Long Journey Home (Longing for Home Book 5)

by Sarah M. Eden

  “She’ll fare fine in a moment,” Ryan told Aidan in a calm and reassuring voice. “The ceaseless Wyoming winds put a great deal of dust in the air. Sets a body coughing something fierce.”

  ’Twasn’t at all the reason for her struggles, but it was an explanation Aidan wouldn’t have to fret over. Thank the heavens Ryan had thought to offer the boy that much.

  “You’ve quite a group heading up the walk just now,” Mrs. Callaghan said.

  An instant later, Maura heard their voices. She looked to Ryan. Though she was no longer entirely at the mercy of her latest lung-seizing, she was in no condition to greet her in-laws.

  He tucked her tenderly against him. “Don’t you worry yourself over this,” he said softly, walking her in the direction of her bedroom. He called back over his shoulder. “Aidan, see to it your grandparents, aunts and uncles, and the whole lot are let inside and made to feel at home. Your ma’s needing to catch her breath.”

  Quick as that, he led her to the quiet solitude of the bedroom. The coughs hadn’t entirely subsided, but they were far fewer and less frequent. She kept sipping at the water.

  “Can I do anything else for you, Maura?” Ryan kept near her side, watching her, not with pity, but with unmistakable compassion and concern.

  “I hate being weak,” she said.

  “Weak?” His expression turned scolding. “Not a word that can honestly describe the Maura O’Connor I know.”

  “You don’t know me that well.”

  He leaned his back against the closed door. “Then what do I know of you?” The question was asked too theatrically for him to sincerely want an answer. “I know you raised a fine lad on your own. You crossed the country. Held a man at pitchfork point.”

  “He deserved it,” she said with a smile.

  He grinned back. “You’ve also found a job and negotiated a living arrangement that keeps a roof over the heads of two families while we wait for our claims to be decided upon. Those are not the accomplishments of a weakling.”

  Her lungs hurt, but they were calmer. She set the glass on the bureau and let herself breathe a moment.

  From the other side of the door, she could hear the O’Connors’ voices. They were a boisterous clan, no denying that. They would enjoy themselves; they always did. But heavens, she was nervous. She could feel Ryan’s gaze on her face. She glanced at him before looking away again.

  “Is it pathetic that I want so desperately for them to like me?”

  “They love you, Maura.” He joined her at the bureau. “I’ve seen it in their faces, heard it in their words, again and again. They love you, just as they should.”

  She met his eye. “’Tis a very good thing you’re not abandoning us for the grandeur of the soddie for supper. I may need you to remind me of all that a few times.”

  “I’ve had your colcannon, Maura,” he said. “Simply ply them with that, and they’ll be singing your praises all evening.”

  “If nothing else, their mouths will be too full to wage any complaints,” she answered dryly.

  He nodded toward the door. “Face ’em down. You’ve bearded fiercer lions.”

  “Fiercer than you know,” she whispered.

  “I’ve no doubt.”

  Maura took a few shallow breaths, allowing her lungs to regain their normal rhythm. She led the way from the room.

  The O’Connors had, indeed, arrived, a large, milling crowd of them. Maura moved, not toward them, but to the side of the room near the stove and away from the highest concentration of family members. Her courage, it seemed, was deserting her a bit. Ryan moved about the group.

  Thomas Dempsey shook his hand heartily. “Pleasure to see you, Ryan.”

  “And you.”

  Ian thumped him on the back and offered a greeting of his own. Mrs. O’Connor gave him a very motherly hug. Mr. O’Connor shook his hand as well. They all liked Ryan; she’d known as much from the beginning. As she’d come to know him better, she understood why. Ryan was a good man. A deeply good man.

  “Tavish.” No mistaking the English voice that called his name from somewhere in the house. Would it ever stop being strange to hear so refined an accent amongst so many Irish voices?

  He stood and turned to face the gathering. “Where are you, love?”

  “You’re asking me?” Cecily laughed. “I can’t sort my way through so many people.”

  Tavish wove through them, finally pulling his wife free of the hoard and over where Maura stood. More O’Connors continued pouring in through the door.

  “We’ll be tight as fleas on a hound in here.” Maura spoke to herself but, apparently, Cecily overheard.

  “We always are, but happy fleas, which helps.” She looked directly at Maura.. “Thank you for hosting us.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Tavish said, standing at Cecily’s side. “We do appreciate it.”

  “I don’t know that I had a choice.”

  Cecily laughed quietly. “Our mother-in-law is rather tenacious, isn’t she?”

  “Says a woman who’s rather tenacious herself,” Tavish tossed in with a grin.

  Sometimes having him nearby was unnerving, as his resemblance to Grady swirled up a few too many memories. That evening, however, his presence was comforting. He was kind and friendly, always eager to lift the burdens around him, and did so expertly.

  Though, somehow, not Finbarr’s burdens. Maura had seen for herself the heaviness in the young man’s expression.

  “How are arrangements here?” Cecily asked. “We hadn’t intended to place you in so difficult a situation. Ryan and his mother didn’t let on that they were having so miserable a time in his brother’s home.”

  Maura waved off Cecily’s obvious concern over her and Ryan’s situation as if it mattered not at all. Tavish and Cecily would, in the end, decide who kept this house and the land it was on. She wanted them to know that she deeply appreciated their generosity in letting her use it and of her intention to be generous to others in return. “Mrs. Callaghan is very kind and sweet. ’Tis a pleasure having her with us. And Ryan lives out at the soddie, so we’ve no awkwardness on that score. Plus, he’s able to begin his work earlier in the day, which I understand is important for a farmer.”

  “When one lives off the land, one does what the lands demands.” Something heavy lay in Tavish’s tone.

  “Has something happened?” Maura asked.

  “Nothing too unusual.”

  More concerned than reassured by Tavish’s dismissive answer, Maura turned to her sister-in-law. “What’s he not saying, Cecily?”

  “There was a bit of a cold snap a couple of weeks ago.”

  Maura nodded. “I remember.”

  “We lost a good bit of our crop to it.”

  A knot formed in Maura’s stomach. Everyone in this valley depended on the yearly crop. “Ryan didn’t mention any loss.”

  “He grows hay,” Tavish said. “We grow berries. His crop is likely fine.”

  “And yours isn’t?” Maura pressed.

  “We’ll have a tight year, Cecily and I, but we’ll not starve,” he said. “We’ll likely not even truly suffer. I’m simply too much of a farmer now not to worry over these things.”

  “Even with a wee one on the way?” Maura asked. “That must put a burden on the mind.”

  Cecily’s hand dropped to her ever-expanding belly. “We have family enough to look after us if things grow truly terrible. I have every confidence in the O’Connors’ compassion.”

  “I’m an experienced midwife,” she reminded them. “Please let me help when the time comes. And Aidan has a tender spot for babies. He’ll gladly help you look after your new arrival. We’ve little to offer beyond that, but what we have, we’ll happily give.”

  Tavish put an arm around her shoulders and gave a very brotherly squeeze. “You’ve a kind heart, Maura. You always did.”

  She leaned a bit into his hug. She hadn’t realized until he offered it how much she’d needed a bit of familial affection. �
�During those dark walks back from the factory in New York, did you ever think that you’d one day have a farmer’s heart?”

  “I knew I’d never have a factory worker’s heart.” He slipped his arm away. “I’d best go help Ma set out all the food, or she’ll begin lodging generally directed complaints meant to guilt us all into action.” He pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek, then crossed to his mother.

  “That is a good man, there.” Maura said as he retreated.

  “The very best,” Cecily said.

  “Are you wanting to sit?” Maura asked. “Or are you also likely to fall under our mother-in-law’s guilt umbrella?”

  Cecily smiled. She did that a lot, something that made her utterly perfect for the lighthearted and jovial Tavish. “I struggle to navigate through such a tightly crowded space, a fact that has freed me of a great many obligations at these gatherings. Makes me think I ought to have gone blind decades ago.”

  “Have you not always been?” The moment Maura asked the question, she realized how prying it was. “Forgive me, I—”

  “Talking about my sight doesn’t upset me,” she said. “I lost it slowly, over many years. I’ve been fully blind for only about a year now.”

  “And Finbarr? How long has it been for him?” Maura watched Finbarr tucked into a corner away from everyone else. Was he keeping a distance because he couldn’t navigate the crowd either, or was he clinging to isolation as she’d seen him do before?

  “It’s been two-and-a-half years for him. He was doing well, but something changed at the beginning of the summer. We’re not at all sure what.”

  “My Grady could be that way sometimes,” Maura said. “Not self-isolating, necessarily, but reluctant to open up when troubles weighed on him. He kept so much tucked inside.”

  Cecily had turned to face her. Maura had to continually remind herself that Cecily couldn’t actually see; she was so adept at appearing as if she did. “Did you ever discover how to get through to him when he closed himself off like that? If so, perhaps Finbarr could be reached the same way.”

  Maura swallowed down a lump of emotion. “We were married only two years when he left to fight in the war. I would have learned so much more about him, had there been time.”

  “I am sorry,” she said. “Losing someone we love never truly grows easy, does it? Time dulls the ache a little, but doesn’t wash it away.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She didn’t know who Cecily had lost, but could sense the depth of her empathy. “I’m glad Aidan will now get to know his family. He’ll come to know his father better that way.”

  “He didn’t know his father?”

  They were delving further into this topic than Maura generally allowed. Somehow speaking of Grady felt easier with Cecily. Perhaps because she, too, had known sorrow. Perhaps because she was not connected to Grady the way the rest of the O’Connors were. Maura felt guilty speaking to his parents and siblings about him. They were his family and had been long before Maura met him, long after she’d convinced him to remain behind when they’d left. They were so achingly close to the grief of his loss. With Cecily, she felt freer.

  “Aidan was so little when Grady left that he doesn’t remember him at all. He has only the memories I’ve shared with him.” Memories that felt horrifically inadequate. “I’ve told him how much Tavish looks like his da, and now sometimes I catch Aidan staring at him, and I know it’s because he’s trying to make a memory of his father, using Tavish as a surrogate. Shatters my heart every time.”

  “If ever your Aidan wants to come visit, even if only to stare”—Cecily smiled, adding a layer of humor to the situation—“send him over. Better yet, you come too. I would love to know you better, and I know that to the O’Connors, you and Aidan being here means having a bit of themselves back that they thought they’d lost forever.”

  “A bit of Grady?” she guessed aloud.

  “Yes, but the two of you, as well.”

  She understood the pull the family felt to Aidan. He was blood to them. Knowing they wanted her here as well did her heart good.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Maura took a spot in the corner beneath the front window opposite the one where Mrs. Callaghan sat in her rocker. She ate and watched her husband’s family interact. Love permeated every look, every word, every laugh. Aidan sat with the cousins his age: Ian’s oldest, Michael, and Mary’s oldest, Colum. Maura couldn’t overhear every comment but had no difficulty interpreting their smiles and laughter. Her boy was happy, and he was home.

  Somehow a place was found for everyone despite the insufficient number of chairs and the small table. The O’Connors were adept at making do. Ryan and Mrs. Callaghan were included in the group without any hesitation—a testament to the family’s kindness but also a source of worry for Maura. They cared about the other two people who shared this land and house. That affection would complicate the decision of whom to grant it to permanently.

  “A fine colcannon, Maura,” Ciara said. “I don’t know what you do differently than I do, but it’s heavenly.”

  “I add a pinch of mace,” Maura said. “Grady preferred it that way.”

  Hearing his father’s name pulled Aidan’s attention to her immediately. “He did?”

  Oh, how it pained her that he knew so little of his da.

  “And he couldn’t get enough shortbread,” Mrs. O’Connor jumped in. “I had to hide it any time I made it, or he’d finish the whole tray before anyone else had a chance for a single piece.”

  “I like shortbread too,” Aidan said. “Did he like it a certain way?”

  “With cardamom.” Mrs. O’Connor, Mary, and Ian all answered in near unison. The whole family burst out laughing.

  “’Twasn’t cheap making it that way,” Mrs. O’Connor said through the laughter. “I made it plain most of the time, adding in the cardamom only on very special occasions. He’d eat it, all the while making the most ridiculous noises of enjoyment, telling me I was an angel and hugging me over and over. That man enjoyed his food, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “And he could eat more coddle than all of us combined,” Tavish said. “Though, blessedly, he liked the potatoes best and left plenty enough sausage and bacon for everyone else.”

  Maura dropped her gaze to her plate, trying to breathe through the burning behind her eyes and in her throat. Remembering him didn’t usually hurt, but now and then, reminders of Grady pierced her.

  “What else do all of you remember?” Aidan asked. Something like desperation filled his voice.

  “He was a hard worker.” Mr. O’Connor spoke with palpable pride. “He took joy in working, in accomplishing things. The harder the task, the harder he worked.”

  Aidan listened with rapt attention. “What kind of work did he like best?”

  “He worked the land when we lived in Ireland,” Mr. O’Connor said. “Up before the sun, out long after it went down. He loved the land. Loved working the soil and harvesting what he’d planted.”

  Guilt joined the grief Maura struggled with. Grady had loved working the land. He’d spoken of it often. He could have had that satisfaction again here if only she hadn’t held him back, insisting they remain in New York.

  “And in New York,” Mrs. O’Connor jumped in, “he drove a delivery wagon. He enjoyed that. He saw so many parts of the city and came to know so many people. He loved meeting new people.”

  “Sounds like Tavish,” Cecily said. “I think that is his favorite part of his berry business: traveling the territory and meeting people.”

  While they were all sharing more memories of their oldest son and brother, Maura slipped quietly and, she hoped, unheeded out the door and onto the porch. She sat on the swing and wrapped her arms around her middle.

  Grady would have been in heaven had he been here these past years. Aidan would have had a family and a father. She was the reason her son had to beg for the tiniest details of Grady. She was the reason he so often looked lost and lonely.

  Tears
flowed unchecked. She’d wondered over the past decade if staying in New York had been a mistake. Now she knew it had been a catastrophic one. She’d stolen both Grady’s future and Aidan’s past, and nothing she did could ever give them back.

  The door opened. She braced herself. Somehow, she would have to explain her hasty exit and raw emotions. Doing so would require opening old wounds she’d rather leave untouched.

  The swing shifted as someone sat beside her. She glanced over. Ryan, of all people, had joined her. What could she possibly say to him? Why had he come outside?

  “How long has it been?” he asked after a long moment.

  She didn’t need to ask what he referred to. “Ten years.”

  “Do you talk of him often?”

  “No.” She wiped away another ear. Heavens, this should not be this painful.

  “My ma doesn’t talk about my da often either. But my brothers did, and it helped.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his legs. His feet planted on the porch kept the swing still. “Having the O’Connors tell Aidan about his father will ease some of the boy’s pain, but it’s adding to yours, and I’m sorry for that.”

  Maura dropped her gaze to her clasped hands. “I have tried to help him know his father,” she said quietly. “But I didn’t realize until watching him in there just now how poorly I managed the task.”

  “You likely did better than you think.”

  She tucked her legs up beside her on the swing. Doing so pushed her a bit closer to him. The proximity brought her a measure of comfort. “He never asked me as many questions as he’s asking them. I couldn’t have—I couldn’t have answered all of them anyway. I didn’t know that Grady’s favorite part of coddle was the potatoes. I knew he liked working the land, but I didn’t know just how much until today. I can’t even—I didn’t—”

  Ryan slipped his hand around hers. “They knew him as a child and a very young man. You knew him as Aidan’s father. You can give your lad that.”