she could understand. She felt that a treasure chest of literary and cultural delights was at hand but that she didn’t have the key to unlock it. When the presenter went back to English for the finale, Linn was almost disappointed.
The forecast was for “bright intervals” the next day. She had to smile at the difference from the weather reports back home, which predicted “patchy clouds.” Here the assumption was that the sky would be overcast; at home it was just the opposite. She switched to RTE 2 but it had ceased broadcasting for the night. The test pattern featured a large clock with the minute hand sweeping serenely around its face, telling the current time. At the bottom was the Gaelic legend
Nos Da
. “Good night.” Nos da to you too, Linn thought, and shut off the set.
The telephone rang. She had a wild moment of hope but it was Sean Roche, trying again when he knew Linn would be alone. She put him off with some feeble excuse about getting the house in order and hung up the phone. She walked to the front door and looked out across the yard.
Where was Con? Down in the pub getting chummy with Kate Costello? Wandering aimlessly around the grounds, tortured by grim memories? Working, thinking, sleeping? She forced herself to march back to the den and pick out a book. Mooning around, as Bridie put it, was getting her nowhere.