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

shouldn’t be
trusted. You’ve been out scarcely a week,
and it’s been so long since you’ve—”
    Michael’s hand sliced through the air between
them. “There are some parts of my life I deserve to keep private.
If you’re wondering whether I plan to drop onto one knee and
propose marriage to a woman I met two days ago, I’ll tell you the
answer’s no. Anything else I intend to do—with Kylie or any other
woman—is my business, and mine alone.”
    His anger began to fade as quickly as it had
risen. After all, Vi had said no more than he’d been thinking since
he’d first seen Kylie. “Give me some room, Vi, and I’ll give you
the same with your men.”
    Her eyes sparkled with
humor. “Men? I don’t have even
one.”
    “ Not one? Amazing.” He moved
closer and ruffled her already wild hair. “Then I’ve made myself an
easy bargain, haven’t I? Now tell me where to find Kylie’s
school.”
    “ After the bank, I will, and
not a moment sooner.”
    Kylie probably wouldn’t be free ‘til
lunchtime, so Michael didn’t bother to object.
    “ And until then,” Vi said,
pointing to an old apothecary’s chest, gap-toothed with missing
drawers, “you can give me a hand with this. I bought it for storage
but it’s never lived up to its purpose.”
    Michael walked to the jumble. As he touched
the first piece of wood, memories spun back at him. Summers at
Nan’s spent fixing odd bits of furniture that had languished in a
shed for decades. Building her a kitchen table and chairs from an
idea so clear in his mind that he’d never felt the need to put
pencil to paper. The hard work, even the cuts and gashes as the
body grew too tired to keep up with the mind. All of it joyous.
    Michael smiled. He’d gone too long without
this sort of pleasure. In prison, he’d taken a great number of
correspondence courses, things like business and literature and
mathematics. Anything to keep his brain active while he he’d been
caged. He’d wanted to work on his carpentry, but the authorities
weren’t particularly receptive to activities that could arm
prisoners with awls and chisels.
    Hands almost itching with need, Michael began
sorting through the broken parts in front of him. Oak, and a
century and more old, he guessed. A fine piece. Handmade, and
deserving of restoration. A grand job it would be. With nimble
fingers he fitted together two dovetailed pieces. Almost as natural
as spending time with Kylie O’Shea, Michael thought and smiled. And
if he couldn’t be doing one, he’d just as well be doing the
other.
    “ There’s more than a
morning’s work here,” he said to his sister. “But it’s fine
craftsmanship—too good to waste for storage.”
    Vi gave the chest a skeptical look. “That
you’ll have to prove to me.”
    “ It’s been years since I’ve
done anything like this.” Digging through his sister’s toolbox he
muttered, “No clamps at all. No point in putting it back together
if I can’t make it stay.”
    “ Stop over at the hardware.
I’m sure they’ll have whatever you need.
Besides, I hear they’re looking for help.”
Never once looking up from the soft mountain of yarn she sorted, Vi added in a breezy voice, “But in your spare time, perhaps you could think
about building me a bench for outside the
shop. I thought it would be a nice touch.
And maybe a new display case or two. If
you’ve a mind to, that is.”
    Some forms of prodding were more tolerable
than others.
    “ I might,” he said in an
offhand way while mentally ticking down a list of tools he’d need.
And space to work, he thought, glancing around Vi’s crowded studio.
But if he moved aside that pile of canvases, and perhaps that bench
over there...
    “ Don’t even be thinking of
it,” Vi warned, now looking at him through narrowed eyes. “Not a
thing moves in this room. If you’re needing more space while you
work, I know of some a bit out of town.”
    He felt himself being led down a path,
complacent as any