Текст книги "Changeling"

Автор книги: Cate Tiernan

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11. Shades of Grey

I thank you for trying to intercede on my behalf, but it had been decided, Brother Colin. I have been remanded to the Abbey at Habenstadt, in Prussia. I expected such action to be taken against me once I confessed my many sinful thoughts to Father Benedict. And how can I question the fairness, the wisdom of such a judgment? There, away from the source of my temptation, among the contemplatives, perhaps God will show me a path through my tormented mind. As for Nuala, she has disappeared. I pray that God watches over her.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, April 1769.

That night, at Bree's house, Raven didn't show for the circle. I'd arrived on time, and I was wearing cargo pants and a soft, thin sweater. After I'd gotten home from Hunter's, I'd felt depressed and confused, so I had cleaned the kitchen, done some laundry, scooped Dagda's box, and promised myself to try not to look so scruffy all the time.

After Bree opened the door, the first person I saw was Sky. I was still stinging from her Woodbane comment but at the same time I knew she was in love with Raven and getting burned and was not in a good frame of mind.

"I think we are all here," Hunter said. His voice sounded both rough and melodious, and for no good reason I suddenly remembered how his voice sounded in my ear, talking to me when we were making out, hearing his breath coming hard and fast because of what we were doing. I felt myself blush and turned away from him, taking a long time to dump my coat on the pile in the hallway.

"Let's go into the den," Bree said. "It's more comfy in there."

"Actually," Hunter said, "I checked it out and it's full of electronics and furniture. Do you have someplace more bare?"

Which is how we ended up sitting in a chalk circle on the flagstones at one end of her enclosed pool. Above us we could see the stars, wavering and dim through the glass enclosure. The furniture had been stacked and covered; the water was still and dark. The vibrations were very different here, surrounded by water and stone and glass.

"While we wait to see if Raven is coming," said Hunter, "let's go around the circle and get a quick rundown of what you've been up to, what you've been studying, any questions you have, and so on. We should be preparing for Imbolic, also. It's a time to think about new beginnings." He nodded to Matt, who was sitting to his right.

Matt was starting to look more like himself after weeks and weeks of looking both odd and somewhat disheveled. Tonight he was wearing a dark red velour sweatshirt and black cords, and his thick black hair was neatly cut, and brushed smoothly back. "I'm okay. I've been doing some general studying of correspondences—especially how to work with crystals."

"Good," Hunter said. "Next."

Thalia sat up straighter. I didn't know Thalia all that well; like Alisa, she had been part of the original Kithic coven, led by Sky, before they had absorbed the six of us who had been in the Cirrus coven, originally led by Cal. "I've been crazed with a science project. Other than that I've been reading a book about candle-burning rituals. It's really interesting."

"I'm still doing a lot with the Tarot," said Bree. "I'm really loving it. Every time I do a reading, it's like a therapy session. I have to sit and really think about what the cards said and how it applies to my life."

Robbie was next. "My dad lost his job. Again. Mom's threatening to kick him out. Again. He'll get another job, Mom will get off his back, everything will be back to normal. Again. It's a little stressful, but I'm used to it. In terms of Wicca, I've been reading Ellis Hindsworth's Basic History of the White Art."

"That's a good book," said Hunter. "I hope things quiet down for you at home."

Sharon, Ethan and Jenna all checked in. Simon Bakehouse, between Jenna and me, said he'd been studying Celtic deities.

I thought about how ironic it was that Amyranth was planning to destroy Starlocket at Imbolic, which is supposed to be a time of rebirth. It seemed especially horrible. I felt a twinge of panic at the weight of my responsibility. When it was my turn to speak, I cleared my throat. "I've been studying a bunch of different stuff—history and spells and the basics of spellcraft. I'm having a hard time in school. And my parents are against Wicca."

Alisa Soto was next. Most of us were seventeen and eighteen, and so she, at fifteen, seemed very young. "My dad is against Wicca, too. He thinks it's some kind of weird cult. I don't get it. Two of my aunts practice Santeria, so he should accept alternative religions. I've been reading a biography of a woman who discovered Wicca and what it means to her."

Last was Sky. She didn't look at any of us, and her voice was low and steady, almost expressionless. "I've been studying the medicinal uses of herbs. I'm thinking of going back to England for a while."

I looked at her in surprise, wondering of she wanted to leave because of how Raven was acting. Sky and I had never been close, but we had forged a mutual respectful relationship, and I would miss her if she left.

"Okay," said Hunter. He didn't look surprised. I figured that this must be something he and Sky had already discussed. Turning back to the circle, he held a hand out to each side. "I guess we can assume Raven's not coming, so let's stand up, join hands, close our eyes, and concentrate. Relax everything, release any pent-up energy, focus on your breathing, and open up to receive magick."

Now the twelve of us stood in a circle. Hunter and Bree had lit many candles, and they surrounded us, flickering with our movements. I was beneath stars, next to water, standing on stone, in a circle of magick, and I felt that quick ecstatic fluttering in my chest that told me my body was open to receive what the Goddess wanted to give me.

Slowly we moved deasil around our central candle. Hunter started a basic power chant, one we'd used before. Out voices wove together like ribbons, like warm and cold ocean currents sliding into one. Our faces were lit by candles, by joy, by fellowship, by an unexpected yet required trust of each other. Our feet flew across the flagstones, our energy rose, and the magick came down and surrounded us, lifting our hearts, fillings us with peace and excitement, making our hair cackle with static. During this time my worries about Ciaran, my dangerous mission, my fears all melted away. This was pure white magick, and it seemed a million miles away from the darkness and destruction that Ciaran represented.

I could have stayed in the circle all night, whirling, feeling the magick, feeling beautiful and strong and whole and safe. But gently, gently, Hunter brought it down, slowed our steps, smoothed the energy, and then we sank gently on the stones again, our knees touching, our hands linked, our faces flushed and expectant.

"Everyone take a moment, close your eyes, and think of what you'll turn your energy toward," Hunter said softly. "What do you need help with, what are you able to give? Open your heart and let the answer come, and when you're finished, look up again."

My head drooped, and my eyes fluttered shut. There was a strong, pulsing cord of white magick inside me, there for the taking, there for me to use as I would. The answer came to me almost immediately. Let me save Starlocket. Let me protect Alyce from harm.

I straightened and opened my eyes to see Hunter looking at me intently. He blinked when I met his gaze and looked away. What had I seen in his eyes?

When everyone had looked up, we dropped our hands, and Hunter began the lesson.

"I want to talk about light and dark," he said, his English accent seeming elegant and precise. "Light and dark are, of course, two sides of the same coin. They make up everything we know in life. This concept has been more readily described as the principle of yin and yang. Light and dark are two halves of a whole. One cannot exist without the other. And more important, they are connected by infinite shades of gray."

Uh-oh. I was starting to see where this was going. I'd had similar conversations with Cal and with David Redstone. The whole point of this light/dark concept is that it isn't always crystal clear what belongs on which side. Making a choice for good isn't always easy or even identifiable.

"For example," Hunter went on, "a microbe can kill—like botulinum toxin. But the same thing, in a tiny amount, can be healing. A knife can be used to save a life or to take it. Love can be the most joyous gift or a strangling prison."

So true, I thought, thinking of what I'd lost with Hunter. I also couldn't help flicking my eyes towards Sky. Her face was composed, she was looking at the ground, but at Hunter's word a delicate pink blush loomed on her pale cheeks.

"The sun itself is necessary for life," Hunter said, "But it can also burn crops, make people die of thirst, sear our skin until blisters form. A fire, too, can bring life, make our food healthy, help protect us—but it can also be a raging avenger, consuming everything in its path, taking life indiscriminately, and leaving behind nothing but ash."

I swallowed, a mosaic of fire images dancing in front of me. Fire and I had a love/hate relationship. Fire and I had been close allies until Cal had tried to kill me with fire… and fire had been Ciaran's weapon against my mother.

"Light and dark," Hunter said. "Two halves of a whole. Everything we do, say, feel, express—it all has two sides. Which side to promote is a decision we each make everyday, many times a day."

I felt like Hunter was speaking directly to me. The differences between light and dark, good and evil were simply blurred for me sometimes. Almost every experienced witch I had ever spoken to had confessed the same thing. The horrible thing was, the more you learned, the less clear it was. Which was why an unshakable inner compass of morality was so necessary. Which was what Hunter was trying so hard to help me develop.

I sighed.

After the circle Bree pulled out some soda's, seltzer, and munchies, and we fell on them. I often craved something sweet after making magick, and now eagerly downed some chocolate-chip zucchini bread.

"This is delicious," Jenna said, taking a slice of the bread. "Did you make this, Bree?"

Bree laughed. "Please. I don't know how to work an oven. Robbie made it."

I avoided talking to either Hunter or Sky, and when people started going home, I nipped out the door to my car. I was exhausted and wanted to digest tonight's magick. I didn't want to talk or think about light and dark anymore. I wanted to go home and fall into bed. For the first time since my parents had left, I wished they were home, waiting for me. It wasn't that I hadn't missed them so far—but I hadn't felt a need for them. Tonight I knew I would have been comforted by their presence in the house.

As I pulled into my dark driveway, I wondered where Raven had been tonight. Had she blown off Sky because of their fight, or had she and Killian gotten together?

My chest felt heavy and my hands were cold as I went into the house. In my room I got ready for bed. With Dagda snuggled next to me, purring, I lay in the dark for a long time, thinking. Killian couldn't be trusted, not really. And Ciaran was getting closer with every breath.

It was a long time before I slept.

12. Ciaran

Thank you, Brother Colin, for your kind words and also the gift of wine you sent. I have added it to the abbey's cellar, and Father Josef was most appreciative. Thanks be to God, I am well, though still troubled by confusing visions and dreams. My knowledge of the Prussian language is expanding greatly, and I am in awe of the abbey's library of precious and holy books. They have amassed a glorious storehouse of religious works, and I believe they are most selective about with whom they share this wealth.

Here, living, working and praying in silence, I feel that I am free from my troubles of the past.

—Brother Sinestus Tor, to Colin, April 1770.

When I woke on Sunday, I lay in bed until my head seemed clear. I wondered what my parents were doing and if they had church services on cruise ships. Surely they did. I wondered if Mary K. had found a catholic church near their ski resort. Since I had discovered Wicca, my sister had thrown herself into Catholicism with a vengeance.

"Maybe I'll go to church," I said out loud.

Dagda sat on the kitchen table, where he was so not allowed, and washed a front paw. He looked at me with his solemn gray kitty face, his big green eyes. "I just feel like it," I told him, then went upstairs to get dressed.

My family has been going to St. Mary's all my life. It's like attending a family reunion. I had to talk to five people before I even sat down.

The thing about Catholicism is that it can be comforting. It provides a structure to live your life within. In Wicca everything is wide open: choices about good and bad, ideas about how to live your life, ideas about how you celebrate Wicca and all its facets. Nothing is ever really, truly set in stone. Which was why individual knowledge is so important, because each witch had to determine all these things for herself. The way I saw Wicca, it was more based on the individual's choices and beliefs and less based on a set of rules. However, along with freedom comes responsibility and the increased possibility of completely screwing up.

Today, as I sat and knelt and stood automatically, reciting words and singing hymns, I was able to see some of the things that Wicca and Catholicism shared. They both had the days of observation, reflection, and celebration, according to the year's cycle. Some Wiccan Sabbats and Catholic Holy Days of Obligation coincided—noticeably Easter, which occurs at the same time in both religions, except we call it Ostara in Wicca. Both holidays celebrate rebirth and use the same symbols: lambs, rabbits, lilies, eggs.

Both religions used external tools and symbols: sacred cups, incense, prayer/meditation, robes, candles, music, flowers.

To me it offered a continuity that helped me make the transition from one to another. I hadn't completely given up being Catholic—I didn't truly see how I ever could. But more and more my soul was turning towards Wicca. It seemed a path I couldn't go backward on.

The choir filed out, singing, their voices raised in one of my favorite hymns. Father Thomas, his censer swinging, walked past, followed by the cross and Father Bailey. When it was my pew's turn to leave, I fell in line. I felt pleased and calmed and was glad I'd be able to tell my parents I'd attended services today. The rest of the day stretched before me, open, and I began to think about what I should do.

I was almost to the doors when my gaze fell lightly on someone sitting in the last pew, waiting for his turn to exit. Then my heart stopped, and my breathing snagged in my throat. Ciaran. My father.

He saw me recognize him. Standing, he followed me as I left the church, passing through the tall, heavily carved wooden doors. My heart kicked into gear again and thumped almost painfully in my chest. This was my mother's soul mate: the one person meant for her to love and to love her. And they had loved each other desperately. But he'd already been married; Maeve wouldn't be with him, and so he had killed her.

Killed her. A cold knife of fear slashed through my belly. Ciaran could have killed me, too—hungry for my power, wanting to use it to strengthen Amyranth. I was entirely convinced that I was going to die at his hands until he had realized who I was and allowed Hunter to set me free and transport me to safety. Now we were going to meet again. What to expect? Should I be afraid now? How could we ever have a normal conversation?

Outside the church the sunlight hurt my eyes, and the daylight seemed harsh after the dim church. I smiled and nodded good-bye to several people, then took a left and walked around the side of the church to a small, winter-dead garden. Ciaran followed a few steps behind. When we were apart from everyone else, I turned back to him. My eyes drank him in, trying to see the person who had almost killed me in New York—and then had helped to save my life. Our eyes were similar; his hair was darker and flecked with silver. He was handsome and barely more than forty.

"My son contacted me," he said in his lilting accent, that deep, melodious voice that entered my bloodstream like maple syrup. "He said he was here with you. I thought perhaps he had called me at your request."

"Yes," I said, trying to project courage. "He did. I met Killian in New York, I realized he and I were half siblings, I don't have any other siblings except your other children—not by blood." Mary K., please forgive me again. "I asked him to call you. I decided I wanted to know you because you're my biological father." All this was true, more or less. Very subtly I shut down my mind so he couldn't get in and projected an air of innocence and frankness.

His eyes on me were as sharp as snakes' fangs. "Yes," he said after a moment. "You're the daughter I didn't know about. My youngest. Maeve's daughter. Your coloring is more like mine, but your mouth is hers, the texture of your skin, your height and slenderness. Why didn't she tell me about you I wonder?"

"Because she was scared of you," I said, trying to control the anger that was seeping in my voice. "You'd threatened her. You were married and couldn't be with her." You killed her. "She wanted to protect me."

Ciaran looked around. "Is there someplace we could go?"

I thought for a moment. "Yes."

The Clover Teapot had opened winter before last, on a little side street off Main. It was the closest thing we had to an English-style tea shop, and it seemed appropriate. Also, it was public and safe. I still wasn't sure what to expect from Ciaran. When we had ordered and sat at a small table by the front window, I felt his keen eyes on me again.

"Have you seen Killian?" I asked, playing with the handle of my teacup.

"Not yet, I will soon. I wanted to see you first."

We sat there, looking at each other, and I felt him cast his senses towards me. I shut him out gently, and his eyes widened almost in amusement.

"How long have you known you're a witch?" he asked.

"Four months, a little less."

"You're not initiated." It was a statement.

"No," I shook my head.

"Goddess," he said, and took a sip of his tea. "You know your powers are unusual."

"That's what they tell me."

"Who is your teacher? The Seeker?"

"Well, not really formally. It's hard because I also have regular school. And my parents don't feel comfortable with the whole Wicca thing," I'm surprised myself by saying. Ciaran was easy to confide in. I had to be on guard against that. Was he already spelling me, trying to get inside my mind?

"I can't believe any child of mine has to be concerned about such banalities," he said.

I sat there, trying not to look stupid. Despite having known he was coming, I felt ridiculously unprepared to deal with him, to have a conversation with him. How could I have a normal conversation with the man who had killed my mother, had tried to kill me? Only my sense of obligation to Starlocket and my affection for Alyce kept me from giving into fear and getting the hell out of here. Did he already know I was working for the council? He knew Hunter and I were—had been—going out. Was he just playing with me before he struck me down?

"You should have grown up surrounded by gifted teachers who would have helped you develop your natural powers," he went on. "You should have grown up among the moors and rocks and winds of Scotland. You'd be unmatchable." He looked regretful. "You should have grown up with me and Maeve." A spasm of pain crossed his face.

He was unbelievable. He had been married, had seduced my mother, then followed her to America and killed her because she wouldn't be with him. And Amyranth had no doubt been responsible for Belwicket's destruction! And now he was all upset because we hadn't been a happy little family. I looked down at my tea, numb with disbelief.

"I've asked people about you," he went on, and I almost choked on my lemon Danish. "I've found out surprisingly little. Just that Cal Blaire sniffed you out, revealed you to yourself, and then he and Selene tried to seize your power." His eyes were steady on my face. "And you resisted them. Did you help kill them?"

Blood drained from my face, and I felt almost faint for a moment. My anger fled. I had intended to control this interview, to lead him where I needed him to go, to get information out of him. What a naive plan that had been. "Yes," I whispered, looking out the lace-curtained window to the street outside. "I didn't meant to. But I had to stop them. They wanted to kill me."

"Just like you tried to stop me in Manhattan," he said. "Would you have killed me if you could? When you were on the table, knowing your powers were about to be taken from you?"

What kind of question was that? Would I kill him to save myself, when he had killed my mother, when I had never known him as a father? "Yes," I said, resenting his easy manner. "I would have killed you."

Ciaran looked at me. "Yes," he said. "I think you would. You're strong. Strong not only in your powers, but in yourself. There isn't anything weak about you. You're strong enough to do what needs to be done."

If he had been anyone else I would have blurted out often I felt afraid, weak, incapable, inadequate. But we weren't really having a father-daughter chat. I needed to give himself up to me.

"Do you still want to kill me, Morgan?" he asked, and the pull of his question felt like a tide, drawing me out to sea.

Resist, I thought. How to answer? "I don't know," I said finally. "I know I can't."

"That's an honest answer," he said. "It's all right. You must do what you can to protect, not only yourself, but your beliefs, your way of life, your heritage. Your birthright. And it's amazing how often others want to impinge on these things."

I nodded.

He looked at me speculatively, as if wondering if I were genuine. I tried to relax, but couldn't. My palms were sweating, and I rubbed them against my skirt. This was Ciaran, and as much as I wanted to take him apart and throw away the pieces, there was a part of me that still wanted to run in his arms. Father. How sick was that?

"Have you met witches who think badly of Woodbane?" he asked.

"Yes."

"How does that make you feel?" He poured more hot water into his cup and dipped in the mesh ball filled with tea leaves again.

"Angry," I said. "Embarrassed. Frustrated."

"Yes, any witch who can trace his or her heritage back to one of the Seven Great Clans has been given a gift. It's wrong to be ashamed of being Woodbane or to deny your heritage."

"If only I knew more about it," I said leaning forward. "I know I'm Woodbane. I know Maeve was from Belwicket, and they were a certain kind of Woodbane. I know you're Woodbane, and you're different. Your coven in New York was totally different from the covens I've seen. I read things in books, and it's like everyone blames the Woodbanes for everything. I hate it." I spoke more vehemently than I had intended to, and when Ciaran smiled at me, I was startled at how much it pleased me.

"Yes," he said, looking at me. "I hate it, too." He shook his head, watching me. "I'm proud of you, my youngest, unknown daughter. I'm proud of your power, your sensibility, and your intelligence. I deeply regret that I didn't see you grow up, but I'm glad I have the opportunity to know you now." He took a sip of his tea while I tried to get a handle on my emotions.

"But do I know you?" he murmured, almost to himself. "I think I don't."

My breath stopped as I wondered what he meant, if he was about to accuse me of trying to trap him. What could he do here, in a tea shop?

"But I want to change that," he said.

That night I found out that if you lie with your head flat on the open page of a textbook, you don't necessarily absorb the knowledge any faster than if you read the words. God, it was impossible to concentrate on this stuff! What the hell difference did it make what general did what in the Revolutionary War? None of this made any difference in my life whatsoever. All it did was prove I could memorize, and so what?

The phone startled me from my history-induced coma, and I could tell immediately it wasn't Hunter. Eoife? I had already called her to tell her about my tea with Ciaran, so it seemed unlikely she would call again so soon. Killian? Oh, God, could I handle another marathon Killian party?

"Morgan?" The voice on the other end greeted me before I could even say hello, and it took me a second to place it.

"Ciaran?"

"Right. Listen, Killian and I are having dinner at a place called Pepperino's. Would you like to come join us?"

My head felt foggy from too much studying. I tried to make sense of Ciaran's invitation. Dinner with my murderous father and unpredictable, charming half brother? Could I think of a better way to spend my Sunday night? "Sure, I'd love to. I'll be right there."

Pepperino's is an upscale Italian restaurant in downtown Widow's Vale. It has tuxedoed waiters, white tablecloths, and candles, and the food is incredible. My parents went there sometimes for a birthday or an anniversary. It was almost empty since it was late Sunday night, and the maitre d' led me to Ciaran's table.

"Morgan, welcome," said Ciaran, standing up. He shot Killian a glance, and Killian also stood up. I smiled at them both and sat down.

"We've just ordered," said Ciaran. "Tell me what you'd like. The waiter says the calamari ravioli is superb."

"Oh, no thanks," I said. "I already ate. Maybe just some tea?"

When the waiter came, Ciaran ordered me a cup of Darjeeling and a slice of mocha cheesecake. I watched him, thinking how incredibly different he was from the father I had grown up with—my real dad. My real dad was sweet, vague, and slow to anger. My mom usually takes care of the money, the insurance, anything complicated. Ciaran seemed like he was always in charge, always knew the answer, could always come through. It would have been quite different, growing up with him. Not better, I knew, though we did seem to have a connection. Just different.

Ciaran and Killian were drinking a wine that was a deep, dark purple-red. I detected a scent of crushed grapes and oranges and some kind of spice I couldn't identify. My mouth watered, and I wished I could have some, but I had sworn never to drink again for the rest of my life. I could almost taste the full, heavy flavor.

The waiter brought over their appetizers and my cheesecake at the same time, and we all began to eat. How could I make this meeting work for me? I needed information. Thinking about this, I took a bite of cheesecake and smothered a moan. It was incredibly rich, incredibly dense, with notes of sour cream riddled with streams of sweet, smooth coffee and dark chocolate. It was the most perfect thing I had ever eaten, and took tiny bites to make it last longer.

"Tell me about growing up here," said Ciaran. "In America, without knowing your heritage."

I hesitated. I needed to share enough to make him feel that I trusted him, yet also protect myself from giving him any knowledge he could use against me. Then it occurred to me that he was so powerful, he could use anything against me and my being on guard was a waste of time.

"When I was growing up, I didn't know I was adopted. So I believed my heritage was Irish, all the way through. Catholic. All my relatives are, all the people at my church. I was just one more."

"Did you feel like you belonged?" Ciaran had a way of cutting into the heart of a matter, slicing through smoke and details to get at the very core of the meaning.

"No," I said softly, and took another sip of the tea. It was light and delicate. I took another sip.

"You wouldn't have fit in any better in my village," Killian broke in. His face looked rough and handsome in the dim light of the restaurant, his hair shot through with gold and wine-colored strands. He didn't have Ciaran's grace or sophistication or palpable power, but he was friendly and charming. "It was a whole town of village idiots."

I was startled into laughter, and he went on. "There wasn't a normal person among us. Every single soul was some odd character that other people had to watch out for. Old Sven Thorgard was a Vikroth who had settled in our town, Goddess knows why. The only magick he worked was on goats. Healing goats, finding goats, making goats fertile, increasing goats' milk."

"Really?" I laughed nervously. As hard as Killian was trying to entertain us, Ciaran was still watching us both with a suspicious, dark expression. I wondered whether that was his response to Killian or just evidence that he was actually planning to do away with both of us.

"Really," Killian said. "Goddess, he was weird. And Tacy Humbert—"

At the mention of that name, Ciaran broke into a smile and shook his head. He drank some wine and poured a tiny drop more in Killian's glass. I relaxed a bit.

"Tacy Humbert was love starved," Killian said in a loud whisper. "I mean starved. And she wasn't bad looking. But she was such a shrew that no one would take her out more than once. So she'd put love spells on the poor sap."

Ciaran chuckled. "Her aim wasn't perfect."

"Perfect!" Killian exclaimed. "Goddess, Da, do you remember the time she zapped old Floss? I had that dog climbing all over me for a week!"

We all laughed, but I thought I detected a warning glance exchanged between Ciaran and Killian. I wondered what Ciaran's problem was. I loved hearing about the very different life Killian had lived in Scotland. "Here, top us up, Da." Killian said, holding out his wineglass.

With narrowed eyes Ciaran filled it half full, then put the bottle on the other side of the table. Killian gave Ciaran a challenging look, but being ignored, he sighed and drained his glass.

"Were there many Woodbane in your village?" I asked.

Killian nodded, his mouth full. He swallowed and said, "Mostly Woodbanes. A couple of others. People on the outside of the village or who had married into families. My Ma's family has been there longer than folks can remember, and they're Woodbanes back to the beginning."