Free The Fire Opal by Regina McBride Page A

elevated existence than the one I lived. And as I stared at her, she wore the metallic dress and was standing in a vast frozen room. I heard a chandelier tinkling in the cold around her. The vision dissolved suddenly, leaving me in confusion.
    I left the mirror and approached the bottles of scent, watching with absorption as the mother and daughter, wearing an elaborate system of scarves and jackets, huddled and gasped over the various perfumes, applying them to their wrists and squealing as they smelled them. The intense, almost cloying scent of flowers distressed me. The hems of their skirts were embellished with frills of lace, and I wondered why they would expose such fine lace to the certainty of mud. How did they manage to remain protected from it? That such a thought would occupy my mind made me think of how out of place I was here.
    I moved off and looked at creamy ovals of soap displayed in a cut crystal bowl. With a tentative and trembling hand, I stroked the rounded surface of one of the soaps.
    Suddenly Mrs. Cavan was at my side. She peered closely into my face and squeezed my wrist.
    “I have a confession to make, Maeve,” she said. “I didn’t really come here for fabric. I’ve come for only one reason. I’d like to buy you something.”
    I gazed at her, hardly believing my ears.
    “You’re so lovely a young lady, and I think you deserve to have something nice. You see, Tom is coming home.”
    For a moment I did not understand the connection.
    “Why is he coming back, Mrs. Cavan?” I asked. “He doesn’t like to fish or work the ground.” She remained quiet, looking at me. I suddenly understood what was happening, and my heart dropped.
    “Tom has done well for himself. He sent me the money to buy you any gift you like. Even if it’s a dress, I’m happy to purchase it for you. He says it was you who inspired his success. He no longer needs to fish or work the ground. He has wealth, and you know he’s had his eye on you since you were children. You are nineteen and he is twenty-one, both good ages to marry. So,” she said, “pick out a gift.”
    “You’re too generous, Mrs. Cavan, and as much as I’d like to, I can’t accept.” I gave her an unwavering look.
    Her eyes flashed, and I knew she registered my reluctance in regard to her son.
    “There are other local girls who would be thrilled—”
    “I know there are,” I said plainly, unmoved. “Maybe he should ask one of them.”
    She took a deep breath and seemed to decide not to let this dissuade her. “I saw you looking at this,” she said, pointing to the oval of cream-colored soap I had touched. “You’ll at least let me buy this for you.”
    She asked the shop woman for a single cake of it, and I watched as it was wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a pale lavender box embellished in gold ribbon.
    “I’ll pay for it,” I said, and pulled out the coins from my pocket, placing them on the counter. The shop woman looked at them, then narrowed her eyes at me. The corners of her mouth strained.
    “It’s fourpence ha’penny for this soap,” she said, giving me a condescending look. “This soap is French !”
    Mrs. Cavan laid a shilling on top of the coins, and the hard look melted from the woman’s face.
    As we traveled back to Ard Macha in the pony and trap, I thought of the silliness of the pampered girl and her mother, the meanness of the shop matron. The atmosphere had lost its heightened sparkle for me. And worst of all, the beautiful soap in its exquisite package had lost its sensual incandescence and had become nothing more than a fragrant-smelling bribe. Mrs. Cavan saw me as the wife of her mean-spirited son. Rarely had she shown me any kindness before. Why had I imagined there had been some pure intention behind her offer to take me to Dungarven?
    All the way home, though, she made attempts to engage me in chatter. I sat leaning to one side, staring at the passing fields.
    It was dusk when we arrived back at Ard