“Your mother,” he whispered as he fell to his knees and ran a hand over her arm before clasping her hand. “My Mary.”
Eamon and Finn exchanged glances and shook their heads. “She died, Da. After we arrived in Montreal.”
“Aye, I know. I know what I was told. But this is Mary. I know it is,” he said with a stubborn tilt to his jaw.
Finn gripped his shoulder. “Don’t do this to yourself, Da,” he whispered, a plea in his voice. He dropped his hand from his father’s shoulder and stood tall as the unconscious woman stirred.
Eamon and Finn remained behind their father as they watched the woman with auburn and gray hair stir. She had a slight frame with faint lines beside her eyes and mouth. When her eyes fluttered open, Finn gripped his brother’s arm for they were his siblings’ eyes. They were Niamh and Kevin’s eyes. He shook his head in disbelief and stormed from the room to attend their customers, Eamon on his heels.
“Mary?” Seamus whispered as he saw her scoot back in her chair as though to escape him. “Oh, a ghrá,” he rasped, reaching forward with a shaking hand to caress her cheek.
She swatted away his hand, shaking her head. “Don’t call me that. Never call me that again,” she whispered in a pain-laden voice, her hazel eyes filled with loathing. “Let me up.”
“No,” he said as he remained at her feet, his hands now on his thighs. He clenched and unclenched his hands as though fighting the urge to reach for her again. “Not until I understand how you are not dead.” His wondrous gaze rove over her. “Can you not understand how I’ve mourned you all these years?” he asked as a tear tracked down his cheek.
She stared at him in bewilderment. “How can you not understand how much I’ve loathed you all these years?” She watched impassively as her words caused him to jerk back as though she had struck him. “Let me pass. I have no business with any O’Rourke.”
He gripped her arm, stilling her frenetic movement. “Our babe. Please, what happened to our babe?” His cobalt blue eyes shone with fear and hope. “Our Maggie.”
“Don’t call her that!” she snapped, her hazel eyes filled with ire. “Margaret is fine. She was raised well.”
He nodded, his fingers caressing her arm before releasing her. “I have no doubt you’d raise our daughter into a fine, young woman.” His eyes were filled with mourning and loss. “I missed the first seventeen years of her life.”
“She did fine without you,” Mary hissed, stepping around him. She froze as Seamus snaked an arm around her waist, tugging her backward to hug her from behind.
“Mary, oh, Mary,” he breathed into her ear. “Love of my life.” He shuddered as he kissed her below her ear. “Never doubt how much I mourned you.” He released her as she began to struggle.
“What matters is you didn’t love me enough,” she rasped before she fled the back room, leaving him reeling.
Kevin approached the large family home, passing by the chicken coop and their feeble attempt at a garden patch. Da always insisted on growing potatoes and the plants seemed to have taken root this year. Their large green foliage always reminded him of the plants in Ireland, until they failed during the horrible years of the famine. Shaking his head as though to forget those memories, he paused to admire the large house his father had built, although it was barely large enough for them all.
Back steps led up to the kitchen tacked onto the back of the rectangular shaped building. Inside on the first floor was a living room and a large room that had been for Niamh’s family. Although Niamh and her family now had their own place, no brother slept in her room because they suspected she’d need a refuge again soon. Upstairs were four bedrooms. Seamus was the only one to have his own, albeit small, room.
Kevin entered the family home, fighting an urge to pummel someone. His sister Niamh had left a pot of stew simmering on the stove, and a pan of biscuits cooled on the counter. Although he loathed Niamh’s husband, Connor Ahern, Kevin was grateful she had continued to care for all of them after moving out. He knew how to cook a few things but preferred not to have to cook every night. Suffering through Ardan’s or Declan’s cooking was more than anyone should have to bear.
After making a pot of tea, he sat and sipped at the substance that never failed to remind him of home. Of Ireland. He closed his eyes and remembered the first years of his life where they gathered around a peat fire as their father told stories, and their mother sang them to sleep. He and Ardan helped Da in the fields, although Seamus always tried to shield them from his visits from the land agent. And Da ensured they learned to read and write. Said it was another way to defy authority.
Kevin took another sip of tea, rocking in the chair in the kitchen as the cool June night settled around him. He knew his family would all traipse in soon, looking to share stories about their day and a meal. It had always been his favorite part of the day. Until Declan had been declared the one who had the right to court Aileen. Kevin sighed as he rubbed his head, wondering if he could fight him for her.
“Perhaps you should speak to him about her,” Ardan murmured, pouring himself a cup and drinking it black. He’d learned to like it without milk and sugar, claiming he didn’t need anything to sweeten it up for him. Kevin knew it was the memories of abject poverty and an inability to forgo the necessary thriftiness from when they first arrived in America that had Ardan eschewing anything in his favorite drink.
Kevin rested his head against the back of the chair. “And what should I say, Ardan? That I want to beat him to a bloody pulp an’ steal his bride?”
Ardan chuckled. “Nothing that dramatic, I shouldn’t think. He’s not truly interested in her. He wants a wife, but does not care over much who it is.” His blue eyes gleamed with sincerity and a touch of mischief. “Whereas I think you do.”
Kevin leaned forward, running his fingers through his auburn hair. “I never thought to marry. And I should never have met her,” he said with a sigh.
“Ah, but you did, Kev,” his eldest brother said. “And you’ve not been the same since.” He winked at the brother who understood best all the burdens they’d lived through. “Although it’s only been a few months.”
“I can’t imagine sittin’ down for supper and watchin’ him with her every night,” he whispered. He shrugged. “I’ve been thinkin’ I should move to Saint Louis. Run our warehouse there.”
Ardan gripped his shoulder and shook his head. “No, Kev. Not unless I’m to go with you.” He watched as Kevin relaxed, the tension leaving him. “You know Da would never want the two of us to go. An’ we’d hate bein’ separated from everyone.”
At Kevin’s nod, they sat in companionable silence for a long moment. Finally Kevin whispered, “I talk of fighting Declan, but if she prefers him, there’s no reason to, is there?” At Ardan’s mournful stare, Kevin swore under his breath.
“No swearing,” Seamus said as he strode into the room, his hair damp from a recent wash. He smiled at his two eldest, although his eyes failed to sparkle with their usual joy. He breathed in deeply of the redolent scent of the stew Niamh had left. “Ah, she’s a good girl.”
“Aye, Da, she is,” Ardan said with an impish smile. “For you wouldn’t want my cooking for long.” He laughed as Seamus scrubbed his hair and moved to pull out bowls for all. Kevin found spoons and soon they had set the large table.
Declan entered and stood a few inches shorter than his father with his black hair long enough to tie back. He had no interest in fashion and did not care that he already looked like a backwoodsman. “Da,” Declan said before nodding to his brothers. He sat beside Kevin, waiting for his father to serve the stew.
Kevin’s youngest brothers, who traveled in a pack, entered while jabbering to each other a mile a minute. Unlike the eldest children, their mother was not Mary, but Colleen. Fifteen-year-old Niall had Seamus’s black hair but his mother’s green eyes. He stood about Kevin’s height with a slight frame. Oran, a wiry energetic twelve year old, was the spitting image of Seamus, except he had his mo
ther, Colleen’s, smile. At ten, Bryan was always trying to keep up. It appeared he would grow into having Seamus’s broad shoulders, although he had Colleen’s brown hair and green eyes.
Seamus had married Colleen Fitzgibbons soon after arriving in America with six children to look after. Although he had cared for her, he had never loved her like he loved Mary and felt the omission of such love one of his greatest sins. She had died a few years ago from the influenza, leaving him alone again. Although he knew he was not truly alone with nine children, he knew the day when he was a man living alone would soon arrive. For he hoped all his children would marry and have families of their own. He prayed every night that his sons married more worthwhile women than the man Niamh had married.
Eamon and Finn were the last to join them and rather than chattering like a pair of magpies about the men they had waited on that day in their family store, they sat in stony silence. Seamus set a heaping bowl of stew in front of each of his sons, then placed the tray of biscuits in the middle of the table along with a crock of butter.
After saying a quick prayer, they began to eat. Kevin looked from his father to his brothers, Eamon and Finn, noting a tension between them. “What did the pair of you do now?” he asked, earning a nudge from Ardan who sat beside him.
Eamon raised mutinous eyes and shook his head as he stared with disappointment at their father. “We didn’t do anything. He did,” he said, nodding in their father’s direction.
“Da?” Kevin asked as he set his spoon down. His mind raced at the possibilities. Another steamboat had arrived today. Had he ordered another mail order bride for one of them? Was she hideous to look at? He shook his head at the thought, reminding himself that they should be thankful any woman was willing to travel to such a place.
“I … I met a ghost today,” Seamus whispered.
Ardan’s spoon clattered against the crockery before coming to rest on the tabletop. He kicked Kevin again, his gaze wide and fearful. “Da?”
“I saw your mother,” he whispered, his gaze roving over his eldest sons.
Kevin pushed the remaining dinner away from him, not wishing to become ill at the news. “So I did see her,” he breathed. He gasped as his father reached across the table and gripped his arm in a vise. “When we were in Saint Louis on the wharf, I thought I saw a woman who looked like Mum. But Ardan told me I was chasin’ spirits again.” His gaze was tormented and filled with hope. “How is Mum? When is she comin’ here to see us? Will she live with us again?”
Seamus shook his head at the barrage of questions and as though searching for a way to describe the wonder of seeing her again.
“Bitter, angry and hates us,” Eamon snapped before he rose.
“Eamon Henry O’Rourke, sit down now,” Seamus ordered in a deep voice laced with authority. Although his son quivered with a desire to disobey, he soon sat and glared at his father. “I fear your brother is correct. Mary is angry. She believes I abandoned her all those years ago.”
His eldest sons gaped at him in disbelief.
Seamus shook his head. “I don’t know what happened.” His lost gaze met that of his grown sons who sat in stunned silence. “Your mum and my wee babe didn’t die. You have another sister, Margaret. In my heart, I’ve always called her Maggie.”
“Aye,” Ardan whispered. “An’ we’ve always prayed for Maggie every night.” His brothers nodded their agreement.
Kevin sat in silence as he stared at his stunned brothers, his gaze meeting Ardan’s for a long moment. “Our mum is alive?” he breathed. “Here in Fort Benton?” He only remained seated because Ardan kept a firm hold of his leg.
“Yes,” Seamus said. “But I fear she has no desire to see any of us.”
Finn shook his head. “That’s not true, Da.” He looked at the eager, hopeful gazes of his older brothers. “She looked … as though yearning to know me,” he whispered. He firmed his jaw. “But why should I want to know her? She abandoned us.”
Seamus looked at all his boys. “I fear there is much we do not understand. We must be patient until the truth comes to light.” He focused on his three youngest boys, on Colleen’s sons. “The reappearance of Mary does not mean I do not love you as fiercely as I always have.” He watched as their insecurity waned and their inherent sense of self returned. “You are my boys and always will be.”
Kevin laughed. “Who else would we get to muck out the oxen stalls?” he ducked as Bryan threw his napkin at him. Soon the tension at the table had eased as the brothers teased each other. He looked to his father and saw a hopeful expression in his gaze. He realized it was a look he had not seen since they had left Montreal, nearly eighteen years ago.
That evening, Mary stood staring into space rather than focusing on the dinner she needed to prepare for Jacques and her children. She fought the memory of being in Seamus’s arms again. Of smelling his scent. Of hearing his voice. She shuddered at the memory of his voice. Oh, how was she supposed to live in this town with him here? With her sons here?
“Mum,” Margaret whispered, “are you well?” She always worked beside her mother to help her prepare dinner. However, she had never felt the need to do the majority of the work as she had today. This evening, her mother seemed out of sorts.
“I have a headache,” Mary said absently as she rubbed at a small area on her temple. “I was foolish and ran into a man examining a shovel today at the store.” She looked at her daughter. “Why did you not tell me it was called ‘O’Rourke & Sons’?” She stared at her daughter.
Margaret shrugged. “’Tis a common name, Mum. I know you mentioned you had O’Rourke relatives in Ireland, but we’ve never sought them out here in America.”
Mary flushed at the lie she’d told her daughter. When Margaret had been old enough to tell her about her real father, a deep-seated anger had taken root in Mary at Seamus’s abandonment. She had never spoken to her daughter of her father, nor of her six siblings. “Yes, well, I fear they may be relations of a sort,” Mary murmured as she patted a hand over her auburn hair.
“Mum?” Margaret said as she moved to stand beside her mother. She ran a hand down her mother’s arm. “I know there is a lot you never told me and it has to be because you hated the man who was my real father.” Her blue eyes shone with anger. “Only a scoundrel would run away after his wife gives birth to a baby.”
Mary rubbed at her head as the headache intensified. Margaret had heard Jacques and Francois talking about Seamus and had come to the conclusion that her father hadn’t wanted to be burdened with another child. “I’m afraid we don’t understand all that occurred in Montreal, Maggie.”
Margaret stilled at the use of the nickname.
Mary smiled at her, cupping her cheek with one palm. “You always should have been Maggie, my darling daughter, not Margaret.” She froze as Jacques made a tsking noise behind her. Somehow he had snuck into the kitchen without her hearing him. She looked to Margaret to ensure she was safe, motioning for her to leave out of the kitchen door. She relaxed after Margaret slipped outside.
“You know my brother never approved of that name,” he said. “She is to be called Margaret. Maggie is a name for a whore.”
Mary stood with her back to her brother-in-law, and she closed her eyes in defeat at his presence. “I’m sorry her nickname upsets you,” she said, her hands gripping the countertop. “But I’ve always considered her Maggie. It’s what her father would have called her.” She gasped as the blow arrived swiftly and stealthily to her back. Tonight he used the flat of his belt and she turned so he didn’t make contact to her soft belly. She bowed her head, curling into herself as much as she could to protect herself. She had learned long ago to make as little noise as possible, as crying out only extended her agony.
“That man abandoned you and your brat,” Jacques yelled, his strike causing her to yelp involuntarily. “You should know better than to mention him!” He hit her again on her shoulder. “You should show loyalty to those who took you in. Accepted the burden
of you and your brat all these years.”
Mary whimpered and he ceased pelting her.
“You know better, Mary. You brought this on yourself,” he hissed as he tucked in his belt and heaved out a breath. “Supper will be served soon, yes?”
She heaved herself up, shaking and swaying. “Yes,” she breathed. “Whenever you would like to eat, Jacques.”
He gave a grunt of approval at her quick agreement and she heard his heavy footsteps as he left the miniscule kitchen area. She dropped to her knees again as the pain momentarily overwhelmed her. Maggie opened the door, tears coursing down her cheeks, and Mary forced a weak smile in an attempt to soothe her distraught daughter. “Don’t cry so, my girl.”
“Why would you disobey him?” she asked. “My name isn’t important.”
Mary rested a moment in her daughter’s arms as she tried to find the strength to continue on as though her world hadn’t been turned upside down that day. “It is, my darling girl. It is.”
“Next time I’ll stand here and fight him off for you,” Maggie proclaimed, her blue eyes shining with determination.
“No!” Mary gasped. She groaned as her daughter helped her up. She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “Promise me, Margaret,” she said in a whisper. “Whatever happens, whatever you do, promise me, never be alone with Jacques.”
Maggie stared at her mother for a long moment, until she finally nodded and moved to help her mother serve dinner.
Chapter 5
The following day, Kevin left the warehouse on the pretext of seeing if another steamboat had arrived. Ardan raised an eyebrow as though knowing Kevin were seeking out time with Aileen. However, Kevin had another destination in mind.
After inquiring at the Sunrise Saloon, he walked the short distance away from the levee and the steamboats docked there to a row of houses and shacks away from the busier part of the growing town. When he reached what he believed was his destination, he stopped short when he saw two boys sitting on the front porch who looked like him, except he knew they would grow to be taller and have broader shoulders. But they had his eyes, his smile and his hair. He fought his inclination to gape at them.
Pioneer Dream: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga Page 7
