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for a season.” Clare wondered how big of a lie she was telling.
    Ma’s expression brightened, but only for a moment. “When will you be back, Clare?”
    â€œWell, I’m not certain. But I won’t be any later than I need to be. Cait is old enough now. She’s going to tend to you and the boys.” The words felt hollow.
    Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Clare spun around to see her father’s sister-in-law. She was adorned in a feathered hat and a mauve dress, which was stylish years ago but now appeared threadbare. “Aunt Meara. I’m so pleased you came. Are you enjoying yourself?”
    â€œI’d enjoy it much more if it wasn’t you we were saying good-bye to.” Her aunt’s eyes were reddened and moist. “You know how I feel about these farewells.”
    Clare embraced her aunt. “I’m so sorry, Auntie. ’Tis calloused of us being so grand. It must bring back such hard reminders of Uncle Tomas.”
    â€œTomas?” Ma broke in. “Has your Uncle Tomas returned? Where’s my dear Maggie?”
    â€œNo, Ma,” Clare responded gently. “Enjoy your drink. I’m going to speak with Auntie.”
    Clare put her arm around her aunt and went out of earshot of her mother. “I’m so terribly sorry for all of this.”
    It saddened Clare to see the woman in such emotional disrepair. As a young lady, Clare had aspired to the kind of love her aunt and uncle shared. Vibrant. Unpredictable. Meara was thought to be the only woman who could tame Tomas’s capriciousness. She carried a grace and dignity that contrasted against his boorish allure. But when Tomas emigrated, she had aged quickly, her spirit fading.
    People would try to console her by saying things like, “When Tomas’s ship sank, you can be sure he was shouting from the mast, exhorting the crew to hold steady,” or “You’ll see him swimming to shore soon enough.”
    But Meara was not fond of the caricature of the wild man performing for the crowd. Meara was in love with the man she always hoped he would be. She saw him as unfinished, a canvas not fully painted. When he left, her life’s work would always be incomplete.
    â€œThere’s a part of me yearning to go with ye, Clare.” Meara’s glazed eyes looked out to a place beyond her vision. “There’s not much left here for me, you know.”
    Clare grasped for words to console her.
    Meara rubbed her nose with a linen handkerchief. She leaned in close to Clare. “You know, I’ve never told anyone this, but your uncle had no intention of coming back to Ireland. His plan all along was to get settled in New York and then send for me.”
    â€œI never knew—”
    â€œNor did anyone. If your grandmother had known, she would have never paid for his passage. He had Ella in his pocket, he did. Poor woman. Poor wonderfully kind woman. No. He hated it here. Wanted a bigger life. A higher standing. He had ambition.”
    â€œBut Uncle Tomas always seemed . . . happy.” Clare tried to align some of the memories she had of the man with what her aunt was sharing.
    â€œOh. He had skills, that one.” Meara dabbed the corners of her eyes with the cloth. She laughed brusquely. “People here believed he’d sit on the throne of Ireland if he had his choice. And if he were here today, he’d be kissing the soil to feed the lie.”
    Meara looked up. “There wasn’t enough to hold him here. Not even me. And, of course, the letter never came. He never made it halfway past the ocean. A miserable plan it was.”
    Clare’s thoughts sunk and her aunt must have sensed her clumsiness.
    â€œOh, but Clare. This is just me rambling. Your uncle would have never brought Maggie if he thought it dangerous. He loved her as his own and would die for her.” Her eyes widened. “What a mess I’m making! Am I just frightening you now? Oh, just