The Last Bride in Ballymuir Page 18

  After counting to an ambling, lazy twenty, Kylie knocked again, surely loud enough to be heard over the jovial noise of Breege’s telly, which yattered away in the background.

  Still, no one came. Kylie opened the front door just enough to stick her head inside.

  “Breege? ... Breege, are you in there?”

  When no one answered, Kylie stepped the rest of the way in, and made her past the empty sitting room and to the kitchen at the back of the house. “Breege ... it’s Kylie. Have I caught you at a bad—”

  The rest of her words died, for Breege Flaherty lay facedown on the kitchen floor.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The health of the men. And may the women live forever.

  —Irish Toast

  Kylie hated hospitals. She hated them for their antiseptic smell and for the undercurrent of distress that eddied through the hallways. She hated them for the waiting and for the times people she loved had entered, then never came out. She wasn’t ready for it to happen again. But, Not Breege, please, not Breege, was the closest to a prayer she’d been able to form.

  “Does she have family nearby?” Michael asked. Looking every bit as uncomfortable as Kylie felt, he sat on the hard plastic chair one away from hers. Even though she understood why he kept the discreet distance, she wanted to curl up in his lap and let his strong arms push away her fears.

  She shook her head. “Her children emigrated years ago. One daughter lives in London, and the rest are somewhere in Canada. She’s never talked of anyone else.”

  Michael fell silent, then reached across the empty chair between them and took her hand. His thumb stroked slowly over her bones. She closed her eyes and let herself relax.

  “Her friends in town?” he eventually asked.

  “I called Edna McCafferty,” she said without opening her eyes. “She’ll be here as soon as her son can drive her over.”

  They sat another hour before a Sister stopped to tell them that the doctor would be by to speak to them “straightaway,” which proved to be another hour, yet.

  The doctor cut right to business. “We have Mrs. Flaherty stabilized, though we haven’t been able to do anything for the fractures yet.”

  Kylie’s hand crept up to rest at the base of her throat. She could feel her heart slamming. “Fractures?”

  “Ankle and leg,” he said as though checking off items on a market list. “And she was quite dehydrated. Though the fall wasn’t far, apparently she’d been down a day, at least. At her age, that’s how we lose them.”

  The look he gave Kylie wasn’t in the least accusatory, but she still felt guilty. “I try to stop in on her every day—” she began, then trailed off as the doctor glanced at his watch.

  “You can go in and have a visit,” he said, “but keep it brief. She needs her rest. This evening, we’ll be able to tell you more about when she can be released.”

  As a matter of propriety Michael insisted on waiting in the hallway, but Breege was already asleep when Kylie entered the room. She pulled up a chair next to her friend’s bed and sat. For the first time, Breege, farmer’s wife and mother to half a dozen, looked fragile. A plastic line snaked to her arm, her hair was mussed, and her skin so thin and pale that Kylie could see the veins just beneath the surface. She wished she could give Breege a magic elixir of her own youth.

  Time slipped by. Conversation drifted over from the folks on the other side of the curtain, bits and pieces about medication, who’d died, and who’d won the lottery.

  Breege’s eyes fluttered half-open. “They’d best not be talking about me,” she murmured. “I’m not ready to be going.”

  Kylie softly laughed, then wiped the tears she’d just noticed running down her face. “And we’re not ready to have you go,” she whispered. She smoothed back Breege’s hair, then stood to leave.

  Michael guessed the iron-haired woman had to be Breege’s friend Edna. Not that the thought made him want to cozy up to her. Edna, if indeed that was who the woman was, kept shooting him hostile looks. Worse yet, not so much in appearance as in attitude, she reminded him of his mam. He had enough making him break into a sweat without adding the chilly stare that was his mam’s trademark.

  He stood and moved to the far end of the row of chairs. He didn’t want to begrudge Kylie her time with Breege, but he also didn’t know how much longer he’d last without suffocating. When Kylie called, he hadn’t hesitated. He truly wanted to be here for her. He just didn’t want half of Ballymuir knowing that he was, then going back and whispering it to the other half. Old Edna looked to be just the sort to relish a nibble of gossip.

  And then there was the more insidious reason that he wanted to hide, the one that ate at his soul. He felt as though a thick, inflexible wall of glass separated him from the rest of the world.

  It was more than his stay in prison still holding him captive. He had no idea how one was supposed to behave—or react—at a time like this, and it shamed him. It angered him, too, that he’d been raised by his mother to be so distant. He didn’t know how to change. Not at this late date.

  From her end of the row, Edna cleared her throat, stood, and turned his way. He considered bolting down the hallway, but was saved the run. Kylie was approaching.

  “Edna,” she cried and hurried to the old woman. Michael took his cue and disappeared.

  Kylie grasped Edna McCafferty’s broad, gnarled hands. “I’m so glad you’re here. She’s sleeping now, but I know she’ll feel better just seeing you once she wakes.”

  Edna pulled Kylie into a hug, then released her. “Poor child, you look knackered. Tell me what happened.”

  Kylie gave Edna a quick version of finding Breege, and the doctor’s prognosis.

  “It’s lucky that you found her, then,” came Edna’s brisk response. “And they’re taking care of her, so you can quit looking like the world’s gone black on you.”

  Kylie nodded, not trusting herself to speak without tears.

  Edna smoothed out her rumpled dress. “Now then, I’m going to settle down for the wait, then give that old bird the sharp side of my tongue for refusing to move to town, as I’ve been begging her to do for the last twenty years. You go on back home and have a cup of tea, or something even stronger, if you know what I mean,” she added with a broad grin. “You need to get your feet back under you.”

  Edna gestured down the hallway. “I’m assuming that big, hulking one’s here for you.” She paused, looked in the direction she’d been pointing and gave a shake of her head. “I could have sworn that was the Kilbride man I saw lurking about. You know, Violet Kilbride’s elder brother ...”

  Kylie glossed over Edna’s speculative question. Gathering her coat from the chair where she’d left it, she said, “I’ll get home right enough. And your son will be back to get you?”

  Edna nodded, still looking down the hallway, her brows knit as if she were trying to mentally recreate a crime scene.

  “Well then,” Kylie said as she buttoned her coat, “I’ll be talking to you later, Edna.”

  Kylie took the lift to the ground floor and found Michael outside. He was sitting on a concrete bench, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, and his face tipped up to catch the bit of sun that had fought its way through the clouds. She called his name and closed the distance between them. His broad smile made her feel less bleak and tired. Unable to resist temptation, she brushed her fingers through his crisp black hair. He took her hand and kissed it before standing.

  “It’s time we get home,” he said. “We’ll leave your car till we come back this evening.”

  Kylie tucked her arm through his as they walked toward his car. “I’d like to stop over at Breege’s. She’ll be wanting her own gown once they let her wear it, and a book or two.”

  He closed a hand over hers. “You’re a good friend.”

  She didn’t feel like a good friend. A good friend would never have left Breege alone long enough for her to lie there like that on the kitchen floor. A good friend woul
d have—

  Michael’s low growl interrupted her thoughts. “Sweet Jesus, you’re at it already, aren’t you?”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  He stopped and set her close enough to him that her neck bent at an uncomfortable angle as she met his eyes. “I mean you’re busy punishing yourself over Breege’s accident. ‘I should have been there sooner,’ “ he mimicked in a tone close to her own dark thoughts. “ ‘I should never have left her alone at all.”

  His loose grip on her upper arms tightened. He shook her with just enough force to gain her full attention—which he already had. “You’ll stop this now. You are a good friend, and a fine neighbor, and I won’t watch you do penance.”

  In the face of all that bluster, she laughed. Small wonder she loved him. He had her pegged, down to the last Act of Contrition.

  Michael’s hands dropped to his sides. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

  “Of course it’s not,” she said, fighting down the last of the laughter. “You know me too well, that’s all.” She wrapped her fingers through his. As they walked the rest of the way to the car she tried to explain a welter of emotions she could scarcely understand herself. “I was feeling guilty for Breege’s accident, like I somehow caused it, and I’ll admit that was silly. But I still feel responsible for her.”

  His forehead creased with a full-out scowl. “I can see where this is going.” He opened her door, and she slid in.

  Once he was settled behind the wheel, Michael looked at Kylie with one brow raised in a resigned sort of slope. “We’re off to Breege’s house, I’m guessing. And for more than the gown and books you mentioned.”

  How anyone could overlook this man’s compassion was beyond Kylie. Sometimes she wondered whether all of Ballymuir had fallen under a spell and could see nothing clearly.

  “You’re a good man, Michael, and a good friend, too,” she said in an echo of his own words. She smiled when he cleared his throat and stared straight out the windshield. She could have sworn he was blushing.

  An hour later, Kylie could find little else to smile over. While Breege’s house wasn’t dirty, neither was it the orderly haven it had always been. There was little food in the kitchen, and the preserves Breege must have been getting from the shelf when she fell were old enough to qualify as a National Treasure.

  Scrubbing the kitchen floor to get up the last of the sticky fruit, Kylie announced, “She’s staying with me.”

  Michael, who’d just finished walking Breege’s cow to a neighboring farmer, said, “Till she’s on her feet, of course she will.”

  “No. Forever.”

  His sigh was weary. “How did I know you’d be saying that?”

  Kylie stood and rinsed out the rag. “Look at the ladder she was climbing when she fell, and I promise you that being in plaster and bandages up to god-knows-where won’t slow her any!” The thought of what might happen sent a shiver through her.

  “And when she’s well,” she continued after drawing a breath, “Breege’ll be back out trying to patch a roof or whitewash the barn. She needs to be with me. At my house.”

  When he opened his mouth, Kylie raised her hand palm out, the same way she silenced her students. “Don’t you dare say I’m doing this as penance, or you’ll be sorry you spoke.”

  He sent his gaze up to the ceiling, and rolled his shoulders like a fighter readying for a match. “I wasn’t planning on saying a thing.”

  “Good.”

  “Except what about the daughter in London?” He sounded like a man grasping the last straw, and knowing it’s the short one.

  “I’ll ring her up, of course, but I’m not hoping for much. She and Breege don’t speak often.”

  Michael took the rag from her hand and tossed it into the sink. He drew her into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. His broad hand rubbed comfortingly up and down her back. Kylie wrapped her arms around his waist and settled her cheek against the solid wall of his chest.

  “Darlin’, I know you’re doing this with the best of intentions, but had you noticed that you’re just the smallest bit short of room in that house of yours?”

  “We’ll make do.”

  She heard a smile in his voice when he answered, “I’m sure you will, love. You seem to have an unholy talent for it.”

  In the end, it took all of Kylie’s powers of persuasion, and a few threats, too, before Breege agreed to her offer. Less than a week after the accident, she was released from the hospital, and with Michael’s help, settled very nicely at Kylie’s. Even then, it was “just for a while” and “only because Edna’s rooms are too small to change your mind in.”

  Kylie was content that she’d done the right thing. It was well worth all of Michael’s grumblings as he moved furniture and ferried over Breege’s essential belongings. Kylie regretted the loss of privacy every bit as much as he did, but there were some things that couldn’t be helped. And looking at Breege, with the color beginning to return to her cheeks and the sparkle to her watery blue eyes, while privacy didn’t seem a small sacrifice, it seemed a worthy one.

  Breege parted the covers on either side of her and laughed. “Well now, who’d have thought you’ve been hiding a bed like this, Kylie O’Shea? Quite a secret you’ve been keeping.” She sent a cheery smile Michael’s way, and Kylie noticed that he moved back to the threshold.

  “The bed was my mother’s. I know it’s a bit much for a place like this, but I haven’t had the heart to get rid of it.”

  “And you shouldn’t either. It’s glorious! But it’s not right, me taking your bed,” Breege said, one hand stroking the silken duvet. “Especially with you left on that little bed of mine pushed close enough to the fire to singe your toes.”

  Kylie tidied the stack of paperbacks on the nightstand. “It’s an adventure, like having a new house sleeping out there.”

  Breege looked past her. “Michael, be a dear and see if I left my eyeglasses in the car. I can’t seem to find them.”

  Kylie raised one brow at Breege’s glasses, sitting next to the books, just where her friend had left them. Michael muttered something about being back straightaway, then disappeared.

  Breege sighed, then leaned back against the pillows. “Between the doctors, the visitors, and the way that man sticks by you like he’d forget to breathe if you’re not in the same room, we haven’t had a second to talk, just the two of us.”

  “Michael? He’s not like that at all,” Kylie protested.

  Breege’s smile seemed to hold private memories. “He is, and you should be glad for it.” Her smile smoothed out and her expression grew serious. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, because I’d want my daughter over from London taking care of me about as much as I’d be willing to put myself back in the hospital. But I don’t feel right about this. You and Michael need your privacy. The way he was moping about in the doorway, I don’t think I’m the only one who likes this bed.”

  Kylie felt fiery color climbing her throat and burning her face. “He’s—he’s—” she stammered.

  “If you haven’t used the bed, more’s the pity for you.”

  If Breege were younger—say, by fifty years— Kylie might not have been shocked. She opened and closed her mouth once, then again, feeling as if the wind had been knocked from her.

  Her friend laughed outright. “Why is it the young always think they’re the only ones to have ever felt passion? Do you honestly believe that you’re the first not to have waited until your wedding day? If I told you the names of Ballymuir’s fine citizens—including a certain Garda who drives up and down this road too many times for my peace of mind—who were born less than nine months after the ceremony, even your hair, straight as it is, would curl.”

  Even sanctimonious Gerry? Impossible. Kylie felt compelled to say something. Anything. “I... I, ah...”

  Breege waved aside her effort. “I don’t mean to be turning you that interesting shade of red. I’m just telling you not to forget about
that man of yours while you’re fussing over me. If you have any intention of not being the last bride in Ballymuir, he needs his attention, too.”

  “Erm... well . . .” Lord, what had happened to her powers of speech? Kylie settled for a nod, then went to the window and pulled aside the drape.

  “It’s beautiful weather we’re having,” she said, falling back on chat so old that she was sure it had been trotted out as soon as the first caveman formed words. “Spring is truly on us.”

  Breege chuckled. “Then I expect my barn would be warm enough for lovers. You might mention that to Michael... when he comes back from not finding my glasses.”

  Kylie choked down her embarrassed exclamation and fled to make a pot of tea. Having family could be very unsettling.

  Outside Kylie’s small house, Michael milked the reprieve Breege had granted him down to its last drop. He searched his car from top to bottom, knowing her glasses lay on the nightstand. Then he inspected the crumbling shed at the back of Kylie’s property.

  The lack of a roof meant it couldn’t hold feed for Martin, Breege’s ill-mannered peacock whom even the farmer down the road wouldn’t take. He had, however, suggested that Martin might be tasty in a stew if all else failed. Michael snorted. Knowing Kylie’s soft heart, the damned bird was probably going to get its own cushion beside the fire.

  Since the sun was shining and the air smelled rich and fertile, Michael took to the fields. The earth was still soggy with the weight of spring rains, and it squelched beneath the solid weight of his boots. That was one sound he’d never heard in the cell block, and hearing it now made him think of how incredibly his life had changed. As he thought, stone by stone he cleared the land where he’d first met Kylie months before.

  Only months. It felt a lifetime, and in some ways it had been. He’d lived more since landing in Ballymuir than he had in all the years before. He’d developed patience, too.