A soft misty rain fell as Nora pedaled toward Cong.
“Are you sure?” Sheila had asked as they loaded the basket and panniers with boxed candles and soaps and with jars of salves and lotions, covering them with oilcloth. “We can always drive this lot in later.”
“One thing I’ve learned,” Nora said, zipping up her rain jacket, “if you wait for the rain to stop to do anything here, it’ll never get done. I’ll drop these off to the shops on the list, and then go home for a hot bath.”
She took the trails through the woods to avoid traffic. Keeping an eye out for horses—she chuckled now to think how ignorant she’d been that first morning—she took now-familiar paths toward the village.
The rain was blocked somewhat by the overhanging trees, but everything gleamed with moisture, the leaves all heavy with a steady drip of the rain that had made it through. She paused the bike, inhaling the mossy scent of the damp air. Nothing back in the States would ever compare to this for her.
She pedaled on, riding into Cong where the tourists still crowded the streets, rain or no. Mondays were as busy as weekends now they were in August. She made her deliveries, greeting the shop owners by name, accepting checks from them for Sheila. She went to the bookstore and picked up a couple of new books, carefully placing them in her basket and covering them to keep them dry.
Pushing her bike through the crowded streets—and touching the old Celtic cross as had become her habit whenever she was in the village—she crossed the river and mounted to begin her trek to Sióg Cottage. She’d started a pot of chili that morning. Briana had never had it, and Nora thought it might be fun to introduce her to something from America.
They’d been trading nights between her cottage and Bri’s place at the stables. If the ghosts were upset by this arrangement, they were hiding it better. The cottage hadn’t been torn apart lately. She and Briana still weren’t sleeping in the front room on the nights they did stay at the cottage. The dreams had been less intense, less realistic, and she hadn’t actually left her bed that she could tell.
Their last few nights together had been different—due to the start of Nora’s period— but the cuddling and talking had been nice. Briana had opened up so much since Nora met her. She talked about how she used to skip school to steal away to the local track, pestering the trainers to let her do training rides until she finally got her jockey’s license, and she spoke of the early days when she was excited to race, often winning. Nora told her more about her work at the university library. It sounded kind of dull and ordinary to her ears, but Briana seemed interested.
It felt as if they were settling into a routine—the routine of a couple. An actual couple.
Funny, she mused as she pedaled. I never wanted to be a couple with Amy. Not like this. Not seeing each other every day, spending every night together.
But with Briana, it felt so natural, so easy.
The one thing Nora didn’t talk about was her writing. If Briana noticed the growing pile of paper with line after line of handwriting, she didn’t ask, and Nora didn’t think she’d tried to read them. On Nora’s days off from the nursery, when Briana was working, her imagination had continued to chug along, filling in the gaps her dreams left unanswered—the day-to-day lives of Móirín and Donall and their family. She still burned to find out what happened to them.
So absorbed was she in her own thoughts that she nearly fell off the bike when she wheeled up to the cottage, and a figure moved in the shadows. Eve was waiting for her, a bag on one shoulder, her lit candle-lantern in the other.
“Oh, you scared me!” Nora pressed a hand to her racing heart.
She gathered her books from the basket and unlocked the door. “Won’t you come in?”
Eve followed her inside. As before, she stopped and stood, as if testing the air or searching for something before following Nora through to the kitchen.
“It smells good,” Eve said.
“Thanks. I got a pot of chili going this morning.” Nora hesitated. She really, really wanted to take a hot bath to chase off the wet chill from her bike ride and then get into dry clothes, but it seemed rude to cut this visit off abruptly.
“How’ve you been?” Eve asked, setting her bag and lantern on the table. She swept off a cloak and hung it on a peg near the door.
“I’ve been fine,” Nora said hesitantly, wondering if Eve could possibly know that she hadn’t been here every night, and that on the nights she was here, she hadn’t made herself as open to the ghosts as before.
“Why are you carrying your lantern in the daytime?” Nora wondered.
“It may be dark before I get back to my cottage. I’ve a few other stops to make.”
Eve’s green eyes scrutinized her, and Nora was suddenly reminded of the old photo Mamma had sent. In the confusion of her chat with Amy, she’d forgotten all about it.
Eve reached into her bag and withdrew a small jar with a cork sealed in place by wax. “I know you haven’t been sleeping all that well…” She glanced over with an almost accusing look. “So I thought I’d make you a tonic to help. Just put a few drops of this in your tea each evening, and you’ll sleep much better. ’Tis only for you, though.”
“Thanks.” Nora set the bottle on the counter.
Eve swung her cloak around her and slid the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
“Have—?”
Eve turned to her.
“Have you ever been to America?” Nora blurted.
Eve’s face was as ethereal and otherworldly as ever, but there was a subtle shift in her features, her eyes.
Nora felt a slight prickle run over her skin, as if a chill breeze had filled the room. She told herself it was just the ride in the rain.
“Long ago,” Eve said. She reached for the handle of her lantern.
Breathlessly, Nora asked, “How long ago?”
But Eve only smiled and turned to go. “Give Briana my best.”
Nora had her warm bath and then changed into dry jeans and a sweatshirt. The chili was simmering on the cooker, and she was wishing she had thought to pick up some bread to go with it.
“Anybody home?” came a voice from outside.
She opened the door to find Orlagh McCarthy standing under an umbrella. Farmer McCarthy waved from the idling truck.
Orlagh held something wrapped in a green-and-white gingham towel. “I was making some of my soda bread, and I…” She hesitated. “I felt the urge to bring you some.”
“Thank you,” Nora said. “Won’t you come in?”
Orlagh craned her neck to look past Nora into the cottage. “Oh, well… Maybe just for a moment, then.”
Nora went back into the cottage, and Orlagh stepped onto the covered stoop, setting her umbrella down. Sliding one foot over the threshold, she hesitated, as if waiting to see what would happen. When nothing did, she stepped completely inside, looking rather breathless at her own daring.
“I don’t know how you knew the bread would be so welcome this evening,” Nora said when Orlagh thrust the towel-wrapped loaf into her hands. “I was in the village today and forgot to pick some up.”
“Oh, this is better than even the bakery can make,” Orlagh said. Her brow creased. “And I’m not sure, either, what got into me. Usually, when I bake, it’s first thing of a morning, but this urge just came on me…”
She glanced around. “You’ve fixed the place up nice.”
“Thanks.” When Orlagh stood there, Nora asked, “Was there something else?”
Orlagh’s eyes got big. “Well,” she began, turning to peer back toward the truck where her husband waited. “I haven’t told himself about this, but I had a dream, two nights back.”
“Yes?” Nora prompted when Orlagh paused.
“It was about this cottage,” Orlagh whispered. “I saw you, and a woman with black hair, and… and a little girl, also with black hair, wearing—”
“A yellow dress.”
Orlagh’s eyes got even bigger as she nodded.
“What about them?”
“That was the odd part,” Orlagh said, frowning again. “They each took you by a hand, and they led you from here, through the fields and the woods. And all of a sudden, you all disappeared, like smoke. I woke up with my heart pounding.” She laid a hand on her ample bosom.
A beep from the truck startled both of them. Orlagh jumped.
“I’d best be going or James’ll have a fit that his supper is late.”
“Thank you again for the bread.”
Orlagh reached for her umbrella and stepped back out into the rain. “You’ll have a care.”
“I will.”
Nora waved them off. That made two unexpected visitors so far this evening. She put the bread in the oven to warm and made herself a cup of tea, pondering what Orlagh McCarthy’s dream meant. Was Móirín reaching out to others now? Trying to prod Nora back on track? She picked up Eve’s tonic, wondering what it would do exactly. She wiggled the cork, cracking the dark red wax. She held the little bottle away, half-expecting a cloud of vapors to escape when she tugged the cork free, but there was nothing. A cautious sniff provided no more information about what was in it, as the liquid inside didn’t smell of anything. She carefully tipped just a few drops of the clear concoction into her tea. She took a small sip, but it hadn’t changed the taste of the tea at all that she could tell. She drank her tea as she moved about the kitchen, setting the small table with a crock of butter and plates for their bread.
Outside, the rain continued to come down softly. The front door was open, with an old towel spread on the floor. When Shannon stepped inside, she obediently stood on the towel until Nora could wipe her big paws dry. Briana followed, smiling at them.
“Hi,” Nora said, giving Shannon a last rub and Briana a long, lingering kiss.
“Hi, yourself.” Briana inhaled deeply. “Oh, that smells good. I’m near to starving.”
“Come on in,” Nora said, leaving Bri to hang up her rain jacket.
Shannon followed her into the kitchen, where a bowl of kibble waited.
Nora dished out two bowls of chili. “I can’t take credit for the bread. Orlagh McCarthy—”
As she reached into the oven for the bread, she had a forceful image of others having done this same thing, here in this room, when the bread was baked by a wood fire. It was like her vision, the one she’d had upstairs, guided by Eve.
She swayed, and the bread dropped onto the counter with a clatter. She braced herself with one arm.
“Are you all right?” Briana asked, hurrying over to wrap an arm around her.
Nora nodded. “I’m fine. Just… just hungry, I think. Let’s eat.”
They sat, but Briana kept casting worried glances in her direction. Nora waited for Bri to take her first spoonful of the chili.
“How do you like it?” she asked. “I didn’t make it hot. I wasn’t sure if you like spicy food.”
“I’ve never had this,” Briana said, smacking her lips as she tasted it. “It’s almost like Mexican, but different. I like it. It’s brilliant.”
She reached into her back pocket and slid a piece of paper across the table before buttering a slice of bread.
“What’s this?” Nora picked up the paper and unfolded it.
Inside was a colorful drawing of a stick figure reading a somewhat lopsided and enormous book.
“Kieran?” she asked, grinning.
“We’ve been commanded to go to Dublin this weekend.”
“Really?” Nora put the drawing down and spooned up some chili. “Sure.”
She ate and realized Briana was frowning. “What’s wrong? You don’t like the chili.”
“No, I like it.” Briana stalled by eating some more before saying, “Well, I all but promised you Kerry and Dingle and the Cliffs of Moher, didn’t I? And we’ve yet to do that.”
Nora didn’t answer immediately. She busied herself buttering her own slice of bread, but inside, her guts were churning—and not from the chili. She was shaken—and a little thrilled—by the calm, the certainty she’d felt at Briana’s words, the knowledge that they’d have a lifetime to do those things.
But all she said was, “It doesn’t matter. We’ll go to Dublin and see your family this weekend.”
The baby wails piteously as Donall carries her to his sister. “I’m sorry,” he says helplessly. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Niamh turns her back and unbuttons her dress, tucking the babe to her breast. “The poor wee thing is starving.”
In the month since Rowan disappeared, Móirín has become a ghost of herself. She who couldn’t stop crying after Aoibheann’s birth now can’t shed a tear. She won’t eat or speak. And her body can’t give over any milk.
For days, she wandered the woods and fields herself, calling and searching. But now, she has taken to her bed, numb to the world, leaving Donall and the children adrift, almost as if she has died.
“Still no sign?”
He shakes his head and squats to poke at the fire. “Nothing. We’ve searched every day. Asked any travelers we’ve seen. Left notices in the village. It’s as if the sióg have taken her into a sídh, leaving no sign of her in this realm.”
He watches his little sister, but a child herself at nineteen, her red head bent as she croons to comfort the baby as she feeds her. How did she grow up so fast, a mother herself now? He remembers pulling her hair and teasing her mercilessly when they were children.
The past feels so much more welcoming than the present—with five children looking to him to make things right. Tears sting his eyes. He angrily swipes them away.
She glances up at Donall. “I don’t know what I’d do if one of mine died—”
“Don’t say that!”
She purses her lips, silenced by his reprimand, but it’s clear her thoughts continue. He drops to a chair, his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Niamh. Only I don’t know what to do.”
She doesn’t respond immediately. For long minutes, they sit in silence. Niamh’s own baby gurgles from her cradle while her two-year-old plays with a stick, whacking it against the floor. Donall picks him up to bounce him on his knee.
“Keith has had a letter from his brother in America,” Niamh says at last.
Donall stares at her. “You’re not thinking of going?”
She avoids his startled gaze. “There’s nothing in Ireland for us, Donall. If it hadn’t been for you and Móirín and your ties to Ashford, we’d’ve starved this past winter.”
“It’s not that bad,” he says stoutly but then places a hand on her shoulder. “Is it?”
“Keith hasn’t had paying work since Samhain. We’ve no land to farm, even if potatoes would grow. We’ve got to make a decision soon.”
A bit later, when he heads home alone, having left the baby with Niamh for now, he wonders how much longer they can go on as they are. Something has to shift soon.
Moonbeams appeared and disappeared with the shifting of the clouds, blending with the lamplight on the desk. Nora bent with her nose almost touching the pages as her pen scrabbled furiously, recording her latest dream. She closed her eyes, trying to hold onto it—dark, pitch-black darkness. And wet. Water everywhere. And still the crying. No more laughter, only the crying and screams in the dark.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped at Briana’s voice behind her. “Nothing.” She splayed her hands to cover the page.
Briana rubbed her eyes. “It’s the middle of the night.” She laid a hand on Nora’s shoulder. “Come back to bed.”
Nora shook her hand off impatiently. “Not just yet. I need to finish this.”
“What do you need to finish?”
“It’s none of your business!” Nora snapped.
Briana withdrew her hand. A moment later, Nora heard footsteps on the stairs. A niggling voice in the back of her mind said, you hurt her feelings.
“I’ll apologize later,” she muttered, bending back over her page.
Though she was anxious to be done for the day, Briana stepped back and took a deep breath. Her anxiety was transmitting itself to her work, which right now was the training of the yearlings. Tim in particular was becoming more boisterous and harder to work with, requiring greater patience on her part to train him and keep him thinking this was fun. She was grateful Quinn had had the colts gelded in the spring or this would be even harder.
“Come on now, you little git,” she crooned when he tossed his head to avoid accepting the bridle and taking a bit.
Prepared for this, Bri warmed the metal bit in her hands and then smeared a little honey on it. This time, he accepted it readily, his tongue working to get all the honey off as she slipped the bridle over his ears and fastened the straps.
“See?” She rubbed and patted him. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
She led him by the reins around and around the paddock before slipping the bridle off and on again a few times, until he accepted it without honey.
“All right,” she said, taking it off for the last time at the gate to a larger field and giving him a little slap on the rump. “Go play.”
He galloped off, his tail high, to join the other yearlings in a race across the pasture.
She trotted to the barn to clean the bridle and hang it up before going in search of Quinn. She found him in his cluttered office, Dilly curled up under his chair.
“Done for the day,” she said.
He glanced up from the computer. “Off to Dublin?”
“Yeah.” She scuffed her heel against the wooden floorboard.
He sat back in his chair. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
He reached for a stack of papers sitting on the only other chair in the cramped space. “Have a seat, squint.”
She dropped into the chair. Dilly wriggled out from under Quinn’s chair to jump up and place his paws on her knees. She scratched his ears.
“What’s up?” Quinn asked. When she didn’t answer, he said, “I didn’t see Nora leaving here this morning, but your windscreen had dew all over it, so I’m guessing you stayed here alone last night.”
He did her the favor of doodling on a scrap of paper so that he wasn’t looking directly at her. She likewise kept her gaze trained on Dilly’s soft brown eyes, half-closed as she continued to rub his ears.
“As you know, we’ve been alternating nights at her cottage or here,” she began, feeling foolish for having this conversation with her boss. She realized she rarely thought of Quinn as her boss. “But for the last couple of nights, she hasn’t wanted to leave that damned cottage. And I don’t like to be away from here too many nights. I know you like to have someone about in case something happens.”
He gave an impatient wave. “That’s the least of my worries. Did you have a quarrel?”
“No.” Dilly dropped to all fours, and Bri leaned down to continue rubbing him. “We’ve been good. She cooked dinner a couple of nights ago, and we made plans for Dublin. Everything was good. Then the next night, she didn’t want to come here. So I stayed there again, but last night, I had to come back to my place. She wouldn’t come with me.”
She kept her eyes downcast but could feel Quinn studying her.
“And no disagreements or arguments? Any bad news from home?”
“No.” Briana tried to think if she’d missed anything, but she’d been thinking hard ever since this started. “She had a funny spell in the kitchen that night, like she was going to pass out or something, but then she seemed fine. Other than that…”
“Only…” Quinn hesitated. “Sheila called me. Nora didn’t come to work at the nursery today, so we thought maybe something happened between you.”
Briana sat up at that. “She didn’t go to work? But why? That makes no sense.”
Quinn shrugged. “No idea.”
She stood. “I’d better get over there.”
He nodded. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do.”
She hurried to her cottage to pack a bag for the weekend. Shannon was already waiting at the SUV when she emerged. They both got in, and she hurled down the road to Sióg Cottage, her mind a whirl as to what was going on.
She racked her brain, trying again to think if she could have done or said anything to upset Nora, but she couldn’t think of a thing. Maybe the bit about not going rambling to the southwest counties, but Nora hadn’t acted as if she was upset about that. But that was the night she’d awakened to find Nora downstairs, writing feverishly and as snappish as a mare in season. Part of Briana wondered why she was putting up with this. She never would have before.
Then Wednesday, the last night Briana had spent at Sióg Cottage, Nora had been unusually restless, tossing and whimpering in her sleep for what felt like hours. At one point, Briana had actually shaken her to wake her. Nora had moved into her arms, burrowing in for comfort. The next morning, Nora hadn’t remembered any of that.
When Briana had asked about coming by to pick Nora up to take her back to her cottage at the stables on Thursday, Nora had irritably said she didn’t want to stay at Bri’s place that night.
“I have things I need to do,” she’d said. Her abrupt tone stung, and the hurt must have shown in Briana’s face because Nora said in a more conciliatory tone, “A night apart won’t do us any harm.”
That much was true, Briana had to admit. There was such a thing as too much togetherness. It was just such a sudden change from the way Nora had been—the way they had been together—just a week ago.
Her worries only multiplied when she arrived at the cottage to find Nora outside, digging in the flowers. She looked up in surprise when Briana and Shannon got out of the car.
“What are you doing?” Briana asked.
“Weeding. What are you doing here?”
Briana stared at her for a second. “It’s Friday. We’re meant to be going to Dublin tonight.”
“Oh.” The blank look on Nora’s face indicated she’d completely forgotten. “I’m sorry, but—”
“Kieran’s expecting us,” Briana said, squatting down next to her. “He’ll be really disappointed if we cancel now.”
Nora brushed back a strand of hair from her forehead, leaving a streak of dirt. “But you could—”
“He’s expecting both of us. He invited you especially. And my mum as well.” Briana sensed she needed to handle this carefully and hoped the gentle application of guilt would help. Feeling as if she were treading on very thin ice, she took Nora’s elbow. “Come get cleaned up and packed, and we’ll be on our way.”
Nora let herself be helped to her feet. Bri guided her inside and up the stairs, into the bathroom, while Briana went to the front bedroom to get Nora’s smaller suitcase from the closet. She immediately saw from the unmade bed that she’d slept in this room last night.
Shannon whined and paced nervously out in the hall, peering into the room. Briana looked over her shoulder and imagined she felt a malevolent chill emanating from the corner.
“You’ll not get her,” she said to the empty room.