PROLOGUE

Fairhill Farm, Connemara, June

“Katy Conneely, you’re the child I never had,” wheezed Donal Spillane, handing Kate the empty glass of water he’d used to take his tablets.

“Go on away out of that, Mr. Spillane. If your son heard you say that there’d be war,” she said, a light grin crossing her lips. She picked up the tray his dinner had been served on and took it to the kitchen.

Donal chuckled as much as his weak lungs would let him. Years of smoking had eaten away at them until he was left with an oxygen tank to help him breathe and a delicate body that grew frailer by the day.

He was housebound these days. His legs weren’t strong enough to get him around the old farm like they used to. What was left of his lungs used up any remaining energy just to breathe. He was lucky to make it outside to the chair Kate had set beside the plot where his Mary once grew flowers and vegetables. Now it was Kate who kept the plots tidy and in bloom. He missed his wife and appreciated that Kate kept the garden growing. Bless the girl, but she’d even planted a few fruit trees.

Otherwise, his days were spent sitting in his chair in the old parlor watching television and letting Kate dote on him.

Kate’s father, Liam Conneely, was his closest friend and sent the girl over to help keep the house tidy and cook his dinner once his Mary was diagnosed with the cancer. It was more than his own son would ever do.

Michael, Donal sighed.

Mick was a storm quietly contained, whirling around waiting for the right weather conditions to make him come alive. He had a nervous energy that he channeled into the physical activity required of him while he’d still been home. He could be found anywhere there was hard work to be done, whether it was mucking out stalls, repairing fences or sheering the sheep. But he liked to work by himself on his own terms and in his own time. The work eventually got done, but it was hell working with the moody boy.

When Mick wasn’t buried in hard labor he could be found with a book in front of him. He craved knowledge. It was no surprise when Mick came to him one day and told him he wanted to attend university. He wanted to study literature and history. Though it broke his heart, Donal of course let him go.

Deep in his heart he hoped Mick would return home one day to run the farm, as he’d done for his father, and his father before him. But Mick had made no indication that his return was imminent. Or desired.

After graduation Mick had rented a flat and taken a job in the National Museum. He was making his life in Dublin. He’d come home for his mother’s funeral two years previous, but there had been very few visits since then.

There were phone calls. Donal cherished those dear though rare occasions, but it wasn’t the same as a real visit.
Kate, he sighed again.

Kate had helped Donal care for his Mary as she lay dying from the cancer. With Kate’s training as a palliative care nurse she was well qualified to care for his beloved. And when she’d passed, Kate continued to come over to help tidy the house and fix his meals. Truthfully, had it not been for dear, sweet Kate, he would have been sent to his Maker from starvation long before now.

Donal had no illusions about his illness. He’d brought it on himself smoking them fags as if they were his life’s blood. How ironic life was. It used to be he couldn’t live without a light-up. Now his life was being cut short because he couldn’t live without a light-up and was reliant on the ever-present tank to give him the oxygen he needed to live.

He’d never told anyone that he was sick while Mary was alive. She suffered enough through her own disease, so he kept his illness to himself. But once the oxygen tank had come into his life, there was no more denying it. He had emphysema. He’d called Liam over and they shared many pints over the prognosis.

59 was a hell of a young age to die. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his death.

He just didn’t know how much longer he had. He’d denied the disease as long as possible, but now there was no sense in lying. There was no need in asking Kate to continue helping out around the house once her father told her the bad news. She’d come every day and worked around the house and farm all day without complaint. He loved her as dearly as his own child. She was the daughter of his best friend, but at one time he’d hoped she’d become his daughter in marriage.

Both Donal and Mary had been confused at Mick’s deaprture. Mick hadn’t just left them. He’d left Kate too. He wouldn’t say what had happened between them and Donal never forced an answer from him. He figured it was just one of those things kids go through growing up. He’d hoped things would turn around for them, but so far they were as distant as the sun and Pluto.

Donal’s thoughts came back around to the farm. What would happen to it once he passed on? Mick’s life was in Dublin now with his fancy job and fancier friends. He’d never liked life on the farm and found every excuse he could in order to stay in Dublin.

The more Donal wanted to see his son, the more Mick pulled away.

Kate had been a Godsend during Mary’s last days. It was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, watching the love of his life slip away and knowing there was nothing he could do to save her. Every day he prayed to God to take him in Mary’s place. She was too gentile of a woman to suffer such a disease.

Maybe God had listened to him. He’d be with his Mary again. Soon.

Mick had been closer to his mother than Donal. That had been apparent by the time they spent together. Mary had been unlike Donal. She never judged anyone. She was completely accepting. And she never questioned Mick. It was no wonder he felt more comfortable in her company than his. There was nothing Mick wouldn’t do for his mother.

When Mary died, Donal suspected something in Mick died too. He’d been at university when he got the call. When Donal saw his son next it was at the funeral a few days later.

Donal asked Mick if he was staying home this time. He needed him around the place. Truth, he missed his son like hell and now that Mary was gone the house was empty. Even then Donal felt he was just biding his time. He wanted to make things right between him and his son. But Mick said no and Donal wouldn’t use his own illness to make his son stay. Mick had a life in Dublin now and was going back. Donal’s heart ripped in half for the second time that year as he watched his son’s car pull out of the driveway, leaving him alone.

Donal would be alone in his last days if it weren’t for Kate Conneely. She livened up the big empty house and gave him something worth looking forward to each day. She was the daughter he and Mary were never blessed with and the child Mick refused to be. But it did little good to argue his point with Kate. His problems were his own. Though he was certain Kate understood his frustration.

Would Mick get upset knowing he considered Kate more of a child to him than his own son? Probably. But what did it matter? Mick didn’t act like he cared. Well, whatever time he had left on this green earth he needed to make the most of it. He’d not allow his son to lose the farm. Donal spent his whole life toiling over it to make a living for his family, to put food in their mouths, a roof over their head. Even to pay for Mick’s university tuition. No, he’d not let the farm be lost. It was his birthright. Whether he wanted it or not.

He heard the kitchen door close. He was alone. Taking as deep a breath as he could, he gripped the arms of the chair and pulled himself to the edge of his seat, then struggled to stand. He used the back of the chair to steady himself on his wobbly legs.

Kate had positioned chairs inconspicuously around the parlor and kitchen so he could get around easily. She never told him why she did it, and the unsuspecting visitor would never guess why so many chairs dominated the rooms.

Using the chair backs for support he shuffled slowly and with much effort, wheeling the oxygen tank with him, to the window that overlooked the farmyard.

Ignoring the perspiration that came with his efforts he chuckled to himself watching Kate work with Molly to bring the chickens in for the evening. This was routine for Molly now. Kate had seen to the pup’s training over the last year. At eleven months old, Molly was showing great promise as a sheepdog. Kate taught her obedience and was now training her to work in the field. The chickens were just for play. Working the sheep was her main job.

Donal watched Molly circling the hens, rounding them up. With her head lowered, her powerful shoulders supporting the front legs that steered her and her eyes never leaving the hens, she came around to gently drive the birds into the henhouse.

Donal knew it was a bit early to be putting the chickens up for the night. This was Kate’s way of giving him some time alone with his own thoughts.

She was having a hard time too. How could she not? She’d had dreams of her own. She’d gone to nursing school and had just taken a job at Galway Hospital when Mary became ill. Yet Kate had dropped everything to come to their sides.

Kate should be out with people her own age having fun, dating, marrying and having a family. Instead, she’d wasted two years of her life caring for the parents Mick should have cared for and his son’s actions angered him doubly.

Sighing, he released his angry grip on the oxygen tank handle and continued to watch Kate close the henhouse and call Molly back to her. As they started toward the house again Donal couldn’t help but wonder how he could ever repay Kate for everything she’d done for him over the years. She had always refused money. But there had to be something.

She caught sight of him standing at the window and he saw concern in her. Molly rushed through the door ahead of Kate and to his side, nuzzling his pocket where he kept the treats. Molly took the treat delicately from his fingers then wandered over to lie beside his chair to gobble it up.

Kate came to his side and put her arm around his waist for support. “Let me help you, Mr. Spillane. Would you like to lie down for a while?” she asked, motioning to a small bed in the corner of the room. He’d not been able to negotiate the stairs to his own room for weeks now. Nor the toilet, to his embarrassment. Kate did everything within her power to make things as easy for him as possible, while still allowing him to retain his dignity.

He meant what he said to Kate. She was the daughter he never had. And he loved her like one too. He would do right by her.

“No, girl. I’ll just sit for a while. Maybe you’ll bring me a pen and paper when you’ve the time,” he suggested as she helped him back to his chair. By the time he sat he was more winded and tired than usual, but he had things to do before he could sleep. He’d sleep enough when he was finally dead.

Available Autumn 2009 from Highland Press

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