“I have.” She glanced at the preacher, still standing near the counter. “And have you heard, Reverend, that Ian O’Connor, who I feel the need to remind you is among the faithful members of your congregation, is lying up the road, bruised and broken, and, more than once these past days, hovering on the very cliff of death?”
He held himself stiffly. “I have.”
Katie tipped her head as if in thought. “Odd, that. If you knew a member of your flock was ailing so bad—tiptoeing at the edge of his very life—why is it the family’s not seen you once in the days since he was laid so low? I thought that was a duty held sacred by a man of the cloth.”
The reverend blustered a moment.
“And neither did I hear a squeak of protest when Mr. Johnson, here, declared that, now that the powders are needed by one in a most terrible hour of suffering, he’s raised the price from two bits yesterday to five dollars today. Do you not find that inhumane?”
“Now, just one moment—” Mr. Johnson protested loudly.
Katie spoke over him. “Let us hope, Reverend Ford, you do not find yourself laid low some awful day and our local merchant decides to use your misfortune to line his pockets.”
Mr. Johnson leaned closer to her. “I do believe the price for those powders has just increased to seven dollars. Keep talking, and I’ll go higher.”
She didn’t let a hint of her concern show. “You’ve not seen fit to visit the O’Connors in their time of need, Reverend. Will you not at least help see that Ian has something to relieve his suffering? Will you allow him to fall victim to such a lack of basic kindness from this man?”
The preacher’s face pinked with unbecoming blotches. Katie fully expected him to rail at her, to protest his innocence, to insult her presumptuousness. He surprised her.
“You told the woman five dollars, Jeremiah,” he said in a quiet, calm voice. “The Christian thing would be to keep your word.”
“Reverend—”
“The Red Road pays two bits,” the preacher said. “I am certain you are making a tidy profit charging her five dollars. You cannot claim financial hardship.”
Mr. Johnson’s mouth pulled in a tight line. His eyes narrowed. Katie held her breath. She didn’t have seven dollars in her pocket. She had not even a ha’penny more than five. Five dollars was a painful enough sacrifice; seven would likely bring her to tears.
The preacher, to his credit, did not abandon the issue and cleared his throat meaningfully.
Mr. Johnson reached behind him, pulling down a bottle of powders and setting it on the counter in front of Katie.
“Five dollars.” The words came out as a growl.
Katie ignored his tone. As unfair as it was, five dollars was better than seven.
She set the small pile of money from her pocket on the counter. Though the man pictured on the bills was not the same on all five, she’d been told they were worth the same amount, that the face had changed only the year before. Both Mr. Johnson and the reverend seemed satisfied. The merchant took her money, and she took the medicine.
Clutching the bottle, she turned to face the preacher, feeling a bit ashamed of her harsh words earlier. Perhaps he’d deserved them, but he had done her a great service, one she’d not foreseen. Katie wouldn’t let that moment of kindness pass unacknowledged.
“I thank you for this, Reverend.”
Was he as surprised as she was to find them allies even for a fleeting moment?
He gave a brief nod but didn’t look her fully in the eye. Apparently he found the situation more uncomfortable than unexpected. Perhaps the best expression of gratitude would be to leave and let him explain away in his own mind the short time they’d spent in agreement with each other.
She hurried up the road, offering a quick wave to Seamus Kelly, standing outside his blacksmith shop, as she passed. Worry and hope pushed her on. Ian would find some relief once he had the powders. He’d sleep, and heal. And Biddy’s mind and heart would find some peace as well.
Katie stopped briefly at Granny Claire’s home to pick up her fiddle before continuing to Biddy and Ian’s. The house was full when she arrived, chaotic almost. Ian’s sisters and brothers wove about in a tapestry of busyness. They stood and sat and moved about, some eating, some talking, a couple even dusting and straightening up. Katie stood at the door, watching them, unnoticed.
She’d learned to love this family. Watching them help one another and care for one another filled an almost lifelong void in her heart. She’d once been part of a loving family. She’d once had parents and siblings who watched over her. But she’d lost everything while still a small child. She’d been alone since she was eight years old. Nearly two decades of loneliness had taken quite a toll. How she wanted to be part of what the O’Connors had.
She pulled the door closed behind her. Ciara, Tavish’s youngest sister, smiled at Katie as she stepped inside, but returned quickly to tending to her niece and nephew. Katie nodded a greeting to a few of the others in the room, slowly making her way among them all. They knew each other so well. No one fumbled about like she did, searching for their place and their role.
Is this to be my lot in life, then? She walked on her own toward Ian’s bedroom, holding the bottle of powders tightly in her hand. Among them, but not really a part of them?
Tavish stepped out of his brother’s bedroom in the very next instant. His smile blossomed on the spot. “Why, hello there, Sweet Katie.”
Katie took a deep and purifying breath. Relief took hold inside. So long as she had Tavish, she wouldn’t be alone.
“Hello, then,” she said. “Did you miss me?”
He leaned against the doorframe. “Did I miss you? When did you start asking daft questions?” He brushed a hand along her cheek. “I always miss you when you’re gone.”
Heat spread up her neck. His touch did that to her every time, no matter how brief the contact. Bless Tavish O’Connor. He didn’t forget her. He didn’t overlook her. She was part of his world without needing to ask.
“I have something for—Ian.” Katie smiled at Tavish’s look of highly exaggerated shock. “Thought I brought you something special, did you?”
“If my brother weren’t looking all beaten and pathetic, I might be horribly jealous of him just now.”
She held up her fiddle case. “I thought I’d give Biddy a rest from her humming.”
“Ah, music from our Katie.” Tavish smiled fondly. “That’ll be a treat, to be sure.”
She held out the bottle of powders. “And I’ve brought Ian this.”
Tavish’s smile vanished. “Begorra, Katie. Johnson was demanding five dollars for a bottle.”
“I had some savings,” she said. Uncertainty touched her shrinking feeling of accomplishment.
“But five dollars, Katie. That’s too dear.”
She shook her head. “Ian cannot heal if he cannot rest, and he cannot rest if he is in pain.”
He looked almost upset, somewhere just shy of angry. “That was your going-home money, Katie.”
It was her going-home money, but it was more than that. It was her funds for giving Father back his land, money for her sister’s headstone. But none of that was on her horizon any longer. Having chosen to stay in Hope Springs, it was now her money for starting over again. It was her future.
Keep your head above water on this, Katie. You need to be strong.
“I meant to get the powders my own self, Katie, once I’d finished my day’s work. I’ll pay you back the five dollars.”
“No, Tavish. I can do this for them.”
“You can, certainly, but you don’t have to. We’re his family; we’ll see to it he has the medicines he needs. You needn’t worry.”
We’re his family. Meaning, of course, she wasn’t. She wasn’t anyone’s family.
“Is Biddy about?” A change of topic would save her from an embarrassing breakdown. “I’d like to give her the powders.”
“She’s in the sickroom, where else?”
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Biddy near about cried when Katie gave her the medicine. The flow of gratitude flustered Katie a little. Clearly her contribution had been unexpected. We’re his family. It would take time, she told herself. A person didn’t simply toss themselves into someone else’s family.
“And I’ve brought my fiddle,” she said. “If you think anyone would enjoy a tune or two. Of course, if I’d only be in the way—”
“Oh, dear Katie.” Biddy squeezed her free hand. “Your music would be a gift from heaven itself. Soothing to the soul, just as you said.”
The music did, in fact, bring a change to those gathered there. More smiles were evident, fewer furrowed brows. Ian remained in bed, but Biddy said she knew he could hear the tunes and appreciated them.
Katie left the house feeling better than she had on her arrival. Tavish insisted again he’d repay her for the powders. She hoped he wouldn’t. Making the sacrifice helped her feel part of them all. So many of the worries plaguing her were either out of her control or things she’d already failed at. This was something she could do to help.
Her mind spun wildly about as she lay in bed that night. Her thoughts battered her raw emotions. Too much had happened too quickly. She had changed plans she’d had her entire life. It was too much. Far, far too much.
She hoped that one day her heart and mind would wrap around the changes she’d made in her life. She would find joy to outweigh the pain. There in Wyoming she’d find a family to be part of, people to belong to.
In time, she hoped, the emptiness she felt would ease.
Chapter Seven
Joseph pulled his buggy to a halt in front of Mrs. Claire’s house. The girls were spending the day with the Kesters down the Red Road. He really ought to have been out in his fields. Yet, there he was, out paying a visit. He’d tried to focus on his work, but his mind constantly returned to Katie. There was nothing for it but to go see her and clear his thoughts.
He had a barrel of flour for her. She likely wouldn’t need it for another week or more. But flour was the perfect excuse to come see her, if only for a moment.
Finbarr helped him heft the barrel out of the buggy. Joseph could roll it inside and leave it wherever Katie wanted it.
“Let me know if Ian or Biddy need anything,” Joseph said.
The boy nodded and made his way up the path toward the road.
Joseph knocked and waited. Would Katie think him a fool for bringing her supplies before she’d told him she needed them? Perhaps he really was a fool. She’d only been gone thirty-six hours and he was already spending precious time concocting reasons to visit a woman who had pledged her heart to another. He was a fool, a complete and utter fool.
He could be friendly, but really nothing beyond.
The door opened and there she was. Not even a second could have passed before a smile appeared on Katie’s face.
“Why, Joseph Archer! And what is it brings you around here?”
Friendly. Nothing beyond. “I was in town this morning and thought I’d pick up your next barrel of flour while I was there.”
“That was very kind of you.”
She sounded happy, so why, then, did strain show behind her eyes? He studied her for some clue, but found none. Katie was frustratingly good at keeping her thoughts hidden.
“Where would you like me to put the barrel?” he asked.
She pondered a moment. “There is not a great deal of room in the kitchen area. I’d best keep my supplies in my own room.”
Katie pulled the door open all the way, making space for him to pass through. He rolled the barrel through the doorway. Mrs. Claire sat inside, comfortably settled in her rocking chair.
“A fine good afternoon to you, Joseph Archer.”
“And the rest of the day to you, Mrs. Claire.”
Her wrinkled face turned up in an amused grin. “Well, then, Katie. I see you taught him a thing or two while you lived at his house. That there was a right proper answer to an Irish greeting.”
Joseph’s breath caught for a brief instant at the bright-eyed smile Katie gave the older woman. That was the smile he’d come to see, the one he’d closed his eyes to remember as he’d stood in his empty kitchen that morning.
“I tried,” Katie told Mrs. Claire. “I was determined to make an Irishman out of him, but, alas, I ran out of time.”
That seemed to be the theme of his and Katie’s connection: wanting something but not having sufficient time to accomplish it. He’d once hoped to court her after she left his employ, but Tavish was there before he had the opportunity.
“You can roll that right in through here,” Katie said, motioning him toward the far end of the fireplace where a short hallway jutted off.
The house was small; he reached his destination in only a few steps. Katie threw Mrs. Claire another friendly smile over her shoulder. But, Joseph noticed, that smile slid quickly away as she stepped into the dim bedroom she called her own. The strain he’d seen in her face at the door returned.
What was weighing so heavily on her?
“If you’d place that in the corner, I’d be grateful.”
He took a quick look around the room as he followed the instructions. The space could use another lantern, a candle at the very least. Even in the afternoon, the small window didn’t let in enough light to make the room as cheerful as it ought to be.
He had no argument with the simplicity of the furnishings, only their obvious need for repairs.
He wanted more for her, at least a few of life’s comforts. If only there was a way to give her the relative luxuries she’d had only two days before. She’d had a bedframe and a comfortable mattress at his house; now she had only a straw tick on a pallet for a bed. But she’d never accept anything from him. She was too proud, too stubborn. He understood, admired her for it even, but it could be very frustrating. She likely wouldn’t even let him bring the curtains from her old room to add some femininity to this new space. Women liked curtains. She would probably enjoy having them there. But she’d never take them from him.
“Is it still three dollars for the barrel?”
Her question pulled his thoughts together. He nodded.
Katie crossed to the opposite corner and knelt in front of her battered carpetbag. She opened it and pulled out a small drawstring bag.
Joseph could see she hadn’t unpacked her things.
“Is something wrong with the chest of drawers?” he asked, nodding toward the bureau.
She moved to the pallet bed and sat. “The drawer frames are pulling apart.” She turned out the contents of her small coin purse on the bedtick and began counting coins.
“Do you have a hammer and nails?” Joseph asked. He couldn’t give her fine furniture or luxurious comforts, but he could at least fix the drawers.
“Aye, just there on the floor. I borrowed them from Tavish yesterday but haven’t had time to see to the mending.”
Joseph hung his hat on the doorknob and slid out of his heavy jacket. “I have some time right now. I’ll fix the drawers.”
She looked up at him, surprise and uncertainty in her gaze. “You don’t have to do that, Joseph. I know you’re busy.”
“I’m never too busy to help.” He left unspoken that helping her, most specifically, was very near the top of his list of priorities. Only his girls and the most pressing work on his farm came anywhere near Katie’s well-being in his mind. Even if the repairs took all day, it would be well worth his time.
He knelt in front of the short chest and pulled out each drawer. Just as Katie had described, the framing was loose and no longer square. A few nails in the right places would help.
“If you’re staying for a piece, would you mind if I bent your ear a bit?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “I know I’ve heard you use that phrase before, but I don’t remember what it means.”
She laughed lightly, a sound that did his heart as much good as hearing her music did. So many times he’d stood at the kitchen door or a
t his own bedroom window listening to the strains of her violin from across the fields. He knew the music had calmed her, but did she have any idea how much he had needed it as well?
“I’m only asking if I can bother you with a great deal of talking and asking advice,” Katie said.
“Of course.”
The earnestness in her deep brown eyes was enough to nearly undermine his determination to keep his feelings hidden. He focused on his task, turning over the first drawer he meant to mend. If he didn’t actually look at her, she might not see his heart hanging there in his eyes.
“I’ve been wondering on something these past weeks,” she said. “Mr. Johnson threatened to charge you the Irish price for the flour you buy me, but your cost hasn’t gone up. How is it you convinced him not to cheat you? Did you threaten him?”
“No.” He lined up a nail. “I needed the flour price to remain the same, so I discovered something Johnson needed just as much. We came to a mutual agreement.”
“What was it he was needing?”
“A loan.” He pounded in the first nail, followed quickly by a second. Already the drawer was sturdier. “The trail to the train station isn’t passable for much of the winter. Johnson has to bring in all his inventory before the snow comes. He didn’t have the funds on hand to cover that expense this time around.”
He didn’t hear her footsteps over the sound of the next two nails driving into place. He simply looked up to find her sitting on the floor near him. The familiarity of her look of pondering, of her simple, tidy work dress, of those wisps of hair that always came loose by the end of the day, settled over him. For just a moment he knelt there, hammer still in his hand, a nail held between his teeth, just looking at her.
I could sit with her like this all day.
He shook himself back to some presence of mind. There was no point losing his head.
“What else does he need, I wonder?” Katie muttered the words, as if talking entirely to herself.
“What else does who need?” He lined up his next nail, grateful for the double distraction of conversation and repairs.
“Mr. Johnson. He’s raised the Irish price on wool and shoes and even medicine. The winter will be hard without wool cloth to make coats. The Irish can’t afford to replace the shoes their children have outgrown.”
Hope Springs (Longing for Home - book 2, A Proper Romance) Page 5
