Page 121 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
When he finished, the applause started, and his heart expanded as the sound crescendoed. The poem had seemed the obvious choice. Sorcha had used the words. Angie painted the picture. They were both part of this heart of his, and he was a better man for it.
“Thank you, friends. Now I’d like to introduce the executive director. Our one and only Betsy O’Hanlon.”
More cheering and whistling ushered Bets to the dais, where she hugged him.
“You did good,” she told him. “Real good.”
He nodded and stepped away to join Angie and take her hand. She was smiling at him, a smile he understood. Soon he would ask her to marry him, and he would design and build a home with her. But he wouldn’t think about that today. He was going to celebrate this moment.
“Well, friends, we still have an arts center,” Bets said, her pale blue eyes dancing with delight.
There was more cheering and whistling, including from Angie next to him. He laughed. There were still plenty of hard feelings in the village from what people felt was the council’s overstepping, and leave it to Bets to get people riled up again.
When the noise died down, Bets put her hands on her hips and looked over the crowd. “Apparently we have enough artists in this town that we can’t be kept down.”
Oh, Jesus, Bets, why don’t you shove it in their face?
But the cheering was stronger this time, and Angie was one of the ones whistling. Ollie was jumping up and down, and his mother was clapping loudly. Megan’s turnaround was a wonder to behold, and he caught Kade’s look as his friend inclined his chin toward them all. Kade was a miracle worker, and now Megan was working at his farm. Would wonders never cease?
“I’m still on call for the life modeling, Bets,” Eoghan O’Dwyer called out, adjusting his red bow tie, making everyone laugh.
“We just might take you up on it, Eoghan,” Bets said with a look in Mary’s direction before continuing. “This place is for the community, after all, and I’m proud to call Carrick Fitzgerald my friend and a friend to this village. His gift will have a lasting impact because when we give ourselves and our children the gift of expression, we give them a deeper understanding of their very selves and motivations.”
Carrick couldn’t agree more, and he cuddled Angie close when she rested her head against his shoulder.
“I for one am excited to have more people support this community through the arts, and I’m excited to see where it takes us all. Thanks to my wonderful American cousins, Angie Newcastle and Megan Bennet, and our own Siobhan McGrath for being our first teachers. I can’t wait to see what other teachers we might attract to this glorious space. Thank you.”
Donal was at the ready to wrap his arm around her, and the Lucky Charms surrounded her, talking animatedly. Someone clapped Carrick on the back, and he turned to see his friends behind him.
“Nice speech,” Brady said, jostling him.
“Short is always sweetest,” Declan said, his mouth in a wry smile. “The place looks really good. I might even sign up for a class. Hey, Angie. Has anyone ever painted with a cleaver?”
“You’d cut the canvas open, you eejit,” Liam said, laughing.
“Declan might manage it,” Kade said, putting his arm around Ollie when the boy grabbed his leg in a hug.
Jamie arrived, a tray of whiskeys in hand. “Your dad can’t stop being the publican. He’s serving up drinks right and left.”
“People in the arts love drinks,” Angie said as she took the first one.
The adults in their group took one, including Megan, which had everyone staring. “I’m trying something new every day. It’s my first whiskey.”
“Saints preserve us,” Declan said, crossing himself. “I’ll be bringing you a bottle then to keep you going. It’s un-Irish not to drink whiskey and with you living here now—”
“Do I get some?” Ollie asked. “I’m living here.”
“When you’re older,” Liam said, hoisting Ollie onto his shoulders. “To Carrick,” he added, lifting his glass. “For being a good man.”
“Hear, hear,” his friends shouted.
Carrick held Angie’s gaze as he said, “Slainte.”
“Slainte,” she said back with a wink.
“Oh, the lovebirds are cooing,” Declan said, downing his drink. “You should find a happy little corner for yourselves, or the village will talk your ear off.”
It was good advice, and Carrick had had his fill of ignoring wisdom, so he grabbed her hand and took her to a mostly vacant corner and tugged her close. “Well, what did you think? Do you understand why I chose that poem?”
