Of Irish Blood by Mary Pat Kelly Read Free Book Online

told us, and his grandfather before him, Granny Honora had said.
    “Always will need blacksmiths, if only for racehorses,” my brother James put in.
    “You should know,” Henrietta said. “The money you waste betting at Brighton Park track.”
    So a split vote on automobiles in our house, but now I can go home and say I’ve seen one.
    The fellow climbs the steps and even before he pushes the goggles up on his head I know. Tim McShane, standing right in front of us. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
    Ed speaks up first. “Quite a beautiful motorcar. An Oldsmobile, right?”
    “Did it break down?” John asks.
    “Not at all,” Tim says. “I’m on my way to check my horses, and I saw you all in the shadows. Such a pleasant group, I couldn’t help but stop. Hello, Mrs. Larney. Are those the famous cookies your son keeps talking about?”
    “Well, John does like my engelsaugen ,” Aunt Kate says. “My German father taught my Irish mother the recipe.”
    John walks over to him. “I don’t remember discussing my mother’s cookies with you, Mr. McShane,” he says.
    “I suppose a police detective’s life is so full he’s bound to forget a few things,” Tim says.
    Aunt Kate looks from John to Tim and back, aware of the tension. And surprised at her son’s bad manners. But she’s too hospitable and too curious about the automobile not to invite Tim to join us. John’s shaking his head as I say, “ Engelsaugen mean’s angel eyes.”
    And doesn’t Tim McShane wink at me.
    “I look forward to sampling them,” Tim says.
    “I’ll just get another glass,” Aunt Kate says.
    “Let me, Aunt Kate,” I say, and head into the house, passing Tim as he takes the empty chair next to mine.
    “Hurry,” he says to me softly.
    My hand actually trembles as I take a glass from the kitchen cabinet. In Granny’s stories, fairies or a pooka arrive riding a magic horse. Dear God, are they using automobiles now?
    On the porch Tim touches my hand as he takes the glass, and I feel the spell taking hold. Pull away, Nonie, pull away, I tell myself.
    “Thank you, Miss Kelly,” he says.
    “You’re welcome, Mr. McShane.”
    “Tim—please. This is our third meeting.”
    “Third?” Ed says.
    “All by accident,” I say. “On the tram, at Henricci’s, and now here.”
    “Oh yes, all accidental,” Tim says.
    John looks a question at Rose but she nods and smiles. Thinking of tickets for Dolly McKee’s concert, I bet, while I’m drowning.
    “Happy accidents,” Tim says, biting into a cookie. “Wonderful.” He smiles at Aunt Kate, who nods at him. “Angel eyes,” he says to me.
    “So nice to have young people together,” Aunt Kate says. And doesn’t she tell him about our new jobs—my designs for dresses, Rose’s patterns, and Mame’s letter writing.
    And Tim McShane says, “Such talented women, and beautiful too.”
    John just grunts.
    But Rose speaks up. “And how is Mrs. McKee, Mr. McShane?”
    “Tim, please,” he says. “Fine, excellent. Onstage right now and taking her bows.”
    “I’d have thought you’d be there,” I say.
    “No, Nora. We lead quite separate lives. Very good friends though, and have been for a long time.”
    “So I hear,” I say.
    “She owns the team of champion horses I train. I met her when I was a young lad cleaning stables and exercising the horses for Jim Boyle. This grand lady came sweeping in telling Jim she was moving all of her horses to his stable. Took an interest in me.”
    “And were your parents in the racing business, too, Tim?” Aunt Kate asks.
    “Yes, but my dad died young, Mrs. Larney. We lived in Saratoga, and my father was a trainer.”
    “Saratoga—a place I’ve always wanted to visit,” Mame says.
    “Nothing better than a long soak in those mineral springs,” he says, looking at me again.
    I can’t help but see him stretched out naked, water bubbling around him, and damn if he doesn’t know what I’m thinking.
    “And did your parents drown?” John