“It reminds me of home.”

  Heather tugged on her father’s arm. “Where are we going? This is the turn.”

  Tom stopped and looked at the shops on the familiar corner. “I’m in a daze,” he said to his daughter. “Lead the way.”

  Heather skipped ahead waving her lunch box and her pack. Knobby knees, scabbed from a tumble, peeped from beneath her plaid skirt. The red jacket matched her hair ribbon and the glow in her cheeks.

  Kellie’s breath caught. “She’s a beautiful child.”

  “Aye.” Tom’s words formed a cloud in the cold air. “I’ll give you no argument with that one.” He glanced at the woman beside him. “She looks like her mother.”

  “She’s her own person, unspoiled and enthusiastic and incredibly bright. You’ve done a wonderful job with her.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’re very formal with each other, aren’t we?” she said after a minute.

  “Did you expect something else?”

  “Not really.” Her hands curled in her pockets. Somehow, she had to break through. “It was just an observation.”

  Heather was nearly a block ahead of them now.

  “Tell me what it was like growing up in Belfast,” he said.

  It was the question she knew would come, the one everyone asked. “Very much like growing up anywhere else, I suspect. If a child isn’t aware of anything different, it isn’t strange. I had parents and brothers and sisters. We had our difficulties like anyone else. I left when I earned my degree.” She looked at him. “What about you? How did you happen to stay in Banburren all of your life?”

  “I didn’t.” His hands were in his pockets, his head bowed against the wind. “There was a time when I fancied myself the martyred revolutionary. That mistake earned me a stint in Long Kesh.”

  He was a felon, an ex-convict. Her stomach burned and she bit her tongue to hold back the obvious question. “How dreadful,” she managed to say in a small, tight voice.

  “It wasn’t as bad as you might think. I was with men I knew, all political prisoners, all of us in for the same reason. We were treated fairly.”

  She hadn’t thought he would tell her such a thing, so openly, without embarrassment. Again her doubts assailed her. Tom Whelan didn’t appear to be the kind of man who harbored dark secrets. But he’d spent time in prison.

  “Tell me about your loss.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “You told me you’d suffered a loss. Tell me about it.”

  Kellie tucked her hair behind her ears. Her hands hurt from the cold and the dull sick ache she dreaded rose in her stomach. She couldn’t speak of Connor and Danny, not now, not yet. “I’d rather not. It’s difficult for me.”

  He didn’t press her.

  Ahead of them, Heather turned into a massive gated entrance. Kellie raised her eyebrows. “You must be doing well for yourself.”

  Tom shrugged. “It’s the only Catholic school and it’s not so much more than the others that it makes a difference.”

  “What about the National School? I imagine most of Banburren attends that one.”

  He nodded. “I want more for Heather. She’s very bright. Besides, there’s none of the Catholic, Protestant garbage here. The focus is on learning, not hatred or politics.”

  They reached the gate where Heather waited. Kellie reached out to hug the little girl and kiss her cheek. “Have a grand day, love,” she said.

  Heather nodded, kissed her father and ran up the stairs, through the double oak doors and into the brick building.

  “Well,” Kellie said bracingly, “that’s that.” She looked at Tom. “Now, it’s just the two of us.”

  He ignored her comment and pointed to a long, low building farther down the street. “Geary’s Hardware is new. You’ll find everything there.” They faced each other. The street, wet and gray from recent rain, was empty, the mist shrouding them in silence. “Perhaps we could finish that conversation we started at breakfast.”

  She looked at him, really looked at him, black hair falling over his forehead, blue eyes narrowed, serious, intense, a man too weathered by life and tragedy to be truly handsome, but still quite attractive in his own way, a man whose angles and planes bespoke suffering and character. Who was the real Tom Whelan? A man who shared responsibility for two murders, an ex-felon, or a reformed man, sensitive enough to write poetry, play music and raise a small child?

  Kellie swallowed. “Perhaps,” she said softly.

  The lines around his mouth deepened into a genuine smile.

  With that, he turned and strode purposefully down the street, away from her. He didn’t look back.

  She watched him until he disappeared around the corner. There was more to Tom Whelan than met the eye. Something troubled him. He wasn’t comfortable with women. She could feel his contempt mitigated slightly by a resistant curiosity. He wanted to trust her and yet trust didn’t come easily to him. She didn’t blame him. He was intelligent and there were many things she had left unexplained. Kellie understood his coldness tempered by brief bouts of compassionate remorse. He was like the agnostic who mumbles The Lord’s Prayer, just in case God might really exist.

  She felt strangely bereft standing there in the chill morning air. It was early by Irish standards. Nothing would be open except for small cafés and pubs. Indecision was an unaffordable weakness. She would find a café and nurse a pot of tea until the hardware opened.

  Kellie stepped inside a small corner shop and walked to the counter. A young woman with a lovely face and a serious overbite smiled and approached her. “What can I get for you, miss?”

  Before Kellie could answer, the woman’s eyes widened. “Do I know you?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kellie replied. “I’ve only just come for a holiday. I’m staying at Tom Whelan’s lodging house.”

  “Of course,” the woman said. “I see that now. For a minute I thought—” She smiled brightly. “What would you like?”

  “Tea, please.” The shop was empty and the woman looked ready to burst with what she had been about to say. “My name is Kellie Delaney. Would you like to share a pot with me?”

  “Irene Donaldson here, and I’d love to.”

  When they were settled across from each other with a pot of steaming tea between them, Irene spoke up. “I thought you were Claire Whelan. The two of you could be sisters, but now I see that you’re not that similar after all.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Lovely to look at,” Irene said promptly, “but she wasn’t so lovely in other ways. She was very hard- headed so it was difficult to be her friend, even when Tom was in the Maze.” Irene shook her head. “We prayed for her down there in that English prison. Her mam, bless her soul, lit a candle every day and bought Masses so she’d be treated right. When Mrs. Whelan brought back the little girl, there wasn’t a dry eye in town. We never forgot it.”

  Kellie’s cheeks burned. “Why was Tom in the Maze?”

  “They were rounding everyone up in those days, anyone connected at all. I don’t believe Tom Whelan was a saint, but he wasn’t as bad as some of them.”

  “Where is his wife?”

  “She’s in Maidenstone Prison in England.” Irene’s voice dropped and she spoke in a hushed whisper. “She was sent up for the murder of an Englishman, a fancy lord. They gave her a life sentence. She hasn’t seen her husband or daughter in seven years.”

  “Why not? Prisons allow visitors.”

  “I don’t think she and Tom are married any more. He didn’t approve of her activities. Tom came back from the Maze a changed man. All the spirit was beaten out of him, along with the hate. I don’t think Tom Whelan could hate anyone again.”

  Either that or he was a very good actor. Kellie changed the subject. “What time does the hardware open?”

  “Geary’s always opens at half past nine,” said Irene. “He’s regular as clockwork.” She laughed. “Unusual for an Irishman, but then the store is as well. You’ll see when you go inside.” She gathered their cups, brushed the sugar from the table and stood. “Thanks for the chat but I’d better be getting back to work. I’ll be starting the lunch stew in the back. There’s no charge for the tea. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “I will. Thank you for the tea and the conversation.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Alone again, Kellie stared out of the window. Slowly, Banburren came alive. Trucks stopped in front of shops and unloaded their wares, completely oblivious to the traffic backing up behind them. Peat smoke drifted from chimneys, gray against a grayer sky. Women brandishing umbrellas and men in wool caps nodded, called out and stopped each other on the streets. Meaty smells wafted from pubs offering luncheon specials. Diligent clerks washed windows, set out menus written in chalk and swept porches clean.

  Kellie was enchanted with the normalcy of a small Irish village readying itself for a normal day. It was so safe, so sane.

  “I’ll be off now,” she called out to Irene.

  The woman popped her head over the swinging door. “Don’t be a stranger,” she said.

  Kellie smiled. “Thank you for the welcome, Irene. It means a great deal to me.”

  Irene blushed. “Go along now. I’ve work to do.”

  Geary’s Hardware was like nothing Kellie had ever seen in Ireland. More warehouse than store, it was an organizational miracle arranged thematically, with garden supplies on one end and raw lumber on the other and rows and rows in between.

  An older man with a blue apron approached. “May I help you, miss?”

  Kellie tilted her head so the hair swung across her cheek. “I’m looking for bookshelves and a desk.”

  “This way.” He motioned for her to follow.

  She walked a few paces behind.

  “Here we are.” He pointed to an aisle filled with a myriad of bookshelves. “When you’re done choosing, let me know and I’ll show you the desks.”

  “Thank you.”

  He frowned. “You’re not local, are you?”

  Kellie shook her head. “No. I’m staying at Tom Whelan’s.”

  “I didn’t think you’d been here before. I’m a newcomer myself. The Mrs. and I moved here five years ago. We came to visit and decided to stay.” He extended his hand. “I’m Cormac O’Donnell.”

  Kellie repressed a laugh. Only in Ireland was one considered a newcomer after five years. She took his hand. “Kellie Delaney.”

  “Call out when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Methodically, Kellie ruled out the most expensive woods as well as those needing complete assembly. She didn’t know the exact moment she became aware of the woman standing at the end of the aisle staring at her. She wouldn’t have noticed her at all, except that she stood completely, unselfconsciously still, all her attention focused on Kellie.

  Intrigued, Kellie turned to look at her. She was a small, slim woman, dark hair peppered with gray, tight skin and beautiful bone structure. She looked familiar. Did she know her? “Hello,” she said.

  “You must be Kellie.”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Tom described you. I’m Susan Whelan.”

  She was Tom’s mother.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t met you before this. Every time I’ve come, you’re out. Are you settling in all right?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Kellie smiled. “I was hoping to meet you.”

  “And I you. Tom has said lovely things about you.”

  “About me?” Kellie was incredulous. “Surely you’re mistaken.”

  “Not at all. It isn’t every day that an attractive, unmarried woman moves into Banburren and sets up housekeeping with my son.”

  Kellie reddened. “It isn’t like that at all.”

  “I’m joking with you, love. Seriously, how are you doing?”

  “Everyone’s been wonderful to me, especially Tom.”

  “What do you think of Heather?”

  “She’s priceless. The two of you have done a wonderful job raising her. Tom is a natural father.”

  Susan raised an eyebrow. “Has he told you about the child’s mother?”

  “No. I understand she left the family.”

  “In a manner of speaking. Claire wields enormous influence even when she’s not around. Remind me to tell you about her when you have a spare afternoon. You should know your competition.”

  “Mrs. Whelan, Tom offered me a job, that’s all,” Kellie protested, uncomfortable with the direction of the woman’s thoughts. She very much wanted to tap Susan’s brain, but without the obvious implication.

  Susan’s blue-green eyes sparkled. “You’ve only just arrived, lass. Our wedding festival’s coming up. Stranger things have happened.”

  “I won’t be here that long.”

  “Will you be here tonight?”

  “Yes,” said Kellie, “of course.”

  “Then I’ll expect you for dinner. We’re all looking forward to it.”

  “All? What does that mean? Who else will be there?”

  “Why the whole family, love. Tom hasn’t expressed interest in a woman since Claire was sent away.”

  “We wouldn’t suit, Mrs. Whelan. We disagree on everything.”

  Susan smiled her blinding smile and changed the subject. “Geary’s has wonderful bulbs. It’s time to plant if you want them for spring. I’ll look forward to seeing you tonight.”

  The woman’s energy was all around her. Kellie felt electrified, empowered. “I won’t be here for spring,” she whispered to the space where Susan had been.

  Six

  Kellie was slow to shower, to shampoo and dry her hair, slower than usual to dress and apply the small amount of makeup she wore. Outside her closed bedroom door, she could hear Heather and Tom conversing, his voice low and measured, Heather’s higher, vibrant, eager. It was past time. They were waiting for her. Her fingers were thick and clumsy, unable to fit the buttons into the holes of her jumper. She couldn’t make them move faster.

  With shaking hands, she brushed her hair away from her face and stared into the mirror. What had she been thinking? A family party. Tom’s family, together under one roof, all of them looking at her, asking questions, matchmaking, asking about her life, where she was from, why she was here. She shuddered. The thought made her physically ill.

  “Kellie.” Heather’s voice was outside the door, impatient, excited over the idea of a party.

  Kellie cleared her throat. “I’m nearly ready, Heather. Give me another minute.”

  She heard the child’s steps on the floorboards, walking away. Wetting her lips, Kellie smoothed her hair one last time, picked a piece of lint from the front of her skirt and stood. It was only a dinner. It would be over in a few hours. The first time meeting people was always the hardest. Her anxiety would ease with a glass of wine and a bit of food. Tom and Heather would be with her. Susan had invited her. No one suspected she was there under false pretenses.

  She walked into the sitting room. “Hello,” she said, “I’m ready.”

  Tom’s head was bent over Heather’s. At the sound of her voice they looked up. Heather clapped her hands. “Da said you wouldn’t want to go.”

  Kellie’s smile didn’t waver. “He did, did he?”

  Heather nodded.

  “Why wouldn’t I want to go?”

  Tom shrugged, unwillng or unable to defend his words. “It hardly matters now.” He picked up his pipe case, walked to the door and held it open. “Shall we?”

  Kellie took Heather’s hand in her own. They both wore gloves. Even though she couldn’t feel the child’s skin beneath the wool, the contact gave her courage. “I haven’t been to a party in a very long time,” she confessed. “My nerves are a bit punchy.”

  “Gran’s parties are jolly,” said Heather. “Perhaps she’ll have pie.”

  “Will everyone come?” Kellie asked casually.

  “Everyone who’s still here,” replied Tom, “and everyone who loves a session. My sisters will show, and their husbands.” He hesitated. “I assume you heard what happened to my brothers, Martin and James. This town thrives on gossip.”

  “Yes. A terrible tragedy. I’m so sorry.”

  “Aye. It was, but they knew what was coming. Anyone who refuses to listen and continues to travel in dangerous circles is walking the edge.”

  Kellie looked thoughtful.

  “Is anything wrong?” he asked.

  “No, nothing at all.”

  Susan’s house was rich with smells of roasting meat, fresh bread and cinnamon. From the porch, Kellie could hear laughter and conversation. Her hands were blocks of ice and her smile felt garish and unnatural, as if someone had pasted it across her face. She wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction, as far from Banburren as it was possible to run.

  “You’re nervous,” Tom said, surprised. “They’re just people. Rather pleasant ones if I do say so.”

  “I’ve never been comfortable in crowds,” she whispered back.

  They stepped through the door. All at once the room was silent. Even the children playing a board game on the floor near the fire stopped their conversation in midsentence. All eyes focused on Kellie and then, as if the gathering had received some silent communication, they turned away and began to talk once again. Her cheeks burned. They were insufferably rude. Even Heather had defected, in search of her grandmother in the kitchen. If this was what passed for manners in the Whelan family, she was better out of it. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her veins. She lifted her chin. If need be, she would wait here all night until someone spoke to her.

  Tom’s hand slipped beneath her elbow. Gently, he maneuvered her into a small group seated near the fireplace. “Kate, Tim, say hello to Kellie,” he said.

  Kate, a black-haired, green-eyed beauty smiled warmly and held out her hand. “Welcome, Kellie. It’s lovely to have you.”