The Last Bride in Ballymuir by Dorien Kelly Read Free Book Online Page A

he’d
pay for out of his small stash of pocket money. It wouldn’t do to
have Vi buy her own flowers, or Kylie’s, either.
    Grabbing the flowers, a bunch of grapes, and
a sweet pastry sealed in crinkly plastic, he left the remainder of
the purchases to be carted to Vi’s by Seamus Spillane’s son. After
thanking the grocer, Michael strolled down the steep hill toward
the harbor. While popping grapes into his mouth with all the relish
of a Roman at a banquet of old, he nodded greetings to the few
people out and about.
    In spite of the wind’s sharp teeth, Michael
slowed and gazed in shop windows. Pubs with bicycle rental
counters, bookstores, and bakeries tucked in the same small space,
this town was a tribute to creativity and survival. And
freedom.
    Freedom, it was a heady
thing. He could scarcely understand—or believe—that it wouldn’t be
pulled from him. But he had to believe, for
as Vi had said, it would surely kill him to
go back there again. These money problems, needing work and a home,
all were small compared to what he’d been through.
    As he walked by the solemn
stone front of the bank, he recalled yesterday’s promise to Vi. He
would open the account and buy the car, all the easier to explore
this wonderful new world. But he would also
keep a record of his expenses and pay her back as soon as he found a job. Stubborn Kilbride that she
was, if she wouldn’t take the money, he’d save it for the children
she was sure to have one day.
    He rounded the corner to the arts village and
quickly spotted Vi’s studio. As he stepped through the door, the
breath was hammered from him. If the market had been a riot of
textures, this was a damned war. Vivid flowing colors battled for
his attention. Fluttering banners, fabric sculptures that breathed
with life, abstract paintings so hungry and demanding. He dropped
the flowers and pastry on the nearest surface that didn’t seem to
be alive and bolted from the room.
    “ Enough,” he said after
dragging in a breath of cold air. Leaning against the rough,
whitewashed outer wall of the studio, Michael rubbed a hand over
his eyes as if trying to wipe away the overload of
images.
    “ Are you all right?” he
heard his sister say.
    Hitching a thumb over his shoulder, he asked,
“How do you sleep at night, with all that in your head?”
    “ Sometimes I don’t. It’s too
much, and all of it fights to get out at once.” She reached over
and smoothed a hand through his hair, a sign of affection he
remembered from Nan a lifetime before. “Perhaps I should have fed
my art to you in small doses.”
    He shook his head. “It’s more a cumulative
reaction. These past few days, all the people, the places. And then
your art—”
    Vi grinned. “Enough to send a customer
screaming into the street, you think?”
    “ Not this lifetime.” Michael
pulled away from the wall and stood straight again. “Your art’s as
you are—uncompromising. And if people lack the eye to see your
talent, the hell with them. Now let’s go inside, I have a gift for
you.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “A pale one, I’m thinking
now.”
    Back in the studio he handed her a bunch of
flowers. While she arranged them in a vase, Vi made all the proper
noises about the sweetness of his gesture and the beauty of the
blossoms, but she kept eyeing the remaining bouquet on her display
counter. Having learned that volunteering information was a sure
path to trouble, Michael remained silent.
    Finally, Vi swooped up the other flowers and
settled them into a white enameled pitcher. “I don’t need to be
asking whom these are for, do I?”
    Michael took the indirect
route. “Gaelscoil Pearse— do you know where
it is?”
    “ I do,” she said sounding
both resigned and unwilling. She returned to her workbench and
began toying with a large, exotic seashell, something that would
never find its way to Kerry’s rocky strand. “Have you thought,
Michael, that this attraction you have for her