Banjo Man Read online

  “For what?” Laurie’s voice rose a decibel as the suspicion of what Katy was going to say next bloomed inside her.

  “Well, the perfect time for Rick to come back home to give a concert, of course! It’ll put Holy Family on the map!”

  Fourteen

  Numbness blocked out anger in the days that followed. Numbness and constant anxiety attacks.

  “Laurie, I think you’re letting this trip get all out of proportion,” Ellen said as she flopped down on the sofa bed and bit into a piece of pepperoni pizza.

  “You’re right.” Laurie took an avenging stab at her salad. “You’re absolutely right! It’s going to be even worse than I’m imagining!”

  “Nonsense! You’ve changed, Laurie. Whether you see it or not, you’re not the same Laurie O’Neill who let her father rule her life and emotions.”

  Laurie looked at her friend with fondness and picked her words carefully. “No, you’re right about that, Ellen. I’m not the same; if I were, I would never have been able to leave the convent. I know that. But to have to face him for the first time, and with Rick right there … I don’t know if I can do it.”

  Ellen tried to laugh away the doom in her friend’s voice. “Well, I admit, the timing isn’t terrific; leave it to Katy to stage a little drama! But it’ll work out okay. Who could not be charmed by Rick Westin?”

  “William O’Neill, that’s who!” Laurie retorted, sending her pizza sailing across her plate. “Everything’s against Rick: his offbeat charm and incredibly sexy smile, his profession, his gypsyish life-style, to say nothing of his motorcycle. Dad still thinks of motorcycles in terms of black leather jackets, stabbings, and gang wars!”

  Laurie recaptured her pizza and took another bite. “You know, Ellen, the most incredible thing is that I’m sitting here worrying about problems grown women don’t worry about. I mean, I’m twenty-three years old! What difference does it make what my father thinks? What—”

  “It makes a lot of difference, Laurie,” Ellen said softly, “because your family has always been so close and ruled so strictly by your father.” She laughed lightly and brushed a stray hair off her forehead. “You know, as a kid, I used to envy you, because everyone in your family cared so much about one another. And your father, he was always involved, always so cautious about what you did, always so—”

  “Stifling.” A peculiar sadness crept into Laurie’s voice. “And I can see from Katy that he’s still the same. I know it’s done out of love, and I do love him dearly, but it’s not the way it should be.”

  “Maybe not. Maybe it’s up to you to strike the balance. To keep the love and replace the other stuff with your own independent spirit. Once your dad sees the woman you’ve become, Laurie, he’ll—”

  “—send me back to the convent!” Laurie laughed.

  “Seriously, Laurie, I think it’ll be fine. There’s only one thing that I see as a problem.”

  “Oh?” Laurie stood and began cleaning off the table.

  “I don’t think you’ve faced your own feelings about Rick Westin completely, about just how he fits into your life. And I think that’s botching up your thinking about everything else.” Ellen spread her fingers out in front of her and shook her head. “Just my uneducated opinion, mind you, but that’s what I think.”

  “Well, stop thinking about it!” Laurie spun on her heel and stalked into the kitchen. She jerked open the refrigerator and pulled out a half-eaten pie. “It’s not something that needs thought. It’s beyond thought,” she murmured to the pastry crust. “The fact that that man has me sweating at the mention of his name, standing at my window at night and imagining his hands on my body, feeling alive and full and wonderful when he wraps me in his arms … What kind of thought does that take?”

  Ellen followed her into the tiny kitchen. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

  “Me? Afraid?” Laurie laughed mockingly. “Afraid of falling for a guy, becoming dependent on him for my happiness, just at a time when I was finally beginning to stand on my own two feet? Afraid of falling in love? How can I be? I mean—” She shoveled a piece of pie into her mouth. “I mean, face it, Ellen, what do I know about love? I’m a two-month-old ex-nun!”

  “Well, well, well!” William O’Neill’s booming voice filled the small entry hall as the handsome gray-haired man scooped his shaking daughter into his arms. “My little Laurie has finally come home!”

  Trying to breathe deeply against the smothering fabric of her father’s shirt, Laurie willed her knees to hold up. This was awful! Why had she come like this, with Rick standing just behind her to witness everything that happened? She felt sick. Then a tiny voice screamed inside her head: You’re not a little girl anymore, Laurie O’Neill! Shape up!

  Pulling her head back until she could see into her father’s deep gray eyes, she smiled brightly. “Hello, Daddy. I’ve missed you.”

  She slipped out of his grasp then and caught sight of her mother, waiting her turn, her hands wrapped nervously in the folds of the checked apron she never took off.

  “Oh, Mom.” Laurie hugged her warmly, breathing in the familiar odor of freshly baked bread mixed with the English Lavender soap her mother always kept beside the kitchen sink. Her mother’s arms wrapped around her tightly and held her close.

  Laurie held back her own tears and wiped a stray one from her mother’s cheek. “Hey, this is a happy time—a reunion! Don’t cry, Mom.” She looked lovingly into her mother’s eyes and stepped back.

  It was when she stepped back that the hallway grew cool and quiet, almost as if a stranger had stepped into her stylish blue flats. Her father stood a few feet away, his severely appraising look moving slowly over her. Her mother stared at her, too, surprise filling her damp eyes.

  The oddest feeling swept through Laurie: She thought for an instant that she should introduce herself to her mother and father. Hello, I’m Laurie. Remember me? No, perhaps not. I’ve changed, as you see!

  But they did see, she noticed at once. And that was exactly the problem.

  “Our Laurie.” Her mother moved toward her first, her fingers touching the soft, gauzy blouse that lay loosely across Laurie’s shoulders. It was bright blue, the color of peacock feathers, and was bound about her narrow waist with a colorful cummerbund that emphasized the fullness of her breasts. “You … you look wonderful, Laurie. Such a pretty blouse. It’s—”

  William O’Neill interrupted. “You’re not the same, Laurie. You look different. What happened to the clothes your mother sent you?”

  Laurie tipped her chin upward and faced her father with a brave smile. “I’ve bought my own, Daddy. But we have all day to talk about me. Now I want you to meet someone.”

  And, glancing over her shoulder, she met Rick’s strong, relaxed smile. It amazed her how calm he was. He’d spent the whole long drive from Washington, D.C., laughing and telling jokes or strumming his banjo when she took a turn at the wheel. Occasionally he’d lean over and kiss her gently on the cheek, then point out a wonderful hill or twisting river he found especially intriguing. He had a way of making the smallest thing—a piece of old wood, a gnarled tree, or a bird’s call—seem so very special. Laurie never tired of hearing his rich, deep voice wrap around her, winging her spirit off in some new direction. But all too soon the trip had ended, at the doorstep of the white frame house in which she’d grown up, surrounded by Irish love and protectiveness.

  “Mom and Dad,” Laurie announced, her voice louder than necessary, “this is Rick Westin, the man Katy has coerced into playing at the college.”

  For a brief moment that seemed an eternity, silence filled the hallway while William O’Neill’s sharp gray eyes scrutinized Rick Westin with the precision of a drill sergeant. His gaze traveled over the wild, dark hair that fell onto Rick’s forehead, the piercing brown eyes that never wavered, the tall, lean frame dressed in blue jeans, a sweat shirt, and rough, worn boots.

  “Well, well, well,” William O’Neill offered at last, pumping Rick’s ha
nd, the expression on his face unreadable. “So you’re the banjo player Katy picked up in D.C. And you seem to know our Laurie, here, too?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Very well.” Rick smiled warmly and returned her father’s handshake, ignoring the raised eyebrows and questioning look on the older man’s face.

  As formidable as William O’Neill was, there was one person in the family who never feared him, never hesitated to speak up when she thought the time was right: diminutive Frances O’Neill, whose rearing of the large O’Neill brood had given her a strength no man could match.

  “Now, Bill, let the young folks come in and sit down. They’ve had themselves a long drive. You go along and run those errands I asked you to do.” And she ushered Laurie and Rick away from the critical stare of the O’Neill patriarch and into the safety of her kitchen.

  Katy soon rescued Rick and whisked him off to the college to test the sound system for the concert that night, and Laurie plunged into helping her mother lift the huge roast of lamb into the oven and crimp the edges on the berry pies. There was plenty to do and blessedly little time for talk. Seventeen relatives were expected for dinner later that day, seventeen O’Neills—and Rick Westin, her banjo man.

  “No, Aunt Florence, you sit over there, near the window, so you can watch the birds.” Frances smiled softly and helped the old lady to a seat near the head of the enormous oak table that filled the high-ceilinged dining room.

  Laurie moved the salad bowl and squeezed a basket of rolls between the mashed potatoes and the string beans. She nodded at her elderly aunt and fled back to the heat of the kitchen. In there the table was set neatly and decoratively for the younger O’Neills: those cousins, nephews, and nieces who hadn’t made it yet to the “main table,” an honor that came with age and available space. The pies were cooling on the small back porch off the kitchen, and long-eared Rusty, the old setter, was curled beneath the bench beside the door, one eye opening and closing as each new person wandered through. Everything was exactly as it had been each Easter of Laurie O’Neill’s growing-up years. Nothing had changed.

  “There, now.” Frances O’Neill walked back into her kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Everything’s nearly ready, Laurie. My goodness, dear, look at you.” She reached over and tucked a strand of hair back behind Laurie’s ear.

  The gesture took Laurie by surprise. Her mother had brushed back her hair hundreds of times, maybe thousands. She remembered disliking it as a child, wanting to control her own hair, her own looks. She felt the same way now. Only now it wasn’t her looks she was worried about; it was her life.

  “Mom”—she looked hesitatingly at her mother—“having Father Flaherty come to dinner today—”

  “—was your father’s idea,” Frances finished quickly. “He thought … well, perhaps it would be a nice chance for the two of you to talk. After dinner. Perhaps Father could give you some direction now, some help in planning your future.”

  “No, Mother!” Laurie’s voice was clear and precise. “I’m doing my own planning now, sorting things out for myself.”

  She saw the hurt in her mother’s eyes and immediately softened her words. “What I mean, Mom, is that I can’t depend on anyone to make my decisions now. I have to do it myself. Everything’s always been done for me, at home, in the convent; things were always mapped out for me. I never had to decide anything. Daddy was always there to do it for me, or Father Flaherty, or Mother Superior!” Tears began to press behind her lids, and Laurie fought valiantly to hold them back. “Everyone meant well, but in the process, a part of Laurie O’Neill was left lying useless on the drawing-room floor.”

  “Laurie! How can you say such a thing?” Her mother stood straight and tall, her eyes flashing. “No one ever forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”

  Slipping an arm around her mother’s shoulders, Laurie kissed her gently on the cheek. “In a way you’re absolutely right, Mom. It’s taken me a couple of months to see that too. I mean, look at Katy! Dad’s been suggesting things to her for years and look where it’s gotten him! I wasn’t forced into anything, but I’ve always wanted so to please others, especially you and Daddy!”

  Frances nodded gently. She knew that was true. She had wondered all along whether her daughter would really be able to find happiness in the convent; Laurie had never seen enough of real life to prepare her for such a decision. And yet, at the time …

  “And, Mom, I still want to please you two,” Laurie went on, finding the rush of words strangely comforting. “But I need to find out what will please me too. What will make me grow into the fine woman I know both you and Daddy want me to be.”

  Frances O’Neill looked at her daughter for a long time. An almost overwhelming emotion pressed in on her. It was a feeling only a mother experiences fully, the incredibly poignant feeling of cutting the strings for the first time, letting a child go to seek her own happiness beyond the nest. In a painful moment of honesty, she realized she had never before had this feeling with Laurie. She had never before allowed her to go.

  Offering her daughter an understanding, loving smile, she picked up a plate of spiced apples and walked back into the dining room.

  At her entrance, the family gathered around the table.

  Aunt Peg, as sprightly at seventy-five as Laurie ever hoped to be, wedged herself in between Rick and Laurie at the lace-covered table as the family began the festive meal.

  “Well, young man,” Aunt Peg demanded as soon as Father Flaherty had finished leading them in the blessing and while the room was still hushed from prayer, “tell me, did you meet our Laurie while she was still Sister Loretta Ann?”

  Laurie groaned, Katy giggled, and a dozen pairs of eyes focused on Rick Westin, who was innocently chewing on a slice of lamb. He could only answer with the swift leap of one dark brow and a vigorous shake of his head.

  Aunt Mary took advantage of his predicament to cluck her tongue and sweetly add, “It’s a shame. She was a beautiful nun, you know. Seemed born to the habit.” She cast a sad smile in Laurie’s direction. “She looks different now, somehow.”

  Rick choked, then quickly recovered, fighting back his laughter. “Oh, yes, I have no doubt that’s true!”

  He shot a glance across Aunt Peg’s ample bosom at Laurie’s flushed face and added, “She’s mighty beautiful now. And I can see where she gets it.” He smiled warmly at Frances. “Those lovely high cheekbones seem to be a family trademark.”

  “Well, thank you, Rick,” Frances replied graciously, a hint of amusement shining in her eyes. Laurie’s young man had gotten himself out of that one quite nicely, she thought with a peculiar satisfaction.

  Jeremy, the youngest of Laurie’s three younger brothers, who had finally made it to the grown-up table and was not about to let his presence go unnoticed, broke in. “Say, Rick, us kids were talkin’, and we have a question …”

  “Sure, buddy.” Rick gave the youngster his full attention.

  “We went to the cathedral to see Laurie when she wore a bride’s dress and became a nun—”

  Laurie covered her mouth with her napkin as a hush fell over the room.

  “—and we were wondering if she can wear the same dress if she marries you, or if that’s holy and if she has to divorce God first.”

  Basking in the warmth of everyone’s undivided attention, Jeremy smiled and settled back in the chair to await Rick’s answer.

  Everyone quickly looked at his plate or the walls or the centerpiece of flowers in the middle of the table.

  They need water, Laurie thought vaguely, panic blotting out all rational thought.

  Rick settled back in his chair and looked around the table, then laughed so deeply and richly that even Uncle Henry, who didn’t hear well and purposely never wore his hearing aid to family gatherings, smiled automatically.

  “Well, Jeremy, those are mighty interesting questions you’re asking. Mighty interesting. I’m just guessing at my answers, mind you, but I’m inclined to think the dr
ess Laurie wears when she gets married is up to her. Whether or not that other dress is holy is a question we’ll have to turn over to the reverend, here.” He nodded cheerfully at Father Flaherty. “Next, I think that what happens between God and Laurie happens in her heart, and not in some court of law. And lastly, as to whether or not Laurie will marry me—”

  Laurie’s voice leaped from her throat. “That, brother dear, is nobody’s business but mine at the moment.” She drew a deep steadying breath, cast Rick a long, clear glance, and began to cut her lamb, her hand not trembling at all.

  Glances were exchanged around the table. Katy winked broadly at her older sister. But it was Grandmother Jane O’Neill, her clear eyes sparking with merriment, who seemed to be enjoying the scene the most.

  Laurie O’Neill was her granddaughter, all right, her favorite granddaughter. One could tell by the Irish spunk, yes, ma’am, that and the glint that sparked in her eyes every time she looked at her young man. Just like she, Jane, used to do with her Frank, God rest his soul. Well said, she thought, and lifted her voice. “Has anyone heard what the weather’s going to be like this week?”

  The dinner seemed to go on for hours. Everything looked delicious—but Laurie didn’t taste a bite.

  When Aunt Peg excused herself early to watch a re-run of The Bells of St. Mary’s, Rick quietly slipped into the vacated chair. Beneath the draped tablecloth, the pressure of his leg against Laurie’s gradually blocked out all other sensations.

  In the middle of a particularly intense inquisition from Uncle Jerry as to what made young people shy away from commitment, Rick caught hold of Laurie’s hand and twined his fingers with hers. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

  Grandmother O’Neill grinned at the soft, sensual smile that awoke on Laurie’s lips. Yes, sir, that Rick was just like her Frank.

  “Folks”—Laurie’s father pushed his chair away from the table and fingered his wineglass—“Before we leave the table I’d like to propose a toast.” He smiled gently at Laurie. “To my little Laurie, welcome home!”