Page 47 of Road Trip
“Not what I meant. He seems nice. Grew up around here, so he knows a lot of local history.”
“And does he know anything aboutourfamily history?”
Maeve related the odd, brief flash of recognition between Liam and his cousin Madelyn at the mention of the Connor name.
“They sort of brushed it off, said there are tons of Connors in this part of Ireland, but when I said Kathleen’s name, I definitely got the impression they’d heard of her.”
“Weird,” Therese said. She spooned up the last bit of yogurt and berries. “So what’s on today’s itinerary?”
“Glendalough is an easy drive from here, according to my guidebook. It’s this amazing-looking medieval monastic settlement. It was founded by St. Kevin in the sixth century. It’s in a glacial valley and there are two lakes, and gardens, and an ancient graveyard, and there’s this round tower you can walk into…”
“Booorrrrinnng,” Therese cut her off. “Come on. Let’s go find out the truth about Lady Geraldine.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“I don’t know. You’re the expert on research. You tell me.”
Therese sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, waiting, while Maeve stared up at the ceiling, eyes closed, fingers tapping on the wooden tabletop.
“We need to find out more about Kathleen. How she came to live at Tarrymore, instead of with her own family at the home farm, and of course how she came into possession of a seemingly valuable portrait of one of the Rossingtons.”
“Duh. And how do we accomplish that?”
“I’ve been looking at the family tree Frannie gave us. Kathleen had a much younger brother, Tommy, who stayed behind when shewent to America. And by stayed, I mean Tommy Connor lived the rest of his life right here in this village. He served in World War Two and drove a delivery truck after the war. According to the census records, he died, at the age of eighty-two, in 1998.”
Therese sat forward. “Did Tommy have a family?”
Maeve took a sheaf of folded papers from her purse and consulted it. “He married a girl named Alice. She died in ’96. They had four kids. Three boys and a girl. Frannie’s research only turned up one surviving child, a daughter. Her name is Isabel Woods. She’s in her late eighties, and the last address we have for her is at a place called Sheltering Oaks Compassionate Care Center.”
“An old folks’ home?”
“Run by the Little Sisters of the Poor. Seems about right,” Maeve said. She typed the words into her phone’s search bar. “It’s about forty minutes from here.”
“I’ll bet she’d love to have a visit from her American cousins,” Therese said. “Call ahead and set it up, okay?”
“Pull in here,”Therese said, pointing to an Aldi’s market just ahead.
“Now? I told the lady at the nursing home we’d be there by lunchtime.”
“Won’t take but a minute,” Therese said.
Five minutes later, she emerged from the market with a bouquet of flowers and a paper bag.
“Sweets for the sweet,” she told her sister, by way of explanation.
The nursing homewas a low-slung yellow brick building. They parked in a spot for visitors and on the way in, Therese pointed out the prominent statue of the Virgin Mary. “Looks like these are our people.”
A nursing aide directed them to a solarium where windows looked out on a small garden. A handful of residents sat at smalltables dotted around the room, reading or weaving potholders on small hand looms.
“Here’s Miss Woods,” the aide said, kneeling beside a wheelchair occupied by a frail woman wearing a jaunty orange knit beanie. She appeared to have been dozing, with her chin resting on a faded blue chenille bathrobe.
“Miss Isabel,” she said loudly, gently grasping the woman’s birdlike hand. “Here are the visitors I told you about. Come all the way from America to meet you, they have!”
The old lady blinked awake, glancing from Therese to Maeve. “Who’d ya say you are?”
Therese pulled up a chair and showed her the flowers. “I’m Therese Dunagin, and this is my sister, Maeve. We’re your cousins, sort of. Your aunt Kathleen Connor was our great-grandmother.”
“Kathleen? Dad’s sister who went away to America?”
