Page 70 of The Apple Cider Orchard

‘I knew it,’ he said, his voice rougher than before. ‘I knew it from the very first time I saw you at the farm shop. There’s something in the way you tilt your head when you’re thinking, the very same gesture she had.’ His gaze traveled over Molly’s features as if cataloging resemblances.

‘I had no idea,’ she said, leaning forward slightly. ‘About you, I mean. She told stories about Ireland, about Golden Valley and the oak tree, and why she left, but she never mentioned anyone specific …’ She hesitated, searching for the right words.

Patrick’s weathered hands tightened slightly against his knees. ‘I suppose that’s not surprising. If she wanted a clean break, a fresh start.’

‘It wasn’t that simple though,’ Molly said, the words tumbling out now that she’d begun. ‘Aoife left Golden Valley because she had to. Because she was pregnant.’

The garden fell utterly silent, suspended in the wake of this revelation.

Patrick’s face went completely still, his expression frozen between one heartbeat and the next as the implications registered. ‘Pregnant,’ he repeated, the word barely audible.

Molly nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. ‘With my mother, Tara. Your daughter.’

Patrick’s breathing changed, becoming shallow and rapid. One hand moved unconsciously to his chest, pressing against his sweater as if to contain the emotions surging beneath. ‘My … daughter,’ he echoed, the words seeming foreign on his tongue.

‘In those days, as you know …’ Molly continued gently, ‘Nan said her father would have disowned her. That the shame would have destroyed the family. So she ran. To New York, where she had a distant cousin willing to take her in.’

The copper lantern between them flickered, sending shadows dancing across Patrick’s face as he absorbed this information.

‘I guess she never knew how to reach out afterward,’ Molly reckoned. ‘Didn’t know how to bridge that gap once it had formed. Then years passed and she met my grandfather, Eddie, in Brooklyn. He adopted my mom when they married. They built a good life together.’ Molly paused, watching Patrick carefully. ‘But she never forgot Ireland. Never forgot Golden Valley or the oak tree. Or you, it seemed.’

Patrick’s hand moved from his chest to cover his mouth, as if physically containing the words that threatened to spill out. When he finally spoke, his voice emerged thick with emotion. ‘I have a child,’ he said, wonder and grief mingled in the statement. ‘A daughter I never knew existed.’

‘Had,’ Molly confirmed gently, her voice cracking a little. How awful to have to snatch this away from him so quickly. ‘My mother died when I was very young.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear it,’ Patrick said automatically, genuine sympathy cutting through his own shock. Then something shifted in his expression as a new realization dawned. ‘So that makes you my …’

‘Granddaughter,’ Molly finished, her voice barely above a whisper as the realization struck her too. ‘Yes.’

Patrick’s eyes widened, his gaze traveling over her features with new intensity, as if seeing her properly for the first time – not just as a reminder of Aoife, but as part of himself, his own blood.

‘Granddaughter,’ he repeated, the word soft with wonder. Then his hand reached across the table, trembling slightly, fingers outstretched.

Molly met him halfway, her smaller hand enveloped in his weathered palm. Much like Jack’s, his skin was warm and calloused, bearing the marks of decades working the orchard – an entire life lived, all the while unknown to her.

‘Is that why you came to Golden Valley?’ he asked, his voice uneven. ‘To find me?’

Molly shook her head apologetically. ‘Like I said, I didn’t know about you specifically. Nan just spoke of her first love, and the reason she had to leave Ireland.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘No. I came because she asked me to do something for her. In her final days.’

Something in her tone made Patrick tilt his head, a question in his eyes. ‘Asked you to do what, exactly?’

Molly took a deep breath. ‘Maybe I should show you,’ she said, reluctantly withdrawing her hand from his. ‘Wait here a moment?’

At Patrick’s nod, Molly rose and hurried back through the garden door into the hotel.

Chapter 39

Jack stood frozen in the shadows of the Glen Arms courtyard archway, his body rigid as Molly and Patrick sat facing each other across a small table, copper lantern light casting their profiles against the darkness. The garden’s stone walls trapped their voices, carrying every word to where he stood.

Granddaughter.

The realization hit him like a physical blow, stealing his breath and rooting his feet to the flagstone path. He’d come to collect Patrick at Brid’s request, the older woman insisting with unusual urgency that his great-uncle needed a lift home ‘right this minute’. Now he understood her cryptic smile, her insistence that Jack enter through the garden side entrance rather than through the hotel. Brid had orchestrated this – ensuring he would witness a truth that changed everything.

Now Jack watched his great-uncle reach for Molly with trembling fingers, the older man’s face transformed by wonder and grief intermingled.

‘Granddaughter,’ Patrick repeated, the word seeming to reshape the very air of the garden.

Jack’s mind raced, stumbling over this confusing revelation. Granddaughter? But that would mean …