Inside, light spilled across the pale wooden support beams and pews, making the whole room brighter than I’d expected. Whitewashed walls surrounded a handful of stained glass windows. I would never say it, because that would be wrong, but it looked pretty damn quaint.
People packed the pews, dressed in black and curiosity. They watched as we walked down the red carpet and sat beside Maggie and Paul.
The Irish O’Connors didn’t look so thrilled at the Americans’ presence.
“Thank you for having us,” Kate said formally. “I’m sure it’s still very difficult for you.”
Maggie looked her up and down. “Well, you can’t get over someone in a month, can you?”
Kate stiffened. “Not someone you have a strong bond with, no.”
Maggie’s lips curved. “This is where we
all grew up.” She gestured around the church. “Brian and Patrick and I used to skip sometimes and go smoke by the Celtic cross.”
“I know.”
Both women narrowed their eyes and looked away.
The parish priest—Father MacCarthy, whose nephew was one of the crew I’d hired—called for all our attention. I’d never heard of parishes outside of Austen novels—didn’t Edward get a parish? Or Edmund? The Mansfield Park boy, whoever he was. And the dad in North and South had one, with Richard Armitage.
By Elizabeth Gaskell, I meant. Because I definitely thought about 19th century literature based on authors, not actors.
Father MacCarthy started in on the dearly departed. I studied Kate and Maggie and the space between, maintained with stiff shoulders and pointed glares.
After the mass finished, everyone filed out and headed over to Maggie’s. Some of the locals stopped to pick up food and flowers from home on the way over, while others enveloped the O’Connors completely. People crowded the house on Blue Street to overflowing. Outside, tables had been set up, and I sat down at one, nursing a glass of lemonade.
To my surprise, Paul dropped down beside me. “Don’t want anything stronger?”
“Isn’t it too early?”
He gave a dry half smile. “It’s never too early to drink in Dundoran.”
I almost agreed with him. “What’s the story between Maggie and Kate? And the brothers, for that matter.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t know?”
I watched him carefully. Paul was interesting. If he shared stories with me, I wouldn’t attribute it to a love of gossip, but a desire to stir up trouble. “No.”
“Your boyfriend’s not very open.”
“He’s not really my boyfriend.”
He scanned me in an overtly insulting manner. “That so?”
I rolled my eyes. “Mike’s not even here to see that.”
His lips split in a sudden, genuine grin. “True.” He shrugged. “Patrick was orphaned young and had to take care of his younger brother. Too much responsibility, too little money. Then he married a woman who didn’t love him. The family farmhouse—there was a house out on Kilkarten, right?—was razed, and then he took a job as solicitor, which wasn’t bound to make him any friends, you know, and he was bitter and angry by the time he died.”
“That’s sad.”
Paul cocked his head. “Aren’t most people’s lives sad?”
Hadn’t I said the same to Mike not so long ago? I didn’t want to be as angry as Paul. “I hope not.”
We finished our drinks, and then I ducked inside for the bathroom. I passed Mike and Lauren on the way. The middle O’Connor scowled at the elder. “Anna’s eyeing the liquor cabinet with the help of her merry band of local rebels. Your turn to deal with it.”
Mike groaned. “Dammit. Where’s Mom?”