What the Wind Knows(35)

“You said jewelry,” he hedged, not quoting a price. “Do you have something else you’d like to show me?”

“Yes. I thought I might sell my . . . earbobs.” I used the word Thomas had used and pulled the diamond studs from my ears, setting them on the counter between us.

His furry brows jumped, and he raised the jeweler’s loupe again. He took a moment longer on the earrings, saying nothing. They were each two carats and set in platinum. They had cost me almost ten thousand dollars in 1995.

“I cannot give you what they’re worth,” the man sighed, and it was my turn for surprise.

“What can you give me?” I pressed gently.

“I can give you one hundred fifty pounds. But I’ll be able to sell those in London for a great deal more. You will have six months to repay the loan before I do so,” he explained. “It would be wise to keep them, madam.”

“One hundred fifty pounds is more than satisfactory, Mr. Kelly,” I said, ignoring his suggestion. The earrings meant nothing to me, and I needed money. The thought had hysteria burbling in my throat. I needed money. I had millions of dollars in a time and place that did not yet exist. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and focused on the task before me. “And the ring?” I asked firmly.

The pawnbroker fingered the cameo again. When he hesitated too long, Eoin reached into his pocket and placed his own treasure on the counter. His eyes barely cleared the edge, and he pinned the pawnbroker with a hopeful gaze.

“What’ll ya give me for my button, Mr. Kelly?”

Mr. Kelly smiled and picked up the button, eyeing it through the loupe as though it were of great value. I was slow to make the connection and had just begun to protest when the jeweler frowned.

“S McD,” he read. “What’s this, Eoin?”

“It’s very valuable,” Eoin said.

“Eoin!” I rebuked softly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kelly. We won’t be selling that button. I didn’t realize Eoin had it with him.”

“I heard Seán Mac Diarmada scratched his name in a few buttons and coins. Is this one of them?” Mr. Kelly asked, still studying the little brass bauble.

“I don’t know about that, Mr. Kelly. But the button is a keepsake. Will you excuse us for a moment?”

Mr. Kelly inclined his head and turned his back, busying himself with the cases behind him. We stepped away from the counter, and I knelt in front of Eoin.

“Eoin, do you know what that button is?”

“Yes. It was Doc’s. His friend gave it to him, and Doc gave it to me. I like to carry it in my pocket for good luck.”

“Why would you want to sell something so precious?”

“Because . . . you need the money,” Eoin explained, his eyes wide and pleading.

“Yes. But that button is more important than money.”

“Nana said you are penniless. She said you are a beggar with no home and no shame,” he quoted. “I don’t want you to be a beggar.” His eyes grew shiny, and his lips quivered. I swallowed the angry lump in my throat and reminded myself again that Brigid was my great-great-grandmother.

“You must never, ever, part with that button, Eoin. It is the kind of treasure that no amount of money can replace because it represents the lives of people who are gone, people who mattered and are missed. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Eoin said, nodding. “But I missed you. And I would give up my button to keep you.”

My eyes swam, and my lips trembled in concert with his. “Someone very wise told me that we keep the people we love in our hearts. We never lose them as long as we can remember how it felt to be loved by them.” I pulled him to me, embracing his small body so tightly that he squirmed and giggled. I released him and wiped at the tear that had escaped and was clinging to my nose.

“Promise me you will stop carrying that button in your pocket. Put it somewhere very safe and treasure it,” I said, infusing as much sternness into my voice as I could muster.

“I promise,” Eoin said simply. I rose, and we walked back to the counter to the man who was pretending not to watch us. “My mother won’t let me sell the button, Mr. Kelly.”

“I think that’s wise, young man.”

“Dr. Smith told my mother not to sell her ring either.”

“Eoin,” I whispered, embarrassed.

“Did he, now?” Mr. Kelly asked.

“Yes, sir,” Eoin said, nodding.

Mr. Kelly raised his eyes to mine. “Well, then. I suppose he’s right. Mrs. Gallagher, I will give you a hundred sixty pounds for the diamonds. And you must keep your ring. I remember a young man coming in here quite a few years ago and buying this piece.” He rubbed his thumb over the cameo, reflective. “It was more than he could afford, but he was determined to have it. He told me it was for the girl he wanted to marry. We made a deal—his pocket watch for this ring.” He placed the ring in my hand and folded my fingers over it. “The watch wasn’t worth much, but he was a great negotiator.”

I stared at Mr. Kelly in stunned remorse. No wonder Thomas had been so adamant. I had tried to sell Anne’s wedding ring.

“Thank you, Mr. Kelly. I have never heard that story,” I whispered.

“Well, now you have,” he answered kindly. A memory skittered across his features, and his lips pursed in reflection. “You know . . . I might still have that pocket watch. It stopped ticking shortly after the trade. I set it aside, thinking it might just need tinkering.” He pulled open drawers and unlocked curios. A moment later, he cried out in triumph, pulling a long chain attached to a simple gold timepiece from a velvet-lined drawer.