Long Journey Home (Longing for Home Book 5)

by Sarah M. Eden

  A two-pronged plan was decidedly best, he decided: the first assumed her desperation meant she’d need to claim the house for the longer term, and the other assumed that he was somehow granted a miracle and she wouldn’t need the place after all.

  He made his way back to James’s to sit and think.

  When Ryan returned Ma was lying in bed. Retiring early wasn’t unheard of for her, but it was unusual. He offered only the briefest of greetings to his brother and sister-in-law then made directly for Ma’s small corner.

  He pulled back the hanging quilt, determined to make a quick assessment of the situation. Her features weren’t pulled in the intense pain she sometimes experienced, but she did look very uncomfortable.

  He sat on the edge of her bed. “What’s laid you low?”

  She was paler than he’d like, but didn’t appear truly ill. “Merely tired, is all. We ought not to have laid this house out so long and narrow. I feel as though I’ve walked miles and miles by day’s end.”

  They’d not yet reached nightfall. This house, and, truth be told, its occupants, were taking a toll on her. Heaven help him, he no longer knew how to save her from it.

  “The Claire place is very nearly square,” she said, the smallest hint of hope in her voice. “No part of the house is terribly far from any other. Sweet Mrs. Claire often praised her husband for that bit of foresight. It’ll be a good change on that score. A bit less walking.” She sighed, clearly anticipating the joy of living there.

  His stomach couldn’t have sunk faster if he’d swallowed a cannon ball. “I don’t know that we’ll be making that move when we’d hoped.”

  She didn’t seem overly worried. “Mary— O’Connor, mind you, not Dempsey; the mother, not the daughter—”

  He nodded, indicating that he understood. The O’Connors, like most Irish families, shared names amongst themselves, which made confusion easy and frequent.

  “Mary would empathize with my plight, I’m sure of it. If I explained, she’d talk to Tavish and Cecily. And they would listen; I know they would.”

  No avoiding telling the truth of the matter. “There’s been a complication, Ma. The house is being used now.”

  She held perfectly still. She didn’t appear to breathe. “They’ve given it to someone else?”

  “Not exactly. They’ve allowed someone else the use of it for the time being, a daughter-in-law newly arrived from New York. I don’t know how long she means to remain or if she has plans elsewhere.”

  “They’re taking your land away?” Panic punctuated her words, and with it, her volume grew.

  He didn’t care to make James and Ennis privy to his current setbacks. With nothing but a hanging quilt separating him and Ma from their would-be audience, he needed to keep this conversation quiet. “No, Ma,” he said. “I’m to continue working the land. For now, at least. I don’t know what will be decided in the end.”

  She lowered her voice to a desperate whisper, no doubt remembering they weren’t alone in this house. “I cannot live like this much longer, Ryan. I simply cannot.”

  He gently squeezed her fingers. “I know it. I’ll not be giving up on your wellbeing and happiness. I’m adjusting my plans.”

  “Something you’ve had to do far too many times, lad.” She spoke with equal parts worry and frustration.

  He did his best to smile. “’Tis the reason I’m so exceptionally good at it.” He patted her hand gently, on account of her rheumatism. “Try not to fret, Ma. I’ll prepare us for whatever we face in the end. We’ll be ready for it. And it’ll all be grand in the end.”

  She nodded, but didn’t look fully convinced.

  “When’ve I ever let you down, Ma?”

  Her gaze softened, and she relaxed a bit. “Not ever.”

  “And I don’t mean to start now.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “Rest up, then.”

  He tucked her quilt more securely around her, then stood, leaving her to sleep if she could. She weighed on his heart.

  He returned to the other side of the hanging quilt. His niece sat on the floor, playing with a carved dog. Ryan dropped onto the floor beside her.

  “How are you, sweet thing?” he asked.

  “This is my puppy.” She ran the figurine up his arm.

  “A fine-looking dog,” he said. “I missed you today, Nessa.”

  “I missed you too, Uncle Ryan.”

  She gave him a kiss on the cheek, something she did almost every day. Nessa was his favorite part of this house and the young family who’d laid claim to it.

  “Did you watch the children at school today?” she asked.

  He’d once told her that he enjoyed watching the children’s games while he ate his lunch, and she often asked him about it. “I did. And they were very happy today.”

  “Did they have a puppy?” She held her figurine up once more.

  “I did not see one. When you’re older and going to school, you can take yours and show them.”

  “And I can show you,” she said. “You’ll be watching from over the river.”

  He nodded. “I’ll watch for you in particular, lass.”

  Ness looked over at her ma. “Uncle Ryan likes my puppy.”

  “Of course he does,” Ennis said. She turned her attention more fully to Ryan. “You’re back early. Nothing’s amiss, I hope.”

  “I’ve a few things to sort out, is all. A few adjustments to make in m’ plan.”

  She glanced at the door. “Don’t let James hear you talking about your ‘plan.’ You know it aggravates him.”

  “You’d think he’d be grateful I’m working so hard to get out of the house and stop being a bother to him—and to you.”

  She tapped her spoon against the side of the pot. “You’ve not ever given me a moment’s difficulty. ’Tis simply an uncomfortable arrangement.”

  “And that, my dear sister-in-law, is why I have a plan.” He leaned one elbow on his crossed legs. Sitting on the floor wasn’t particularly comfortable, but keeping Nessa busy helped Ennis. “Soon enough, you and James will have a home all to yourselves to raise your wee family in. Ma and I will have one as well.”

  “That’d be grand.” Ennis actually sighed. He hated that she was so miserable in all this too. Everyone was. “We’ll be a bigger family soon enough. I can only imagine it’ll be more difficult even than it is now.”

  “We’ll sort it,” Ryan promised her. “I’m adjusting my plan. I’ll think of something.”

  Nessa climbed onto Ryan’s lap. She ran her wooden dog up his arm again then over his shoulder. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Someday he’d have children of his own, his own little family. A wife who got on well with Ma and wouldn’t get upset having her around.

  Maura’s dreams might have been centered around chickens, but his dreams were far bigger. He had to find a way to not let them slip out of his grasp.

  Chapter Eight

  Maura hadn’t found a wheelbarrow or pull cart or anything she might use to fetch her purchases from the mercantile. She wasn’t certain she’d have had the breath or the energy to pull it anyway. Nothing for it but to go begging a favor of someone. How she disliked asking for help when she had so little to offer in return.

  Tavish was nearby and had been welcoming, but he’d proven difficult to be around. He looked so very much like Grady. The sharpness of her grief had ebbed in the decade since Grady’s death, but seeing his face again, hearing a voice so like his, had pricked painfully at her heart. It would again and again until she grew more immune to the shock of the experience.

  But she needed the supplies she’d purchased, and she couldn’t get them home on her own. If life had taught her anything over the last ten years ’twas that survival trumped convenience. She would, once again, do what needed doing.

  No other two houses sat so near each other on this long road as the one she’d been granted use of and the one Tavish called home. She had a near neighbor; that was reassuring.

  She crossed the road
and walked apace, arriving at her brother-in-law’s door without feeling any less unsure of her errand. To begin her time here as a burden wouldn’t set her on a very sure footing. Yet, what else was to be done?

  ’Twasn’t Tavish who answered her knock, but a woman Maura didn’t know. His wife, perhaps? Her shape had the tell-tale roundness of one anticipating a child. She was beautiful, her posture sure and confident. On her dainty nose sat a pair of green-tinted spectacles.

  Green spectacles. Maura’d never seen such a thing.

  “I’ve come looking for Tavish,” Maura said.

  The woman stood quietly, not responding. Her head tipped to one side, even as her mouth pressed tight and her golden brow scrunched behind her glasses. “Forgive me,” she said after a moment, “but I cannot place you by voice alone. You’ll have to tell me who you are.”

  An Englishwoman in Tavish’s home. Maura’d not been expecting that. She’d no objection to English people being around—Eliza was English, after all—she’d simply been caught unaware.

  “I’m Maura O’Connor.”

  Understanding lit the woman’s face. “Ah, yes. Tavish told me you had arrived. Please, come inside.” She stepped back, motioning for Maura to enter.

  “I’m not wanting to intrude,” she said, keeping to her spot outside. “I’d hoped to ask him a favor. He said I could if I needed anything.”

  “Of course. Of course.”

  Again Maura was motioned inside. This time, she accepted the invitation.

  The woman closed the door and turned to face her. “I am Cecily,” she said. “Tavish’s wife.”

  “I thought you might’ve been.” Though she’d guessed at the connection, she still needed a moment—the length of a heartbeat—to settle the truth of it in her mind. Tavish’s wife, an Englishwoman. But also a welcoming neighbor. A stunningly beautiful woman even with the odd spectacles. “A pleasure to meet you, Cecily.”

  “And I, you. Tavish has spoken often of Grady. His watch once belonged to your late husband, I believe.”

  Maura hadn’t thought of that watch in nearly thirteen years. Before leaving Ireland, Grady had been given it by his grandfather. Tavish had always loved it. When the family went West and Grady remained behind, he’d given it to his younger brother, a token of his affection and a means of connecting them across a continent.

  “He still has it?” she asked.

  Cecily nodded. “He treasures it.”

  That was both comforting and heartrending. An item of value Grady had entrusted him with, and Tavish had kept the watch all these years, guarding it, while she’d sold the ring, which he’d saved and scrimped for and so had proudly and tenderly given her.

  “Tavish is larking about somewhere, likely up to the barn.” Cecily spoke the Irish turn of phrase in her English accent, which somehow chipped away at some of Maura’s nervousness. “I can call for him, if you’d like.”

  There ended up being no need. In that very moment, Tavish stepped inside. Maura’s heart lurched, as it likely always would when seeing him. She summoned a smile. His gaze, however, was entirely on his wife. The look of deep, abiding love on his face would have warmed even the most cynical of hearts.

  Cecily had turned in his direction, but didn’t look exactly at him. “I wasn’t expecting you yet. Has the weather turned bad?”

  He crossed to her and slid his arms about her rounded middle. “I’ve come back for my kerchief. The wind’s picked up something fierce.”

  “Making up sweet to me isn’t going to get you your kerchief any faster.”

  He kissed her forehead. “The kerchief’s an excuse, love.”

  “We have a visitor, Tavish. Behave yourself.”

  Tavish turned his head enough to look at Maura. “You’ll not begrudge me a wee cuddle with m’wife, will you, Maura?”

  She shook her head.

  “Maura says I can go right on sparkin’ with you,” Tavish said to Cecily.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “She’ll vouch for me.”

  “Out loud?” Cecily pressed.

  Tavish chuckled. “What’s a man to do when his wife won’t trust his translation?”

  This was a decidedly odd conversation.

  “I think we’ve confused our guest,” Tavish said. “You have a tendency to do that, Cecee.” He tucked his wife up against his side, his arm draped lovingly around her. Then he turned and faced Maura once more. “Cecily’s blind.”

  He might have said any number of things that would have surprised Maura less than that blunt declaration. Cecily moved about freely, had looked at Maura while they were speaking—at least, she’d appeared to look at her beneath her glasses, had known that Tavish was the one who’d entered the house without being told and before he’d spoken.

  “That leaves to me the task of telling her if someone’s shaking her head or nodding,” Tavish further explained to Maura. “She, however, has a horrible tendency to not believe me. Unfair, it is. Fully unfair.”

  “Behave,” Cecily said. “Maura’s come needing a favor.”

  Tavish actually looked hopeful, as if he was excited to have a woman he’d not seen in more than a decade come asking him to do something for her. “What are you needing?”

  “I bought a few things at the mercantile, but haven’t a means of bringing them back to the house.”

  “Say no more, Maura.” He pressed a kiss to Cecily’s cheek, then pulled away. “I’ll hitch my wagon and fetch your things.”

  “On one condition,” Cecily quickly added. Amusement pulled at her features. “That Maura and her boy have supper with us tonight.”

  “You will, won’t you?” Tavish watched Maura closely. “It’d be grand.”

  She bit back the refusal that rose to her lips. Though she’d intended to prepare a meal special for herself and Aidan, making certain her son knew his family—knew them well enough to lean on them—was far too crucial. She couldn’t toss away an offered hand of welcome. There’d be many nights when she could have a meal alone with her lad. Connecting him to his family needed to begin now.

  “We’d be most appreciative,” she said. “And I thank you.”

  “School’ll be out in a bit,” Tavish said. “Do you think Aidan’d be willing to ride up with me? He could help load the wagon and unload at your place.”

  “There isn’t a great deal to unload,” she warned him, “simply more than I could carry.”

  “No matter. It’ll do the lad good to work at setting his new home to rights; makes a fellow feel connected to a place.”

  How very much Tavish reminded her of Grady in that moment, so giving and caring and insightful.

  And Aidan will have him nearby when I am gone. There was tremendous comfort in that.

  “May I help prepare supper, then?” she asked. “It seems only fair.”

  Her offer was readily accepted, much to Maura’s relief. Being useful was important to her. No place would ever feel like home if she didn’t have a purpose.

  Tavish kissed his wife and offered a whispered, “I love you, darling.”

  She brushed her fingertips along his jaw. “I love you too, dearest.”

  The tender display upended Maura more than she would have expected. She’d not been held that way nor spoken to with that tenderness in so long. She didn’t often allow herself to long for it, but the need, the wish, the loneliness was always there, hovering unacknowledged beneath the surface.

  She’d been so consumed with grief in those first years that her heart hadn’t had the capacity for even the thought of loving again. By the time the acute ache had dulled a bit, she’d been focused on her and Aidan’s survival. True healing had come as she’d helped the women of the Tower. Their needs had often been greater than hers, a humbling and motivating reminder. Someone had needed her, and that had given her strength to keep going. She hoped there’d be opportunities for helping here, too, and she prayed her health would last long enough for her to seize them.

  Ta
vish left, the same spring in his step she remembered seeing on him in New York.

  “He’s happy.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Cecily responded.

  “He was utterly broken when I first met him, to the point I worried he would never be whole again. For a long time, it seemed likely he wouldn’t— that he couldn’t heal, but he did. And my heart is grateful every day that he is happy.”

  Something enormous— something horrific, by the sound of it— had happened to Tavish in the years since they’d seen one another, and she hadn’t the first idea what. Katie had told her that Biddy and Ian, who’d been infinitely dear to Maura in New York, had lost a child, and she didn’t have the first idea when that had happened.

  What of the other O’Connor siblings? What did their families look like? How far away did they live? Ciara had a home of her own, but was she married? Where was Finbarr in all of this? What was his situation?

  She wanted to be part of this family again, but she wasn’t sure how to bridge the chasm that time and life had created between them.

  “If Tavish is as much like my Grady as I suspect he is,” Maura said, “he will be a wonderfully loving father.”

  Cecily’s hand dropped to her rounded belly, and a soft smile touched her features. “He is both excited and a little bit terrified. He has lost so many people he loved. I suspect he is quietly preparing himself for something catastrophic.”

  Bless his heart. “I have worked as a midwife. I’ve delivered more than two dozen babies, and several of those deliveries were very complicated. Tavish’s mind might be set at ease to know that I am able and willing to help if I’m needed or wanted.”

  “Truth be told, that sets my mind at ease,” Cecily said. “Though I have no intention of admitting as much to Tavish, I am a little nervous myself.”

  “Every woman is,” Maura said. “And, I stand by my offer. I know we are not well acquainted, but—”

  “But that can be rectified.” Cecily smiled broadly. “I suspect you and I are going to get on famously.”