Chapter Five
“Looking through a rose colored prism will open your world to epic possibilities.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
“I’m gobsmacked!” Ivy stepped out of the car and stared at the brick bookstore. She glanced at Peter and seeing the man wince from her expression, Ivy shrugged. “Sorry, my dad used to use this slang term all the time.”
“Don’t apologize. I can tell you’re impressed with The Celtic Knot Bookstore.”
She turned her gaze back to the building. “Extremely. It’s larger than I had expected. And what a perfect name. I love it!” Pulling forth the large key, she was giddy with anticipation of seeing what lay behind the double wooden doors.
“Ready?”
“Yes,” she replied smiling fully.
“Lead on, Ivy Kathleen.”
The gravel path led to four stairs. Quickly climbing them, her hand trembled as she placed the key in the lock. Turning it once, it gave with a loud click. Pushing the door open, the smell of books assaulted her senses. She inhaled deeply. “You can’t get this smell from reading a book on a tablet.”
Walking fully inside the bookstore, her gaze traveled along the many shelves, filled in perfect order with books. A massive polished wooden counter stood to the left. One lone cash register rested regally on the desk. Ivy feared the item would be out-dated, but she pushed aside any fears and absorbed her surroundings. As she made her way slowly over the hardwood floors, certain ones creaked in welcome, and she smiled. There were sections on gardening, travel, fiction, science, biographies, cooking, arts, history, and her favorite, mythology.
Standing on tiptoe, she could make out another room. Etched above the entrance was the saying, For those that long to return to Neverland. “The children’s area?”
“Aye,” replied Peter. “Wait until you see it, too.”
“Look at all the overstuffed chairs, as well. It’s almost like a library.” Touching the spine of one of the books, she asked, “I never thought to mention, but did my uncle do well here? Make a profit? If I was someone, I believe I’d want to curl—” She dashed to the end of the room.
“Is something wrong?” Peter rushed to her side.
She pointed. “There’s a fireplace in here!”
The man frowned and rubbed his chin. “Aye. Helps to keep the place warm, since the heating is ancient in this place.”
Ivy couldn’t contain her excitement. “But it’s fabulous! I love it!”
“It’s good to hear,” he responded, smiling. “And to answer your earlier question, your uncle had a thriving business. He had visitors from the other villages—many asking for special orders. Would you like to see the rest of the store?”
She rubbed her hands in glee. “Lead the way!”
Peter took over the tour, quickly showing her Thomas’s office and storage area. There was an upstairs loft, where authors would come and do signings and readings. Her excitement overtook the lack of sleep and little food she’d had as she went from place to place inside the store, brushing her hand over books she longed to peruse later.
“It’s more than what I could have hoped for, Peter.” She now rested against the front counter, surveying her new place. “I can hardly wait to see the cottage. It must be a wonder, too.”
Peter scratched behind his ear. “I believe your uncle gave no care for the place, since he spent most of his time here.”
Ivy’s shoulders sagged. “I knew it was too good to be true. Show me the place.”
He led her out the front and circled down a path around the building. Trees bordered the lane and when they emerged forth, Ivy halted.
“You call this a cottage?” She scanned the house, noting two large upper and lower windows.
“We do here. The upstairs was added in the late fifteenth century and became an inn for a brief time in the sixteenth and seventeenth century.”
She grimaced. “Is it habitable?”
Peter glanced over his shoulder at her. “It’s not as a bad as it looks.”
She pointed to the roof. “It’s drooping on one side. And several window panes are broken.” Yet, she couldn’t help but admire the roses blooming in front of the cottage. Ivy wandered slowly to the front of the place and pulled out another large key. “Needs some paint, too,” she muttered.
“It only requires your loving touch. In addition, there’s a stable in the back. I don’t know if you fancy riding, but your uncle loved horses. He always wanted to have a few, but never had the time to make a purchase.”
“How old is this place, Peter?”
“Thomas would boast that it was at least six hundred years old. Of course, there have been upgrades over the centuries.”
Ivy unlocked the door and hesitantly pushed it open. Stepping inside, she glanced around the place. Though the outside needed some repairs, the inside was surprisingly clean. Stairs leading to the second floor were on the left, but it was the library that drew her attention. Volumes of books with spines of warm russet and brown lined many of the shelves. Glancing to her right she spied a sitting room. Two large chairs flanked the fireplace, along with a small sofa in front. The bay window seat captured her attention. Ivy could see herself curled up with a good book and cup of tea.
Making her way down the hall, she peered inside the large kitchen, her eyes wide with delight.
“Wow! It’s wonderful. I love the cream-colored walls. And they kept the hearth open. I can only imagine the meals being prepared centuries ago. Looks like my uncle used it as a drying rack for herbs. Oh, look! There’s an Aga stove!”
Peter edged past her, entering the kitchen. He coughed into his hand as he stood in front of the stove. “There’s a problem.”
Ivy groaned, her joy slipping away. “I’m afraid to ask.”
He held his hands up. “Your uncle was meaning to have one of the local handymen stop by. The Aga stopped working many months ago. Therefore, he started to take his meals at the bookstore. It was his first home.”
Stepping into the kitchen, Ivy dumped her purse on the wooden table and pulled out a notepad and pen. “First on my list: fix the Aga. Second, find someone to thatch the roof.” She glanced up at Peter. “Any other problems before we finish the tour?”
“None other…that I know of.”
“Could you give me some acceptable recommendations?”
He nodded. “Roof or Aga first?”
“Both please.”
“Will do. I’ll place those calls after I bring in your luggage.”
Moving out of the kitchen, Ivy left Peter, and made her way upstairs to the bedrooms. Two rooms appeared as if they were being used for storage, but the third was obviously her uncle’s room. A large chest of drawers set against one wall and the bed, though small, was inviting. Another bay window looked out toward the hills where the river flowed gracefully southward. A few sheep were grazing, and Ivy could see the remains of a ruined castle. Smiling, she left the bedroom and entered the only bathroom, noting there was no shower. “Guess I’ll have to learn to wash my hair like the people here. Sitting in the tub.” She chuckled softly.
Checking inside the hall closet, she took note that her uncle cared less about organizing linens, towels, and such. It was a mess and sorely needed tending to, along with the repairs.
When she stepped back into the sitting room downstairs, Peter was outside talking on his cell. Walking over to the hearth, she peered into eyes she knew so well sitting on the mantel. It was a picture of her and her mother. She recalled the vacation memory fondly and tears welled within her eyes. “What happened?” Her question more a plea, and Ivy closed her eyes wishing someone would reach out from beyond the grave to answer her.
“Are you all right?” Peter asked softly.
Rubbing her eyes, Ivy nodded. She tapped the picture frame. “Strange. All these years I never knew the man existed. How lonely for him.”
Peter stepped near her. “If he was, your uncle never mentioned a word. I have to return to the newspaper, but Norm will try to be here within the hour to check out the Aga. I have a few calls into Tim Stevens, the local thatcher. I’m positive he can re-ridge the damaged area. If he’s not available, I’m sure he can recommend someone. I’ll check back with Sean, too.”
“Thanks Peter. I would have called them myself, but I really appreciate it.”
“A pleasure, Ivy Kathleen, though why don’t you give me your number.” He pulled out his cell and waited.
She arched a brow. Reaching for his cell, she typed in her phone number and handed it back to the man.
Smiling, his fingers flew over the keypad, and Ivy heard her phone ping with an incoming text. “Now you have mine. I’ll ring you later to see if all went well with Norm.”
It’s only business, Peter Sullivan and nothing more. “Thanks, again.”
Watching him sprint down the path, she closed the door and leaned against the wood for support. Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes. Sleep beckoned like a siren, but her stomach protested loudly. Opening her weary eyes, she pushed away from the door and made her way into the kitchen. Flinging open cabinets, she found cans of sardines and crackers in one, another held canisters of tea and sugar. Dumping the sardines in the trash, she sniffed at the crackers. “Most likely stale.” Tossing those into the trash as well, she opened the small fridge. Nothing.
She rubbed at her gnawing stomach and went to fill the kettle for tea. Leaning against the counter, she gazed outward at the bucolic scenery. What was this feud with your brother, Uncle Thomas? How sad. I really want to know what happened. I wish I had known you. So lost in her thoughts, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the soft feminine voice behind her.
“Hello, Ivy Kathleen?”
“Good grief. I thought I was hearing ghosts of the past,” Ivy blurted out.
The woman laughed, the sound filling the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I should have knocked harder. I didn’t think to wait longer for you to answer. I’ve brought you a casserole from the pub. Thought you could do with a hearty meal.”
Ivy smiled at the woman. The delicious aroma drifted past her. “Gosh, it smells heavenly.”
Moving to the counter, the woman placed it on the wooden board. “Good to hear, since there’s nothing to eat in this place.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Erin O’Reilly. I run The Seven Swans Pub along with my brother, Mac.”
Grasping her hand, Ivy nodded. “Your timing is perfect. I’m starving. I just put water on for some tea. Do you want a cup?”
“Tell you what. Why don’t I prepare the tea and you help yourself to the enchiladas.”
Before Ivy could utter a protest, Erin moved past her, taking out several cups, a plate, and silverware. Handing them to her, she watched the woman prepare some tea.
“Lovely teapot,” remarked Ivy as she scooped out a large portion of the food. “I love the shamrocks.”
Erin rubbed her fingers over the china pot. “I believe Thomas mentioned that it belonged to his mother—your grandmother.”
“A pity I never knew them,” she stated. Taking her plate to the small table, Ivy went and retrieved the cups and sugar. She slumped down on the chair, shaking her head.
“I agree,” commented Erin, bringing the pot of tea with her. Sitting down across from Ivy, she poured some tea into their cups. “He refused to talk about the issue with anyone.” She tapped her finger to her chest. “Kept it locked away. Though whenever a package arrived from America, he would beam with pride and shared all with the village.”
“Was it always about me?”
Erin took a sip of her tea. “Always. Not a word about your parents. Only you.”
Rubbing her temples to ward off an impending headache, she tossed aside the questions that tumbled through her mind.
“Eat,” urged Erin. “I’m sure you’ll unlock the secret.”
Ivy glanced down at her plate. “Looks delicious. Never expected to eat enchiladas on my first night in Ireland.”
“We try and mix up the menu at least once a week with something not Irish.”
Taking a bite, Ivy closed her eyes and savored the many flavors. “Mmm…”
The woman chuckled. “I can assume you like the dish?”
Opening her eyes, she smiled. “It’s scrumptious.” Digging in fully, she continued to eat the food, while Erin chatted away.
“Now when you get settled in, you can pop in at the pub. The others would love to meet you. We’ve grown to love the stories about Ivy Kathleen.”
Ivy arched a brow. “You do realize how strange this all seems to me? Especially, how you all keep calling me Ivy Kathleen. Ivy is just fine.”
She waved her hand outward. “Thomas called you that fondly, so it’s one name that has stuck.” Placing her teacup down, Erin added, “Your uncle used to call me Erin Marie. It was a habit of his to call everyone by both their names. And if he knew your confirmation name, he would call you by all three.” She leaned in close and whispered, “I kept mine a secret from the fox.”
“What was it?” asked Ivy taking another bite of her food.
Erin sat up straight. “My lips are sealed.”
Ivy almost choked on her food. “Seriously?”
“Humph! The spirits still have ears, and Thomas might be lurking. I don’t need to hear him calling out my entire name in the middle of the wee hours.”
Clamping a hand over her mouth, Ivy tried to contain the fits of laughter. When she managed to get herself under control, she took a swallow of tea. “I like you, Erin Marie.”
“Likewise, Ivy Kathleen.”
Ivy waved her fork over the casserole. “Don’t you want something to eat? There’s plenty.”
Standing, the woman shook her head. “No. It’s all for you.” Walking over to the chalkboard hanging on the wall, she picked up a piece of chalk. “Here’s the number to the pub, along with my cell. We’re across the street from the bookstore. Difficult not to see the sign. I can take you to the market for supplies.”
“Is it far? I can walk or did my uncle have a car?”
“It’s located at the other end of the village. Thomas has a car, but I’m afraid to tell you that it hasn’t worked for some time. He would walk to the market or have Mac drive him there, depending on what he needed.” Erin nodded to the fridge. “As you can see, he barely had any food. I cleaned out what little he did have in the house after his passing.”
Ivy stood slowly. Not once did she ask how the man died. Or where he was buried. “What happened to him?”
A frown skittered across the woman’s face. “I’m sorry. I thought you were told. He was run over by a car one early evening after he left the pub. Clearly a hit and run, since the bastard never stopped to check on him.”
Ivy placed a hand over her heart. “How horrible. Didn’t anyone see it happen?”
“Not a soul.”
Though the food and tea had warmed her spirit, Ivy felt a chill creep up her spine. Lights danced before her eyes, and her vision became clouded. There was no stopping what would happen next, and she prayed she could remain focused and standing.
The room filled with the screeching of tires, and she watched in horror as her uncle crossed the road, softly whistling a tune. Ivy stood in the road, unable to stop the turn of events she was witnessing. The sunlight was fading quickly in the west as the car barreled down the road, her uncle unaware. The scream lodged in her throat when the car impacted her uncle, tossing him like a rag doll high into the air. He landed with a sickening thud on the road, the car careening onward.
The image vanished as suddenly as it appeared, and Ivy found herself on the floor, trying to take in deep calming breaths.
“Ivy, Ivy Kathleen…can you hear me?” Erin’s soothing voice cut through the fog within her mind.
“All…ri…right,” she stuttered.
“Did you have a vision?” asked Erin, wiping away a strand of her hair from her brow.
Blinking several times, she looked at the woman in shock. “You know?”
“Aye. It runs in the family. Your uncle had them.”
Ivy slumped back against the cabinet doors. “What land have I fallen into?”
Erin extended her arms wide. “Why a land filled with faeries, leprechauns, and Irish people with the gift of sight.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “A strange land…this Ireland.”
Both women burst out in hysterical laughter.