Norah- A St. Patrick's Day Bride

by Amanda McIntyre

  “I came by to say I was sorry about last night. I can get cheeky sometimes.”

  Seamus gave her a side look.

  “Fine, it’s part of my charm. But to be fair, I had no idea that you were married.” Felice stood outside the doorway.

  “Would it have made any difference?” he snapped, then saw immediately the hurt register on her face. His life was in a mud hole as it was. Maybe Felice could help with that. “So, we’re still on to buy your liquor from me solely? Purely a business proposition.”

  She smiled. “That’s what I came to tell you. Had a fella rode through from Cheyenne last night and he tried your whisky. Was going back and telling his boss about it back in Cheyenne.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Thank you, Felice.” He looked at her. “Maybe you could apologize to Norah, as well.”

  “I had hoped she’d be here so I could do that. For what it’s worth, if a married man walks into my place that’s one thing, and I do have misgivings. I was married once, you know. And I have my regrets. But I can’t change the past, and people--right or wrong—make their own choices.”

  Seamus shrugged. “True enough.”

  “But I’m not the kind that’s lookin’ to break up marriages,” Felice said.

  He nodded. He’d always seen the ladies on the “row” as liking their fun, having no regrets, no ties to anyone or anything. He saw a side of Felice today that he hadn’t paid much attention to. “Listen, do you have any knack for making a room look pretty?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Making things look pretty is my specialty. Take those filthy linens out back and burn them. I’ll make this room sparkle.”

  Loading up the bundle in his arms, he paused as he walked into the hallway and leaned down to give Felice a friendly peck on the cheek. He turned toward the stairwell and found Libby Rose Campbell standing in the hall blocking his way.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” he said.

  “From what little I know about you, Mr. Malone, that seems to be a frequent response of yours,” she said, side-stepping him. “The reverend asked your wife to remain downstairs. Said you had a surprise for her.” She looked at Seamus, then at Felice. “I’m quite certain this would not appeal to her.”

  “Miss Campbell, please.” Seamus considered dropping to his knees but hoped the truth would be enough. “I did some cleaning up of my wife’s room, hoping to make her feel more comfortable.”

  Libby raised her brow. “And you brought your business partner in to help?” She eyed him. “I don’t think she’ll be impressed, under the circumstances.”

  “Which my wife has entirely wrong,” Seamus added to his defense. “Tell her, Felice,” he prompted.

  “It’s true.” she blinked wide-eyed at Libby. “I’m just here to make the bed, not take a tumble in it.”

  Libby’s gaze rolled to his. Seamus looked at the heavens, silently asking to be delivered from his plight. Could his life get any worse?

  “What is going on here?”

  Her voice answered his question. Seamus turned to face the questioning look on Norah’s face. “Just a bit of renovating the room I’d been meaning to do.” He hoped that the bundle of linens would block her view behind him.

  “You went into my room?” she asked.

  She leaned further around him, her beautiful eyes turning a tempest sea green. “You let her in my room?”

  “I didn’t let her in. She came with the delivery,” he explained, albeit poorly by the look on her face—somewhere between murder and disbelief.

  “So, is that what they call door-to-door services in Noelle?”

  “Mrs. Malone, if I may have a moment of your time. I had no idea last night that Seamus was even married.” Felice craned her neck to see over the laundry.

  Seamus watched his wife’s face. He could always tell when she was good and angry. Aside from her eyes turning that stormy sea green, she’d develop a small twitch over one brow. Many a time he’d spent quieting down that involuntary tic.

  Her voice was deadly quiet. Another sign.

  “Kindly take yourself and your delivery out of my sight,” Norah said, standing aside to let him pass.

  Seamus fumbled with the pile of linens in his arms as he gestured with a nod of his head to Felice to go around him, creating an awkward dance of bodies pressed to one another in the narrow hallway.

  Felice scooted downstairs.

  Libby waited at the top of the stairway.

  Norah skirted around him. “I’d like to be left alone,” she said aloud, then pointed at Libby. “Please tell Mrs. Kinnison I would be interested in speaking with her about the services she provides.”

  Libby nodded and gave Seamus a cold glance before she went downstairs.

  He shifted the bundle in his arms, nearly tripping on a corner of a bedsheet as he stumbled back to her. “What do you mean you’d like to speak to Genevieve Kinnison?” He knew Genevieve’s role as the woman they’d dubbed the matchmaker had been associated directly with her work with the Benevolent Society of Lost Lambs. He knew enough from speaking with the reverend about the brides she’d brought to Noelle that the mission took in women who often had nowhere else to go. “Norah, we need to talk. This isn’t what you need to do.”

  “That is none of your concern, Seamus. It’s my life. It’s high time I started taking care of myself.” She walked in her room and closed the door in his face.

  Seamus stared at the closed door. Four years apart seemed suddenly like an eternity. Why suddenly, after all this time, had she decided to come to Noelle? In light of her current perception, his wife probably felt she had no reason to explain anything.

  He had to find a way to get through to her. Prove that everything he was trying to do in business was to make life better for their future—if they still had one.

  A few moments later Seamus leaned on the bar and studied Reverend Hammond’s puzzled expression. “I can’t say I understand what went wrong.” The reverend glanced up at Seamus. He tapped his fingers on his worn bible seemingly lost in his thoughts. “My wife certainly appreciated the fine touches.” He smiled. “Surprises me to admit that I find them attractive.” The pastor seemed to be lost in his thoughts.

  “Reverend?” Seamus said between clenched teeth. The stubborn woman had set her mind to leave him. Norah didn’t believe him. She didn’t believe Felice. “What in bloody hell am I goin’ to do?” He looked with pleading eyes at the closest thing Noelle had to a priest. The little town had yet to attract the Catholic church to send its clergy to the mining towns that seemed temporary.

  “Well, now calm down. I’m sure there are a number of options.”

  “I just need to have one that works, Reverend.”

  “For starters, as much as we here in town have learned for the most part, to accept the ladies down the street, it might be a good idea if Felice stayed away from you and the Nugget until you two get things worked out.”

  Seamus nodded. “Fair point.” It was true that due to Noelle’s diverse melting pot of people and cultures, out of necessity in this remote place, they’d become more accepting in some ways of each other regardless of the color of skin, race, or profession. “And to be clear. I’ve absolutely no interest in Felice or any other woman, for that matter.”

  Reverend Hammond raised his hands. “It’s not me you have to convince.”

  “Aye.” Seamus sighed. “Any other ideas?”

  The pastor suddenly met his gaze. “Genevieve described you as a successful businessman, correct?”

  Seamus sighed. “Aye, and it’s not exactly working out so well I hafta say.”

  “Well then perhaps you need to become more…” Reverend Hammond crooked his fingers for emphasis, “businesslike.”

  Seamus stared at the man. “What in blazes does that have to do with anything?”

  Reverend Hammond raised up his hands. “Well, for one. Try looking busy.” He snapped his fingers. “Think of Charlie Hardt. Why the man is forever in a me
eting or headed to one.”

  Seamus studied the man with a narrowed gaze. “Ye think that would make one iota of difference?”

  The pastor shrugged. “Let her see how involved with the community you are.”

  An idea struck him. And glory be, if it worked it might well save his marriage. He’d been debating asking the musicians in the miner’s camp to play at the saloon. Maybe he could turn it into a St. Patrick’s celebration and fundraiser for the expansion idea. And with any luck, maybe convince his dear wife to rekindle the vows they took some four years ago. “I’ve got a lot to do.” Seamus wiped his hands on the towel and shook the pastors hand. “Thank you, Reverend. My anniversary is coming up and I’m about to throw the grandest Irish shindig Noelle has ever seen.”

  “Noelle’s never had a St Patrick’s celebration,” Reverend Hammond said thoughtfully. “So, yes, I say that’s the spirit. And your anniversary, to boot? Maybe you could consider reaffirming your vows.”

  Seamus gave the pastor a wink. “My thoughts, exactly.” He rounded the bar and patted Pastor Hammond on the shoulder as he hurried out the door. “Can you watch me bar for a few minutes?”

  Chapter Six

  Norah didn’t see Seamus when she walked through the saloon on her way to have lunch with Libby and her father at the Kinnison home. It was an easy walk, just past the main street at the edge of town, across the road from Noelle’s cemetery and purposed church site.

  She walked around two women who glanced at her and quickly averted their eyes.

  “Poor dear. I heard she caught him red-handed,” she heard one woman say to the other.

  Norah looked over her shoulder and one of the women smiled, quickly turning away.

  “Watch out, miss.”

  Her attention on the two women had her nearly running into a man walking out of a store carrying a large crate. He was shouting at the man inside the store. “Seamus wants every lantern in the place and every candle.” Came a voice from inside the store. “Said it’s for the grandest St. Patrick’s Day celebration the town’s ever seen.”

  Norah stopped to listen to the two men.

  “That young fella’s come a long way since he came to Noelle. Good head on his shoulders, that one. I hear he’s got big plans for the Nugget as well,” the storekeeper said as he carried another crate out to the man loading the wagon.

  “Mrs. Malone, ma’am. I’m sorry I didn’t see you standing there.” The man had an easy smile. He took off his hat, revealing a shock of straw-colored hair.

  “Do I--?”

  “I brought you on the Red Bird Stage from Junction the other day.”

  “Oh, of course. Mr. Burnside. My apologies. My mind is elsewhere at the moment,” she said, trying to get past the gossip she’d just heard from the two women. How many others knew about Seamus’s indiscretions?

  “I also delivered your things from Peregrine’s the other day. I hope everything is to your liking.” He grinned. “Not used to having to deliver that big of a purchase of so many fine things.”

  “Aye,” Norah felt her cheeks grow warm. “It’s all quite lovely.”

  “He sure didn’t spare any expense, if you don’t mind me sayin.’” His plopped his hat back on his head. “Clear to me the man’s mighty glad to have you in town.”

  Norah offered a pensive smile. Or that he was trying to buy her trust back. Still, it appeared that there were some who felt her husband walked on water, while others apparently didn’t. She didn’t know what to think.

  Woody tipped his hat. “If there’s anything you need, just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Burnside.”

  “You can call me, Woody, ma’am. Mr. Burnside was my father.” He smiled and an adorable dimple dotted his cheek.

  “Very well, Woody. Oh, there is one thing you might be able to tell me. When exactly is the next stage due?”

  The man appeared to ponder the question. “Well that depends. We’ve got one the Golden Star, coming in from the west later today-barring unforeseen circumstances. Coming down from Cheyenne.”

  “Does it go to Denver?” She considered that she might have to cancel her dinner plans.

  “Uh, no. It goes to towns further south,” Woody answered.

  “And what about the Red Bird? I understood that it was leaving back to Junction in a few days.”

  Woody nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It surely would under normal circumstances.”

  “And what do you mean by that, Woody?” She reminded herself that this man, as easy-going as he was with doling out information, was not the crux of her current frustration. Rather she felt like an eejit herself for traveling all the way out here on the word of a stranger in hopes that nothing had changed between she and her estranged husband. She’d hoped to tell him everything to confide in him how her aunt had intervened taking the letters and keeping all the money he’d sent. But walking in on him with that woman, not once, but twice had left her feeling humiliated and foolish.

  “Well, due to the St. Patrick’s Day celebration your husband is putting on at the Nugget, ma’am.” He shrugged.

  St. Patrick’s Day? Lord have mercy, she’d not been payin’ attention to the date.

  “Yessir, Mr. Malone is planning quite the festival. Unless there are passengers stopping in Junction coming directly to Noelle. Chances are the stage won’t run until after the celebration.”

  “Isn’t that grand?” She smiled, trying not to let her disappointment show and hurried on to lunch.

  ***

  Norah had a difficult time staying focused on the conversation about possible locations for the new branch mission of the Benevolent Society of Lost Lambs.

  “We had considered rebuilding the home in place of where La Maison burned down earlier this year. And while it seems a logical place, after my encounter with Madame Bonheur, I think it best to let nature take its course and not try to create dissension. Many of the women who come to us are in need of shelter, but also of healing –sometimes physically, but the majority spiritually.”

  “Which is why we’ve been considering locations within short distance to the proposed church site, sir,” Zeke said. He took his wife’s hand. “We both feel that healing of the soul is vital for these women.”

  Zeke squeezed her hand, rose, and kissed his wife atop the head. “How about I take your uncle for a walk, show him the places we’ve talked about?”

  Deacon Campbell rose. “I’d like that very much.”

  After the two men had left, at Libby’s insistence, Genevieve retired to the sitting area as she and Norah cleaned up the dishes. Norah had been debating how to approach the woman about the contradictory behavior of her husband described in the letter to the one in reality. Indeed, he’d been sending money, had allegedly requested she join him in Noelle, but it seems it stopped there. He apparently never questioned why she didn’t respond, or further, why he didn’t return to New York himself and discover for himself why.

  Libby carried a tray of tea to where Genevieve sat in a rocking chair. Her head was leaned back and woke with a smile as the two women sat down.

  Seated on a small handmade settee with folded quilts as cushions, Norah glanced around the cabin, taking note of how cozy and cheerful it seemed. “Yer home is quite lovely, Mrs. Kinnison. Thank you for having me today.” It was clear she and her husband were comfortable people. She’d felt at home immediately. Practical, functional furnishings and small touches made it a welcoming home. Plain cloth curtains covered the windows, framed pictures set atop a side table next to the dining table and chairs hewn from pine and built by Zeke Kinnison.

  “My husband is a gifted builder,” she said with a soft smile. “I am truly a fortunate woman.”

  “Including your rocker?” Norah asked, observing the smooth polished wood of the curved arms.

  “Oh, this lovely piece was a gift from Uncle Garrett and Libby. They brought it all the way on the train from Denver.”

  Norah remembered seeing a canvas covered parcel
being hoisted atop the stagecoach.

  “I’m glad we have this time to visit, Mrs. Malone. I’ve wanted to meet you and ask how you are faring in our little town?” She poured out and handed a cup to Norah and then to her niece. “Libby tells me that your room at the Nugget is quite lovely.”

  Norah had indeed confided a great deal to Libby in the past few days. “To be sure, Mrs. Kinnison. As fine a place as I’ve ever stayed,” Norah answered.

  “Please call me, Genevieve.” The woman smiled.

  “My husband…” It felt strange to Norah to call him as such given the uncertainty of their current relationship. “Seamus,” she started over,” has made a great effort to make my room a thing of beauty. Far lovelier than our room back in--” Her throat clogged with emotion. She shrugged from Libby when the young woman tried to console her.

  “It can be a difficult thing after being apart for so long,” Genevieve said.

  The woman’s words cut through the confusion of emotions swirling inside her. She thought she had no more tears to shed, but the truth caused her worst fears to be realized. “I dunna feel that I know him at all, ma’am.” Norah covered her face and sobbed into her hands.

  She felt the settee give with the weight of someone sitting down beside her.

  “There, there, my dear.” Genevieve said wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close as a mother comforts a child. “Seamus Malone is as good as any man, that much I know.” She lifted Norah’s chin and searched her eyes. “Libby mentioned your concern regarding your husband’s behavior?”

  Norah sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t know what to think. It seems many in town hold him in high regard. I respect that he is no longer drinking.” She steadied her emotions before proceeding with revealing her thoughts. “I am not certain however that he is in need of--” she hesitated--“my companionship.”

  Genevieve’s brow wrinkled. “You and Seamus…you mean, he’s not staying with you?” She seemed surprised. Perhaps she hadn’t heard the rumor mill yet.