Page 7 of The Wandering Season

Niall had us back on the road within fifteen minutes, and I found myself lost in the wild beauty of the coastal countryside. To imagine that my ancestors had possibly once lived here, and freely chosen to give it up, baffled me. The Rockies had an overabundance of beauty too, but perhaps I’d grown too used to the rugged peaks and lush valleys. The west of Ireland was a thing apart, so very different from any place I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t peel my eyes from it.

“If you keep gathering wool like that, one of the sheep farmers is going to put you to work.”

Niall’s baritone snapped me back to the present.

I chuckled. Did he have nieces and nephews that inspired the dad-like humor? Maybe he had children of his own. It struck me that I knew next to nothing about this man, and I had made more suppositions than actual discoveries about him. He was a devoted caretaker and a heck of a good cook, but beyond that, the rest was conjecture.

“Sorry, I guess I’m brooding.”

“Well, you came to the right place. It’s the national pastime. Likely why we have more than our share of writers.”

“And heavy drinkers,” I added.

“Ouch. But you’re not wrong, I suppose. Brooding comes naturally over a pint. Which is, by the way, an experience you need to have.”

I arched a brow. “Brooding over a pint?”

“More specifically, drinking a pint of Guinness or Smithwick’s in a proper Irish pub. Brooding optional. Given that you’re on holiday, you might consider taking a miss on that.”

He signaled and turned the car onto a narrow lane.

“Where are we going?”

I saw nothing nearby but vast expanses of hilly fields.

“To show you the secret behind my alchemy, as you called it.”

We pulled up to a farmhouse that looked new in comparison to Blackthorn, but I would have been shocked if the shell of it was less than a few hundred years old. The house appeared to be meticulously cared for, as was every inch of the grounds.

An older man walked from the house, his step sprightly for a man who seemed to be nearing his eighties. Niall opened the car door and escorted me over to the man.

“Veronica, I’d like you to meet Pat O’Brien, the best dairy farmer in County Mayo and, consequently, the known world. Pat, this is Miss Veronica Stratton, here on holiday from America and staying at Blackthorn.”

“And here I thought you’d finally found yourself a bride. More’s the pity.”

Pat extended a bony hand and seemed pleased that I matched his firm grip. “But why have you brought the lovely young lady to a dairy farm of all places? Surely she’d prefer to see the town or something more amusing than this.”

He gestured to the plot of land that represented his life’s work.

“Oh, we’ll get to that soon enough. But she’s sampled the butter I make for the guests and is enough of a food expert that I thought she’d enjoy learning a trick or two of mine.”

Pat doffed his cap with a flourish. “If Niall Callahan thinks that highly of you, you’re more than welcome here, Miss Stratton. I’m afraid my old knees aren’t up to a full tour of the place so late in the day, but I can show you as far as the barn.”

“That would be grand, Pat.”

Niall clapped him on the shoulder, and the pair led me to a barn not far from the house. I’d expected it to smell terribly, but each stall was pristine with a fresh bed of hay and a satisfied-looking cow watching our entry with vague interest. The small crew of field hands never seemed to stop moving.

“The cows are brought inside for the winter months,”

Niall explained. “Most of the year, they’re free to graze in the fields. When the grass goes dormant for the year, they’re brought here and fed until spring.”

One of the cows lowed softly, almost like a greeting, and Pat reached out to scratch her between the ears. He cooed, “Oh yes, wee Daisy’s a good girl,”

as she angled her head to receive scratches on a larger surface of her head.

The cow was so pleased with the attention, I couldn’t help but giggle. “I don’t know if she’s a cow or a golden retriever.”

“Oh, I’m not sure she’s puzzled that out herself. I swear she’d crawl in my lap if given half a chance.”

Pat gave the cow’s muzzle a scratch and she lowed again, expressing her appreciation.

“You won’t see happier cows anywhere in the world,”

Niall said as Pat took his leave back to the house. We toured the rest of the barn, and the rest of the livestock seemed just as friendly.

“Pat seems like a gentle soul. You can tell he’s nurtured these cows with more love and attention than most,”

I mused aloud.

He chuckled. “The cows dash over to greet him in the morning to be milked. It’s quite a sight to behold. And I’d bet my last dime you can taste the difference in the milk. That’s why I always buy milk and cream from him to make my butter. I wouldn’t go anywhere else. I only hope the family carries on as well as he has done.”

He showed me outside, and we walked along the expansive fields until they got too boggy from the winter rains. “You can’t see it now, but in spring these hills are a riot of clover. That’s the other secret. The cows have some of the most luscious grasses to eat in all of Ireland, and the little scamps know it.”

I gazed out at the dormant fields. “It all makes sense to me. With a good diet and lots of affection, what isn’t possible?”

Niall patted my shoulder. “That ought to be printed on bumper stickers and T-shirts. Sounds like a life motto to me.”

I chortled. “It was more or less my mom’s mantra.”

I thought of my mother back in Estes Park and the state she’d been in when I left at Christmas. She felt so horrible about everything, and there was nothing I could say or do to convince her that I was going to be fine. That we were fine. Most of all, she expressed guilt about not telling me herself. I tried to assure her that I understood the situation was complicated and all, but there was no consoling her. I was glad we’d been able to share a meal together in Denver after she’d calmed down a bit, but I knew all the emotions were still there, bubbling just below the surface.

I had felt terrible for her, and the more I considered it, the more I felt pity for the fifteen-year-old me who’d pieced it together in sophomore biology class too. The girl who worried that if she confessed what she knew, her parents would love her less because they couldn’t pretend she was their kid anymore. Intellectually, I knew it was hard for my parents. I realized now that they were bound by the NDA and would have faced legal hassles if they violated it. I knew, as a headstrong teenager I probably would have railed against the vague answers they would have been forced to give.

But part of me still wished they’d told me something.

Even more of me wished I’d been brave enough to raise the questions when I’d pieced it all together.

“You’re brooding again, lass.”

Niall’s voice called me back to the here and now. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I’m not sure they’re worth that much, even with inflation. Just thinking about home.”

“Isn’t the point of being on holiday to get away from home a bit?”

He bumped me playfully with his elbow.

“Gah, you’re right. This place is so beautiful. I should be more invested in the moment.”

“I’m only teasing. Truly. Sometimes being away from home makes us see home troubles more clearly. Whenever I venture away from Blackthorn, I come up with solutions to her woes in a way I can’t do when I’m home. Perspective can be a great gift.”

“You’re probably right. Thank you for bringing me here. I loved seeing this place.”

“I knew you would. And it’s just one of the many secrets I keep in Blackthorn’s kitchens.”

“I look forward to learning more of them,”

I said as he opened the car door for me.

“Oh, I’ve a feeling you and Blackthorn are going to get on famously.”