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USA TODAY bestselling author Emilie Richards has written more than seventy novels. She has appeared on national television and been quoted in Reader’s Digest, right between Oprah and Thomas Jefferson. Born in Bethesda, Maryland, and raised in St. Petersburg, Florida, Richards has been married for more than forty years to her college sweetheart. She splits her time between Florida and Western New York, where she is currently plotting her next novel.

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The Parting Glass

Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.

Chapter One

Of all the comrades ere I had, They're sorry for my going away, And all the sweethearts ere I had, They wish me one more day to stay, But since it falls unto my lot That I should go and you should not, I'll gently rise and softly call,

Good night and joy be with you all.

(This is a traditional Irish ballad for singing at the end of an evening, a gathering or an event. One of Ireland's most popular, it is documented as far back as the 1770s.) 1923

Castlebar, County Mayo

My dearest Patrick,

So many years and so many miles separating us, dear brother. For centuries we McSweeneys knew nothing of loneliness but everything of each other. And what else was there to know? What else is there in the end but family, land and church? The rest is like butter on bread, mere pleasure with little nourishment.

Now our family has been dumped like ship's ballast on distant shores. You in Ohio, our dear sisters in Australia, Nova Scotia and the grave. We are old, all who remain, and separated by much more than miles. We know so little of each other now. I have the new photograph that St. Brigid's made for you, and I thank you for sending it, but what happened to the young man I knew, so straight and tall? What happened to the priest with fire in his gaze and vitality in his step? Has he gone the path I've trod myself? The path that leads to only one destination?

I cannot imagine you as an old man, dear Patrick. You only celebrate Mass on Holy Days, hear confession but infrequently, read for hours each day and contemplate? What exactly do you consider now that your time is your own, my brother? The years you have already lived? The green island of your birth? Our dear, dear land that McSweeneys will never work again?

Perhaps, had I married, I might find more to do with my own time. I would have grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and I would dandle them proudly on my knee. Instead, with no family to succeed me, I think only of the family from which I came, of you and Ciara and Selma, of dear Una who was with us such a short time. Not a one of us with offspring of our own, and a long proud line in ashes at out feet.

I remember all, even at this final juncture of my life. I remember songs and laughter, the fragrance of bread baking on a stone hearth, the bleating of sheep in our paddock. I remember a small lad tugging at my skirts, saying his prayers with a childish lisp, cowering behind closed doors for fear of the boogeyman on nights when Mayo's bog land was cold and misty.

How fortunate I am to have these memories to comfort me. How fortunate are all who have had family to cherish. This can never be taken from us, dear Patrick. No matter the years that separate us, you and all our loved ones are always with me.

Your sister,

Maura McSweeney Peggy Donaghue avoided the parking lot of the Whiskey Island Saloon whenever she could, which wasn't easy since she lived directly above it. On days when there was no parking on the street, she reluctantly took the reserved spot closest to the back door and sprinted for the kitchen. She wasn't superstitious. She just didn't believe in tempting fate.

Not unless the circumstances were exceptional.

The young man standing just behind her cleared his throat. "It's real windy, Ms. D. You don't have to stay out here. Nothing's going to happen, I promise."

Peggy pulled her long chestnut hair into a temporary pony-tail so it would stop whipping into her eyes. Over one shoulder she could see that Josh, tall, lanky and clearly uncomfortable, wasn't looking at her. That was understandable. Josh had just stolen his very first car. He was praying, just as Peggy was, that the owner wouldn't realize his brand-new Honda Civic was missing.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Parting Glassby Emilie Richards Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
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