Born in Fire (37 page)

“Cursed, more like.”

“Try the mushrooms, Maeve.” Deliberately Lottie spooned some onto Maeve’s plate. “They’re fried to a turn. You’ve a fine hand, Brianna.”

“I learned the knack of these from my gran,” Brianna began. “I was always pestering her to show me how to cook.”

“And blaming me because I didn’t chose to strap myself to the stove,” Maeve tossed back her head. “I’d no liking for it. I’ll wager you don’t spend much time in the kitchen, Mrs. Sweeney.”

“Not a great deal, I’m afraid.” Aware her voice had chilled, Christine made the effort to lighten it again. “And I’ll have to admit that none of my efforts there can come close to what you’ve served us tonight, Brianna. Rogan was right to praise your cooking.”

“She makes a living from it. Bedding and boarding strangers.”

“Leave her alone.” Maggie spoke quietly, but the look in her eyes was as sharp as a shout. “God knows she bedded and boarded you as well.”

“As was her duty. There’s no one at this table would deny that it’s a daughter’s obligation to tend to her mother. Which is more than you’ve ever done, Margaret Mary.”

“Or ever will do, so count your blessings that Brie tolerates you.”

“I haven’t a blessing to count, with my own children tossing me out of my own house. Then leaving me, sick and alone.”

“Why, you haven’t been sick a day, Maeve,” Lottie said complacently. “And how can you be alone when I’m there, day and night?”

“And you draw a weekly wage to be there. It should be my own blood tending me, but no. My daughters turn their backs, and my uncle, with his fine house in Galway, pays no mind at all.”

“Enough to see you haven’t changed, Maeve.” Niall regarded her with pity. “Not a whit. I apologize, Chrissy, for my niece’s poor behavior.”

“I think we’ll have our dessert in the parlor.” Pale and quiet, Brianna rose. “If you’d like to go in and sit, I’ll serve it.”

“Much cozier,” Lottie agreed. “I’ll help you, Brianna.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Uncle Niall, Mrs. Sweeney, I’d like a word with my mother before we join you.” Maggie kept her seat, waiting until the room emptied out. “Why would you do it?” Maggie asked Maeve. “Why would you spoil it for her? Would it have been so hard to give her the illusion for one evening that we were a family?”

Embarrassment only sharpened Maeve’s tongue. “I’ve no illusions, and no need to impress Mrs. Sweeney from Dublin.”

“You impressed her just the same—badly. It reflects on us all.”

“Do you think you can be better than the rest of us, Margaret Mary? Better because you traipse off to Venice or Paris?” With her knuckles whitening on the edge of the table, Maeve leaned forward. “Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been doing with that woman’s grandson? Whoring yourself without an ounce of shame. Ah, he sees you’ve got the money and the glory you always wanted. You’ve only had to sell body and soul to get it.”

Maggie clasped her hands beneath the table to try to stem the shaking. “My work’s what I sell, so perhaps you’ve a point about my soul. But my body’s mine. I’ve given it to Rogan freely.”

Maeve paled as her suspicions were confirmed. “And you’ll pay for it, as I did. A man of his class wants nothing more from the likes of you than what he finds in the dark.”

“You know nothing about it. Nothing about him.”

“But I know you. What will happen to your fine career when you discover a baby in your belly?”

“If I found myself with a child to raise, I pray God I’d do a better job than you. I wouldn’t give everything up and wrap myself and the child in sackcloth for the rest of my days.”

“And that you know nothing about,” Maeve said sharply. “But go on this way, and you will. You’ll know what it’s like to see your life stop and your heart break.”

“But it didn’t have to. Other musicians have families.”

“I was given a gift.” To her own misery, Maeve felt tears burn her eyes. “And because I was arrogant, as you are, it was taken from me. There’s been no music in me since the moment I made you.”

“There could have been,” Maggie whispered. “If you’d wanted it badly enough.”

Wanted it? Even now Maeve could feel the old scar throb over her heart. “What good is wanting?” she demanded. “All your life you’ve wanted, and now you risk having it taken away for the thrill of having a man between your legs.”

“He loves me,” Maggie heard herself say.

“A man speaks easily of loving in the dark. You’ll never be happy. Born in sin, live in sin, die in sin. And alone. Just as I’m alone.”

“You’ve made hating me your life’s work, and a fine job you’ve done of it.” Slowly, unsteadily, Maggie rose. “Do you know what frightens me, frightens me down to the bone? You hate me because you see yourself when you look at me. God help me if you’re right.”

She fled out of the room, and into the night.

The hardest pill to swallow was apology. Maggie postponed downing it, distracting herself by showing Christine and Niall her studio. In the cool light of morning, the nastiness of the previous evening blurred a little. She was able to soothe herself by explaining various tools and techniques, even, when Niall insisted, trying to coach him through blowing his first bubble.

“It’s not a trumpet.” Maggie clasped a hand on the pipe as he started to lift it high. “Showing off like that will do no more than have hot glass spilling all over you.”

“I believe I’ll stick with me golf.” He winked and turned the pipe back to her. “One artist in the family’s enough.”

“And you really make your own glass.” Christine wandered around the shop, in tailored slacks and a silk blouse. “From sand.”

“And a few other things. Sand, soda, lime. Feldspar, dolomite. A bit of arsenic.”

“Arsenic.” Christine’s eyes widened.

“And this and that,” Maggie said with a smile. “I guard my formulas closely, like a sorcerer with a spell. Depending on what color you want, you add other chemicals. Various colorants change in different base glasses. Cobalt, copper, manganese. Then there are the carbonates and the oxides. The arsenic’s an excellent oxide.”

Christine looked dubiously at the chemicals Maggie showed her. “I’d think it would be simpler to melt down used or commercial glass.”

“But it’s not yours then, is it?”

“I didn’t realize you had to be a chemist as well as an artist.”

“Our Maggie was always a bright one.” Niall swung an arm over her shoulder. “Sarah was always writing me with how bright she was in school, how sweet Brianna’s disposition.”

“That was it,” Maggie said with a laugh. “I was bright, Brie was sweet.”

“She said Brie was bright as well,” Niall said staunchly.

“But I’ll wager she never said I was sweet.” Maggie turned to nuzzle her face in his coat. “I’m so glad to see you again. I didn’t realize how glad I would be.”

“I’ve neglected you since Tom died, Maggie Mae.”

“No. We all had our own lives, and Brie and I both understood that Mother didn’t make it easy for you to visit. As to that…” She pulled back, took a deep breath. “I’d like to apologize for last evening. I shouldn’t have provoked her, and I certainly shouldn’t have left without saying good night.”

“There’s no need for apologies from you, or from Brianna as I’ve told her already today.” Niall patted Maggie’s cheek. “Maeve had settled on her mood before she arrived. You provoked nothing. You’re not to blame for the way she’s chosen to go through life, Maggie.”

“Whether I am or not, I’m sorry the evening was uncomfortable.”

“I would have called it illuminating,” Christine said calmly.

“I suppose it was,” Maggie agreed. “Uncle Niall, did you ever hear her sing?”

“I did. Lovely as a nightingale, to be sure. And restless, like one of those big cats you see caged in the zoo. She was never an easy girl, Maggie, happy only when the people would hush and listen to her music.”

“Then there was my father.”

“Then there was Tom. From what I’m told they were blind and deaf to everything but each other. Maybe to each other as well.” He stroked the big hand down her hair. “It could be neither of them saw what was inside until they were bound. And when they did, what they saw was different than they’d hoped. She let that sour her.”

“Do you think if they hadn’t met, she’d have been different?”

He smiled a little and kept his hand gentle. “We’re tossed by the winds of fate, Maggie Mae. Once we end where they blow us, we make of ourselves what we will.”

“I’m sorry for her,” Maggie said softly. “I never thought I could be.”

“And you’ve done well by her.” He kissed Maggie’s brow. “Now it’s time to make yourself what you will.”

“I’m working on it.” She smiled again. “Very hard on it.”

Satisfied that the timing was right, Christine spoke up. “Niall, would you be a darling and give me a moment with Maggie?”

“Girl talk, is it?” His round face creased in smiles. “Take your time, I’ll go for a walk.”

“Now then,” Christine began as soon as the door shut behind Niall. “I have a confession. I didn’t go into the parlor right after last night. I came back, thinking I might be able to smooth things over.”

Maggie lowered her eyes to stare at the floor. “I see.”

“What I did, rudely, was listen. It took all my control not to barge into that room and give your mother a piece of my mind.”

“It would only have made things worse.”

“Which was why I didn’t give in to the urge—though it would have been greatly satisfying.” Christine took Maggie by the arms, gave her a little shake. “She has no idea what she has in you.”

“Perhaps she knows too well. I’ve sold part of what I am because there’s a need in me, just as there is in her, for more.”

“You’ve earned more.”

“If I’ve earned it, or been given it as a gift, it doesn’t change things. I wanted to be content with what I had, Mrs. Sweeney. I wanted so much to be, because otherwise I’d be admitting there hadn’t been enough. That my father had failed us, and he didn’t. Before Rogan walked through that door, I was content, or I’d talked myself into believing I could be. But the door’s open now and I’ve had a taste of it. I haven’t done a decent hour’s work in a week.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“He’s pushed me into a corner, that’s why. It can’t be for myself anymore,
I
can’t be for myself anymore. He’s changed that. I don’t know what to do. I always know what to do.”

“Your work comes through your heart. That’s plain for anyone who’s seen in. Maybe you’re blocking off your heart, Maggie.”

“If I am, it’s because I have to. I won’t do what she did. Nor what my father did. I won’t be the cause of misery, or the victim of it.”

“I think you
are
the victim of it, my dear Maggie. You’re letting yourself feel guilty for succeeding, guiltier yet for harboring the ambition to succeed. And I think you’re refusing to let out what’s in your heart, because once you do, you won’t be able to take it back again, even though holding it in is making you unhappy. You’re in love with Rogan, aren’t you?”

“If I am, he brought it on himself.”

“I’m sure he’ll deal with it admirably.”

Maggie turned away to shuffle tools on a bench. “He’s never met her. I think I made sure he wouldn’t so he couldn’t see I was like her. Moody and mean, dissatisfied.”

“Lonely,” Christine said softly, and drew Maggie’s eyes back to hers. “She’s a lonely woman, Maggie, through no one’s fault but her own. It’ll be no one’s but yours if you’re lonely, too.” Coming forward, she took Maggie’s hands. “I didn’t know your father, but there must be some of him in you as well.”

“He dreamed. So do I.”

“And your grandmother, with her quick mind and ready temper. She’s in you as well. Niall, with his wonderful lust for life. All of that’s in you. None of it makes up the whole. Niall’s right about that, Maggie. So right. You’ll make yourself what you will.”

“I thought I had. I thought I knew exactly who I was and wanted to be. Now it’s all mixed up in my head.”

“When your head won’t give you the answer, it’s best to listen to your heart.”

“I don’t like the answer it’s giving me.”

Christine laughed. “Then, my dear child, you can be absolutely sure it’s the right one.”

Chapter Twenty

B
Y
midmorning, her solitude tucked around her, Maggie took up her pipe again. Two hours later the vessel she had blown was tossed back into the melt for cullet.

She pored over her sketches, rejected them, tried others. After scowling at the unicorn she’d set on a shelf, she turned to her torches for lamp work. But she’d hardly taken up a rod of glass before the vision faded. She watched the tip of the rod dip, melt, begin to droop. Hardly thinking of what she was doing, she began dropping the bits of molten glass into a container of water.

Some broke, others survived. She took one out by the tip to study. Though it had been formed by fire, it was cool now, shaped like a tear. A Prince Rupert’s drop, no more than a glass artist’s novelty, one a child could create.

Rubbing the one drop between her fingers, she took it to her polariscope. Through the lens the internal stresses in the drop exploded into a dazzling rainbow of colors. So much, she thought, inside so little.

She slipped the drop into her pocket, fished several more out of the bucket. Moving with studied care, she shut down her furnaces. Ten minutes later she was striding into her sister’s kitchen.

“Brianna. What do you see when you look at me?”

Blowing a stray hair out of her eyes, Brianna looked up and continued to knead her bread dough. “My sister, of course.”

“No, no. Try for once not to be so literal-minded. What is it you see in me?”

“A woman who seems to be on the edge of something, always. One who has enough energy to tire me to the bone. And anger.” Brianna stared down at her hands again. “Anger that makes me sad and sorry.”

“Selfishness?”

Startled, Brianna glanced up again. “No, not that. Not ever. That’s one flaw I’ve never seen in you.”

“But others?”

“You’ve enough of them. What, do you want to be perfect?”

The dismissive tone had Maggie wincing. “You’re still upset with me about last evening.”