Page 98 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

Sophie grabbed a throw pillow to her stomach, needing to clutch something. “I see.”

“When I knew you were meant—by powers greater than me—I was so happy for Jamie. He’s waited a long time for love, and he’d all but put those dreams away.”

He’d put them away again, she feared, and her throat burned at the thought.

“Jamie certainly didn’t want me around a few minutes ago, when I went at him for being such a complete and utter eejit.” She tilted her head to the side, as if amused. “Not all of them appreciate my help when they need it the most, you see. Stupid and stubborn men they are. So I felt it was time for you and I to speak.”

She had to take a giant breath, realizing she’d stopped breathing for a moment, captivated by the ghost’s regard in the quiet parlor. “Being that I’m not as stupid or stubborn.”

“Being nice has its advantages,” she said, nodding encouragingly. “I don’t have to ask if you love Jamie and want to be with him. Your tears still drench the sofa. What I do want to know is if you would be open to some help.”

“Yes… I’d love some. I was hoping bawling my eyes out would help clear my head. I didn’t expect help to come in the form of a ghost.”

She chuckled softly. “That’s how life goes, I suppose. You never know who might help or what might happen. That’s why it’s so important to keep an open heart. It’s to your credit that you managed that after your divorce. That open heart is also why you didn’t become reclusive and embittered after the ugliness you experienced with your parents due to some people’s ignorance about their art.”

Her mouth went dry from the compliment. “Thanks, I think. It’s not really something you wish for.”

“No, it’s not. For every experience, we have the chance to respond. Jamie needs to be reminded of that. Because right now, he’s retrenching toward reclusiveness, which is known and all too comfortable. Forget what he says about nobility and sacrifice.”

She was really starting to like this ghost.

“He needs to answer those hateful charges against his character, yes, but doing so is not enough. He must be reminded to fight for love. For you. Because hewilllove you for the rest of his days. That I know.”

A tear fell down Sophie’s cheek, which she hastily brushed aside. “So do I. Like you said. Stupid and stubborn. I’m getting angry again.”

“That’s good.” She stood. “His Fitzgerald blood is showing, and it’s not a pleasing look on him, as I said to his very face. But like Carrick, that stubbornness is balanced by a courageous and loving heart. He would protect you and Greta and sacrifice himself.”

“I don’t want that,” she said, her voice firm with a new resolve. “I know we have a lot to overcome, but I want to do it together.”

Sorcha came over and stood beside her, reaching out her slender hand until it was inches from her face. “Call Eoghan and tell him we spoke. Ask for his thoughts about raising Greta in Caisleán should Jamie beat the charges against him. I imagine it’s on your mind. I can also tell you that the forces that sent those vandals to your very door are orchestrating their fall as we speak—without them being on the line for ordering it.”

She gasped. “Really? I know Linc and Donal were laying bets—”

“Even the wisest serpent knows when to return to its lair and Malcolm Coveney is that and more.” Her mouth twisted. “Linc will be hearing the news soon, although I can’t tell you the day. But even with this development, you will still have questions.”

Nodding, she watched as the woman lowered her hand, her face a study in compassion.

“You must be sure, for yourself as much as for her. Jamie must be as well, to cure his recent thickheadedness. And ask Eoghan to do what he does best.”

Her heart was beating fiercely in her chest now. “What is that?”

“Have him rally the town—for Jamie.” Moving to the window, she looked out. “I hope this wall will come down at some point. As I told Jamie, no place is without flaws. The only choice we can make is whether we will love and walk with the ones who hold our heart. Good luck, Sophie.”

With that, she vanished. Sophie slowly sat up and inched off the couch. She glanced around to make sure she was alone, and then she rubbed her eyes. No, shehadseen the woman, the ghost. Oddly, she felt better for it.

Grabbing her phone, she dialed Eoghan straightaway.

His face was grave when he answered. “Sophie, me olde flower. How are you faring?”

Me olde flower? The endearment was out of a Robert Burns poem, she knew, but she’d never heard anyone use it before. “Eoghan, there’s no easy way to say it, but Sorcha told me to call you.”

His serious face shifted into a wide grin. “Has she at last? I’ve been waiting for something like this to break the dam of lies and deceptions we find ourselves in.”

“That’s an apt description. Let me start with the first question. You know Greta now. And me. And you’ve lived in Caisleán your whole life. Do you think she could flourish here after everything that’s happened?”

“It’s weighed on me like a stone, as I imagine it’s weighed all the more on you.” He gave a gusty sigh. “I’ve bandied it about with Sandrine, my love. Because I want Sandrine to be happy too.”

“Her happiness is as important as ours.”

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