The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

she’d suffer. With a little regret, she pushed her plate away. “He can’t be sitting up in his lofty office in New York City and design what should be here in Ardmore.”
    “And how do you know he has a lofty office?”
    “The rich are fond of lofty.” Grinning, she kicked back in her chair. “Ask Darcy if lofty isn’t an aim when she finds the rich man she’s hunting for. In any case, they have to see what we are and what we have before they set in their minds what we’ll be.”
    “I’ll agree with that.” He rose to clear the table. “I liked your design. Maybe you could draw it up a little more formally. We could give Aidan a look at it. If he likes it as I do, there’s nothing stopping us from passing it onto the Magee for his consideration.”
    For a moment she simply sat. “You’d do that?”
    He glanced over his shoulder as he ran hot water and soap into the sink. “Why wouldn’t I?”
    “It would mean a great deal. Even if Magee laughs it off and tosses it aside, it would matter to me. I’m not an architect or engineer or anything that . . . lofty,” she decided as she got to her feet. “But I’ve always had a yen to have a hand in the designing and the building of something, from the ground up.”
    “You get a picture in your head,” he said. “An empty field or lot and what you’d put on it right down to the fancy work.”
    “That’s right, yes. How did you know?”
    “It’s not so different from building a song.”
    Thinking of it, she frowned at his back. Never once had she considered that they had anything in common in that area. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll draw it up for you as best I can. Whether the Magee takes a look at it or not, I’m grateful to you for thinking of it.”
    She helped him clean up, then as it was nearing midnight, said she had to go.
    He walked her out, and they’d made it nearly to the front door before he changed his mind. He settled it by simply plucking her up, hauling her over his shoulder and carting her up to bed once again.
    As a result it was half-one when she crept into her house. Creeping was about all she had the energy for. Who would have thought the man could near to wear her out?
    She switched off the light her mother had left on for her. Even in the dark she knew which boards, which part of the steps, would creak underfoot. She made it upstairs and into her room without a sound.
    And since she wasn’t a mother, she was comfortably unaware that her own had heard her despite the precautions.
    Once she slipped into bed, she let out a long sigh, shut her eyes, and fell instantly asleep.
    And in sleep dreamed of a silver palace beneath a green hill. Around it grew flowers and grand trees that stood out like paintings in the gilded light. A ribbon of river ran through them, with little diamonds sparkling on its surface in a flash here and there that shocked the eye.
    A bridge arched over it, its stones marble-white. As she crossed it, she heard the click of her own boots, the bubble of the water below, and the quick skip of her own heart that wasn’t fear but excitement.
    The trees, she saw, were heavy with golden apples,silver pears. For an instant she was tempted to pluck one, to bite into that rich flesh and taste. But even in dreams, she knew that if you visited a fearie raft, you could eat nothing, and drink only water, or you were bound there for a hundred years.
    So she only watched the jeweled fruit glint.
    And the path leading under them, from the white bridge to the great silver door of the palace, was red as rubies.
    As she approached the door, it opened, and out of it spilled the music of pipes and flutes.
    She stepped inside, into the music and into perfumed air where torches as tall as men lined the walls with flames that shot as high and true as arrows.
    The hall was wide and filled with flowers. There were chairs, with curvy arms and deep cushions, all the color of precious gems. But she saw no one.
    Following the music, she climbed the stairs, trailing her hand along a banister that was smooth as silk and glinted like a long, slender sapphire.
    Still there was no sound but the music, no movement but her own.
    At the top of the stairs there was another long corridor, as wide as the space two grown men would make were they laid head to foot. To her left as she traveled along the corridor was a door of topaz, and to the right, one of emerald. Straight ahead was a third that glowed white as pearls.
    And it was from