Read Online IRISH FIRE by Jeanette Baker - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeanette Baker
Tags: Fiction
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two booths to seat eight, and in the back against the wall, six small tables with two chairs, each arranged so that the girl who helped during the busy times could fetch and carry without mishap.
Hanging in every available space were pictures, pictures of thoroughbreds: thoroughbreds training, thoroughbreds racing, thoroughbreds at play, thoroughbreds in the pastures, on the track, in the stalls, yearlings, two- and three-year-old colts, veteran stallions, breeding mares. All of them done up in oil, watercolor, pastel, charcoal sketchings, photographs, silhouettesevery imaginable artistic medium known to both the accomplished and the amateur.
Because the pub had once been a residence, there were other, smaller rooms set up with tables for intimate groups. But this was where the crowd assembled, where cigarette smoke swirled like thick haze settling over the dark Mournes, and traditional Irish music brought tears to the eyes and the converted to their feet.
Brigid watched Annies eyes shift from the uneven planking on the floor to the long polished bar and up the mirrored wall, until they settled on a large painting strategically placed high on the paneling.
Whos that? she asked.
Brigid rested a light hand on Annies shoulder. Who do you think it is?
She looks like me, the girl said.
Ben slipped his hand into Brigids. Its Mama, he said quietly. She looks like Annie but its Mama.
Annie stared at her grandmother incredulously.
Brigid nodded. Its true enough. You look as if youve spied a green-eyed faerie, lass. Havent you seen a picture of your mother before?
Weve lots of pictures of Mama, replied Annie defensively.
Whats a green-eyed faerie? interrupted Ben.
Brigid pulled out a chair and settled him on her lap. Green-eyed faeries come from the western isles, she began in the rich lilting voice Sean Keneally had used when he mesmerized his daughters before the warm light of a winter turf fire. They spend their lives searchin for a human child they can take back with them t the Donegal mountains. When they find one who wishes t go, they step into his body and take it over. Brigid paused for effect just as Sean once had. When you see a child with one green eye and the other blue or brown, you must say a blessin quickly, because the deed is nearly done and soon there will be one more faerie on his way t the Donegal mountains.
Bens eyes were so wide they swallowed his dear little face.
Youre scaring him, accused Annie. Mama doesnt like it when anyone scares Ben.
We dont have any pictures of Mama when she was a little girl, said Ben thoughtfully, ignoring his sisters outburst.
A memory, pure and searing, rose in Brigids mind. Reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief she blew her nose. Thats my fault, I suppose, she confessed. By the time your mother was born, Id forgotten all about pictures. The few that were taken are in frames back in the sittin room.
What about that one? asked Annie, her eyes fixed on the oil. Who painted it?
Pain, not clean and sharp and breath-stealing as it once was, but recognizable in its own way, closed around Brigids heart.
Gran? Annie pressed her.
I dont remember, Brigid lied.
Annies dark eyes widened in disbelief. Brigid sighed. The child was very like Caitlin.
My memory isnt good anymore, love. Im sorry.
Keeping her eyes on Brigids face, Annie nodded.
A knock sounded on the wooden door. Brigid frowned. It was too early to open the pub. Sliding Ben from her lap, she crossed the room and turned the bolt. The door swung open and a man dressed in a Roman collar and black cassock with a thick head of snow-white hair stepped into the room.
He nodded politely and when he spoke his voice was cultured with the lovely lilt of County Kildare lifting the ends of his words. Good morning to you all. Fixing his gaze first on the children and then on Brigid he asked gently, Were you going to bring these children to see me, Mrs. Keneally?
Not today, Father, she replied.
Were helping Gran, Ben
Hanging in every available space were pictures, pictures of thoroughbreds: thoroughbreds training, thoroughbreds racing, thoroughbreds at play, thoroughbreds in the pastures, on the track, in the stalls, yearlings, two- and three-year-old colts, veteran stallions, breeding mares. All of them done up in oil, watercolor, pastel, charcoal sketchings, photographs, silhouettesevery imaginable artistic medium known to both the accomplished and the amateur.
Because the pub had once been a residence, there were other, smaller rooms set up with tables for intimate groups. But this was where the crowd assembled, where cigarette smoke swirled like thick haze settling over the dark Mournes, and traditional Irish music brought tears to the eyes and the converted to their feet.
Brigid watched Annies eyes shift from the uneven planking on the floor to the long polished bar and up the mirrored wall, until they settled on a large painting strategically placed high on the paneling.
Whos that? she asked.
Brigid rested a light hand on Annies shoulder. Who do you think it is?
She looks like me, the girl said.
Ben slipped his hand into Brigids. Its Mama, he said quietly. She looks like Annie but its Mama.
Annie stared at her grandmother incredulously.
Brigid nodded. Its true enough. You look as if youve spied a green-eyed faerie, lass. Havent you seen a picture of your mother before?
Weve lots of pictures of Mama, replied Annie defensively.
Whats a green-eyed faerie? interrupted Ben.
Brigid pulled out a chair and settled him on her lap. Green-eyed faeries come from the western isles, she began in the rich lilting voice Sean Keneally had used when he mesmerized his daughters before the warm light of a winter turf fire. They spend their lives searchin for a human child they can take back with them t the Donegal mountains. When they find one who wishes t go, they step into his body and take it over. Brigid paused for effect just as Sean once had. When you see a child with one green eye and the other blue or brown, you must say a blessin quickly, because the deed is nearly done and soon there will be one more faerie on his way t the Donegal mountains.
Bens eyes were so wide they swallowed his dear little face.
Youre scaring him, accused Annie. Mama doesnt like it when anyone scares Ben.
We dont have any pictures of Mama when she was a little girl, said Ben thoughtfully, ignoring his sisters outburst.
A memory, pure and searing, rose in Brigids mind. Reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief she blew her nose. Thats my fault, I suppose, she confessed. By the time your mother was born, Id forgotten all about pictures. The few that were taken are in frames back in the sittin room.
What about that one? asked Annie, her eyes fixed on the oil. Who painted it?
Pain, not clean and sharp and breath-stealing as it once was, but recognizable in its own way, closed around Brigids heart.
Gran? Annie pressed her.
I dont remember, Brigid lied.
Annies dark eyes widened in disbelief. Brigid sighed. The child was very like Caitlin.
My memory isnt good anymore, love. Im sorry.
Keeping her eyes on Brigids face, Annie nodded.
A knock sounded on the wooden door. Brigid frowned. It was too early to open the pub. Sliding Ben from her lap, she crossed the room and turned the bolt. The door swung open and a man dressed in a Roman collar and black cassock with a thick head of snow-white hair stepped into the room.
He nodded politely and when he spoke his voice was cultured with the lovely lilt of County Kildare lifting the ends of his words. Good morning to you all. Fixing his gaze first on the children and then on Brigid he asked gently, Were you going to bring these children to see me, Mrs. Keneally?
Not today, Father, she replied.
Were helping Gran, Ben
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