Brianna’s smile dimmed. “I found something else. Something I need to show you. Letters.”
“He was famous for writing them.”
“No,” Brianna interrupted before Maggie could launch into one of her stories. Do it now, she ordered herself when her heart shied back. Do it quickly. “These were written to him. There are three of them, and I think it’s best if you read them for yourself.”
Maggie could see Brianna’s eyes had gone cool and remote. A defense, she knew, against anything from temper to heartache. “All right, Brie.”
Saying nothing, Brianna picked up the letters, put them in Maggie’s hand.
Maggie had only to look at the return address on the first envelope for her heartbeat to thicken. She opened the letter.
Brianna heard the quick sound of distress. The fingers she’d locked together twisted. She saw Maggie reach out, grip Rogan’s hand. A change, Brianna thought with a little sigh. Even a year before Maggie would have slapped any comforting hand aside.
“Amanda.” There were tears in Maggie’s voice. “It was Amanda he said before he died. Standing there at the cliffs at Loop Head, at that spot he loved so much. We would go there and he would joke about how we’d hop in a boat and our next stop would be a pub in New York.” Now the tears spilled over. “In New York. Amanda was in New York.”
“He said her name.” Brianna’s fingers went to her mouth. She stopped herself, barely, before she gave into her childhood habit of gnawing her nails. “I remember now that you said something about that at his wake. Did he say anything more, tell you anything about her?”
“He said nothing but her name.” Maggie dashed at tears with a furious hand. “He said nothing then, nothing ever. He loved her, but he did nothing about it.”
“What could he do?” Brianna asked. “Maggie—”
“Something.” There were more tears and more fury when Maggie lifted her head. “Anything. Sweet Jesus, he spent his life in hell. Why? Because the Church says it’s a sin to do otherwise. Well, he’d sinned already, hadn’t he? He’d committed adultery. Do I blame him for that? I don’t know that I can, remembering what he faced in this house. But by God, couldn’t he have followed through on it? Couldn’t he have finally followed through?”
“He stayed for us.” Brianna’s voice was tight and cold. “You know he stayed for us.”
“Is that supposed to make me grateful?”
“Will you blame him for loving you?” Rogan asked quietly. “Or condemn him for loving someone else?”
Her eyes flashed. But the bitterness that rose up in her throat died into grief. “No, I’ll do neither. But he should have had more than memories.”
“Read the others, Maggie.”
“I will. You were barely born when these were written,” she said as she opened the second letter.
“I know,” Brianna said dully.
“I think she loved him very much. There’s a kindness here. It isn’t so much to ask, love, kindness.” Maggie looked at Brianna then, for some sign. She saw nothing but that same cool detachment. With a sigh, she opened the final letter while Brianna sat stiff and cold. “I only wish he . . .” Her words faltered. “Oh, my God. A baby.” Instinctively her hand went to cover her own. “She was pregnant.”
“We have a brother or sister somewhere. I don’t know what to do.”
Shock and fury had Maggie lurching to her feet. Teacups rattled as she pushed back to stalk around the room. “What to do? It’s been done, hasn’t it? Twenty-eight years ago to be exact.”
Distressed, Brianna started to rise, but Rogan covered her hand. “Let her go,” he murmured. “She’ll be better for it after.”
“What right did she have to tell him this and then go away?” Maggie demanded. “What right did he have to let her? And now, are you thinking it falls to us? To us to follow it through? This isn’t some abandoned fatherless child we’re speaking of now, Brianna, but a person grown. What have they to do with us?”
“Our father, Maggie. Our family.”
“Oh, aye, the Concannon family. God help us.” Overwhelmed, she leaned against the mantel, staring blindly into the fire. “Was he so weak, then?”
“We don’t know what he did, or could have done. We may never know." Brianna took a careful breath. “If Mother had known—”
Maggie interrupted with a short, bitter laugh. “She didn’t. Do you think she wouldn’t have used a weapon like this to beat him into the ground? God knows she used everything else.”
“Then there’s no point in telling her now, is there?”
Slowly Maggie turned. “You want to say nothing?”
“To her. What purpose would it serve to hurt her?”
Maggie’s mouth thinned. “You think it would?”
“Are you so sure it wouldn’t?”
The fire went out in Maggie as quickly as it had flared. “I don’t know. How can I know? I feel as if they’re both strangers now.”
“He loved you, Maggie.” Rogan rose now to go to her. “You know that.”
“I know that.” She let herself lean. “But I don’t know what I feel.”
“I think we should try to find Amanda Dougherty,” Brianna began, “and—”
“I can’t think.” Maggie closed her eyes. There were too many emotions battering inside her to allow her to see, as she wanted, the right direction to take. “I need to think about this, Brie. It’s rested this long. It can rest awhile longer.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.”
“Don’t take this on your shoulders as well.” A bit of the bite and briskness came back into Maggie’s voice. “They’re burdened enough. Give me a few days, Brie, then we’ll decide together what’s to be done.”
“All right.”
“I’d like to keep the letters, for now.”
“Of course.”
Maggie crossed over, laid a hand on Brianna’s pale cheek. “He loved you, too, Brie.”
“In his way.”
“In every way. You were his angel, his cool rose. Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to do what’s best.”
“He was famous for writing them.”
“No,” Brianna interrupted before Maggie could launch into one of her stories. Do it now, she ordered herself when her heart shied back. Do it quickly. “These were written to him. There are three of them, and I think it’s best if you read them for yourself.”
Maggie could see Brianna’s eyes had gone cool and remote. A defense, she knew, against anything from temper to heartache. “All right, Brie.”
Saying nothing, Brianna picked up the letters, put them in Maggie’s hand.
Maggie had only to look at the return address on the first envelope for her heartbeat to thicken. She opened the letter.
Brianna heard the quick sound of distress. The fingers she’d locked together twisted. She saw Maggie reach out, grip Rogan’s hand. A change, Brianna thought with a little sigh. Even a year before Maggie would have slapped any comforting hand aside.
“Amanda.” There were tears in Maggie’s voice. “It was Amanda he said before he died. Standing there at the cliffs at Loop Head, at that spot he loved so much. We would go there and he would joke about how we’d hop in a boat and our next stop would be a pub in New York.” Now the tears spilled over. “In New York. Amanda was in New York.”
“He said her name.” Brianna’s fingers went to her mouth. She stopped herself, barely, before she gave into her childhood habit of gnawing her nails. “I remember now that you said something about that at his wake. Did he say anything more, tell you anything about her?”
“He said nothing but her name.” Maggie dashed at tears with a furious hand. “He said nothing then, nothing ever. He loved her, but he did nothing about it.”
“What could he do?” Brianna asked. “Maggie—”
“Something.” There were more tears and more fury when Maggie lifted her head. “Anything. Sweet Jesus, he spent his life in hell. Why? Because the Church says it’s a sin to do otherwise. Well, he’d sinned already, hadn’t he? He’d committed adultery. Do I blame him for that? I don’t know that I can, remembering what he faced in this house. But by God, couldn’t he have followed through on it? Couldn’t he have finally followed through?”
“He stayed for us.” Brianna’s voice was tight and cold. “You know he stayed for us.”
“Is that supposed to make me grateful?”
“Will you blame him for loving you?” Rogan asked quietly. “Or condemn him for loving someone else?”
Her eyes flashed. But the bitterness that rose up in her throat died into grief. “No, I’ll do neither. But he should have had more than memories.”
“Read the others, Maggie.”
“I will. You were barely born when these were written,” she said as she opened the second letter.
“I know,” Brianna said dully.
“I think she loved him very much. There’s a kindness here. It isn’t so much to ask, love, kindness.” Maggie looked at Brianna then, for some sign. She saw nothing but that same cool detachment. With a sigh, she opened the final letter while Brianna sat stiff and cold. “I only wish he . . .” Her words faltered. “Oh, my God. A baby.” Instinctively her hand went to cover her own. “She was pregnant.”
“We have a brother or sister somewhere. I don’t know what to do.”
Shock and fury had Maggie lurching to her feet. Teacups rattled as she pushed back to stalk around the room. “What to do? It’s been done, hasn’t it? Twenty-eight years ago to be exact.”
Distressed, Brianna started to rise, but Rogan covered her hand. “Let her go,” he murmured. “She’ll be better for it after.”
“What right did she have to tell him this and then go away?” Maggie demanded. “What right did he have to let her? And now, are you thinking it falls to us? To us to follow it through? This isn’t some abandoned fatherless child we’re speaking of now, Brianna, but a person grown. What have they to do with us?”
“Our father, Maggie. Our family.”
“Oh, aye, the Concannon family. God help us.” Overwhelmed, she leaned against the mantel, staring blindly into the fire. “Was he so weak, then?”
“We don’t know what he did, or could have done. We may never know." Brianna took a careful breath. “If Mother had known—”
Maggie interrupted with a short, bitter laugh. “She didn’t. Do you think she wouldn’t have used a weapon like this to beat him into the ground? God knows she used everything else.”
“Then there’s no point in telling her now, is there?”
Slowly Maggie turned. “You want to say nothing?”
“To her. What purpose would it serve to hurt her?”
Maggie’s mouth thinned. “You think it would?”
“Are you so sure it wouldn’t?”
The fire went out in Maggie as quickly as it had flared. “I don’t know. How can I know? I feel as if they’re both strangers now.”
“He loved you, Maggie.” Rogan rose now to go to her. “You know that.”
“I know that.” She let herself lean. “But I don’t know what I feel.”
“I think we should try to find Amanda Dougherty,” Brianna began, “and—”
“I can’t think.” Maggie closed her eyes. There were too many emotions battering inside her to allow her to see, as she wanted, the right direction to take. “I need to think about this, Brie. It’s rested this long. It can rest awhile longer.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie.”
“Don’t take this on your shoulders as well.” A bit of the bite and briskness came back into Maggie’s voice. “They’re burdened enough. Give me a few days, Brie, then we’ll decide together what’s to be done.”
“All right.”
“I’d like to keep the letters, for now.”
“Of course.”
Maggie crossed over, laid a hand on Brianna’s pale cheek. “He loved you, too, Brie.”
“In his way.”
“In every way. You were his angel, his cool rose. Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to do what’s best.”
