Night Of The Blackbird by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

was a beautiful woman. Katy didn’t dye the tendrils of silver threading through her auburn hair. God was granting her age, in her words. A head full of silver wasn’t going to matter. Katy was trim from moving a thousand miles an hour every day of her life. Her eyes were the green of her old County Cork, and her face had a classical beauty.
    â€œAh, sweetie, I miss you so!” Katy said, kissing her. “It’s been so long.”
    â€œMum, we’re just heading into Saint Patrick’s day. I spent Christmas here. And we all did First Night in the city together, remember?”
    â€œAye, and maybe it’s not so long, but your brother, Patrick, you know, manages to get back at least once a month, he does.”
    â€œAh, yes, my brother. Saint Patrick,” Moira murmured.
    â€œNow would you be mocking the likes of your brother?” The question came from behind Katy. Moira looked past her mother to see her grandmother standing there, Granny Jon. On a good day, Granny Jon might be considered an even five feet. At ninety something—no one, including Granny Jon, was quite sure what year she’d been born—she was still as straight as a ramrod and spry as a young girl. Her keen sense of humor sparkled in hazel eyes as she playfully accosted Moira.
    â€œAnd there—the heart of Eire herself!” Moira laughed, stepping forward to hug her grandmother. As she hugged Granny Jon, she felt the old woman shake a little. Spry and straight she might be, but her grandmother was still a tiny mass of delicate bones, and Moira adored her. She’d given Moira leprechauns and legends, wonderful tales about the banshees being tricked or bribed to go away, and then, when she’d been older, true tales of the fight for freedom for the Irish through long years of mayhem throughout history. She was keen and wise and had seen the battlefield of her city torn to shreds, yet had somehow maintained a love for all the humanity around her, a glorious sense of humor, and a sound judgment regarding both politics and people.
    â€œWhy, Moira, you haven’t aged a day,” Granny Jon teased. “Katy, have a heart now. The girl is out there doing us proud. And she is living in New York, while Patrick has stayed in the state of Massachusetts.”
    â€œUm. As if western Mass weren’t nearly as far away as New York City,” Katy said.
    â€œBut it hasn’t the traffic,” Granny Jon said.
    â€œThen there’s my evil younger sister,” Moira teased, rolling her eyes.
    Katy inclined her head with a wry smile for the two of them. “Well, then, Colleen has gone as far as the west of the entire country now, hasn’t she? And she’d never even consider not being here for Saint Patrick’s Day.”
    Moira sighed. “Mum, I’m here, and I’m even bringing in the non-Irish for you to convert,” Moira told her.
    â€œAh, now, ’tis enough,” Katy said. “We’ll give you a quick cup of tea. Granny Jon was just brewing—”
    â€œAnd it will be strong enough to pick itself up and walk itself right across the table, eh?” Moira said, teasing her grandmother and putting on her accent.
    â€œWe’ll have none of that,” Granny Jon said. “And I do make a good pot of tea, a real pot of tea, nothing wishy-washy about it. And what have we here?”
    The main entry to the living quarters was a foyer, with the kitchen—a very large room with added warmth in winter from the oven—and a hallway leading to the bedrooms, library and office straight ahead. Moira hadn’t heard a thing, but when she looked beyond Granny Jon, she saw three little heads bobbing into sight.
    Patrick and his wife, Siobhan, had nearly repeated her parents’ pattern of procreation; their son Brian was nine and daughters Molly and Shannon were six and four respectively.
    â€œHey, guys!” Moira called delightedly, hunching down