The Emerald Isle (50 page)

Defiance poured hotly from Patrick’s sparkling blue eyes. “I’d see us in the twentieth century, never mind that the rest of the world is moving into the twenty-first. You’re living in a forgotten age, Dad, and people are laughing at you when your back is turned. ‘Ah, look at James O’Neil,’ they’re saying, ‘still in love with his blind old bull. The man’s a wee bit touched in the head, for he’s more faithful to that creature than he is to his own son.’”

Warm as it was in the toasty kitchen, I felt a sliver of ice slide down my spine. This argument wasn’t about a bull—it was about a man and his son. And I was standing right in the center of it.

“Let me pass.” Mr. O’Neil spoke the words slowly and deliberately. Patrick shifted before his father’s hot gaze, giving him access to the door. James stalked forward, rocking on his hips in the way of very old men, then passed silently out into the night.

Mrs. O’Neil stared at her son, then looked at me. “This will be
the death of him,” she whispered, then she whirled and left through the door that led to her bedroom. I clenched my hands as a sudden shiver chilled me. I didn’t know if she was referring to the man or the animal.

Without another word, Patrick stalked through the kitchen and blasted his way through the swinging door that led to the foyer. My heart filled with a horrible feeling as I watched him go—almost as if I was watching someone drown without doing anything to help. Trouble was, I had no idea how to help. We had become good friends in a short time, but the scene I’d just witnessed had touched him in deep places I couldn’t fathom.

I stood for a moment in the empty silence, then turned and walked through the foyer. Patrick was not in the sitting room, and as I moved into the dining room and looked out the window, I saw that the light had come on in the little house. He had retreated to his cave. If he had wanted to talk to me, if he had wanted any comfort at all, he might have remained in the sitting room where I could find him without feeling like an intruder. But he hadn’t.

Moving with glacial slowness, I climbed the stairs and walked down the hall to my room. After undressing and tumbling into bed, I lay in the darkness and contemplated the shifting shadows on the plaster ceiling, my vision still gloomily colored with the memory of Patrick’s defeated countenance and his father’s bitter anger.

What was it with those two? Why couldn’t they reach out to each other with understanding instead of mistrust? James should have been enjoying his son’s compassion and care in the twilight of his life; Patrick should be growing through the experience of knowing that his father valued him as a man and a friend. But neither one of them was very good at reaching out. James had hobbled out to the barn alone, forsaking his wife’s help, and Patrick had stalked back to the little house, physically reinforcing the impression that he couldn’t stand to be under the same roof with his family…or me.

I heard the kitchen door open with a complaining screech, and knew that Maddie and Taylor had just come back from the pub or
wherever they’d gone after dinner. Poor Taylor. Maddie had probably spent the entire night trying to convince him that living in Ireland would be great, convenient, and economical. If she knew what had happened in the kitchen while they were out, she’d have worked even harder to convince him. Apparently James
would
rather leave the farm to the taxman than to his own son, a son who would rather curl up and savor his anguish than share it with a caring friend.

I turned onto my side, hardening my heart to its own pain, then felt a small sprouting of hope when someone rapped on my door. “Yes?” I clutched the quilt to my chest as I sat up in the darkness. “Patrick?”

“It’s me.” The door opened, and Maddie’s cloud of curls gleamed in the hall light. “Mum wanted me to see if you had enough clean towels for the morning. She didn’t get the laundry done today.”

I stared at her, perplexed by the odd question. Maddie hadn’t knocked on my door once in the two weeks I’d been staying here. “I’m fine. The towels are fine.”

“Good.” She hesitated, then opened the door a little further. “Do you mind if I turn on the lamp?”

“Go ahead.” I closed my eyes and waited for the bright light to slam against my retinas. I also dropped the covers; no need for modesty with Maddie. She was the last person on earth who’d care about seeing me in my silk pajamas. After she flicked the switch, I squinted up at her through a fluorescent haze. “Something on your mind?”

“You might say that.” She came into the room and perched on the edge of my bed, her eyes dark and troubled. “Taylor and I had a long talk, and it looks like we’re going to stay in Ireland for a while after the wedding.”

I hugged my knees and looked up at her. “I figured as much.”

Maddie pressed her lips together and tilted her head. “Trouble is, Taylor’s not exactly thrilled with the idea. I have a feeling he might try to talk to you about it, and it’d be a great help to me if you’d tell him that things will be okay if he stays at Ballyshannon.” She looked at me with wise little eyes, bright and calculating. “He values
your opinion, and right now I could use every bit of influence I can get. If you will tell him to stay here—well, I think he’d be a lot happier.”

Watching her, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what would happen if I advised Taylor
against
staying in Ireland. Would he come to believe that his engagement was a terrible mistake? Would he agree that I’d been right all along, that he and Maddie really were unsuited for one another?

Trouble was, I’d come to see just the opposite. They were opposites, but in areas where each could use a bit of balancing. In matters that counted they were remarkably similar. They were both committed to the ideals of home and family…and to each other.

I exhaled in a long sigh, then gave Maddie a tired smile. “I want to help, not because I believe Taylor would be happy in Ireland, but because I think he’ll be happy with you, no matter where you live. But if you want to know my honest opinion, I think Taylor really needs to return to New York. It’s his home. He’ll be an outsider here, and he won’t be happy.”

“But we can’t go back and—” she began, but I held up my hand and cut her off.

“It’s Patrick that needs to stay here,” I told her, realizing the truth as I spoke. “He’s the one who loves this place. Can’t you see it? He’s happy when he’s working in the barn; he’s perfectly at home in the fields. He’d be miserable in a place like New York, and I expect he’s not truly happy in Limerick.”

“But Patrick and Dad don’t get on well enough. Patrick would never come back here, and Dad wouldn’t have him. He’s only tolerating Paddy now because of me.”

“I know.” I gave her a conspiratorial smile, for I wasn’t above a bit of bargaining myself. “Okay, if absolutely necessary I’ll encourage Taylor to stay at Ballyshannon, but I think it’d be better if you’d help me influence Patrick.”

Her face froze in an expression of absolute disbelief. “Whatever
are
you talking about?”

“I think you know. And I’m not asking for much either—just a promise you won’t oppose me. I’m trying to help Patrick sort through some things, and I know he values your opinion. Just promise me this: If you see what I’m trying to do, consider adding a supportive word. That’s all.”

She lifted one eyebrow, suggesting in feminine shorthand that she was considering my proposal, then she nodded and slid off my bed. “Deal.” She walked around the room for a moment, staring at the walls and dresser and wardrobe as if she had never seen them before, then she turned and gripped the footboard of my bed. She laughed softly. “Men! What would they do without us arranging their lives?”

“Live a lot more peacefully, I expect.” I lay down, pulled the covers up to my shoulders, and closed my eyes. “Would you hit the light when you go out?”

She didn’t answer, but the overhead light clicked off, then I heard her light footsteps retreating down the stairs.

Suspecting that Patrick might want to spend some time alone in his little apartment, the next day I gathered up my notes and laptop and moved to the picnic table out beneath the copper beech on the lawn. Though the morning was clear, crisp, and beautiful, it had rained during the night, and occasionally a raindrop plopped onto my notepad.

I was trying to work a bug out of my word processing program when Taylor came outside and sat down beside me at the picnic table.

“Hey,” he said, rapping lightly on the weathered wood. “Got a minute for a bewildered friend?”

“That all depends,” I answered lightly, tapping the command to scan the computer’s hard drive. If only problems in real life could be analyzed and corrected this easily.

I left the computer to do its thing while I turned and gave Taylor a smile—he looked like he needed one. “Speak.”

“I’ve been instructed to come out and talk to you.” He nodded toward the house, where I knew Maddie was probably watching from
a window. “She wants to stay in Ireland, but Ballyshannon isn’t exactly where I wanted to be next year.”

“She’s worried about her father.” I propped my elbow on the table and rested my head on my hand, letting my hair fall forward to block my face from anyone watching in the house. “Patrick is too.”

“Patrick.” Taylor made a soft sound of dismissal. “He doesn’t give a whit about this family. He’s planning to leave after the wedding, right when Mr. O’Neil will need him most.”

I struggled to maintain an even, rational tone. “Do you really think he has a choice? You weren’t around last night when World War III broke out. Patrick tried to help the old bull, and James went ballistic. He doesn’t want Patrick’s help, and he’s as stubborn as Felim O’Connor!”

Taylor’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, the bull’s gone.” Taylor’s gaze lowered, as did his voice. “Maddie told me this morning. Her dad spent the night out in the barn, and this morning they found him asleep in the bullpen. The bull was stone-dead.”

I frowned at the distasteful image my mind conjured up. “Did they call the knackers?”

“The what?”

“The people who buy animal carcasses.”

Taylor shook his head. “Fiona put James to bed, and Patrick went to work out in the pasture with a backhoe. I think he intends to bury the beast.”

I lifted my eyes to the west pasture, where I could hear the chugging roar of machinery. The thought of Patrick taking the time to bury his father’s beloved Graham Red touched me in a way I really didn’t expect. Graham Red, the famous Friesian bull, would now belong to Ballyshannon forever.

Blinking the wetness out of my eyes, I turned to Taylor. “Did you know a native Irishman can identify forty different shades of green?”

His face screwed into a human question mark. “What are you talking about?”

I waved the thought away. “Nothing. So why were you sent out here to talk to me?”

“Maddie seems to think you want me to stay here,” he mumbled, looking down at his hands. “And don’t get me wrong, Kathy. I do like the place, it’s beautiful. But it’s not home. And I’ve got a position waiting at the college and coworkers who support me. Professor Howard was certain I could make full professor in just two more years, but all those plans will have to be postponed if I stay in Ireland indefinitely. The college will have to hire someone to replace me, so I might even lose my position.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll go back to New York…eventually.” I lifted my gaze again to the pasture, where I could see the bright yellow roof of the sporty little backhoe. “But don’t you think you ought to at least consider staying, for Maddie’s sake? Her father is dying. She just might want to spend time with him.”

“I know he is, and I can’t help it.” The corners of his mouth went tight with distress. “I know that sounds heartless, but I can’t sit here for months, possibly
years
, and do nothing but wait. I’ll bring Maddie back if she wants to visit, but we can’t put our lives on hold and wait for the man to die.” He looked at me with eyes that were frankly pleading. “Surely you understand that, Kathy.”

I softened my tone out of deference to his pain. “I think I understand more than you do, Taylor. I told Maddie I’d try to convince you to stay here, but you can’t take Patrick’s place. The farm is his by right, and by blood. Furthermore, he loves it.”

Taylor stared at me for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Are we talking about the same man? Patrick O’Neil? The genius computer programmer?”

“We are.”

“Seriously.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw, as if to stop himself from laughing. “You really think Patrick will give up his cushy
job and city apartment to come back
here?
I gotta say, Kathy, I think the country life has gotten to you. Patrick hates this farm and everything about it.”

Not caring who watched, I reached out and patted his blue-jeaned knee. “You mark my words, Taylor Morgan. Paddy O’Neil was born to life at Ballyshannon, and he’ll end up here. The bitterness you see in him isn’t directed at the farm. It’s James and Patrick who are at war, and I think it’s nearly time to negotiate terms of surrender.”

He tipped his head back, eyeing me with a calculating expression, and then understanding filled his eyes. “If you’re thinking about a deathbed reconciliation, I’ll admit, you may have a point. But the doctors say James will live at least another year. And the last year will be the hardest, which means he’s going to need help, and lots of it. So that doesn’t help my situation in the least.”