The Older Woman (22 page)

“Don’t do it again,” he said. “Don’t make decisions for me. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

“I mean it.”

“I

know.”

“Okay, then. Whatever happens, we’re going to get through it. You and me. And the sisters and Mrs. Bee and the church ladies—and whoever the hell else it takes. I love you, Kate—more than I can ever tell you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me again.”

“I love you, Cal.”

He couldn’t stop smiling—and he couldn’t keep from fishing, either. “So…when did it happen? The ‘love’ thing.”

“When you came out into the rain to see about me,” she said.

“Damn, Kate!” he said, just as taken aback as he’d been when she told Mrs. Bee she had him chained to her bed. He kissed her. Hard. And held her close to him.

Women.

No.

This
woman.

He never would have guessed—not in a million years. He closed his eyes and savored his joy, pushing aside all the worry about what might be ahead for them. For now he would rely on the training he’d gotten from the military and from Pop Doyle—first things first and one step at a time.

Kate Meehan loved him. And that was all that mattered.

Epilogue

I
t was standing room only in Uncle Patrick’s pub—friends and family—and strangers off the street. Doyle looked out across the sea of faces. Nina and his mother were conspicuously absent—he hadn’t expected them to come—but the people who had managed to get there were all waiting for him to do something entertaining.

“So will you sing for us, Cal?” Uncle Patrick called from the bar.

“You’re going to be sorry you asked that,” he answered, making the crowd laugh.

“Should I be hidin’ the tomatoes then, Cal?”

“I wish you would,” he assured him. “But since you did ask, I’m going to do it. Not too long ago somebody told me a story. It was a love story, and it was about a soldier—a paratrooper—” He had to stop for the barks and whistles that came from the military presence in the crowd.

“This soldier went to war, and he didn’t come home again. But before he left to go overseas, he sang a song to the woman he loved…in a place something like this one. It took me a while to find the words, but I did. And she’s here tonight, helping us celebrate, so I’m going to sing it for her.”

He waited for the applause to die down.

“I’m going to sing it for her,” he said again, “and I’m going to sing it for the woman
I
love. They’re both sitting right over there—Mrs. Bee and my darling Kate.” He could see Kate smile, and Mrs. Bee and the church ladies go all atwitter. “Clive and Jeffrey here are going to help me out with the music,” he added.

Both musicians gave a little bow.

“When was it you got married?” Clive asked him loudly enough for the back of the room to hear.

“Ah…two hours ago,” Doyle said, knowing something was coming.

“Aha! Two hours ago, is it?” Clive asked innocently.

“Right.”

“So this would be your
weddin’
night, would it?”

“It

would.”

“Saints preserve us, boy, and you’re wasting time up here
singin’!
”

“I’m going to sing fast,” Doyle said above the laughter.

“Well, I should
hope
so!” Clive said, giving him a pointed look—and then another one in case the crowd missed the first one. Then he stepped back and began the melancholy intro on his fiddle, going through it twice until the room quieted down.

Doyle stood where he could see Kate’s beautiful face.

He began to sing the words, and everything else fell away. There was no one here but her. She was well and safe now, and he adored her, his beautiful, beautiful wife.

He took her through the song with all the emotion his Irish roots could muster—

through the soldier’s long search for the one woman in this world that was his and his alone, his joy at finding her at last and his love and his prayers for her. He sang his heart out, and when he was done, like the time Bud Gaffney had sung it so long ago, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

There was a moment of silence when the music ended, then the room exploded with applause. He shook hands with Clive and Jeffrey and stepped down from the stage. He walked to Mrs. Bee first, giving her a little bow and kissing her hand.

He turned to Kate and took her into his arms. She was crying. He kissed her, then kissed her again.

“I love you, Mrs. Doyle,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

The

Older

Woman

Copyright © 2002 by Cheryl Reavis

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