Page 4 of Conail

Yasmine had tried to pay it back, send money to try and do her part, but it was not enough.

It was not nearly enough. Easing out a breath, she also realized that it was time for a visit. She had been thinking about it for a while. A prolonged visit. She could not leave everything on her brother. He had stayed and was shouldering all of the burden. It wasn't fair to him.

Rubbing a hand over her face, she left to go and put the coffee on.

As the coffee machine gurgled to life, Yasmine leaned against the kitchen counter, her thoughts drifting back to the farm. Memories of her childhood flitted through her mind like old photographs. The sprawling fields, the scent of freshly cut hay, the laughter of her brother as they raced each other to the barn. It was a life so different from her existence now, a life grounded in the earth and the seasons.

The guilt gnawed at her, sharp and unrelenting. She had left behind a world that needed her, a family that depended on her. And now, even as she stood at the pinnacle of her career, there was a hollowness that success couldn't fill. With each accolade,each commission, the sense of betrayal grew stronger. She had turned her back on the people who had shaped her, who had sacrificed so much for her dreams.

The coffee was ready, and she poured herself a cup, savoring the rich aroma. She couldn't deny the truth any longer. Her place was back home, at least for a while, to help her brother and support her family through this difficult time. She took a deep breath, resolving to make the necessary arrangements. It would be hard to leave the city, her work, and the life she had built, but it was the right thing to do.

Yasmine sipped her coffee slowly, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over her. The decision had been made. She would return to the farm, not as a failure, but as a daughter who had found her way back. And perhaps, in doing so, she would rediscover the artist within her, the one who drew inspiration from the land and the love that had always been her foundation.

*****

"The men are gone into town for the day." Maeve bustled over with the tray and put it in the middle of the worn wrought iron table with its paint peeling. She had decided to have the lunch inthe shaded area of the patio, where her roses and impatiens were blooming under the shade of the oak tree. The air was ripe with the scent of honeysuckles and the cherry pies she had cooling on the windowsill. She had also chosen the spot because it was downwind from the pungent aroma of the pigs and the sounds of hens clucking. She was entertaining her best friend but was acutely aware of their different station in life.

Eleanor was wearing denims and a plain cotton shirt, but even with her lack of fashion sense, Maeve knew that it was discreetly expensive. Everything about the woman whispered money. Her hair was immaculately groomed and the hand that reached for the teacup was delicate and elegant. She had to fight the urge to bury her own work-roughened hands into the folds of her apron.

"Now." Briskly removing the apron, she sat across from her friend and pushed away any lingering signs of envy. "How's that son of yours?"

"It's peaceful here."

Maeve guffawed, her spirit lifting at the other woman's observation. "Really? Honey, you haven't been here long enough."

She laughed as she was supposed to and realized she was nervous. Taking a sip of the flavored tea, she closed her eyes. "This is perfect."

"Wait until you taste the crumble cake." Maeve realized that her friend was prevaricating and there was a reason for it.

"Don't mind if I do." She took a nibble and closed her eyes in delight. "You were always one to perform magic in the kitchen. Remember when we first met?"

"How could I forget?" Maeve was willing to go along with the flow of meaningless chatter, if that would make her friend comfortable. "Twenty years ago, this summer. You rushed into the pastry shop where I was delivering the day's order. I can still remember my first impression of the famous Eleanor McLaughlin. Tidy as a nun with not a hair out of place, eyes wild and desperate. You were hosting a luncheon, and the caterer had taken ill, leaving you with nothing to serve the ladies."

Relaxing, Eleanor stretched her legs out and settled back, her hands around the cup. "There you were with those delicious pies in that cardboard box and stepping forward to offer your service."

"I had to rush home to gather what I had made for a church social, and you followed me. I made you sit down and offered you a cup of tea and some pie."

"I thought I had died and gone to pastry heaven. I was a hit at the luncheon."

Maeve sipped tea and had a look back at that time. It still amazed her that the woman seated across from her had become her best friend. She had been invited to her elegant home and had met her husband and son. And had been there for her friend when she lost the man she loved.

She had also refused her offer of financial assistance from her. Pride, she thought, was a cloak and a barrier, but she knew her husband and her son would never dream of accepting any handouts and neither could she. "Are you comfortable telling me what's on your mind?"

With a sigh, Eleanor put her cup down and gazed pensively across the yard to the fountain trickling water from the opened mouth of a swan. Even though there was evidence that the farm was far from producing, the place was kept neat and tidy,with the weeds plucked from the grass that was now feeling the strength of the heat from the sun.

"It's Conail."

The way she said his name had alarm coming to Maeve's face. "Honey, is he ill?"

"No." She shook her head. "Not like that." She touched the napkins at the side of her plate, expression pensive. "You know what happened last year. With that woman."

"Of course."

"He saw her Friday night. It's my fault. I wanted him to accompany me to the gala, and they were there." Her fingers tightened on the napkins, crushing them.

"That must have been hard on him."

"He got drunk. Oh, he tried to tidy things up before he came over for dinner, but the evidence was there. He looked dreadful. It broke my heart."

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