Kissing Maggie Silver (22 page)

“Learning something new just gave you your confidence back,” Maggie said. “And lots of people wouldn’t have tried to learn in the first place, other people of…”

“My age! I know.” Mrs. O’Connor burst out laughing when she saw how Maggie was mortified by her faux pas. “You’re quite right my dear, I am old. I’d never have thought of learning to use a computer myself if Ruairi hadn’t pushed me into it. Now…well I love it, and all I can say is that I feel sorry for those poor souls who don’t have someone like him to look out for them.”

I’m a poor soul too Maggie wanted to tell her, because I don’t have Ruairi either. She didn’t though.
Instead she directed the conversation towards Mrs. O’Connor’s moving plans, asking her how she was going to organize it.

The older woman shrugged it off.
“I’ve plenty of time to think about that later because I can’t move until the middle of the summer. The present owners are both teachers and they want to stay in the bungalow until the end of the school year when they’ll have more time to organize the move. Besides, I still have to sell my home in Ireland. In the meantime though I’ve decided to take a little holiday with one of my oldest friends. We thought we’d go to Italy and visit Rome and Florence. They are places I’ve always wanted to see but because Tom didn’t like city holidays, we never went.”

“Goodness, you have changed,” Maggie’s eyes were wide with admiration.
“Rome and Florence! How exciting!”

“Yes, it is.
But first I want to invite you to stay with me in Ireland for a few days if you can spare the time, maybe at Easter. I know you like the countryside…well you did when you were a little girl… and although I’m determined to move back here I know I’ll miss it. There’s nowhere as beautiful as Southern Ireland and I’d love you to see it before I leave.”

“But that’s so kind of you,” Maggie cried, touched by the invitation.
“I’d love to visit you.”

Mrs
. O’Connor beamed at her in delight. “In that case I just need your Easter vacation dates. Once I have those I can organize my trip to Italy around them. I haven’t booked it yet because I didn’t want to be away at the very time you were free to visit.”

* * *

The first half of the spring term seemed long and dreary, mainly due to a long spells of wet weather that kept the children indoors at break time when all they wanted to do was to play outside. A particularly virulent stomach bug also decimated the classrooms for days at a time, leaving the children tired and fractious when they returned to school.

Maggie, who had managed to avoid catching it, was very glad when the first signs of spring began to show themselves. She picked primroses from the garden and put them in a little pot on her desk to cheer everyone up.

She was still working hard, both at school and at home.
The first draft of her book and some of the illustrations were now with the publisher and she was working hard on a second story. She was also trying, without much success, not to rush to the front door every time the postman pushed letters through the letterbox.

She had finally told Jo about her writing and been rewarded by the older girl’s enthusiasm.
Within moments she had called to Ollie to fetch a bottle of wine and some glasses from the kitchen, and soon they were drinking a toast to her success.

“But I might not be successful,” she protested as she sipped her wine. “The publisher might send it back with a rejection slip.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jo told her. “It’s the fact you are doing it that counts. Writing and drawing as often as you can fit it in is what will make you successful whether it’s now or in a few years time. Besides, the publishers wouldn’t have asked to see your work if they weren’t impressed with the ideas in your enquiry letter.”

“What sort of illustrations do you do?” asked Ollie.
He’d shaved off his beard now he was living an urban life but it didn’t make a lot of difference. He still looked as if he was only marking time until he could return to the great outdoors, and turning to answer his question, Maggie’s heart lurched as she suddenly realized it wouldn’t be many more months before her new friends were on the other side of the globe again. With Ruairi.

Pushing the thought to the back of her mind, to the small dark space labeled Ruairi that she tried not to open, she concentrated on answering him.

“Animals and birds mostly,” she said. “Anything to do with nature really, although I sometimes add small children and buildings and a few other things. It all depends on the story.”

“And if you
are successful will you give up teaching?”

“I don’t know…I haven’t really thought about it. A decision as big as that would have to depend on how successful I
become. The publisher is very enthusiastic about the stuff I’ve sent, but I still might turn out to be a one-book wonder. Besides, I enjoy teaching.”

Jo gave her a severe look. “That’s enough negativity for one day. Just think of the benefits if you are successful. For one thing you’ll be able to visit us any time you like because a writer can work anywhere can’t they?”

“I guess so, but you really are jumping the gun Jo. I can’t start thinking of things like that yet. Thinking positive is one thing, talking about throwing away my career is another.”

“Who’s talking about throwing it away? You could just do it differently…become some
body who organizes writing workshops or visits schools to talk to the children about writing stories. Maybe you could even demonstrate how you illustrate your books. That way you’d have the best of both worlds.”

“Is she always like this?” Maggie asked Ollie.

He grinned at her. “Always! If Jo has decided you are going to be a successful children’s author then that’s what you’re going to be. She has got a point though. Think of the freedom it would give you. You could go anywhere. Travel to other countries and write stories about their wildlife too, that sort of thing.”

“I love it that you both have so much faith in me but don’t expect me to rush off into the wild blue yonder straight away will you. There will plenty of time for that in the future if your totally baseless convictions come true.”

She bent over to tickle Henry’s feet as she spoke, so she didn’t see the fleeting glance that passed between Jo and Ollie. And when he eventually excused himself, saying he had to get on with his work, she couldn’t know that the first thing Ollie did was to fire an email off to Ruairi.

Chapter Nineteen

Easter finally arrived in a burst of sunshine. Everyone immediately cheered up
, and by the time her father dropped her off at the airport for her flight to Ireland, Maggie was full of excited anticipation. She had also just learned that her first book was going to be published later in the year, and she couldn’t wait to tell Mrs. O’Connor about it.

             
At Jo’s suggestion she packed pencils, watercolors and a notebook into the beautiful flight bag she’d finally felt strong enough to retrieve from the back of her wardrobe. It had the strange effect of making her feel as if she were going on a working holiday rather than to visit an elderly woman who had been kind to her when she was a little girl. She gave a wry smile as she zipped it shut. What a difference a little bit of positive thinking made. In a few short months she’d acquired a publisher and had new career mapped out, even though she couldn’t afford to give up teaching yet. The whole family was proud of her too, especially her mother. She kept telling everyone who would listen how she’d always known her beautiful daughter had talent. Only one thing was missing from Maggie’s life. Ruairi. She sighed as she picked up the burgundy-colored flight bag and hurried out to where her father was waiting for her in his car. No amount of positive thinking was going to change that, so she may as well get used to it.

Although the flight was a bit bumpy due to low cloud
, it didn’t delay the plane, and in what only seemed to be minutes, it was skimming over the treetops to touch down in Ireland. True to her promise, Mrs. O’Connor was waiting for her. She introduced her to the tall, rangy man standing at her side.

“This is my neighbor Patrick Duggan.
Patrick, this is Maggie.”

Patrick Duggan smiled at her, his eyes full of appreciation.
“You didn’t tell me that it was a beauty I’d be meeting, Moira. With that face I’m guessing she’s related to you.”

“Well you’re guessing wrong you old flatterer,” she told him, laughing at Maggie’s pink cheeks.
“She’s a dear girl who I’ve known for most of her life but we’re not related. Her beauty is all her own.”

He chuckled as he picked up Maggie’s suitcase as if weighed no more than a feather and led the way outside.

“Patrick was coming into town today anyway,” Mrs. O’Connor explained as they followed him. “He and his wife have been very good to me since Tom died. The only trouble is that they are so busy all day running their farm that I hardly see them. It’s one of the reasons I’m coming back to England. I need to be with people who have time for coffee in the mornings and a good gossip.”

Maggie laughed. “Then please take my mother in hand.
She needs someone like you to slow her down. Coffee mornings would be ideal. She spends far too much time worrying about the family.”

“I know.
It comes with being a mother,” Mrs. O’Connor shook her head as they made their way across the car park. “I’ve had to learn to stop worrying about Ruairi. I’ve had to accept that he’s quite capable of leading his own life but it’s been difficult. Really difficult.”

Maggie refused to be drawn on Ruairi.
She had already steeled herself in preparation for the photographs she was sure would be all around the house. She knew there would be discussions about him too, but she wasn’t going to initiate them. Swiftly she changed the subject, asking about the journey to the cottage, whether it was very far, and what they would see on the way.

Mrs
. O’Connor didn’t appear to mind and before long she was pointing out landmarks and giving Maggie a potted history of the area as Patrick drove them home.

* * *

The cottage was lovely. Painted white, it was set on a hillside above a small bay with a wonderful view of the sea and the hills. Instantly Maggie knew it was a place where she could work, and as she had the thought she remembered Jo’s words about how she could do things differently if she tried. Looking at everything around her she wondered if her friend was right. The scenery was an inspiration in itself because there were ancient hedgerows to paint, and clusters of wild flowers, and quirky cottages, and sweet faced cows standing in the fields. And they were all things she would never see if she stayed at home, teaching class-after-class of five-year-olds as the years rolled by. Maybe it was time to make some real plans for the future, ones that included new horizons, because she couldn’t remember when she had last felt so excited about something, and her fingers itched to get started.

Restraining herself with difficulty, she admired the cottage and the cozy bedroom Mrs. O’Connor had made ready for her.
It’s window was set high up in the roof, giving her one of the best views of the bay, and she felt she could sit there for hours gazing at the scenery while her mind grappled with the theme for another book.

* * *

Over the next few days Maggie and Mrs. O’Connor settled into a routine that suited them both. As soon as she had finished a breakfast of fruit, soda bread spread thick with Irish butter and honey, and two cups of tea, Maggie would set off with her sketchbook and drawing materials. While she was away Mrs. O’Connor listened to the radio as she tidied the house and prepared lunch.

In the afternoons Maggie would show her what she had drawn in her notebook and then, while the older woman sewed, she would get out her
paints and add the colors of the countryside to her sketches.

Later, when they had put away their work, they would sit in the tiny conservatory that had been added to the side of the house and drink a glass of wine while they watched the sun slide into the sea.

From the moment Maggie arrived Mrs. O’Connor had made it very clear to her that she was in Ireland for a holiday and she had shooed her out of the kitchen whenever she tried to help. Recognizing that her friend was enjoying having someone to care for after being on her own for so long, Maggie gave in gratefully and spent the time when she wasn’t sketching and painting, reading, or just sitting and looking at the view and letting the peace of the place wash over her.

Too fired up by the need to paint the beauty all around her to keep it to herself
for a moment longer, she had told Mrs. O’Connor, on the very first evening, about the book that had just been accepted by a publisher, and of her dream of a full time career writing and illustrating children’s books. The older woman’s response had been so intensely gratifying that Maggie wished she had told her about her ambitions months before.

“In that case you must spend as much time as you want drawing and painting,” she had told her.
“I’m just pleased to have company around the house; someone to bake for. And I’ll enjoy seeing your drawings too.”