“Look, just look! I don’t think we’ve ever had so many people in town, not since—”
“Not since ever.” Aileen laughed in disbelief.
“Father Byrne must be having fits. It’s the modern world, laying siege to the village.”
“Haven’t seen him all morning,” Oona said.
“He’s probably barricaded himself in the vicarage.”
“How do you think people heard about the lace anyway?”
“It was the mention on Wear in the World, wasn’t it? You know, that fashion program? Everyone watches it. Word’s been spreading fast. It’s all over Dublin, all over London,” said a woman who was ordering the Celtic cross pattern. “Did you see the reporters coming down the hill? They want to speak to you. It’s big news.”
“Wear in the World? But I didn’t send anything to them,” Bernie said. “I mean, I never thought they’d—”
“Wait a minute,” Oona said. “Isn’t that your show, Maeve?”
“Yes.” Colleen’s daughter could no longer suppress a smile. “It was me—or rather, it was Mam. She sent me the lingerie for a birthday present a couple of weeks ago. She said you’ve been making lovely things with the lace. She knew I’d see how special they are—and my producers would too. ‘Leave the door open,’ she used to tell me, ‘and see what comes in.’ I told her I’d like to do a piece on the lace—on all of you. There’s a camera crew up the road, waiting for my signal. What do you think of that?”
“It’s mad—and wonderful!” Bernie said.
“Mam told me the details, but swore me to secrecy. She wanted it to be a surprise. She was going to tell you today. And that’s why I waited until now to let you know. Because it’s what she wanted. It’s her gift to you.”
“And what a gift it is,” Bernie said.
Oona shook her head, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, Colleen. Colleen McGreevy. You really are something.”
Chapter 32
Fame & Fortune
The website, which they managed to launch with Sullivan’s help (he asked a friend at the bar in Kinnabegs to monitor it until they worked out a better system), received so many hits, the server jammed. The electronic mailing list swelled into the thousands. The women called an emergency meeting at the workshop the next day.
Bernie rubbed her forehead, reviewing the paperwork. “I wish Colleen was here to help us with the figures. She was always good with numbers.”
They nodded, exchanged somber glances.
“How can we possibly meet the demand?” Aileen spoke next. “We never expected anything like this.”
Bernie thought for a moment. “People need to realize this is a cottage industry, that our pieces are manufactured on a small scale, that handmade items are special. They take time, but they’re worth it.”
“Still, we can’t handle it all ourselves,” Moira said.
“No, and perhaps that’s the beauty of it,” said Bernie. “We’ll form sewing circles along the coast. Think of the women we know in the area whose families can’t make a living from the fishing anymore. Oona, you and I will make the calls tomorrow. We should be able to get this off the ground within the next couple of weeks. We don’t want to lose our momentum.”
“What about quality control?” Oona asked. “We don’t want anything shoddy going out.”
“We’ll have everything go through the shop. Nothing leaves without our approval,” Kate said. “We’ll have set designs, as well as limited editions.”
“What about special orders?” Moira asked.
“Yes,” Kate said, details of a business plan taking shape in her mind. “But only for those who can afford the fee.”
“Let’s put a gold-edged card in each package, written in Gaelic and English, ‘Made for You by Sheer Delights,’” Bernie said. “I’ll place an order with the printers this afternoon.”
“I hate to mention this,” Aileen said, and for once she seemed truly loath to be the one to point out a problem. “Where will we get the seed money? We don’t have any funds coming in yet.”
“I’ll talk with McClaren at the bank. He must have seen the news. He’ll see the potential,” Bernie said.
“Not without someone to guarantee the loan,” Aileen said.
“Da and Niall have been taking up a collection. You wouldn’t believe how many people from the village have been chipping in.”
“It won’t be enough—”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” said Bernie. “Let’s take it one step at a time. It will work out. I know it will.”
“I can help,” Kate said. She thought of her mother’s house, which she’d yet to put up for sale, the modest inheritance she’d hardly touched.
“We can’t ask you to do that,” Bernie said.
“It’s what my