He winced as she cleaned the cut itself with her soapy rag. To his credit, he didn’t curse at her or swat her hand away. Perhaps he’d make it through the stitching without tears.
Mrs. Johnson returned, hovering about the sofa with a look of complete uncertainty.
“Perhaps,” Katie suggested gently, “you might sit here and hold his hand. You needn’t look at the wound.”
“Would you like that, Jeremiah?” Mrs. Johnson asked hopefully.
“I would, sugar.”
Sugar? Katie had never heard the Johnsons use pet names for each other. Knowing they did made them seem . . . sweet.
Mrs. Johnson sat on the edge of the sofa with her husband’s hand in hers. ’Twas a loving sight.
Katie finished cleaning the cut as best she could, then set to washing the needle and threads. “Again, sir, I’m sorry for the pain of this.”
He gave a quick, silent nod and closed his eyes.
As the needle jabbed his skin, he sucked in a loud breath. Katie pulled it up through the other side of the wound, then tied the thread in as strong a knot as she knew how to make. She washed the needle again and set to rethreading it.
“I’m sorry about your family,” Mr. Johnson said.
His words hovered between them a moment. Her mind refused at first to accept them whole. But he’d said them. He’d said them without provocation, without reluctance.
“And I’m sorry about your brother.” She made another stitch.
“He was a soldier.” Mr. Johnson spoke quietly, his words not entirely steady.
“In the war between your states?” Though she knew the answer, she sensed in him a need to tell the history himself.
He made a noise of agreement. “He fought for the Confederacy, and he died at Gettysburg.”
“The O’Connors lost two sons at that same battle.” She tied off the stitch, grateful he had some topic to distract him.
Mrs. Johnson sat silent, her eyes firmly fixed on her husband’s hand held between her own.
Katie made a third stitch. His wound would likely need two more.
“Gettysburg was a bloody affair,” Mr. Johnson said.
“Everything I’ve heard of that battle purely horrifies me.”
Just as she was preparing to begin a fourth stitch, a tiny cry sounded. Was there a child at home? Katie knew the Johnsons had an older son—Joshua, who was seventeen or eighteen years old—and she knew of Marianne and the wee babe not born yet.
Mrs. Johnson’s eyes raised to the ceiling before shifting to Katie. “That’ll be Thomas waking from his nap. I probably should go get him.”
Katie nodded her understanding.
Mrs. Johnson kissed her husband’s hand and promised to return quickly.
Katie had only ever thought of them as horrible, hateful people. But they were so sweet and loving just then. ’Twould likely make them harder to dislike.
“Gabriel was a good man,” Mr. Johnson said into the silence. “And brave. A better man than I am.”
Katie didn’t know if the drink or the pain had brought this unusual humility to the surface.
“I know that feeling well. My sister was an angel.” She tied off the thread. “Far better than I.”
He opened his eyes and met her gaze. Something uncomfortably close to understanding passed between them.
Katie finished her work and cleaned up as best she could, considering she didn’t know where to put everything, and suddenly found herself increasingly anxious to be on her way. She was perfectly willing to help Mr. Johnson, but she wasn’t at all prepared to feel a kinship with the man.
Mrs. Johnson came in the sitting room after a while with a small boy clutching her skirts. The sleepy-eyed little one could not have been much older than three years old. He looked a great deal like his dark-haired father.
“I’m sorry to leave you a bit of a mess,” Katie said, “but I don’t know where to put everything.”
Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “I can take care of it. Let me walk you to the door.”
They’d reached the door to the mercantile when little Thomas spoke. “Why is one of them here, Mother?”
One of them. Katie knew precisely what the child meant. What was an Irishwoman doing in their home?
“Father hurt himself. Miss Katie was helping him.”
He looked confused. “Do they help people?”
Mrs. Johnson looked uncomfortable. She glanced at Katie, face blotchy with embarrassed color. “Yes, Thomas,” she finally said. “They do, indeed.”
Chapter Seventeen
When two people are predisposed to hate each other, feeling anything resembling a kinship with one another is not at all a comfortable experience. Katie felt absolutely certain that was the reason for the awkwardness between her and Mr. Johnson as the week wore on. He, with light bandaging wrapped around the sewn-up wound on his head, didn’t seem quite able to make eye contact with her. He still complained a great deal, but in a muttered voice instead of the ringing tone of confidence he’d been using.
For her part, Katie found doing her very best work about the shop less grating than before. The look of pain on his face as he’d told her of his brother echoed the ache she felt when thinking of her sister.
Circumstances forbade them from actually liking each other. But that brief moment in his sitting room would not allow them to fully hate each other any longer either.
Katie wished Joseph were in town. He had more experience than anyone in dealing with that kind of oddity. He hated the way the town fought, and it often got in the way of friendships he might have had. Yet, he liked the people too much to dislike them entirely. He would understand her dilemma. He would likely even have some advice for her.
She walked down the Irish Road, her large basket hung over one arm. Between working at the mercantile and making daily bread deliveries and seeing to the girls in the evening, she was exhausted. And with Tavish gone and Biddy busy caring for Ian during his recovery, she was also feeling lonely. Mrs. Claire was sweet and kept her company. The girls were a treat as well. But she still longed for something more, for someone else.
A month earlier she’d have known just exactly who that “someone else” was. Now she wasn’t entirely sure. She longed for Tavish’s laughter and smile. She missed Joseph’s friendship, his willingness to hear her troubles and help her solve her problems.
She turned up the walk toward Ian and Biddy’s, having saved their loaf for last that day. She needed a good gab with her friend.
Little Mary answered the door.
“Good day to you, Mary. Is your ma about?”
Mary nodded with a gap-toothed grin. She opened the door fully and ushered Katie inside. Ian sat on a chair near the empty fireplace. If the chill in the air were any indication, there’d be a fire burning there soon enough.
“Well, now, Ian,” Katie said. “You’re looking hale and hearty.”
His expression was clearly disbelieving. “I’m pale and sickly yet, and don’t I know it. I feel like an utter fool with all the men in town off working and me sitting here on my bum all the day long.”
The man needed a bit of cheering. Tavish would have seen to that were he there. Katie thought she’d learned a thing or two from him about how to do the job properly.
“A fool, is it? You ought to be feeling like a rooster, strutting about the town, knowing you’re near about the only male in a valley full of hens.” Katie made the tiniest show of strutting right there on the spot.
Ian shook his head even as he smiled at her antics. “You’ve been spending far too much time with Tavish.”
“I’ve done a fine job of mimicking him, have I?” Katie set her nearly empty basket on the floor near the door and crossed to the bench next to Ian’s chair. Heavens, the man looked tired.
He leaned back. “Tavish would have been quite proud of that bit of teasing, though he’d have done a great deal more strutting, not stopping until every person was wiping tears of laughter from their e
yes.”
“Tavish says he prefers tears of laughter to tears of sadness.”
Ian nodded. “Aye, but sometimes I don’t think he’s allowed himself enough of the latter.” The conversation had taken a somber tone she hadn’t expected. “We saw a lot of death during The Hunger. We saw more of it on the boat over—we were unfortunate enough to find ourselves on board a coffin ship, you see.” Ian’s expression grew a touch distant. “Tavish was here the day my wee girl died of the fever.”
Katie pushed back an unexpected rush of emotion. She could remember so clearly the physical pain in her own parents’ faces when their tiny angel had died. She remembered the pain of losing her sister. How much greater that ache must have been for her mother and father.
“Tavish was with his fiancée when she passed—her and her entire family,” Ian said. “Those few days were the closest I’ve seen him to breaking down. He was frantic with worry, but he didn’t cry. I stood beside him the day she was buried and saw no tears, though I know for absolute certain his heart was breaking. Even now, five years since the fever, whenever her name is mentioned, he turns the topic away, finding something to laugh about so he doesn’t have to think on her. I’ve known him all of his almost thirty years, and I’ve never once seen him cry. Not once, though he’s had ample reason to.”
“Perhaps he’s simply not one to show what he’s feeling.” Katie knew she was very much that way.
Ian’s gaze remained focused on the fireplace. “I think, rather, he doesn’t allow himself to feel it at all.”
’Twasn’t the most flattering picture, but not a truly terrible one, either.
“A good evening to you, Katie.” Biddy spoke as she stepped inside. “Mary came and said you’d stopped in. I’m pleased to see she was right.”
Katie was so happy to see her friend. Too much time had passed between visits.
Biddy gave the small basket she carried to Mary. “Go put the eggs in the cupboard where they belong.”
Mary agreed and moved away very carefully.
“Have you time for a gab?” Katie asked.
“I do, indeed.” She looked past Katie to where Ian sat. “Do you think you can get along without me for a bit, love?”
“Perhaps for a very little bit.” He had a half smile for his wife.
She crossed to him and pressed a loving kiss to his check. That brought his smile to full measure. The small bit of affection between them lit both their faces and brought such peace and tenderness to their eyes. ’Twas the very thing she’d seen pass between the Johnsons.
How long Katie had despaired of ever finding for herself someone who would look at her that way, who would bring that same contented happiness to her own eyes. Now there she was with two men claiming a place in her heart.
A moment later, Katie and Biddy were comfortably situated on the porch.
“How is Ian’s recovery coming along?” Katie asked.
Biddy let out a small, tense breath, the tiny sound telling its own story. “Slower than any of us would like, I’m afraid. He grows tired fast. His head aches him at the slightest thing. His body is still bruised. Worst of all, though, his spirits are low.”
“He’s frustrated by it,” Katie said.
“He’s been ill before, enough to be laid low for some time. But I’ve not seen him like this.” Biddy pressed her fingertips to her temples. “He has more of a temper—not a violent one, thank the heavens. He’s simply more quick to grow upset and less likely to smile or laugh through a difficulty.”
Katie reached over and took her hand. “Oh, Biddy.”
“I’ve yet to see that twinkle back in his eye that I love so well. It’s as though my sweetheart is just out of reach, as though I can see him but I can’t get him to come out and say hello.”
The loneliness she saw in her friend’s face tore her up inside. “Perhaps ’tis nothing more than the pain and the weariness weighing him down.”
Biddy nodded absentmindedly. “I only pray it’s not a permanent change in him.”
“Have you spoken to anyone about this?” She hated to think Biddy was enduring this heartache alone.
“His parents have noticed the change, but they’ve no more answers than I do.”
“What about Tavish?”
Biddy shook her head. “He’d only laugh and make a joke. I know it’s his way of dealing with what’s hard, but I don’t think I could bear it just now.”
Katie squeezed Biddy’s hand. “I think you underestimate him. I’ve told him of difficult things in my life, and he listened without a single jest or laugh.”
Biddy allowed a bit of amusement in her eyes, though Katie could see it didn’t come easily. “I suppose I’ve something of a sister’s inability to think of her brother in any way but as something of a child. He’s grown a lot since you came here, Katie. You’ve made him a better person.”
“Don’t set that task on my shoulders,” Katie said. “He has a mind of his own, and don’t I know it.”
The first bits of a true smile began on Biddy’s face. “So has he written to you while he’s been away? I wager he’s thought of you plenty enough.”
Katie chuckled. “Tavish knows full well that I can’t read a single word. I don’t think he’d send me a letter knowing that.”
“Aye, and it would be an embarrassing thing to have someone reading his loving words out loud.”
“Precisely.”
Biddy rocked on her chair, pulling her coat more tightly around herself. “And has Joseph sent word?”
“Joseph?” Katie nearly choked on the name. What sent Biddy’s thoughts in that direction?
Biddy actually laughed. Though the sound did Katie good, it also brought a swift rush of heat to her face. “I didn’t mean a love letter, though when I think on it, such a thing isn’t entirely out of the question.”
“Biddy O’Connor, what are you pressing at?”
Biddy only smiled at her. “I asked the question at first only because I know the Archer girls are staying with you and Mrs. Claire. But now that I’ve set my thoughts in that direction, I begin to wonder if the poor man’s thoughts aren’t as often on you as they are on his daughters while he’s been away.”
She realized her mouth hung open and managed to close it.
“Now look there,” Biddy said with a great deal too much enjoyment, “I’ve hit upon something, I have. You’ve been thinking on Joseph, I’d wager.”
“Only because of the girls, like you said. My heart’s with Tavish, you know that.”
“I know you fancy my handsome brother-in-law, and I approve, I assure you. He’s a fine man. But I do recall a certain newly arrived Irishwoman lamenting not two or three months ago that her foolish heart was pulling itself in two different directions.”
Katie gave herself a moment to formulate a response. She wanted to sound less confused than she felt. “There was a time—”
“Oh, piddle,” Biddy interrupted. “Was a time, she says. I know a look of heart-deep confusion when I see it, my dear friend.”
“But that would be wrong.” Katie let her thoughts spill. She needed someone to share her worries with. “I can’t love two men at once, Biddy. What kind of woman would that make me?”
“A very normal one, I’d say.” Biddy didn’t look like she disapproved of the idea. “They’re both fine men, with much to recommend them. They’re alike in the ways that matter—men of integrity and kindness, with a very real fondness for you. And they’re unalike in ways that make them very different choices for your heart as well. You’ve every reason to be unsure. And you’d be wise to sort this out before you decide on either one of them.”
Katie rubbed at her newly aching head. “I’ve pledged my heart to Tavish. He knows that. Everyone does.”
“But is that what you want?”
“Of course.” Still, she felt the tiniest bit of doubt. “He was willing to give up his entire life for me. No one’s ever done that for me before.”
“I’ll
not argue that he doesn’t care for you, nor that he doesn’t love you. I know he does.”
She nodded at the words of confirmation. “And I love him too, I know I do. And if I do, then I can’t love someone else.”
“And yet, Joseph’s claimed a bit of your heart as well?”
She dropped her face into her upturned hands. What a mess it all was. “He comes by to visit, and my heart jumps about at the sight of him. He’s even held my hand a few times. He hugged me when he left town. Actually, I hugged him, but the way he held me . . .” Her heart flipped over at the memory. “I cannot feel this way for two men, Biddy. It doesn’t make sense.”
“The beginnings of love can be like that, Katie. Give your heart a chance to sort itself out and you will, in time, reach a point where there’s no question, no tugging and pulling inside. You’ll simply know.”
“But Tavish—”
“Tavish deserves to be loved entirely by someone who isn’t secretly wondering in her heart if she made the right decision. So does Joseph. Give yourself time to know for sure. If the one you choose is worthy of your heart at all, he’ll be there still.”
Katie could see the wisdom in it, but she still felt all sorts of a fool for being so confused. “And, of course, there is the very real possibility that I’d throw myself heart and soul into pursuing one or the other of them only to discover I’ve overestimated the depth of his feelings. I might make an utter fool of myself and break my heart in the process.”
Biddy nodded her head. “Love does make a mess of our lives, doesn’t it?”
“What am I to do if I can’t sort all of this out?”
“Well, then, you come over here and we’ll cast lots.”
Their laughter rang out around them. Katie felt better for letting that out. If they could laugh at the dilemma her heart had made for her, then perhaps the situation was not as terrible as she feared. Both men would return in the following weeks. She’d simply see how she felt, and she’d pay very close attention.
And with any luck, the answer would be clear in time.
Hope Springs (Longing for Home - book 2, A Proper Romance) Page 15
