Kilpara Page 20

  “Yes,” I said, feeling her nearness, her toes touching mine beneath the moving water. Her perfectly shaped mouth stretched into a full smile. She was inches shorter than me, and with my head bent, I could see every speck in her green-gray eyes. If I were to bend a little closer, I could taste the soft breath escaping from her mouth and catch its flavor on her lips.

  Her voice stopped my flow of thoughts. “These poor little fellows will die if you don’t put them back.” She laughed softly. “You don’t want some unhappy family swimming around mourning them, do you?”

  “No, no, of course not,” I stuttered.

  She took my hand and lowered it beneath the water. “There, they’ll be all right now,” she said, as the fish swam to freedom.

  We walked out of the water, and she dried her feet on her skirts. “I must get back before Aunt Margaret misses me.”

  “Are you visiting your aunt?”

  “Yes. Up there.” She pointed to a two-story white house set back from the road that ran close by the beach.

  “Will I see you again?”

  “My aunt goes to the market every morning around this time. I slip away and come here, sometimes to paint or to play in the water. Goodbye, Ellis.” She held out a dutiful hand.

  I took her hand and raised it to my lips. The green-gray eyes danced. She picked up her skirts and scrambled up the bank. Before she crossed the road, she turned and waved.

  If I thought about my good mood in the days that followed, I had to admit it was due to my meetings with Morrigan and the easy smiles on Mother’s face. The coughing continued, but she seemed to tolerate it better. She received letters from long forgotten O’Donovans and Burkes in Galway and neighboring counties, all wishing her well and asking to visit. The only gloomy cloud hovering over my good mood was Aunt Sadie. She wore a worried look and I was sure she prayed more.

  Gully Joyce’s attempt to turn me into a jockey failed miserably. We practiced on the rough patch of land that resembled the racecourse. After telling me to hold my knees tight above Brazonhead’s flanks, he stood back and observed me. “Ye look like a giant squashed into a tea cup,” he said.

  That time around the course we didn’t do well. “Too slow,” Gully said. “Try shifting your weight forward more and hugging the inside of the track closer.”

  I was uncomfortable in the jockey position and so was Brazonhead. Realizing the futility of this routine, I abandoned it and crouched forward instead, my head close to his neck as we galloped around the track. Brazonhead responded immediately and strode out. I whispered close to his ear, “atta boy, atta boy.” When we halted in front of Gully Joyce, the little man was hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.

  “Who would’ve thought it? American rough riding. It works,” he said. “Much better. Much better. Ye might even have Pandora beat.”

  I dismounted, pulled Gully’s hat off and threw it up in the air.

  “Go on with ye outta that, Mr. O’Donovan,” he said, catching the hat before it hit the ground.

  We practiced secretly for the next three weeks. Each day our speed increased as Brazonhead became more familiar with the rough ground and I learned to shift my weight to give him more rein. When I brushed him down after each exercise, I saw how his muscles had strengthened and how his coat had a healthy glow. But were we fast enough to beat Pandora?

  The day before the race, I was already on the beach waiting for Morrigan when she climbed down over the bank. She immediately took off her shoes and we walked along the beach. She smiled at me and I sighed with relief. Each time we met, I searched her face for recognition that she knew about the race and I was her father's opponent. I tried to prepare for this consequence by rehearsing an explanation in my mind, but no matter how I phrased it, it came out sounding opportunistic. There were occasions when I came close to disclosing the truth to her myself, contemplating her reaction to an admission about my identity and the contest I’d contrived with her father. But to reveal the truth would jeopardize Mother’s one wish, and I couldn’t risk that, regardless of how desperately I wanted Morrigan’s trust. I knew that keeping this secret between us could instantly destroy the friendship I’d come to treasure. Yet I remained silent, held in the crosshairs between my selfish desire to savor her company and my obligation to honor my parents.

  “I must go to Kilpara tomorrow,” she said. “Father is planning a party; a celebration. He’s very mysterious about it. He says it’s a surprise.”

  I winced, waited for her to say more, but she didn't.

  “Will you be staying at Kilpara afterwards?” I asked.

  “Yes, for a few days. Then I’ll return to the strand with my aunt. We stay here most of the summer. She never married and has devoted herself to Father and me. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known. You see, my mother died when I was born.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I never knew her, except in portraits. My father never got over losing her. I think he would’ve been a different man had she lived.”

  “He never remarried?”

  Morrigan looked surprised, as if the thought had not seriously crossed her mind. “My mother's memory is very precious to him. I suppose he never met anyone that could make him forget.”

  “She must’ve been very special.”

  “She was. But I'm afraid Father has filled the void by becoming a bit of a risk taker.”

  A frown creased her brow and I wanted to erase the worried look from her face. I began to feel uneasy. More than anything I wanted to confess that she was standing next to the man with whom her father had made a pact to gamble away their safety. If only I could tell her the risk wasn’t a serious one. Her home was secure, even if I was lucky enough to win the race. Kilpara would still be hers.

  “Does your aunt live with you at Kilpara?” I asked, quelling my thoughts

  “She does, but she prefers summers near the shore. She finds the house here a lot cozier than Kilpara.” Morrigan looked at me intently. “Tell me about your family?”

  I hesitated, agonizing over what her response would be if I told her my true identity. “We’ll save that for another day. Our history is a complicated one.”

  “I’m anxious to hear all about it,” she said.

  When the time came to part. I was keenly aware that whatever the outcome tomorrow, we wouldn’t be the same people afterwards.

  The skies were different from three weeks ago when we set out for Ballybrit. Today they were blue, with clouds fluffy like sheep’s fleece drifting lazily by. Breezes were gentle and the sun was warm. Purcenell grunted when we led Brazonhead toward the starting line. The camaraderie of a few weeks ago was replaced by an icy stare and a scowl. There was no blanket with a coat of arms on Brazonhead’s back, but it was obvious, even to Purcenell, that he was a thoroughbred. Reluctantly Purcenell passed his documents to the referee, who Gully Joyce introduced to me as Frank Davenport.

  Today, as on the previous race day, Sloane and Ligham joined other spectators around the racecourse that had come to watch the spectacle. Briefly I wondered what this contest meant to Sloane. It would serve his purpose if Purcenell lost Kilpara and relinquished it to me. Purcenell would be forced into dependence and need, obliging him to consider Sloane’s offer to marry Morrigan. Sloane would assume I was more interested in the contest than the prize and suppose I’d be willing to sell him Kilpara for a small profit if I won. After all, I had falsely represented myself leading him to believe I had no intention of staying in Ireland. That I was only here on business, and to bring my mother back among her relatives. My interest in Kilpara was negotiable. Buying back the estate and presenting it to Purcenell would ingratiate him in Morrigan’s eyes. My winning stood to position Sloane to realize his desire to marry her.

  I mounted Brazonhead and we moved into position. Gully Joyce’s gaze turned to dislike when Edward pulled alongside us on Pandora. I could see the faded marks on the mare's flanks from the last race.

  “Watch out
for that one,” Gully warned as we readied ourselves. “Remember what I said. He'll do anything to win.”

  Edward, body taut, grinned maliciously as we waited for the flag to drop. “Don’t know why you’re bothering, American,” he taunted. “This is no sport for amateurs.”

  The referee began: “On your marks...”

  We were off.

  Without much effort, Brazonhead and I stayed neck and neck with Edward and Pandora around the first two laps. We came up to the third lap. I could see that some of Pandora's previous wounds were beginning to show from effort and she was hurting. I decided it was time to put some distance between her and us. “Okay, boy,” I whispered in Brazonhead’s ear, “let’s get this race over with and go home.”

  We struck out. I slapped his flanks lightly with my crop. Glancing over at Pandora, I belatedly saw Edward raise a shiny object and bring it down to pierce Brazonhead’s rear flank. Taken by surprise, Brazonhead stopped and reared. I was reminded of the first time that I rode him. We were back in Stile Valley. He reared up, completely bewildered. With a burst of energy he raced forward jumping and bucking. “Easy boy, easy boy,” I said, as I struggled for control. “Don’t let the son-of-a-bitch beat us now.”

  When he began to settle down, we picked up speed and came alongside Pandora again. I urged Brazonhead forward, keeping an eye on Edward, ready this time for what he might try. When I saw him position himself to reach over and strike Brazonhead again I drew back slightly moving closer to Pandora, so close that we were almost touching. I could see he held a sharp spur in his hand, and as he reached over to make his strike, I slapped his hand with my crop. The spur flew into the air as the jockey struggled to keep his balance.

  Brazonhead stretched out his breath heaving through his nostrils, coming in quick gasps along with my own. Hooves hit the surface hard and confident, as we finished the home stretch to cross over the finish line ahead of Pandora. Shouts went up around us from onlookers.

  When a defeated Edward brought Pandora to a halt, nursing his right hand under his left armpit, it took me a minute to realize that Gully Joyce had grabbed the jockey from the saddle and they were rolling on the ground, fists flying. The crowd formed a circle around them. Since it looked like Gully had the upper hand, I allowed Brazonhead to be led away by one of the convent grooms while I tried to catch my breath.

  Purcenell came over looking grim-faced. Behind him was Aunt Sadie. She had come to watch despite what she had labeled “the devil’s work.”

  “Let me introduce you to my nephew,” she said to Purcenell. “Ellis O’Donovan.”

  A frown creased Purcenell’s forehead, then his face twisted into scorn. “O—O’Donovan?” He spat at my feet. “Bastard liar. You tricked me so you did. Deceived us with that tale about being related to some doctor.”

  “That’s no lie,” Aunt Sadie interjected. “His mother, my sister, is the daughter of Dr. Victor Burke. So am I. She married an O’Donovan.”

  “So you were after Kilpara all along, weren't you now? Well, you won't get it. The bet's off. Bastard Irish.”

  “Not so,” the referee said arriving beside us. “Mr. O’Donovan’s official signature is on his documents. You could’ve checked them at any time.”

  Purcenell grabbed for the little man who moved swiftly behind Aunt Sadie’s protective habit. “I should’ve known you were part of this debacle, you little Irish runt.”

  Aunt Sadie drew back her shoulders, reached inside her muffled sleeves and calmly pulled out a letter, holding it out to Purcenell. “Remember, I told you my terminally ill sister was returning from America and had requested to be buried in the O’Donovan graveyard when her time comes? Well, this is a letter from her asking you to receive her. I’m sure you’ll have no objection. Now.”

  Purcenell threw the letter on the ground and trampled it into the dirt with the heel of his boot. Then he looked at me with murder in his eyes. “You'll pay for this,” he said. “No O'Donovan will ever set foot on Kilpara soil as long as I'm alive.” With that he stomped off.

  I watched him walk away and then turned to Aunt Sadie. “You never mentioned the letter,” I accused.

  “I've had it for several days,” she said coyly. “Ann has been asking when we might expect a response from Lord Purcenell to visit Kilpara. I've been evasive so far.” She smiled broadly. “I can tell her now he’s considering her request.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You were already burdened. The risk you took by entering into this competition—” She shuddered. “I hate to think of the consequences if things had turned out differently.”

  In that moment of clarity, I remembered Morrigan. If she heard about the race from her father in his current state, she would despise me. More than anything I wanted to explain everything to her myself. I wanted to be the one to tell her about the contest, about Kilpara, that I didn’t intend to keep it, that it still belonged to her family. I would never turn her and her father out of their home. Whatever else she might think about me, she had to know that.

  The fracas between Gully Joyce and Edward had moved very close to where we stood. Aunt Sadie squeezed my arm and rejoined the crowd, pushing her way to where the jockeys were going at it. “Stop this fighting at once,” she demanded, “or your souls will be damned to Hell!” The jockeys, stunned more by the nun standing over them than by her words, let go of each other. “Gully Joyce, don’t you have celebrating to do?” she reminded him.

  “Yes, Mother Superior,” Gully said obediently.

  I didn't stay to see what happened next. I was already on my way to find Brazonhead. I had to get to Kilpara. He was in the middle of being cooled off when I picked up the tackle and hoisted the saddle onto his back, much to the surprise of the diligent groom. When the man realized what I was doing, he immediately protested that Brazonhead wasn't fit to be ridden. Hadn't he just run a race? The poor animal was tired and should be allowed to rest. I didn't bother to respond. Instead I pulled myself into the saddle and rode off leaving the groom scratching his head.

  But Morrigan wasn't at Kilpara like I anticipated. The house was already subdued, the gates locked. There was no sign of the celebration that Purcenell had planned. It appeared that word about the race had already preceded me. I left dejectedly and rode back along the beach that was also deserted. I went as close as I dared to her aunt's house, but it was locked up tight with the blinds drawn. It was as if Morrigan had already been whisked away.

  All throughout the next day, I continued to scour the beach and neighboring countryside for signs of her. I became obsessed with the need to explain to her, to tell her that no matter what people said, Kilpara still belonged to her and her father. There had to be some way to reach her; to find her.

  The terms of the agreement stated the estate would be mine in one month. In desperation I rode up to Kilpara unannounced, ready to beg entrance from the gatekeeper based on future ownership. To my surprise, he congratulated me and welcomed me cheerfully. I passed through the gate and rode up to the house. After tethering Brazonhead, I went up the steps and banged the large knocker. I received a different reception this time. The butler opened the heavy door, unsurprised to find me standing there, and showed instant hostility.

  “Neither Mr. Purcenell nor Miss Purcenell are in,” was his curt reply in answer to my query. When I tried to protest, he firmly closed the door. I retreated down the steps and searched the windows for signs of Morrigan. Did I imagine it, or did a curtain move slightly in a second story window?

  Upon my return from Kilpara, I entered the convent grounds and caught sight of Trista walking in the gardens. I dismounted and joined her, realizing we hadn’t spoken since her return.

  When I fell in step beside her I asked, “How’s your family?”

  “They’re well. It was good to see them again after so many months apart.”

  “What did you think of Mother’s condition upon your return?”

  “It has worsened, but not dramatica
lly so.”

  “She’s asked Dan and Mark to come to Ireland,” I said. “What if they get here too late?”

  “Don’t think like that,” Trista said. “Your mother’s tough. She’ll hang on.” We continued to walk without speaking. After a pause Trista said, “I heard what you did. How you won Kilpara back from Purcenell.”

  “You don’t approve?”

  She shook her head. “You did this to get your way, Ellis O’Donovan, but the people of Brandubh see it as a victory against British tyranny. They’ll be hopeful now.”

  “I'm not keeping Kilpara.” I protested. “I just want it long enough to do the right thing by Mother. After that I'll give it back to Purcenell, with certain provisions. Then I'm going back to Baltimore.”

  She laughed. “He won’t abide by your rules. Nothing will change.”

  “I’ll make sure he does.”

  “You won’t be here, so who’s to stop him from doing what he likes? You may be cunning, Ellis O’Donovan, but you don’t have feelings for this land. The people here, it’s all they’ve got.”

  She went on, but I wasn’t listening. My thoughts had shifted to Morrigan. Where was she? Had she left Lough Corrib? If so where would she go?

  I had taken a few steps forward before I realized Trista had stopped and was looking at me curiously.

  “What?” I said.

  She caught up. “You haven’t heard a word I said. Who is she?”

  “She?” I was annoyed that I’d been caught daydreaming.

  Trista laughed. “Uh—huh. You’ve got the feeling.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. “If you won't tell me, then I’ll leave you alone with your thoughts. It’ll be impossible to reason with you until you’ve settled what’s on your mind.”

  She left the path and walked toward the hospital.

  Purcenell didn’t acknowledge Mother’s request nor did he answer my letter to discuss our agreement. I rode to Kilpara every day and the gatekeeper came to expect me. He allowed me onto the grounds without objection. I decided to keep off the avenue and out of plain sight, crossing the meadows before anyone at the house could detect me. I rode to a slight incline overlooking the house and planted myself there for several hours at a time hoping to catch a glimpse of Morrigan. From where I sat the house was in full view, and behind me in the distance, I could see Lough Corrib. Just when I thought Morrigan and her father had left Kilpara and gone away, my patience was rewarded.