Night Of The Blackbird (13 page)

There was a tap on the door again. O'Malley had returned.

“Mr. Brolin?”

“We'll be on the one o'clock shuttle, right after the television appearance, just as planned, Peter.”

“Sir, perhaps, with what we know, and with what we don't know—”

“Just as planned, Peter.”

O'Malley inclined his head and left, quietly closing the door.

Brolin looked at the street.

Aye, it was good to see that the horses were in such fine shape.

D
inner was pleasant. Moira sat beside Michael, and Danny was down the table between Brian and Molly. After the conversation they'd had in front of the kids that afternoon, Moira was a little worried about what Danny might be saying to them. She made a point of rising throughout the meal for more drinks or anything else that might be needed, just to walk by Danny's end of the table and see what he was saying. She needn't have worried. He was doing nothing more than telling them about Saint Patrick. As always, Danny was a good storyteller.

“Patrick's life, you know, is shrouded in mystery,” Danny explained. “He was the son of a man named Calpurnius, who was most probably a wealthy Roman living in Britain. Now the Romans had gone just about everywhere, you know, but they didn't do much more than skirt the edges of Ireland. The island was very wild at the time, and the people were fierce, and they lived in tribes. They were good-looking, of course, even back then, but they believed very much in magic, and in the wind and the sky and the power of the earth. They were fine seamen, too. So Patrick was a boy growing up in Britain—Wales, many people believe. And he was out late at night when he shouldn't have been—which is a lesson to the three of you to stay close to your parents and family when you're out. Patrick wound up being captured by pagan Irish sea raiders and taken across the Irish Sea to be sold as a slave. To a nasty fellow, so they say. Patrick became a shepherd, and he tended his sheep well, but he knew he must escape. It was very dangerous for him, because slaves attempting to escape could be executed at the will of their masters. But Patrick was a brave fellow, and he meant to go. In time, he convinced rivals of his master to help him escape across the sea again, and he came back home. His parents were very happy to see him, of course, but Patrick believed that God had come to him and told him that he must go back and help the Irish people. Patrick knew he had a special calling. His father wanted him to go to be a businessman—”

“Like Daddy,” Shannon said.

“Like Daddy. Being a businessman is certainly a fine enough thing to do in life,” Danny assured her. “But Patrick knew that he couldn't do what his parents wanted. So he convinced them at last that he must go on to become a man of the Church. Years later, he returned to Ireland to preach a message of peace to the pagans, who were still practicing their strange beliefs. He might have been caught by the mean master he had escaped and put to death, but he came back anyway. Some say God helped him by letting the pagans see certain miracles. Others say that Patrick's wit and mind were miraculous in themselves, and that his power was in his words and his way with people.”

“Either way, gifts from God,” Granny Jon added.

Danny smiled across the table at her. “True enough. So here's our good Patrick among these people. He walked all over Ireland, North and South, because they were just one back then, with many kings ruling different areas and sometimes an Ard-Ri, or High King, sitting at Tara. When Patrick came, so legend has it, there was a High King at Tara, and he was a powerful man with deep belief in his pagan priest. The pagan priest wanted to trick Patrick into a fire, where Patrick would burn to death and leave the pagan priest as the most powerful one. But the Ard-Ri wanted the truth, and he forced both his own priest and Patrick to walk through the flames. Patrick proved that his faith in God was the greatest magic in the world, for he passed easily through fire, and the pagan priest who wanted to hurt Patrick was the one who perished in the flames. Ah, but that didn't end the trials Patrick had to go through. He had trouble with other churchmen, jealous of his success in Ireland. But in the end, Patrick plugged away, sure of his love of Ireland and the Irish people, and sure of his faith in God, and he passed through all his trials, changed Ireland forever, and guess what?”

“What?” Brian demanded.

“He went on to live to a ripe old age, still in his beloved Ireland, and so we celebrate a special day for him every year, even here in America.”

“Saint Patrick's Day is a public holiday in Ireland, Moira, you know,” Katy said.

She smiled. “Yes, Mum. In Ireland.”

“Did he really pass through fire?” Brian asked Danny very seriously.

“Well, now, I wasn't there. Is that truth, or legend?” Danny said. “It's all a matter of belief.”

“Did Saint Patrick bring the leprechauns to Ireland?” Molly asked.

“No, you see, the wee people were always there, living in the magic of the mind,” Danny told her, and winked.

Moira left a bottle of soda in front of the group at the end of the table and moved back to her seat.

Michael leaned close to speak softly to her. “He's quite a fine storyteller.”

“Oh, yes, he has lots of stories.”

“You're not so fond of your old family friend?” Michael asked curiously.

She hesitated. She'd never mentioned Danny to Michael before this had all come up. No reason to. They hadn't torn apart their pasts. She hadn't given him a questionnaire about his previous relationships or talked about her own. Now she felt guilty.

And still totally disinclined to tell the truth.

“He can be very charming, and very irritating,” she said simply. She looked at Danny. “Like a brother,” she said, loudly enough for Danny to hear.

A slight smile curved his lips. He went on to tell Molly about a special girl leprechaun called Taloola. Moira had heard a lot of Irish fairy tales in her day, but she had never heard that one. She decided Danny must have been making up the story as he went along, creating it especially for the kids.

That was fine. Just as long as he didn't launch into a speech about the oppression faced by their people over the years.

Moira looked across the table to discover that her grandmother was watching her with a grave expression. She arched a brow. “Pass the colcannon, please, Moira, will you?” Granny Jon said.

Moira obediently passed the food over, wondering why her grandmother had been watching her so strangely.

After dinner, she, Colleen and Siobhan made her mother go sit in the den with Granny Jon. They served them tea there, making a big deal of putting them into the most comfortable chairs, pulling up footrests and making them do nothing but rest. Granny Jon seemed bemused, her mother restless. Once the tea was served, the younger women forced the older women to stay put and went in to clean up the dining room and kitchen. It seemed strangely empty with just the three of them.

“Where are the kids?” Moira asked. “They don't have the poor little things back down in the pub again, do they?”

“Patrick is putting them to bed.”

“Good,” Moira said to her sister-in-law.

“Yeah, well, usually he's a good father.”

Rinsing a dish, then setting in into the dishwasher, Moira wondered whether to say something further or to keep her mouth shut.

“Has he been really busy lately?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Siobhan said, handing Moira a plate. She looked as if she was about to say something, hesitated, then shrugged. “I really don't know what this new deal is. He met these people involved with a charitable association in Northern Ireland. They raise American money for Irish kids who've been orphaned, to help them pay for an education.”

“It sounds like a decent cause,” Colleen said.

“Yes, it does, doesn't it?” Siobhan said.

“I'm lost, then,” Moira murmured. “What's the problem.”

Siobhan shook her head. “He's been in Boston an awful lot lately. Times when he hasn't even stopped by to see your folks.”

“Well,” Moira murmured, surprised to realize she was coming to her brother's defense, “if he's just coming in for some quick business, he may not stop to see them because he thinks he'd never get back home if he did.”

“Yeah, sure,” Siobhan said.

Siobhan's words might have meant that she agreed with Moira or that she didn't believe a word Moira had said. All that was clear was that she didn't want to talk about it anymore. And all that Moira knew was that something about her brother's behavior was troubling.

“Hey,” Colleen said, breaking in on the awkward moment, “I've got to tell you, Siobhan, every time I see them, I'm prouder than ever of being an aunt to those little munchkins of yours.”

“Beyond a doubt,” Moira agreed wholeheartedly. “They're adorable and well behaved, even though they're still so young.”

“Thanks,” Siobhan said, smiling. “They are kind of worth everything, aren't they? You're going to make a terrific parent yourself one day, you know. Whoops, sorry, both of you are going to make terrific parents. I was merely addressing Moira because she's older,” Siobhan explained to Colleen.

“Thank you for pointing that out,” Moira said.

“Well, you are closing in on the big three-oh,” Siobhan said.

“That's right, Moira, no matter how old I get, you'll be older.”

“You're both so kind,” Moira said.

Siobhan laughed. “So is this Michael thing serious?”

“He's definitely great to look at,” Colleen said.

“Looks aren't everything,” Siobhan reminded her.

“But when you're not speaking to one another, at least the scenery's nice,” Colleen said.

“He's not the temperamental type, is he?” Siobhan asked.

“Not at all,” Moira said.

“He's practically perfect in every way,” Colleen remarked.

“I'd say he's doing exceptionally well,” Siobhan noted. “I mean, this isn't an easy household to crash, and he's holding his own quite nicely.”

“Yes, he is.”

“So
is
it serious?” Siobhan persisted.

“Could be.”

“You would have great-looking children,” Colleen murmured.

“Just because you're now the face on a zillion magazine covers, you shouldn't obsess about looks,” Moira chastised.

“Okay, what a dog you're dating.”

Moira sighed, Siobhan laughed, and the cleanup went on, the next line of inquiry focused on Colleen's love life. Moira kept from questioning Siobhan further, because her sister-in-law obviously didn't want to answer questions, but when they finished and Siobhan excused herself to see to the kids, Moira still felt uneasy.

After Siobhan walked down the hall and left them, Colleen asked Moira, “You don't think Patrick could be cheating on her, do you?”

“I can't imagine it,” Moira said. “If he is, he's a fool.”

“Think we ought to tell him so?”

“I…I think we need to stay out of it, unless one of them decides to talk to us,” Moira said.

“I guess you're right, except that…”

“You don't think that…” Moira began.

“What?”

“Patrick wouldn't be involved in…anything illegal, would he?”

“He's an attorney! What are you talking about?”

“I know. Never mind. I don't know what I'm talking about myself.”

“I'm going to head down to the pub and see if Dad needs any help,” Colleen said. She set the dish towel she'd been using on the counter. “He loves it when we're down there, you know.”

“I know. I'll just check on Mum and Granny Jon, then be right down,” Moira said.

They went their separate ways. When Moira slipped into the den, she found that her mother had gone to bed and Granny Jon was watching the news. She smiled at Moira, nodding toward the sofa next to the big upholstered chair where she was sitting.

“All cleaned up, eh?”

“Yep, all done. I came to see if I can get you anything else.”

“You know, Moira, thank the good Lord, I'm still mobile.”

“I thank Him all the time,” Moira said earnestly. “You're very precious to us.”

Granny Jon nodded, smiling. “Thank you. It's truly good to have you children home. It's good to be able to take care of yourself, but it's also very nice to have loved ones who want to do things for you.”

“We're lucky, too.”

“Oh?”

Moira waved a hand in the air. “I have so many friends whose parents are divorced and don't really have a home to go back to. Every time they have an important occasion in their lives, they have to figure out how to manage the logistics. I know I'm lucky.”

Granny Jon nodded gravely. “Good. Half the time in life, people don't appreciate what they have.” She paused. “Don't be too hard on them for remembering the old country, though, Moira.”

“I…I don't mean to be.”

Granny Jon was silent for a minute, then she said, “I am very old, you know.”

“Age is relative,” Moira said.

“Yes, but there is a lot I remember, you see. I was a child in Dublin at the time of the Easter Rebellion, you know. I saw the streets in flames. I had friends—little children—who were killed in the crossfire.”