Wild Irish Roots (The Mystic Cove Series) (7 page)

"Shannon Airport, how may I direct your call?"

"Um, I'd like to see how much a flight to Boston is. Oh, and what the schedule is," Margaret said meekly.

"That's reservations. Hold, please," the tinny voice echoed back at her.

Margaret held the phone impatiently, her pencil poised on the paper.

"Reservations."

"Yes, how much is the flight to Boston from Shannon?"

"Round-trip or one way?"

"One way," Margaret whispered.

"What was that? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you," the voice at the other end said.

"I'm sorry. One way, please." Margaret spoke briskly.

"We have an eleven a.m. flight that leaves every other day from Shannon to Boston. Flight will be 360 pounds."

Margaret gulped. That was almost the exact amount that she had saved for moving to Dublin.

"Ah, thank you. Can I buy a ticket the day of or do I need to reserve now?" Margaret asked, unsure of how it worked.

"You can buy a ticket day of, love. These flights are rarely full."

"Thank you," Margaret said softly and placed the phone back in the receiver.

She stared blindly at the paper, clutched in her trembling hand. Could she do this? Pick up and leave for Boston? A part of her cried yes. And...a very sad part of her that she tried to tamp down wanted to stay here. Every time the door opened at the café she looked up, hope flinging its way through her for a brief millisecond.

Sean hadn't called. He hadn't stopped by the café or her house. She'd even gone to the pub, hoping to run into him. Instead, the happy voices only caused her more heartache and she had quickly retreated to her car.

Which is where she was spending most of her time. Camped out in her car on the side of the road, reading books on real estate that she had checked out from the little library. It was the only thing that she could process right now. Everything else hurt too much. Margaret even found herself avoiding driving past the harbor, scared that she would see Sean flirting with another girl.

As Margaret stared at the piece of paper in her hand, she promised herself that if her cousin got back to her and Sean hadn't come to see her by then, she would leave. Her pride wouldn't allow her to wait for a man to come around any longer than that. On a nod, she shoved the paper in her pocket and pulled her real-estate book from her bag, flipping it open to the chapter that she had last been reading. In a matter of moments, Margaret was engrossed in the chapters and making notes on a small pad of paper. Her future hung suspended around her. Waiting.

––––––––

T
hree and a half weeks later, Margaret dragged herself from her bed. She felt like she was tired all the time lately. And weepy, Margaret thought. Oh-so-weepy. Nothing had panned out as she had expected. No word from her cousin and no word from Sean. She'd only glimpsed him once and had ducked behind the corner of a building so that he didn't see her.

She was barely eating and Margaret knew that Fiona was desperately worried about her. She expected an intervention from her some day soon.

Pulling on a long sleeve shirt over her t-shirt and pajama pants, Margaret wandered into the kitchen and stopped short. Fiona sat at the table, a pot of tea with two cups in front of her and a paper bag on the table.

"Sit," Fiona ordered.

Groaning, Margaret sat. There was no use arguing with that tone. Or with the fact that this was a long time coming. Margaret assumed this was going to be her intervention. Buck up and move on, my child, Margaret mimicked her mom in her head.

"I'm worried about you," Fiona said softly.

Margaret shrugged, even though her mother's soft words brought an unexpected sheen of tears to her eyes.

"It's fine," Margaret said grumpily and poured herself a cup of tea.

"It's hard for me to sit here and watch you starve yourself. It isn't good for you. Or..."Fiona cut herself off. Margaret tilted her head and looked at her mother for the first time in weeks. Really looked at her. Fiona wasn't just worried, Margaret thought. She was scared.

"Or...what?" Margaret asked. Knowing Fiona's ability to sense illness, Margaret's heart seized up.

"Am I sick? Like really sick? Not just heartsick?" Margaret demanded, slapping her cup on the table.

Fiona blew out a breath and Margaret watched as Fiona raised her eyes to the ceiling and said a small prayer. Scared now, she waited for her mother to speak.

"Ah, so this is a delicate matter. When was the last time you had your menses?" Fiona asked softly.

"My menses...you mean my period? I just..." Margaret trailed off as the realization hit her. She'd had her period about a week or so before that night with Sean. And they hadn’t used protection. She counted back the days and literally felt the blood drain from her face as she realized that she was late. Her mouth gaped open as she met Fiona's eyes.

Fiona smiled gently at her, "It only takes once, honey."

"No, no, no," Margaret pushed back from the table as panic raced through her. Sweat beaded across her back and she punched her fist into her other hand repeatedly.

Fiona just watched her for a moment before sighing and opening the bag. She pushed a white and black box across the table at Margaret as Margaret looked at her in horror.

"What is that?"

"It's a home pregnancy test. They are said to be fairly accurate," Fiona said.

"No. No, this can not be happening," Margaret said, backing away from the box.

"Why don't you just see first before you jump to any conclusions?" Fiona asked.

Margaret turned and glared at her. "But you know, don't you? You can see it?" Margaret couldn't bring herself to call it a baby. A baby! Her head swam at the thought.

Fiona nodded. "Aye, I can. But you'll never believe me unless you see for yourself. So, go on, test," Fiona gestured to the box.

Margaret stared at it, her future in Boston dwindling away from her at a disastrous speed.

"Fine," Margaret said and grabbed the box, slamming her bedroom door behind her. Her hand shook as she moved into the bathroom and put the box on the counter. Opening the box, she read the instructions, the paper shaking in front of her face. On an oath, she sat to perform the test.

Minutes ticked by as she waited. Pacing the room, Margaret felt panic swell up in her, threatening to close off her airway. The door cracked open and she whirled to see Fiona standing there.

"I haven't checked yet," Margaret said angrily.

Fiona nodded and gestured for her to do so.

Her back ramrod straight, Margaret marched to the bathroom and looked at the test.

Positive.

Her heart dropped to her stomach and she slipped into a ball on the floor. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she pressed her face to her pajama pants and let the tears flood her. She jerked slightly as her mother's arms came around her.

"Shh, it'll be okay. This is probably just the hormones. We'll take care of it. You'll be fine."

"Having a baby out of wedlock is not exactly accepted in this country, you know," Margaret gasped against her legs. God, if she thought would be shunned for her gift, she could only imagine for her pregnancy.

Pregnancy. She was pregnant.

"You'll have to tell him, of course," Fiona said matter-of-factly. Margaret whirled on her in horror.

"I will do no such thing! He left me," Margaret said.

"Aye, and now you've a babe to think of. He'll know one way or the other," Fiona said and stood. She held her hands down to her daughter and Margaret allowed her to pull her up.

"Let me get you some medicine for your stomach. I don't want you to upset the babe with your histrionics," Fiona said and left the room.

Margaret paced the room. Her baby. A baby. How had this even happened? She shook her head with a soft laugh. She knew how it had happened. In the best and the worst moment of her life.

Placing a hand on her belly, she wondered if she could feel her baby. Could she know that a baby was there? Letting down her guards, she reached inward.

And gasped, as a little glow of love and light reached out to her from within.

Her baby.

A profound sense of joy filled her. Unable to move, unable to speak, Margaret gaped down at her stomach.

Her baby. Nobody else's.

The wheels turning, Margaret straightened her shoulders and went to take Fiona's medicine.

A thought occurred to her as her hand reached for the door.

Conceived in the cove.

All daughters of Grace would be touched with a gift. Something.

Horror filled her at the thought of her daughter growing up subjected to the same abnormal lifestyle as she had. Margaret rushed into the main room of the cottage.

"Can you tell if it is a girl?" Margaret all but shouted at Fiona.

Fiona's hands stilled on the cup of medicine that she was mixing in a bowl. Turning she met Margaret's eyes.

"Why?"

"Why? Why! Because, then she'd be different. A freak!" Margaret shrieked at her mother and Fiona's face fell.

"We are not freaks. We are special," Fiona said.

"I have a right to my own opinion," Margaret said stonily.

"Aye, that you do. Yes, it's a girl," Fiona said stonily and slammed the cup of medicine in front of her daughter. Turning, she walked out of the cottage and Margaret gaped after her.

A girl.

"Oh no, oh, I'm sorry," Margaret whispered to the small ball of light in her stomach. "I'll protect you. I'll take you away from all of this."

Margaret drank her medicine and began to plan.

––––––––

T
he next day, a knock startled Margaret as she was sorting through a pile of clothes. She wondered what would still fit her in just a matter of weeks. Fiona had left earlier that day, presumably to collect herbs for her remedies, Margaret thought as she walked to the front door.

Opening the door, she saw the post office truck outside and her heart did a little skip.

"International letter for you, Margaret," the mailman said and handed her a paper to sign. Margaret's hand trembled as she signed the receipt and grabbed the letter. Without a backwards glance, she closed the door and hurried to Fiona's rocking chair.

Sitting down, she slit the letter open and pulled the sheet of paper out.

The words blurred in front of Margaret's eyes as the tears came, fast and furious. Her out. She finally had an out.

"I'm taking you away from this all, little one. We'll start a new life away from this weirdness. And, you'll have nothing but the best," Margaret vowed.

Standing, Margaret rushed into her room and threw the rest of her clothes into a suitcase. Turning, she scanned the room for anything else that she would need. Seeing nothing, she moved into the main room and sat at the long table with a pen and paper. She owed Fiona a letter.

––––––––

F
iona stopped as she stepped through the door later that night. She'd driven to the next town over that day and was excited to show Margaret the things that she had purchased for the baby. She knew with a little prodding, her stubborn daughter would come around and eventually be happy about her pregnancy.

Fiona's eyes tracked over the house. Something was different. She could feel it.

Her eyes landed on her book laying outside of its usual spot on the middle of the table. It was open to a page. A letter with her name on it lay on top.

Fiona's began to shake as she walked towards the book. Lifting the letter she looked to where the book was open. She sighed and without having to read the letter, knew that Margaret was gone. The page Margaret had picked held an ancient Celtic ritual to encourage forgiveness in others. In her own way, Margaret was asking her mother to forgive her.

Fiona dropped the sacks of clothes and toys that she had purchased today and moved to sit in her rocking chair.

The warm wood enveloped her and she relaxed back into its familiar grooves before slitting the envelope open and pulling the sheet of paper out.

Tears dripped down Fiona's face and plopped onto the paper. Though she had sensed this day was coming soon, Margaret had surprised her. Fiona had never expected her to leave the country. A wave of sadness washed through her. A sadness for what was. What could have been.