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THE INHERITANCE - part thirty-two

Welcome Home

By Margaret BrennanPublished 2 days ago 4 min read

I WROTE THIS AS THE SPARK IN MY IMAGINATION ILLUMINATED.

PLEASE GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING AND READ THROUGH.

I APPRECIATE IT. THANKS.

THE INHERITANCE (part one) | Fiction (vocal.media)

THE INHERITANCE ... part two | Fiction (vocal.media)

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THE INHERITANCE – part thirty-two ………

Welcome home

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On the drive back to the cottage, Patti said, “Oh, Kate, what a delightful man, your friend, Rowan is. How did you meet him and what furniture did he make for you? Did you notice the sparkle in his eyes when he saw you? Does he have a son your age?”

“Whoa, mom!” Kate laughed at her mother. “First of all, I’ve met his son and daughter. Neal is married to Cilla. His daughter, Mary, is married to Devlin O’Hara. I’ve met Neal and Mary but not their spouses. I’ll show you my hutch as soon as we get home. AND, I might add, Kieran’s eyes weren’t sparkling because of me. I happened to notice that he couldn’t take his eyes off YOU! Mom let’s face it; you’re a beautiful woman and men will look at you. Well, in Kieran’s case, I do believe he actually ogled.”

Patti blushed but replied, “Oh Kate, stop it! This is your mother, you’re talking to, not some young kid who’s looking for romance.”

Kate became serious, “Mom, romance never looks at age. Should Kieran invite you for a date, please promise me you’ll accept. You’ve never dated since dad died. It’s about time. OH, and speaking of dad, I really need to ask and please, mom, if it upsets you, I’m apologizing beforehand, but I need to know.”

Patti looked at her daughter’s face and saw the tightness there. “All right, Kate. I’ll tell you whatever I can. There might be things about your father that I don’t know or can’t explain, but I’ll try.”

Kate breathed deeply and continued, “I read some of dad’s diary last night. He knew the day I was born that he wouldn’t be around to watch me grow up. I have memories of us when I was much younger, but I can’t remember his death. Did dad put a spell on me so I wouldn’t have that memory?”

“Kate, to be completely honest, I’m really not sure. I can only assume he did because you never spoke of his death. Yes, the morning the police knocked on our door to give us that horrific news, you cried. Your heart was broken – no not broken, shattered. But the next day, you just seemed to accept what happened and had a determined look in your eyes as if to just move on with your life. Oh, Kate, how I envied your resilience. But I never really knew.”

They arrived back at her cottage and Kate noticed something new on her door. She shook her head and laughed. “Oh, mom, Ryan’s been here. Look what he’s done now.”

A few days earlier, Ryan repainted Kate’s red front door and hung her little round welcome plaque in its center. Now, she noted, he added something else.

Ryan had taken a 12x12 piece of wood, painted it a cream color to match the center of the plaque, mounted the plaque in the center of the wood, then hung it all on her door.

“What a difference it makes. Now, you can really see the plaque. It stands out so nicely. I really need to find a way to thank him.”

“Ask him to dinner.”

“Mom, sorry, I forgot to tell you. He’s coming tomorrow.”

Once inside, Kate took her mother’s hand and led her to the hutch. “Mom, this is the hutch Kieran made. He said that several years ago, he had an overpowering urge to create this. He had no idea why, but the urge was irresistible. He never rushed knowing that he wouldn’t sell it until, as he said, the right person walked into his shop. Once he saw me walk through the door, he said he knew. The hutch was meant for me.”

“Kate, it’s beyond lovely and your great-grandmother’s dishes fit as though the hutch was made for them.”

“Mom, I believe it was. Did you hear that?”

“Hear what? I didn’t hear anything.”

“There’s a truck coming up the road.”

Patti opened the door. “Kate, there’s nothing there.”

“It won’t be here for another ten minutes.”

“You can hear that?”

“Uh, no, not really, but I feel it. Mom, it’s a dad thing. I suspect he inherited the Gift of Sight from his grandmother, and I inherited it from him. I just seem to know some things before they happen.”

“That explains so much, Kate. I never knew why you attached yourself so desperately to your dad and how you so quickly managed to accept his death. You knew, didn’t you?”

“Mom, nothing I could have put my finger on. To me, it was nothing more than a growing sadness that I knew would change my life. I knew he wouldn’t be there for me, but I didn’t know why.”

Kate waited for the knock on her door. “It’s friend, not foe,” she mumbled as she opened the door.

“Miss, Kate? Sorry to disturb your evenin,’ ma’am, but I’ve a delivery for you. Oh, I’m Liam O’Brien from Dingle Ironworks. I should have brought this sooner but, well, things just got away from me.”

Kate looked at the box in his hands. “Looks, heavy, please bring it in and set it on the table.”

“ ‘Tisn’t heavy, ma’am; the box is an awkward size, is all. Thank you, Miss Kate,” he said as he turned and walked out the door.

Kate opened the box.

“Oh, my!”

She looked at her mother and said, “It’s Kathleen’s old cauldron, and there’s a note.”

“Dear Kate,

I placed this in storage especially for you. Use this for your potions – NOT for cooking. Trust me.

I know you’re wondering so I’ll answer. Yes, our Clan has the Gift of Sight.

Love,

Your Great-Grandmother, Kathleen

Short Story

About the Creator

Margaret Brennan

I am a 77-year old grandmother who loves to write, fish, and grab my camera to capture the beautiful scenery I see around me.

My husband and I found our paradise in Punta Gorda Florida where the weather always keeps us guessing.

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Comments (1)

  • Mark Graham2 days ago

    Now that is something you don't get delivered too much now a days 'a cauldron'. I wonder what would happen if someone did cook a meal in it. Good work.

Margaret BrennanWritten by Margaret Brennan

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