IRISH FIRE (9 page)

Shes only dancin, Kate, Brigid objected. She cant be takin up with anyone at the moment. Shes not yet divorced.

Kathleen threw up her hands. Will you listen to yourself, Brigid Keneally? There are forty thousand people waitin to be divorced. Weve only been allowed the formality for two years. Half of Ireland is livin in sin and has been for centuries. What difference does it make if shes divorced as long as shes not cheatin on her husband?

Brigid winced. Was it really so cut and dry, the severing of vows made between a man and a woman? Why hadnt she seen it that way thirty years ago? Why were things never so simple for her as they were for women like Kathleen Finch?

The answer came to her instantly. Because she wasnt anything like Kathleen Finch. She was complicated, like Caitlin. She eyed her daughter resentfully. Not that anyone had allowed her the freedom to indulge in her own natural tendencies. Married at twenty, widowed at forty, with six daughters in between and a business to run left little time for introspection. No one had ever asked if she was happy with her life or if she would have done things differently.

Brigid. Kathleen prodded her shoulder. Are you fallin asleep on me?

Brigid kept her eyes on her daughters graceful figure. Even from across the room she could see that Caitlin was different. She moved with a confidence that comes early and only to women secure in their beauty. Her clothing was exquisitely cut, fitting her body in ways no off-the-rack department store specials ever could. The small makeup bag in the bathroom was evidence that Caitlin used cosmetics, but no one looking at her would ever guess that her skin and eyes were anything but flawlessly natural. Only the finest, most expensive products were that undetectable.

Brian Hennessey was a serious lad with the thin dark features found in the pure Celtic strains of the western isles. Just now there was a look on his face that Brigid had never seen before. Shes changed, hasnt she, Kathleen? she asked softly.

Kathleens forehead creased in consideration. I dont know that shes changed so much, love. She was always one to take the eye. Half the lads in town were in love with her, as much for her pranks as for her looks. She placed her hand over Brigids to reduce the sting of her next observation. Perhaps you didnt know her as well as you should have.

I knew her, Kate, answered Brigid. I just didnt know what t do with her. I still dont.

Give it a bit of time, advised Kathleen. Shes only just come home. Caitlins a mother now, and shes made her mistakes. Theres no point in remindin her of them.

What am I supposed t do when her past intrudes on the present?

Are you speakin of something in particular? Kathleen asked shrewdly.

Her husband called. Hes fair t flyin into a fit over this entire mess.

Kathleen shrugged. Its her problem, Brigid. Let her sort it out. Our Caitie has always managed to surprise us. Why should she be any different now that shes grown up?

Why indeed, answered Brigid.

Later, Brigid hovered in the kitchen waiting for Caitlin to tuck the children into their beds. Ordinarily she would have been asleep hours ago, but shed deliberately waited for the
cruinni
to end. It was past time to deliver Samuel Claibornes message.

Caitlin paused at the entrance to the kitchen. Youre up late, Mum.

Would you like some tea?

No, thanks. She turned away. Ill see you in the morning.

Caitlin.

Yes?

Sam called.

And?

He wants you t call him back, tonight.

Caitlin shook her head. I dont think so.

Brigid picked up a dish towel and twisted it around her hands. It isnt the first time hes called.

Oh?

I didnt want t ruin the party for you, her mother explained.

I see.

Across the kitchen their eyes met and held.

I dont blame you for bein angry. Brigid felt like a child desperately afraid of a reprimand. Better to get it over quickly.

Caitlin was the first to break eye contact. Its all right, Mum, she said at last. You meant no harm and Im not angry. But its five oclock in the morning in Kentucky. More than likely Sam, wherever he is, wouldnt want me to disturb him.

Something wasnt right. But Brigid was too tired to examine exactly what it was. She sighed with relief. The important thing was that Caitlin wasnt angry after all, or else she hid it well. Either way meant reprieve. Hesitantly, she broached the subject both of them had, by mutual consent, left alone. You never talk about why it didnt work out.

What?

The marriage.

For an instant, Brigid thought she saw something flare in the shadowy darkness of her daughters eyes.

No, I suppose I dont, Caitlin said.

Brigid ran her tongue over her bottom lip. It felt dry and cracked. If you should ever want t

She didnt miss the sharp, quick motion of the girls hand.

Ive found a house, Mum. Ive been to look at it already. We wont be crowding you anymore.

Brigids heart numbed. Shed been dreading this moment. When will you move?

Not for a few months. The tenants have a lease.

She wanted to say, Please, dont go. Stay forever. I love havin you with me. Instead she said, Thats all right, then.

Good night, Mum.

Brigid sank down into the straight-backed kitchen chair. Goodnight, love.

C
aitlin blew on her fingers, grimaced at the fleeting warmth and cursed the unnatural length of time it took for the turf to catch and offer up its flame. It was four in the morning, bone-chilling cold and she desperately needed a cup of tea before venturing out into the predawn fog to check on her mare and colt.

The old wood stove rumbled and coughed. The pilot flickered and the range lit, throwing light and a feeble flow of warmth into the room. She set the kettle on the flame and held her hands, palms down, over the heat source. Her glance settled on the wall phone.

She had no intention of returning Sams call. Just the thought of hearing his voice again made her stomach queasy. Her lawyer had advised her against all communication with her husband until after they had reached a property settlement and custody agreement.

Zipping up her jacket, she poured boiling water into her mug and held the cup between her frozen hands, waiting for the tea to steep. Deciding against milk, she sipped tentatively. The hot liquid seared a fiery path down her throat, warming her chest. Immediately she felt better, drank down the entire contents, and, careful not to wake anyone, stepped out into the blue-gray dawn. A light rain dogged her path. Head down, Caitlin trudged through the muddy streets to the stud farm.

Inside the yearling barn, the morning had already begun. Fifteen box stalls were connected by a walking path. Beneath the bright lights, grooms with pitchforks moved in and out of stalls probing and stabbing the beds for mats of urine and manure. Exercise lads talked, sipped at mugs of tea, smoked, and led horses, one at a time on leather lead shanks, around the path to cool them off. Stacked above the stalls, bales of hay, clover, and straw scented the air with herbal perfume. Outside, the metallic clip-clop of hooves signalled the coming and going of horses on their way to and from the track.

Caitlin walked to the stall where
Kentucky Gold
and her colt were stabled. Dust motes rose from the golden layer of new straw spread across the floor. A bucket of fresh water and a bag of grain hung at exactly the right level for the mare. Caitlin opened the door and stepped inside. The mare nickered.

Crooning softly, Caitlin picked up a brush and rub rag. Dont fuss now, love. Im going to brush you, thats all. Its been quite a week for you, hasnt it, my darling. Well, its over now. Theres no need to worry any more. As she talked in the gentle murmuring code of the horse lover, she worked carefully, purposefully, brushing and rubbing up and down the mares coatthe rub rag following the sweep of the brush, the brush following the rag. The brush crisp, clean and practiced, the rag, slower, kinder, more sensual. The brush sending the dust flying, the rag burnishing the coat into a rich gleaming chestnut. Backed into a corner, the colt looked on, eyes too large and legs too long, the promise of speed to come.

Caitlin stepped back to survey her handiwork. There you are, you lovely thing. Now you look like a champion.

Shes lovely indeed, said a voice from behind her.

Caitlin turned to see Brian Hennessey leaning over the door.

Is it common in the Claiborne stables for owners to groom their horses? he asked.

It depends on the owner.

His eyes moved over her slowly, assessingly. Caitlin colored, wishing that shed spent a bit more time on her appearance, and then wondering why she cared at all.

Youre up early, he said when his perusal was finished. I didnt expect to see you until noon at least.

Youre here.

This is my job. It doesnt stop for a
cruinni.

Caitlin waved her hand toward
Kentucky Gold
and the foal. These are my horses. I wanted to be sure they were well taken care of.

Are you satisfied?

She smiled and looked around at the exquisitely maintained barn. Very. Youre doing a fine job here, Brian. John should be pleased. Do you see him often?

Brian shook his head and a look of genuine regret flickered across his face. John OShea doesnt get out much, not since Assumpta died.

Caitlin rubbed the mares satiny back. Martin and I havent really spoken since Ive come home.

Does it bother you? Brian asked bluntly.

Caitlins eyes narrowed. Are you under the mistaken impression that there was something between Martin and me, Mr. Hennessey?

Brian grinned. Are you goin to freeze up on me every time somethin bothers you, Caitlin? Thats no way to build a friendship.

Is that what were doing?

Id like to. He nodded at her mare and colt. It would make all this easier.

Then answer my question.

I have no reason to think you and Martin shared anythin but friendship.

Caitlin rubbed her hand against the mares side, testing for smoothness. How did the two of you meet?

We went to the Jesuit College together. He went on to the seminary. I didnt.

Why not? It was out before she could stop the words. Im terribly sorry, she said, embarrassed at her breach of etiquette. Its none of my business.

He stepped inside the stall and reached out to stroke the mares velvety nose. Perhaps it isnt. Still, theres no harm in a question, he said easily. Im not cut out to be a priest. Thats all there is to it. Many who start dont make it through. Its better that way. He smiled. If youre done here, would you care to share a cup of somethin?

Caitlin looked at her watch and shook her head. I really have to be going. My mother needs help and the children will be up soon.

Ah. He nodded. Annie and Ben. Theyre expected here this mornin.

Caitlin followed him out of the stall and pulled the door shut. You cant really want them, she said. Theyll only be in the way.

He stared at her. Youve an odd idea of your childrens abilities, Caitlin. Theyre old enough to be useful. You should know that. You were born here.

Annie and Ben were born in America, she replied. They arent accustomed to being useful.

Perhaps its time they learned.

She tossed the brush and rag over the stall into a bucket and rubbed her hands together. Her temper was very near the surface. Are you criticizing the way Ive raised my children, Brian?

Not at all. Theyre splendid children. What I object to is your regard for their capabilities. If you believe theyve nothin to offer, theyll believe it as well.

Its not that.

What is it, then?

She drew a deep breath. My husband wouldnt be happy if he knew they were mucking out stables.

I thought they did that at home.

Thats different. Claiborne belongs to them. Not now, she amended, but it will.

Brian frowned. I dont see why he would mind if they gathered a bit of experience elsewhere as long as theyre willing.

You dont know Sam.

I wont go back on my word to your children, Caitlin. As long as you dont object, Ill take full responsibility.

He took her arm and led her out of the barn toward the kitchen. Ive had nothin to eat all mornin and I doubt you have either. Sit down with me for fifteen minutes. Then Ill drive you home.

The kitchen Caitlin remembered had been remodeled into a bright room with wooden tables and food served cafeteria-style. The breakfast rush was over and it was nearly empty. Without quite knowing how it happened, she was seated across the table from Brian with an enormous platter of eggs, bacon, toast, and a pot of tea in front of her. Tentatively, she tasted the eggs and her appetite kicked in full force. Oblivious to everything but the hot food, she ate and drank without looking up or saying a word, until her plate was empty.

Wiping her mouth with her napkin, she pushed away the plate and glanced across the table to find herself the subject of Brian Henneseys amused regard. I was hungry, she said defensively.

Obviously.

Instantly she was on guard. There was something unusual about this man, a quick intelligence, pride, and a cultivated sense of humor that didnt quite fit with his loose corduroy trousers and wool shirttraditional garb of the working class. Brian Hennessey was a loner: tough-minded, warm-hearted, brightmore so than shed first imagineda man more perceptive than most because he took the time to listen and read between the lines.

It came to her suddenly. She wanted his approval. The flame-red flag of embarrassment colored her cheeks. Shed eaten like a pig. I havent had much of an appetite lately, she said. More than likely I was catching up today.

He grinned. Dont apologize. If I hadnt wanted you to eat, I wouldnt have offered to buy you a meal.

In America, in the south, its impolite for a woman to have a hearty appetite outside of her own kitchen.

I suppose Sam Claiborne encouraged that misguided notion.

Caitlin looked surprised. Do you know my husband, Brian?

He shrugged. Weve met. I doubt if hed remember. You might say I know him by reputation.

What does that mean?

It means that I know somethin of how the Claiborne Farms got started and Id be a liar if I said that I didnt resent it. I dont believe your husband is particularly talented when it comes to knowin a good horse, but he doesnt have to be. Hes the lucky heir of men like Bull and James Claiborne, men who knew horses down to the bone. Im not particularly pleased that the Claiborne empire began with an Irish horse. It should never have happened. Old Bull Claiborne stole
Nasrullah
right out from under us, clever bastard.

I wouldnt call it stealing, said Caitlin. He
bought
the horse fairly.

Believe what you will. I happen to know that he cashed in on anothers misfortune. Since he acquired
Nasrullah,
every leading American sire since, and a good many European ones, have stood at Claiborne. He ticked them off on his fingers,
Narraganset, Tiny Dancer, Bold Runner,
Princiquillo, Darcys Pride
and
Cimmaron,
all Claiborne stallions, all champions out of
Nasrullah.

Caitlin stared at him curiously. You sound bitter, as if something personal was taken from you.

The line of his jaw was tight and angry. Somethin personal
was
taken from Ireland, from all of us who are Irish.

Do you hate us, Brian?

He looked across the table, saw the frown between her eyes, and shook his head. I dont hate anyone, lass. Certainly not you. Besides, youre not really a Claiborne.

She could have mentioned that her divorce hadnt even begun yet. She could have reminded him that Annie and Ben had their fair share of Claiborne genes. She could have explained that she was, most definitely in the eyes of the law, a Claiborne. But she did none of those things. Instead, she asked, How does a man from the western isles fall so deeply in love with horses?

There are horses on the islands.

Not this kind.

He laughed. No, not this kind.

Dont tell me if youd rather not.

Its no secret, he replied. Ive family here on the mainland, near Cashel. When I was a wee lad, I spent my summers with them. They followed the races. The first time I went, I was hooked. Its as simple as that. I wanted to be a jockey, but there was never any hope of that. I was never big, but too big to hold on to that dream.

Why a jockey and not a trainer?

Speed, he said simply. It feels like flying.

She caught her breath. He knew what she did: that none of it mattered, not the money, not the glory, not even the sportjust the power, the exhilarating speed, and the horse finding a window, taking the bit in his mouth, and running to win. Brians arm was on the table. She wanted to touch him, to stretch the bond that had sprung up between them, to make it physical as well as spiritual.

Slowly, she inched her fingers across the surface to touch the dip in his palm. His hand closed around hers, pulling her closer. The contact was intense, emotional, deeply personal.

Davy Flynns thick Irish brogue interrupted them. Caitie Keneally, what are you doin here this time of the mornin? Were takin good care of your horses, arent we, Brian? He slapped Brian good-naturedly on the back.

Its past time for me to be going home, Caitlin stammered. Flushed with embarrassment, she rose from her chair and headed for the door. Thank you for the food.