"A lovely one, yes. I'd forgotten how beautiful this part of the country was."
"Nothing but fields and cows," Maeve tossed out, annoyed that the conversation was circling out of her control. "It's fine to live in Dublin and pass through on a fine autumn day. Come winter, you wouldn't think it so lovely." She might have continued the Acme, but Maggie came in.
"Why, it's Uncle Niall, big as life." With a laugh, she went into his arms.
"Little Maggie Mae, all grown up."
"As I've been for some time." She stepped back, sighed again. "Well, you've lost nearly all of it now." rubbed an affectionate hand over his head. "It was such a fine head, you see, the good Lord saw no need to cover it with hair. I've heard about how well you're doing, darling. I'm proud of you."
"Mrs. Sweeney's telling you that so she can brag upon her grandson. It's lovely seeing you," Maggie said to Christine. "I hope you won't let this one run you ragged in Galway."
"I find I can keep up. I was hoping, if it's not inconvenient to you, that I could have a look at your glass house tomorrow before we go."
"Sure I'd be glad to show you. Hello, Lottie, are you well?"
"Fit as a fiddle." Her needles clacked musically. "I was hoping you'd come by the house and tell us about your trip to France."
This statement drew an audible sniff from Maeve. Schooling her features, Maggie turned. "Mother."
"Margaret Mary. You've been busy with your own doings, as usual, I see."
"I have."
"Brianna finds time to come by twice a week to see that I have all I need."
Maggie nodded. 'Then it isn't necessary for me to do the same."
"I'll serve dinner now, if everyone's ready," Brianna cut in.
"I'm always ready for a meal," Niall kept Chris tine's hand in his, using his free one to give Maggie's shoulder a squeeze as they went into the dining room.
There was linen on the table, and fresh flowers, with the warmth of candles flickering on the side board. The food was beautifully prepared and plentiful. It should have been a pleasant, congenial evening. But, of course, it wasn't. Maeve picked at her food. The lighter the mood at the table became, the darker grew her own. She envied Christine her fine, well-cut dress, the gleam of pearls around her throat, the quiet, expensive scent that drifted from her skin. And the skin itself, soft and pampered by wealth. Her mother's friend, Maeve thought. Her childhood playmate, class to class. The life Christine Sweeney had led should have been hers, she thought Would have been hers, but for one mistake. But for Maggie. She could have wept from the rage of it, from the shame of it. From the helpless loss of it All around her the conversation bubbled like some expensive wine, frothy and foolish talk about flowers and old times, about Paris and Dublin. About children.
"How lovely for you to have such a large family," Christine was saying to Lottie. "I was always sorry that Michael and I couldn't have more children. Though we doted on our son, then on Rogan."
"A son," Maeve muttered. "A son doesn't forget his mother."
It's true, it's a special bond." Christine smiled, hoping to soften the harshness around Maeve's mouth. "But I confess, I always wanted a daughter of ray own. You're blessed with two, Mrs. Concannon."
"Cursed, more like."
Try the mushrooms, Maeve." Deliberately Lottie spooned some onto Maeve's plate. They're fried to a turn. You've a fine hand, Brianna."
1 learned the knack of these from my gran," Brianna began. "I was always pestering her to show OK how to cook."
"And blaming me because I didn't chose to strap myself to the stove," Maeve tossed back her head. "I'd no liking for it. I'll wager you don't spend much time in the kitchen, Mrs. Sweeney."
"Not a great deal, I'm afraid." Aware her voice had chilled, Christine made the effort to lighten it again. "And I'll have to admit that none of my efforts there can come close to what you've served us tonight, Brianna. Rogan was right to praise your cooking."
"She makes a living from it. Bedding and boarding strangers."
"Leave her alone." Maggie spoke quietly, but the look in her eyes was as sharp as a shout. "God knows she bedded and boarded you as well."
"As was her duty. There's no one at this table would deny that it's a daughter's obligation to tend to her mother. Which is more than you've ever done, Margaret Mary."
"Or ever will do, so count your blessings that Brie tolerates you."
"I haven't a blessing to count, with my own children tossing me out of my own house. Then leaving me, sick and alone."
"Why, you haven't been sick a day, Maeve," Lottie said complacently. "And how can you be alone when I'm there, day and night?"
"And you draw a weekly wage to be there. It should be my own blood tending me, but no. My daughters turn their backs, and my uncle, with his fine house in Galway, pays no mind at all."
"Enough to see you haven't changed, Maeve." Niall regarded her with pity. "Not a whit. I apologize, Chrissy, for my niece's poor behavior."
"I think we'll have our dessert in the parlor." Pale and quiet, Brianna rose. "If you'd like to go in and sit, I'll serve it."
"Much cozier," Lottie agreed. "I'll help you, Brianna."
"If you'll excuse me, Uncle Niall, Mrs. Sweeney, I'd like a word with my mother before we join you." Maggie kept her seat, waiting until the room emp tied out. "Why would you do it?" Maggie asked Maeve. "Why would you spoil it for her? Would it have been so hard to give her the illusion for one evening that we were a family?"
Embarrassment only sharpened Maeve's tongue. "I've no illusions, and no need to impress Mrs. Sweeney from Dublin."
"You impressed her just the same—badly. It re flects on us all."
"Do you think you can be better than the rest of us, Margaret Mary? Better because you traipse off to Venice or Paris?" With her knuckles whitening on the edge of the table, Maeve leaned forward. "Do you think I don't know what you've been doing with that woman's grandson? Whoring yourself without an ounce of shame. Ah, he sees you've got the money and the glory you always wanted. You've only had to sell body and soul to get it."
Maggie clasped her hands beneath the table to try to stem the shaking. "My work's what I sell, so perhaps you've a point about my soul. But my body's mine. I've given it to Rogan freely."
Maeve paled as her suspicions were confirmed. "And you'll pay for it, as I did. A man of his class wants nothing more from the likes of you than what he finds in the dark."
"You know nothing about it. Nothing about him."
"But I know you. What will happen to your fine career when you discover a baby in your belly?"
"If I found myself with a child to raise, I pray God I'd do a better job than you. I wouldn't give every thing up and wrap myself and the child in sackcloth for the rest of my days."
"And that you know nothing about," Maeve said sharply. "But go on this way, and you will. You'll know what it's like to see your life stop and your heart break."
"But it didn't have to. Other musicians have families."
"I was given a gift." To her own misery, Maeve felt tears burn her eyes. "And because I was arrogant, as you are, it was taken from me. There's been no music in me since the moment I made you."
There could have been," Maggie whispered. "If you'd wanted it badly enough."
Wanted it? Even now Maeve could feel the old scar throb over her heart. "What good is wanting?" she demanded. "All your life you've wanted, and now you risk having it taken away for the thrill of having a man between your legs."
"He loves me," Maggie heard herself say.
"A man speaks easily of loving in the dark. You'll never be happy. Born in sin, live in sin, die in sin. And alone. Just as I'm alone."
"You've made hating me your life's work, and a fine job you've done of it." Slowly, unsteadily, Maggie rose. "Do you know what frightens me, frightens me down to the bone? You hate me because you see yourself when you look at me. God help me if you're right."
She fled out of the room, and into the night.
* * *
The hardest pill to swallow was apology. Maggie postponed downing it, distracting herself by showing Christine and Niall her studio. In the cool light of morning, the nastiness of the previous evening blurred a little. She was able to soothe herself by explaining various tools and techniques, even, when Niall insisted, trying to coach him through blowing his first bubble.
"It's not a trumpet." Maggie clasped a hand on the pipe as he started to lift it high. "Showing off like that will do no more than have hot glass spilling all over you."
"I believe I'll stick with me golf." He winked and turned the pipe back to her. "One artist in the family's enough."
"And you really make your own glass." Christine wandered around the shop, in tailored slacks and a silk blouse. "From sand."
"And a few other things. Sand, soda, lime. Feld spar, dolomite. A bit of arsenic."
"Arsenic." Christine's eyes widened.
"And this and that," Maggie said with a smile. "I guard my formulas closely, like a sorcerer with a spell. Depending on what color you want, you add other chemicals. Various colorants change in differ ent base glasses. Cobalt, copper, manganese. Then there are the carbonates and the oxides. The ar senic's an excellent oxide."
Christine looked dubiously at the chemicals Mag gie showed her. "I'd think it would be simpler to melt down used or commercial glass."
"But it's not yours then, is it?"
"I didn't realize you had to be a chemist as well as an artist."
"Our Maggie was always a bright one." Niall swung an arm over her shoulder. "Sarah was always writing me with how bright she was in school, how sweet Brianna's disposition."
'That was it," Maggie said with a laugh. "I was bright, Brie was sweet."
"She said Brie was bright as well," Niall said staunchly.
"But I'll wager she never said I was sweet." Maggie turned to nuzzle her face in his coat. "I'm so glad to see you again. I didn't realize how glad I would be."