Keely stared down at the picture. Her mother had never kept old photos around the house. She had never considered this odd until she’d grown older and asked about her long-dead father and her grandparents, suddenly anxious for any proof of their existence. There was even a time when she’d wondered if she’d been adopted or kidnapped by pirates or even left in a basket on the church…
Her gaze instantly froze on the pretty young woman standing near the sea. It was her mother, there was no doubt about that. She pointed to the photo. “That’s Fiona Quinn,” she said.
“Yes,” Maeve said. “And there’s your father, Seamus Quinn.”
“My—father?” Keely asked, her voice dying in her throat. She ran her fingers over the faded edges. “This is my father.”
“He was always a handsome devil,” the old woman said. “A favorite of all the girls in the village. But he only had eyes for your mother, and though her parents didn’t approve of the match, there was nothing that could stop them. I expect he still is quite dashing, though that black hair has surely turned to gray.”
Keely’s heart lurched and she felt the blood slowly drain from her brain. Her father was dead. Didn’t this woman know? He’d been gone for so many years, since just after she was born. Her mother had to have sent the news in a letter or at least made a phone call. Or maybe Maeve had simply forgotten her relatives so far away. Though the woman didn’t appear to be feebleminded, Keely decided to forgo the revelation about her father’s death. The last thing she wanted was her new cousin to collapse from a heart attack at learning the sad fate of Seamus McClain.
Instead, Keely continued to stare at the only image she’d ever seen of her father. He was handsome, with his dark hair and fine features. Had she passed him on the street in New York she would have turned for a second look. Now she had an image to fix in her mind, a face to put with her father’s name. “He is handsome,” Keely murmured.
“All the Quinn men were,” Maeve said. “And I do believe they knew it, too.”
“Here’s another photo taken that same day. I believe it was the day they left for America. Taken with the boys. I remember trying to get them all to stand still for a photo was nearly impossible.”
“The boys?” Keely asked, following Maeve’s finger to the next page of the album.
“And here they are again,” Maeve said, pointing to another photo.
Keely glanced down at the picture, the color images washed out by time. This time Fiona and Seamus were surrounded by five young boys of various ages and sizes. “Are these your children?” Keely asked.
Maeve laughed as she pulled the photo from the album. “Then you don’t recognize them? Why, these would be your brothers. Let me see if I remember correctly. The eldest was Conor. And then there was Brendan and Dylan, though I can’t remember which of those two comes first. I suppose they’re all grown and married now, with families of their own. And the twins. Now what were their names?” She turned the photo over. “I do believe your mother was pregnant.” She pointed to the swell beneath Fiona’s windblown dress. “That was probably you.”
Keely quickly pushed to her feet. This couldn’t be right. This wasn’t her family. This wasn’t her story. She didn’t have brothers. She was an only child! “I really should go,” she murmured. “I’ve already taken too much of your time.”
“But you haven’t touched your tea. Please stay and visit with me.”
“Perhaps I’ll come again tomorrow,” Keely said, desperate to find a moment to herself, a moment to think about what Maeve had told her.
“Well, here, then. Take this with you.” She handed Keely the photo, who reluctantly took it and tucked it in her purse before she hurried to the door.
“Tomorrow,” she said as she stepped outside into the soft rain that had begun to fall.
By the time she reached the car, her mind was spinning with confusion. She wanted to believe Maeve Quinn was a crazy old lady who couldn’t keep her facts straight. But every instinct told her that Maeve was in full possession of her faculties and she was the one who didn’t have the story right.
Keely numbly started the car and steered it down the road. But her head pounded and her stomach roiled. A wave of nausea overtook her and she slammed on the brakes and stumbled out of the car. Bracing her hands on the front bumper, she retched, her emotions overtaking her body. When her stomach finally settled, she took a ragged breath and pressed her palm to her forehead.
Damn it, why did this always happen to her! This was what she got for acting so impulsively. Yet she couldn’t be sorry she’d come. Ireland had revealed a past she’d never known, a past her mother had hidden from her for years. And if this wasn’t the truth, then she’d be damn sure she’d get the truth, either here or back in the States. On wobbly legs, she slipped back into the car.
Keely withdrew the photo from the pocket of her purse and stared down at it. The faces of the five boys were undeniably familiar. If they weren’t her brothers, then they were most certainly related. Minutes passed, but Keely couldn’t take her eyes off the photo. A knock on the car window startled her out of her thoughts and she turned to find a grizzled old man staring at her with a toothless smile. A tiny scream burst from her lips.
“Are ye lost?” he asked.
Keely rolled the window down a few inches. “What?”
“Are ye lost?” he repeated.
“No,” Keely said.
“Ye looked lost,” he said. He rubbed his chest then hitched his thumbs in the straps of his tattered overalls and glanced up at the sky. “It’s a soft auld day, that it is. You sure you’re not lost?”
“I’m not,” she snapped.
The old man shrugged and started down the road. But before he got more than a few yards from the car, Keely jumped out and ran after him. “Wait!” she called.
He turned and waited for Keely, his hands now shoved in the pockets of his overalls.
“Have you lived in this village for a long time?” Keely asked.
“All me life,” the old man replied. “Not long. But long enough.”
“If I wanted to find out about a family that used to live here, who would I ask?”
“Well, Maeve Quinn would be the one. She’s lived here for—”
“Besides her,” Keely said.
The old man scratched his grizzled beard, then moved on to the top of his balding head. “Ye can try the church,” he suggested. “Father Mike has tended this flock for near forty years. He’s married sweethearts and buried old folk and christened every child in the village.”
“Thank you,” Keely said. “I’ll talk to him.” She turned and started back toward the car, but once she got back inside, she was hesitant to put the car back into gear.
Did she really want to know the truth? Or would it be better to just believe that Maeve Quinn was some crazy old lady? But if Maeve did have her facts straight, it
