October 1854
Castletownbere, County Cork, Ireland
THE MINUTE JOHN O'Larkin saw her, he instinctively knew with absolute certainty that he would never want anyone else with such ferocity again, not for as long as he lived and breathed.
Her flaming red hair and vivid green eyes were breathtakingly apparent, even from a distance. The late afternoon sun appeared to cast a warm glow around her pale face, giving her an ethereal presence. As she grew closer, he saw the scant dusting of freckles on the bridge of her pert nose and high cheekbones.
It was only then that John paid attention to her two travelling companions. There was a man - perhaps in his forties - and a girl not much older than the red-haired beauty, who were also situated on the wood wagon, being slowly led by an ancient donkey. Who were they? And, more importantly, who was she?
The older man in the wagon raised his hand in greeting. With a slight smile, John rose to his full height from the chair he had been sitting on. Behind him, the O'Larkin cottage stood in the fading sunlight, its whitewashed exterior gleaming with cleanliness. He waved in return, stepping off the porch. He moved with an easy yet long stride, seemingly comfortable in dark brown trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
The older man stopped the wagon in front of the cottage, but John's eyes remained riveted on the girl as he spoke. "Hello," he said with a degree of enthusiasm. "What brings you to Castletownbere on this fair afternoon?"
The man jumped to the ground from the wagon, his hand outstretched. "Hello to you," he said affably. "My name is Dary O'Quinn, from Bantry. These are me two daughters, Anne and Maeve."
John tore his eyes away from the redhead and placed his attention on Dary. "Pleased to meet you, to be sure. My name is John O'Larkin. What brings you so far afield from Bantry?"
While Dary was rather tall with sandy-coloured hair and green eyes, John still towered over him with his long, lean body, somewhat intimidating in his appearance with jet-black hair, sideburns and naturally pale skin. The older man had to look up in order to meet John's azure blue eyes, noticing the prominent yet attractive cleft in his chin.
"We came to Castletownbere to visit with my sister but found her cottage empty. I cannot find a soul who can tell me where she is."
John studied Dary, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I'm a lifelong resident of Castletownbere. Perhaps I know of her. What would be your sister's name?"
"Aoife McCarthy. Her husband is Daniel McCarthy."
John pursed his lips. "The same Daniel and Aoife McCarthy who owned O'Shea's Tavern on the Square?"
Dary nodded. "Indeed. Danny bought the place some years ago, right after he married my sister. I was going there next to look them up."
John knew most of the inner workings of his native Castletownbere, just as his neighbours knew much about him. "They left a fortnight ago," he informed Dary quickly. "Daniel sold the tavern, and then he and Aoife emigrated to America aboard the SS Herman Roosen, taking the Dublin to New York City route. Apparently, Daniel has a brother living in Boston, so they went to seek their fortune across the pond."
Dary appeared stunned. "And she didn't tell me? Aoife and Danny were my only kin in these parts."
John regarded Dary with sympathy. "Perhaps Aoife sent you a letter and you just haven't received it yet," he suggested.
"You're probably right," Dary agreed. "I'll likely have a letter from her when I get home."
John's eyes went back to the redhead, who remained in the wagon as she met his stare unblinkingly. "It's late in the day," he stated suddenly. "Why don't you stay here for the night and return home tomorrow? It's a long road from here to Bantry, I reckon about seven or eight hours. It will be dark soon, so you're more than welcome to pass the night in my humble cottage."
Dary seemed surprised. "That's very thoughtful of you, John. Are you sure we won't be a burden?"
"Not a bit of it," John replied. "I live here alone. It was the cottage of my parents, but they have both passed on. You and your daughters can easily take your rest here before returning to your home in Bantry."
"Thank you kindly, my friend."
John stepped toward the wagon. "May I assist you, miss?" He squinted his eyes at the redhead as he continued. "And which daughter would you be?"
She smiled at him, revealing her even, white teeth. He noticed her full and sensuous lips for the first time, causing him to pause. She held out her hand as she spoke. "I'd be Maeve, kind sir." She glanced over her shoulder to the back of the wagon. "And that is my sister, Anne."
John was momentarily mesmerized by the husky tone of Maeve's voice. For such a petite and delicate young woman, the nuances of her tone were surprising, yet they charmed his ears. He barely nodded to the other sister, who stared at him from the back of the wagon.
Stepping closer, John took Maeve's hand to assist her from the wagon. She was wearing a navy-blue dress with white trim that, while clean, had likely seen better days. She also wore a black cloak about her shoulders. The warm touch of her skin against his and the faint scent of bergamot wafting from her forced him to swallow quickly in order to maintain an air of nonchalance.
"Thank you, kind sir," she said softly.
Not forgetting the manners his mother had instilled in him many years ago, John also helped Anne from the wagon. She and her sister were as physically different as night and day. Where Maeve was small and dainty, Anne was as tall as Dary with golden brown hair and dark coal eyes.
He noticed Anne's hands, which were as large and calloused as that of any man. Being tall, she was also somewhat big-boned. Her face was long and narrow, her lips thin, her feet overlarge and her skin as pale as his own. While not ugly by any means, Anne was still no comely match when compared to Maeve. He found it difficult to believe they were sisters.
Dary watched with interest as John briefly interacted with his daughters. His two girls were exact opposites in almost all things, although they managed to relate to each other in sisterly fashion most of the time. It did not surprise him that John appeared to favour Maeve over Anne. Maeve's outer frailty seemed to draw on the protective nature found in most men, while Anne's lummox bearing did little to endear her to the opposite sex, God love her.
"Let's go inside," John said. "I have a pot of lamb stew on the stove, with freshly-baked bread and recently churned butter."
Anne appeared startled. "You cook your own meals, sir?"
John chuckled. "I'm a bachelor, but I like to eat good food. My sainted mother taught me well."
Maeve giggled, the light sound music to John's ears. "Lucky for us, kind sir," she teased him gently.
The O'Larkin cottage was perched on a slight, sloping hill that afforded a view of Castletownbere Harbour. It had been in John's family for generations. He white-washed the structure every spring, which provided an eye-pleasing contrast with the green-trimmed doorways and windows. The thatched roof was well-tended, and the small yard was fenced with oak slats painted white. There was a lofty barn and a byre behind the cottage, where he kept chickens for eggs and meat, a rooster, a cow, two goats, a sport horse, two donkeys and three pigs. He also planted a large vegetable garden in spring and summer, keeping him well-supplied through the autumn and winter months. The cottage and the graves of his parents, located about eighty feet away, were resting under a large evergreen oak on the right side of the cottage. Other greenery included ash, birch and hazel trees, along with one strawberry tree and a willow.
Just inside the front door of the home was a living area with a long, sage-coloured settee and a dark oak sideboard as the centrepieces. The kitchen and two bedrooms were beyond. The larger bedroom contained a double bed and had an attached porch, an armoire with drawers and a mirrored dressing table and chair. The turf-burning fireplace was remarkable in that it opened into both the large bedroom and the living area, where a deep hearth faced the settee. The second bedroom was much smaller, and used as a library of sorts. Books were lined on a shelf against the wall, while a dressed elm settle bed was positioned underneath a small window.
"You have a lovely home, John," Dary complimented when they entered the living area.
"Thank you, Dary." John strode into the open kitchen and grabbed a slightly dented pewter-coloured bottle from a shelf. "Would you care for a dram of whiskey?"
Dary's eyes brightened with expectation. "Yes, please."
As Maeve and Anne took seats at the rough-hewn wooden table, John continued to talk. "Tell me, Dary, what do you do for a trade in Bantry?"
"I'm a blacksmith," Dary replied as he gratefully accepted a glass of whiskey from John. "I have my own forge on Tower Lane. I've done quite well, even through the years of the famine." He took a sip of the strong liquid, gasping with delight as it burned down his throat. "How do you pass your time?"
"Mussel farming," John returned.
Dary appeared slightly puzzled. "If you don't mind me asking, is it a profitable profession? The famine didn't help you, surely. No one could afford such a fresh catch in those days."
"True," John agreed. "Which is why I bypassed the local markets and sold my plentiful harvests directly to grocers in Kilkenny, Waterford, Killarney, Limerick and Dublin. The profit has been comfortable. It also allowed me to employ four locals to assist in my efforts." He didn't think it fitting to mention the tidy sums he earned every month from dabbling in moonshine production in the Caha Mountains. It was better left unsaid until he knew Dary better.
"Was your father a fisherman as well?" Dary wanted to know.
John nodded. "Yes, as his father was before him. He sent me to Ormonde College in Kilkenny to study agriculture and forestry for a year when I was fourteen, but I went grudgingly. I thought attending college was a waste of time. I already knew how read and write well, and I had hands-on experience in farming on both land and sea from the time I could walk. I went to Kilkenny to please my father, and he was proud when I returned with a degree in hand. It was worth it, I suppose. He left everything to me when he died, so I've carried on the family tradition. Mussels are my main harvest, but I also haul in traps full of crab and shrimp." He glanced at Maeve, but addressed both women. "Would you like some tea for refreshment?"
"A glass of wine wouldn't go amiss," Maeve responded, her tone mischievous.
Anne smiled for the first time. "I second that, Mr. O'Larkin."
"Please call me John."
While his guests sipped wine and whiskey, John sliced a loaf of bread and placed it on the table with a thick slab of butter. He also quickly prepared a few pounds of fresh mussels by steam-cooking them with wine, butter and herbs on the wood-burning box stove.
The foursome had an enjoyable meal together, with John and Dary doing most of the talking. Maeve interjected on occasion, but Anne remained mostly silent. If she wasn't staring down at her plate, she was gazing at John with an increasing interest.
"I'm thinking it was luck that brought the O'Quinn family to my door today," John said at the end of the meal. He glanced at Dary. "You haven't mentioned a wife. Surely your girls have a mother?"
Dary sobered instantly. "My darling Fiona passed away more than a decade ago."
"I'm sorry to hear of it," John murmured. "Losing a loved one is a terrible thing to endure." He shook his head with sadness. "My father was as healthy as a horse when he dropped in the chicken coop seven years ago, and my mother passed a decade before that. Since I was their only child, I was left to care for the business and the homestead."
"You've done well for yourself, John." Dary glanced at his daughters. "I've no one to leave my forge to, having two girls and no sons."
Anne finally spoke up, her tone disdainful. "I can blacksmith as well as you, Papa, and you know it." She glared at her father. "Both Maeve and I were schooled at St. Brendan's. We can read and write. We both have brains."
Dary looked pained. "It's not fitting for a female to run a business, much less a forge. What man would want such a creature?"
Anne shrugged. "What does it matter?" She asked stoically. "No man wants me anyway, even now. Their eyes always go to Maeve."
Maeve appeared hurt. "That's not true, sister. Aidan Coogan asked for you in the spring—"
"Aidan Coogan is an old man in need of a nursemaid," Anne retorted in interruption. "I'd rather remain unmarried to the end of my days than take him as a husband."
"Girls," Dary barked. "No need to air our dirty laundry in front of our host."
John chuckled. "Don't mind me, Dary. I enjoy listening to a good ruction, even if it's between two women." His eyes twinkled. "It shows they're lively with opinions of their own, which I respect to the utmost."
Anne and Maeve cleared the table after the meal. As soon as the small kitchen was tidy, they joined Dary and John in the living area. The two men were positioned on the settee, with Anne in between them.
Maeve's eyes were locked on the harp, which was located in a corner of the living area. She walked over slowly, taking in the simple yet exquisite design of the instrument. It appeared to be old, its green-hued colour giving the air of great age. "How beautiful this is," she breathed as she ran her hands gently over the top of it. "Where did you get it?"
John rose from the settee and joined her by the harp. "It came from my mother's side of the family. Her grandfather, Seamus Garrity, gave it to her as a gift when she married my father in 1827. See the inscription?" He pointed at the carving along the shoulder.
She looked closer, and then read the inscription aloud: "To Rachel Garrity on the occasion of her wedding to Kevin O'Larkin, 1827."
