A Christmas Grace by Anne Perry Page B

saucers. She had gone to the larder to fetch milk when a movement outside the window caught Emily’s eye. She was staring into the garden, watching Brendan Flaherty deep in conversation with someone just beyond her sight when Mrs. Flaherty returned. She glanced outside and saw Brendan, and her face filled with a kind of exasperated pride as she looked at him. He was holding up a carved wooden frame, such as might have fitted around a painting.
    â€œHis father made that,” Mrs. Flaherty said quietly. “Seamus had wonderful hands, and he loved the wood. Knew the grain of it, which way it wanted to go, as if it spoke to him.”
    â€œHas Brendan the same gift?” Emily asked, watching as Brendan’s hand caressed the piece he held.
    A shadow crossed Mrs. Flaherty’s face. “Oh, he’s like his father inasmuch as one man can be like another.” Her voice was low and hollow with a kind of regret, and in that moment Emily had a sudden awareness of Mrs. Flaherty’s loneliness, and how different it was from Susannah’s. It was incomplete, there were doubts in it, things unresolved.
    Then Brendan moved and Emily saw that it was Daniel he was talking to. Daniel laughed and held out his hand. Brendan gave him the wooden frame. Daniel’s eyes met his, and he said something. Brendan put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder.
    Mrs. Flaherty dropped the cups and saucers the short distance onto the table with a clatter and strode to the back kitchen door. She threw it open and went outside.
    Brendan turned, startled. His hand dropped from Daniel’s shoulder. He looked embarrassed. Daniel simply stared at Mrs. Flaherty as if she were incomprehensible.
    She snatched the carved frame out of his hands. “That isn’t Brendan’s to give,” she said hoarsely. “None of his father’s work is. I don’t know what you want here, young man, but you aren’t getting it.”
    â€œMother—” Brendan began.
    She turned on him. “You don’t give away your father’s work until you can equal it!” she told him fiercely, her voice shaking.
    â€œMother—” Brendan began again.
    Daniel cut across him. “He wasn’t giving me anything, Mrs. Flaherty. He only showed it to me. He’s proud of his father, as you would want him to be.”
    Mrs. Flaherty’s cheeks were flaming now. She was confused, wrong-footed without knowing how it had happened, and still angry.
    â€œPerhaps I had better walk Daniel home, and not trouble you just now,” Emily interrupted. “I’ll accept your invitation for tea another time.” She could see the hot embarrassment in Brendan’s face as he glared at his mother, and the next moment looked away, searching for words without finding them.
    â€œThank you,” Daniel accepted, looking at Emily, then taking a step towards her. He swiveled slightly and smiled at Brendan, with gentleness and a quick flash of amusement in it. Then touching Emily lightly on the arm, he guided her along the path to the gate, and the road.
    As Emily latched the gate behind them, she saw Brendan and Mrs. Flaherty arguing fiercely. Once Mrs. Flaherty jabbed her finger towards the road, without looking or seeing Emily staring at her. Brendan was shouting back, but she could not hear the words, only his shaking head made it clear he was denying something.
    Daniel was looking at her. “Poor Brendan,” he said sadly. “Competing with the ghosts?”
    â€œGhosts?” she asked as they began to walk back along the road towards the shore. “His father. Who else?”
    â€œI don’t know,” he replied with a quick smile. “Whoever it was that he liked, and his mother is so afraid of.”
    He was right. It had been fear she had seen in Mrs. Flaherty’s eyes. Why? Was it an unsuitable friendship? Was she jealous, afraid of losing some part of him—his time, his attention,