Emalyn's Treasure Read online

  “Elegant as usual,” someone said to Emalyn. “Perfectly beautiful. No detail left unattended.”

  “You may thank our Fiona for her mastery of table settings,” Emalyn said.

  They feasted on heaping portions of roasted beef, pork sausages, mashed potatoes with cheese, spiced cabbage, warm brown bread with homemade jam…Fiona’s version of farm fare. For dessert, Fiona had made her famous double-crusted brandy apple tarts topped with whipping cream, and for the special touch, a piece of Emalyn’s elegant chocolate candy.

  “Owen, my man,” Councilor Murphy said, “I’m not sure I’ve ever had a better meal. Congratulations to you and Emalyn, and many thanks to Fiona. By the way, Emalyn, these chocolates are heavenly.”

  “Oh, I agree,” said Councilor Quinlan’s wife Mariana. “The white swans are so delicate and delicious.”

  Others chimed in extolling the pleasures of Emalyn’s little chocolate candies.

  Finally, Bishop Hanrahan said, “Emalyn, dear, have you considered opening a shop?”

  “A shop, Bishop?”

  “Yes, right here in Dungarran. Why, I think you could single-handedly put our little hamlet on the map, so to speak. People adore your chocolates, and we need more businesses here. We’d all help with the advertising. You could build quite a following, perhaps even world-wide if we did our jobs as marketers.”

  “How very strange,” Emalyn said. “Just this afternoon, I mentioned to Fiona that someday I’d like to have a little chocolate shop.”

  “Wonderful! You should consider it in greater detail, then, Emalyn dear. You know, the old candy shop, like so many of our former businesses, has been abandoned for years since the…” The Bishop stopped.

  “The bombing,” Owen said. “Yes, we remember, Bishop.”

  “Well,” said the rotund Bishop, leaning back in his chair, “the old place has been sitting there all this time going to ruin. We have fine carpenters, electricians and plumbers who would be happy to help restore it. It would benefit the workers and bring back some life to the town. These candies would bring in a fair price. You could donate both the unused candies and extra funds to the orphanage, perhaps.”

  Emalyn straightened in her chair and smiled.

  “Oh, that would be lovely.”

  Owen patted her hand.

  “Of course, my love, the Bishop is right. It is something to consider.”

  With a bit of effort, the aging Bishop stood and cleared his throat.

  “Well, then,” he said as he raised his glass of wine, “a toast to the lovely couple’s third wedding anniversary and, perhaps, to the future first anniversary of Lady Emalyn’s Chocolates.”

  All of the guests toasted then stood and applauded.

  “Seems the town is supporting you,” Owen whispered to her. “They’ve even named the place for you.”

  “To Lady Emalyn’s Chocolates,” several of the guests cried.

  Emalyn glanced at Councilor Quinlan’s wife, Mariana, a lifelong friend. Mariana nodded at her and smiled.

  But Councilor Murphy’s wife, Pearl, another lifelong friend, stared at Emalyn and mouthed “No.” Then she closed her eyes and lowered her head.

  Emalyn wrapped her hand around Owen’s.

  “Whatever is wrong?” Owen asked as he leaned in toward her, a look of deep concern on his face. “You’re trembling, darling.”

  Her reply was simply to squeeze his hand.

  Owen gave her a brief tight hug then stood.

  “We thank you all,” he said, “for joining us in the celebration of this, our third anniversary. There is no gift better than the company of cherished friends…except perhaps the love of an extraordinary woman. A final toast, if you will, to Dungarran’s own and my most adored wife, the Lady Emalyn Dunaghy Meade.”

  With the final toast, the guests milled about for only a few minutes and then left for their own homes. When the house was quiet again, Emalyn leaned back in her chair and rested her head on the cushioned back.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You always manage to handle things so beautifully.”

  “Come, my love,” Owen said and smiled. “Let us retire to our private sanctuary.”

  “But I should help Fiona clear away these dishes,” she said. “She can’t do all of this by herself. It isn’t right.”

  “Then we’ll both help and make short work of it.”

  When the table was cleared, the dishes loaded into the new Hydro-Electric dish washing machine, and the food safely stored away, Fiona bid them good night with a kiss on the cheek for each.

  “Happy Anniversary,” she said. “I’ve never known two people more suited for one another. God smiled on us there. Now, go on with ya. ‘Tis tired you must be and me with you. Sweet sleep.”

  They headed towards the staircase, but Emalyn stopped.

  “I almost forgot,” she said. “Come with me into your study.”

  Emalyn giggled when Owen raised his eyebrows.

  The gaily-wrapped box sat in the middle of the desk.

  “Open it.”

  Owen carefully unwrapped the gift. As he admired the painting of his mother and father framed in ornate gold, Emalyn saw his eyes well with tears.

  “How did you do this? Where did it come from? I…I never thought I’d see them again.”

  “I found a tiny snapshot years ago, my love. Jean Pierre, our French artist friend, has been working on it for two years. He did a lovely job, don’t you think? We’ll hang it wherever you want.”

  “You are magnificent,” he said and put his arm around her narrow shoulders. Then he released her and walked to the radio cabinet.

  When Bing Crosby began to sing, “Good Night, Sweetheart,” they swayed in time with the music, and when the song had finished, they stayed together in a tight embrace.

  Without warning, Owen gathered her up in his arms and headed upstairs.

  “To our private chamber, m’lady,” he said.

  Emalyn tilted her head back and squealed with delight.

  •••

  At two in the morning, Emalyn was locked in a world of terror.

  She saw herself as a child of six standing outside as a storm raged around her. Thunder boomed so loudly that the ground shook. Dark gray clouds rolled above. The wind howled and whipped the ends of her loose hair against her forehead and chin. Raindrops pelted her face like stinging wasps.

  She heard her mother’s frantic call. But the voice sounded far away, and Emalyn felt riveted in place, entranced by a spark of white light that danced in the sky. It whispered to her in a muffled sound of jumbled words.

  Another blast of thunder shook the ground. Emalyn flailed her arms to keep her balance and took a few steps forward toward the shimmering light and the voice she couldn’t quite understand.

  The sky had turned almost black now, and as she watched, the spark of light traveled directly to her. It streaked down from the darkness above and struck the ground between her small feet. She saw her shoes blacken, felt a sting on the bottom of her feet, and heard a loud hum in her ears.

  And then he appeared.

  “Emalyn, run. Run for safety,” he said.

  She looked at the form in front of her but could not run. He stood so tall she could barely see his face. Gold bands encircled both arms, and his enormous white wings moved gently behind him.

  “Run, Emalyn,” he said again, and this time, Emalyn saw the beautiful face, the waves of dark hair. From all around him shone a brilliance that reminded her of halos she’d seen in picture books.

  He reached down to her and put his warm hand on the top of her head. Emalyn gasped at the heat that traveled through her body. Then, he removed his hand and nudged her shoulder.

  “Run,” he said. “Run now.”

  “But who…who are you?” Emalyn asked.

  He spoke and Emalyn recognized the voice she’d heard earlier.

  “Your guardian,” he said.

  “What is your name?”

  He whispered a name
she didn’t understand. Emalyn reached out to touch him, her fingers brushing against a wing.

  And then, almost against her will, she turned away. Her feet moved, and she ran in the direction of her house. She paused and turned around, but he was gone. Where the two of them had stood, smoke rose in billows. Emalyn smelled burning meat. Blood dripped onto her hands. She reached up and felt a deep gash in her forehead.

  Then, all at once, she was afraid, and before she could stop herself, she screamed.

  Owen gathered her into his arms.

  “All is well, my love,” he said as he rocked back and forth and rubbed her back. “It was just the dream again. You’re safe, darling, safe.”

  And even though Emalyn knew it had been only a dream this time, she knew, too, that it happened exactly as it had when she was six, when the lightning strike had burned her body, and when she saw her magnificent angel for the first time.

  From the black velvet pouch, Emalyn gently lifted the cherished strand of her mother’s pearls and held them to her cheek. Today, especially, she needed the steady strength of her dear mother.

  “I miss you, Mama,” she whispered and kissed the pearls.

  As she clasped them around her neck, she thought back to the anniversary celebration a few nights ago. The look on her friend Pearl’s face had unnerved her. All of her other friends seemed delighted with the prospect of the chocolate shop, but Pearl alone had mouthed, “No.” She wondered why and decided she’d stop by her house on the way home.

  Today, she was meeting with the city council to hear their ideas for re-establishing a business in the old candy shop. Owen would be there since he was Vice President of the council.

  Emalyn pulled open the doors of her massive mahogany wardrobe.

  “Ah, yes,” she said, “the new one, the Chanel,” she said as the removed the green silk dress from its place and laid it on the bed. She admired the lace along the hem and around the pointed collar. To complete the outfit, she chose bone-colored pumps with a thick heel and straps high along the top of her foot. She chose her new bone-colored hat tilted to one side and pulled netting down carefully over her forehead. Then she adjusted the pink silk roses on the narrow brim , and chose a matching sweater embroidered along the sleeves with pink roses.

  Fiona stuck her head in the door. “Need anything, my girl?”

  “Come in and tell me what you think of this outfit. Will it be fine for my meeting today?”

  Emalyn watched as Fiona surveyed her choices.

  “I think it’s all perfect,” she said. “The touch of pink on the sweater will be lovely, and that dark green color will look just wonderful with your red hair. Good choice, dear.”

  Emalyn wound a loose curl or two around her fingers.

  “Did you notice that all of my friends have those short cuts? Maybe I should consider…”

  “Nonsense,” Fiona interrupted. “Your hair’s always been soft as silk and just look at the pretty waves. It’d be a shame to cut it.”

  “Oh, bless you. Then I’ll not feel bad about my long hair. Is the braid straight? I thought with the new hat a single braid in back might look smart.”

  Fiona straightened and tightened the braid.

  “We need a wee bit of ribbon,” she said as she rummaged through the bureau. “Here we go.”

  She brought a thin strip of pink ribbon and tied it at the end of the braid.

  “Now, then, it’s perfect. Just enough without too much. You’d better finish up now so you won’t be late for your own meeting,” she said and chuckled.

  Emalyn dressed, checked her appearance one last time, and walked downstairs.

  She stopped three quarters of the way down. A sense of dread washed over her. Of all the people she expected to see this morning, he was not one of them.

  Percy stood at the door with a silly grin on his face. The swelling had gone down in his eye, and he seemed physically improved.

  Emalyn reached the bottom step and nodded at him.

  “I trust you’re feeling better,” she said. She could hear the cold tone of her voice and knew he recognized it, too.

  She reached for the door handle, but the boy jumped ahead of her and opened the door.

  “Have a nice day,” he said, “and say hello to Councilor Murphy for me.”

  “Councilor Murphy? How do you know him? Why would…”

  “Percy!” Fiona called. “Come along with ya, now. You’ll be late for school.”

  The twelve-year-old dashed off in the direction of the kitchen. About halfway there, he turned and grinned at Emalyn.

  She stared after him, her heart beating a bit faster, her hands trembling ever so slightly.

  Oh, get a hold of yourself. He’s just a boy.

  She closed the door behind her and stood for a moment on the large front porch admiring Fiona’s handiwork with the brightly-colored potted plants. She brushed at her skirt and headed down the walkway.

  Bright green hedges lined both sides and in several places in the large yard, she and her mother and Fiona had planted circles of rose bushes: pink, coral, and yellow. They’d burst into bloom a few months ago and filled the land with brilliant color. In the center of the right side of the lawn was the pond capped with green marble, now full of water lilies. And on the opposite side stood a four-tiered marble fountain, ornately carved and topped with an angel, wings spread as if he were about to take flight. Her father had commissioned it the first year they’d lived at Dunaghy Manor. He always had a fondness for angels.

  Along the perimeter of Dunaghy Manor, several rowan trees stood like sentinels.

  Emalyn opened the tall wrought iron gate and stepped onto the narrow dirt road that led to Dungarran, a small town made even smaller since the tragic bombing four years ago.

  Emalyn shook her head and took a deep breath. She imagined how her little shop might look, the way she’d arrange the counters and the displays. She might have a weekly special featuring an exotic chocolate recipe. And of course, what she didn’t sell each day would go to those who couldn’t afford to buy the candies. She thought about what she’d call the shop and decided on a name: Swans. She would ask Owen what he thought of it when they met today at the old library. Then she reminded herself again that she needed to see Pearl.

  The library was her favorite building, the only one in town that had been left in its original stone color. At its entrance sat two lions on short stone columns capped with green Connemara marble. The steps leading to the doors, also done in green marble, gave the building a look of royalty as if some grand family lived within.

  Emalyn walked along the dirt road content with her images of Dungarran and excited about the new possibilities in her life. Her new shoes seemed to take the rough roads quite well. She hadn’t stumbled a single time and the shoes felt comfortable on her feet. They were, in fact, similar to the ones she’d worn at her wedding three years ago, though the heels of her wedding shoes were narrower and higher.

  She could see herself standing beside Owen in the St. Patrick’s Cathedral, filled almost to capacity with their friends and relatives. Her dress, white and shimmering, made her feel like a queen. Fiona and several of the best seamstresses from Dungarran and the surrounding villages had worked on it for a year. The satin bodice shone with hand beading that traveled down each of the long, sheer sleeves and formed bracelets at each wrist. The back, very low cut, had a jewel-encrusted band across the center with teardrop crystals cascading to her waist. The lace overlay, imported from Carrickmacross—where the finest Irish lace was handmade—floated down the full satin skirt and formed a six-foot train.

  The attendees gasped as she walked down the aisle, and long after the wedding was over, people commented to her that it was the most beautiful dress—and she, the most elegant bride—that Dungarran had ever produced.

  A barking dog interrupted her reverie.

  Startled, she stumbled on a large stone in the road but managed not to fall.

  “May I help ya there, M
a’m?”

  Emalyn clutched her chest.

  Directly in front of her stood the beggar she’d seen a few days ago. He wore the same tattered black coat, a knit cap pulled down over his ears, and dirty Wellies. And though he was much taller than she recalled, his shoulders broader and straining against the coat, she knew he was the same man. Beside him sat the enormous panting dog, tail swishing in the dirt, tongue lolling out.

  Still clutching at her chest, she walked a few steps forward along the road.

  “Scraps for Mr. Jones, Ma’m?” the beggar called. “He’s hungry, he is.”

  Emalyn stopped. She wanted nothing to do with this man. He made her nervous, yet she couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps he was not a beggar at all but a thief of some sort…or worse, a murderer. She shuddered at the thought.

  “Please, Lady, just a few scraps for Mr. Jones?” he said in a soft gentle voice.

  In spite of her misgivings and nerves, Emalyn turned to face him.

  The beggar lowered his eyes.

  “So, that’s your name, Mr. Jones? I don’t recall any people named Jones in our part of Ireland.”

  “No’m, not mine. This is Mr. Jones,” he said and scratched the dog’s head.

  “The dog?”

  The dog barked and took a few steps in her direction. Emalyn backed away from the giant beast.

  “He’ll not harm ya, Lady. Mr. Jones is a king among dogs. He’s a big ‘un but mostly gentle as one of the Father’s own lambs. Mostly.”

  “And what is your name, then?”

  The beggar mumbled something she couldn’t understand.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, you see, Ma’m, it’s not important. It’s my dog who needs help.”

  The fact that he wouldn’t share his name made her heart’s rapid pace quicken all the more.

  Something’s not right.

  “Me and Mr. Jones is lookin’ for some work.”

  The beggar continued to scratch the dog’s head.