Emilie Richards – The Parting Glass (страница 15)

Peggy was waiting for the punch line. “And?”

“There was an image there.”

Peggy waited. She had no idea what her sister meant.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Megan went on. “An impression of some kind, I guess. A stain? But it looks like the Virgin.”

For a moment Peggy didn’t understand. “Virgin?”

“Holy statues of our lady. She’s facing the other wall, robed, and her arms are out like this.” Megan demonstrated, as if she were welcoming guests. “And, well, here’s the thing. The face has no features, not really, but where her eyes should be…” Megan looked away. “Tears. It looks like she’s crying. Nick woke up, and that’s what he saw.”

Peggy didn’t know what to say. “Well…” She frowned. “Megan, you don’t think this is some sort of a miracle, do you? That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I think it’s a coincidence, and for that matter, so does Nick. It was just, well, spooky.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not right. It wasn’t spooky. It was lovely. Comforting, as if…” She shrugged. “For just a second there I felt like I used to when I was a little girl and we’d go to St. Brigid’s as a family. Sometimes, when everything was very quiet and the candlelight flickered on the wall and you knew the organ music was about to start. In that moment, you know, that’s how it felt.”

Megan rarely talked about religion and never in a positive way. She’d been born a Catholic and would die one. Like all of them, she loved Father Brady, and she understood her new husband’s devotion to the Church, but without Niccolo in her life she would have remained only nominally involved. She was a Holy Days Catholic, and her sisters were the same.

“You had a spiritual experience,” Peggy said. “I think that’s wonderful. Treasure it.”

Megan seemed to shake off the moment. She opened a cupboard and got down coffee mugs. “Yes? Well, I’m not looking for another one. Not if Nick gets blown down a tunnel first. That’s the real miracle. He’s alive.”

Peggy took her mug and held it up high. “I’ll drink to that.”

“What will you drink to?” Niccolo came into the room, looking sleepy-eyed but completely well.

“Your health.” Peggy held out her mug, and Megan filled it.

“Then I’m going to drink to a safe trip today for you and Kieran.” Niccolo crossed the room and gave Megan a bear hug before he got a mug for himself.

Peggy felt right at home. The room was lovely. Simple bird’s-eye maple cabinets, white tile countertops and backsplash, capped off with rich dark red wallpaper Megan had put up last month. Niccolo’s oil paintings of Tuscan villages harmonized with Megan’s quirky farm animal canisters. Her sister had upholstered the kitchen table chairs with remnants of old quilts. Niccolo had crafted the table from a black walnut tree that had been cut down to make room for a neighbor’s addition.

“You’re sure you want to go today?” Megan asked her. “I mean, the airline will let you change your ticket, won’t they?”

“Do you need me here?” Peggy said. “Be honest.”

Megan looked torn, but in the end she shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do. We’ve got inspectors coming, insurance adjusters, and later there’ll be contractors. It’s going to be a zoo, but at least it will give me something to do so I don’t have to think about what happened.”

“It’s another piece of luck that Aunt Dee already had our suitcases,” Peggy said. “And I guess there won’t be any hurry on cleaning out what’s left in the apartment….”

“We won’t be renting it out for a while, that’s for sure.”

“A delay would be hard to explain to Irene. She’s made special arrangements to have me picked up at Shannon.”

“I wish we knew this woman. I wish somebody in the family had met her.”

“She is family,” Peggy said. She had expected this last-ditch effort on Megan’s part to get her to reconsider, and she settled in for it.

“But what do we know about her? Her grandfather was the brother of our great-great grandfather. That’s not much of a tie. And until she found us on the Internet, we didn’t even know there were relatives on that side of the family. We were supposed to be the last of the line.”

“Well, we will be soon enough.” There was little that Peggy knew about Irene Tierney, but she did know that the old woman wasn’t well. She was eighty-one, had never been married and had no family in the small village of Shanmullin or in all of Ireland. She lived in the thatched cottage that had once been the home of Terence Tierney, the sisters’ great-great grandfather, and sadly, her life was drawing to a close, most of it lived without knowledge of their existence.

“And I don’t really understand what she wanted with us in the first place,” Megan said. “Information about her father, who we never even knew existed? I don’t know what we can tell her.”

Peggy thought Irene’s story was intriguing. In her first contact Irene had written that her mother and father had brought her to Cleveland as a small child. There had been no future for the family in Ireland, and there had been some hope there might be relatives remaining in Cleveland. They’d found none, as it turned out, and after Irene’s father died just a few years later, her mother had taken her young daughter back to Ireland to eke out a living on the Tierney land. Not until four months ago, when Irene, surfing the Internet, had come across mention of Terence Tierney in a newspaper article about the Whiskey Island Saloon, did she realize the Tierney family had indeed lived on in Ohio.

“She wants to find out how her father died here,” Peggy said. “That’s natural. You of all people should be able to understand that. When Rooney was missing all those years, we wanted to know what had happened to him.”

“I just don’t understand why her own mother didn’t tell her. Or how she thinks we’re going to find out anything.”

Peggy didn’t know herself. She had done a little research at City Hall for Irene but hadn’t found anything. She hoped her sisters would continue while she was in Ireland.

“It just seems like so much to take on,” Megan said. “Kieran, caring for an old woman you don’t know…”

Peggy didn’t repeat what she’d told Megan so many times before, but it hung unspoken between them. She was determined to help her son, and that meant hours of work with Kieran every day. Irene needed a companion, but not constant care. Going to Ireland was the only way Peggy could afford not to work at a full-time job. Irene was giving her free room and board, and with Phil’s monthly check, Peggy could manage their other expenses if she lived simply. And what other way was there in rural Ireland? The arrangement was ideal, a surprising and wonderful gift.

“She’s excited about having Kieran there.” Peggy got to her feet. “She’s never had a child in the house. She needs help, she needs family. It’s an opportunity I can’t afford to ignore. I’ve talked to her enough to know we’ll get along. Trust me a little, okay?”

Megan set her coffee mug on the counter and embraced Peggy. “I love you. You know that’s what this is about, right?”

Peggy hugged her back. She saw Niccolo watching them. She was glad her older sister was in such capable hands. Megan didn’t realize how much she needed someone to lean on occasionally. “You’ll take care of her?” she asked him.

“If she’ll let me.”

Peggy squeezed Megan hard, then stepped away. “Make sure you do,” she counseled her sister. “And stop worrying about me. I’m going to be just fine. Kieran and I are going to be just fine.”

They weren’t fine, nor had Peggy really expected them to be. Kieran did not take well to changes. He didn’t take well to strangers, to noise, to being shuffled from one place to another, to being tearfully hugged by family or to seeing his mother choke back tears as she said goodbye.

As it turned out—and as Peggy had feared—he didn’t take well to airplanes, either. By the time their first flight landed in Boston, a hundred pairs of eyes were trained disapprovingly on her. What kind of mother was Peggy that she couldn’t comfort her own child? And why didn’t that beautiful baby quiet down when she took him in her arms? Why did he fight to get away from her?

She understood the censure she read on the faces of her fellow passengers. She understood the mixture of concern for that angelic-faced little boy as well as the irritation that the devil inside him was ruining their flight. She’d been prepared, but of course, she hadn’t really been. Nobody could be.

They had a long wait in Boston, another strike against the trip in Kieran’s baby mind. She finally got him to sleep in his stroller, and she paced the length of the airport, over and over, until she was worn out, but anything was better than hearing her son scream. When she finally had to wheel him to security and he awoke to find himself somewhere new, the screaming began again.

He would not be consoled, and she carried him on board that way, listening to the murmured reassurances of the flight attendants and their well-meaning suggestions, and knowing that none of the suggestions would help. She managed to give him the antihistamine and decongestant her pediatrician had prescribed for the journey, both to help with pressure in his ears and to help him relax, but Kieran was oblivious. The flight was full, and there was no elbow room.