HauntingBeauty







Chapter Fourteen


THE MacGrath house seemed to be in a state of chaos when Colleen led Danni through the gates. Men worked the grounds, planting flowers in the beds, pulling weeds, trimming trees, mowing the lawn that stretched like a carpet amongst the wild pastures. Others were at work washing the many windows and cleaning out gutters, putting a fresh coat of yellow paint on the outside walls.
Colleen took her around to the back door, and following, Danni was suddenly swamped with an aching loneliness. She didn’t want to go inside—didn’t want to step into the house where she’d spent her first five years and face the fact that she had no memory of it. She couldn’t do it—not alone. She wished Sean were here with her, ridiculous as that sounded even to herself. He would hold her hand, though. He would share his warmth, his strength.
But he wasn’t here and Danni had no choice but to follow Colleen inside.
The back door opened onto a bright, cheery kitchen with pale blue walls and tiled counters. Stonework to the right framed an old coal-burning oven and made the massive room seem cozy and welcoming. In front of it, a long pine table with benches tucked beneath it and chairs on either end sat empty but shining from a fresh polish. Behind it was a pine coffer with a round lock centered in front.
Danni glanced away and then quickly back as recognition hit her. The chest wasn’t such an unusual piece, and yet she knew she’d seen that particular one before—in the vision when her mother had shown Danni the Book of Fennore.
But this wasn’t the same room she’d seen it in.
Danni swallowed hard, unconsciously bracing herself for that terrible hum, the fecund odor, the oozing blood.
“Are you ill, child?” Colleen asked, touching Danni’s arm and bringing her back to the sunny kitchen.
“I’m fine,” Danni answered, pulling her gaze from the coffer.
A window over the sink looked out at the gardens and breathtaking ruins. Bundled spices dangled from strings around it, and a rack suspended by chains from the ceiling displayed an assortment of copper kettles and pans above it. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and some other sweet and elusive aroma she didn’t recognize, yet deep within her it stoked a memory and made her feel simultaneously comforted and bereft.
Two women stood at the counter with a pile of dough between them. They chattered and laughed as they rolled it into ping-pong sized balls and stuffed them with a dark sticky concoction Danni couldn’t begin to guess at. Another woman entered from a swinging door that probably led to a dining room. She carried a tray of crystal stemware to the sink for washing.
As Danni and Colleen hovered just inside, a stout woman with black hair and sharp blue eyes approached. Danni caught her breath as another bite of recognition nipped at her memory and associated the woman with tasty treats and warm hugs.
Colleen beamed at her and said, “Morning to you Bronagh. This is Danni Ballagh, come all the way from America to help you this fine day. A blessing she’ll be. Danni, this fine woman is Bronagh Dougherty.”
“Danni? And isn’t that a strange name for a woman to be calling herself? Is it your father you’re named for?”
“I don’t know,” Danni answered honestly.
“Well, no matter.” She shifted her attention to Colleen. “’Tis late you are. I’m not of a mind to call that a blessing.”
“Oh no and sorry we are for that. But the poor child dinna arrive until the wee hours of the morn, and without a bit of sleep, she’d have been no use to you. She’ll not be late again.”
Bronagh’s tight mouth eased and a quirk of her lips told Danni she might be smiling, but it pained her. “Well then, I’ll let it go this time. Have you had your breakfast?”
Danni opened her mouth to say, “Yes,” but Colleen cut her off.
“Well, what do you take me for not to feed the girl a hot meal for breakfast?” she demanded.
“No offense meant, but Americans are peculiar. How am I to know if she only ate just enough to smooth your feathers? Could be she’s still longing for a decent meal.”
“And what would you be knowing about the peculiarities of the fecking Americans’ appetites?” Colleen challenged.
“Are you thinking you’re the only one who knows Americans?” Bronagh sniffed and put her nose in the air. Two steps took her to a shelf beside the oven that was packed with cookbooks. “My own brother was recently in the lovely state of Nebraska and didn’t he bring me both of these lovely American recipe books?”
With much ado she held up a red and white checked Betty Crocker cookbook in one hand and Omaha’s Best Recipes, with “pot-lucks for any occasion,” in the other. Danni hid a smirk, wondering if Bronagh had ever cracked the cover on that one.
She quickly interrupted before Colleen could spit out the words she seemed ready to choke on. “Thank you, Mrs. Dougherty, but Colleen made a delicious breakfast this morning. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
Bronagh’s painful smile tightened. Colleen gave Danni a loving pat on the arm.
“Well then, I supposed there’s nothing for it but to put you to work. Are you one for the kitchens?”
As a matter of fact, Danni loved to cook. When she’d lived with Yvonne, Danni had made all their meals. But once she’d moved into her own home, cooking had lost its appeal. She and Bean made do with fast food or simple fare most nights. Occasionally she’d dig out her own cookbooks and surprise Yvonne with a home-cooked meal. When she got back home, Danni silently promised herself, she’d plan something special. If she got back home . . .
Danni blinked, finding both Colleen and Bronagh staring at her expectantly. Even the women at the high table had paused to listen.
Danni cleared her throat. “I’m no Rachael Ray, but I can hold my own.”
They all exchanged looks at that, and Danni cursed herself. Of course they wouldn’t know who Rachael Ray was. Had she even been born yet?
“Well, I’m off myself. I’ll be leaving our Danni in your care,” Colleen said to Bronagh.

Leaving? Why had Danni thought Colleen was to work here as well? She bit hard on the inside of her lip, tamping down the panic she’d only just managed to quell after Sean’s departure.
Colleen patted her again and was gone in a moment. Bronagh didn’t give her a chance to indulge in her worries, though. She put Danni to work preparing a baked herring after laboriously going over the recipe with her not once, but three times. It seemed dinners at the MacGrath house were no casual affair of late, and tomorrow there’d be a special dinner in honor of the twins’ fifth birthday.
Danni swallowed hard but tried to keep her composure as she thought of that. In addition to the fish, Bronagh told Danni with pride, there would be crisp salad with tomatoes and watercress, seafood chowder, colcannon with curly kale and spring onions—which Danni gathered from the recipe was an Irish mashed potato dish—asparagus braised in butter, leek bacon tarts, and black pudding. Bronagh would top it off with rhubarb tarts for dessert.

Rhubarb . . . that was the other scent in the kitchen . . .

While she worked, Danni dwelled on all Colleen had told her. Colleen was her grandmother. Her fraternal grandmother. Colleen hadn’t answered her when she’d asked if she knew why Danni and Sean were there. Maybe she didn’t know. But her final words still hummed in Danni’s head. Why did she think Danni knew the answer to this riddle she’d stumbled into?

There are worse places to awaken than your past. . . .

Lost in thought, Danni didn’t notice the kitchen door open until Bronagh said, “Why good morning to you Mrs. MacGrath. And how can I be helping you?”
Danni’s gaze snapped up. There, smiling in her direction, was Danni’s mother.
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself with me, Bronagh,” Fia MacGrath said with a shy smile. “I only wanted to see what was about here.”
Danni stared as Fia moved from place to place, eyeing the creations in progress, tasting the rhubarb concoction for the tarts, and exclaiming that Bronagh had outdone herself. Bronagh beamed with pride.
Up close, Fia was lovely in an ethereal way. She moved with grace and poise, as if she’d never known a reason to rush or a cause to fret. Her features were delicate: a small nose, perfectly arched brows, wide eyes, and long lashes. She wore little makeup, just coral lipstick that accented her full mouth and a light dusting of blusher on her pale cheeks. Her clothes were crisp and pressed, and when she went by, Danni caught a whiff of a rich cologne, light but exotic. It caught her unaware and brought a rush of memory—a feeling of contentment, of happiness. She imagined herself as a child, breathing that wonderful scent.
“Have you everything under control, then?” she asked after she’d finished her perusal of the kitchen.
“Oh aye, just like clockwork.”
“Then I wondered”—Fia began looking suddenly very young and unsure—“might I borrow one of your girls for an hour or so?”
Bronagh’s mouth tightened, but she said pleasantly enough, “Sure and they’re your girls, are they not? You may take one or all.”
“I wouldn’t want to cause you trouble if—”
“Not to worry. Take Danni, she’s not much help to me anyway. American.”
Stung, Danni looked at Bronagh, but there was no malice on the stout woman’s face, and Danni realized she was just trying to put her mother at ease. Fia didn’t just look young; she couldn’t be older than twenty-two or twenty-three. A few years younger than Danni was now.
Fia smiled. “Thank you, Bronagh.”
Nervous at the thought of being alone with her mother—being older than her mother—Danni washed and dried her hands before following Fia out of the room. Obviously, Fia felt just as uncomfortable alone with Danni, although for different reasons. Danni didn’t think she was accustomed to directing servants or asking for anyone to do her bidding. She kept glancing over her shoulder, as if to reassure herself that Danni still followed. Each time she gave a breathy little laugh that revealed how uneasy she was. The sophisticated clothes it seemed were just a ruse, armor for a battle she had no weapons to fight.
An awkward silence followed them into a foyer with graying walls and massive portraits. A large settle dominated one wall and Danni couldn’t help pausing to admire it.
Fia waited, looking at her with curiosity. “Sorry,” Danni said. “It’s just, I have a thing for antiques.”
“Really? And is that one?”
“Well, yes. It’s a settle. They were used for seating in the great halls. And see how it opens?” She demonstrated by lifting the bench seat. “Inside was used as a guest bed.”
Fia smiled. “But it’s so short.”
True, though the settle was a good five feet long, it would have made a short and narrow bed. “Remember back then, your host would have thought nothing of putting you in bed with five or six others—so having to pull your knees up when you slept wasn’t really such an inconvenience.”
“How d’you know that?”
Danni shrugged. “My . . . mother is a history buff.”
Fia looked intrigued as she started walking again. “My mother liked old things, too—as long as they were expensive. We were very poor when I was young, before. . . .” The nervous laugh tittered out. “Before my grandmother died and we inherited. After that, she wouldn’t have anything old in the house unless it was worth its weight in gold. Not even the quilts that had been handed down for generations. I’m still sad when I think of her throwing them in the bin.”
The very idea of it made Danni’s stomach hurt, but she kept quiet as she followed her mother up a staircase to a long hall.
“After mum died, I brought some of her pieces here.”
“Was the coffer in the kitchen hers?” Danni asked.
“The what?”
“The chest, in the kitchen.”
“Oh yes.”
Fia opened a door toward the end of the hall and led Danni into an enormous chamber with walls painted dark red, complemented by a burnished gold chair rail which ran chest-high all around it. A gorgeous king-sized half-tester canopy bed with a shiny satin comforter should have dominated the room—but it was too spacious for that. Not even the mahogany armoire gleaming by the window, the elegant marble fireplace—with hearth stretching at least eight feet—or the twin glass cabinets facing off from the corners could come close to filling it. Even with the damask-covered settee and two matching chairs cozied up to the fire, there was enough open space to harbor an echo. Though exquisite, the room was overwhelming. Her mother looked like a child playing grown-up in it.
“Like a museum, isn’t it?” Fia said with an embarrassed smile. “Cathán’s—my husband’s—latest project. He had the wall torn out of the nursery and made it all one room. I don’t know why we need so much space, but he seems to like it.”
“It’s beautiful.”
She shrugged and indicated the grouping of chairs and settee. A basket sat on the floor between them. “I’m making costumes for the twins,” she said. “They’ve been invited to a costume party in a few days. Dáirinn wants to be a kitten and Rory wants to be a horse.”
The words struck a chord somewhere in Danni, and a memory exploded in her mind. She saw her five-year-old self racing into this very room, squealing with delight in her orange-and-white striped-kitty-cat costume. She’d meowed like a maniac while Rory whin nied and snorted at her side.
“Are you all right?” Fia asked.
“Yes,” Danni answered, though it was far from true. Her stomach had flipped and knotted, and her insides felt watery.
“Please sit down while I show you the costumes.” Fia bent and pulled the first from the basket. “I just need help with the final touches. I’ll never get them done in time for the party on my own.”
“I’m not very good with a needle,” Danni confessed.
Fia grinned. “Can you hold one?” Danni nodded. “Then you’ll do fine.”
She indicated one of the chairs and handed Danni a metal box filled with pink and white sequins. “Dáirinn wants her kitty to wear a tutu,” she said, still grinning. “I need you to add some sequins to the ruffle.”
Fia shook out the costume to show her, and Danni felt another rush of memory as she watched. Fia’d made the body of it from a soft white fabric with hand-sewn stripes of orange felt around it. A gauzy pink skirt flounced at the waist, and Danni was swamped with thoughts of how it had felt to twirl like a ballerina as she swiped the air with her kitten paws and meowed at the top of her lungs.
Unaware of the turmoil she’d caused, Fia threaded a needle and showed Danni how to attach the sequins to the ruffle.
Next she pulled out the black and white horse costume she’d made for Rory. Another flash, another exploding memory of Danni and her brother racing down the hall, laughing in their joy. Fia had added a yarn mane and tail to the costume and now she was working on the long muzzle and hooves. From the tufts of orange fur that came to a point at the kitty’s ears to the black mane of the stallion, Fia hadn’t missed a detail in either costume.
“These are amazing,” Danni said.
Fia smiled with pleasure. “Thank you. I’ve been working on them for weeks. You’d be surprised how difficult it is to sew a horse.”
“I don’t think I’d be surprised at all. I have to warn you, sewing on a button is a challenge to me.”
“Don’t worry, those don’t need to be straight, and my little Dáirinn wouldn’t notice a flaw if it bit her on the nose.”
The love in those few words nearly wrenched a sob out of Danni. She fought to keep her composure though. It wouldn’t do for Fia to think she was unstable.
They sat side by side for a few moments, neither speaking. Danni had a thousand questions, but they were all too personal to blurt out and so she sat, tongue-tied and miserable, as she attached the sequins to the tutu.
“Michael told me that you had only arrived from America last night. It’s a long way to come. You must be exhausted,” Fia said.
“I’ve got a bit of jetlag, nothing a Starbucks wouldn’t cure.”
Fia cocked her head and frowned. “A what?”
“Never mind,” Danni said quickly, unsure if the coffee shops even existed yet.

Way to blend, Danni.

Fia’s eyes were curious but she let it go. “Where in America did you live?” she asked instead.
“Arizona. Have you ever been to the States?”
“No. I’ve never been anywhere but here. My sister moved to California, though.”
“Really? Where?”
It was Fia’s turn to look like she’d stepped in it. A small, uneasy laugh bubbled out of her and she shook her head. “Oh, I can’t remember the exact place. We don’t talk much anymore.”
“I’m lying” was practically stamped on her forehead, Danni thought. Why would she feel the need to fib about something like that? Danni wanted to press, but Fia’s entire body had grown still as if she was testing the air for danger.
Looking back at the sequins, Danni said casually, “California is beautiful. I’ve been a couple of times. You know, to Disneyland and Hollywood. I always wanted to go to San Francisco, but never made it.”
“I always wanted to travel, too. But then I met Cathán, and here I am.”
There was a sad finality to her words. “You must have been very young when you married,” Danni murmured.
“Seventeen. A hundred years ago, it feels like sometimes.” She sighed, pulled a stitch, and then added another. “And you and your husband Sean, how did you meet?” she asked.
Caught off guard, Danni quickly averted her eyes. “We just kind of ran into each other one day.”
“He’s very handsome.”
Dry-mouthed, Danni nodded. Didn’t she know it. “What about you? How did you meet your husband?”
“As you say, we just kind of ran into each other one day. He says he took one look at me and knew he was in love. After that there was no stopping him until I was his.”
She smiled, but her words sounded too bright. A happy story without the happiness.
“He must have swept you off your feet,” Danni murmured, the little girl in her hoping it was true, that her mommy and daddy had fallen madly in love and would live happily ever after.
“Yes, he did that,” Fia said, but a dark flush crept over her face. “I was pregnant with the twins before we married. I’m sure you’ve heard it already. I was quite the scandal of Ballyfionúir.”
“Oh,” Danni said. “No I hadn’t . . . I mean . . .”
“It doesn’t matter. I love my children.” This said fiercely, almost angrily. As if she expected Danni to deny it. “I would do anything for them.”
There was subtext in the last statement, but Danni couldn’t decipher it. She watched her mother, watched the play of emotions on her face. Tried to understand what was going through her mind.
“What is your husband like?” Danni asked, and now it was she who sounded wistful. Tell me about my daddy . . .
“Oh, Cathán is very . . . determined. I remember thinking that the first time I met him. My, what a determined man. He never does anything halfway. I don’t think he knows how.” The nervous laugh came again. “When he was courting me, I felt like I was a goal, an objective. I mean that in a good way of course. He wanted me—loved me. Loves me, I mean to say.”
There was something childlike about her mother. Something endearing and vulnerable, and Danni wanted to reach out and hug her. She seemed so unsure of herself and of her place in the world.
“He must be proud to have you for his wife,” Danni said. “You have such a lovely family.”
Fia nodded vehemently. “I do, don’t I?”
“Before we came, I did some research on Ballyfionúir. I read that it’s named after a spirit. The white ghost.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.” Fia frowned, shifting uncomfortably.
Danni hoped her mother didn’t have the need to tell too many lies in her life, because she was really bad at it.
“I looked it up on the web and there was a ton of information.”
Fia was giving Danni that blank look again. Danni thought back. The web—dammit, she had to pay better attention to what she said. Danni hurried on before Fia could ask what web Danni referred to.
“There was also some interesting stuff about an old book. The Book of Fennore, I think it’s called.”
“Oh,” Fia said with another of her shaky, nervous laughs. “It’s quite a myth, isn’t it?”
“It’s not real?”
“A book that can change the world?” The nervous titter came in a burst. “I wouldn’t think so.”
“No, me either. But I wonder where the myth began.”
“What d’you mean?” Fia asked, paling.
“Just that so many people think it’s real. There was a picture of it.”
“A picture you say?”
Danni nodded, noting the distress on Fia’s face. “It looked like it was made of leather—but I don’t think it was. Too black, too shiny, too slick. And there were jewels on it. And silver trim on the edges.”
Fia stabbed herself with her needle and cursed. “Jesus feck. Look at that, I’m bleeding,” she said, sucking her finger between her lips.
Just then the door to the bedroom opened, and a tall, heartbreak ingly handsome man walked in. He had sparkling blue eyes, a strong, square jaw, and a wide smile. He wore athletic clothes covered with dirt and grass stains, and he smelled of sweat. Even so, the man was as good-looking as any movie star Danni had ever seen.
At his abrupt entrance, Fia’s eyes widened and she jumped to her feet, the anxious titter escaping yet again. The man looked equally surprised and paused, looking from Fia’s guilty face to Danni’s shocked expression. Straight on, Danni noticed that his blue eyes didn’t sparkle as much as they gleamed. She stared into them, the moment as surreal as it was uncomfortable. She should have known this meeting would come, but Danni was not prepared to be standing face-to-face with the man who was her father.