IRISH FIRE (8 page)

He continued to watch as Annie returned to her mother. This time Caitlin and Ben played with the colt, rubbing his neck, his ears, the top of his head where the mane hadnt yet begun to grow. All the while, Annie held tightly to
Kentucky Gold
, smoothing her mane, stroking her nose, resting her head against the satiny neck.

It was too soon to tell but every instinct told Brian the colt would be a stayer, good for the long hauls but slow to start at the gate. From the looks of him out there with the other colts, he spooked easily but recovered quickly and completely. Brians mouth twisted humorlessly. The colt was the last of his line, a
Narraganset
foal out of
Kentucky Gold
. Speculation was foolish. The mare and her colt would most likely be on their way to America by Christmas. Meanwhile, hed intruded upon this family scene long enough. He had a stud farm to run.

If he had turned away an instant later, he would have missed Caitlins advance on her unsuspecting son. Tossing him over her shoulder, she turned around and around until the boy shrieked with laughter. Together they tumbled, a tangled mass of arms and legs, into the grass.

Annie left the horses to run toward them. She was nearly there when Caitlin jumped up quickly and tackled her. Ben rolled into his mother and sister, sending shrieks of laughter to all corners of the paddock.

Impulsive, Martin had called her, light-filled, joyous, lacking inhibition. Brian recognized what had escaped him before. With new eyes he saw the girl she once was, the woman she could be, loving, intimate, playful to those she trusted with her heart.

Several hours later, Brian opened the door and stepped into the large dining hall, the social hub of the farm. Here, around large wooden banquet tables, employees played cards, tipped a pint or two, smoked, and swapped stories over tomato and onion sandwiches and steaming tea. It was nearly time for the afternoon rush.

Brian, over here. Davy Flynn waved to him from a nearby table.

Making his way through the smoke-thick room, Brian stopped several times to talk briefly before sliding into the chair Davy held out for him. Tom McMahon, the veterinarian, sat across from him nursing a cup of tea.

Hows
Indigo Blue
coming along? he asked.

Brian shrugged out of his jacket. Hell do. Well have to interrupt his trainin for the wormin. Are you ready for it?

Aye, answered the vet. I planned on this Friday.

Davy scratched his head. There was a lad up to see you this mornin. Said you were expectin him.

Brian frowned. I wasnt expectin anyone.

Did you forget about young Ben Claiborne then?

Brian groaned and ran his hands through his thick hair. Sweet Jesus. I did, Davy. What did you tell him?

Davy grinned. I told him youd make it right.

How shall I go about that?

Hes a wee lad who misses his father. Go see him, Brian. Tell him youll have somethin for him tomorrow.

A woman with wind-burned cheeks dressed in a fishermans sweater and calf-length denim skirt placed a tea tray on the table. You look terrible, Brian Hennessey, she said, matter-of-factly, pouring milk and tea and stirring in sugar. Are you sleepin at all?

Not enough, replied Brian, and our Davy here has volunteered me for yet another task.

Mary Boyle pursed her lips disapprovingly.

I only thought he should apologize to Caitlins wee lad for forgettin him today, Davy explained. It seemed like such a small thing.

Why Brian Hennessey. Mary planted her hands on her hips. Are you tellin us that you cant be bothered with the dear wee lad, our Caitlins boy, whos homesick and lonely for his da?

Brian gulped down a mouthful of scalding tea. I havent said anythin yet, he gasped.

Well? Mary demanded.

Admitting defeat, Brian sighed. Apparently the decisions already been made.

Caitlins look of dismay when she opened the door and saw Brian standing on her doorstep almost made up for his inconvenience. For some reason it pleased him to see Caitlin Claiborne discomfited. He smiled pleasantly. Ive come to see Ben.

Hes dressing for the
cruinni.
She stared pointedly at the clothes hed worn since morning. I thought everyone went to these things.

Brian looked forward to a
cruinni
as much as the next man. After a pint or two of the Harp, his self-imposed limit, it didnt matter much whether the gathering was the authentic version or the tourist-filled, anglicized replica found here in Kilcullen Town. But tonight hed completely forgotten. Ill be there, but first I must speak to Ben.

Is that you, Brian Hennessey? Brigid Keneally called out from the kitchen. Come in and tell me why I havent seen you in the pub for nearly a week.

Im not a drinkin man, Mrs. Keneally, Brian said, stepping forward so that Caitlin was forced to move back.

Brigid came into the sitting room carrying a mixing bowl and spoon. It never stopped you before, she retorted.

Brian grinned. Sometimes its hard to resist temptation. The best thing to do is stay away.

Caitlin was staring at him. The disapproving line between her eyes annoyed him. Perversely, he wanted to shock her. Have you never seen a man better off without the drink, Mrs. Claiborne?

She lifted her chin. Ive seen many, Mr. Hennessey. But Ive never heard anyone admit it.

You just did.

Congratulations.

Caitlin! Brigids cheeks were pink. Where are your manners?

Caitlins jaw tightened stubbornly.

No offense taken, Mrs. Keneally, Brian cut in smoothly. May I see Ben now or shall I wait until tomorrow?

Ill tell him youre here, Brigid said, hurrying down the hall.

He wondered if Caitlin would excuse herself and leave the room or if she would engage in conversation with him. He waited.

She surprised him. Please, sit down, Mr. Hennessey.

He sat down on the sofa.

Did you have a chance to look in on
Kentucky Gold
and the foal today?

He nodded. Both are grand. The colt is exceptionallong legs, deep chest, good bones. He looks like a stayer.

She groaned and sat across from him in a high-backed chair. Lord, I hope not. I cant bear it when a horse is slow at the gate. My insides feel like theyre slipping out.

Brian laughed. Perhaps Im mistaken about him. Its too soon to tell.

Caitlins eyes widened wickedly. Is it possible that you, Mr. Hennessey, could actually be wrong?

Brian was beginning to enjoy himself. There is the remote possibility.

She shook her head. How disappointing.

Her smile was lovely. He wanted to see it again.

Were you truly planning on attending the
cruinni,
Brian? she asked.

Words he never intended came from somewhere deep inside of him. Only if you dance with me. Across the room his eyes challenged her.

Slowly she nodded her head. I can manage that.

Ben Claiborne ran into the room and planted himself in front of Brian. Where were you today? he demanded.

Trainin a colt, replied Brian. I didnt expect to see you so soon or else I would have waited.

Gran said I should phone first, Ben admitted. But I couldnt wait that long.

Brian rose from his chair and ruffled the boys hair. Come around tomorrow mornin and bring your sister. Ill be expectin you.

He glanced at Caitlin. I have a few things to do before I collect my dance.

Dont wait too long, she warned him. There are more men in this town than women.

He laughed. Somehow he knew she wouldnt make it easy on him. Then Ill have to show up and take my chances like the rest of the lads, he said, winking at Ben.

He stopped at the door. I dont expect you to wait for me, lass.

I wouldnt dream of it, said Caitlin dryly.

B
rigid dipped her finger into the marble font of holy water, felt its cool wetness against the warmth of her skin and crossed herself. Then she walked through the double oak doors, into the small sanctuary reserved for those who had special requests, and knelt before the altar. She looked up briefly at the gentle, doe-eyed face of the Virgin Mother and then at the candles flickering in the scented darkness. Bowing her head she began to pray.

As always, the familiar ritual soothed her. Brigid took comfort in rituals. She lived her life by the ringing of church bells, the rumble of the milk truck, the whistle of the train on its way to Tralee, the howling of Margaret OHares tomcat on his nightly prowl. The Mass had its own rituals: the melodic chanting of the priests, the monotone responses of the faithful, the sweet smell of incense, the stale dryness of the communion wafer, the numbing ache of knees spent too long genuflecting, and the final, hopeful blessing, Peace be with you always.

Young people who abandoned the church didnt understand the power of ritual. They thought by missing Sunday Mass they could escape what they called the cloying grip of an outdated clergy. Brigid knew better. Once a Catholic, always a Catholic, she maintained. One could no more escape tradition than one could deny ones father. She frowned. Better to leave that one alone.

Traditions were the heart of a people. If the Catholic church allowed half of what the Protestants introduced into their folds every day, it would no longer be what it was; the strength, the rock of millions of its faithful. If only she could convince Caitlin of the peace and comfort to be found in true faith.

Brigid felt rather than heard the movement behind her. It was no more than a stirring of the air. Whoever it was disturbed her devotions. She needed the peace of the sanctuary this evening, especially after the phone call shed received earlier in the day. Deliberately, she stiffened her body and bent her head over her folded hands, the picture of a true pilgrim in communion with her God.

This time she heard it. The rustle of stiff material against wooden floors. She sighed, lifted her head and turned to look around. Father Michael Duran sat directly behind her.

Hello, Brigid, he said.

She nodded. Father.

How are Caitlin and the children settling in?

As well as can be expected, Father, considerin the circumstances.

She always was difficult.

Brigid nodded. She had more cause than most, growin up without a father.

The priest sat unmoving behind her. The silence stretched out between them. Why did he make her so uncomfortable after all these years?

Is there anything I can do for you? he asked at last.

She stood and moved out into the aisle. I dont think so, Father, she said primly.

Youre in the sanctuary, he insisted. There must be a reason. Are you troubled, Brigid?

Brigid stared at him, amusement clearly stamped on what were once lovely features. Youve known me for a long time, Father. Im not one t be advertisin my troubles. Good day t you.

She felt his eyes on her until she reached the doors. When she turned around her breath caught in her throat. What a picture he made, tall and lean in his flowing cassock, white haired, strong featured, his hand holding the flame-lit taper near the candle wick, his lips moving in silent prayer.

Brigid hurried out of the church and down the road toward home.

Caitlin had readied the children for the
cruinni
. They waited in the kitchen, eyes shining, faces scrubbed, dressed in clothing that no Irish family in Kildare could spare the money to buy.

Even Annie was excited. The rare smile flickering across her features nearly broke Brigids heart. While Ben was a love, a helpful, mischievous, sparkling, uncomplicated child young enough to make the adjustment from Kentucky to Ireland, Annie was her real challenge.

Sensitive, moody, startlingly intelligent, mature beyond her years, Annie was a child whose spirit needed cultivating. Brigid was very afraid that this move had done irreparable damage to her. The trouble was that Annie didnt fit in. Neither did Caitlin for that matter. Shed married into another class, assumed another style of speech, a way of dressing, an air of refinement. America and money had changed her. The Irish were a proud people. They would forgive her for it but they would make her pay.

Reaching out, Brigid smoothed her granddaughters shining hair. You look lovely, lass, she said, emotion making her voice gruff.

Caitlin, who had just come into the kitchen stared at her mother. Brigid flushed as if caught with an embarrassing secret. She had never been one for compliments. Pride was a sin she had actively discouraged in her daughters. But she was a grandmother now. Surely a grandmother could loosen up a bit and leave the molding of a childs character to the parents.

I look nice, too, piped up Ben.

Brigid smiled. She would tell Caitlin about the phone call later. No sense in upsetting her before the
cruinni
. That you do, love, very nice indeed. Theres no need t wait for me. Run along. Ill change and be there shortly.

Caitlin frowned. Id rather wait for you, Mum. It might be a bit awkward for us going by ourselves.

There it was, that edge in her voice. Had it always been this way between them or was there a significant moment where she could pinpoint exactly when she had fallen out of grace with her youngest daughter?

Brigids sharp-eyed gaze moved over Caitlins slim figure. She wore a long dark skirt and a ribbed sweater, red, with a scooped neck that brought out the ivory color of her skin and snugly molded her waist and breasts. Black hair, the sides pulled up and secured with a clip, curled around her shoulders. Silky wisps framed her forehead and temples. Her face was heart-shaped, her features small and fine. She wore red lipstick, a deep rich russet, the same red as her sweater. Only the exotic slant to her dark eyes proclaimed her Celtic heritage. Had she always looked this way or had America changed that too?

You were born here, Caitlin, Brigid said. Nothins changed. Take your children and introduce them around. Its the only way. Youve nothin t be ashamed of.

Caitlin opened her mouth to speak, looked at Annies anxious face, and thought better of it. She summoned a bracing smile and took both childrens hands in her own. Youre absolutely right. Well go on ahead and wait for you there. Dont forget the bread pudding. Its in the refrigerator.

Brigid helped the children button their jackets and ushered them outside, waiting a moment at the door. The night was icy cold and crisp, and the moon hung low, large, and white over the distant hills. She could hear the sound of their voices, individually at first, Caitlins low and soft, the childrens eager, before they blended with others on their way toward the
cruinni
at Kathleen Finchs cafe.

With a sense of relief, Brigid filled the tea kettle and sat down at the table. Caitlin would do much better on her own. She always had. These were the same people, a bit older now but otherwise the same, who had followed her lead when she was a child. Annie and Ben were attractive children. They would be an asset to her. The Irish were a friendly race, formal on occasion, slow to forgiveness, but there was a kindness in them, too, and a fierce love for children.

The kettles shrill whistle interrupted her thoughts. Automatically, she went through the motions of rinsing the teapot, filling it with hot water, spooning in loose tea leaves, pouring milk into the pitcher and then into her cup. The tea steeped, coloring the water a lovely dark amber, the color of wet turf turned up from the ground before the sun shriveled it into the dull brown sticks that sustained Ireland through her long, frozen winters.

Brigid poured her tea and added sugar. She wasnt much for late night reveling. Besides, shed heard what everyone in Kilcullen had to offer in the way of talent years ago. And no one would miss another dessert. The tables fairly groaned with food at Kathleen Finchs
cruinni
. She would much rather sit here quietly and figure out how many of Sam Claibornes threats on the phone this afternoon were serious.

She really should have mentioned his phone call. But Caitlin had seemed so happy lately, almost like the girl shed been before she left for America. Brigid sighed.

So deep were her thoughts that she didnt hear the first two double rings of the telephone. She picked up the receiver on the sixth ring.

The voice on the other end had a distinctive southern drawl. It was also quite rude. No Irishman would have addressed her in such a way. Brigid, its Sam Claiborne. Ive been waiting for hours. Where in the hell is Caitlin?

She took the children out, Brigid replied bluntly. They wont return for some time.

Claiborne swore under his breath. I specifically asked her to call me as soon as she got the message.

Brigid threw herself into the fire. She doesnt know you called.

What?

She didnt answer.

Listen, Brigid. This isnt a joke. I need to speak to my wife immediately.

Brigid Keneallys temper was slow to rise but when it did those who knew her stayed away. You listen t me, Sam Claiborne, she said fiercely. I dont know who you think you are but I dont take orders from you. Caitlin is my daughter and in case you have any ideas about my loyalty, let me lay them t rest. It is Caitlins welfare I am concerned about, not yours. Perhaps if you were a bit more civil I might give my daughter your messages. As it stands I see no reason t upset her.

I might just fly over there and upset her a whole lot more if I show up in person.

Brigids hand tightened on the phone. She willed herself to remain calm. No need to let Sam Claiborne think she was afraid of him. You must suit yourself, of course, she said quietly. Be sure you phone for lodgins first. Its racin season in County Kildare.

I know that. Sam was clearly exasperated. He tried another approach. Please, Brigid. This is important. Caitlin wants to see this finished as much as I do. We need to talk.

Perhaps Caitlin did want to be finished with Sam Claiborne, but Brigid would have wagered the pub that Caitlins desired result looked nothing like her husbands. Ill tell her, she said at last, but not until tomorrow.

She could hear his frustrated sigh across four thousand miles of telephone wire. Thank you, he said tersely before ringing off.

The
cruinni
was well under way when Brigid arrived with Caitlins bread pudding. She recognized the two female fiddlers and the young man playing the harmonica, but the guitarist was a stranger. Children from toddlers to teens chased each other, weaving in and out of the dancers on the wooden floor. Plates of foodboiled ham, sandwiches, salads, scones, breads, cakes rich with icing, biscuits, and puddingscovered a long picnic table. Along the sides, men and women who had given up dancing to observe and drink tea gathered to chat with each other. The room was very bright and very loud.

Kathleen Finch greeted Brigid, took the dish, set it on the table, and led her to a row of chairs near the back of the cafe.

We nearly gave you up, love, she said. What kept you?

Brigid sat down gratefully. I had a bit of a rest. Its not easy bein on your feet all day.

Kathleen nodded in sympathy. You need more help. Kirstys a good girl but she cant be workin all the time and youre not gettin any younger, Brigid.

Im not on my last legs either, remarked Brigid dryly. I thought with Caitlin home, she could take over a bit.

Kathleen laughed out loud. Youre jokin, arent you, love? That girl wont be of any help anywhere but in the barns. She lives and breathes horses just as she always has.

Brigid looked around the room. Annie was seated at one end of a long bench playing a board game with two other girls. Ben was pouring brown sauce over a plate of steaming crisps. Good lord, the lad had an appetite. Where did he put all of his food? Have you seen Caitlin?

Kathleen pointed to the center of the floor where couples were dancing to the lyrics of the Clarke Brothers. Shes there. Our Caitlin took up right where she left off, the belle of the ball.

Caitlin was circling the floor in Brian Hennesseys arms. I dont recall that he was even here when she left, observed Brigid.

Kathleen shrugged and laughed. It makes sense that she would take up with a man who makes his livin on the horses.