What the heart knows today, the head will understand tomorrow.
I was very glad it was after eleven at night when the cab pulled up at reception. The air was warm and a sweet breeze blew. It was so quiet, I could hear the leaves rustling in the trees. Inside, seeing a new girl working the desk filled me with relief. When I asked, she informed me that Catherine was no longer employed at Castle Stone.
She gave me the key to The Pink Room. Mary had told me that I’d be given a proper room, but I never dreamed I’d be assigned to one of the best guest rooms, right in the castle. I sneaked up, looking both ways. I knew I’d see Tom eventually, but a public place surrounded by people sounded a lot better to me than alone on a secluded stairwell. I didn’t like to feel hated, even if I knew I deserved it. Now, he’d hate me more because his mother was marrying Tony.
There was a bottle of wine waiting for me in my room, but I didn’t have a taste for it. There was an envelope laying on the tray next to it that read, “Sheila.” I opened it and read:
Our Dear Sheila,
We’re so happy you came to our wedding. We both know we would never have seen this happy day arrive had it not been for you. As it’s a second marriage for both of us, we’re keeping the celebration small. We’ve limited the party to family. You’re our guest, and very welcome indeed, no matter what.
Maeve and Tony
Exhausted from the trip, I set the letter aside and slipped on my nightgown. I was too tired to even take a bath. I felt happy. I couldn’t wait to see Maeve. Losing her had been the most painful part of being banished from Castle Stone. It was strange that she hadn’t been in touch. But then again, neither had I. She must have felt as awkward about my lying to Tom as I did. I was surprised, frankly, that she’d cared enough to include me. Maybe it was something Irish that I didn’t understand, like you owe a debt to the matchmaker.
As my head hit the pillow, I thought about how strange it was to reassure an invited guest that she was welcome at the party. I fell asleep hard and dreamed that I gave birth to a baby goat.
The invitation said that the ceremony was set for 11 in the morning, with a wedding breakfast to follow in a marquee on the lawn adjacent. Dressed in a Grecian blue and white toile sundress, with a pale-blue cotton pashmina I had purchased, not stolen, I walked the path from the castle to the church. I felt my outfit was appropriately respectful and festive, and that it would garner me not the first ounce of unwanted attention. Laying low was the order of the day for me. On my feet, I wore a pair of white, low-heeled sandals. Gone were my days of letting Maggie costume me. For one, I couldn’t afford her suggestions anymore. And more importantly, I had learned to hold my own comfort at a premium.
On my way there, I ran into Brigid on the path.
“Sheila,” she cried, running at me and flinging herself into my arms. She was dressed for the kitchens.
“Aren’t you going to the wedding?”
“Some of us had to work it and I drew a short straw. Look at the sight of you! You look perfect for a summer wedding.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ll have to have a proper catch-up later. I’m nearly late and I don’t want to hear that gobshite Bill laying into me this morning.”
“I’ve missed you, Brigid. I have to tell you everything. I’m going to work on a goat farm in upstate New York.”
“Why on earth would you go to someone else’s goat farm? We’ve plenty of goats here.”
“Maybe because I was invited never to come here again?”
“Well, that can’t be true, can it? Look, here you’re standing.”
“Brigid! I’m talking about Tom.”
“Do us all a favor and make up with him, willya?” She started to jog down the path to the castle. “When the two of you were having it off, life in the kitchen was a hell of a lot lighter. See ya!” she said, and broke into a full run.
I expected to see more wedding guests assembling outside the church. As I approached the ancient stone building, I heard the lilting notes of organ music float out the heavy, wooden doorway. I peered in. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from seeing in the bright morning sun, to seeing in the dusky darkness. There was no sign of Tom. I breathed out. About 40 people sat scattered in the ribbon-bedecked pews. Simple but gorgeous arrangements of flowers and greenery festooned the altar. I wondered if there was a bride’s side and a groom’s side. I slipped into one of the pews near the middle. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by being too far forward or too far back.
I watched people arrive in twos and threes. Most genuflected at the pews before entering, and most knelt on the low, leather-covered kneelers before taking their seats. I wondered what they were praying about. Did they want something, or were they simply giving thanks? Apart from poetic speeches around the Thanksgiving table, and the rote nighttime prayer my mother said with me when I was little, I’d never been taught to pray.
A phrase popped into my head. “God, please show me the way.” I heard the plea in my own voice. A thrill took over my blood, like I’d just committed magic. Rather than a sensation or waiting for something to happen, though, I felt a sensation of relaxation. I slumped back on the bench, listened to the music, and looked at the elaborate stone carving on the pillars and the grotto around the altar.
Then he was there. Tom, dressed in an impeccable seersucker suit, with a French-blue shirt, and thin black tie. His hair was longer, and had more gold and platinum streaks than I remembered, but then again, it was August. He’d no doubt been walking the grounds in this summer’s glorious and surprising Irish sun. I pictured him digging in the gardens and riding one of the horses. He genuflected and slid into a pew in the front, next to a petite redhead, with smooth hair and a pink linen dress. Before lowering himself to the kneeler, he gave her a quick kiss.
The ceremony itself was part of a Catholic mass. I’d never been to one. I watched altar boys dressed like junior versions of priests march up the aisle to assist. Father Walsh presided. His singing voice surprised me. It was like being at the opera. Danny sat in the front, moving his lips along to the words, closing his eyes in rapture. There were other priests there, swinging smoking vessels filled with fragrant incense and dipping gold ornaments into buckets of holy water and sprinkling the congregation. When Maeve entered, my heart lifted. She wore a silk suit and it was periwinkle, just as I’d envisioned it.
At the end of the ceremony, I waited for the couple’s kiss, but none came. I wondered if that was Catholic tradition, or simply another modesty on the part of the bride. I wasn’t sure what to do next. I watched the crowd for cues. Everyone stood as the priest and his entourage filed out, then one by one, they made their way to the aisles, genuflected again to the altar, and exited. I kept my seat, waiting to leave the empty church. When Tom turned around to make his way to the back, he clocked me. For a second, he began walking toward me and his eyes lit up. I swallowed hard. It was like a bird with a broken wing was trying to flap and peck its way out of my chest. As fast as he had lit up, he then shut down. He looked away from me, face closed off. He put his hand on the small of the redhead’s back and steered her out with the rest of the crowd.
I gave him some lead time before rising from my pew. I peeked outside the door, terrified that there would be a reception line, with Tom standing in it, alongside his girlfriend. It was just Father Walsh, Tony, and Maeve. When I shook Father Walsh’s hand, it dripped with sweat. I discreetly wiped it off on the skirt of my dress.
“No matter how many holy unions I have the privilege of overseeing, I never quite get used to the feeling of stage fright. It’s a good thing I quit competitive Irish dancing to enter the priesthood. I don’t know how long I’d have lasted.”
“Well, it was beautiful, Father.”
“And so are you,” Tony said, gathering me into a hug. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, my dear.” He held me at arm’s length and looked at me, then leaned in and whispered into my ear. “Maeve has missed you. And she’s not the only one.” He then literally put my hands into Maeve’s. I had dreaded this moment. Surely, she must have forgiven me if she’d invited me to the wedding. On the other hand, I’d lied to her. Afraid to look down into her eyes for fear of seeing disappointment, I closed my own and waited for her to speak. She didn’t say a thing she just clasped one hand and walked me away from the light crowd to the shade of a big oak a little farther out into the churchyard. She kept silent until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Maeve, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I’m not a liar. All signs point to the fact that I am, but that’s really not who I am.”
“I know that, dear girl, or we wouldn’t be standing here. Don’t tell Father Walsh I said this, but sometimes the end justifies the means where love comes into play. Remember Tony’s heart scare? The poor man needed constant care, so, and there was little choice but to move him into Tom’s bedroom.” She winked at me. “And if Tom’s old bedroom wasn’t the most comfortable for the patient, and he required a softer bed for convalescing, that must have been God’s plan.”
“Maeve!”
“And here we stand today, married under the watch of heaven. As I said, the end sometimes justifies the means. So, then. I’ve looked at your cookbook. Not bad.”
I held my breath and waited to hear more.
“A few recipes need tweaking, I’d recommend putting in a few traditional ones you left out, and there’s a fact or two that’s wrong. But it feels like something Tom would write. If you want to do some real good in this world, convince him to publish it. It’s a natural marketing tool for the Castle Stone range of foods and products.”
My heart sank. “If they ever get backing. I ruined that deal for Tom.”
“That’s not the way Brian Lynch told the story to me. He’s sorry that Burton fellow ever crossed your path, but he’s grateful that you brought our business venture to GlobeCo’s attention. Apparently, they were looking to expand into the natural and organic market. Brian Lynch came off as a hero for landing the Castle Stone account. It goes without saying that the farmers around here are tickled pink. And so’s Tom.”
My heart dared to open a crack.
“Mary told me you showed him my blog.” I felt sick thinking about it.
“Aye, that I did. Sat him down in front of it, but he said he wouldn’t read a word. From what I heard from the girls around the office, though, he sat at Mary’s desk for over an hour doing just that.”
“So, now he knows I love him.” I felt raw.
“Don’t you wager he knew that before?”
I felt crimson climb from the neckline of my dress, all the way up to my face.
“Don’t you wager everyone knew that?” She laughed softly. “You’re not the only Cupid on the estate. Why not go and tell him?”
“What difference would it make? He already read it online. And anyway, I’m too late. What am I supposed to do? Declare a dual with his perfect girlfriend?”
“I don’t think my niece is the dueling type.”
My chest lifted like a thousand helium balloons had been launched in my heart. I gave Maeve a hug, and my feet began carrying me to the marquee, where the guests had gathered. My eyes picked through the crowd, looking for Tom among the blossom-colored clothes of the attendees. Landing on a pair of broad shoulders clad in a neat, striped jacket, they drifted upward to find a loose, sunny mass of wavy hair. Tom!
Marching up to him, I tapped him on the shoulder. Smiling, he turned around, holding a delicate glass cup of frothy, pale-peach punch. For a split second, his eyes crinkled into the familiar smile that bathed my brain like a drug, lulling me into knowing that the world was safe, and all would be well. I felt a jolt of heat. I was sure I saw it in Tom as well. At least I hoped I did.
“Tom, may I have a word with you?” There wasn’t much point in calling him Chef or Mr. O’Grady at this point. The cat was out of the bag.
“Certainly,” he said to me. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to the several people gathered around him in conversation. “Why don’t you follow me?”
He began walking in the direction of the castle. He didn’t look at me and he didn’t say a word. His long strides sent him sailing across the grass as he deviated from the path. As had so often been the case, I wound up jogging to keep up.
“Tom,” I tried, but he held up a hand to quiet me. I kept following.
Finally, we stopped at the back entrance to the castle. He unlocked and flung open the door, and went in, taking the stairs two at a time. Panting, I ran to keep at his heels. He led me through to his triangle-shaped room and closed the door behind us.
“Why?” he demanded in a loud, ragged voice. His face contorted in anguish. I wasn’t sure if he might hit me, or harm himself, or burst into tears. I looked away from his face. It scared me. Now I wasn’t sure this could be fixed.
My eyes looked past his, afraid to meet them. I spied something new above his desk. There, taped to the wall, was a line drawing of me. Clearly, it had been drawn by my friend down at the market in Ballykelty. But I hadn’t commissioned it. With hope in my heart, I jumped off the ledge.
“Tom, I didn’t mean to lie.”
He started to yell, but it was my turn to hold up my hand for silence. “Yes, the lie at first was mercenary. I wanted what I wanted. But my lie would never have caused you harm. I knew I could be good for you.”
He turned his back to me and looked out the window.
“Yes, I wanted the book for me, but here’s the truth: I know I’m good. I knew that if I could convince you to let me make this book, you’d come out on top.”
“You could have told me the truth at any time,” he said, still looking away. “You made a fool of me.”
“How did I make a fool of you? Oh, do you mean by plotting to get Tony and Maeve together? Look, I’m sorry about that…”
“No!” he roared, turning to face me. “By letting me fall in love with you.” His eyes blazed and he panted in quick, shallow breaths. “I swore I’d never do it again after Tabitha.” His fists balled up, and he paced a short line back and forth, never taking his eyes off my face.
“But I’m not Tabitha!”
“You lied like Tabitha.”
“I didn’t, Tom, I really didn’t. Anything that mattered, I told the truth about. I told the truth about being in love with you.”
He relaxed his hands. “I’m supposed to believe that?” He held his palms out to me. “You lied to me, Sheila.” He scoffed. “I mean Shayla.”
“What does it matter what my name is, Tom? You know who I am.” I searched his eyes, but he gave nothing away. “Do you really think I’m a liar?”
“Bear in mind, I saw the tape from the James Beard Awards Dinner.” I saw the slightest crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “You put on quite a show.”
I took a step toward him. “I told the truth.”
“Sure, you threw away your career telling the truth.”
“I’d do it again.” I raised my chin and looked him in the eye.
He crossed the floor until he stood in front of me. “What’s the rest of the truth, Sheila?” It was warm in his room with the window closed. I could smell his musky sweat, overlaid with the grassy smell of his hair.
“The truth is, I’m an anxious mess.”
“Go on,” he said, inching closer to me.
“The truth is, I’m not cut out for the city. I’m moving to a goat farm.”
“More,” he said, advancing.
“I just want an easy life, even though that’s supposed to be embarrassing for a 21st-century woman.” I stepped so close to him that the tips of our shoes touched. “I want to be taken care of.”
“And,” he breathed, gripping my upper arms in his broad, flat hands.
“And,” I was scared. I knew what I needed to say, but I couldn’t bear being sent away again. I breathed in and jumped off the cliff. “And I love you.”
“I know that,” moving his hands down to my hips. “The whole feckin’ world knows that you’ve gone and posted it on the bloody internet,” he said, smiling in a wicked way. He looked up at the heavens, “What can I do with this girl? Everything she touches goes arseways. Go on then,” he instructed. “Say even more.”
I tilted my head back and looked up into his blinding-blue eyes, “I want you,” I whispered.
He covered my bottom with the expanse of his hands and pulled me into him. “Mmm…” I moaned. Every memory of his skin rubbing against mine; the feel of him inside me sang in my body.
“A fool could see that from a hundred miles away,” he whispered, voice husky, stubble brushing my ear. “Tell me more. What else?”
I could barely make enough noise to say it. “I want to marry you,” I breathed. He spun me around and lay me on the bed. Immediately, he started clawing at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, his hot mouth covering mine with deep slow kisses.
“You’re mine now,” he said in a low, growly voice, and stripped me naked. “And when we marry, it’s my name you’ll be taking. Shayla O’Grady.”
“Yes to the O’Grady part. I want to be part of your clan. But I’m not who I was before. I’m Sheila now, and always will be. Will you have me as Sheila?”
“I’ll have you alright, let me show you.”
Over the next hour, slow and deliberate, and sweet, he showed me how much I belonged to him.
By the time we walked hand in hand across the lush green grass to the marquee, guests were halfway through the festive meal. A small band, consisting of a bouzouki, fiddle, banjo, tin whistle, accordion, and a hand-held drum played with a stick that I was later informed is called a bodhran played merrily off to the side. I noticed most musicians had a pint close at hand, despite the early hour. It clearly didn’t do their playing a bit of harm. Father Walsh raised his eyebrows at our joined hands, swinging between our bodies as we rejoined the throng. At least I hope his reaction was to our hands and not the state of my bedhead.
“Where did the pair of you skive off to?” called Tony. “We’ve been having a whale of a time. We meant to put you to work serving the guests.”
“Tony,” I bantered back, “I know it’s your wedding day, but should you be drinking, given your delicate heart?” I winked, and he burst into laughter.
“I thought the point of being married is that your wife minds your secrets,” he replied. “I can see nothing’s sacred among you women.”
“Get yourselves a plate, you’ll miss the buffet,” said Maeve. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I’d worked up a fierce appetite, and of course everything looked beautiful. It was, after all, a wedding at Castle Stone.
“You go ahead,” Tom said, “I’ll just have a word with my mother here.”
I heaped my plate full of Irish bacon and sausages, coddled eggs, kippered fish and smoked salmon, and the prettiest strawberries I’d ever seen. Just as I was about to sit at a table with some of the older folks from town who belonged to the church, Maeve waved me to pull up a chair next to hers.
I watched Tom lean in to the band leader, and the music came to a close.
“Friends, I’d like to make a toast to the newlyweds. I’ll be the first to admit that I’d scales on my eyes when I first became aware of their friendship. For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine it working out. Had it not been for Sheila, it likely wouldn’t have,” he said, raising his glass in my direction. Now, two have become one and they’ll enjoy the blessing of companionship and love for the rest of their days, which God willing, will be many. To Maeve and Tony.”
The crowd erupted into cries of “hear, hear,” and “to the blushing bride,” and “may they have joy all their days,” and glasses were refilled all around.
“Quiet, quiet please. I have another bit of news I planned to keep to myself, but my Mam insists I announce it now.”
“I knew it! Maeve’s expecting!” shouted an old codger from the back, who was decidedly in his cups.
“I’d hold your tongue, or her new husband might brain you.”
Tony jumped to his feet and held up his fists in a mock-fighting stance. “Disparage my lady and you’ll have to answer to St. Brigit of Kildare and James Joyce here.”
“St. Brigit would never punch a man,” Father Walsh exclaimed.
“I’d take my chances with them two,” the old codger said standing up.
“Another toast! I’d like to make a toast to my fiancée, Shayla de Winter Sheridan Sheila Doyle soon to be O’Grady. Will you all join us back here in a week’s time for our wedding?”
The crowd roared and everyone jumped to his or her feet, clapping and shouting. The band took off in rollicking, double-speed version of “Whiskey in the Jar”. I could hardly breathe for being covered in kisses, and squeezes, and while I watched all of this happen around me, I felt my cheeks stretching into a smile I didn’t know if my face could contain.
Someone pressed a glass of champagne into my hand. A week’s time? What if Hank couldn’t make it? I breathed in and out, knowing he either would or he wouldn’t, and that if he didn’t I would be OK with that. I’d love to have him at my celebration, but he could no longer let me down. I was a grown-up. I could rely on myself for happiness. Plus, I thought, as Maeve took my hand in hers and squeezed it, I’ve found a family. No one could ever replace Mom, but Maeve was a close second.
Tom pulled me onto the dance floor. Where would I get a dress in time? I took in the gorgeous wrinkled faces of the old folks and the fresh-scrubbed freckled and strawberries-and-cream complexions of the young, and realized that it didn’t matter at all. The people of Ireland had seen thousands of brides over the centuries. Legends and poems talked of the brides’ characters, not their dresses. It would all work out. And as for Maggie, she’d show up. There was no doubt in my mind.
As if on cue, the clouds above our heads parted and a blinding beam of sunlight illuminated the dance floor, firing up the tresses of the redheads bouncing around me, and warming my skin. I looked to the heavens and thought of my mother. For the first time since her death, I didn’t feel emptiness and loss, I just felt joy. Had it not been for her love, I wouldn’t be clapping and reeling with these good people, on this sacred land. I decided to believe that the part of her that lived in my heart had guided me to leave what I knew and find what I needed. Her strength was my strength. Twirling, I blew a kiss to the sky.
I jumped up and down with the group, filled with a wild abandon until my fiancé took me in his arms and kissed me. All motion stopped. I closed my eyes and breathed in his smell. He smelled of trod-upon grass, late-summer Discovery apples, and ancient, vital, metallic blood tinged with the fragrance of the sea. Joined together on the estate at Castle Stone, music and voices shouting in Irish brogue surrounding us, I already felt married. These were now my people. I was home.
Enjoyed Summer at Castle Stone? Then don’t miss Lynn Marie Hulsman’s hilarious debut Christmas at Thornton Hall.
Turn the page for an exclusive look at the first chapter.