Wild Irish Roots (The Mystic Cove Series) (4 page)

"Ainsley, you must drink this," Fiona said softly to the girl. Margaret's heart clenched as the girl cracked her eyes open and slid them to look at Fiona. A barely perceptible nod came from the sick girl, and Fiona bent over her.

Ainsley sputtered out a cough as she tried to drink the broth. Fiona laid a hand on her throat and whispered to her. Soon, Ainsley was able to swallow the entire broth without a cough.

Margaret tilted her head and squinted at Fiona. What had just happened there? How had Fiona stopped Ainsley from coughing while swallowing the broth? Knowing that pneumonia made it almost impossible to swallow, Margaret was confused.

"Good job, Ainsley. Now, I want you to close your eyes and picture yourself running outside in the yard, playing your favorite game. Can you do that for me?"

Margaret felt tears prick her eyes as she stared down at the brave little girl. A small smile flitted across her face as she looked trustingly at Fiona. Margaret found herself praying desperately that Fiona's broth would work.

Fiona kneeled by Ainsley's bed. Margaret watched in confusion as Fiona placed her hands directly on the small girl's chest. Bending her forehead to the mattress, Fiona looked the picture of supplication.

Margaret's heart hammered in her chest. She could barely breathe as she watched Fiona begin to murmur against the sheet. Over and over, Fiona repeated words that Margaret couldn't hear. Her eyes shot to Ainsley's face, but the girl’s eyes remained closed.

Margaret jumped as a flash of...something blurred past her eyes and she heard a large crack from outside. The women sobbed and hugged each other, saying their Hail Marys.

Margaret was frozen, unable to tear her eyes away from Ainsley's face. Unable to breathe, unable to move, she watched, desperately searching for a sign of something. Ainsley's eyelashes fluttered across her cheeks. Margaret shuddered out a breath as the small girl sat up, the color returned to her cheeks.

"I'm hungry, Mum," Ainsley said in the sweetest little girl voice ever. The women ran to Ainsley and surrounded her on the bed, cooing and clucking over the small girl.

Margaret stayed still as her fear and hatred of the abnormal washed through her. She didn't want this life. She didn't want to be different. Whatever had just happened here was beyond the realm of even her own abilities. Suddenly, these otherworldly gifts seemed like a penance.

Not meeting Fiona's eyes, she hurried to gather their supplies. Margaret bowed to the women and barely able to stand, she raced to the green station wagon. Margaret dumped her supplies in the backseat and moved around to sit on the edge of the bumper. She braced her arms on her knees and struggled to breathe.

What was that? What had just happened? Ainsley was near death. Margaret didn't care how much mud and seaweed Fiona shoved down the girl's throat. There was no way that she had cured Ainsley through her concoction alone.

Which left...Fiona's power. Margaret shook her head against a swell of nausea that hit her throat. Remembering the crack, she turned her head and peered around the edge of the car. A piece of lumber—a 2x4—lay splintered on the ground. Margaret gulped at the implications of that shattered board. Had Fiona done that?

Margaret began to shake as the potential for what had just happened washed over her. A part of her...a very small part of her...was ecstatic that Fiona had saved Ainsley. It had been amazing to see. And, yet. What had happened in that bedroom defied explanation. Margaret couldn't imagine living her life with this kind of ability. No wonder people whispered about Fiona. It all made sense now.

"Margaret." Fiona's voice was shaky and Margaret merely turned her head to watch her mother.

Fiona looked older, her face tense with fatigue and something else. Margaret tested Fiona's emotions. Fear. Her mother was afraid, Margaret realized with surprise. She'd never known Margaret to be scared of anything before. Margaret looked down at her hands for a moment before responding.

"Let's get out of here," she whispered.

Fiona's face tensed but she said nothing and nodded. She held the keys up.

"I'll need you to drive. I'm too tired."

Margaret stared in surprise at her mother and realized that whatever she had just done had taken a lot out of her. Trembling, she took the keys from Fiona and walked around to the driver's-side door.

She stopped and looked at the small cottage, where a child's laughter now floated through the window. Moments ago the house had been shrouded in darkness and sadness and now, relief and happiness seemed to float around the home. Margaret shook her head and got into the car. How could this be a bad thing when the result was good? Confused and upset, she started the car and backed carefully from the driveway.

On the road home, she finally looked at Fiona.

"What are you?"

––––––––

F
iona sighed and gave Margaret a disgusted look.

"I'm your mother first and foremost. Don't talk to me like that," Fiona ordered sternly. Margaret kept her eyes on the road, her mind trying to process everything.

"Are you a witch?" Margaret asked shakily.

Fiona sputtered out a laugh and Margaret felt a flush creep up her cheeks as her mother bent over in her seat and laughed from deep within her belly.

"Oh, I’m glad that you think this is so funny," Margaret hissed at Fiona. She sped up, wanting to be out of this car, away from Fiona, away from this crazy town.

"I'm no more a witch than you are," Fiona gasped out.

"I'm not a witch!" Margaret screamed and Fiona sat up straight, turning to put her hand on Margaret's arm. Margaret jerked her arm away, breathing heavily. "I'm normal. I want a normal life, I don’t want any of this."

"You can't change who you are...what you are," Fiona said softly.

Margaret pulled the car into their drive and got out right away. She felt the pain building in her heart; turning, she unleashed her fury on her mother.

"I don't want this...this life," Margaret said as she swooped her hands over the cottage and to the cove. "I don't want to know what other people are feeling. And, I certainly don't want to watch my mother literally lift a sickness from someone with her bare hands. That...is like beyond crazy. How am I supposed to live like this?" Margaret shouted, her chest heaving as she stared wildly at Fiona.

Fiona stood straight, her daughter's abuse falling on proud shoulders.

"I've told you that you are special. For years, I've tried to show you how your gift can help the world. I've chosen to use mine for good. I can no more change who or what I am then I can force you to accept yourself. But, until you do, you'll never be happy," Fiona said fiercely.

"Lies. All lies," Margaret hissed and paced in front of her mother. "My gift can't help anyone. And it's not a gift. It's a headache...an inconvenience. I don't need it."

Fiona watched Margaret pace but said nothing.

"I–I get that you did something great back there. You saved a life. Intellectually, I understand that what you did was of great service to that family. But, in my heart, I just can't accept it," Margaret whispered, and held her clenched fist to her heart. She saw the pain flash across Fiona's face and wished that she could do anything to feel differently, to be able to accept what was.

"Well, I suppose that is your problem then, not mine," Fiona said stiffly and passed Margaret. Her hand on the door to the cottage, Fiona turned and looked Margaret up and down. "I only hope that someday you will stop running from yourself."

"I don't have to be what you want me to be!" Margaret shouted.

A small smile flitted across Fiona's face and she shook her head at Margaret, disappearing into the cottage. Margaret watched her go, feeling disconnected from this woman that she called mother. Who was this person? How was it possible that she could heal with her hands? It defied all laws of science.

Shaken to the core, Margaret looked down at her hands. They looked simple. Innocuous. How could something like that work? She watched as her hands shook with emotion. Tucking them in her pockets, she stumbled across the field leading to the cove, tears blinding her vision. Her breath hitched as she struggled to comprehend how her entire world had shifted in an instant.

Margaret came to a stop at the edge of the cliffs that lined the cove. Staring down at the peaceful water, she tried to regain the feeling of happiness that she had felt there just that morning. Instead, her angst and displeasure grew. Glaring at the cove, she raised her hands and shouted to the water.

"Why? Why me? I just want a normal life!"

Margaret dropped her hands down by her sides and glanced over her shoulder, realizing that she probably looked a little crazy. Margaret eyed the waters of the cove, looking for any change, any indication that the cove had heard.

"I'm done here. Understand? I will have no part of this," Margaret threatened the cove. The waters continued to move gently, a contrast to the storm that raged inside of her. Margaret shook her head. What was she waiting for? Grace O'Malley to rise from the water and tell her that she'd be okay?

On a sigh, Margaret turned her back to the cove, vowing it would be for the last time. Tomorrow she would pack for Dublin. She could go ahead of Sean and get a job, find a place to live, and start a new life. Determination threaded through her, and Margaret moved towards the cottage, ready to throw off the bonds of the cove and what Fiona expected of her. 

––––––––

M
argaret deliberately stayed in bed late the next morning, continuing to turn over and bury her head in the covers until she heard Fiona leave the cottage. Her resolve to leave had only strengthened after a night laced with dreams of magick and healing hands. Getting up, she leaned over her bed to peek out the window. Fiona's car was gone and Margaret breathed a sigh of relief. Her emotions were too mixed...too raw...for her to have a discussion with Fiona now. It was as though she had reached a crossroads and neither direction was clear for Margaret. She only knew that she needed to take the next major step in her life.

Grateful that she only had a short afternoon shift at the café, Margaret moved into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of tea. Finding fresh baked scones on the table, Margaret smiled. Somehow, Fiona always knew how to comfort her even when Fiona was the one she was mad at. Margaret snagged a scone and took that and her teacup back into her childhood room.

Standing in the small room, she turned and examined the years of her life accumulated in posters, drawings, pictures, and various knickknacks that covered the room. Crossing the room, she stared at her favorite picture of her and Fiona. It had been taken when the sun was just beginning to set and the light warmed their laughing faces. They stood together, as similar as two peas in a pod, laughing at a private joke, the ocean open behind them. Margaret felt a tug in her heart for Fiona and what she was leaving behind her. Convinced that she was in the right, Margaret pulled the picture from the wall and laid it facedown on her dresser. She walked into her closet to begin the process of sorting her clothes.

She sighed as she examined the tumble of colors and fabrics that greeted her. She had always wanted what was in fashion...the newest and the best. Though, it was hard to come by the latest fashions in the small town of Grace's Cove. Humming, Margaret began to pick through her clothes, only keeping what she thought would look the best in big-city Dublin. She could only imagine all of the clothes shops that she could frequent once she established her new career. Daydreaming about her new life, Margaret almost forgot about her current job.

She gasped as she realized she would be late to work if she didn't hustle. After a quick shower, she pulled on a navy sundress with a skirt that hit just below her knees. Braiding her hair, she tucked it behind her ears and added dangling silver earrings. Margaret grabbed her bag and all but ran through the cottage to her car. She wasn't in Dublin yet, Margaret reminded herself. It wouldn't do to get in trouble at work now that she was so close to leaving. She would need every bit of money that she could make for her moving expenses.

Feeling unexpectedly light after such a heavy day yesterday, Margaret sang her heart out on the way into town. Snagging a parking spot right next to her work, she considered the day off to a good start. A small shiver of anticipation raced through her as she thought about seeing Sean tonight. She couldn’t wait to tell him that she was ready to move...now.

Margaret swung into the café and waved to a few regulars before ducking in back to take her purse off. Sarah stood at the counter, arranging scones on a platter.

"Those are for you," Sarah said and gestured with her hand to the back room.

Turning, Margaret found a vase full of white roses. Happiness lit through her and she raced to pluck the card from the milky-white petals. For a moment she stopped to caress the petals, loving the elegance of the white roses. Red roses were so cliché. But, white, well, it was as if Sean already knew her. Smiling, she opened the envelope.

Margaret laughed and hugged the card to her chest, just for a moment.

"That's enough, lover girl. Get moving," Sarah said grumpily and nodded towards the customers that had just walked in. Margaret stuck her tongue out at Sarah when she turned her back and, tying her apron on, went to greet her customers.

The day wove by in a flurry of customers and daydreams. Margaret knew that she had her head in the clouds after she'd messed up her fourth order. She apologized with a laugh and kept her eye on the clock. Closing was moments away. Ushering the last of her customers out, Margaret called to Sarah.

"You can go if you want. Sorry, I've been off all day. I'll clean up," Margaret said generously.

Sarah stopped, surprised. She nodded at Margaret in thanks and needing no further encouragement, left through the back door. Margaret shrugged and moved to the front door to lock it. This would give her time to change and do her makeup. She jumped as the door swung open, startling her.