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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 with a grin, taking
his glass then moving to tidy the tray that his lunch had been
served on.
Donal chuckled as much as his weak lungs would let him. Years
of smoking had eaten away at his lungs until he was left with
an oxygen tank to help him breath and a delicate body that grew
frailer by the day.
Donal was housebound these days. His legs just 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 that was in
him just to breathe. He was lucky to make it outside to the chair
Kate had set beside the plot where Mary once grew flowers and
a few vegetables. Now it was Kate who kept the plots tidy and
in bloom with a few easy to grow vegetables. He missed his wife
and appreciated that she kept the plots growing. Bless the girl,
but she'd even planted a few fruit trees around the plot.
Otherwise Donal's days were spent sitting in his chair in the
old parlor watching television and letting Kate dote on him.
Kate was a fine lass. Her father, Liam Conneely, was Donal's closest
friend and sent the girl over to help keep his house tidy and
cook his dinner. It was more than his own son, Michael, would
ever do for him. Michael found the farm claustrophobic. And was
in denial about his father's illness.
Michael, Donal sighed.
Mick was a storm quietly contained, whirling around waiting
for the right weather conditions to make him erupt. He had a nervous
energy that he channeled into the physical activity that was required
of him while still home. Mick 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 boy. He was so moody.
When Mick wasn't buried in hard labor he could be found with
a book in front of him. He craved knowledge. He wasn't a kid that
wanted video games or to play sports with his schoolmates. He
wanted to fill his mind with facts and figures, history and literature.
And when he wasn't working the farm or burying himself in books
he was usually over at the Conneely Farm with Kate or up at the
old stone circle. Kate seemed to be the only person that could
get through to the boy.
It was no surprised that Mick came to him one day and told Donal
that he wanted to attend university. He wanted to study literature
and history.
Donal could only let him go.
Deep in his heart he hoped that Mick would return home one day
to run the farm, as he'd done for his father, and his father before
him. But Mick was making no indication that his return was immanent.
Or desired.
After graduation Mick had rented a flat, took a job in the National
Museum and was making his life in Dublin. He'd been home for his
mother's funeral two years previous. Following the funeral, Mick
had returned home in August to give Donal the birthday gift of
a Border Collie pup to keep him company. After that was Christmas.
Father's Day was the last time he'd seen his son.
There were phone calls. Donal cherished those dear though rare
occasions, but it wasn't the same as a real visit.
Kate, he sighed to himself.
Kate had helped Donal care for his Mary as she lay dying from
the cancer. And when she'd passed, Kate continued to come over
to help tidy the house and fix Donal's meals. Truthfully, had
it not been for dear, sweet Kate, he would have been sent to his
maker from starvation long before now. She'd even trained the
pup that he'd named Hairy Molly from all the downy black and white
fluff she'd had from day one.
And now that he was dying from emphysema Kate cared for him
as she had Mary. Never once complaining about the work.
Donal had no illusions about his illness. He 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 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.
59 was a hell of a young age to die. This was not how Donal
imagined his death.
He knew he was dying. He just didn't know how long he had. He'd
denied the disease as long as he could, but now there was no sense
in lying to himself. Donal never let on that he was sick while
Mary was alive. She was suffering through her own disease. It
would have only upset her. So he kept his illness to himself.
It wasn't long after Mary's death that Donal's energy levels
finally dropped as he grieved. It was then that the illness took
a firm hold of him. Once the oxygen tank had come into his life
there was no more hiding. He'd called Liam over and they shared
many pints over the prognosis.
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 and at one time he'd hoped she'd become his
daughter in marriage.
Both Donal and Mary had been confused at Mick's sudden turnabout
where Kate was concerned. Mick 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 Mick and the farm. What
would happen to it once he passed on? Mick's life was in Dublin
now with is fancy job and fancier friends. He'd never liked life
on the farm. It seemed his boy found every excuse he could in
order to stay in Dublin.
Had Donal failed his son somehow? If he did, he didn't know
where. Was it because as an only child Mick felt so distanced
from his family? Donal just couldn't put his finger on it.
He couldn't remember a time when Mick wasn't moody, when he
didn't prefer to spend so much time alone, or with Kate. He seemed
to come alive when the girl was around.
The more Donal tried to spend time with his son the more Mick
pulled away. If Donal had taken Mick out on the tractor with him
to tend the sheep Mick would always prefer to walk home by himself.
If the boy had a choice of helping him during sheering season
Mick preferred to muck out the barn.
More than one time Donal wondered about Mick's private life.
Being moody, sensitive and preferring the company of girls often
made Donal wonder about his son's inclinations. He remembered
a time when Mick and Kate were bosom friends. Both he and Mary
had hoped that the relationship would blossom. But when that relationship
slipped away, Donal's concerns about his son returned tenfold.
Then the family had been shocked by the news that Mary had breast
cancer. It had been discovered too late. Even after the radical
surgery and months of treatment there was nothing anyone could
do but make her comfortable in her last days.
Kate had been a Godsend. With her nurses training she was at
the house every day for weeks caring for his beloved. It was the
hardest thing he'd ever had to do, watching the love of his life
slip away and knowing that there was nothing he could do to save
her. Every day he prayed to God that He take Donal in Mary's place.
She was too gentile of a woman to suffer such a disease.
Maybe God had listened to him. Donal knew he'd be with Mary again.
Soon.
Mick had been closer to his mother than Donal. It was apparent
by the time they spent together. He toiled beside her in the garden
as much as he did in the kitchen. Donal didn't believe it was
a man's place, the kitchen. More often than not the evening meal
had been partially prepared, if not all, by Mick, especially as
Mary grew more frail. There was nothing Mick wouldn't do for his
mother.
When Mary died, Donal suspected something in Mick died too.
He was 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. 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.
Mick was close with his mother, but it was no reason to abandon
his father and responsibility to the farm. Where was the boy now
when he needed him the most?
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 that Kate understood his frustration.
Would Mick get upset knowing that Donal considered Kate more
of a child to him than his own son? Probably. But what did it
matter. Mick was in Dublin and would never know how his father
felt. He didn't care to ask, and worse, he didn't care to listen
when Donal tried to tell him.
Well, whatever time he had left on this green earth he needed
to make the most of it. He would not allow his son to lose the
farm. Donal spent his whole life toiling over the farm 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
wouldn't let Mick lose the farm. It was his birthright. Whether
he wanted it or not.
"Aye, girl, and you're probably right. But ye are the daughter
I was never blessed with." Kate only glanced at him, not
knowing what to say when Donal grew nostalgic. He was in one of
his moods. She could see it in his eyes. His body seemed to slump
more when he thought about his son.
Kate called Mick weekly to keep him up to date on his father's
condition. That's all Mick seemed to want. Most of the time she
only got his answering machine. Mick was too busy to return her
calls. And when she did get him on the phone he was barely civil.
There was no love lost between Kate and Mick. Ever since she
was fifteen and he sixteen things between them had been strained.
She remembered a time when they were best friends. Being from
neighboring farms they visited each other every day. They seemed
to live in each other's hip pockets from the time they were born.
Something happened suddenly and unexplainably that caused Mick
to stop talking to her. When she'd go to Fairhill Farm he refused
to see her and he never came over to Conneely Farm unless he absolutely
had to. He avoided her at school and often opted for getting off
the school bus the stop before or after theirs just to avoid walking
home with her. Even as adults and her nursing his parents, Mick
was very curt with her. She didn't understand it and he wouldn't
talk to her.
Kate looked at Donal Spillane now. She could see Mick in him
easily enough at this age. She'd seen pictures of Donal around
the house to know she was right. Both men shared the same thick,
curly dark hair, though Mick wore his slightly long while Donal
kept his trimmed. They shared the same wide smile with full lips
and straight white teeth, the same mossy eyes framed with thick,
dark brows, the same round boy-like face. They were both of a
similar height and weight, lean and athletic.
Because of their ages, the differences between the two men were
now stark. Donal's hair had gone almost white, his mossy eyes
looked more gray than green and his skin was sallow. Dark circles
rimmed his eyes. There was a distinct wheeze in every breath.
And his body was so fragile that Kate's heart tightened every
time she watched him move around the house. She could still see
Mick in Donal but the emphysema had taken its toll.
Because she was at Fairhill Farm daily, Kate saw Donal succumbing
to his disease and it broke her heart. How could it not. Besides
her own father, Donal Spillane was the kindest man she'd ever
met. The love for his late wife still shone in his tired eyes,
a love that Kate could only dream of having for herself. He loved
his son too. She knew that if he hadn't, Mick's absence wouldn't
have continually crept into their conversations.
Kate had tried talking to Mick but he just wouldn't listen.
More often than not, it was the answering machine she talked to
than the man himself. She doubted he even listened to her full
messages, opting to hit the delete button before the message ended.
"That boy of mine," Donal sighed, shaking his head with
obvious sadness.
As if cueing into Donal's mood change, Molly padded over and
shoved her nose into the weathered hand that lay on his lap. Kate
watched as he lovingly ran his trembling fingers over her head
to scratch behind the Collie's ears.
For months, Donal knew he was sick. He just never told anyone.
That was his way. He never talked about his problems. He hadn't
told anyone that his days were numbered until the doctor put him
on the oxygen tank. When it was obvious he was ill he was forced
to tell someone. Donal had told Kate's father, his closest friend,
before he even told his own son. It made Kate sad to think that
Donal didn't think his son loved him enough to tell him himself.
More likely than not, Donal had tried to tell Mick but he wouldn't
listen.
Liam Conneely had been the one to tell Mick. Over the phone.
That's when Mick had come home with the beautiful little black
and white puppy, using Donal's birthday as the excuse, as if he
needed one. Donal explained that Mick had handpicked her out of
the litter because he liked the white blaze on her snout and the
heart shape spot on her forehead. Donal had named her Molly the
moment the pup hit his lap. He'd said, "My, and aren't you
a hairy Molly." The dog's head perked up at the name and
seemed to respond to it, so it stuck.
There was some love between father and son, Kate could tell
with the gift of Molly. Although, Kate suspected that there was
more love on Donal's side than Mick's.
She loved Donal Spillane as if he was her own father so it was
painful to see his body all but given up, his heart breaking with
missing his wife and son. Each day was a struggle to return, but
she knew she must. She couldn't be that selfish. Donal enjoyed
the attention and the company.
Kate felt tears well up in her eyes as she looked at the old
man, his fingers trembling as Molly licked them.
"Come, now, Molly," Kate called to the dog, trying
to sound joyful. "I think she needs to go out, Mr. Spillane."
At the word "outside" Molly rushed to the front door.
Taking Molly outside for a while would help dry Kate's eyes. "We'll
be back in a jiffy."
Once the door had shut behind Kate, Donal sighed heavily. He
meant it when he told Kate that she was the daughter he never
had. And he loved her like one too.
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 that Donal 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, but Donal knew that she
was saving him from having to use a cane, bless her soul! Even
though he knew he was dying he couldn't quite acknowledge that
he was sick enough to require a cane.
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 where Kate had taken Molly.
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 pups 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 drive the birds toward the henhouse.
Donal had known the dog didn't need to go out. This was Kate's
way of giving him some time alone with his own thoughts.
He knew 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 was hoping
for a job at Galway Hospital when Mary became ill. 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 been spending every
free moment on his farm caring for Mary and now himself, and training
the pup he should be training. She'd wasted two years of her life
caring for the parents that Mick should have been caring for and
it angered him.
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 towards 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 saw concern
in her eyes as she waved. Molly rushed through the door ahead
of Kate and rushed to Donal's side, nuzzling his pocket where
he kept the treats. Molly took the treat delicately from his fingers
then wandered over to lay beside his chair to gobble it up.
Kate went to his side and put her arm around his waist for support.
"Let me help you now, 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 in 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.
"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 as usual, but he had things to do before he could
sleep. He'd sleep enough when he was finally dead.
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