Long Journey Home (Longing for Home Book 5)

by Sarah M. Eden

  For a moment, he looked as if he might smile. “Were you always such a taskmaster, Maura?”

  “Not with you. We used to be conspirators, you and I. Your ma would make scones, which were your favorite, and I would sneak one to you. And, because you knew I was fond of soda bread, you’d hide some for me every time your ma made some and save it for the next time I visited. Sometimes it was stale beyond eating, but you were so proud of having secreted it away.”

  An elusive look of amusement began peeking through his gloom. “Did I really?”

  “You did. And you were so convinced that anyone who knocked on your family’s flat door was a robber, so you and I developed a secret knock. I used it the last few months you were in New York so you’d know ’twas me and not someone with nefarious intentions.”

  His posture relaxed a bit, not the slouch and slump of discouragement he so often bore but a lessening of tension. “Did it ever occur to me that you might have nefarious intentions?”

  She bumped his shoulder with hers. “I believe I had you fooled.”

  At last, he smiled, even laughed the tiniest bit. “I don’t really remember New York, only a few snippets here and there. Ma says it’s for the best. I don’t think she was very happy there.”

  “None of them were,” Maura said. “Except Patrick. He loved the city. None of us could understand it.”

  “Is he in a big city in Canada, then?”

  “I can’t say there are any big cities in Canada, none like New York, at least. As near as I’ve been able to sort out, he’s keeping to smaller, more isolated towns.”

  Finbarr made a sound of pondering. “If he’s happy in the wilderness, why didn’t he just come here?”

  “I don’t know, Finbarr.” So much about Patrick, who had once been so open and inviting, had become an utter mystery after the war. “I don’t know.”

  They sat a moment, neither speaking. She’d intended to lighten Finbarr’s load, not add to it. Perhaps she needed a different approach.

  She coughed. It happened so often she hardly thought about it, except when they hurt deep inside. Finbarr, however, grew noticeably concerned.

  “Ryan Callaghan worries about your cough,” he said. “He asks about you all the time.”

  “I’ve told him not to fret over it,” She wanted to be part of alleviating his troubles not adding to them. “He has enough of his own worries.”

  “There’s more in his voice than just worry,” Finbarr said. “I’m no expert, but I think he cares for you.”

  She knew he did. She’d seen the truth of it the night his nephew was born. And she’d felt the strength of her feelings for him the morning after. That was when she’d resolved to keep her distance; ’twas the only kind thing to do. But holding fast to her decision required that she keep reminding herself of the reasons for it.

  “He’s several years younger than I am,” she said.

  “Does that matter so much? Once you’re—” Finbarr cut off as if searching for the right word.

  “Old?” she supplied with a small laugh.

  “I was trying to think of a kinder way to say it.”

  “I suppose age doesn’t truly matter,” she acknowledged. “But most eligible men his age aren’t interested in an ailing woman with a thirteen-year-old boy.”

  Finbarr assumed an expression that was somehow both casual and pointed. “Maybe he’s not ‘most men.’”

  Maura watched him through narrowed eyes. “Did Ryan ask you to say something to me about . . . this?” She didn’t quite know how to put into words what she hoped they were discussing: that Ryan had a tenderness for her, that he cared, that he perhaps even loved her.

  Finbarr smiled, the expression made crooked by his scars. “He didn’t say anything.”

  “Then why are you taking up his cause so adamantly?”

  “I’m taking up your cause, Maura. You have someone who loves you. Not everyone gets that chance.”

  His words held something very personal, and something heartbreakingly sad in his expression. Did he think that the future awaiting him meant being lonely and unloved? Underappreciated and overlooked? How much he was cherished now? Did he not see the good he was doing?

  “Have I thanked you enough for helping my Aidan these past couple of months?” she asked. “He’s learning so much so quickly, and I know that is in large part due to you.”

  One thing about gingers: they don’t blush subtly. “He works hard,” Finbarr said.

  “He mentions you a lot,” she said. “At the end of the day, he tells me over and over again whether you said he’d done particularly well. Your approval means a lot to the lad.”

  “He’ll have plenty of time for listening to me once the men leave for the depot,” Finbarr said. “It’ll just be the two of us working in the barn each day.”

  “And mending the hole in my wall,” Maura said. “Don’t forget that.”

  “Mustn’t forget the hole.”

  She leaned her back against a porch post, turning to sit facing him more directly. She didn’t know if he was entirely blind, but even if he couldn’t see her, facing him when she spoke to him felt more natural.

  “Who is Lydia?” Finbarr asked suddenly.

  “Lydia?”

  He nodded. “Aidan has mentioned a ‘Lydia’ a few times. Near as I can tell, she’s very young.”

  Maura let herself smile fully. Aidan remembered the wee one. “I’ve a particular friend back in the tenement building we used to live in. She has a little girl—she must be nearly a year old by now—whose name is Lydia. Aidan was very fond of that little baby.”

  “He misses her,” Finbarr said. “He doesn’t mention much about New York, but he does talk about her.”

  Maura missed Lydia—and Eliza—as well. She refused to believe they’d never be together again. She had to have some hope that life would reunite them one day.

  Emma and Ivy Archer came skipping around the corner of the house, their schoolbooks and slates under their arms. The day was waxing on.

  “We’re to have a bit less peace now, it seems,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the girls.

  Could he see them? “How did you know they’d returned?”

  “Ivy is not particularly quiet.” Finbarr grinned, a genuine show of happiness. The Archer girls were good for him. “You two are going to wake the spirits,” he called out. “You’ll have the banshee chasing you down, just you watch.”

  Ivy rushed to the porch and dropped onto her belly beside Finbarr. “You always say that, but nothing ever chases us down.”

  “Well, then you’ve been lucky so far. You’d best not press your luck, I’d say.”

  “You used to chase us,” Ivy pointed out.

  “Yes, but I also used to be able to see the ground. And see you. That makes chasing far easier.”

  Ivy flipped onto her back, her legs hanging off the edge of the porch. “You could still chase us, Finbarr. People chase with blindfolds on.”

  Maura watched Finbarr, but ’twas difficult to know what he was thinking. The scars pulled his features in unexpected ways. But Maura would wager that he’d been caught unprepared for Ivy’s very rational argument.

  “Aidan says you can do anything,” Ivy continued. “He thinks you’re smarter than everybody.”

  He blushed again, but his posture straightened a bit. “Well, that’s very generous of Aidan.”

  Did the sweet little girl know how much Finbarr needed to hear these things? Emma had drawn near, but didn’t speak. She was almost always quiet when Finbarr was nearby. Maura offered her a smile and received a tentative one in response.

  “Pompah is going to the depot tomorrow,” Ivy said, kicking her heels against the side of the porch, still gazing up at the underside of the porch roof. “Emma doesn’t like when he goes.”

  Emma didn’t respond aloud, but her shoulders stiffened and her jaw set. Apparently she was anticipating the need to defend her feelings on the matter. Maura pulled her in for
a reassuring squeeze.

  “Are you going to the depot, Finbarr?” Ivy asked. “You’re big now. You could go.”

  He shrugged. “I’m big, but I’m not very useful.”

  “I suspect your brothers and Joseph would have plenty for you to do there,” Maura said.

  But he shook his head. “I doubt they’d want me.”

  “You should at least ask,” she insisted.

  He pulled his legs up onto the porch, wrapping his arms around his knees. No matter that he was nineteen; he looked about six years old just then, not terribly unlike the Finbarr she remembered from New York. “They’d laugh,” he said quietly.

  “They would not.” She knew for a fact they wouldn’t.

  “Annie Desmond did,” he muttered.

  Who was Annie Desmond?

  “When did she laugh?” Ivy asked.

  Finbarr rested his chin on his knees. “When I asked if she’d dance with me.”

  “She laughed?” Maura’s heart ached for him.

  “Cecily and Tavish were going to form a group with me so they could help me not run into anything or anyone,” Finbarr said. “I wouldn’t have been very good, but . . .” He took a tense breath. “I asked her, and she laughed at me.”

  Emma pulled away from Maura and set her books and slate down with a thud. With footfall so forceful that the sound echoed under the porch, she stormed off toward the side of the house.

  “Emma?” Maura called after her.

  The lass stopped and spun back, facing them. “Annie Desmond is a rat.” An unexpectedly forceful declaration from the usually quiet and reserved girl.

  “I know where she lives,” Emma continued. “And I’m going to tell her she’s a rat.”

  Finbarr stood abruptly. Deep color infused his face, highlighting the scars that marred it. “You don’t need to do that, Miss Emma. You can hardly fault Annie for agreeing with your assessment of me.”

  “I’ve never laughed at you. I never would.” Emotion shook the words. Actual, deep emotion. “No one ever should.”

  Maura looked from one of them to the other, feeling both confused and a little enlightened. She didn’t know what had come between the young man and this little girl, but there was no mistaking the fact that they cared what happened to each other. Love was there, that of a brother for his tiny sister. The love of a sister for an older brother she admired, and, if Maura didn’t miss the mark, missed having in her life.

  “People will always laugh at me, Emma,” he said. “Picking fights with everyone who does will keep you mighty busy.”

  “And mighty scuffed up,” Ivy added. She received a narrowed-eyed look of reprimand from her sister. Ivy continued unscathed. “Will you dance with me at the ceílí? Aidan says I’m ‘exhausting.’ I think when he says that he means ‘fun.’”

  “I don’t go to the ceílís,” he reminded her, stepping a little further from the porch.

  “You should,” Ivy said.

  “And you should also go to the depot,” Maura tossed in.

  Finbarr shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, kicking the toe of his boot in the dirt. “You ladies are exhausting.” With that, he shuffled away, back toward the barn.

  Emma watched him go, such sadness on her face. When she looked back at Maura, tears hung in her eyes. Without a word, she slipped into the house.

  Once Emma’s footsteps had faded, Maura turned to Ivy. “What happened with Emma and Finbarr?”

  “She loved him,” Ivy said. “But then there was the fire. Finbarr was mad about it, and then sad, and then he was mad and sad at Emma. That hurt her heart. So she doesn’t love him anymore.”

  Oh, sweet girl. She still loves him. She most certainly loves him.

  A moment later, Katie stepped onto the porch. “Come on inside, Ivy. I’ve not seen you yet today.”

  Ivy hopped up and eagerly threw herself into Katie’s arms. “We had such a lovely day.”

  Hand in hand, they went inside once more, leaving Maura on the porch with far too much to ponder. She ached for so many people in Hope Springs. She saw pain and worry and weight in their eyes and felt helpless to do anything about it. She dreaded the day she would contribute to their burdens.

  Mixed in with it all were Finbarr’s words about Ryan, that Ryan had asked about her, not in a tone of worry, but in one of love.

  An ache spread through her heart, searing the scars left from far too many losses, far too many sorrows. She loved Ryan Callaghan, there was no denying that. Neither could she deny that life had required him to adjust far too many of his plans for far too many people. She cared too much to be the next person to snatch away a future he’d worked for. That meant maintaining the distance she’d told him would be best. He could find someone else to build a life with, a life that wouldn’t shatter. A future with her would bring him nothing but pain.

  “Ma! Ma!” Aidan came running from around the house. He’d been at his grandparents’ place, helping his uncles and Joseph bring in the last of the O’Connors’ crops. “Grandfather and Uncle Thomas and Uncle Ian say I’m old enough to go to the depot, but only if you say I can, but I’m not supposed to tell you that you have to let me go with them or whine about it or anything. Michael and Colum are going, and I’m older than they are, so can I please go, Ma? Can I?”

  “Slow down, mo mhac. You’ve said far too much in far too little time.”

  He sat beside her, eyes wide. Energy pulled at him in every direction. Bless him, the lad couldn’t keep still. He explained again, only more slowly. “Michael and Colum are going to the depot this year because they’re old enough. But I’m older than they are. Grandfather and my uncles said that lads my age make the journey every year. That’s it good to learn the trick of it early on.”

  Aidan go to the depot? The journey took several days. She’d not been apart from Aidan at night ever in all his life. The idea of sending him far away, into the vast and unforgiving land . . .

  Nervousness clawed at her heart, but she reminded herself that life was different here. He had so much to learn if he was to have any hope of building a future in Hope Springs. That included making the annual trip to the depot. She had the luxury of keeping them close in New York; she needed to learn to let go a little. “They wish you to go?”

  He nodded. “I thought I’d be useless, since I don’t know much yet, but they said there’s always plenty to do, and that I’d learn.”

  She’d made the same argument to Finbarr, but he’d dismissed it. If Finbarr’s family welcomed the help and company of someone as inexperienced as Aidan, they’d welcome Finbarr in a heartbeat. She knew they would.

  “And Finbarr will help me,” Aidan said. “He always does.”

  “Have you heard that he’s going?” she asked.

  Aidan looked at her as if she were daft. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Sometimes he leaves himself out of things because he thinks he’s not wanted.”

  Aidan assumed an expression of stubborn determination. “I’ll set him straight on that. All the men are going to depot. He should too.”

  His fierceness touched her heart. The two lads were good for each other, more than either likely knew.

  Just then, Ryan rounded the house, moving casually toward them. As she watched his approach, an unexpected rise of emotion tugged at her. Relief surged through her at the mere sight of him, as if simply having him near lifted an invisible but crushing weight from her heart and mind.

  But distance is best, she reminded herself, even as she silently begged him to sit beside her. He gave her strength when she felt weak, brought her joy when she was drowning in sorrow. She loved him, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

  “Has Aidan told you, then? About the depot?” Ryan asked, joining them on the porch edge.

  “He has, but I don’t know what to think of it.” She was sorely tempted to reach out and slip her hand in his, offer herself the reassurance of that touch. She couldn’t allow herself to indulge in the impulse, so she
folded her hands on her lap.

  “He’s old enough to make the journey with the others,” Ryan said, “and he’s responsible enough to be an asset. If he means to make his life here, he’ll need to know how this part of that life works. We can’t survive without selling crops, and trips like this one are how they’re sold.”

  “Except for you and Tavish,” Aidan tossed in. “It’s different for you.”

  He nodded. “I sell mine to the ranches, and Tavish, when he has enough yield, sells his from town to town.”

  “When does he leave to do that?” Maura asked.

  “Usually about the same time we head to market,” Ryan said. “But he lost too much this year. He’ll be staying behind and tending animals on this side of town while so many are gone. I also imagine he doesn’t wish to be far from Cecily as she’s nearing her time.”

  Aidan watched her with almost heartbreaking anticipation. He clearly wanted to make the journey, but was it truly a good idea?

  “Ian will have his own boy to look after, and Thomas will have his,” she said, sorting the arrangements aloud. “Who will look after Aidan?”

  Ryan scooted a little nearer. She liked that more than she ought. “Joseph is hoping to convince Finbarr to go. Keefe, Mr. O’Connor, and I, along with Finbarr and Joseph, will keep an eye on your lad, Maura. I swear to it.”

  “You’re going?” Pure disappointment rushed over her. He was leaving. She pushed the unexpected pain of that aside, but the tendrils of it remained.

  He nodded. “I need to build a couple of large hay sheds. Nowhere to get the supplies for them other than the depot. I’ll help the men get their crop there, and, in exchange, they’ll let me bring back supplies for the sheds in their wagons.”

  “The town will be very empty, won’t it?”

  He leaned closer. “Are you trying to say you’ll miss me?” That was a flirtatious tone if ever she’d heard one.

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Can I go, Ma?” Aidan had not been distracted from his purpose.

  She hesitated before finally answering. “If you go, you will work hard?”