gathered.
They had no umbrellas or raincoats, but neither did anyone else Bridget saw. "I guess we'll get wet."
"Let's duck into Gilhooley's for a bite." Maggie looked at the sky again. "The weather might clear by the time we're finished."
"A bar?" Bridget stiffened. "We can't take Jacob into a... a honkytonk."
"It's a pub." Maggie's brow creased in a frown. "I don't know what pubs or honkytonks are like in Tennessee, but it's really just a restaurant."
"It's not a bar?"
"Aye, they serve ale and whiskey, if that's what you mean." Maggie turned toward Gilhooley's. "I promise it's all right. Children go there with their families all the time."
The interior of the pub was as interesting as the exterior. Dark, gleaming wood was everywhere—the floor, the bar, the doors, the ceiling beams. Scratches and worn areas along the bar told of the pub's popularity over generations.
Bridget was relieved to see families inside having lunch, just as Maggie had described. Booths lined the wall of windows, and tables sat throughout the place, nearer the bar. A fireplace with a huge stove occupied the longest wall between the bar and the front door. Maggie led them to a booth near a window.
A woman about Fiona's age approached and passed out menus. She gave Jacob one with a cup of crayons. They were obviously prepared for children. Bridget relaxed even more when a family of four entered with children even younger than Jacob. Several men came in as well and occupied the tables and stools nearest the bar.
"You're still not interested in a job here, Maggie?" the woman asked.
"No. Mum insists I go to university, like Da wanted."
"Well, I can't argue that. Fiona is a wise woman," Aileen said with a grudging nod. "Your da left the money for college, and 'tis glad I am you'll be putting it to use."
"Thank you." Maggie cleared her throat and held her hand toward Bridget and Jacob. "Aileen, this is Bridget and her son Jacob. My nephew."
The look Aileen turned on Bridget made her breath hitch. Bridget had seen Mrs. Harbaugh's old tomcat look at General Lee with a kinder expression. "How do you do, Mrs. Gilhooley?" Determinedly, Bridget thrust out her right hand.
Aileen chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, then shook Bridget's hand, though the look in her eyes was still wary. However, when she glanced down at Jacob, a look of surprise and downright delight replaced the suspicion she'd reserved for Bridget.
"By the saints," Aileen said, "he's Culley Mulligan all over again."
"Aye," Maggie said, reaching across the table to pat Jacob's hand. "Mum's tickled to have both Culley's son and widow with us now."
Bridget arched her brows questioningly at Maggie, who rolled her eyes toward Aileen. The message was clear that Maggie intended to tolerate no insults aimed at her sister-in-law or nephew. Bridged mouthed a "thank you" while Aileen went on and on about how much Jacob looked like his daddy.
"How old are you, Jacob?" the older woman asked.
"Six." Jacob looked up at the woman with a smile. "I'll go to first grade next year."
"You're gonna be a big strapping lad like your da and your Uncle Riley." The woman sighed, smiling. "Lunch is on the house in honor of the newest Mulligan."
The rapid switch from resentment to open welcome startled Bridget. Confused, she waited until Aileen had taken their order and disappeared into the kitchen before she leaned across the table toward Maggie. "What... was that?"
Maggie laughed and took a sip of water. "The Irish are steeped in tradition. The old ways are valued and passed on from generation to generation." She lifted a shoulder and leaned her chin on her fist, her gaze holding Bridget's. "Being a Mulligan in Ballybronagh is tradition, so there you have it."
"And Jacob is a Mulligan by birth." Bridget gave a nod. "The hills of eastern Tennessee are a lot like that, too. Kin's important, no matter who they are or what they've done. It's... unconditional, I reckon."
"Exactly." Maggie nodded and
They had no umbrellas or raincoats, but neither did anyone else Bridget saw. "I guess we'll get wet."
"Let's duck into Gilhooley's for a bite." Maggie looked at the sky again. "The weather might clear by the time we're finished."
"A bar?" Bridget stiffened. "We can't take Jacob into a... a honkytonk."
"It's a pub." Maggie's brow creased in a frown. "I don't know what pubs or honkytonks are like in Tennessee, but it's really just a restaurant."
"It's not a bar?"
"Aye, they serve ale and whiskey, if that's what you mean." Maggie turned toward Gilhooley's. "I promise it's all right. Children go there with their families all the time."
The interior of the pub was as interesting as the exterior. Dark, gleaming wood was everywhere—the floor, the bar, the doors, the ceiling beams. Scratches and worn areas along the bar told of the pub's popularity over generations.
Bridget was relieved to see families inside having lunch, just as Maggie had described. Booths lined the wall of windows, and tables sat throughout the place, nearer the bar. A fireplace with a huge stove occupied the longest wall between the bar and the front door. Maggie led them to a booth near a window.
A woman about Fiona's age approached and passed out menus. She gave Jacob one with a cup of crayons. They were obviously prepared for children. Bridget relaxed even more when a family of four entered with children even younger than Jacob. Several men came in as well and occupied the tables and stools nearest the bar.
"You're still not interested in a job here, Maggie?" the woman asked.
"No. Mum insists I go to university, like Da wanted."
"Well, I can't argue that. Fiona is a wise woman," Aileen said with a grudging nod. "Your da left the money for college, and 'tis glad I am you'll be putting it to use."
"Thank you." Maggie cleared her throat and held her hand toward Bridget and Jacob. "Aileen, this is Bridget and her son Jacob. My nephew."
The look Aileen turned on Bridget made her breath hitch. Bridget had seen Mrs. Harbaugh's old tomcat look at General Lee with a kinder expression. "How do you do, Mrs. Gilhooley?" Determinedly, Bridget thrust out her right hand.
Aileen chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, then shook Bridget's hand, though the look in her eyes was still wary. However, when she glanced down at Jacob, a look of surprise and downright delight replaced the suspicion she'd reserved for Bridget.
"By the saints," Aileen said, "he's Culley Mulligan all over again."
"Aye," Maggie said, reaching across the table to pat Jacob's hand. "Mum's tickled to have both Culley's son and widow with us now."
Bridget arched her brows questioningly at Maggie, who rolled her eyes toward Aileen. The message was clear that Maggie intended to tolerate no insults aimed at her sister-in-law or nephew. Bridged mouthed a "thank you" while Aileen went on and on about how much Jacob looked like his daddy.
"How old are you, Jacob?" the older woman asked.
"Six." Jacob looked up at the woman with a smile. "I'll go to first grade next year."
"You're gonna be a big strapping lad like your da and your Uncle Riley." The woman sighed, smiling. "Lunch is on the house in honor of the newest Mulligan."
The rapid switch from resentment to open welcome startled Bridget. Confused, she waited until Aileen had taken their order and disappeared into the kitchen before she leaned across the table toward Maggie. "What... was that?"
Maggie laughed and took a sip of water. "The Irish are steeped in tradition. The old ways are valued and passed on from generation to generation." She lifted a shoulder and leaned her chin on her fist, her gaze holding Bridget's. "Being a Mulligan in Ballybronagh is tradition, so there you have it."
"And Jacob is a Mulligan by birth." Bridget gave a nod. "The hills of eastern Tennessee are a lot like that, too. Kin's important, no matter who they are or what they've done. It's... unconditional, I reckon."
"Exactly." Maggie nodded and
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