Long Journey Home (Longing for Home Book 5)

by Sarah M. Eden

  Aidan’s spoon scraped his bowl over and over again as he dug for every last bit of porridge. With food in too short supply, her boy was always hungry, even after finishing a meal. That would change on Monday, or at least, as soon as she received her first pay. She and Aidan would have what they needed at last. For a time, at least.

  “I could stay home today, Ma,” Aidan said. “Then you wouldn’t have to be here alone with her.”

  She’d told Aidan about the arrangement with Ryan, not wishing the boy to be caught unaware. As anticipated, he’d been uneasy, questioning. He’d come short of outright objecting, but she could see he was as nervous as she.

  “I’ll not be felled by a granny,” she told him.

  He smiled at that. The expression both warmed and pricked her heart. Grady had been gone for a decade, and he’d been away fighting for two years before that. She’d not seen his face in ever so long. But when Aidan smiled, Grady’s face grew sharp and precise in her memory once more. They’d spent only three years together before he’d left for war, and only two of those as a married couple. Two years out of her thirty-three.

  Aidan’s smile faltered. “You look done-in.”

  She pulled out a lighter expression once more, crossing back to the table to ruffle his hair and give him a one-armed hug. “My mind was simply wandering, is all.”

  “I can stay home,” he repeated.

  She snatched up his bowl and spoon. “Nonsense.”

  “But I want to help.”

  She set his dishes near the pot she’d clean before the morning was out. “I’ve something you can do for me. You’ve made the trek to school for more than a week now. I think you’re well able to manage it on your own without me going with you.”

  He laughed. Not loudly or boisterously, but with simple, quiet amusement. “I walked the streets of New York City alone, Ma. That was far more difficult to manage than a stroll down one dirt road leading directly to school.”

  She offered him an apologetic look. “I forget sometimes how far grown you are.”

  “I’m taller than you now.” He rose as if to prove it. The lad was of a height with her. That would change quickly. He’d grow and grow.

  “Are you willing, then? To walk to school and back?” That would make her schedule a bit easier when she began her new job. She’d need a bit of time after he left for school to see to chores at home before rushing out the door.

  “I can do it.” His dark brow angled a bit, and his mouth turned down at one corner the way it did whenever he pondered something. “I think I know the time Michael and his sister would be passing by. I could walk with them.”

  How perfect that would be. Aidan’s daily treks would bring him closer to his cousins. They would forge a friendship and connections.

  She wrapped up a thick-cut slice of brown bread in a tea towel. A quick knot held it all together, and then she handed him his lunch. Though he clearly tried to hide his disappointment in such a meager offering, she saw it clear as anything in his eyes.

  “I’ll have a job come Monday,” she reminded him. “We’ll soon have money enough. You’ll have a proper lunch each day.”

  “I could find work too, Ma.”

  They’d had this discussion before. She didn’t know if he took the stance so often because he disliked school or because he worried. She wished she knew the answer. How could she ease his mind if she didn’t know what was weighing on it?

  “I know you’re willing to work and help, and I vow to tell you if that becomes necessary,” she said. “Until that happens, you’re to put that mind of yours to the task of learning. You are doing exactly what I wish most for you to do.”

  He nodded but, she suspected, didn’t truly mean to leave the topic alone. She’d likely be fighting him on the matter until the day he finished the last of his studies. Her Aidan was quiet and gentle and tenderhearted, but, blessed fields, the lad was stubborn.

  The sound of wheels and hooves pulled both their attention to the window. A wagon had come to a stop just beside the barn, very near the newly finished chicken coop and henhouse. Maura didn’t recognize the driver, but she knew the woman beside him as well as the man riding in the back. Ryan and his mother had arrived.

  “Mr. Callaghan is later than usual,” Aidan whispered, shrinking back from the window.

  Maura stiffened her spine and raised her chin. “We’ll keep to our schedule and leave him to keep his.” She didn’t like that they had been placed in the role of rivals and enemies. Ryan seemed a kind and good man, but she would hold her ground regardless. Too much depended upon her being successful in this new life she’d chosen for Aidan.

  Outside, Ryan had climbed down and moved to the wagon’s front bench. He carefully helped his mother down, much the way he’d assisted her at the ceílí the week before. He’d said her joints were rheumatic. The condition, it seemed, was advanced enough to cause her difficulty.

  Maura opened the door and assumed a welcoming expression. Aidan kept to the corner, watching through the window while making himself as unobtrusive as possible.

  Ryan and his mother made the painstaking walk to the house. Each of the three steps to the porch required effort and planning. Ryan held fast to Mrs. Callaghan, his features pulled and strained, not with effort but anxiety. He was careful with her, worried for her. Maura had heard it said that one could tell a great deal about a man by watching how he treated his mother.

  Maura looked away. She simply could not allow herself to feel anything for Ryan Callaghan other than a determination to best him in their unasked-for competition.

  He means to take this home from us. He means to take away Aidan’s future.

  The reminder had its intended effect: she held firm. He could show kindness to every ailing person in all of Wyoming Territory, but that wouldn’t change the fact that he would ruin their lives if she allowed him to.

  Behind Ryan and Mrs. Callaghan, the driver of wagon they’d come in set it in motion once more, pulling away from the house.

  “I thought the rocking chair might be the best option, Mrs. Callaghan,” Maura said as they stepped inside, “but I did not know where you might prefer it to be placed. I’ll happily move it wherever you’d like it.”

  Mrs. Callaghan looked over the space for a brief moment. “By the window, I think.”

  Maura nodded and moved the rocker from the fireplace to the window.

  “Maybe turned a bit toward the room,” Mrs. Callaghan said. “I’ll feel I’ve been banished to a corner otherwise.”

  Maura turned the chair enough to offer a view of both the room and the window at once. She stepped back and allowed Ryan to see his mother settled. Mrs. Callaghan’s hand bumped the chair, sending it rocking. Afraid it might shift and topple Mrs. Callaghan, Maura took hold of the back and held it still.

  Once situated, the older woman actually sighed, a sound of sheer relief. The effort of getting from the wagon into the house had, it seemed, been even more painful and exhausting than it had appeared. The neglect Ryan had hinted at must have been significant for this much effort to be warranted when she would have been far less pained if she’d stayed home.

  He remained a bit bent, keeping himself at eye level with his seated mother. “Are you in need of anything? I’ll come back a few times to look in on you, but let me know if you’re wanting anything just now.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll do.”

  He stood upright, and his gaze moved slowly to Maura. “I’m for the fields.”

  “The cow will be disappointed.” Truth be told, the cow would be pained and miserable.

  He winced a bit. “Nearly forgot about the cow. I’m usually moving out to the fields about now. I’ll stop at the barn first.”

  “James ought to have just let you take the wagon,” Mrs. Callaghan said. “He doesn’t use it during the day. He has no need of it. Requiring you to wait for him to be ready to bring us—”

  “We’re here now,” Ryan said. “I’ll hitch everything my
own self tomorrow while James sees to his chores. If he’s as hard-nosed and unreasonable tomorrow, at least we’ll be able to leave a little sooner.”

  “Where’d I go wrong with that one, Ryan?” Mrs. Callaghan sighed.

  This was a very personal conversation. Maura slipped a bit away, giving them as much space as possible in a house consisting almost entirely of one large room.

  “You didn’t go wrong at all, Ma. And he’s not a bad sort. It’s a difficult arrangement we’re in, is all.”

  “He’s not making it any easier,” Mrs. Callaghan said.

  “Time away will do all of us good.” Ryan moved to the door but didn’t step out yet. He turned to Maura. “I’ll be back by near lunchtime, but Ma and I’ve brought our own food, so you needn’t be worried about that.”

  “I wasn’t,” Maura said. She had been, though. The matter of food hadn’t been discussed, and she’d wondered if she would be expected to feed her guest.

  Aidan emerged from the spare bedroom. When had he stepped away? He crossed to Mrs. Callaghan, a blanket under his arm and deep color touching his cheeks.

  He set the blanket on the floor beside the woman. “The window can be drafty.” He kept his eyes lowered. The edges of his ears turned a deep shade of red.

  “Thank you, lad,” the woman said, as surprised as Maura felt.

  Aidan nodded quickly and without another word moved to the door. He snatched up his slate and tea-towel-wrapped slice of bread and ran from the house. Maura spared the other two only the briefest of glances before hurrying after him.

  “Aidan O’Connor, you come back here and give your ma a proper farewell.” He’d left without even the tiniest of goodbyes.

  He stopped but didn’t turn back. “Ma.” The moan was as much one of embarrassment as it was complaint.

  She held firm. “Do as I’ve asked, lad, or I swear to you, I’ll set a curse on your head so mighty you’ll think the banshee—”

  “—is real?” He finished her sentence with a bit of cheek.

  “Buachaill,” she said firmly, motioning him back. A cough racked her body, as always. Rushing about made it worse.

  He dragged himself back to where she was. Under his expression of annoyance was enough apology to soften her own frustration with him.

  She set her hands on his arms. “You’re not ever to leave without saying farewell, lad. Not ever. You know that.”

  “Nothing would’ve happened,” he said.

  “That’s America talking,” she countered. “Here, they don’t believe in anything. I know what I know, and I’ll not take such a risk.”

  His forehead scrunched up even as he looked more closely at her. “It wasn’t not saying farewell that kept Da from coming back to us. He’d have died anyway.”

  “Hush.” She pulled Aidan into a fierce embrace. “Always say goodbye when you leave. Indulge me in this, no matter how foolish you find it.”

  “I will.”

  “Come home safe to me,” she said.

  “I will.”

  She squeezed him tighter for good measure before letting him go. He stepped back. His eyes darted to look at something behind her. Blushing once more, he said, “Goodbye, Ma. I’ll see you after school,” and hurried off.

  She knew what she’d see when she turned around, yet she did it anyway. Sure enough, Ryan stood too nearby to have missed a single word.

  Maura set her hands on her hips. “Has America stripped you of the old ways as well? Do you now find a woman foolish for not wishing to cross fate?” He shook his head. “I can’t say I believe entirely in all the stories we were told as children—changelings, banshees, wee folk—but I’ve a healthy respect for the possibility of ’em.”

  She maintained her defiant stance. “Requiring the lad to bid me farewell is not such an outrageous thing to ask of him.”

  “Not at all.” Ryan tipped his head to her and began walking toward the barn. “I’ll see you about lunchtime, Miss Maura. And I won’t bid you farewell, as that’d leave you less time to celebrate my departure.”

  “Something I fully intend to do,” she said.

  He laughed. Loudly. Maura had to fight back a smile. Feeling an affinity for the man twice in one morning would never do.

  When she stepped inside, Mrs. Callaghan sat in the rocker, watching her arrival. Maura gave a quick nod of acknowledgment and crossed directly to the dishes waiting for her across the room.

  “’Twas kind of your son to bring me a blanket,” Mrs. Callaghan said.

  “He’s a good lad, though I say it myself.” She gathered up the dirty dishes and moved to the large pot hanging over the fire. She’d left enough water behind for washing the dishes. “He’s also a quiet lad. He grows anxious around people he doesn’t know well.”

  “M’ oldest is the same,” Mrs. Callaghan said. “There’re some very fine people in this world who’re the quiet and keep-to-themselves sort.”

  If the Callaghans continued to refuse to show themselves to be terrible people, this was going to be more difficult than she wanted it to be. She needed this house. But leaving good-hearted people without the home they’d counted on would never sit easily on her mind or heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I’ve milk for you,” Ryan said to Maura the next afternoon. Heavens, he was worn to the bone. “Tell me where you’d like it.”

  “I’ll see to the milk,” she said. “Your mother likely would appreciate her lunch.”

  The last two days, he’d arrived late, owing to the need to wait on James. Even having the team hitched and ready hadn’t convinced his brother to leave any earlier. So Ryan didn’t get the milking done until long after the cow had grown uncomfortable and a great deal of precious daylight had been lost. ’Twas lunchtime already, and he’d not even been to the fields yet.

  “It’d be a helpful thing, Miss Maura, if you or your lad could see to the milking in the mornings. I can’t say if I’ll ever get m’ brother to move faster or allow me the use of the wagon, so I’m bound to be arriving late from now on.”

  She took up the pail, not looking at him. “If I can find someone to show either of us how to milk the cow, I’d be happy to see to that bit of work.”

  “You—you don’t know how to milk a cow?” How did she plan to survive on a farm when she didn’t know how to do one of the most common of tasks?

  “’Twasn’t one of my chores on our bit of land in Ireland when I was very small, so I didn’t learn.” She turned to face him, with that oh-so-familiar combination of pride and uncertainty in her eyes. “After that, I lived in a city, where we bought our milk, like everyone else in the tenements.”

  “Farming in arid land leaves little room for error,” he told her. “If you don’t know what it is you’re doing, you’ll lose everything.”

  “I’ve buried every member of my family, including my husband, and left New York, our home of over a decade with only what we could carry and with no certainty for the future. I assure you, Ryan Callaghan, I’ve already ‘lost everything.’”

  Mercy. With such a history, she carried a great weight on her heart. “What about your son?”

  “I will make certain he has something to cling to,” she said. “Coming here has always been about his future. And if you know anything about Irish mothers, that ought to give you a great deal of pause.”

  It did, indeed.

  A knock at the door saved him from needing to respond. He looked back at Ma, who sat near enough the front window for a full view of the porch.

  “’Tis Tavish,” she told him.

  “Wave him inside,” Ryan said.

  “This isn’t your home,” Maura said. “It’s not for you to decide who enters or when.”

  But Ma had already motioned the new arrival inside. Ryan knew perfectly well that Maura had no objection to her brother-in-law coming inside. ’Twas Ryan’s welcome of him that upset her. Yet if he didn’t act as though he had a claim equal to hers on the place, he’d soon enough have no claim whats
oever. An impossible situation, no matter how he looked at it.

  “Mrs. Callaghan.” Tavish greeted her with a smile. “Do you know, my Granny used to sit in this chair just where you are now and wave me inside the same way you’ve done.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “I hope I’ve not caused you pain by dredging up those memories.”

  “Not the least pain. And I’m pleased to see you here. This house and this chair have been empty too long.”

  Ryan crossed to him. They shook hands as they always did. “How are you, Tavish?”

  “Grand. How are your crops coming in?”

  “Faster than I can keep up with them,” he said, “though I’ll manage well enough.”

  Tavish nodded. “Better that than crops dying in the fields.” His gaze moved to Maura. “I’ve something for you, deirfiúr.”

  Deirfiúr. Sister. Family was of great importance to the O’Connors, which was not good news for Ryan.

  “What is it?” Maura asked while pouring milk from the pail into her milk jug.

  “A flock.” Tavish spoke, as was customary for him, with a laugh beneath his words.

  She eyed him with confusion for a moment before her mouth dropped open in understanding. “Chickens.”

  “Aye.” Tavish poked his thumb toward the door. “Shall we go put them in their coop?”

  “We’d best not put them in the house,” she countered, a smile touching the cheeky remark.

  “Come on, then.” Tavish returned to the door and pulled it open. “Let’s give the birds a bit of freedom.”

  She swept past Ryan and Tavish, leading the way out to the porch.

  “You’d best go as well,” Ma whispered when only she and Ryan remained. “Tavish needs to remember that you’ve also a claim to this land.”

  Wise counsel. He stepped out, following the others’ path. The wind blew something fierce. He eyed the horizon and billowing clouds. The valley was in for a storm, it seemed.

  Tavish pulled something from the back of his cart—the loudest crate Ryan had ever encountered. It must’ve held a half-dozen hens, none of which sounded the least pleased about their current arrangement.