Irish Secrets (20 page)

His mouth returned to hers, his tongue probing deeper, and she was lost in a sea of desire, only half aware of him moving back toward the bed and pulling her down with him.

When the pile of cushions at the head of the bed cascaded onto them, she broke away with a giggle, and Ryan laughed as he flung them to the floor and pushed back the thick duvet. "I'll never understand why hotels think we need two dozen cushions."

She smiled up at him as she trickled her fingers from his shoulders to his chest. "But you were right about the Sheldon having comfortable beds,
a ghrá
."

His blue eyes softened in gentle amusement. "Perfectly pronounced, me darlin' girl."

Another long and searching kiss followed, becoming more intense as their passion was unleashed. Their hands explored each other's bodies, and zips and buttons were frantically unfastened until the rest of their clothes were tossed aside.

Every second increased Kara's delicious arousal. The warm waves of pleasure changed to hot torrents of almost unbearable need until they finally came together in an ecstatic release that left them both gasping for breath.

As she came back down to earth, blissfully spent, she stroked Ryan's damp hair, and eventually he raised his head from where he'd collapsed against her shoulder.

"I love you, Kara Stewart," he said, so gently that her heart turned over.

She smiled. "And I love you, too."

It no longer mattered that she knew so little about his past. The red thread of destiny had brought them together, and the present and future were more important than the past. Her initial attraction to him had deepened, and she'd fallen in love with this man who had understood and supported her search for her mother's ancestry.

And tomorrow might bring her to the culmination of that search.

* * * * *

After a full Irish breakfast in the dining room, they returned to their room for Kara to collect her tablet, the adoption certificate, and the printed photos of her mother as a child and teenager.

"You've remembered the one of her as a baby?" Ryan asked.

"Yes, of course." Kara double-checked the folder of photos. "Here it is.
Linda Jane, May 1960, aged 13 months
. If, as we now suspect, she was born in June and not April, she was only eleven months old in this photo."

"Impossible to tell the difference from a photo like this, and there wouldn't be any reason for her adoptive parents to doubt the birth date on the adoption certificate."

She gave him a tense smile. "I think I'm dreading Margaret saying her daughter had blonde hair or brown eyes."

"And I'm keeping everything crossed that she won't, but in the meantime, how about we go to Glasnevin Cemetery this morning? It's not far from Margaret's house, and I know visiting a cemetery sounds somewhat morbid, but it's a fascinating place. Oh, and there's a café and gift shop, too."

Kara raised her eyebrows. "A gift shop at a cemetery? That's different, I never heard of that before."

"Memorabilia of some of the famous people buried there, and a good stock of books. I'm always tempted to spend far too much."

"You may have to explain things to me, because I'm woefully ignorant of a lot of Irish history."

"In that case, I'll give you my brief history of Ireland on the way."

By the time he parked near an arched gateway to the cemetery, Kara had learnt more Irish history than she'd ever known before.

"You really should have been a teacher," she told him. "You have a way of explaining things more clearly than any of my history teachers at school."

He laughed. "Thanks, but I'm thinking it's easier to talk to a captive audience of one than to thirty kids who aren't interested in history. And I've parked here rather than the main entrance, because we can come back to this pub for lunch." He indicated the stone building on their right. "Its official name is John Kavanagh's, but it's also known as the Gravediggers' Pub because they had a secret hatch where they used to buy their drinks while they were working."

Two hours later, when they strolled along the tree-lined avenue back to the pub, Kara's mind reeled with all the graves they'd seen.

"That was awesome. This whole place is like a microcosm of Irish history, isn't it? Not just politicians and martyrs, but all the authors, poets, and artists, too.

Ryan nodded. "And actors and musicians and singers, and, of course, thousands of ordinary Dubliners. We've only skimmed the surface today, but it's an amazing place. I've spent whole days here in the past, and still not seen it all."

"It's kind of weird thinking some of my ancestors might be buried here. Do you know if any of yours are?"

"None that I'm aware of."

She turned to him, raising curious eyebrows. "Have you ever researched your family history?"

He shrugged. "I once did some basic research, but didn't get very far." As they walked through the arched gateway, he went on, "Are you ready to step into the past again?"

Yet again, he'd changed the subject from his family, and she was curious. It seemed strange that a man who was obviously interested in Irish history hadn't pursued his own history. Was he concerned about finding a criminal or traitor? Or had he unearthed some secret family scandal and didn't want to admit it? Was there something he wasn't telling her?

She halted her thoughts as he held open the pub door for her, and blinked a few times while her eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine to the darkness inside. Her first impression was of uneven wooden flooring, and dark wood panelling everywhere, enclosing small booths with old tables and narrow benches. The pub was crowded. Chatter and bursts of laughter filled the air, from couples in the booths, people standing in groups, and others leaning against the bar counter.

She turned to him. "You're right. This is a real traditional Irish pub. It even smells old, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "Beer, years of cigarette smoke until indoor smoking was banned a few years ago, and that indefinable scent of old wood. This place has been owned by the same family since 1833, the year after the cemetery was founded. It's reputed to serve the best Guinness in Ireland, but I'll have to forego that because I'm driving. How about you? And do you want something to eat? There's a lounge through there where we can get soup or panini or tapas."

Kara pressed her hand to her stomach. "After the huge breakfast at the hotel, I'm not hungry, and although the last couple of hours have diverted my thoughts, my nerves are starting to kick in again."

"Okay, I'll order soft drinks for us now, and we can eat later. We may even be cracking open a bottle of champagne to celebrate."

She shuddered. "No, don't tempt fate. Somehow this is ten times scarier than meeting Theresa."

Even the iced mineral water with a slice of lemon did nothing to stop her stomach from churning, which worsened when they went out to the car again.

She clenched her hands on her lap as Ryan drove along several suburban streets, before turning into a small avenue with about a dozen two-storey brick houses, separated from each other by rustic fences.

"Number seven, is it?" he asked, and she nodded, unable to find her voice.

He pulled up outside a house that was similar to the others in the street, with rounded bay windows on the ground and upper floors, a neat lawn in front surrounded by a few flowering shrubs, and a paved driveway that served both the garage and the front door.

Kara smoothed back her hair with her hands. "Is my hair okay? And – oh gosh, should I have worn a skirt instead of these capris?"

He leant over to kiss her cheek. "You look beautiful,
a ghrá
."

She gripped his hand as they walked to the door, and held her breath when he pressed the brass bell-push, tightening her hand even harder around his when the door was opened.

"Hallo, you must be Kara," said the white-haired woman who wore a simple blue blouse over trim navy pants. "Do come in, both of you. You're most welcome."

Her smile was as strained as Kara imagined her own was as she stepped into the hallway. "Thank you." Her voice came out almost like a croak, and she cleared her throat. "This is my friend, Ryan Brady. He's been helping me with my research."

"And this is my husband, Jonathan, or Jon as everyone calls him."

Kara shook the hand of the tall, handsome man with a shock of thick, white hair. "I'm so pleased to meet with you both."

"And it's grand to meet you, too," he said.

"Now, come into the front room," Margaret said. "I'll just wet the tea, and then we can sit and chat. Do you like barm brack, or would you prefer chocolate cake?"

Unsure what barm brack was, Kara hesitated, but Ryan grinned. "Barm brack every time for me, Mrs. Sheridan, and I'm sure Kara will love it, too."

Margaret escorted them into a pleasant lounge with the bay window overlooking the front lawn, and two beige couches on either side of stone-clad fireplace.

"Make yourselves comfortable," she said. "I'll only be a minute or so."

Kara glanced around at Ryan as they sat on one of the couches, and he raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?"

"About Margaret? I'm not sure. Her face is a similar shape to my mom's, but it's difficult to tell, because her hair's white. She has blue eyes, though, and—"

Her gaze riveted on the display cabinet which stood along one wall, containing glass and china items, and she clapped her hand to her mouth.

"Oh, my God!" She clutched Ryan's arm. "Look at the top shelf, on the right. It's a knitted pink rabbit, just like the one my mom was holding in that first photo of her."

Chapter 20

Kara waited until Margaret put the tray of tea and buttered fruit loaf on the low table between the couches. Her nervousness had eased and her tense shoulders relaxed, but she still needed to be one hundred percent sure. "Mrs. Sheridan, can you tell me anything about the pink rabbit in your display cabinet?"

Margaret smiled as she sat down. "Fancy you noticing that. It's identical to the one I knitted for Aileen when she was about eight months old. He was her favourite toy, and she called him Pee, because she couldn't say Peter Rabbit. She carried him everywhere, and I made sure she had him when they took her away. I started to knit that one in the cabinet the next day, and tried to picture her still carrying him around. Silly, really, as I expect her new parents gave her lots of toys, and little Peter was probably thrown away."

Kara glanced at Ryan who gave her a small nod. She pulled the printed copy of the photograph from her folder. "Peter Rabbit wasn't thrown away. This is the earliest photo I have of my mom."

She handed the small photo to Margaret and held her breath, unsure of how she would react.

As Margaret stared down at the photo, her jaw slackened, and her hand flew to her chest. "Oh,
Jaysus
," she whispered. "Oh, Holy Mother and all the Saints." In the next second, she raised her voice. "Jon! Jonny, come here!"

Jon appeared at the door, his face creased in concern. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"It's Aileen!" Margaret gasped. "This is Aileen. Look, Jonny, she's holding Peter Rabbit."

Jon moved to sit next to his wife on the couch, took the photo from her, and studied it. He put his arm around her. "Are you sure, darlin'? Are you absolutely sure?"

"O' course I am, you silly man. I couldn't ever forget my own daughter, could I?"

Margaret's voice was choked, and tears trickled down her cheeks. Kara's eyes brimmed, and she reached to squeeze Ryan's hand.

For a long minute, no one spoke. Margaret and Jon gazed transfixed at the photograph, and Kara had no idea what to say next.

Eventually Jon looked across at her. "And this is your mother?" She nodded, and he smiled. "Then I—" His voice broke and he swallowed a couple of times. "I can't begin to tell you how amazed and thrilled we both are to welcome you, our granddaughter, to our home."

Kara's eyes widened. "
Our?
You mean you—?"

Margaret gave her a tremulous smile. "Jon was – is – Aileen's father."

"Oh!" Her word came out like a squeak as she took in this unexpected information. "Oh, I never thought—"

"Did you think I might have slept around and not known the father of my baby?" Margaret asked gently.

"I—" The heat rushed to Kara's cheeks. "I didn't know what to think."

"Then we have a lot to tell you, but first—" Margaret stood and held out her arms. "Jon put my own feelings into words, although I can hardly believe we actually have Aileen's daughter, our granddaughter, here with us, after all these years."

Kara stood, too, and let herself be enfolded in a hug by both Margaret and Jon, an embrace that reached deep into her emotions. These were her grandparents. Her Irish grandparents.

"I'm not sure what to call you now," she said.

"Our grandchildren call us Nana and Granddad."

"You have other grandchildren?"

Jon nodded. "Indeed we do, and they are your cousins, of course. But let's sit down and have some tea and brack, and we'll tell you everything."

During the next two hours, the whole story unfolded. Margaret and Jon first met and fell in love when she was a student nurse, and he was a finance officer at Temple Street Hospital. When she knew she was pregnant, she didn't tell him.

"Back in the 1950s, he would have lost his job if it was discovered he had fathered an illegitimate child," she explained. "And student nurses weren't allowed to continue their training if they became pregnant or got married. I would have to leave the nurses' home, and Jon only had one room in a lodging house, so I went home to Galway."

Jon squeezed her hand. "And I thought she'd grown tired of me. I went back to Cork for Christmas, to my parents' home, and when I returned to Dublin, she wasn't there. All they would tell me at the hospital was that she had left. They wouldn't give me her home address, and although I searched the phone directory, very few people had telephones at that time."

Margaret smiled at him. "I thought it was the only thing I could do, but I was so worried and scared, I wasn't thinking straight."

"What happened when you went home?" Kara asked.

"I told my parents I didn't like nursing, which was a silly thing to say, because I wanted to be a nurse for as long as I could remember, so I knew they didn't believe me."

"Did you tell them you were pregnant?"

"After a few days, I plucked up the courage to tell my mother, and I'll never forget the fear in her eyes, because it mirrored my own. Fear of telling my father. He was a very strict and stern man, you see, but well respected as the head teacher at a boys' primary school, and a sacristan at Sacred Heart Church.
What will we tell your father?
my mam said.
He'll never live down the shame of this. His only daughter, an unwed mother at nineteen.
Anyhow, she said she wouldn't tell him, but arranged for me to go and stay with one of her cousins in England. Then, the evening before I was due to go, my father came home with the priest, and said,
Is your bag packed?
I nodded, and he went on,
Now go with Father O'Malley, and don't ever come back here.
"

Kara gasped. "How did he find out? Did your mother tell him?"

"No, she was as scared of him as I was. Maybe he guessed, I never knew. But his word was law in our house, and that's how I ended up at Ballykane."

"Did you not try to contact Jon?"

"Not until after Aileen was born. She was such a beautiful baby, and I desperately wanted him to see her. So I wrote to him several times, at the hospital, and at his lodging house."

"But I didn't receive any of her letters," Jon said.

Margaret nodded. "Probably because the nuns tore them up. And that's reminded me, Kara – you said you'd met Bernie O'Brien, and she's a nun now?"

Kara recounted her meetings with Sister Gabriel, and everything the nun had told her about her life and her decision to take Holy Orders, and went on to describe her meeting with Theresa.

"Oh, I thought Theresa was so brave," Margaret said. "She didn't care what she said to anyone, and she was often in trouble for giving cheek or talking when it was forbidden. I didn't know Bernie very well, but I do recall she ran away several times. I was far more timid, and tried hard to do everything right and not annoy the nuns."

"Sister Gabriel said you worked in the children's nursery at Ballykane."

"I did, which meant I was luckier than most of the girls, who were only allowed to see their babies for about an hour each evening. At least I could see my Aileen all day, although it was hard not being able to give her my undivided attention because we had a lot of babies and toddlers to care for, and so many of them were weak or poorly."

"What happened when they took Aileen away? If you want to tell me, of course, because the memory must be painful for you."

"It is, but you need to know, and your mother, too. When Aileen was ten months old, I was summoned to Reverend Mother's office, and she said I had to sign some papers. I knew what they were, because the other girls told me, and I refused. She said,
You must sign
, and I begged and begged her to let Aileen stay with me. By this time I was down on my knees, crying, but she pulled me up by my hair, pushed the pen into my hand, and said,
Sign it, girl
."

Kara winced. "She must have been completely heartless."

"Indeed she was. She went on about me having to be punished for the sin I had committed, but, of course, that was drummed into us from the minute we set foot in the home. We were moral degenerates who could not be allowed to keep our children. Then came the ultimate emotional blackmail, about how selfish I would be to condemn my child to a life of poverty and deprivation, instead of letting her go to a family who would give her far more than I could." Margaret shook her head. "I couldn't argue against that, because it was true. I had no job and nowhere to live, and so I signed the papers."

"And was that the day when Aileen was taken away?"

Margaret's face creased. "It was. I ran up the two flights of stairs to the nursery, although I could hardly see through my tears, and as I got to the door, Sister Ursula came out carrying Aileen. While I was in the Reverend Mother's room, they'd dressed her in a lovely pale blue coat and bonnet, with white socks and little blue shoes – things I'd never seen before, and she held out her arms to me and smiled and said
Mama
. Sister Ursula let me hold her for a minute, and I was crying as I hugged her and kissed her. I kept whispering,
I love you, I love you, please remember I love you.
"

Margaret stopped and swallowed a few times, and Kara wiped the tears from her cheeks. When Ryan slipped his arm around her and tightened his hand on her upper arm, she sensed he was struggling with his emotions, too.

"They only gave you a minute to say goodbye to her?" she asked.

Margaret nodded. "Another nun came to the door, and she held me from behind, pinned me by both my arms, while Sister Ursula took Aileen from me and set off down the stairs. I struggled, even elbowed the nun's bosom, and managed to break free but by that time they'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and the last I saw of Aileen was a wee glimpse before they turned into the corridor. Then I fell on the floor in a heap and broke my heart."

For a few moments, there was silence, apart from the ticking of the clock on the mantelshelf. Jon patted his wife's hand. "Tell them about Peter Rabbit, darlin', so they'll know there was at least one nun with some humanity at Ballykane."

Margaret smiled. "Oh, yes. Well, the nun yanked me up from the floor, and told me to go back into the nursery.
There are plenty more babies for you to look after
, she said. I ran across to Aileen's cot, and grabbed the bed sheet and held it to my face, because it still smelled of Aileen, and then I saw Peter in the cot, and I was beside myself.
She must have Peter Rabbit
, I kept crying.
She won't go to sleep without Peter
. And Sister Monica, bless her, came and took Peter from me, and said,
I'll make sure she gets him
. And she came back about ten minutes later and said she'd given him to Aileen. I never knew whether she did or whether she was saying that to make me feel better. At least, not until I saw this picture." She looked down at the photo again, and back at Kara. "I simply can't tell you how much this means to me."

"I'm sure Kara will let us copy it," Jon said, "and we'll have it enlarged."

"I have a lot more photos here."

While Margaret and Jon studied all the photos, Kara told them about her mother's adoptive parents. "They were in their late thirties when they adopted my mom. I don't know why they couldn't have their own children, but they were devoted to her. They called her Linda Jane."

"Linda Jane. That's a pretty name. Did they tell her she was adopted?" Margaret asked.

"Yes, and she knows she was born in Ireland." Kara hesitated, unsure of how or even whether to tell them about her mother's attitude. Maybe she should leave that until later. She smiled. "Mom and Dad have always been fans of the Fighting Irish, That's the football team at Notre Dame, where they both went to college, and my brother Matthew is in his senior year there now. Here's a photo of Mom when she graduated."

"What did she study?"

"Math and Statistics, and she worked as a financial adviser with Morgan Stanley in New York City."

Margaret smiled. "Sounds like she takes after you, Jon."

"You haven't told us how you found each other again," Ryan said. "Which obviously you did."

"Yes, but not for three years, and then only by chance," Margaret replied. "About two weeks after Aileen had gone, they sent me to Our Lady's Hospital in Crumlin."

"That wasn't the hospital where you'd worked before, was it?"

"No, no, I had to go somewhere where I wasn't known, but I did contact someone I knew at Temple Street Hospital, and she said Jon was no longer there. Someone else told me he was working for the Bank of Ireland, but I couldn't get any information from them. I even went to where he used to live, but the whole row of houses had been demolished. I had no idea how to find him, and so I continued my training, and qualified in 1963. The night after we got our exam results, some of us went to the Nag's Head pub in town to celebrate, and I had the shock of my life when I walked in and saw Jon standing at the bar."

Jon laughed. "And I dropped my glass of Guinness, remember? It smashed on the floor, and I stood there in a pool of beer and froth thinking I was dreaming. I'd given up all hope of ever finding Margaret again, but that night a friend of mine had his stag night at the pub. Was it chance or was it pre-destined? Who knows?"