“The kid beat us to the punch.” A grin slowly spread across his face. “There’s a message here from four hours ago.”
“What’s it say?” Morgan leaned in.
Adam read aloud. “Hi! The DNA site says we’re cousins. That’s cool! I’ve been working on my family tree for a school project. My dad helped me. Do you know about Seamus O’Farredeigh from Ireland? He’s my great-great-great-great-grandfather. Maybe we’re related through him?”
“Smart kid,” Quinn murmured.
“Does he have his tree posted?” Nicole asked before she could stop herself. Everyone turned to look at her. Heat crept up her neck. This wasn’t any of her business. “Sorry, I just—if he’s been working on it for school, he might have details you don’t.”
“Good thinking.” Ryan clicked back to the main profile. “Yeah, here. He’s got a public family tree linked to his account.”
The screen filled with names and dates, branching connections spreading like actual tree limbs. Nicole’s pulse quickened. This was the stuff she’d dreamed about as a kid—real mystery, real connections spanning generations.
Ryan scrolled through the tree, moving up through generations. “Father Seamus Patrick. Mother Jane Parker—” He paused on her name. “Died two years ago.”
More soft sounds of sympathy.
“Paternal grandfather is Aiden Michael O’Farredeigh,” Ryan continued. “Great-grandfather Liam Francis O’Farredeigh—”
“Okay,” Adam raised a hand, “we can skip the every-generation blow by blow marriage registry. Does it show how he connects to our Seamus?”
Ryan kept scrolling, moving up the tree. Nicole watched the dates roll backward—1980s, 1950s, 1920s, 1890s. Her breath caught as they approached the mid-1800s.
Ryan went very still.
“What?” Uncle Sean’s voice was quiet.
Nicole saw it the same moment Ryan did. Her hand came up to cover her mouth.
Ryan swallowed, blinked, then nodded slowly. “The kid’s great-great-great-great-grandfather is listed as Seamus Aiden O’Farredeigh. Born in Ireland, 1850.” He scrolled to show the spouse information. “Married to Bridget Nixon.”
The dining room fell into a silence so absolute that Nicole could hear the hum of the laptop’s fan. The history of the first Farraday had just been rewritten. Bridget Nixon hadn’t just died in Ireland; she had left behind a son who had carried the original family name all the way to Colorado.
“This makes no sense.” Sean Farraday shook his head. “Everything I’ve ever heard about my multi-great grandfather Seamus was that he was devastated when he received news his wife had died. I can’t fathom how he could leave a son alone and not go to him.”
Aunt Eileen was shaking her head too. “It doesn’t fit. This household was raised on the importance of family, as were the generations before it. I’m with Sean. Something’s not right. Mistakes are made all the time. People write down wrong names—”
“Like O’Farredeigh to Farraday,” someone muttered softly.
“Exactly.” Aunt Eileen’s head bobbed. “In my own history my mother always told us that her great grandmother died giving birth to the youngest in the family. When my mom went to Ireland to visit the cemetery, she learned that her grandmother had actually died from typhoid fever two years after the youngest was born. Poor little Katie grew up thinking her mother had diedbecause of her. Then there was my Great Uncle Michael. His gravestone said he was born the same year as his sister Katie. Two months apart.”
“We get your point,” Adam nodded. “So the kid could be wrong.”
“Or,” Uncle Sean sighed, “he could be right and we’re the ones who have lived under a delusion all these generations.”
“So how do we find out?” Ryan looked to his Uncle. “Short of flying to Ireland to search for ourselves.”
Sean Farraday’s expression was hard as stone. “We answer young Seamus.”
Chapter Nine
The work week had flown by. Every day the family asked Adam if he’d heard from the young Seamus, and every day the answer was the same—nothing.
At the construction site, the original livery had been stabilized and was in the process of being updated to modern standards. Little things like lights and insulation.
“I can’t believe how quickly y’all put this together.” Nicole stood at Ryan’s side, her gaze scanning from one end of the ceiling to the other.
“Have you had a look out back?” Ryan set the paint roller in the pan and pulling the rag from his back pocket, wiped his hands.
