She bent her fingers more tightly around his, needing the reassurance of his firm, steady clasp. “It’s difficult to talk about.”
“Yes, but I also know you are not one to shrink from something simply because it’s not easy. You’ll find a way.”
She shook her head. He didn’t understand the complications—that it was her fault Grady was gone. Entirely her fault.
He set his other hand atop the one he held. “Let the O’Connors fill in some empty bits while you catch your breath. Aidan will eagerly take whatever you can offer, and I promise you he’ll never stop wanting to hear about his da. Not ever. Whenever you’re ready to tell him more, he’ll listen with every ounce of his heart.”
If she’d had all the time in the world, she might have taken greater comfort in Ryan’s words. But the violence of that day’s coughing fit made her evermore unsure of her own future. Brown lung, once it took full hold of a person, was unforgiving and brutal. She might be gone long before she was ready to break her heart by opening it up on this topic with her son.
“I need to find my courage,” she admitted to herself.
He leaned a bit closer to her. In a tone of warmth and encouragement, he said, “You’ve courage enough, I’ve no doubt. What you need to find is your voice.”
She laid her head on his shoulder. “Where does one find a voice in the midst of such heartache?”
“We all find ours in our own ways and on our own paths. Each of us simply has to be willing to walk it.”
She closed her eyes, attempting to capture the peace that came from the simple blessing of not being alone with her sorrows. “There’s nothing simple about walking that path, Ryan Callaghan.”
“No, there isn’t.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Maura had settled into her role as housekeeper at the Archers’. She still cooked the meals over the fire, and she didn’t know how much longer she could do so without raising suspicion or plain wearing herself out. Moving from the kitchen to the sitting room and back as often as she had to when seeing to both meals and kitchen chores was burdensome and time-consuming. She’d need to swallow her pride eventually and ask someone to show her how to use the stove.
Furthermore, she struggled with the laundry, a physically demanding task, and one she never managed without returning home drained and coughing and worrying anew about her health.
Outside of the times when she’d pushed herself too hard, she felt stronger. Her cough came less frequently, though it didn’t calm any quicker than before. She wanted to believe she was improving, but laundry day in particular called that belief into question.
On a bright Friday morning, more than six weeks after coming to Hope Springs, she sat in the Archers’ kitchen, Aidan’s yet-unfinished coat on her lap. She’d finally saved enough to purchase fabric for the lining and was beginning to piece it together. Little Sean Archer was sleeping in the housekeeper’s room, a furnished but unoccupied bedchamber directly off the kitchen. The Archer girls sat at the kitchen work table, bent over their slates, working on a bit of schoolwork. Katie had taken her fiddle out to the copse of trees where she practiced nearly every day.
Earlier that week, Joseph had pulled Maura aside, emotion thick in his voice, to thank her for giving Katie the freedom to practice again.
“She used to play the fiddle exceptionally well, shockingly well, in fact,” he’d explained. “But when she lost her fingers in the same fire that cost Finbarr his vision, she lost her music.” His voice had broken on those last four words. “She’s attempting to teach herself to play with her other hand. I’ve wanted so badly for her to have the music back, but there hasn’t been time for her to practice. She’d all but given up, until now. You’ve given that back to her, Maura. Thank you.”
Listening to Katie now did Maura’s heart good. Working for the Archers was making a difference in a real and personal way, and that mattered to her.
Emma paused in her schoolwork, her head turned a little toward the open back door. She wasn’t watching anything; she was listening.
“Katie’s music has improved this week,” Maura said.
“She is getting better,” Emma acknowledged. “I’ve missed hearing her play. She used to play a lot before—” She didn’t finish. Her gaze dropped to her slate, though she didn’t take up her chalk. “She’s different since then. Everyone is.”
“But Pompah is happier,” Ivy chimed in, “because Katie is here. He was sad when she wasn’t here with us. And Finbarr is here again. After the fire, he went away for a long time.”
Finbarr had been gone? “Where did he go?” Maura asked, pausing in her stitches.
“He just didn’t come visit,” Emma explained. “He didn’t know how to work anymore because his eyes didn’t see very well. And he was sad.” Emma’s brow scrunched in thought. “Not just sad, though, he was . . . angry. He still is, sometimes.”
Maura wouldn’t have used those words, but then, she hadn’t been here long nor seen enough for her assessment to be perfect. “To me, he seems lost more than anything.”
Emma bent over her slate once more. She didn’t seem to be writing anything, though.
Ivy took up the conversation her sister had abandoned. “He said angry things to Emma, so she won’t be his friend anymore.”
“Ivy, stop.”
Ignoring her sister, Ivy went on. “Sometimes they talk again like they used to, but then they always go back to being quiet around each other.” Ivy climbed off her chair, abandoning her slate altogether. “And he went to the ceílís, but then someone said something—I don’t know who it was—and it made him grumpy again. Then Emma tried to talk to him—”
“Ivy.” Again, Emma’s protest made no difference.
“—and he was just grumbly, and then she was sad again, and he was sad again, and now he doesn’t go to the ceílís anymore. He doesn’t come to the house, either, unless we’re at school.”
In some way, Emma was connected to Finbarr’s distance from everyone; Maura was sure of it. Did the O’Connors realize as much? She might be able to help them reach out to him. Then again, Ivy spoke of Emma and Finbarr’s difficulties as longstanding and repeating. Perhaps pulling Emma back into Finbarr’s struggles would only make things more painful for both young people.
The possibilities spun about in Maura’s mind as she continued sewing. Ivy pulled a chair up beside her, content to talk without any replies.
“The Scotts have a new puppy,” she said. “Seamus Kelly’s dog had a litter, but only two puppies lived. Mr. Scott got one of them. The other one is at Mr. Gallen’s ranch. Mr. Callaghan was there when the puppy came. He told me the puppy was happy, and that made me glad. Mr. Callaghan said he was glad I was glad.”
“Mr. Callaghan is very kind.” The night of the O’Connor gathering, Maura had sat with her hand in his and her head on his shoulder for long moments. He’d shown her kindness and tenderness again and again. “He is helping Aidan repair a bit of the henhouse, since I don’t know how.”
“Was it damaged by the wind this week?” Emma, apparently, found this topic far safer than discussions of Finbarr.
Maura nodded. “’Twasn’t enough to damage the house or barn or, he says, the crop, but it pulled up a bit of the henhouse roof.”
Ivy patted her hand, as if consoling her. “Mr. Callaghan will fix it.”
“I have every confidence in him,” Maura said.
The kitchen door opened, and Joseph stepped inside. His girls both jumped up and rushed over, throwing their arms around him.
He kept them in his arms as he addressed Maura. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that you needn’t remain, as it’s past your usual time to return home. Katie is finishing up and will be back shortly, and I will be here until she returns.”
Maura didn’t intend to argue. She needed to get home to prepare a meal for herself and Aidan. And she hoped to make more progress on his coat while light still spilled inside their small house. Keeping lanterns lit c
ost too much to justify the oil while days were still long.
“Sean is sleeping in the housekeeper’s room,” she said. “He was worn out, poor lad.”
“Thank you, Maura.”
She nodded. With her basket over her arm, Aidan’s unfinished coat tucked inside, she slipped out the back door and moved quickly along the side of the house and to the road. Quite to her surprise, she came upon Finbarr. That he made his way back to Tavish’s house each day on his own ought to have occurred to her sooner, yet she’d never seen him make the journey and was, somehow, caught off-guard by the sight.
He walked with his cane stretched out ahead of him, searching the ground.
“Finbarr,” she called out to him, moving quickly to catch up.
He stopped and waited. That, she hoped, was a good sign.
“May I walk with you?” she asked.
He nodded, not seeming put out by the request.
“Those Archer girls are dears,” she said as they moved toward the bridge.
“They are,” he said. “They’ve been like little sisters to me for years.” Loneliness filled the quiet declaration. He spoke of them as family yet was separated from them. Not unlike he was with his own family.
“Aidan has said the same about Ivy,” Maura said.
Finbarr continued his forward trek but turned his head a little toward her. “Not about Emma?”
“He’s fond of Emma,” Maura acknowledged, “though I think it is a different sort of fondness than with Ivy.”
“He sees Emma as a friend, then?” The answer seemed to matter to Finbarr.
“Most certainly a friend. They get along quite well, which I think is good for both of them. Aidan is trying to find his footing in this town, and Emma strikes me as a little lonely.”
Finbarr’s scarred countenance pulled in worry. “She’s always been very quiet, worryingly so at times. I hope Aidan treats her with kindness.”
Very interesting. Ivy indicated that harsh words had pulled Finbarr and Emma apart, yet he spoke in such fierce defense of her. Theirs was clearly a complicated relationship.
“I’m likely overstepping myself,” Maura said, “but I’ll tell you something I think you ought to know. Emma’s heart is heavy regarding you, Finbarr O’Connor. I don’t know the exact nature of that ache, but it’s powerful heavy. I believe a kind word from you would do her a world of good.”
“I don’t think she wants any words from me, kind or otherwise.”
For reasons she could not entirely explain, his muttered bit of self-pity set Maura’s back up. “She’s not the only one who could use a bit more of your time and effort. All of your family misses you. They miss you, lad, even though you’re among them. Give them a bit of yourself. It’d lift burdens I don’t think you’re even aware of.”
“Well, then, let me do a bit of overstepping and tell you something I think you ought to know,” he tossed back. “The entire family wonders why it is you dislike being among them so much. They debate at length whether to press themselves into your life. They love you and miss you and hope that you actually want them in your life, but they’re not entirely certain you’d rather the whole lot of them go to Hades.”
“I’ve never wished any of them to Hades.” She was shocked at the very suggestion. “I’m a little uncomfortable, I’ll admit, after being apart so long, and I worry about being a burden on the family, but never have I ever wanted anything but the best for all of you.”
“Then it seems we’re both giving impressions we don’t intend to.” He had a point she couldn’t refute.
“Then you aren’t purposely avoiding them?” she pressed.
“Are you?” The lad was a stubborn one.
She could be quite determined herself, especially when doing so would help someone. And Finbarr, whether he acknowledged it or not, needed help.
“I’ll do better if you try to as well.” Opening herself up was a risk, but she’d make the effort if it meant bringing a measure of happiness back to this young man, who had once been such a sweet and cheerful child.
“I’ll try.” His was a half-hearted agreement, but it was an agreement nevertheless.
Eventually they reached the point where she’d turn off the road in one direction, and he in the other. He dipped his head and bid her a good evening, then made his way up the walk, his cane guiding his way.
When she walked past the chicken coop, Aidan and Ryan were inside it. Both looked up at her. No matter that she’d rather go straight to the house and begin her work, she’d taken to heart Ryan’s gentle prodding, and was doing what she could to be more open around her son.
“How is the repair coming along, Aidan?” she asked, making certain her pride in him showed in her tone and expression.
“We’re done,” Aidan said, crossing to where she stood and speaking to her across the mesh wiring. “But Ryan has a bone to pick with you.”
He did, did he? She quirked an eyebrow as she turned to look at him. “What complaint have you to lodge today, Mr. Callaghan?”
He shot Aidan a look. “You’ve landed me in hot water now, lad.”
“You’re the one who said you meant to give her quite a talking.”
Maura folded her arms across her chest, her basket hooked over her elbow. “Did you?”
“My soul, you two. You’ll dig me a pit so deep I’ll never escape.” He mimicked Maura’s stance. “The lad, here, told me you play the pipes, a bit of knowledge you never mentioned despite knowing I played. I was shocked enough that you’d leave that out that I told him I meant to find out why. He’s the one who twisted it all about.”
Then Aidan did something he seldom did: he laughed. He genuinely, fully, deeply laughed. All Maura’s bluster died at the sound of it.
Her boy shoved Ryan, who jokingly shoved back. They were jostling and teasing. They’d developed a friendly interaction. She’d wanted her son to find his place amongst his family. He was exceeding that hope by finding friendship amongst the Archers, the other schoolchildren, and now with this man who continually surprised and upended her.
She ought to have been overjoyed, yet her heart dropped.
Maura spun about and moved toward the house. How Ryan caught her before she stepped onto the porch, she didn’t know. He must have run, perhaps even hopped over the coop fence.
“I wasn’t actually upset,” he said. “Truly.”
“I know. I realized after a time that Aidan was only baiting you.”
“And I did want to talk to you about the pipes,” he said, “but not to scold you. I’ve been the only piper in this town in all the years I’ve lived here. To know another . . . that’s a fine thing.”
He’d be sorely disappointed.
“I’ve not played the pipes in twenty years, Ryan,” she warned him. “I’m not the musician you are.”
“It’s no matter, Maura. The pipes get in your blood. They make you love them, and that love doesn’t die off simply because years have passed.”
She did miss the pipes. She’d often longed to try them again. But fate had not been kind on that score. Fate hadn’t been kind on many scores.
“I also meant to talk to you about it because”—he glanced at the coop and lowered his voice—“Aidan said he might want to learn. I didn’t know what you’d think of that. If you’d object.”
For a moment she couldn’t find her voice. “He’s never expressed an interest in pipes before.”
“He has now.” Ryan watched her closely. “I’d be happy to teach him, but I thought maybe you’d prefer to do it yourself. Or maybe you’d rather he not at all. I’m not looking to make trouble.”
Her first inclination was to insist that any teaching be done by her. She was so accustomed to keeping her lad close, struggling to be everything he needed. She hadn’t yet fully adjusted to the reality that he had many people looking out for him now.
She swallowed her pride. “If he’d like to learn, and if you’re willing to teach him, I’d be obliged to you. I’v
e no money to pay you, but I could arrange some kind of trade.”
He was already shaking his head. “Aidan is the one wanting to learn. Let him and me work out between us a trade of some kind. There are chores enough to be done.”
“Chores you’ll have to teach him to do,” she pointed out. She didn’t care to be beholden to anyone, nor a burden.
“I’ll not let a thirteen-year-old swindle me.” His smile worked its usual magic, turning her worries and prickles into calm warmth.
“I’m not certain Aidan would have the first idea how to swindle anyone.” How she loved her sweet-natured boy. Life had not always been kind to him. “His tender heart made him such a target for the harder and harsher boys who worked the street corners. They made his life such a misery.”
Her gaze fell on Aidan, standing at the edge of the chicken coop, watching her with anxious eyes. Learning to play the pipes would bring him a bit of much needed joy. And for him to learn more about running a farm would be an answer to prayer.
“I’d be grateful to you,” Maura said. “And though I know perfectly well you’ll be stubborn about it, I’ll find a way of evening things up with you over this.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”
“A promise.”
A corner of his mouth twitched upward. “I’ve been warned.”
“You don’t look worried.”
“Far from it.” He turned to walk back toward the chicken coop. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Ryan pulled on a thicker pair of stockings. ’Twas July, yet the night was a cold one. The weather had been unpredictable this season. He wasn’t overly concerned about his fields. Not yet, at least. But he knew others, who had more sensitive crops, were beginning to get nervous. Tavish, who harvested the first of his fields long before anyone else, had already suffered some losses.
A cold draft sliced through the air. Ryan had found most of the cracks and holes in the soddie’s walls, but clearly not all of them. Some, like the edges of the greased-paper windows, couldn’t be fully sealed. It was going to be a long night.
Long Journey Home (Longing for Home Book 5) Page 21
