Born in Fire
Page 17
Not at all.
Chapter Five
THE high grass beside the ruined abbey made a lovely resting place for the dead. Maggie had fought to have her father buried there, rather than in the tidy and cold ground near the village church. She had wanted the peace, and the touch of royalty for her father. For once, Brianna had argued with her until their mother had sullenly closed her mouth and washed her hands of the arrangements.
Maggie visited there only twice a year, once on her father’s birthday and once on her own. To thank him for the gift of her life. She never came on the anniversary of his death, nor did she allow herself to mourn in private.
Nor did she mourn him now, but sat down on the grass beside him, tucking her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. The sun fought through layers of clouds to gild the graves and the wind was fresh, smelling of wildflowers.
She hadn’t brought flowers with her, never did. Brianna had planted a bed right over him, so that as spring warmed the earth, his grave sprang with color and beauty.
Tender buds were just forming on the primroses. The fairy heads of columbine nodded gently among the tender shoots of larkspur and betony. She watched a magpie dart over headstones and sway toward a field. One for sorrow, she thought, and searched the sky fruitlessly for the second that would stand for joy.
Butterflies fluttered nearby, flashing thin, silent wings. She watched them for a time, taking comfort in the color and the movement. There had been no place to bury him near the sea, but this, she thought, this place would have pleased him.
Maggie leaned back comfortably on the side of her father’s headstone and closed her eyes.
I wish you were still here, she thought, so I could tell you what I’m doing. Not that I’d listen to any of your advice, mind. But it would be good to hear it.
If Rogan Sweeney’s a man of his word—and I can’t see how he’d be anything else—I’ll be a rich woman. How you’d enjoy that. There’d be enough for you to open your own pub like you always wanted. Oh, what a poor farmer you were, darling. But the best of fathers. The very best.
She was doing her best to keep her promise to him, she thought. To take care of her mother and her sister, and to follow her dream.
“Maggie.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at Brianna. Tidy as a pin, she thought, studying her sister. Her lovely hair all scooped up, her clothes neatly pressed. “You look like a schoolteacher,” Maggie said, and laughed at Brianna’s expression. “A lovely one.”
“You look like a ragpicker,” Brianna retorted, scowling at Maggie’s choice of ripped jeans and a tattered sweater. “A lovely one.”
Brianna knelt beside her sister and folded her hands. Not to pray, just for neatness’ sake.
They sat in silence for a moment while the wind breathed through the grass and floated through the tumbled stones.
“A lovely day for grave sitting,” Maggie commented. He’d have been seventy-one today, she thought. “His flowers are blooming nicely.”
“Needs some weeding.” And Brianna began to do so. “I found the money on the kitchen counter this morning, Maggie. It’s too much.”
“It was a good sale. You’ll put some of it by.”
“I’d rather you enjoyed it.”
“I am, knowing you’re that much closer to having her out.”
Brianna sighed. “She isn’t a burden to me.” Catching her sister’s expression, she shrugged. “Not as much as you think. Only when she’s feeling poorly.”
“Which is most of the time. Brie, I love you.”
“I know you do.”
“The money’s the best way I know how to show it. Da wanted me to help you with her. And the good Lord knows I couldn’t live with her as you do. She’d send me to the madhouse, or I’d send myself to prison by murdering her in her sleep.”
“This business with Rogan Sweeney, you did it for her.”
“I did not.” Maggie bristled at the thought of it. “Because of her, perhaps, which is a different matter altogether. Once she’s settled and you have your life back, you’ll get married and give me a horde of nieces and nephews.”
“You could have your own children.”
“I don’t want marriage.” Comfortable, Maggie closed her eyes again. “No, indeed. I prefer coming and going as it suits me and answering to no one. I’ll spoil your children, and they’ll come running to Aunt Maggie whenever you’re too strict with them.” She opened one eye. “You could marry Murphy.”
Brianna’s laugh carried beautifully over the high grass. “It would shock him to know it.”
“He was always sweet on you.”
“He was, yes—when I was thirteen. No, he’s a lovely man and I’m as fond of him as I would be of a brother. But he’s not what I’m looking for in a husband.”
“You’ve got it all planned then?”
“I’ve nothing planned,” Brianna said primly, “and we’re getting off the subject. I don’t want you to join hands with Mr. Sweeney because you feel obliged to me. I might think it’s the best thing you could do for your work, but I won’t have you unhappy because you think I am. Because I’m not.”
“How many times did you have to serve her a meal in bed this month?”
“I don’t keep an accounting—”
“You should,” Maggie interrupted. “In any case, it’s done. I signed his contracts a week ago. I’m now being managed by Rogan Sweeney and Worldwide Galleries. I’ll have a show in his Dublin gallery in two weeks.”
“Two weeks. That’s so fast.”
“He doesn’t seem to be a man to waste time. Come with me, Brianna.” Maggie grabbed her sister’s hands. “We’ll make Sweeney pay for a fancy hotel and we’ll eat out in restaurants and buy something foolish.”
Shops. Food she hadn’t cooked herself. A bed that didn’t have to be made. Brianna yearned, but only for a moment. “I’d love to be with you, Maggie. But I can’t leave her like that.”
“The hell you can’t. Jesus, she can stand her own company for a few days.”
“I can’t.” Brianna hesitated then sat back wearily on her haunches. “She fell last week.”
“Was she hurt?” Maggie’s fingers tightened on her sister’s. “Damn it, Brie, why didn’t you tell me? How did it happen?”
Chapter Five
THE high grass beside the ruined abbey made a lovely resting place for the dead. Maggie had fought to have her father buried there, rather than in the tidy and cold ground near the village church. She had wanted the peace, and the touch of royalty for her father. For once, Brianna had argued with her until their mother had sullenly closed her mouth and washed her hands of the arrangements.
Maggie visited there only twice a year, once on her father’s birthday and once on her own. To thank him for the gift of her life. She never came on the anniversary of his death, nor did she allow herself to mourn in private.
Nor did she mourn him now, but sat down on the grass beside him, tucking her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. The sun fought through layers of clouds to gild the graves and the wind was fresh, smelling of wildflowers.
She hadn’t brought flowers with her, never did. Brianna had planted a bed right over him, so that as spring warmed the earth, his grave sprang with color and beauty.
Tender buds were just forming on the primroses. The fairy heads of columbine nodded gently among the tender shoots of larkspur and betony. She watched a magpie dart over headstones and sway toward a field. One for sorrow, she thought, and searched the sky fruitlessly for the second that would stand for joy.
Butterflies fluttered nearby, flashing thin, silent wings. She watched them for a time, taking comfort in the color and the movement. There had been no place to bury him near the sea, but this, she thought, this place would have pleased him.
Maggie leaned back comfortably on the side of her father’s headstone and closed her eyes.
I wish you were still here, she thought, so I could tell you what I’m doing. Not that I’d listen to any of your advice, mind. But it would be good to hear it.
If Rogan Sweeney’s a man of his word—and I can’t see how he’d be anything else—I’ll be a rich woman. How you’d enjoy that. There’d be enough for you to open your own pub like you always wanted. Oh, what a poor farmer you were, darling. But the best of fathers. The very best.
She was doing her best to keep her promise to him, she thought. To take care of her mother and her sister, and to follow her dream.
“Maggie.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at Brianna. Tidy as a pin, she thought, studying her sister. Her lovely hair all scooped up, her clothes neatly pressed. “You look like a schoolteacher,” Maggie said, and laughed at Brianna’s expression. “A lovely one.”
“You look like a ragpicker,” Brianna retorted, scowling at Maggie’s choice of ripped jeans and a tattered sweater. “A lovely one.”
Brianna knelt beside her sister and folded her hands. Not to pray, just for neatness’ sake.
They sat in silence for a moment while the wind breathed through the grass and floated through the tumbled stones.
“A lovely day for grave sitting,” Maggie commented. He’d have been seventy-one today, she thought. “His flowers are blooming nicely.”
“Needs some weeding.” And Brianna began to do so. “I found the money on the kitchen counter this morning, Maggie. It’s too much.”
“It was a good sale. You’ll put some of it by.”
“I’d rather you enjoyed it.”
“I am, knowing you’re that much closer to having her out.”
Brianna sighed. “She isn’t a burden to me.” Catching her sister’s expression, she shrugged. “Not as much as you think. Only when she’s feeling poorly.”
“Which is most of the time. Brie, I love you.”
“I know you do.”
“The money’s the best way I know how to show it. Da wanted me to help you with her. And the good Lord knows I couldn’t live with her as you do. She’d send me to the madhouse, or I’d send myself to prison by murdering her in her sleep.”
“This business with Rogan Sweeney, you did it for her.”
“I did not.” Maggie bristled at the thought of it. “Because of her, perhaps, which is a different matter altogether. Once she’s settled and you have your life back, you’ll get married and give me a horde of nieces and nephews.”
“You could have your own children.”
“I don’t want marriage.” Comfortable, Maggie closed her eyes again. “No, indeed. I prefer coming and going as it suits me and answering to no one. I’ll spoil your children, and they’ll come running to Aunt Maggie whenever you’re too strict with them.” She opened one eye. “You could marry Murphy.”
Brianna’s laugh carried beautifully over the high grass. “It would shock him to know it.”
“He was always sweet on you.”
“He was, yes—when I was thirteen. No, he’s a lovely man and I’m as fond of him as I would be of a brother. But he’s not what I’m looking for in a husband.”
“You’ve got it all planned then?”
“I’ve nothing planned,” Brianna said primly, “and we’re getting off the subject. I don’t want you to join hands with Mr. Sweeney because you feel obliged to me. I might think it’s the best thing you could do for your work, but I won’t have you unhappy because you think I am. Because I’m not.”
“How many times did you have to serve her a meal in bed this month?”
“I don’t keep an accounting—”
“You should,” Maggie interrupted. “In any case, it’s done. I signed his contracts a week ago. I’m now being managed by Rogan Sweeney and Worldwide Galleries. I’ll have a show in his Dublin gallery in two weeks.”
“Two weeks. That’s so fast.”
“He doesn’t seem to be a man to waste time. Come with me, Brianna.” Maggie grabbed her sister’s hands. “We’ll make Sweeney pay for a fancy hotel and we’ll eat out in restaurants and buy something foolish.”
Shops. Food she hadn’t cooked herself. A bed that didn’t have to be made. Brianna yearned, but only for a moment. “I’d love to be with you, Maggie. But I can’t leave her like that.”
“The hell you can’t. Jesus, she can stand her own company for a few days.”
“I can’t.” Brianna hesitated then sat back wearily on her haunches. “She fell last week.”
“Was she hurt?” Maggie’s fingers tightened on her sister’s. “Damn it, Brie, why didn’t you tell me? How did it happen?”
