See Me in Your Dreams (2 page)

"Now,
Sister Mary, don't you be bringing
them
up," he complained.

"Da, it
was
you
who brought up the subject
when you were in a desperate way," Flanna reminded him. "You wished
the three could be together one last time before you died!"

Bless her
soul, Keelin thought, gathering her courage.

"Well, I
didn't die, did I?" With the full drama of a true Irishman sorely
beleaguered, he said, "And they didn't care enough to come to my side when
I was near death, so why should I be giving them a thought?"

"Ah, Da,
you're being unreasonable," Curran told him, swiping his thick black hair
away from his forehead. "You wouldn't let us contact them so they would
know you were sick in the first place."

With the way
of her Murphy ancestors, Delia teased, "You always did have a bit o' the
blarney in you, James.
Tsk
,
tsk
,
tsk
. You know you want a wee peak at Rose and Raymond
again..." She suddenly sobered. "God willing."

An uneasy
silence muted all voices for a moment. Keelin hadn't considered her aunt or
uncle might have gone on – and her never having set eyes on either of them. She
couldn't tell himself what she was about, then. Couldn't raise
Da's
hopes. A refusal from one of the other two triplets
would be bad enough. But if one of them weren't even alive...

Shaking away
the chilling thought, Keelin quickly reconnoitered. "I have an
announcement." Though not the one she'd intended.

Five pairs of
quizzical eyes turned to her.

Da asked,
"What is it, lass?"

"I'm going
on a trip. Tomorrow morning, as a matter of fact. Business." Her mouth
went dry with the lie. "To meet with other herbalists." Heat rose
along her neck like fairy fire. "And it's out of the country."

"Where
to?"

Taking a big
breath, she said, "
America
," and
waited for an explosion of temper.

"DA'S SUSPICIOUS, YOU KNOW."

The expected
outburst never having come, Keelin still pretended innocence as she and Flanna
entered her white-washed, thatch-roofed cottage after supper. "Of
what?"

"I'm
neither blind nor daft, Keelin. Nor is anyone else in our family. Everyone is
feigning ignorance, when in truth your intentions to contact Aunt Rose and
Uncle Raymond are as clear as the waters of
Lough
Danaan
," she said of the small lake edging the McKenna
property.

Keelin moved
to the peat-burning stove where the kettle was on the boil. "You do know
me."

"You
never could tell a falsehood without turning as red as your hair."

So true.
Keelin sighed. "Tea?"

"That'd
be grand."

The cottage
was merely two rooms, the larger for living, the smaller for sleeping– part of
the original bedroom having been converted to a bath. Keelin loved Moira's old
house, the place where her grandmother had lived alone before Seamus had come
to her rescue when she was in dire straits, and she in turn had tamed his wild
heart. The cottage was simple as were the furnishings, but neither mattered to
Keelin.

While she
prepared the relaxing chamomile, Flanna fetched the mugs and placed them on the
table, then searched the icebox for a lemon and milk. No words passed between
them. They'd always had a special rapport, working together seamlessly, as if
they had somehow been connected in the womb despite the three years between
them. Connected and yet nothing alike. Green-eyed, strawberry blonde, petite
but well-filled out, Flanna turned heads. And she was as bold as they came,
Keelin knew. Unlike herself. Sometimes she envied her younger sister's outgoing
spirit and sense of adventure. By comparison, she was but a mouse.

"So how
will you go about it?" Flanna asked when Keelin set down the teapot and
slid into the vacant chair.

Keelin poured
the steaming, aromatic liquid. "Several of the American cousins wrote
Gran. She kept the letters in their envelopes, so I have the addresses."

"Then
you'll approach Raymond and Rose through their children." Flanna gave her
tea a squeeze of lemon.

Adding a bit
of milk to hers, Keelin nodded. "I thought it a wise idea. I'm certain
I'll be needing their help in reuniting three of the most stubborn Irish I've
ever heard tell of."

"The
wound goes deep – more than thirty years."

"Long
enough."

"Aye."

Dreamily,
Keelin sipped at her tea. "I was imagining how grand it would be if they
could celebrate their sixtieth birthday together this October with as many
McKennas as could be gathered round them."

"If Rose
and Raymond are both still alive," Flanna said softly, echoing Keelin's
worst fear.

"They
must be. For
Da's
sake."

Later, after
Flanna left to retire to the bedroom their parents kept for her, Keelin had
reason to further contemplate birthdays. She'd passed her thirty-third
unnoticed while Da was in hospital. The day had transpired like any
other...except for her thinking heavily on Moira's last words to her.

Entering the
bedroom, she lifted the top of the ancient music box that she'd bought from a
Traveller
recently, and removed a thick, cream-colored
sheet of paper. She sat on the edge of her lace-trimmed bed to once again study
the missive written in her grandmother's steady hand.

To my darling Keelin,

I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days after
your thirty-third birthday – enough time to know what you are about – you will
have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not
always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in
another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours.

Your loving grandmother,

Moira McKenna

P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for
good lest you harm yourself or those you love.

Flanna and
Curran both had received like missives, and Keelin supposed the thick cream
envelopes the solicitor had sent to the American cousins held more of the same.
She had been well and truly caught by the spirit of Moira's bequest to her
grandchildren. Moira had wanted them to be happy after the way each of her own
children had tainted their personal lives with intolerance and jealousy.

She and her
siblings had poured over the contents of the letter together several times
throughout the past year, wondering if their grandmother, truly something of a
bean
feasa
–
an old woman with magical powers – could have seen into their futures.
Wondering if there was any validity to this legacy that held both fascination
and burden for each inheritor.

Keelin read
Gran's words yet again.

Within thirty-three days after your thirty-third birthday
...

Not even two
weeks to go.

And the
reference to dreams reminded her of the one she'd had the night before.

Act selflessly in another's behalf
...

Keelin swept
away a nagging guilt. This was different than the last time, she assured
herself. Different from all the others. She didn't know these eyes she saw
through. They belonged to a stranger in a strange place. Therefore, she had no
control.

Perhaps this
dream had been just that, she thought desperately. A dream rather than one of
her dreaded night terrors. Keelin considered. A young woman running away – and
her off to America. Of course. That had to be the thing.

Had to be.

THE
CITY WAS ALWAYS A SCARY PLACE. At night, it was even worse, overflowing with
menacing people. Raggedy homeless with blank stares. Uniformed policemen with
too sharp gazes. Billed-capped gang members with hot, hungry eyes.

The stuff nightmares were made of.

She wasn't very brave, but she forced herself to continue
on. Hands stuffed into pockets, head down so she wouldn't have to look at
anyone, she rushed east along Monroe Street, taking the bridge over the
railroad yard. One foot in front of the other.

Left. Right.
Left. Right.

Music beckoned her like a Pied Piper.

Almost there.
Almost there.

She hurried across the edge of the lawn, dodging a
hand-holding couple. Skirting a bag woman leaning against her shopping cart of
belongings. Losing herself at the back of a crowd of middle-aged people with
their fancy fold-up chairs, lit candles and glasses of fine wine.

In the distance stood Navy Pier with its giant Ferris wheel
a lit beacon. She turned.
Bandshell
and illuminated
city skyline before her, she slumped to the grass. Winded.

Afraid. Always
afraid.

Tears flooded her eyes, but she slashed them away. She'd had
no choice. She had to make the best of it.

How long?

She tried concentrating on the music, but it was classical
stuff like he played. Liszt, she thought. Why that? Anything else would have
been better. Anything not a reminder...

She closed her eyes, covered her mouth and rocked. She could
see him – dark hair swept across his brow, pale blue eyes sparkling as he
laughed with her, hugged her tight.

Lies. All
lies.

The enormity of what she'd done hit her suddenly and she
began to shake inside. It took all her willpower not to scream. Not to get up
in front of all these people and beg for help. They would only make her go
back.

Blindly, she reached for her bracelet. Fingers twined
through the leather strands. Traced one charm, then another. Their familiar
touch calmed her. With great effort, she settled herself down. Took deep
breaths. Told herself everything was going to be all right.

Then the voice behind her saying,
"There
you are!"
made her jerk, setting the
charms to tinkling and her whirling around so fast something flew from her
fingers and her head spun...

HEAD SPINNING, KEELIN SAT STRAIGHT UP
IN HER SEAT, her body covered in a light sweat. For a moment, she was dazed.
Disoriented. Until Liszt faded into the drone of jet engines and she realized
she was on the plane to Chicago.

Another dream.
The same eyes. The same fear.

Fear that she
could taste as if it were her own.

She trembled
inside at haunting memories. At old guilt. At her inability to act when it
counted. Now it was happening again...but this time she didn't know who.

Dear God, no.
Not again.

Surely she
couldn't be held responsible for yet another life.

Chicago

"I'M
IMPRESSED. YOU REALLY CAME all the way from Ireland for the sole purpose of
talking my father and Aunt Rose into visiting the old sod for a reunion?"

Keelin stared
across a slick black lacquered desk scattered with folders and videotapes. Her
cousin Skelly McKenna, oldest child of Raymond, leaned back in his chair, hands
behind his head. She searched his expression for any trace of mockery, but he
seemed genuinely impressed.

"Da
almost died, and in his sickbed admitted he wished to see his brother and
sister again. I'm certain if the situations were reversed, you would do the
same for
your
father."

Skelly
laughed, the sound tinged with bitterness. "My father would never say such
a thing to me. He and I are not exactly what you would call close."

Not exactly
what Keelin wanted to hear. "Are you telling me you won't help?"

"Not at
all. But I am telling you that
I
don't have a lot of influence with Dad." Skelly rose and paced the
spacious office, outfitted with more black lacquered furniture and a couple of overstuffed
black love seats. The only color in the room came from the Oriental carpet and
a few well-placed pieces of art work on the walls. "My sister Aileen, on
the other hand, continues to charm the socks off the old man, and I'm sure we
can enlist her aid when Dad gets back from Washington."

Raymond
McKenna being a U.S. Congressman from Chicago.

Relief swept
through Keelin. "I dreaded doing this alone."

"Hey,
cous
, I'll do whatever I can for the cause," Skelly
said with a wicked smile that dimpled one cheek.

Keelin
started. "
Grandad
."

"What?"

"Your
smile...you reminded me of him just then."

"That's
right. You knew old Seamus."

"That I
did."