Kilpara (28 page)

Morrigan giggled at my antics, her
lightheartedness lifting my spirits. After some minutes of
thrashing about the water, I admitted defeat.

“
Let me help you,” she
said.

Taking my open palms in hers, she laid them
gently under the water flat against the sand. “Here they come,” she
whispered, as the minnows swam toward us. When they were centered
above our hands, she swiftly cupped them shut. We straightened up
and two small fish squirmed in my open palms. “A pair,” she said,
examining the wriggling fish, their gray coats slimy, their pink
eyes shocked.

“
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.