Allison O'Brian on Her Own Read online

  “I sure did, Mr. O’Brian, and he’ll be here before too long.”

  Grandfather groaned. “I don’t need that old horse doctor looking at me. I’m going to be fine. I feel better already. All I need is a good cup of tea.”

  “Humph! What you need is a good spanking. Dr. Hartley told you not to do any hard work, but do you listen? Out there digging like a madman, planting trees—just begging for another heart attack!”

  “The trees had nothing to do with it—”

  “Yes, I’m so terribly sorry,” Allison interrupted. “I’m sure it’s all my fault. I didn’t mean to startle you so. I . . . I thought you were the gardener. I mean, you didn’t look like you could be my . . . my grandfather.” She smiled and reached for his hand.

  “Grandfather?” Muriel exclaimed. Now it was her turn to be astonished. “Is this—can it be? Little Allison all grown up?”

  Allison nodded solemnly.

  “Well, take off your hat and coat, dear. I’ll turn on the lights and we’ll have a look at you.” Muriel scurried about turning on lights. Allison removed her hat, and Grandfather and Muriel stared in amazement.

  “Mercury,” he breathed. Muriel nodded, mouth gaping wide.

  Allison shook her head quizzically. “What do you mean? That’s my middle name.”

  Grandfather gestured to the portrait above the fireplace. Muriel flipped a switch and the picture glowed to life. There, poised in an emerald gown, was a lovely young woman. Her skin was like ivory, and her hair was a deep, rich auburn that glowed like firelight. Allison sensed a vague familiarity in the face.

  “Mercury Victoria Patterson O’Brian . . . your grandmother. God rest her soul,” he spoke the words lovingly, and a bit of Irish brogue slipped off his tongue.

  Allison drew near the painting. “She’s beautiful, Grandfather.” Suddenly, Allison decided she liked her middle name.

  “That she was, lassie. And how she’d have loved to see her bonnie granddaughter.”

  “Hello,” called a friendly yet urgent voice from the hall. “I let myself in. Where’s the patient?”

  In the blink of an eye, Dr. Hartley swept into the room, placed a stethoscope to Riley O’Brian’s chest, and poked a thermometer in his mouth. He rolled up a plaid woolen shirt sleeve and pulled out a blood pressure kit. Allison clung to the back of the leather chair and watched in fear, her knees still wobbling.

  “Come with me, my darling,” Muriel said. She wrapped her arm around Allison’s shoulders and led her to the kitchen. “Your grandfather hates doctors. We best leave him be for now.”

  Muriel dabbed her eyes, straightened her apron, and busied herself at the big black kitchen stove. “I know most people think these woodburning stoves are antiquated, but I still say nothing bakes bread like them. Mr. O’Brian has offered me a fancy electric range dozens of times.” She threw some kindling on the smoldering embers and placed a big copper kettle on top.

  “Will he be okay?” Allison asked. “Do you think it’s serious?”

  “I hope not, darling, but we never know. Doc Hartley keeps warning him to take it easy. His heart’s still weak from last spring. He was in the hospital for two weeks, you know. I didn’t think he was going to make it, but he has a very strong will. And now that you’re here, I’m sure he’ll want to follow the doctor’s advice to a tee.”

  “Oh, I hope you’re right. Now that I finally have a grandfather, I couldn’t bear to lose him.”

  Muriel stepped back and took a long, hard look at Allison. “If I remember right, you’re only fourteen, but you sure look older.”

  “I wanted to seem more grown-up—for traveling. So I borrowed some of my mother’s clothes. . . .” Allison looked down at her green suede pumps.

  “Hmm. And Marsha just let you come, did she?” Muriel asked suspiciously.

  Allison could tell that Muriel wasn’t one to be fooled. “Well, not exactly. . . .”

  “Just as I thought.” Muriel prepared a tea tray. “You can fill me in on the details later, but let’s not upset your grandfather about it just yet.”

  Allison nodded. “Can I help you with that, Muriel?”

  “Of course not! Guests don’t help the staff.” Allison jumped back, and Muriel softened and smiled. “Well, all right, dear. Why don’t you carry that plate of cookies for me.”

  Grandfather was sitting up on the couch, bright-eyed and perky, as Dr. Hartley packed the medical equipment back into his worn black doctor bag.

  “I think it was just a bit of angina,” the doctor announced. “But just the same, I want him to take it easy.” This was directed to Muriel.

  “Well, now I have an ally. Maybe between the two of us, we may talk some sense into this man.” Muriel winked at Allison.

  “I certainly hope so. Here’s some medicine to help him rest and a prescription for some more digitalis.” He handed them to Muriel.

  “I hope you’ll have some tea,” Muriel offered.

  “Not this time. Josh Taylor has a mare with a breech foal, and he asked me to stop by. But don’t mind if I take a couple of these tasty cookies along.”

  “See, Allison, what did I tell you? I get sick and they send in the horse doctor,” Grandfather complained with a sparkle in his eye.

  Dr. Hartley laughed. “Practicing medicine in a small town is a challenge, to say the least.” He stepped over to Allison and clasped her hand warmly. “Riley told me about you, Allison. I think it’s awfully nice of you to come all the way out here to spend time with him. Now, I better be off before Josh comes hunting me down. Take care—and call if you need me.” He patted Grandfather’s shoulder and left.

  Muriel stirred some life into the dying fire and threw in a couple of small logs. She tucked the blanket snugly around Grandfather, then refilled his teacup.

  “All right, all right, Muriel, stop acting like a mother hen. I’m sure you’d like to get to work on dinner, especially since we’ve a guest. Allison can take care of me while you’re in the kitchen.”

  Muriel looked slightly disappointed, then grinned at Allison. “All right, young lady, he’s all yours.”

  Grandfather turned and gave Allison his full attention. “Allison Mercury O’Brian, why in the name of heaven didn’t you let me know you were coming?” he asked.

  Allison shifted uncomfortably in the deep leather easy chair and studied the pattern of the Oriental carpet beneath her feet. “I was just so excited . . . I guess I forgot.”

  “Yes, but then why didn’t your mother write or telegram me that you were on your way?”

  Allison stared into the embers fighting to ignite the log. Muriel had said not to excite him. “Well,” she began. “Marsha—I mean Mother—had to go to Istanbul to make a film, and she was in a terrible hurry.”

  Grandfather nodded. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. You have no idea how happy this makes me. Having you here is like a dream come true. Sometimes I’ve felt like an old island out here by myself. You know, it’s been almost forty years since I left Ireland and all my relatives behind. And now here I am . . . all alone.”

  “You came here from Ireland?” she asked, pulling a hassock near the couch to be closer to him.

  “Aye, left my family back in Kilkee near Donegal—a fishing town on the west coast. We were all fishermen, but those were hard times back then—back in 1909. My brother James was going to join me the next year after I got set up. But he got married that spring—never made it out.”

  Allison studied this man carefully. She wanted to memorize each character line carved into his old, weathered face. He folded his large hands in his lap. They were a working man’s hands. His thick gray hair stuck out in woolly tufts with eyebrows to match, and his eyes reminded her of the sea on a gray, stormy day. They had a faraway look as he continued his story, as though the importance of all this history needed to be passed on to her while there was the opportunity.

  “I met my Mercury on the ship coming over. She had hair that flamed in the sun. Couldn’t tak
e my eyes off that hair. She was a Dublin lass—married her in New York and brought her out to Oregon with me. I’d heard there was good fishing out west and room for a man to stretch his legs. Never been sorry I came. But I do miss my family at times.”

  Allison glanced around the well-furnished room. This was not the house of a lowly fisherman. Somewhere along the line, Grandfather had made some money.

  “Grandfather, may I call you Grandpa? It’s so much friendlier, and, well, I never really had a grandpa . . . not that I can much recall, anyway. Marsha’s dad died when I was two, and I never really knew him.”

  “You bet you can call me Grandpa!” His face lit up when he smiled, warming Allison even more than the crackling fire on the grate. She held her hands over the flickering flames, and for the first time since Nanny Jane had died, she felt at home and safe.

  “Well, Allison, are you keeping him in line?” Muriel asked as she lowered a tray onto the mahogany coffee table in front of Grandpa. “Mr. O’Brian, I think you should have your soup in here. It’s warmer than the dining room and I’m sure Allison won’t mind. And she can have her supper with me and George a little later.”

  “Certainly,” Allison agreed. “I think this is a delightful room.”

  Two walls of the room were solidly filled with mahogany bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling and bulged with leather-bound books. Gold-embossed titles glowed in the firelight and promised tales of adventure and intrigue. The fireplace wall was solid stone, and a carved mantelpiece housed interesting treasures of all sorts. Allison felt certain each could tell the story of a far-off land. The opposite wall was covered by forest green velveteen drapes trimmed with gold tassels.

  Grandpa followed her gaze as he sipped his soup. “Muriel, open those drapes for Allison,” he commanded.

  Muriel pulled a golden cord and revealed a gigantic bay window with a padded window seat. The fog had lifted just enough to reveal an incredible view of pounding surf and jagged rocks. Allison leaned over into the window seat and peered out. Her head reeled at the sheer drop-off below.

  “Grandpa!” she exclaimed. “It looks like there’s nothing to hold us up!”

  Grandpa laughed. “I promise you, lassie, we’ll not fall into the sea.” Allison looked at him doubtfully. “Now, don’t worry, my dear, this house is founded on solid rock. It’s been sitting here for over sixty years, and I don’t expect it to tumble now.”

  Far to the right she could barely see the beam from the lighthouse. She watched the huge breakers explode onto the rocks below in tall bursts of spray. It looked frightfully beautiful. Allison turned from the breathtaking scene back to the security of the fireplace. The serenity of the beautiful woman in the portrait captivated her.

  “What was she like, Grandpa? Mercury, I mean.”

  Grandpa finished his last bite and folded his hands thoughtfully. “When I met her she was hardly older than you. Sixteen . . . can you imagine sending a pretty sixteen-year-old lassie across the ocean all by herself?”

  Allison could have commented on the irony of that statement, but she said nothing—just listened.

  Grandpa’s gaze seemed to reach far beyond the portrait as he continued. “All she had was a letter from a second cousin in New York to set her up. I noticed her first thing and said to myself, ‘Here’s a bonnie lassie that needs looking out for.’ And that’s exactly what I did. Good thing, too, for there were others had their eye on her. But I was a big, strappin’ lad and no one tangled with me.”

  Allison could just imagine him taking on the whole crew to defend the honor of the beautiful Mercury. She wondered when her grandmother had passed on but was afraid to stir up unhappy memories. Marsha had kept so many secrets from her!

  “We were married in New York and came straight out to Oregon, poorer than church mice, we were. Mercury had Jamie the following year. Two years later she had little Katherine. But baby Katy died late spring of 1914, the very same day World War I began. Odd . . .

  “And then you lost my father in World War II . . . how tragic.”

  Grandpa didn’t answer. Allison instantly wished she could retract her words. She wanted to cheer him up, not depress him.

  “Grandpa, I’ve always wondered about the name Mercury. I never knew it was my grandmother’s name. But why did her parents name her Mercury?”

  Grandpa chuckled. “Your grandmother never cared for the name, either. In fact, when I met her she went by Victoria. But when we completed our papers at immigration, I heard them call her Mercury and thought it was perfect. Maybe it was the hair. I called her Mercury ever since. Seems her father wanted to be an astronomer, but he was only a factory worker. He named his first son Jupiter. Then came Mercury. She had another sister, Venus, and I guess the mother put her foot down when the fourth son was going to be named Neptune.” Allison laughed.

  “I hate to break it up, but I think we should get Mr. O’Brian to his room,” Muriel said, breezing into the room with a bottle of medication. “And Dr. Hartley said to take one of these pills at six.”

  Allison helped Muriel guide Grandpa slowly up the stairs. “Now, you two just let me be. I can get myself up these stairs,” he grumbled. “I swear, Muriel just treats me like a child sometimes.” Muriel nodded to Allison and smiled knowingly.

  Allison sat by his bedside for a few minutes until the medication took effect. “Grandpa, I’m so happy to be here. I’m so glad to finally know you.” Tears slid down her cheeks as she leaned over and hugged the sick old man. In her heart she cried, Please don’t leave me. Please, please don’t die before I even get a chance to know you. . . .

  The even breathing should have assured Allison that Grandpa only slept, but she touched him just to be certain. Still warm. She kept her hand on his weathered one for a moment, noting it was still dirty from planting the tree. She forced herself to rise and, shivering, tossed another small log onto the fire. Was the end of June always this cool in Oregon? She adjusted the blinds, pulled the thick wool coverlet up to his chin, and whispered, “I love you.” The words sounded strange, but she meant them with her whole heart.

  The walls in the hallway were stark white, and her heels sounded loudly on the hard wooden floor. Many closed doors lined the hall, and Allison tried to imagine which room might’ve been her father’s. It amazed her to think he had actually lived in this house . . . walked down this hall. Had he laughed and played as a little boy? Did he have a favorite hiding place in these silent halls?

  The wide stairway was carpeted with a rich jewel-toned runner secured by brass rods on each step. Her hand glided down the polished banister, and she wondered how many others had done the same. Had her father ever slid down this banister? It looked like a good one for sliding.

  “Allison, dear,” called Muriel from the kitchen.

  “Coming,” she answered and followed the sound of the voice down another hallway and to the left. The kitchen was like entering another world. It was bright and cheery and well lit. Not that Grandpa’s house was completely somber, but it did seem rather serious.

  “Allison,” Muriel began, “George—that’s my husband and your grandfather’s handyman, grounds keeper, chauffeur—you know, the whole bit. Anyway, George just told me he spotted some suitcases out in the bushes by the road. Wouldn’t belong to you by any chance?” Muriel cocked her head.

  “Holy cow!” exclaimed Allison. “I forgot all about them. I’m glad they weren’t stolen.”

  “I thought so. I told George to bring them up. He’s been running some errands in town. Actually, I think he just goes in to gossip with the boys, but I don’t let on. Did Mr. O’Brian fall asleep already?”

  “Yes, it was a little cool in his room, so I put some more wood on the fire.” Allison peeked into the shiny copper pot simmering on the stove. “Mmm, looks good—and warm. Is this house heated only by fireplaces?”

  “Oh my, dear, no. But George tries not to run the furnace in the summer months. It’s a little cooler than usual this year. Maybe I’ll
have him start it up, what with Mr. O’Brian’s health and all. Here comes Georgie now.” Through the back door came what appeared to be walking luggage. Underneath was a stocky little man no taller than Allison.

  “Here, let me help you.” Allison removed the two smaller bags to uncover a sweet face and a shiny bald head that reminded her of Dopey in Snow White.

  “Where we puttin’ Miss O’Brian?” George asked.

  “Up in Katy’s room . . . well, of course it’s not Katy’s room anymore.” Muriel glanced at Allison. “George and me just still call it that. You know we’ve been with Mr. O’Brian for thirty-some years. Can you believe it, Georgie—seems like only yesterday.”

  Allison followed him up the stairs, glad that he didn’t resent her help. He opened the door slowly, almost reverently. She didn’t quite know what to expect. Hopefully it wasn’t a baby nursery with all the sad mementos of a lost child. But when George turned on the light, she was welcomed by cheery blue-and-white-striped wallpaper with little yellow rosebuds. On the floor lay a thick area carpet patterned with more yellow roses and soft blue bows. The bed was draped in a pretty patchwork quilt that looked as if it were made to go with the room. Bookcases the color of buttercups surrounded the window and made a little window seat padded in blue velvet. She stared in amazement. If she could have dreamed up a perfect room, it couldn’t have been better than this. Yellow was her favorite color. Just as they placed her bags by the door, Muriel called them to supper. Allison had a difficult time leaving the wonderful room but didn’t want to keep them waiting.

  “I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen.” Muriel scooped a heaping portion of chowder into a bowl and sliced off a hunk of steaming bread.

  Allison’s mouth watered in anticipation. “Of course not. I like it in here. It’s homey and cheerful.”

  “And warm,” George added.

  Allison picked up her spoon and was about to take a bite when the old couple bowed their heads. She quickly laid down her spoon and bowed her head with them.

  “For that which we are about to receive, may God make us truly grateful. And thank you for getting Miss Allison to us safely. Amen,” George mumbled quietly but with sincerity. “Try some of this jam, Allison,” he encouraged. “Muriel makes it out of wild strawberries. Last year’s, but tasty just the same.”