not afford a better house, especially when she discovered that few of the poverty-stricken citizens of County Clare had the least interest in the lessons in deportment, French, and watercolors she intended to teach. For the most part, they were more concerned with the constant struggle to keep themselves and family from starving to death. Mama’s only salvation came from the Gaelic-speaking citizens of County Clare who wished to learn English. The small sums she earned from her English lessons, combined with her prudent management of the eight hundred pounds from the townhouse, enabled the O’Fallons to eke out a meager existence for nine years.
Now the money was almost gone.
At least Mama had added a kitchen, and spent some of their precious money for a stove. Evleen, in particular, was grateful. After Mama, who had never prepared a meal in all her life, cooked one disastrous dinner, Evleen took over the kitchen. For these past nine years, while Mama taught her lessons, Evleen was in charge of the cooking, as well as the housekeeping and care of the younger children.
When someone asked why she hadn’t married, she could honestly answer she hadn’t found the time.
But now the children were of an age to take care of themselves. At twenty-three, Darragh was ready to marry, that is, if any man would have her. Sorcha was fifteen, Mary fourteen, and Patrick a very wise ten. Evleen had thought more than once with some amusement that her excuses for not marrying were wearing thin. She had been putting Timothy off for years, but it was time she made up her mind.
When Evleen and Timothy arrived back at the cottage after their stroll, they found Evleen’s half-brother, Patrick, outside taking feed to his rabbits, kept in hutches at the back of the cottage. His face lit when he saw Timothy, and he called, “You’re stayin’ for dinner, are you not?”
“If I’m invited.”
It was a ritual. Of course, Timothy was invited. He came for dinner every Sunday. And I’ll be having Sunday dinner with him all the rest of my life, and the rest of the days, as well. The prospect did not fill Evleen with delight. What’s the matter with me? She reached to ruffle Patrick’s red hair that was so like their mother’s, or, to be more accurate, the color Mama’s hair used to be before it faded and finally turned white. “Timothy’s staying for dinner, Patrick. Why don’t you show him your new baby rabbits?”
As an enthusiastic Patrick led Timothy away, Mama came to the door. How wan she looks. She used to stand straight as a board, but now her shoulders slump and she leans against the door. But then Mama smiled, and when Mama smiled she lit up the world. “Did you have a nice walk with Timothy?” she asked.
“Yes, we did.”
Mama lowered her voice. “Did you talk about a wedding date?”
“Not yet.”
Mama crossed her arms and sighed. “Evleen, you have been the best daughter in the world. You’ve had little fun these past nine years. Hard work is all you’ve known, never thinking of yourself, but sacrificing for the family.” Mama drew herself up. “Well, that’s an end to it. You must put yourself first now. Darrah will be marrying soon, I’m sure. It’s time you got yourself married and had your babies. It’s time... what on earth?”
Mama was looking beyond her, down the steep, rutted driveway that led to the cottage. Evleen turned to see what her mother was staring at. To her astonishment, a coach with a fancy seal emblazoned on the side, drawn by four matched bays, came rolling up the narrow, bumpy driveway. There appeared to be one male passenger inside, an elegantly dressed gentleman in a polished beaver top hat. He was slender, dark-haired and dark-skinned, and appeared to be thirty or so.
Evleen frowned in puzzlement. How utterly out of place the elaborate coach looked in this God-forsaken little part of the world where rough-hewn ox-carts were more the vogue. Not that they had many visitors. What few they did have arrived either on foot or in a cart drawn by a donkey or some nag of a horse. Never had a coach or carriage even half as fancy as this one come up that hill, not even the vicar’s. “Whoever can it be?” asked Evleen.
A look of foreboding came over her mother’s face. “I don’t know who it is,” she replied. “I can only hope my scoundrel of a second husband hasn’t come