Barbara Taylor Bradford - The Triumph of Katie Byrne

Maureen had completely recovered, and she began to spoon the onions into the stew. Without looking up, she remarked, ‘Once you’ve set the table, it would be nice if you made a cup of tea for us, Katie. I’d like that.’

‘Yes, Mom, I will.’

Eventually Maureen walked over to the hearth and stood with her back to it, observing her daughter flitting around the kitchen. The girl was her pride and joy. She doted on her, spoiled her, yet she tempered her love with a great deal of discipline. Maureen was a hard taskmaster, especially when it came to school, homework, and household chores.

How alike we are in so many ways, especially physically, Maureen thought, yet we don’t have the same character or personality. We’re entirely different on that score. She’s more ambitious and driven than I was, and she wants so much more than I ever did. Katie wants the world in her arms…she wants the stage, the bright lights, the excitement, the applause, the success, and the fame. Yes, she wants it all, and of course she’ll get it, I’ve no doubts about that.

For a moment or two Maureen thought about her own life. I got what I wanted, thank God, so why shouldn’t Katie? Her dreams and desires, hopes and aspirations are very different from mine, but hers are just as real as mine. I craved marriage and a family, and I was fortunate that I found a good man, a man who loved me, still loves me, and whom I love. And I have fine, healthy, drug-free, responsible children, and a comfortable home, a beautiful garden, and a happy life in the country with my family. That was my greatest ambition, the dream I dreamed, and it did come true. I’ve been so blessed since I came to America.

The year had been 1960 and she had been exactly the same age as Katie was now – just seventeen. And her sister Bridget had been nineteen. They had emigrated with their parents, Sean and Catriona O’Keefe, and settled in New York. They had been lucky in that they had all found work relatively quickly; Bridget had opted for a career in real estate and had joined a small but prestigious firm, and Maureen had become the showroom model for the great designer Pauline Trigère, who, once she had seen her, had decided her long, lean figure was ideal for the elegant and superbly-cut clothes the designer created.

Her mother, Catriona, had also gone into fashion, in her own way; she had become a saleslady on the designer floor at Bloomingdale’s department store. Her father, Sean, a master craftsman, had found a job with a custom-design furniture maker down on East Tenth Street, and had rapidly made a name for himself.

Looking back now, Maureen realized she had truly fond memories of their days in Forest Hills, where they had had an apartment. They had carved out a nice life for themselves and had forever rejoiced in the fact that they had had the courage to start their lives all over again by coming to America. But as the years passed they had begun to grow weary of the city, wanted to escape the hurly-burly, yearned to find a quiet spot that was reminiscent of the Irish countryside they loved. It was while they were visiting friends, who had recently moved to northwestern Connecticut, that they recognized they had found what they called God’s country. ‘This is it!’ her mother had said that day, and they had all agreed with Catriona. A decision was made on the spot: this was where they belonged.

It took over a year, but finally she and her parents moved to New Milford, where they had found a house that had charm and comfort and wasn’t overpriced. Bridget, captivated by her wheeling and dealing in real estate, elected to remain in the city during the week, and came out to Connecticut at weekends.

She had been twenty-three when they moved to the country, and she had met Michael Byrne within the first few months of her arrival in New Milford. It had been love at first sight for both of them. He was the type of man she had always pictured in her mind’s eye as being right for her…tall, dark, nice-looking, and kind, with a loving nature. They had married when she was twenty-five and Michael twenty-seven, and it had worked. It was still working.

I got married twenty years ago, she suddenly thought, a small frown pinching her eyebrows together, making a tight knot above the bridge of her nose. How fast the time has flown. I can’t believe I’m forty-five already. She didn’t feel it, and she knew she didn’t look it. She sighed, remembering all of the things she still wanted to do in her life. I must do them before I’m too old, before Michael’s too old, she added, reminding herself to talk to him about that long-promised trip to Ireland.

Glancing across the kitchen, Maureen saw Katie was now standing by the stove, filling a brown teapot with water. They might be different in character and personality, but there was no question that they were mother and daughter. They were practically identical in appearance, with the same colouring and build.

Sitting down in the wing chair next to the fireplace, Maureen settled herself comfortably against the chair back, her gaze still on Katie, her middle child and her only daughter. She had always known deep within her Celtic soul that Katie was different from other children. Her daughter’s personality and character were already in place the day she was born. Even as a toddler of three years Katie had known exactly who she was and what she wanted, and she had been determined. Maureen had frequently told Michael that their daughter had an unusual awareness of herself, which was manifested in an amazing inner confidence. But he knew that without having to be told; she was unusual. Yet Katie had never been bratty nor had she been precocious in an objectionable way. There had been moments when Maureen had looked at her three-year-old daughter and seen the woman she would become, so well defined was the child’s personality and character.

Maybe we’re all like that, Maureen thought, only perhaps it’s not so obvious in every one of us. She cast her mind back to Niall’s childhood, and to Finian’s as well, but they had been…well, just ordinary little boys, and certainly not particularly self-possessed or as definite and determined as their sister.

Thoughts of her sons were interrupted when Katie came over to the fireside with two cups of tea. After handing one to her mother, she sat down in the other wing chair next to the fire.

‘Thank you, darlin’,’ Maureen said and took a sip of the tea. ‘It’s good,’ she murmured, smiling across at her daughter. ‘So, you were at the barn rehearsing, were you?’

Katie nodded. ‘I think I’ve got my Hamlet right at last. I always thought the soliloquy was easy, but it’s not, Mom. Not if you’re going to do it properly.’ Katie sighed and made a face. ‘I say I’ve got it, but there’s lots of room for improvement.’ She nodded to herself. ‘There’s always room for improvement, and perfection is hard won.’

Maureen smiled, wondering whom Katie was quoting now. There were times when her girl sounded like a little old woman, especially when she’d been dipping into the classics. She asked, ‘And what about the others? How’re Carly and Denise doing?’

‘They’re good, Momma, I know that. The trouble is, they don’t. I think I’m getting them to believe in themselves more. It’s all to do with self-confidence.’

Which you’ve never lacked, Maureen thought, but said, ‘You should have brought them back to supper, Katie. There’s always enough for everyone, and especially when it’s Irish stew. Your father says I always make enough to feed Cox’s army.’

‘I thought about asking them, but I decided it’d be too much for you. You’ve been so sick.’

‘I’m much better, darlin’.’