The Girls on Rose Hill Read Free

was in for a rude awakening next year at college.
    Ah, who was I kidding? I was the one who'd be in for a rude awakening. After twenty years of the welcome distractions provided by three children, I'd be left alone with an enormous house and an even more enormous emotional gulf between myself and Brendan, who, to be honest, felt more like a slightly annoying roommate than a husband.
    Unaware of my traitorous thoughts about her father, Veronica sipped her tea and stared out the small kitchen window. "Mom, what's going on back there?"
    I'd managed to keep the front garden somewhat in check, but hadn't touched the backyard which, in this heat, was overrun with weeds. Lisa was right, I did need the help of the gardener to maintain my mother's horticultural paradise. I could probably use one in the house too since the ficus was clearly on its last leg. However, I'd kill every plant in Centerport rather than admit Lisa was right. Stubborn. I'd always been stubborn, a trait my Granny always said I must've inherited from Mr. Mystery rather than my meek mother.
    "I know, it's a mess. Maybe you can help me weed later."
    Veronica made a face. "I thought we were clearing out the master bedroom today."
    I patted her crimson curls. "That too. Put the dishes in the sink when you're done and meet me upstairs."
    "Mom," she whined, "I need a shower."
    I stifled the urge to pinch Veronica on the inside of her arm the way my Granny had always done whenever I was sulky and fresh. I said with more good humor than I felt, "After your shower then," and then walked out of the kitchen, past the remnants of the ficus in the hallway and up the stairs.
    I looked at my watch again. Eleven o'clock. My mother should've finished her final dose of chemo by now. Although I'd offered to accompany her, my mother insisted she only wanted her cousin Molly with her. She used Veronica being here as an excuse, and I didn't push. I was relieved, to tell the truth. To assuage my guilt, I decided to search through my mother's belongings and find some photos to hang in her hospice room.
    Even after my grandmother died five years ago, my mother continued to sleep in the same narrow bedroom facing the back garden she'd occupied for most of her sixty-five years. Her bedroom was as neat and spare as I imagine her postulant's room at Our Lady of Angels convent was so many years earlier. It's only adornment was a crucifix and a small copy of my wedding portrait.
    Across the hall, the master bedroom was the house's largest and brightest bedroom, and the only one with a view of Centerport harbor. About a year after my grandmother died, I made one of my rare trips home and forced my mother to organize Kitty's clothes and donate what was salvageable to St. Ann's. I urged my mother to get rid of the rest of Kitty's things and move into the larger and more comfortable bedroom. My mother nodded and agreed with me while I was here, but clearly hadn't been in the room since, except to store a few boxes. Kitty's ring, watch and hairbrush sat on the nightstand next to the bed and the room still had a slight scent of Kitty's musky perfume.
    I opened the bottom drawer of a large cherry armoire stuffed with envelopes. My nose twitched from the musty smell. I opened the first envelope and found a letter from my great grandmother Eileen, my namesake. The rest of the letters were from various members of Granny Kitty's family back in Ireland, although most were from her mother Eileen. I tried the next drawer and came up with a large package. Inside was a letter from my grandmother's brother, Danny, who had inherited Templeglantin, the family farm in County Kerry. After Eileen's death Danny returned to Kitty the letters she had written to her mother over the years.
    All of this was interesting, but I didn't think my mother would find these musty old letters particularly uplifting. My mother wasn't one to linger on the past. I was the one who loved to hear my grandmother's stories about Ireland.