congregated in the back half of the pub when I arrived on Saturday. They laughed loudly, foam clinging to the sides of their pints. I lifted a hand and smiled, and headed first for the bar and Finn. “Can I have a dozen pints of Guinness?”
“That’s a lot of alcohol.”
Startled, I took in Anna to my left. “Hey. What are you up to?”
Anna finished off her clear liquid. “Day drinking.”
I raised my brows and examined her glass. “Sounds like a solid life choice.”
Anna frowned, like she wasn’t sure if I was teasing or not. “Why are you here?”
“I’m meeting with the crew. You want to come with?”
Anna threw a look back at Finn, and then shrugged her shoulders with studied disinterest. “Yeah, sure.”
Anna’s inability to be impressed actually reassured me as we approached the table. If Anna could be that devil-may-care, surely I couldn’t be intimidated by a table of brawny Irish. I cleared my throat. “Hello, everyone. I’m Natalie Sullivan, crew chief for the Kilkarten dig. Thank you for all meeting me.”
I recognized some of the dozen. Sean Larry, who’d spoken to me at the month’s mind. Eileen’s granddaughter, Amanda, who helped around the inn, and Finn’s sister, Molly, who as far as I could tell was one of five siblings that belonged to the pub. A young man with the same stretched face as MacCarthy—his nephew, I thought he’d mentioned. In addition to the four I knew, eight others ranged around the table. The youngest was Simon Daly, at eighteen and nervous, while the oldest was in his forties with a suspiciously thick mustache for a balding man. The Wojcik siblings, Anka and Jan, whose parents had immigrated here thirty years ago. And three men in their thirties and a twenty-something with attitude. But they were all strong and healthy and outdoorsy, which was the important thing.
One of the men, with a head full of prematurely gray hair, said, “Not to worry, lass. Why don’t you pull up a chair?”
Lassied in the first thirty seconds. I worked to maintain level breathing. Not a good sign for establishing authority.
“Call me Natalie, please.” I tried to make my tone firm but friendly as I sat, Anna squeezing onto the bench next to me. “This is Anna O’Connor, Patrick’s niece.”
Everyone nodded, because most of them had already met her. She delivered her signature scowl, but didn’t say, “I’m not his fucking niece,” so I considering it a positive.
We did a round of introductions as Finn delivered the pints, then I plunged in. “I had several requests that I give an overview of the work, so I thought I’d tell you a little about the dig and answer any questions.” I took a long pull of my Guinness.
Anna kicked me, delivering a pointed look as she raised her hand to her nose. I wiped mine quickly. Dammit, I’d gotten foam on it.
Several of the gathered smirked slightly. One of the men, Colin, who had ears that stuck straight out of his head, a bobbing Adam’s apple and startling beautiful green eyes, spoke. “And you’re the one in charge and all?”
The others laughed.
I sat straighter. “I’m a doctoral candidate in archaeology and I’ve worked on plenty of digs before.” I’d just never been crew chief. “I’m very well qualified.”
The twenty-something smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t have to be,” he muttered, adding some additional comment under his breath.
MacCarthy thwacked him and sent an apologetic look my way. “It’s all in good spirits.”
Anna and I exchanged uncertain glances. Devon of the suspicious mustache said, “Knew his dad.” He nodded at Anna. “Yours too, now.”
Anna bared her teeth. “Actually—”
I kicked her before she started spreading any more rumors, and she rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m gonna get another drink.”
They watched Anna go. A man from a nearby table leaned over to speak to Devon. “Doesn’t look much like the old boy.”
One of his cronies joined in. “Has his eyes.”
Devon’s eyes twinkled. “Has his trouble.”
I slammed the flat of my hand on the table. “Sirs. Sirs!”
They all looked at me with surprise—either at my exclamation, or that I was still here. The prematurely gray one—Tim? Tim O’Brien?—smiled benignly. “What is it, lass?”
“It’s Natalie. Please.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s go over what we’ll be doing in the upcoming weeks.” I smiled brightly, making sure to meet everyone’s gaze. “We’re having a specialist come in next week to see if we can identify any interesting subsurface features. We’ll clear the field before—I’ll be supplying the tools. Next week the other three archaeologists will come down from Dublin and we’ll start opening the selected units.”
Green-eyed Colin leaned forward. “You think we’ll really find something?”
Quiet Jan piped up. “How long do you think this dig could last?”
“My wife is a cook—we could get our lunches catered—”
“I can get you a good deal on screens and woods, and my cousin’s a carpenter, so he can build them for us—”
The faces surrounding me were tense with wary hope. Proud faces. Watchful faces.
I chose my words carefully. “It all depends on what we find, but I’m hopeful that this will be a very successful excavation. If it is, we’ll be coming back in the next summers.”
They all nodded. “And you’re the one that decides?”
“It really depends on what we find. And if we can dig up grant money.”
I left first, amidst cheerful goodbyes and after organizing everyone’s appearance next Monday morning. My legs wobbled and my palms were dry and tingly. I knew this was a small village. I knew every extra bit of economy helped. I knew digs often created infrastructure.
I hadn’t realized how much they were counting on it.
Anna didn’t pick up her cell, so I waved down Finn before I headed out. “Have you seen Anna?”
He maintained his aloof and brooding expression, like he’d taken a Heathcliff pill. “Went out with Mary and the others half an hour ago.”
I had no idea who Mary and the others were. “That was water earlier, right? Anything else?”
“Just a cider.”
I didn’t have to worry about her on one cider. Theoretically. I texted Lauren just in case and headed back to the inn.
An hour later, I was sitting in the parlor and pretending to read Yeats—but really trying to figure out what color a curd-pale moon would be, because was that like off white? Had I ever actually seen curds? Did anyone besides Yeats and Little Miss Muffet talk about curds?—when Lauren burst in, her cheeks flushed almost as bright as her hair. She dropped down in the chair across from me. “You’ll never believe what I learned.”
“I won’t? What?” Anna had gone missing? Mike had come back early?
“Maggie used to be engaged to my dad.”
“No!” The photo. The photo in the study of the brothers and Maggie. I’d forgotten it in everything that followed. “Wait, and then she married his older brother instead? Wow. She told you this?”
“No, Paul did.”
“You saw
She waved a hand. “Nothing. Whatever. But no wonder she doesn’t like Mom. And no wonder everyone describes Patrick as bitter, if his wife was in love with his younger brother.”
“Was she still? Who broke up with who?”
“I have no idea. Paul just dropped it in passing, like he thought I already knew, even though he
“So do you think that’s the real reason the brothers were estranged? A fight over a girl?”
She shrugged. “Makes some sense, right? But you’d hope there was a little more than that to a fight that
