Chapter Eighteen
Housekeepers, Joseph discovered, were not the most predictable sort. His newest one, Mrs. Smith, who had, true to her word, been waiting at the depot, was as different from Katie as seemingly possible. She was at least twice Katie’s age, considerably taller and far thicker built. She was also of a somber disposition, though not necessarily unhappy. Where Katie took to quiet contemplation, Mrs. Smith spoke her mind quickly and to the point.
She would take some getting used to. But, then, so had Katie.
“Is that your town?” Mrs. Smith pointed ahead, past the bridge they were about to drive over.
“It is.”
“Is that all of it?” she pressed.
Joseph nodded. “A mercantile, a blacksmith shop, and the school, which is also the church.”
“It is very small.”
He couldn’t say if her words were a condemnation or simply an observation. Her tone was, without exception, straightforward, very businesslike. He hoped she wouldn’t ruffle too many feathers.
“It is very small,” he said. “You will get to know everyone easily that way.”
He’d gone over in great detail all the things he’d written in his telegrams to her. There would be no misunderstandings this time. He’d quite specifically reiterated that she was not to get involved in the town feud. She didn’t have to agree with both sides; she could even be sympathetic to one over the other. She simply could not become actively entangled in it and bring the arguing to his home.
He’d given Katie those same requirements. Though she’d tried, it had, in the end, proven impossible. Still, his first housekeeper had never involved herself so Joseph knew it could be done.
The town was relatively empty. Evening had come, and the children had long since come home from school. Joseph knew he was the first to return from taking in his crop. He had the advantage of many years’ experience with business transactions and a great deal of information gathered ahead of time. His arrangements could be made with very little delay.
The other men would start arriving some time the next morning, he’d guess. In the meantime, he had his girls to pick up and Katie to face again. Their last moments together threaded through his thoughts as he pulled up to the barn.
Katie had run after him. Though he knew she’d done so more out of a reaction to him as a father to his children than out of any true attraction to him as a man, he hadn’t been able to clear his mind of it. His pulse still pounded when he thought back on it. Things always seemed that way between them. She thought of him as a friend and neighbor, while he loved her with every beat of his heart.
He hadn’t changed his mind about courting her, but he wasn’t any more confident about his success.
He carried Mrs. Smith’s trunks into the house and showed her to Katie’s—the housekeeper’s—room. He would have to grow used to the idea of someone else being in there.
“I’ll give you a chance to settle in,” he said. “It is late enough the girls will likely have eaten already. And I have enough left from the traveling supplies to see to my own meal. Feel free to make yourself something to eat from what you find in the kitchen.”
He’d stocked his cupboards before leaving with things that wouldn’t spoil. She’d be able to feed herself without difficulty.
Mrs. Smith gave a quick nod and turned to her unpacking. She would likely have the room entirely converted to her own space by the time he returned. Maybe that would help him stop thinking of the room as Katie’s.
He knocked at Mrs. Claire’s house and, while he waited, prepared himself to see Katie again. He could be friendly and appear unaffected by that embrace they’d shared. She certainly would be.
The door opened.
“Pompah, you’re back!”
A smile spread across his face. “My sweet Ivy.” He reached down and scooped his tiny daughter into his arms.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing like she meant to pop his head right off. “We didn’t think you’d be here ’til tomorrow.”
“I rushed back,” he told her. “Did you miss me?”
“Oh, yes, Pompah. And we had ever so much fun. Mrs. Claire taught us how to cro—cro—” She shook her head. “I can’t say the word, but it’s pretty, and Katie said, ‘Ivy, you’ve a fine talent for it, you do.’ Just like that.”
Joseph laughed out loud to hear the remarkably good Irish accent Ivy managed to produce. If she’d had the voice of a twenty-six-year-old rather than an almost six-year-old, she would have sounded very much like Katie.
“And did Emma learn to do this thing you did?” Joseph couldn’t begin to guess just what Mrs. Claire had taught the girls. He simply loved hearing Ivy talk about it.
Ivy nodded emphatically. “But she mostly just did her schoolwork and read a book to Katie.”
That sounded very much like Emma.
“And Katie said that Emma is a fine reader and quite the smartest child she’s ever, ever known in all her days. ‘Bright as the sun in June, you are,’ Katie said.”
Here was one of the many reasons why he hadn’t worried about leaving the girls with Katie. She treated them so sweetly and seemed to know just what they needed to hear.
Emma came into the doorway. “Hello, Papa.”
Joseph reached out and pulled her close to him. “I’ve missed you, Emma.”
She smiled up at him. “Katie says to tell Ivy to let you come in instead of making you stand on the porch like a beggarman.”
He laughed. Katie had likely said exactly that.
He stepped inside with his two girls by his side. Mrs. Claire sat in her customary place near the door, rocking calmly and peacefully.
“Good evening, Mrs. Claire.”
“And to you. How was your trip to market?”
“Very good. I sold all my crop and picked up a housekeeper and returned quicker than expected.”
Mrs. Claire nodded in rhythm with her rocking.
Emma tugged at his pant leg. “I have your watch,” she said, looking up eagerly into his face. “I took very good care of it.”
He smiled down at her. “I had every confidence in you, sweetheart.”
“Have you eaten, Joseph Archer?” He knew the sound of Katie’s voice instantly.
He braced himself to meet her eyes again. She stood over a pot at the stove, looking at him. The steam had brought color to her cheeks and a hint of curl to her hair. She looked, in a word, adorable.
“I have not,” he answered.
“Well, then.” She tapped her spoon on the edge of the pot. “We’ll just add some water to the soup, I suppose.”
Water to the soup? He refused to be a burden. “That’s not necessary, Katie. I can—”
Why were Katie and the girls laughing? Clearly he’d missed something. He gave Ivy a questioning look—she could be counted on to spill any secret with very little encouragement.
“Katie always says that,” Ivy said with a giggle. “We have imaginary guests every night, Pompah, and Katie says, ‘We’ll just add some water to the soup.’ She says it even if we aren’t eating soup.”
He set Ivy down. She and Emma pulled him by the hand in Katie’s direction. He did his best to keep his nervousness hidden.
“You have had a lot of imaginary guests?”
Emma nodded. “Last night was Queen Victoria.”
Joseph looked to Katie. “Royalty?” He let the girls see how impressed he was with their dignified guest list.
Katie nodded seriously. “Only the very best guests for us.” She looked down at the girls with a grin. “And what did we feed the queen?”
“Praties!” Emma and Ivy answered in unison, before dissolving into laughter.
Katie bit down on her lips as if holding back laughter of her own. Even Mrs. Claire chuckled.
“Have I missed something?” He didn’t understand the joke.
“The fine queen wouldn’t ever eat potatoes—peasant food, you understand.” Katie wiped her hands on a dish
rag. “So what did we do, girls?”
“We told her we were eating praties,” Ivy said with a grin wider than Joseph had seen in some time. “And she thought it was something fancy instead of just regular old potatoes.”
“We fooled her,” Emma added. He loved hearing Emma laugh and act more like the carefree child she ought to always have been.
“We fooled her fine and well, we did,” Katie added.
Again all the women laughed. This was the kind of happy home he’d wanted to raise his daughters in. His late wife hadn’t been one for teasing or imaginary dinner companions. There had been very little laughter.
Joseph moved directly to Katie’s side at the stove. “What can I do to help?”
“Oh, I’ve seen the disaster you make of meals, Joseph Archer. I’ll not let you anywhere near this one.” She looked past him. “Time to set the table, girls. You know your parts. Show your father how well you do it.”
Emma and Ivy sprang into action, pulling out plates and cups and flatware with the familiarity of practice.
“You have taught them to set the table?”
Katie nodded, watching the girls fondly. “And they do a fine job of it, with hardly a complaint. Sweet girls.”
“They didn’t give you too much trouble?”
“Not at all. But they did miss you.”
He let his gaze turn to the girls as well. They were so vibrant and alive under Katie’s care. He knew already that Mrs. Smith would not be Katie’s equal in that. He only hoped his newest housekeeper wouldn’t prove a complete disaster.
“How have you been?” He thought it a relatively safe beginning to a conversation.
“A little worn, but I’m holding up. The girls have become quite the little helpers this past week. I’ve been grateful to have them here.”
“How are things at the mercantile? Is Johnson still making your life miserable?”
“He slipped and hit his head the other day.”
A blow to the head could be quite serious. “Was he badly hurt?”
“He cut his forehead open—it needed stitching.” Katie spoke as she cut a loaf of bread into thick slices. “As there’s no doctor in town, that task fell to me.”
“You sewed up a man’s head?” Was there nothing this woman couldn’t do?
“Aye, and he’s none too happy about it. Things between us have become terribly awkward. I don’t think he knows just how to behave now. Knowing I did something nice for him, he can’t in good conscience act hateful toward me, but neither can he bring himself to be nice to me.”
Leave it to Katie to be the first Irish resident of Hope Springs to change Jeremiah Johnson’s perception of her fellow countrymen even the tiniest bit. No one else had managed it in the almost ten years since Johnson’s arrival.
“Oh, I meant to ask—” Katie took hold of his arm.
He felt the touch echo through him. In his mind he was immediately back on the path with Katie in his arms. That moment had only grown more detailed in his memory during the days that had passed. It had kept him up at night and driven him to distraction during the day.
“Did you get a good price for your grain?” Katie asked. “I know there has been some worry about prices this year.”
“I didn’t get as much for it as last year, but still not terrible.” He was proud of how steady his response was. Her touch upended him, and she still hadn’t pulled her hand back.
“That is a relief. I hope the others did well also.”
“So do I.” Tensions were high enough in town without adding the burden of money troubles. He’d thought on that during his trip back. It was good to have someone to talk with about it.
“We’d best get your daughters fed.” Katie took her hand from his arm and reached for a thick kitchen towel.
He liked that she’d referred to them together. They made a good “we,” he thought. But how to convince her of that?
The girls had the table set and were waiting patiently for dinner. Mrs. Claire shuffled over, taking the chair at the far end. Joseph carried the large pot of what appeared to be bean soup. Katie followed close behind with the loaf of bread. He’d missed Katie’s bread.
They weren’t more than a few bites into their meal before the girls were vying for control of the conversation. Even Emma, who tended to be very quiet, had a great deal to say.
“Some of the children at school are fighting,” she said. “Billy Archibald hit Ryan Kelly in the stomach and said he was nothing but a filthy foreigner.”
Katie’s spoon stilled halfway to her mouth, her gaze riveted to Emma. “He said that at school? Did Reverend Ford say anything about it?”
“We were out playing. Reverend Ford didn’t hear him.”
“Did anyone tell the preacher?” Katie pressed.
Emma shrugged. “Yes, but the boys hit each other enough that Reverend Ford said they were both being bad.”
Katie’s eyes shifted to Mrs. Claire, then to Joseph. They all knew that adult arguments often found their way to the schoolyard.
“This must have happened in the afternoon,” Katie said. “I was outside during your lunch-hour playtime and I didn’t notice any scuffles.”
Emma swallowed a large mouthful of soup. “They were hitting each other after school.”
Katie’s eyes met his. “You don’t seem terribly surprised, Joseph,” she said quietly.
“This has, unfortunately, happened before.”
Her coloring fell a little. “Is Emma in danger?” She didn’t speak above a whisper.
He set his hand on hers where it rested on the table. “Emma is fine. She isn’t likely to spend time with Billy Archibald or Ryan Kelly or any of the other children who are prone to get into a skirmish.”
Katie’s mouth tipped in a half-smile. “You’re telling me I worry too much, is that it?”
He smiled back and wrapped his fingers more fully around her hand.
His gaze happened to meet Mrs. Claire’s. She very pointedly looked at his and Katie’s hands. A grin slowly spread across the woman’s happily wrinkled face. Joseph gave her a look he hoped communicated his determination to keep things just as they were. He was offering comfort to a woman who was worried, and, further, a woman who had laid her hand on his arm only a few minutes earlier, and, further still, a woman who was not objecting to his attention.
Why isn’t she objecting?
He studied her, looking for some clue. Katie’s eyes shifted from the girls to him. Color touched her cheeks.
“It’s good to have you back, Joseph,” she said quietly. She turned her hand enough in his to take hold of his fingers. She was, for all intents and purposes, truly holding his hand.
It’s good to have you back. She’d missed him. She was happy to have him there. A woman whose heart was wholly set on another man wouldn’t look at him that way or hold fast to his hand.
“It’s good to be back, Katie.”
Chapter Nineteen
Tavish found it odd being out on the road with Finbarr instead of Ian. He had made the harvest run with his older brother for ten years. Not having him there served as a constant reminder of the difficulties he’d left behind at home. Was Ian improving at all? Would the price they’d negotiated on their brother’s crop be enough to see his family through until the next harvest?
Did Katie miss him? She was of such an independent nature, Tavish could never be certain if she needed him around at all.
“This is a lot of lumber.” Finbarr slid a plank onto the wagon bed, not the first nor the last they’d loaded up that day. “Are you building a cathedral or something?”
“Not a cathedral. Only a very fine room.” The absolute finest he could manage, in fact.
“What kind of room?”
“I told you—a very fine room.”
Finbarr slid another plank in place without rising to the bait. He did, however, toss Tavish a look of curious inquiry. They’d been traveling together for over two weeks and hadn’t had anything resembling
a lengthy conversation. Finbarr had always been that way, contentedly reserved. Tavish was more accustomed to Ian’s voice helping him pass the long hours of travel.
“I’m building a proper bedroom onto my place,” he said, answering the question Finbarr hadn’t actually asked. “A room unto itself, not the nook behind the fireplace where I’ve been laying my head these past years. Something nice.”
“Does this mean you intend to ask Miss Macauley to marry you?”
That was a surprisingly direct question, especially coming from someone as quiet as Finbarr.
“I might be.” Tavish tossed the bag of nails he’d purchased into the back with the wood. “But if you think I’ll make more of a confession than that to a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy, you’d best think that through again.”
Finbarr helped him set the remaining crates of preserves and such on top of the tightly piled lumber. Tavish would have preferred to get his supplies last, but it didn’t make sense to drive all the way back and so far out of his way. There were no better prices for wood anywhere else along his route. He tied the crates securely in the wagon to keep them from shifting.
They tied down the canvas cover over the back of the wagon bed. The topic of Katie seemed to have been dropped between them.
Tavish checked that everything was secure, then motioned his brother back up on the bench. They set off again, the usual silence between them. He’d had a profitable two weeks, if a touch disappointing. Grain hadn’t sold for as much this year as in the past. And he’d not had as many bottles of preserves or cordials or wines to sell. The upheaval of the past month had taken its toll in many ways.
Still, there’d been enough to cover the cost of his building supplies, with money left over to make his payment on his land. Once he sold the rest of his jars, he ought to have enough to live on for another year. Barring any catastrophes—he quickly crossed himself, a habit he’d learned well from his mother—he’d not have any money worries.
“I like Miss Macauley,” Finbarr said without warning.
There was an unspoken “but” at the end of that sentence. Tavish raised his eyebrows expectantly, eyeing his brother as long as he dared, considering he was driving his wagon out of a relatively busy town.
Hope Springs (Longing for Home - book 2, A Proper Romance) Page 16
