The Delaney Woman (21 page)

He was gone. She'd weathered the meeting and now knew what she knew. If only Kellie Delaney would cooperate.

Her drive home was purposely slow. She decided on the back way, past the river and through the glen that in spring glowed with the golden light of a thousand daffodils. She didn't want to go home. It was cloying with Kellie silent as a post and Tom caught between two women, not knowing how to behave. She couldn't even be natural with Heather, knowing the two of them watched her every move. What did they think she would do, kidnap the child? In all fairness, she supposed it was done on occasion, but such an act held no appeal for her.

Claire was in a bind. As much as she wanted to give Kellie her answers and expedite her leaving Banburren, there was another more important issue to consider. Tom was in danger. He was the only witness to an unsolved brutal murder that now, fifteen years later, had been resurrected because of Connor Delaney. If Kellie's brother had traced the Davies incident to Tom, someone else would sort it out as well— sooner or later. The only way to ensure that Tom would never talk would be to silence him permanently. He must be warned. But by warning him he would want to know why she had involved herself, and then her bargain with Kellie would be exposed.

Claire lightened the pressure on the accelerator and enjoyed the gentle coast around the narrow road bordering the glen. She and Tom had come here as children. They were more than children, really, but in looking back, their eager innocence qualified them as no more than that.

She pulled over and stopped the car. Slowly she opened the door and stepped outside. Memories crowded in on her, conflicting memories of Tom, her years alone when she was swept up in the cause of Irish freedom, her prison years bringing her finally, now, to today. Where was she now? What was it she wanted? What was even possible for a woman with her past? Remorse and self-pity swept through her. She was thirty-three years old with nothing to show for it, not a single person alive in the world to mourn her passing and it was all her own doing.

She walked faster now, down through the fern- covered earth floor, beneath the trees toward the sound of water. Thirty-three was still young. She would start over, do it differently this time, maybe go on to university and earn her degree. She could marry again, have more children. It wasn't impossible. She reached the oak where Tom had carved their initials, artistically intertwining them in a unique design so that only those who knew what to look for could see the flowery letters. What did she want from Tom? Once she thought marriage meant forever. Now she wasn't sure that was possible, despite what she'd told Kellie. Not that she wasn't willing to give it another go, for Heather's sake, but she didn't think Tom was up for it.

Poor Tom. He was such a gentleman, with a highly developed sense of character. Through the years when he'd belonged to the Nationalist movement, and even through the prison years, he'd kept his integrity. How he must despise their current situation. Claire knew that infidelity chafed him like a shoe that pinched. She felt a deep sadness for what she'd lost now that it was too late. She'd been through enough to know that suffering could be measured in degrees and that, in the scheme of things, stepping outside of one's marriage wasn't an impossible obstacle to overcome. Petty jealousies, proprietary relationships, even the rules for acceptable behavior changed with circumstances. After seven years of humiliating degradation, of individual preference stripped away like feathers from a game hen, of unnatural cohabitation where even the most intimate details of one's toileting habits were common knowledge, sharing one's husband didn't seem so difficult to accept.

Claire was fairly confident that she could accept anything after what she'd been through, whether it was a husband who preferred another woman or no husband at all. Her only nonnegotiable was Heather. She wouldn't give up Heather to another woman. Heather was hers, born of her body, born after the years Tom was in prison. The child was her link to a normal life. Thoughts of her daughter had kept her sane. When the walls closed in and all the books had been read and the long hours of darkness were left to get through, she would think of her child and look at the pictures Susan sent. She would stare at her lovely hair and her light clear eyes and the freckles bridging her nose. She had long legs and a brilliant smile and ears like the fairies. No, she wouldn't give up Heather. It wouldn't be right for a mother to give up her child, no matter what the circumstance. Despite everything, Heather would know she had a mother who wanted her.

Claire sighed and began walking back to the car. There was no help for it. She couldn't win no matter what she did. But at least her conscience would be clear if she told Tom about her conversation with McGarrety's man.

T
om cursed himself for dragging his feet. Kellie was hurting and it tore him apart. Why hadn't he divorced Claire years ago? What excuse did he have for falling in love with a woman when he still had a wife? The roil of emotions that began when she came home hadn't abated and now there was the McGarrety mess. He trusted Claire's judgment in the matter. Her description of the meeting and her assessment of his options were frighteningly perceptive. Kellie had stubbornly refused to accept information once removed and was insisting on a meeting with Kevin Davies. Tom had a few questions of Davies as well. Claire was right. If Connor Delaney had found him out, others would as well. He needed to speak to Kevin Davies personally and reassure him that their past association was forgotten. No one would learn anything from Tom Whelan.

Heather walked into the study, her mouth filled with bread and jam. “Da, Kathleen Mallory and I have to make a poster of the book we're reading in school. We were at her house yesterday, but her mum says we can't be underfoot today. May she come here tomorrow?”

He wasn't really listening. “Yes, love.”

She climbed into his lap and rested her head against his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Working.” It was true. Ironically, the twisted dynamics of his life motivated him to write, giving him a direction he'd not yet explored. He was conscious of the slight weight of his daughter. She was still catching up after her illness.

“Kellie says we're to have stew for dinner, but I told Auntie Kate that I didn't like stew and she invited me to her house. I told Mum and she spoke to Auntie Kate and I can go.”

Tom removed Heather from his lap and stood. “You can play a game on the computer if you like. I'll be back shortly.”

“I have to go to Auntie Kate's for dinner. Mum said she would take me.”

“Did she now?”

Heather nodded. “It's all right if I go, isn't it, Da? I love Auntie Kate and I haven't seen her for a long time.”

“Be patient for a bit, Heather. I want to speak with your mother.”

Satisfied, she climbed back into the chair.

Tom found Claire at the kitchen table reading a newspaper. Despite his good intentions he attacked immediately. “I'd rather you not tell Heather she can go somewhere else for dinner unless you ask me.”

Claire looked up. “Are you mad? I'm not going to ask permission for such a thing. I'm her mother.”

Tom's fists balled. Christ, she was selfish. Had she always been this way or had their seven-year separation opened his eyes? Deliberately, he willed himself to remain calm. “Have you thought about why Kate might be asking Heather to dinner?”

She folded up the newspaper and looked at him. “Are you angry with me, Tom?”

“I think you're insane,” he said evenly.

“What brought you to that brilliant conclusion?”

She was nothing like Kellie. She didn't even look like her anymore. “I'm beginning to wonder if you want me to throw you out.”

She flushed. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“I'm not the one who is ridiculous. Surely you can see the problem.”

“No,” she said coolly. “Tell me.”

He spoke slowly, deliberately, as if speaking to a slow-witted child. “Kate will talk with Heather. It's highly probable that someone like Kate, a teacher having a strong rapport with children, will encourage Heather to confide in her. Heather is an intelligent child. We don't know what she's picked up in bits and pieces from listening to us. I would rather the rest of Banburren not know of our situation.”

“That makes sense,” Claire agreed. “But you're the one encouraging gossip as well. Don't you think everyone is wondering why Kellie is still here now that I'm back? If you're so concerned about what people think, send her home.”

Tom frowned. “Kellie came for a reason. When she's satisfied, she'll decide for herself whether to go or stay.”

He watched her touch her tongue to her lips. She was shaking. “Will you go after her, Tom, or will we all live happily ever after?”

“No.”

“To which answer?”

“No, to both. Kellie needs time to think things through,” he said slowly. “A great deal has happened in her life. I'm going to allow her that time, as much as she needs, away from Banburren and me. I won't go after her. As for you and me, we won't live happily ever after because our marriage is over. I'm not the person you left. I'll do the best I can to see that you're settled but that's all”

Her voice was fierce, territorial. “I won't give up my child.”

“You gave her away easily enough seven years ago.”

“I had no choice.”

“The choice was yours when you first knew you were carrying a child. You decided your work was more important than a baby.”

She dropped her head into her hands. “Must you always come back to this? I know you blame me. I'm sorry. I was wrong. You're not the only person who's changed. Why can't you see that?”

“It's too late.”

Her cheeks were flushed with shame or anger. He couldn't tell which.

“You really are a cold bastard.”

“Stop it, Claire. We were miserable together. You wanted out of our marriage more than I did. Nothing's changed.”

“Except that you want to divorce me and marry Kellie Delaney.”

Tom lost his temper. “You know nothing about this. It isn't as simple as that. But you're right about one thing. Kellie is worth a dozen of you. She's dying inside because she lost a nephew. You gave away your own daughter.”

She shook her head, picked up the paper and began to read.

“I don't know what I ever saw in you,” he said and left the room.

“Or I in you.”

Heather, at play on the computer, was oblivious to the drama acted out a few minutes before in the kitchen. Tom stood at the door looking at her for several minutes before speaking. She was so like her mother, light-brown hair, clear gray eyes and a slightness of build that made everyone with a nesting instinct want to feed her. Apparently, he had brought very little to the equation. Still, she was his daughter and he loved her desperately. Nothing would make him give her up. Claire had no right to her. Marching in at the final hour and demanding parental privilege was absurd. He would help her get back on her feet, but on the condition that she leave Heather to him. He would give her freedom and financial security in exchange for his child. After that he owed her nothing. His debt would be satisfied.

Kellie was sitting in the garden, pruning shears in her hand, the late afternoon sun framing her in backlight. Her domestic side appealed to him. Everything she did appealed to him. She shook her head in amazement. “You can't be serious.”

“Why not?”

“She's Heather's mother. Do you think you can simply take a child away from her mother without so much as an argument?”

“She hasn't been much of mother.”

“What choice did she have?”

He hadn't thought she would take Claire's side so vehemently. Was there an unwritten rule that women had to stick together, stand up for one another even when they were on opposing sides? “She had a choice.”

“She was in prison serving a life sentence. Be reasonable, Tom. What could she have done?”

“She could have stepped away from it all when she knew she was pregnant.”

She sighed. “I don't remember many men stepping away for the sake of a wife's pregnancy or even when they had a slew of other children. Why is it always the women whose lives must change?”

“That's a ridiculous argument, Kellie.”

She flushed but she wasn't finished. “Not really. Claire knew you were here to take care of Heather.”

“Does that make it all right then, to bring a child into the world behind prison bars and then give her away for years? What difference does it make whether I was here or not? I'll not give my daughter to a person with so little feeling.”

Kellie sat back on her heels and brushed the hair from her forehead with a dirt-stained hand. “I'm not suggesting that you give up Heather. You may have to compromise, Tom. Claire is the child's mother. She has a right to know her. Besides, she isn't the only one involved. There is Heather to consider. She should know her mother.”

There was no response he could make. He watched her walk into the house and wondered what he'd ever done without her or what he would do if she disappeared from his life. His head had been buried in the sand. Believing that they could continue to exist this way—the three of them, he, Kellie and Heather—as a family, without taking into consideration the forces at play that had brought her to him was nonsense.

Heather's uncharacteristic tantrum when Tom called Kate to refuse his daughter's dinner invitation cemented his decision. Something had to be done. He regretted the cozy camaraderie they'd shared at mealtime before Claire's return. Now they ate separately, Kellie managing a few bites while she made dinner, Tom in his study, Claire and Heather at the table by themselves.

Tonight he pushed his conflicting emotions aside and walked out to the shed. A few hours of quiet work on his pipes would help clear his mind. The set he'd carved out was a full set, expensive, finely honed. He sat down at his bench, running his hands reverently over the sanded ebony, the shiny brass, the brushed leather of the reservoir and the bellows. The next step was the reed. He would work the bamboo carefully, to be sure it matched the chanter. For now, he would use a tested one. Buckling the popping strap around his leg just above the knee, he adjusted the bellows under his right arm, strapping it on above the elbow and the belt around his waist. He adjusted the reservoir bag, attached the tube across his waist and settled the drones on his knees. A true piper needed more than a reasonable amount of natural dexterity and years of diligent practice.

Covering the holes of the chanter with his fingers, he tried the low notes first and then opening them up, one at a time, he ran over the scales. Lovely, lovely music. He only hoped the piper would do justice to the pipes he had ordered.

Music and poetry settled Tom's soul, righted his world, straightened his thinking. He wanted a new life with Kellie. She was unusual, one of a kind, an aberration, born into a family that didn't know what to make of her. Intelligent and focused, she managed to ignore her surroundings and excel in areas only recently available to Catholics in Protestant Ulster. How many, growing up with fathers and brothers in the organization, with British tanks patrolling the streets and soldiers in barbed wire guard towers on every corner, would have risen above it all to earn a university degree? Tom had never known or even heard of anyone who'd done such a thing. He was desperately afraid of losing her. His worst fear was that she would go back to England, marry someone worthy of her, someone who'd accomplished what she had, have children and resume the life she was suited for. The last months would be remembered as a painful, but brief, interruption. But in the interests of his own self-preservation, he wanted to convince her that she belonged with him. The problem was what to do with Claire.

Tom stood and walked to the window. A fine mist settled on the grass and fogged the windows. The gray matched his mood. Lexi lifted her head and whined. “I know, girl,” he said without turning his head. “I don't like this, either, but I'll sort it out. We're survivors, the two of us.” He picked up Lexi's lead from its hook on the wall and fastened it on the dog's collar. By the time purple shadows settled over the rise of Ben Bulban and the fog rolled in dark and thick and close, he had made his decision.

“It's time to face the music, Lexi, lass.” He took the dog's head between his hands and rubbed the soft ears. “I'm in an awkward spot, Lexi. I'll probably lose the woman if I send her back to England, but I've no choice. We can't go on like this and I need time to settle Claire in a place of her own.” He felt a small degree of optimism. Perhaps everything would work out after all.