What in God's name was she going to do with him in Chicago?
Shaking her head, she pushed that worry aside. There was no point in thinking of something that would spoil the pleasure of her walk.
The air was crystal, with the sun sliding and streaming through clouds on their way to England. She caught glimpses of Ardmore Bay, rolling dark green toward shore. If she stopped, concentrated, she could almost hear its music in the shimmering silence. Tourists would flock to the beaches today, and some of the locals as well if they had an hour or two to spare.
Young mothers, she thought, letting their toddlers dip their toes in the surf, or fill their red plastic buckets with sand. Castles would be built today, then washed away by the sea.
The hedgerows that lined the road were ripe with summer blossoms, and the grass beneath her feet was springy and sparkled with morning dew. To the north, the mountains hulked under the clouds that covered their peaks. And between them and Jude, it seemed the green, glorious hills rolled forever.
She loved the look of them, the simple and sheer beauty of land, the tumble of old castles that had been swamped not by sea but by time and enemy. They made her think of knights and maidens, of kings both petty and grand, of merry servants and clever spies. And of course of magic and witchcraft and the songs of faeries.
More tales to be told, she mused, of sacrifices for love and glory, of the triumph of the heart and of honor, of spells cast and broken.
In a place like this, a storyteller could spend years collecting them, creating them, and passing them on. She could spend silvery mornings like this one roaming and imagining, rainy afternoons writing and compiling. Evenings would be for curling up after a satisfying day and finding pictures in the turf fire, or wandering into the pub for noise and company and music.
It would be such a lovely life, full of interest and beauty and dreams.
She stopped short, startled by the thought, more startled yet that the thought had been in her head at all. She could stay, not just for three more months but forever. She could write stories. The ones that were told to her and the ones that seemed always forming in her head.
No, of course she couldn't. What was she thinking of? She let out a laugh, but it was edgy and weak. She had to go back to Chicago as planned, to find work in some area of the field she knew to support her sensibly while she pursued the dream. To consider anything else was completely irresponsible.
Why?
She'd only taken two more steps when that question struck out.
'Why?' She said it out loud, flustered. 'Of course there's a reason why. A dozen reasons why. I live in Chicago. I've always lived in Chicago.'
There was no law that said she had to live in Chicago. She wouldn't be chained in a dungeon for relocating.
'Of course not, but- I have to work.'
And what have you been doing these past three months?
'That's not work, not really.' Her stomach began to jitter, her heart to flutter toward her throat. 'It's more of an indulgence.'
Why?
She closed her eyes. 'Because I love it. I love everything about it, so that must make it an indulgence. And that is incredibly stupid.'
It might have been an odd place for an epiphany, on a shaggy hill in the middle of the morning. But she decided it was the perfect place for hers.
'Why can't I do something I love without putting restrictions on it? Why can't I live somewhere that's so much more home than anywhere else? Who's in charge of my life,' she said on a baffled laugh, 'if I'm not?'
With her knees a little shaky, she began to walk again. She could do it; if she could dig down and find the courage. She could sell her condo. She could do what she'd been avoiding out of fear of failure and send a sample of her work to an agent.
She could finally stick, win or lose, with something she wanted for herself.
She would think about it, seriously, carefully. Walking faster, she ignored the voice in her head that urged her to act now, right away, before she could find excuses. It would be a big move, she reasoned, an enormous step. A sensible person thought through big moves and enormous steps.
Jude was grateful when she saw the O'Toole cottage over the hill. She needed the distraction, something to take her mind off herself for a while.
Clothes were already drying on the line, making her wonder if Mollie did laundry twenty-four hours a day. The gardens were in glorious bloom and the little shed as stuffed and jumbled as ever. Betty rose from her morning nap in the yard and gave a welcoming woof that sent Finn into devoted yips as he streaked down the hill toward her.
Jude started after and had just reached the edge of the yard when the kitchen door opened.
'Well, good morning to you, Jude.' Mollie sent her a wave. 'You're up and about early today.'
'Not as early as you, from the looks of things.'
'You have yourself a houseful of chattering girls and a man who likes his tea before his eyes are open, you don't have much chance to stay in bed. Come in, have some tea and visit with me while I make my bread.'
'I brought your dishes back, and some of the sugar cookies I made yesterday. I think they're better than the last batch.'
'We'll sample them with the tea and see.'
She held the door open wide, and Jude walked into the warmth and the scents and the clatter of Brenna wielding tools under the kitchen sink.
'I've about got it now, Ma.'
'So you'd better.' Mollie moved to the stove. 'I tell you, Jude, I'm the shoemaker's wife in this house. Off himself goes, as does this girl here, fixing and fiddling with everyone else's matter, while I live with drips and rattles day and night.'
'Well, you don't pay a body a living wage, now do you?' Brenna said and earned a light kick from her mother.
'A living wage, is it? And who ate a mountain of eggs and a tower of toast and jam just this morning?'
'I only did so I'd have my mouth full and not tell Maureen to stop her harping on the wedding plans. The girl's driving us all batty, Jude, fussing and whining and bursting into tears for no reason at all.'
'Getting married's plenty of reason for all of the above.' Mollie set out the tea and cookies, nodded for Jude to sit, then plunged her hands back into the ball of dough she was kneading. 'And when your time comes you'll be worse yet.'
'Ha. If I was thinking of marriage, I'd haul the man before the priest, say the words and be done with it,' Brenna declared. 'All this fancy work-dresses and flowers and just which song needs to be played just when. Months in the making for one single day, for a dress that will never be worn again, flowers that will fade and wither, and songs you could sing any damn time.'
She scooted out from under the sink and gestured with her wrench. 'And the cost of it all is sinful.'
'Ah, Brenna, you romantic fool.' Mollie sprinkled more flour onto her dough and turned it. 'That one single day is the start of a life, and worth every minute of time and every penny that goes into it.' But she sighed a little. 'Still, it does get wearying, dealing with her nerves.'
'Exactly.' Brenna put the wrench in her dented toolbox and rose to snatch one of the cookies. 'Look at our Jude here. Calm as you please. You don't hear her blathering on about whether she'll have white roses or pink in her bouquet.' Brenna bit into the cookie and dropped into a chair. 'You're a sensible woman.'
'Thank you. I try. But what are you talking about?'
'The difference between you and my flighty sister. The both of you have weddings coming up, but are you pacing around the room wringing your hands and changing your mind about the flavor of the cake every two minutes? Of course not.'
'No,' Jude said slowly. 'I'm not, because I don't have a wedding coming up.'
'Even if you and Aidan have a small ceremony-though how you'd pull that off when he knows every second soul for a hundred kilometers-it's still a wedding.'
Jude had to take a breath, then another. 'Where did you get the idea that I'm marrying Aidan?'
