Read Online Quinn's Deirdre by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy - Free Book Online Page A

and a promise, and drenched in cologne,
he departed.
    For now, happy and sated, Deirdre pushed
her fears back into the shadows.   She
cleaned up, dug out a champagne-colored, satin evening dress with puff sleeves
and a lace bodice, did her face, and left her hair in a wild riot of curls down
her back.   She laughed at her reflection
in the mirror.   Anyone could guess she’d
just been fucked, but she didn’t care.   Deirdre all but floated downstairs into the pub.   Quinn sat tucked into a booth at the end of
the bar, and she worked through the crowds to get to him.   He reached for her hands as soon as she slid
into her seat and kissed them. “Ye took long enough,” he said without heat and
a smile sweet enough to stop her breath. “I ordered for the both of us.”
    Within minutes, a server delivered two
plates heaped with roast chicken, colcannon, and carrots.   Quinn paused long enough for the blessing,
then dived into the food and after a moment’s hesitation, so did Deirdre.   When she began, she never thought she’d
finish the large portions, but she managed.   By then, the area around the bar teemed with people, more than on a
usual weeknight.   A slender young man
with fiery red hair pushed through with a classical guitar in one hand.   “That’s Tommy,” Quinn said. “He plays the
traditional music, too.   I need to go
fetch Uncle Des.   Ye can stay here—ye’ll
have a good view.”
    In her years away, Deirdre sometimes
listened to the music of Tommy Makem or the Clancy Brothers and cried.   She had wept, missing Quinn and all he meant
to her and mourned the loss of her heritage.   As the three men gathered together, she watched with tears of joy as
Quinn and Des pulled out tin whistles.   Quinn blew a few sharp notes and the noise died to a low murmur, then
into silence.   “Welcome to County
Tyrone,” he said. “We’re goin’ to make a bit of music tonight and have good
craic.   We’ll start with a children’s
song those of us from the North all know well, a wee ditty called I’ll Tell Me Ma. ”
    She watched as he and Des played the
opening chords to the old tune, the sound bridging the present to the
past.   Deirdre had listened many times,
both at the pub and in private, as they played together.   The man Quinn had called Gerry played the
guitar with a slap-handed style to make the most noise as first Quinn, then his
uncle sang the lyrics.   They paused to do
the chorus together and Deirdre wiped her eyes with a napkin, happy.  
    Quinn glowed with joy and pleasure as
they played for more than two hours -   amusing songs, sad songs, and then one
of her favorites, The Leaving of
Liverpool.   The poignant lines had
echoed in her head as she’d left Kansas City, the words, “Fare thee well my own
true love” haunting her.   Then, Deirdre
never dreamed she would see Quinn again and now, hearing his tenor voice lifted
in song, she realized she’d come full circle back to where she belonged.
    When he finished the song, the last of
the evening, he beckoned her up to him and before the gathered crowd Quinn
draped his arm around her shoulders.   Desmond beamed at them both as Quinn whispered endearments into her
ears.   Applause echoed through the room,
joined with a chorus of whistles, then the pub returned to the business of
drinking.   As she helped Des put the
kitchen to rights for the night, he turned to her with a grin. “Ye’re good for
him.”
    “He’s good for me, too.”
    “Aye, well, he’s not made music, not
here, not anywhere for three years,” Des said. “It’s grand to see him so again.   Sorrow leached all the songs from his soul
for too long.”
    With quiet dignity, Deirdre said, “Mine,
too.”
    The old man paused in his tasks to meet
her gaze. “Aye, I see it now, Deirdre. He’s told me he’s taking the day off
tomorrow to be with ye and talk.   I hope ye two can work it all through, love,
I do.”
    He meant it and she appreciated