Jewels of the Sun

CHAPTER Sixteen

"And how," Jude asked, "am I supposed to give a party when I don't know how many people are coming? When I have no menu, no time schedule? No plan?"

Since Finn was the only one within earshot, and he didn't appear to have the answer, Jude dropped into a chair in her now spotless living room and shut her eyes. She'd been cleaning for days. Aidan had laughed at her and told her not to take on so. No one was going to hunt up dust in the corners and have her deported for the shame of it.

He didn't understand. He was, after all, only a man.

How the cottage looked was the only aspect of the entire business she could control.

"It's my house," she muttered. "And a woman's house reflects the woman. I don't care what millennium we're in, it just does."

She'd entertained before, and she'd managed to hold reasonably satisfactory parties. But they'd been weeks, if not months, in the planning. She'd had lists and themes and caterers and carefully selected hors d'oeuvres and music.

And gallons of antacids.

Now she was expected to simply throw open her doors to friend and stranger alike.

At least a half a dozen people she'd never laid eyes on had stopped her in the village to mention the ceili. She hoped she'd looked pleased and said the appropriate thing, but she'd all but felt her eyes wheeling in her head.

This was her first ceili. It was the first real party she'd given in her cottage. The first time she'd entertained in Ireland.

She was on a different continent, for God's sake. How was she supposed to know what she was doing?

She needed an aspirin the size of Ardmore Bay.

Trying to calm herself again, to put things into perspective, she laid her head back and closed her eyes. It was supposed to be informal. People were bringing buckets and platters and mountains of food. She was only responsible for the setting, and the cottage was lovely.

And who was she trying to fool? The entire thing was headed straight for disaster.

The cottage was too small for a party. If it rained she could hardly expect people to stand outside under umbrellas while she passed them plates of food out the window. There simply wasn't room to stuff everyone inside if even half the people who'd spoken to her showed up.

There wasn't enough floor space or seating space. There wasn't enough air in the house to provide everyone with oxygen, and there certainly wasn't enough of Jude F. Murray to go around as hostess.

Worse, she'd gotten lost in the writing of her book several times over the last few days and had neglected to keep the party preparation list she'd made up on schedule. She'd meant, really she had, to stop writing at one o'clock. She'd even set a timer after the first time she ran over. Then she turned it off, intending only to finish that one paragraph. And the next time she surfaced it was after three, and neither of her bathrooms had been scrubbed as planned.

Despite all that, in a matter of hours, people she didn't know would be swarming into her house expecting to be entertained and fed.

She wasn't to worry about a thing. She'd been told that over and over again. But of course she had to worry about everything. It was her job. She had to think about the food, didn't she? It was her house, and damn it, she was neurotic, so what did people expect?

She'd attempted tarts that had come out hard as rock. Even Finn wouldn't touch them. The second effort was an improvement-at least the dog had nibbled on them before spitting them out. But she was forced to admit that she would never win gold stars for her pastry baking.

She had managed to put together a couple of simple casseroles following a recipe in one of Old Maude's cookbooks. They looked and smelled good enough. Now she could only hope no one came down with food poisoning.

She had a ham in the oven. She'd already called her grandmother three times to check and recheck the process of baking it. It was so big, how could she possibly be sure it was done? It would probably be raw in the center and she'd end up giving her guests food poisoning. But at least she'd serve it in a clean house.

Thank God it didn't take any talent to scrub a floor or wash windows. That, at least, she knew was well done.

It had rained during the night, and fog had slithered in from the sea. But the air had cleared that morning to bright sun and summer warmth that lured out the birds and the blossoms.

All she could do now was hope the weather held.

She had those sparkling windows open wide to keep the house airy and welcome. The scents of Old Maude's roses and sweet peas tangled together and slipped through the screens. The fragrance smoothed out Jude's stretched nerves.

Flowers! She bolted out of the chair. She hadn't cut any flowers to arrange in the house. She raced into the kitchen for the shears, and Finn raced after her. He lost purchase on the newly waxed floor, skidded, and ran headfirst into the cabinets.

Of course then he needed to be cuddled and comforted. Murmuring reassurances, Jude carried him outside. "Now, there'll be no digging in the flower beds, will there?"

He gave her an adoring look, as if the thought never crossed his mind.

"And no chasing butterflies through the cornflowers," she added and set him down with a little pat on the butt.

She picked up a basket and began to select the best flowers for cutting.

It was a task that relaxed her, always. The shapes, the scents, the colors, finding the most interesting mix. Wandering through the banks and flows on the narrow rock path with the hills stretched to forever and the country quiet sweet as the air.

If she were to make her home here, permanently, she thought, she would extend the gardens in the back. She'd have a little rock wall built on the east side and cover it with rambling roses or maybe a hedge of lavender. And in front of that, she'd plant a whole river of dahlias. And maybe she'd put an arbor on the west side and let some sweet-smelling vine climb and climb until it arched like a tunnel.

She'd have a path through it, so that she could walk there-with chamomile and thyme and nodding columbine scattered nearby. She would wind her way through flowers, under them, around them, whenever she set out to walk the hills and fields.

There'd be a stone bench for sitting. And in the evenings, when work was done, she'd relax there and just listen to the world she'd made.

She'd be the expatriate American writer, living in the little cottage on the faerie hill with her flowers and her faithful dog. And her lover.

Of course, that was fantasy, she reminded herself. Her time was already half gone. In the fall she'd go back to Chicago. Even if she had the courage to pursue the idea of actually submitting the book to a publisher, she would have to get a job. She could hardly live off her savings forever. It was- wrong.

Wasn't it?

It would have to be teaching, she supposed. The idea of private practice was too daunting, so teaching was the only option. Even as depression threatened at the thought, she shook it off. Maybe she could look for a position in a small private school. Someplace where she could feel some connection with her students. It would give her time to continue writing. She simply couldn't give that up now that she'd found it.

She could move to the suburbs, buy a small house. There was nothing forcing her to stay in the condo in Chicago. She'd have a studio there. A little space just for her writing, and she would have the courage to submit the book. She wouldn't allow herself to be a coward about something that important. Not ever again.

And she could come back to Ireland. A couple of weeks every summer. She could come back, visit her friends, rejuvenate her spirit.

See Aidan.

No, it was best not to think about that, she warned herself. To think of next summer or the summer after and Aidan. This time, this- window she'd opened was magic, and it needed to be cherished for what it was. All the more precious, she told herself, because it was temporary.

They would both move on. It was inevitable.

Or he would move on, and she would go back. But she had the pleasure of knowing she'd never go back to just how things had been. She wasn't the same person anymore. She knew she could build a life now. Even if it wasn't one of her fantasies, it could be satisfying and productive.

She could be happy, she thought. She could be fulfilled. The last three months had shown her she had potential. She could, would, finish what she'd started.

She was mentally patting herself on the back when Finn barked joyfully and dashed to the garden gate right through her pansies.

"Good day to you, Jude." Mollie O'Toole let herself in, and Finn out so that he could leap on Betty. The two dogs dashed happily toward the hills. "I thought I'd stop by and see if I could do anything for you."

"Since I don't know what I'm doing, your guess is as good as mine." She glanced down at her basket and sighed. "I've already cut too many flowers."

"You can never have too many."

Mollie, Jude thought with gratitude and admiration, always said just the right thing. "I'm so glad you're here."

Mollie waved that off even as her cheek pinkened with pleasure. "Well, isn't that nice of you to say?"

"I mean it. I always feel calmer around you, like nothing can go too terribly wrong when you're nearby."

"Well, I'm flattered. Is there something you're afraid's gone terribly wrong?"

"Only everything." But Jude smiled as she said it.

"Would you like to come inside while I put them in water? Then you can point out the six dozen things I've forgotten to do."

"I'm sure you've forgotten nothing at all, but I'd love to come in and help you with the flowers."

"I thought I'd scatter them through the house in different bottles and bowls. Maude didn't have a proper vase."

"She liked to do the same. Put little bits of them everywhere. You're more like her than you realize."

"I am?" Odd, Jude thought, how the idea of being like a woman she'd never met pleased her.

"Indeed. You pamper your flowers, and take long walks, nest down in your little house here, and keep the door open for company. You've her hands," she added. "As I told you before, and something of her heart as well."

"She lived alone." Jude glanced around the tidy little house. "Always."

"It was what suited her. But alone she wasn't lonely. There was no man she loved after her Johnny, or as Maude used to say, there was no man she loved in this life once he was gone. Ah." Mollie took a sniff of the air as they went inside. "You've a ham in the oven. It smells lovely."

"Does it?" Jude sniffed experimentally as they started toward the kitchen. "I guess it does. Would you take a look at it, Mollie? I've never made one and I'm nervous."

"Sure, I'll take a peek."

She opened the oven, did her inspection while Jude set down her basket and stood gnawing her lip.

"It's fine. Nearly done, too," she pronounced after a quick check to see how easily the skin tugged free. "From the smell of it, you won't have a scrap left for your lunch tomorrow. My Mick's fond of baked ham, and will likely make more of a pig of himself than where this one came from."

"Really?"

With a shake of her head, Molly closed the oven. "Jude, never have I known a woman who's always so surprised at a compliment."

"I'm neurotic." But she said it with a smile rather than an apology.

"Well, you'd know, I suppose. You've shined this cottage up like a penny, too, haven't you now? And left not a thing for a neighbor to do but give you a bit of advice."

"I'll take it."

"When you finish with your flowers and take your ham out to cool, put it up high enough that your pup can't climb up and sample it. I've had that experience, and it's not a pretty one."

"Good point."

"After that, go on up and give yourself the pleasure of a long, hot bath. Put bubbles in it. The solstice is a fine time for a ceili, and it's a finer time for romance."

In a maternal gesture, Molly patted Jude's cheek. "Put a pretty dress on for tonight and dance with Aidan in the moonlight. The rest, I promise you, will take care of itself."

"I don't even know how many people are coming."

"What difference does it make? Ten or a hundred and ten?"

"A hundred and ten?" Jude choked out and went pale.

"Every one of them is coming to enjoy themselves." Mollie got down a bottle. "And that's what they'll do. A ceili's just hospitality, after all. The Irish know how to give it and how to take it."

"What if there isn't enough food?"

"Oh, that's the least of your worries."

"What if-"

"What if a frog jumps over the moon and lands on your shoulder." With amused exasperation, Mollie lifted her hands. "You've made your home pretty and welcoming. Do the same with yourself, and the rest, as I told you, will take care of itself."

It was good advice, Jude decided. Even if she didn't believe a word of it. Since a bubble bath was a fail-safe method of relaxation, she took one in her beloved claw-foot tub, indulging herself until her skin was pink and glowing, her eyes drooping, and the water going cold.

Then she opened the cream she'd bought in Dublin and slathered herself in it. It never failed to make her feel female.

Totally relaxed, she toyed with the idea of a short preparty nap. Then walked into the bedroom and shrieked.

"Finn! Oh, God!"

He was in the middle of her bed, waging a fierce and violent war with her pillows. Feathers flew everywhere. He turned to her, tail thumping triumphantly as he held the vanquished pillow in his teeth.

"That's bad. Bad dog!" She waved feathers away and rushed to the bed. Sensing fun, he leaped down, tearing off with the pillow. Feathers leaked out and left a downy trail in his wake.

"No, no, no! Stop. Wait. Finn, you come back here this minute!"

She rushed after him, robe flapping as she tried to scoop up feathers. He made it all the way downstairs before she caught up, then she made the mistake of grabbing the pillow instead of the pup.

His eyes went bright with the notion of tug-of-war. Snarling playfully, teeth dug in, he shook his head and sent more feathers billowing.

"Let go! Damn it, look what you're doing." She made a grab, and between the wax and the feathers on the floor, went skidding. She managed one short scream as she sailed, belly-first, across the living room.

She heard the door open behind her, glanced over her shoulder, and thought, Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

"What are you up to there, Jude Frances?" Aidan leaned on the jamb while Shawn peeked in over his shoulder.

"Oh, nothing." She blew hair and feathers out of her eyes. "Nothing at all."

"Here I thought you'd be slaving away polishing the polish and scrubbing the scrubbing as you've been every day for a week, and I find you're lazing about playing with the dog."

"Ha ha." She untangled herself into a sitting position, rubbing the elbow that had banged against the floor. Finn bounced over and generously spit the pillow at Aidan's feet.

"Oh, that's right. Give it to him."

"Well, you've killed it, haven't you, boy-o? Deader than Moses." After giving Finn a congratulatory pat, Aidan crossed the room to offer Jude a hand. "Have you hurt yourself, darling?"

"No." She sent him a sulky look. "It's not a laughing matter." She slapped his hand aside, spreading the glare out to Shawn as he began to chuckle. "There are feathers everywhere. It'll take me days to find them all."

"You could start with your hair." Aidan reached down, gripped her by the waist, and hauled her up. "It's covered with them."

"Fine. Thanks for the help. Now I have work to do."

"We've brought some kegs from the pub. We'll set them around back for you." He blew a feather off her cheek, then leaned in to sniff her neck. "You smell perfect," he murmured as she shoved at him. "Go away, Shawn."

"No, don't you dare. I don't have time for this."

"And close the door behind you," Aidan finished and pulled Jude closer.

"I'll just take the dog, too, since he's finished here. Come on, you terrible beast." Shawn clucked to the dog and dutifully shut the door behind them.

"I have to clean up this mess," Jude began.

"There's time for that." Slowly, Aidan walked her backward.

"I'm not dressed."

"That's something I noticed." When he had her back to the wall, he ran his hands down her body, and up again. "Give us a kiss, Jude Frances. One that will hold me through the longest day."

It seemed a perfectly reasonable request, at least when his eyes were holding hers so intimately, and his body was so hard and warm and close. To answer it she lifted her arms to wrap them around his neck. Then, on impulse, she moved quickly, yanking him around until it was his back to the wall and her body pressed firm to his, her mouth crushed hard and hot to his.

The sound he made was like a man drowning, and drowning willingly. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging in to remind her of the night he'd lost all patience and control. The thrill of it whipped through her, potent and strong with a snap of the possessive.

He was hers, as long as it lasted. To touch, to take, to taste. It was her he wanted. Her he reached for. She was the one who made his heart thunder.

It was, she realized, the truest power in the world.

The door opened, slammed. Jude kept her mouth fused to his. She didn't care if every man, woman, and child in the village trooped in.

"Jesus Mary and holy Joseph," Brenna complained. "Can't the pair of you think of something else to do? Every time a body turns around, you two are locked at the lip."

"She's just jealous," Jude said, nuzzling at Aidan's neck.

"I've better things to be jealous of than some softheaded woman kissing a Gallagher."

"She must be mad at Shawn again." Aidan buried his face in Jude's hair. He wasn't sure he was breathing. He knew he didn't want to move for another ten years or so.

"Men are all boneheads, and your worthless brother's bonier than most."

"Oh, leave off complaining about Shawn," Darcy ordered as she breezed in. "What happened in here? The place is full of feathers. Jude, let go of that man, you have to get dressed, don't you? And so do I. Aidan, get out there and help Shawn with the kegs. You can't be expecting him to deal with all that himself."

Aidan merely turned his head to lay his cheek on Jude's hair. The look on his face gave his sister such a jolt, she stared a full ten seconds, then began to shove Brenna toward the kitchen. "We'll just put these dishes in the kitchen and fetch a broom."

"Stop pushing. Bloody hell, I've had it to the ears with Gallaghers for the day."

"Quiet, quiet. I have to think." Flustered, Darcy dropped the dishes she carried onto the counter and paced. "He's in love with her."

"Who?"

"Aidan, with Jude."

"Well for pity sake, Darcy, so you already thought. Isn't that why we're fussing here for a ceili?"

"But he's really in love with her. Didn't you see his face? I think I should sit down." She did so abruptly, then blew out a breath. "I didn't realize, not really. It was all more of a kind of game. But just now, when he was holding her. I never thought to see him look like that, Brenna. A man looks like that over a woman, she could hurt him, slice right into the heart."

"Jude wouldn't hurt a fly."

"She wouldn't mean to." Darcy's stomach was fluttering with worry. Aidan was her rock, and she'd never thought to see him defenseless. "I'm sure she cares for him, too, and she's all caught up in the romance of it."

"Then what would the problem be? It's just as we said."

"No, it's nothing of what we said." Hadn't she avoided the desperation of love long enough to recognize it when it bashed her own brother on top of the head? "Brenna, she's got that fancy education with initials after her name, and a life in Chicago. Her family is there, and her work, and her fine home. Aidan's life is here." Genuine distress poured out of her heart and into her eyes. "Don't you see? How can he go, and why would she stay? What was I thinking, putting them together like this?"

"You didn't put them together. They were together." Because what Darcy was saying was beginning to trouble her as well, Brenna got out the broom. She thought better when her hands were busy. "Whatever happens happens. We've done nothing more than push her into giving a party."

"On the solstice," Darcy reminded her. "Midsummer's Eve. We're tempting the fates, and if it blows wrong, we're to blame."

"If we've tempted the fates, then it's up to the fates. There's nothing else to be done," Brenna announced and began to sweep.

Jude decided on the blue dress, another Dublin acquisition she'd never have bought if Darcy hadn't badgered her. The minute she slipped it on, she blessed Darcy and her own lack of will.

It was a long sweep of a dress, very simple, without a frill or a flounce as it dropped square at the bodice from thin straps and fell with just the most subtle of flares to the ankles. The color, a silvery blue, echoed the hue of midsummer moonlight. She wore small pearl drops at her ears. More moon symbols, she thought.

She very much wanted to take the rest of Mollie's advice and dance with Aidan under the glow of the full moon.

But on this, the longest day of the year, just as evening drifted in, the sky remained light and lovely. Color shimmered outside the cottage window, blues and greens achingly vivid. The air seemed painted with fragrance.

Nature had decided Midsummer's Eve would be one of her triumphs.

All Jude could think as she watched and listened and absorbed was that there was music playing in her living room, bouncing in it. Soaring through it. There were people crowded together in her house, dancing and laughing.

Nature's triumph, she thought, was nothing against her own.

Already more than half of her ham had been devoured.

No one seemed to show any ill effects because of it. She'd managed a bite or two herself, but for the most part was too excited to do more than nibble, or sip now and then from her glass of wine.

Couples were dancing in her hallway, in the kitchen, or out in the yard. Others juggled babies or just cozied in for a gossip. She'd tried to play hostess for the first hour, moving from group to group to make certain everyone had a glass or a plate. But no one seemed to need her to do anything in particular. They all helped themselves to the banquet of dishes jammed into the kitchen or set out on the board stretched across sawhorses that some clever soul had set up in the side yard.

There were children racing around or tucked onto laps. A baby might fuss for some milk or attention, and both were cheerfully provided. More than half the faces that passed through were strange to her.

She finally did what she realized she'd never tried at one of her own parties. She sat down and enjoyed it.

She was jammed up between Mollie and Kathy Duffy, half listening to the conversation and forgetting the slice of cake on a plate in her lap.

Shawn was playing a fiddle, bright, hot licks that made her wish desperately she knew how to dance. Darcy, radiant in the borrowed red dress, teased out notes on a flute while Aidan pumped music from a small accordion. Every now and again, they switched instruments, or brought out another. Pennywhistles, a bodham drum, a knee harp, slipping from hand to hand without a break in rhythm.

She liked it best when they added their voices, producing such intricate, intimate harmony it made her heart ache.

When Aidan sang of young Willie MacBride being forever nineteen, Jude thought of Maude's lost Johnnie, and didn't care that she shed tears in public.

They moved from the heartbreaking to the foot-stomping, never letting the pace flag. Each time Aidan would catch her eye or send her that slow smile, she was as starstruck as a teenager.

When Brenna settled down at Jude's feet and rested her head against her mother's leg, Jude passed her down the plate of cake.

"He's a way with him when he's into his music," Brenna murmured. "Makes you forget-nearly-he's a bonehead."

"They're wonderful. They should record. They should be doing this onstage, not in a living room."

"Shawn plays for his own pleasure. If ambition came up and knocked him on the head with a hammer, it wouldn't make a dent."

"Not everyone wants to do everything at one time," Mollie said mildly. But she stroked Brenna's hair. "Like you and your father."

"The more you do, the more gets done."

"Ah, you're Mick through and through. Why aren't you dancing like your sisters instead of brooding? Lord, girl, you're O'Toole to the bone."

"Oh, I've some Logan in me." Brightening, Brenna leaped up and grabbed her mother's hand. "Come on, then, Ma, unless you're feeling too old and feeble."

"I can dance you breathless."

A cheer went up as Mollie began a quick, complicated series of steps. Other dancers gave way with claps and whistles.

"Mollie was a champion step dancer in her day," Kathy told Jude. "And she passed it along to her daughters. They're a pretty lot, aren't they?"

"Yes. Oh, just look at them!"

One by one, Mollie's girls joined in until they were three by three facing each other. They were six small women, a mix of the fair-haired and the bright, with hands sassily on hips and legs flying. The faster the music, the faster their feet until Jude was out of breath just from watching.

It wasn't just the skill and the dazzle, Jude thought, that caught at her throat with both envy and admiration. It was the connection. Female to female, sister to sister, mother to daughter. The music was just one more bond.

It wasn't only legends and myths that made up the traditions of a culture. Aidan had been right, she realized. She couldn't forget the music when she wrote of Ireland.

War drums and pub songs, ballads and great, whirling reels. She would have to research them as well, their sources, their irony, their humor and despair.

She hugged the new inspiration to her, and let the music sweep her away.

By the time they were done, the room was crammed with those who'd wandered in from other areas of the house or outside. And the last note, the last sharp stomp of feet were greeted by wild applause.

Brenna staggered over and dropped at Jude's feet again. "Ma's right, I can't keep up with her. The woman's a wonder." Swiping an arm over her brow, she sighed. "Someone have mercy and get me a beer."

"I'll get it. You earned it." Jude got to her feet and tried to squeeze her way through to the kitchen. She received several requests for a dance that she laughingly declined, compliments on her ham that gave her a dazzled glow and on her looks that made her think several of her guests had been enjoying the kegs quite a bit.

When she finally reached the kitchen, she was surprised that Aidan was behind her and already had her hand caught in his. "Come outside for a breath of air."

"Oh, but I told Brenna I'd get her a beer."

"Jack, take our Brenna a pint, will you?" he called it out as he pulled Jude through the back door.

"I love listening to you play, but you must be tired of it by now."

"I never mind making a few hours of music. It's the Gallagher way." He continued to pull her along, past the pack of men huddled near the back door, toward the curving path of candles nestled in the grass and garden. "But it hasn't given me time to be with you, or to tell you how lovely you're looking tonight. You left your hair down," he said, tangling his fingers in the tips of it.

"It seemed to go better with the dress." She shook it back and lifted her face to the sky. It was a deep, deep blue now, the color of a night that would never fully become night because of the white ball of moon.

A magic night of shadows and light when the faeries came out to dance.

"I can't believe what a state I got myself into over this. Everyone was right. They said it would just happen, and it did. I guess the best things do."

She turned when they reached the spot where she'd imagined putting an arbor. Behind them the house-her house, she thought with warm pride-was lit up bright as Christmas. The music continued to pour out, tangled with voices and laughter.

"This is how it should be," she murmured. "A house should have music."

"I'll give you music in it whenever you like." When she smiled and slipped into his arms, he guided her into a dance, just as she'd dreamed he would.

It was perfect, she thought. Magic and music and moonlight. One long night where the darkness was only a brief flicker.

"If you came to America and played one song, you'd have a recording contract before you'd finished it."

"That's not for me. I'm for here."

"Yes, you are." She leaned back to smile at him. Indeed, she couldn't imagine him anywhere else. "You're for here."

And it was the magic and the music and the moonlight that pushed him before he had the words ready. "And so are you. There's no reason for you to go back." He eased her away. "You're happy here."

"I've been very happy here. But-"

"That's enough right there to keep you. What's wrong with just being happy?"

His abrupt tone had her smile turning puzzled. "Nothing, of course, but I need to work. I have to support myself."

"You can find work to content you here."

She had, she thought. She'd found her life's work in writing. But old habits die hard. "There doesn't seem to be much call for psychology professors in Ardmore at the moment."

"You didn't like doing that."

He was starting to make her nervous. A chill slid up her arms and made her wish for a jacket. "It's what I do. What I know how to do."

"So you'll figure out how to do something else. I want you here with me, Jude." Even as her heart gave one wild leap at the words, he continued on. "I need a wife."

She wasn't sure if the thud was her heart dropping again, or just simple shock. "Excuse me?"

"I need a wife," he repeated. "I think you should marry me, then we'll figure out the rest of the business later."