Wendy Wilson Spooner - Once Upon an Irish Summer

Once Upon An Irish Summer

2020 by Wendy Wilson Spooner

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-62020-934-9

eISBN: 978-1-62020-950-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020933533

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For my mother

I am bound to them. Although I cannot look into their eyes or hear their voices, I honor their history. I cherish their lives. I will tell their stories and remember them.

Author Unknown

Table of Contents

Prologue

I watched her long red hair blow wildly about her frame as I shouted with all my strength, Mary Ann! Step back!

But she couldnt hear my voice.

Next to Mary Ann, Mothers billowy locks moved in violent rhythm with the gale, as the two women clutched each other above the wind-whipped waters of Lake Erne.

Desperately, I called, Mother! Come back! She turned ever so slightly. But the wind. Oh, the wind. It howled around mearound them, as they stood atop the treacherous Cliffs of Magho.

As I fought to snatch them from their perilous stance, the swifter I moved, the fiercer an unknown force held me back.

Mother turned then and caught my gaze, just before an enormous gust lifted her and Mary Ann off the ground. Mothers eyes locked with mine as the wind took themstole them from meover the edge.

* * *

Allen. Allen, my love. Can you hear me? Emerine spoke my name. Then in a quieter voice, He seems to drift backward and forward in timein and out of reality.

She squeezed my hand, anchoring me in the present. I felt her thin, wrinkled skin, and remembered.

Were so very old.

I heard myself croak, My will, Emerine.

Yes, Allen. All is in order. You must rest, dearest.

Aware of my labored gasps, and darkness closing in, I forced the final words from my mouth, I cannot remember... read it to me.

She laid a hand on my forehead. Yes, my love. Parchment rustled. Fourteenth day of August 1864. Last Will. I, Allen Hamilton, of Allen County, in the state of Indiana, hereby make and declare the following in my last will and testament...

Eyes closed; I was running againtoward the edge.

This time, no force drew me back. The wind lifted me, carried me across the ground, above the mustard plants, lambs lettuce, and wild violets, as I followed them, hesitantly, yet joyously... into the great beyond.

CHAPTER 1

Beth

SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH, JUNE 2018

I am gifted.

Leaning against the brick wall of my attic studio, I repeated those words to myself over and over while staring at my canvas.

Behind me, a breeze wafted through the open balcony door. I turned to watch what looked like white birds wings fluttering across the walls. But the fluttering wasnt wings. It was the numerous drawings Id pinned up, stirring softly in the wind.

Mydrawings.

At six years old, I hadnt known I was gifted until Id drawn the exact likeness of my grandfather.

After finding a pencil on the floor in my grandmothers office, I had crawled under her desk to dig out some paper from the trash can.

Thats where it all began. Under Mimis desk.

When my mom had come looking for me, it was the astonishment on her face I remember most. At the time, I didnt understand my parents and grand-parents reactions, because drawing had come to me as easily as eating goldfish crackers or sleeping.

Id never stopped drawing or painting since.

But now...

Now my gift had become my curse.

* * *

Beth!

I jumped. My mom calledno, yelled my name, for the third time from the bottom of the stairs. Dang. She meant it that time. My parents had both acted weird during dinner, so Id escaped back upstairs as soon as possible.

But Mom kept calling me to come back down.

Not yet!

Dipping my tiniest paintbrush in a blob of white, I leaned in. Butno. I needed more light. Glancing at the darkening sky through the windows, I turned to stare at the light sources Id rigged up on the high-pitched ceiling of the attic. I usually chose the strings of white LED Christmas lights Id hung in swags across the beams.

Yep. That should work.

Stepping to the wall switch, I flicked it, and boom. Five-hundred twinkle-lights shined on my canvas. The artwork glistened and glowed. But... it needed more. I flicked the next switch. Yes! Now the circle of antique, gold filament bulbs hanging above my easel, warmed the lighting perfectly.

I leaned close to the canvas and added the last few glints of sparkle to Cinderellas shoes... and... done!

Satisfied, I dropped the paintbrush in the turpentine jar and the sweet, piney scent shot up my nose.

I genuinely loved that smell.

After pausing in that contented place for another second, I threw off my splattered smock and ran downstairs.

When I arrived in the kitchen, Mom wasnt there, but her voice drifted down the hall from Dads office. Was he working late again?

Tip-toeing through the hall to the doorway, I peeked in. Mom was sitting in the cushy green chair at Dads desk, her back rigid.

Dad was on the phone as usual.

Should I run back upstairs? They both glanced up at me. Nope. Too late.

Okay, well talk to her, Dad said, ending the call.

Stepping into the room, I stood with my arms crossed and stared at my mom. Did you really have to keep yelling my name?

She pursed her lips. Sweetie, you ran off with the last bite of chicken still in your mouthand we need to talk.

Dad raised his brows. They were both in on something. I didnt want to know what it was. Trying to lighten the mood, I said, Well, Ive finished my painting. And its my best one ever.

My parents glanced at each other. Dads sandy blond hair was a mess like always when he was stressed about something. He had a habit of running his hands through it over and over. He seemed tired, too; his deep blue eyes rimmed in red and extra stubble across his jaw.

Was mom super stressed, too? The pinched line between her large, hazel eyes told me she was.

I sighed. Okay! Whats up?

I could never have guessed at what came next.

Mimis offered you a part-time summer job, Mom said, forcing a smile.

What? I glanced at Dad. He forced the same, fake smile.