Born in Ice
Page 8
She could admit, to herself, that she had often wished to wake one morning and discover her parents had decided to ignore church and tradition and go their separate ways. But more often, too often, she had prayed for a miracle. The miracle of having her parents discover each other again, and reigniting the spark that had drawn them together so many years before.
Now, she understood, at least in part, why that miracle could never have happened. Amanda. The woman’s name had been Amanda.
Had her mother known? Brianna wondered. Had she known that the husband she’d come to detest had loved another? Did she know there was a child, grown now, who was a result of that reckless, forbidden love?
She could never ask. Would never ask, Brianna promised herself. The horrible scene it would cause would be more than she could bear.
Already she had spent most of the day dreading sharing what she’d discovered with her sister. Knowing, for she knew Maggie well, that there would be hurt and anger and soul-deep disillusionment.
She’d put it off for hours. The coward’s way, she knew, and it shamed her. But she told herself she needed time to settle her own heart before she could take on the burden of Maggie’s.
Gray was the perfect distraction. Helping him settle into his room, answering his questions about the nearby villages and the countryside. And questions he had, by the dozen. By the time she pointed him off toward Ennis, she was exhausted. His mental energy was amazing, reminding her of a contortionist she’d once seen at a fair, twisting and turning himself into outrageous shapes, then popping out only to twist and turn again.
To relax, she got down on hands and knees and scrubbed the kitchen floor.
It was barely two when she heard Con’s welcoming barks. The tea was steeping, her cakes frosted, and the little sandwiches she’d made cut into neat triangles. Brianna wrung her hands once, then opened the kitchen door to her sister and brother-in-law.
“Did you walk over, then?”
“Sweeney claims I need exercise.” Maggie’s face was rosy, her eyes dancing. She took one long, deep sniff of the air. “And I will, after tea.”
“She’s greedy these days.” Rogan hung his coat and Maggie’s on hooks by the door. He might have worn old trousers and sturdy walking shoes, but nothing could disguise what his wife would have termed the Dublin in him. Tall, dark, elegant, he would be in black tie or rags. “It’s lucky you asked us for tea, Brianna. She’s cleaned out our pantry.”
“Well, we’ve plenty here. Go sit by the fire and I’ll bring it out.”
“We’re not guests,” Maggie objected. “The kitchen’ll do for us.”
“I’ve been in it all day.” It was a lame excuse. There was no more appealing room in the house for her. But she wanted, needed, the formality of the parlor for what needed to be done. “And there’s a nice fire laid.”
“I’ll take the tray,” Rogan offered.
The minute they were settled in the parlor, Maggie reached for a cake.
“Take a sandwich,” Rogan told her.
“He treats me more like a child than a woman who’s carrying one.” But she took the sandwich first. “I’ve been telling Rogan about your very attractive Yank. Long gold-tipped hair, sturdy muscles, and big brown eyes. Isn’t he joining us for tea?”
“We’re early for tea,” Rogan pointed out. “I’ve read his books,” he said to Brianna. “He has a clever way of plunging the reader into the turmoil.”
“I know.” She smiled a little. “I fell asleep last night with the light on. He’s gone out for a drive, to Ennis and about. He was kind enough to post a letter for me.” The easiest way, Brianna thought, was often through the back door. “I found some papers when I was up in the attic yesterday.”
“Haven’t we been through that business before?” Maggie asked.
“We left a lot of Da’s boxes untouched. When Mother was here, it seemed best not to bring it up.”
“She’d have done nothing but rant and rave.” Maggie scowled into her tea. “You shouldn’t have to go through his papers on your own, Brie.”
“I don’t mind. I’ve been thinking I might turn the attic into a loft room, for guests.”
“More guests.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “You’re overrun with them now, spring and summer.”
“I like having people in the house.” It was an old argument, one they would never see through the same eyes. “At any rate, it was past time to go through things. There were some clothes as well, some no more than rags now. But I found this.” She rose and went to a small box. She took out the lacy white gown. “It’s Granny’s work, I’m sure. Da would have saved it for his grandchildren.”
“Oh.” Everything about Maggie softened. Her eyes, her mouth, her voice. She held out her hands, took the gown into them. “So tiny,” she murmured. Even as she stroked the linen, the baby inside her stirred.
“I thought your family might have one put aside as well, Rogan, but—”
“We’ll use this. Thank you, Brie.” One look at his wife’s face had decided him. “Here, Margaret Mary.”
Maggie took the handkerchief he offered and wiped her eyes. “The books say it’s hormones. I always seem to be spilling over.”
“I’ll put it back for you.” After replacing the gown, Brianna took the next step and offered the stock certificate. “I found this as well. Da must have bought it, or invested, whatever it is, shortly before he died.”
A glance at the paper had Maggie sighing. “Another of his moneymaking schemes.” She was nearly as sentimental over the stock certificate as she’d been over the baby gown. “How like him. So he thought he’d go into mining, did he?”
“Well, he’d tried everything else.”
Rogan frowned over the certificate. “Would you like me to look into this company, see what’s what?”
“I’ve written to them. Mr. Thane’s posting the letter for me. It’ll come to nothing, I imagine.” None of Tom Concannon’s schemes ever had. “But you might keep the paper for me until I hear back.”
“It’s ten thousand shares,” Rogan pointed out.
Maggie and Brianna smiled at each other. “And if it’s worth more than the paper it’s printed on, he’ll have broken his record.” Maggie shrugged and treated herself to a cake. “He was always after investing in something, or starting a new business. It was his dreams that were big, Rogan, and his heart.”
Now, she understood, at least in part, why that miracle could never have happened. Amanda. The woman’s name had been Amanda.
Had her mother known? Brianna wondered. Had she known that the husband she’d come to detest had loved another? Did she know there was a child, grown now, who was a result of that reckless, forbidden love?
She could never ask. Would never ask, Brianna promised herself. The horrible scene it would cause would be more than she could bear.
Already she had spent most of the day dreading sharing what she’d discovered with her sister. Knowing, for she knew Maggie well, that there would be hurt and anger and soul-deep disillusionment.
She’d put it off for hours. The coward’s way, she knew, and it shamed her. But she told herself she needed time to settle her own heart before she could take on the burden of Maggie’s.
Gray was the perfect distraction. Helping him settle into his room, answering his questions about the nearby villages and the countryside. And questions he had, by the dozen. By the time she pointed him off toward Ennis, she was exhausted. His mental energy was amazing, reminding her of a contortionist she’d once seen at a fair, twisting and turning himself into outrageous shapes, then popping out only to twist and turn again.
To relax, she got down on hands and knees and scrubbed the kitchen floor.
It was barely two when she heard Con’s welcoming barks. The tea was steeping, her cakes frosted, and the little sandwiches she’d made cut into neat triangles. Brianna wrung her hands once, then opened the kitchen door to her sister and brother-in-law.
“Did you walk over, then?”
“Sweeney claims I need exercise.” Maggie’s face was rosy, her eyes dancing. She took one long, deep sniff of the air. “And I will, after tea.”
“She’s greedy these days.” Rogan hung his coat and Maggie’s on hooks by the door. He might have worn old trousers and sturdy walking shoes, but nothing could disguise what his wife would have termed the Dublin in him. Tall, dark, elegant, he would be in black tie or rags. “It’s lucky you asked us for tea, Brianna. She’s cleaned out our pantry.”
“Well, we’ve plenty here. Go sit by the fire and I’ll bring it out.”
“We’re not guests,” Maggie objected. “The kitchen’ll do for us.”
“I’ve been in it all day.” It was a lame excuse. There was no more appealing room in the house for her. But she wanted, needed, the formality of the parlor for what needed to be done. “And there’s a nice fire laid.”
“I’ll take the tray,” Rogan offered.
The minute they were settled in the parlor, Maggie reached for a cake.
“Take a sandwich,” Rogan told her.
“He treats me more like a child than a woman who’s carrying one.” But she took the sandwich first. “I’ve been telling Rogan about your very attractive Yank. Long gold-tipped hair, sturdy muscles, and big brown eyes. Isn’t he joining us for tea?”
“We’re early for tea,” Rogan pointed out. “I’ve read his books,” he said to Brianna. “He has a clever way of plunging the reader into the turmoil.”
“I know.” She smiled a little. “I fell asleep last night with the light on. He’s gone out for a drive, to Ennis and about. He was kind enough to post a letter for me.” The easiest way, Brianna thought, was often through the back door. “I found some papers when I was up in the attic yesterday.”
“Haven’t we been through that business before?” Maggie asked.
“We left a lot of Da’s boxes untouched. When Mother was here, it seemed best not to bring it up.”
“She’d have done nothing but rant and rave.” Maggie scowled into her tea. “You shouldn’t have to go through his papers on your own, Brie.”
“I don’t mind. I’ve been thinking I might turn the attic into a loft room, for guests.”
“More guests.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “You’re overrun with them now, spring and summer.”
“I like having people in the house.” It was an old argument, one they would never see through the same eyes. “At any rate, it was past time to go through things. There were some clothes as well, some no more than rags now. But I found this.” She rose and went to a small box. She took out the lacy white gown. “It’s Granny’s work, I’m sure. Da would have saved it for his grandchildren.”
“Oh.” Everything about Maggie softened. Her eyes, her mouth, her voice. She held out her hands, took the gown into them. “So tiny,” she murmured. Even as she stroked the linen, the baby inside her stirred.
“I thought your family might have one put aside as well, Rogan, but—”
“We’ll use this. Thank you, Brie.” One look at his wife’s face had decided him. “Here, Margaret Mary.”
Maggie took the handkerchief he offered and wiped her eyes. “The books say it’s hormones. I always seem to be spilling over.”
“I’ll put it back for you.” After replacing the gown, Brianna took the next step and offered the stock certificate. “I found this as well. Da must have bought it, or invested, whatever it is, shortly before he died.”
A glance at the paper had Maggie sighing. “Another of his moneymaking schemes.” She was nearly as sentimental over the stock certificate as she’d been over the baby gown. “How like him. So he thought he’d go into mining, did he?”
“Well, he’d tried everything else.”
Rogan frowned over the certificate. “Would you like me to look into this company, see what’s what?”
“I’ve written to them. Mr. Thane’s posting the letter for me. It’ll come to nothing, I imagine.” None of Tom Concannon’s schemes ever had. “But you might keep the paper for me until I hear back.”
“It’s ten thousand shares,” Rogan pointed out.
Maggie and Brianna smiled at each other. “And if it’s worth more than the paper it’s printed on, he’ll have broken his record.” Maggie shrugged and treated herself to a cake. “He was always after investing in something, or starting a new business. It was his dreams that were big, Rogan, and his heart.”
