Rescuing Mr. Gracey (5 page)

A tug on her dress diverted her gloom. “Mary, why you sad?” little Joe asked, his eyes wide with worry.

Mary affectionately tousled his blond hair. “I’m not sad, little Joe.” She smiled. “I’m pondering.”

His mouth pulled to a wide O. “What’s dat?”

Mary lifted him up into her arms. “It’s thinking on something so hard, you have to get kind of quiet.”

“Ohhh. Me ponding too.”

Mary wiggled her nose into his tummy until he giggled and wrapped his too-thin arms around her neck. She longed to be a mother. It was time.

Lifting her gaze to the rays of the blue and pink streaking the sky, she pondered her choice further. Despite his bright orange hair that tended to be a wee bit wild, and skin that flushed blustery red, and a smile that showed a few broken teeth, Sean was strong. Built for farming, he would not allow his family to starve. She nodded to herself. Physical attractions wrinkle and wither, but a man’s values never do.

Yet the thought of Sean in a romantic embrace or intimate with kisses caused a sharp stab of discomfort. Intimacy with her childhood friend seemed…wrong.

Mary shifted Joey to her hip, shrugging off the worry. Once the vows were spoken, she was sure that, given the practical and unromantic nature of Sean Dennison, he would not demand more from her than what was required to be a mother.

“Good evening, Father Morgan,” Joseph called to their parish priest as they entered the dance area. The short, round man beamed a smile and waved to the Smyth family.

Besides the Protestant schoolhouse and scatterings of tenant farmer huts, the only other buildings of consequence in Dolly’s Brae were St. Michael’s Catholic Church—really only a small chapel made of stone and wood with a parochial house next door—and Donnelly’s Pub, directly adjacent to the church.

Tonight, the pub lay darkened. Father Patrick Morgan “encouraged” the owner not to raise the anger of the Lord by competing for attention with a church-sponsored event.

“I see plenty of surrounding villages have come to watch the
feis
,” Joseph said to the priest.

“’Tis a good showin’ for our humble dance competition.”

“My daughters wish to thank you for hosting a social dance along with the competition, Father.” Joseph winked. “I’m thinking the gents will thank you as well.”

The priest chuckled. “Aye. ’Tis just what we’ve all been needin’. A wee competition and dance may help erase worries of empty cupboards, and help us forget the upcoming marching season. At least for the night.”

At the mere mention of marching season, Mary’s heart filled with dread. She found the marches to be both provocative and intimidating; the Orangemen would parade through town, accompanied by their marching bands, singing anti-Catholic songs and sparking violent clashes between the Catholics and Protestants.

“Who’s winning the contest, Father?” her da asked.

The priest lifted fluffy white eyebrows. “Who do ya think, Joseph? Mr. Michael Finn from St. Malachy, of course. If ya can imagine it, the man nailed wood onto the bottom of his shoes. It makes a fine tapping sound, to be sure.” Father Morgan folded his arms, his eyes latched on the hopping dancer. “Truth be told, Mick kicks higher than anyone in Dolly’s Brae. One day he’ll move over for another, but ’twill not be this year.”

Joseph’s grin widened, his chin bobbing toward the dancer. “When the prize is more than a wooden plaque and a wee pie, I’ll spare the money to buy shoes with wood on the bottom and win the trophy back for St. Michael’s.”

“I don’t doubt it, Joseph.” The priest chuckled. “Nor dread the day when you can afford such an expense.”

Joseph laughed heartily before turning toward his children. Dimples upon his cheeks, he waved a teasing finger at them. “Don’t make me come looking at night’s end. Don’t be eating more than one share of refreshment. Mind your manners and your virtue.” He placed his hands upon his hips and bent at the waist. “Well, why are you standing about? Go, and have a grand time.”

The Smyth clan scattered, Brian toward the competition, Agnes to find friends. Mary deposited Joey with their parents and then walked toward the dance area.

With the sun now fully set, night shadowed the outskirts of the gathering. Only small lanterns surrounded the dance area, strung up with rope that twisted around occasional tree limbs or wooden posts.

Shielded by a tall oak tree, Mary scanned the competing dancers. Ten men lined up side by side, backs erect, arms stiff and straight as their feet flew in a series of fast-paced, complicated taps, hops, kicks, and turns while the
bodhrán
drummer, piper, and fiddler played songs that increased in speed with each round of the competition. They used precariously balanced barn doors that had been donated by various farmers for their dance floor, but the uneven and unsteady platform caused several to miss or trip during some of the hops or turns and thus forced their elimination.

Mary probed pockets of people, searching for the only person of interest, while her foot impatiently tapped to the music. Where was Sean?

Lily rushed from behind. “Mary, I’ve been waitin’ for ya. I canno’ find the gentlemen from this morn. Do ya see ’em?”

“Lily, stop being
guanag
.” Mary waved away her friend’s question. “I’m looking for Mr. Dennison and not concerned, even the tiniest, about strangers.”

Lily released a startled laugh. “Are ya foolin’ me?”

“I’ll not let my head wander where it does not belong.”

Just then the judges gave over their decision. “And the winner is Michael Finn.” The friendly crowd cheered and clapped.

“I’m wonderin’ when Mick will retire,” said a nearby participant, mumbling loud enough for all to hear.

“Not in your lifetime,” retorted a slim man who strutted about the dance floor, proudly holding up the wooden trophy in one hand and the small apple pie in the other. “I’m tinkin’ da prize ’tis too precious to forfeit.”

The crowd roared with laughter and clapped again. Within a few minutes, the donated doors were collected by their owners and the drummer thumped on his
bodhrán
to announce the start of social dancing.

Giggling women welcomed strolling men seeking a partner, and soon the dance area crowded with dancers.

Lily leaned toward Mary and whispered, “Sure and Mr. Alexander likes country girls, I’m tinkin’ he’s comin’ tonight.”

“Lily, you’re living in fairy-land. Those gentlemen are sure to be in a fancy ballroom plotting ways to steal what little we have.” She nodded toward a group of men drinking from a tin jar. “Attend to Tim O’Neil and leave thoughts of strangers be.”

Lily ignored the comment. “I’ve an itch, Mary.” She held up her pinkie and wiggled it. “Right here. Ya know that means somethin’ ’tis coming, and I’m tinkin’ ’tis tonight with dem gentlemen.”

Butterflies knocked Mary’s stomach. “What a lot of superstitious nonsense.” She waved her hand to cool hot cheeks.

Lily sighed and tossed a frustrated glance. “Sometimes dreams come true even for the Irish.”

“You shouldn’t have invited them,” she said, a peculiar trembling betraying her. “They could be dangerous.”

“If dey comes, dey ain’t the enemy.”

“You’ve been blinded by a handsome face and expensive food inside their satchel.”

Lily giggled. “Aye, the tall gent blinded me, and food don’t hurt none neither.”

At that very instant, as if conjured by the conversation, there—across the floor—the dark-haired stranger stood, hands on hips, blue sparks spearing the crowd.

Mary’s heart froze, then skipped unsteadily.
He’s looking for me.
“They’re not our kind.” She hated the breathless sound of her voice.

He turned, pacing like a sleek, restless panther.

He doesn’t belong.
She could not breathe.
He should not be here…

Mr. Alexander paused directly across from her, his determined gaze searching every hiding spot within the crowded field.

Leave, Mary Smyth. Find Sean.
Her trembling hand clutched her dress as she scooted deeper into shadow, though, inside her thudding heart, she knew she could not hide from this hunter.

~ 4 ~

“And when we came to Westbridge,

 
wasn’t that a glorious sight…”

“Sir. O’ here.” Lily waved, jumping up a bit.

Mr. Alexander swung about. His gaze immediately found Lily. His head tilted, his alert focus shifting, narrowing, piercing the dark shadows.

Like a perfectly aimed arrow, he caught her.

Mary gasped, paralyzed, yet trembling like a bewildered leaf.

His face lightened, and an enticing smile curved his lips. Sweeping his arm across his chest, he bowed but kept his gaze carefully locked upon her.

“Oh, what manners. So easy t’ gawk at, and look at dat smile.” Lily giggled, clearly enjoying the moment. “Mr. Alexander’s so eager ta see ya, he is. Sure and he ain’t goin’ ta ignore ya or talk pigs dis night.”

At least the darkening night shielded her treacherously hot cheeks. Stuffing her hands together, she bid them to stop quaking. “I’m sure Sean is looking for me.” Mary’s voice sounded like a terrified puff of air.

“Is dat a fact?” Lily gave an incredulous laugh. “Well then, look o’er yonder and see yer prince sittin’ with other men, no doubt chattin’ ’bout pigs. He’s no’ even tryin’ ta find ya.”

Mary’s distressed glance crossed the field and found Sean—dressed in ragged work clothes, barely washed from the day’s labor—laughing, joking, and oblivious to the fact that Mary needed his protection from a blue-eyed, black-haired charmer.

“Me little finger always knows when somethin’s comin’,” Lily said, thrusting her finger in front of Mary’s face. “And there he is, comin’ to see ya…”

Alarmed, Mary darted her attention back to the dance area. The stranger had disappeared.

She could not inhale. A tumble of confusion tightened her muscles, pulsed her blood.
Flee, Mary Smyth.

Skittering backward, she hit an immovable wall. Feet tripping, arms flailing, her balance tilted. But then strong hands captured her, drawing her up, bracing her into a protective cocoon of clove and forest. She melted into clean scents and unyielding strength, aware of the warmth against her back, his arms around her own, and something light—almost a caress—brushing her head.

She heard the softest sigh. Did she make that sound, or did he?

Shock jerked her forward. Mary’s slippered foot tangled with his leather boot while her elbow jammed into his stomach. She heard a whoosh of air from the surprising and accidental assault, and, whirling, she only made the matter worse by jabbing her knee into his leg.

He grunted and bent slightly forward, all charm and smiles erased from his expression.

Hand covering her mouth, Mary took three humiliated steps backward.
How could ya, Mary Smyth? Proving to him how silly and ridiculous ya are!
Her gaze shifted to her feet, her hands clasped tightly before her. She dared not one tiny peek to see if the man recovered from her clumsiness.

After a mortifying moment of silence, he cleared his throat. “I feared you were not coming.” An awkward pause followed. His voice lowered slightly. “I almost abandoned staying.”

“Oh? Did ya miss us?” Lily teased.

Though Mary studied her faded blue slippers, she imagined the man touched her—caressing her face, shoulders, arms, and waist—leaving behind a shivery tingling. Her breathing became shallow; her heart fluttered.

“Aye, Miss Lily. The dance lacked all allure until now,” he said.

Lily giggled. “Ah. Ye’re foolin’ us, ya are.”

Daring to finally lift her eyes, first to riding boots, dark trousers, a light muslin shirt opened at the neck—he wore no cravat—Mary found a soft, encouraging smile and gentle eyes.

“Where’s Mr. James? Did ya no’ bring him?” Lily asked.

He answered without lifting his attention from Mary. “Mr. James found himself otherwise engaged.”

Mary remained incapable of moving away, though a tiny voice warned her to do so. Instead, the music in the background, the cool night air brushing against her cheeks, the unsteady beat of her heart, and the intense blue heat from his eyes merged and lifted her out of time.

“Oh. I was hopin’ for a dance.” Lily jammed Mary’s shoulder, but she seemed incapable of reacting.

“What ’bout ye, Mr. Alexander? Ya wanna to take a spin with me?”

Stunned by Lily’s inappropriateness and rudeness, Mary winced back to the present. Pressing her lips together, she once more burrowed her head downward. How could she possibly excuse Lily’s forward request? How could she explain her friend’s lack of propriety to such a gentleman?

Silence swallowed the seconds before she heard his reply. “It would be my pleasure if you would allow me this dance.”

Stiffening, Mary looked up. The gentleman’s arm was extended to Lily! Beyond surprised, Mary felt her mouth dropped.

“Oh, t’ be sure.” Lily beamed, slinging her rough hand through the offered arm.

Regard for the stranger rose a substantial notch. She watched until they faded into the crush of dancers, then she forced herself to look away, reminding herself of the important task of securing a courtship from Sean.