Byrne, reserved as ever.
“He didn’t show up with communion wafers, did he?” Oona whispered to Colleen as they pulled the bread from the oven.
“No, berry muffins. Mrs. Flynn said he made them himself. They’re rather good.”
“Who knew he had a sweet side?”
“Don’t let it fool you.”
Denny and Niall’s voices carried through the window. “Did you hear on the news that Guinness is considered an old man’s drink now?” Denny asked.
“We know best, don’t we?” Niall took a sip and smiled in satisfaction. “The wisdom of the elders—”
“Yes, but it’s more serious than that: the sales are falling off for the first time. Can you believe it? I never thought I’d live to see the day. I mean, they’re buying more Guinness in Nigeria than they are in Ireland, for feck’s sake.”
“Language, Da,” Oona warned as she passed by with a tray of crudités and dip.
“Nigeria?” Niall looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“The young Irishmen aren’t drinking it the way they used to. Their commutes are too long; they don’t have time to pop out to the pub with the boys for a pint anymore, and when they do, they like the lighter stuff. Designer ales. Sacrilegious, it is. The whole country is beginning to fall apart.”
“Not here.”
“Not yet. We should launch a campaign. I can see the T-shirts now: ‘Save the Guinness’ on one side, ‘Don’t Go to Ale’ on the other.”
“I’d wear one. Size XXL on account of my belly.” Niall patted his stomach. “I’d walk up and down the center of town getting the word out.”
“What are you two cooking up now?” Oona asked as she handed them each a bowl of beef stew and bread, so they wouldn’t have to stand in line.
“We’re having an important meeting about saving the Guinness,” Denny told her.
“The Guinness won’t be in danger as long as you two are around.” She laughed.
Kate found herself next to Father Byrne in the buffet line, near the kettle of stew. Stew, another word for trouble, her grandmother used to say—at least with him nearby. “Good afternoon, Father Byrne,” she said to be polite. She couldn’t bring herself to refer to him in the shortened form. Father. It sounded too paternal, too familiar, especially when he looked at her with such accusing eyes.
“Good afternoon, Miss Robinson.” He kept to the formal mode of address as well. Everyone else in the village called her Kate. Not him. “Still soaking up the local sights, are you?”
“Yes. There’s a lot to see.” She ladled stew onto her plate, dripping some over the side, fumbling to wipe it up, him watching her every move. At least she hadn’t spilled it on her clothes—she’d worn a dress she’d found at a vintage shop in Dublin in honor of the occasion (and the possibility of seeing Sullivan—she hoped he could make it; he was leaving town that day, but said he’d try to stop by). Her heart was beating faster than usual thanks to the proximity of the priest, his cold eyes, his disapproving mouth. The last thing she wanted to do was engage in a conversation with him, and yet he’d drawn her into one, like a spider to its web, and she could see no way out.
Why was she so nervous around him? It wasn’t as if she had anything to be afraid of, and yet to her frustration, he continued to intimidate her.
“I wouldn’t have thought we had enough to keep you here. We have so few tourist attractions.” He served himself some stew with a firm hand.
“It’s a beautiful place—and the people have been so friendly.” Except for you.
“They’re trusting souls.” He set a hard roll on the edge of his plate.
She served herself salad, keeping her movements slow and steady. “They’ve been very kind to me.”
“The lace makers most of all. You’ve been studying with them quite extensively, I hear.”
“They’ve been patient teachers.” She poured herself a glass of lemonade, the ice tinkling, her hands shaking now. She hoped he didn’t notice. She didn’t want him to know how much he unnerved her. He’d probably consider it confirmation that she had something to hide.
“Surely, your apprenticeship must be almost complete.”
“It’s only beginning.” She had no intention of leaving—certainly not on account of him. “There’s much to learn.”
“And they’re learning from you as well, though it might not be all to the good. Some traditions shouldn’t be tampered with.”
“That’s not what—,” she protested, feeling as if she’d walked directly into a trap he’d laid for her.
“Kate, there you