• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

His face cleared. “Oh, the Martins are part of the Rosses, or the other way around,” he said with pride. “Once it was the Flahertys and the Conneeleys that ruled the area. Fought each other to a standstill, so they did. But there are still Flahertys in the village, for all that, and Conneeleys too, of course. And others you’ll meet. But for history, Padraic Yorke is the one. He knows everything there is to know, and tells it with the music of the land in his voice, and the laughter and tears of the people.”

“I must meet him, if I can.”

“He’ll be happy to tell you where everything happened, and the names of the flowers and the birds. Not that they’re so many at this time of year.”

She imagined she would have no time for such things, but she thanked him anyway.

They arrived a little after six in the evening, and it was already pitch-dark, with a haze of rain obscuring the stars to the east. But clear in the west there was a low moon, sufficient to see the outline of the village. They drove through, and on to Susannah’s house beyond—closer to the shore.

Father Tyndale alighted and knocked on the front door. It was several minutes before it opened and Susannah was silhouetted against a blaze of candlelight. She must have had at least a dozen lit. She came out onto the step, peering beyond Father Tyndale as if to make sure there was someone else with him.

Emily walked over the gravel and up the wide entrance paving into the light.

“Emily …” Susannah said softly. “You look wonderful, but you must be very tired. Thank you so much for coming.”

Emily stepped forward. “Aunt Susannah.” It seemed absurd to say very much more. She was tired, as must be clear, but looking at Susannah’s gaunt face and her body so obviously fragile, even under a woolen dress and shawl, it would be childish even to think of herself. And to ask how Susannah was would seem to trivialize what they both knew to be the truth.

“It was an excellent journey,” she lied. “And Father Tyndale has been most kind to me.”

“You must be cold and hungry.” Susannah stepped back into the light. “And wet,” she added.

Emily was shocked. She remembered Susannah as interesting more than pretty, but with good features and a truly beautiful skin, like her own. The woman she saw now was haggard, the bones of her face prominent, her eyes sunken in shadowed sockets.

“A little,” Emily said, trying to force her voice to sound normal. “But it will soon mend. A night’s sleep will make all the difference.” She felt an urgent temptation to talk too much in order to fill the yawning silence.

Susannah looked at Father Tyndale and Emily suddenly became aware that she must be finding it hard to stand here at the door in the cold.

Father Tyndale set the cases down just inside. “Would you like me to take them upstairs?” he asked.

Emily knew it would be next to impossible for her to carry the larger one, so she accepted.

Five minutes later Father Tyndale was gone and Emily and Susannah stood alone in the hall. Now it was awkward. There was a barrier of ten years’ silence between them. It was duty that brought Emily, and she could not pretend affection. Had she cared, they would have corresponded during that time. Susannah must feel the same.

“Supper is ready,” Susannah said with a faint smile. “I imagine you would like to retire early.”

“Thank you. Yes.” Emily followed her across the chilly hallway into a wood-paneled dining room whose warmth embraced her the moment she was through the door. A peat fire in the huge stone hearth did not dance with flame, like the fires she was used to at home, but its sweet, earthy aroma filled the air. There were candles burning in all the holders, and a polished wooden table was set for two. There was no sign of any servant. Perhaps none resided there. Emily had a sudden, sinking fear that in spite of what Father Tyndale had said, she might have more duties than she had expected, and for which she was ill-equipped.

“May I help?” she said tentatively. Decency required it.

Susannah gave her a glance with unexpected