A Love by Any Measure by Killian McRae Page B

anymore to you than that. It’s not as though there’s a set order to it. But when you lay in the arms of the man you love and you give your whole body to him, it’s divinity. You’ll never feel anything in the whole world that rivals that moment. Oh dear, look at the angel! She fell asleep right in your arms.”
    Mary was indeed asleep, her little chubby cheeks vibrating softly as she breathed in and out. Children are such funny creatures, bouncing like frogs one moment and dead asleep the next, Maeve thought. Patty stood up to take her and set her down in a blanket-filled basket on the floor across the room, not far from the gently crackling fire. Maeve sat back in her chair, nursing the mug in the divine tranquility that looking at a sleeping babe gives.
    “Oh, and you shouldn’t let the pain of the first time upset you,” Patty added matter-of-factly.
    Maeve’s head bolted upright. “Pain? What pain?”
    “You’ve always been so easily shook. Don’t worry. It lasts a few moments, and only the first time. And then, well, then things after are really, really pleasant.”
    Maeve tried to wet her tongue, but found her mouth had gone oddly dry. She swigged the tea instead, so that she could talk in more than a croak. “And how long does it all … take?”
    Patty took this question quite seriously. Her brow furrowed and she mouthed numbers as she counted out silently on her fingers.
    “I guess it can take a good while, or be very quick. Depends.”
    Maeve felt as though she should have been shocked by her candor, but then again, Patty O’Keefe was never one to shy on anything. It was one of the things Maeve loved most about her, even if at the moment it was making her a wee bit skittish.
    “Right after we were married, it was quick — a few minutes, maybe? — but we’d do it three or four times a day,” Patty continued. “Over time and since Mary it’s been less, but it lasts longer. Of course Patrick and I are so much more occupied and weary than we used to be. Saints preserve us, look at the way you’re fretting. You’re getting yourself so anxious, and the wedding isn’t anytime soon. The way you’re sweating you would think that you’re going to be lying in his bed tonight!”
    An irrepressible, nervous giggle leapt forth before Maeve could contain it. She bit her bottom lip in order to stifle the outburst.
    They rambled on for some time as Patty asked about Owen, having never met him but in passing, though Patrick apparently had. Maeve told her all she knew about him — he was the eldest of three children, but his brother had left for America three years prior; his mother and father still lived in Cork with his sister; he was an apprentice to the master furrier of Killarney; and he rented a small flat near the cemetery on the edge of the city. They had met at the market early the previous spring, and he had asked to walk with her that very afternoon. They had strolled together nearly each Saturday afternoon since, talking about nothing in particular, and Maeve not having any idea of his motivations. In late August, he had come out to Middle Lake and stated quite frankly that he would like to meet Rory and ask his permission to wed as soon as his circumstances allowed. Rory was only too happy to grant his blessing.
    “Do you love him?” Patty asked pointedly. The display of shock in Maeve’s eyes must have provided her an answer. “All right, then. Do you think you could love him?”
    “Owen is a good man, and I would be a fool not to love him someday.”
    Though Patrick and Patty had fallen head over heels with each other as soon as they started courting, love before marriage was a luxury few could afford.
    Maeve looked out the window and noticed darkness had fallen. Then she turned to the mantle, noting the hour. Her heart leapt.
    “Oh! I have to go! I’ll be in for a tongue-lashing if I tarry any longer! Thanks for tea. My greetings to Patrick.”
    Maeve rushed. As she turned around to