New plumbing?
Modern kitchen appliances.
Kitchen remodel.
Goat deterrent system.
Possible exorcism or ghost removal?
Notebook in hand, she wandered the estate.
Room by room, she took notes. The place was massive. Much bigger than it looked online. Grand fireplaces in every bedroom, all with en suite bathrooms—rare and wildly marketable. But everything was coated in dust, and the paint peeled like sunburned skin.
The kitchen needed a full gut. Several light fixtures dangled like broken limbs. The floors creaked ominously in the west wing. One closet had spiders the size of hamsters.
Still—potential.
This place, once restored, would be spectacular. Elegant. Valuable.
Sellable.
The faster she finished renovations, the sooner she could return to the States and reboot her career. New York wouldn’t wait forever. Neither would rent.
She checked the time--almost noon. Tea with Bríd loomed.
Back in the kitchen, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. She wiped down counters, washed two mugs, brewed fresh coffee, and put the kettle on just in case her guest insisted on tea.
The knock came not at the front, but at the kitchen door, sharp and impatient.
She opened it to find a woman who looked like she’d walked straight out of Irish legend—silver braid, heavy cardigan, and kind, piercing eyes that sparkled like storm light.
“Aisling, love, I’m so happy to meet you,” she said, pushing past her and into the kitchen.
“I’m Bríd,” she said, setting a basket on the table. “I brought bread, butter, and jam. You must be starving. I took care of your grandmother up until her last day.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I miss that old woman so much.”
“Thank you,” Aisling said, not knowing how to respond. But she was glad that someone helped her grandmother since no family was here.
“Mary, Mother of God, you areálainn.”
Aisling stared at the woman. “Álainn?”
“Beautiful,” she said in her Irish lilt. “Give me a hug. You look just like your mother did at your age.”
Aisling laughed in spite of herself. “You knew my mother?”
“Of course, I did,” Bríd said, pulling out a chair. “We grew up together. Went to school side by side. Thought we’d spend our lives growing old in this town—until she left. But more on that later. Sit. Eat. Talk.”
The woman moved with the confidence of someone who ruled her own queendom and maybe kept a wooden spoon tucked in her bra for discipline.
“Tea or coffee?” Aisling asked, already knowing the answer.
“Tea. Always.”
They sat.
“I didn’t even know my grandmother was alive,” Aisling said, wrapping her hands around her mug. “My mother never talked about her. Or this place. Or anything Irish.”
Bríd exhaled slowly. “They were both as stubborn as bulls. Fell out over things neither could forgive. Pride does strange things to people.”
