After the Storm

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “That’s a farmer’s life. If I can’t get back in time tonight, I promise I’ll read to them tomorrow night. I think they’ll understand.”

  “I think they will, too.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “Why don’t you read the next chapter to them? They can show you where we left off.”

  She steeled herself not to flinch. “That’s something special you share with them. I think they’d prefer for you to continue reading the book.”

  “I think they’re happy to have any time with you. They didn’t realize how much they missed you until you came back into their lives.”

  “They were mourning because they believed I was dead.” She did not try to keep emotion out of her voice this time. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive Abban’s mother for the sorrow she brought upon my children.”

  “She failed at what she was trying to do.”

  “Did she?” She wiped her palms against her stained apron. “She wanted the children far away so no one would know of them. I once thought they were the most unfortunate children ever to be born. Now, I see they aren’t.” She put her hand on his arm. “Thank you for caring so much about them, Samuel.”

  “They made it easy.”

  “It’s their O’Shea charm.” She smiled. “My father could coax a rabbit right out of the ground.”

  “Really?”

  Happy he was teasing her again, she asked, “Samuel, must you take me so seriously?”

  He chuckled. “Now you’re the one taking me too seriously. I enjoy pulling a leg or two, you know.” His eyes narrowed as he gripped her arms, tugging her to him. “I’d especially enjoy putting my hand around your ankle, which must be as slender as your wrist.”

  “You want to pull my leg?” she whispered, letting herself be caught up in his passion … her passion …

  “No.” His voice lowered to a raw whisper as his fingers trickled down her sleeve. He put them around her wrist for a moment as he said, “This is what I would like to do with your leg.” Slowly, sinuously, his fingers slid up her arm, pushing her sleeve before them, so his palm caressed her skin. “With all of you.”

  She breathed his name just before his mouth slanted across hers. This was the very worst madness she could imagine, and it was the sweetest pleasure she had ever known. Her arms curved up around his vest, delighting in the muscles he had honed through long hours of work. When his lips moved along her neck, she clenched her hands on his back. How much longer could she persuade herself that this was all she wanted from this beguiling man?

  His words were uneven as he said, “Now I must leave or I’ll be late for the meeting.” He kissed her swiftly. “Very, very late. Don’t wait up for me.”

  “But—”

  “Promise me that you won’t wait up. You’ve been working hard.”

  Unsure what else to say, she whispered, “I promise, Samuel.”

  “Good,” he repeated. Releasing her, he opened the door and walked out onto the porch.

  She ran after him and put her hand on his arm. As her eyes adjusted to the thickening twilight, she said, “Promise me you won’t linger to argue some point. You need your sleep, too.”

  “That’s not what I need.”

  She quivered. “Please promise me, Samuel, that you’ll come home as soon as you can. I don’t want to think of you getting hurt out in the field because you’re too exhausted to watch what you’re doing.”

  “All right.” The back of his hand stroked her cheek. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to be back before ten.”

  When he pulled her into his arms, she savored his eager mouth on hers. He groaned as he released her. He did not go down the steps, and she wondered if he was as unwilling as she to let this moment end.

  The screen door opened, bumping into Cailin. As Samuel steadied her, Megan came out onto the porch. Cailin heard her daughter, but paid no attention to her words as she touched Samuel’s cheek. He smiled and walked toward the barn.

  “Yes, yes,” Cailin said to her daughter’s impatient voice.

  “Yes? Both of them can?” asked Megan, excited.

  “Both of them can what?” She watched Samuel get into the wagon and drive toward Haven. The lantern on its side twinkled like a star that had fallen from the sky.

  “Come upstairs to our room.”

  Cailin looked back at her older daughter. “Both of them who?”

  “My bunny and Lottie’s kitten. We’ll be careful, Mama, and—”

  “No, you can’t take the rabbit and the kitten upstairs. You know they sleep in the barn.”

  “But you said—”

  “Megan, you know better!”

  Her daughter’s face crumbled into tears. “But you said we could.”

  “I didn’t mean you could take your pets to your room.”

  “But you said we could!” Megan threw the door open. “Just like you said we could come to America and have a home together.”

  “Megan, why are you angry about that? I thought we’d be with your father, too.”

  The little girl ran into the house, letting the door slam behind her.

  Cailin let her shoulders droop. If she had listened to Athair and stayed in Ireland until she heard back from Abban, her children would not have been subjected to all this pain. She opened the door and went inside. Unsure what she could say to Megan, she knew she had to think of a way to explain without revealing the truth of their father’s denial of them. She had thought the simple falsehood of Abban’s only crime against them being his dying before they could see him again would protect her children from misery, but she was no longer sure.

  Going to where Megan perched on the lowest step, crying, Cailin sat next to her. She smoothed back her daughter’s bright red hair and said, “Megan, I’m sorry I was cross with you.”

  “You said—”

  “I know I said you could bring the pets upstairs, and it seems I changed my mind. The truth is, I didn’t heed what you were saying to me because my mind was elsewhere. That was very rude of me, and I’m sorry.”

  “How can your mind be elsewhere? Isn’t it in your head?”

  She tried not to laugh at her older daughter, who was almost as literal as her younger one. Before she could answer, she heard a rustle from beyond the kitchen door. She glanced at Megan, who suddenly looked frightened. As she rose to make sure a dog was not digging in the garden, Megan grabbed her arm.

  “Don’t, Mama!” she ordered in a desperate whisper. “Sean said there’s a band of thieves prowling around the river.”

  “You shouldn’t be frightened of rumors.”

  “What if it isn’t just a rumor?”

  She could not mistake her daughter’s fear. Telling her to stay where she was, Cailin went into the kitchen. She grasped the handle of a cast-iron pan. She inched toward the door and raised it as the door opened.

  Her wrist was grasped as Megan let out a screech. She stared at Samuel, who shouted, “It’s just me! Put that down!”

  She drew her hand out of his grasp and set the pan back on the table. “What are you doing back so soon? Did you forget something?”

  “Yes.” Looking past her, he said, “Megan, you should put that knife down, too.”

  “Knife?” Cailin spun to see her daughter by the dining room door, a large blade in her hand. Behind her, Brendan and Lottie, both wide-eyed, were rushing into the dining room. As Megan put the knife on the table, Cailin hugged her. “Thank you for trying to protect us, a stór.”

  Megan grinned. “Will you come up and listen to me read? I can do it, Mama.”

  “Only a page or two, because you need to go to sleep before you fall asleep right where you’re standing.” She put her arm around Megan’s shoulders and said, “Tell Samuel good night, and—”

  Samuel stepped past her. Scooping up Megan, he then picked up Lottie under his other arm and carried the two giggling girls upstairs. Brendan chased after them, trying to tickle his sisters’ noses.

  Cailin smile
d when she heard the laughter from the children’s rooms. Taking them from here would make them as unhappy as when they had been sent away on the orphan train. They adored Samuel, and he was an important part of their lives. Nothing would change that.

  When she reached the girls’ bedroom door, Lottie ran to her and grasped her hand, bringing her into the room where not a breath of air moved. The little girl tugged her toward a chair set between the beds.

  “Samuel, you’re going to be late for your meeting,” Cailin said.

  “You worry too much.” He laughed and, with a gentle push on her shoulders, sat her down. “It’s time to read another chapter of the story now.”

  Confused, because he had not yet explained why he had come back to the house, she nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “Me?” He laughed and looked at Megan.

  The little girl picked up a book and knelt on her bed. She held it out. When Cailin took it, Megan asked, “Mama, will you read to us tonight?”

  Cailin’s fingers tightened on the leather binding. Read? Their father’s treachery was not the only secret she had been keeping. She said, offering the book to her older daughter, “You were going to read.”

  Megan reached out to take it, then shook her head as her siblings glared at her. “You read tonight, Mama.” She opened the book and pointed to a page where the words started partway down. “Begin right here, Mama.”

  Cailin stared at the letters. None of them seemed to be familiar. She put the book on the bed, stood, and left the room.

  Samuel saw the children exchanging worried glances. Picking up the book, he handed it to Megan and said, “Read the next page to your sister and brother.”

  “But, Samuel—”

  “Read what you can and make up the rest, then blow out the lights and go to sleep.” He paid no attention to their startled expressions. Walking down the stairs, he was not surprised to see the screen door closing, for Cailin always went out on the porch when she was distressed. He was not sure why she considered it a sanctuary, and now was not the time to ask.

  He opened the door and shut it quietly behind him. Even before his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he heard her soft sobs.

  As he walked to where she stood by the railing, she asked, “Did you get what you forgot to take with you?”

  For a moment, he had no idea what she was asking. Then he remembered what he had told her when he came back into the kitchen. Instead of answering that question, he said, “Megan is reading.”

  “Good.”

  “I know she’d like to have you there to listen.”

  “I know that, too.” She continued to stare up at the sky, where the first stars were poking through the darkness. “You’re going to be late for your meeting, Samuel.”

  “Megan would appreciate some help. This book is harder than any she’s read before.” He put his hand on her arm. “Why don’t you—?”

  She shook it off and snarled, “Why don’t you just leave me alone? Go to your meeting, and leave me alone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you explain why you’re acting like this.”

  “Then you’re going to be very, very late.” She started to move along the railing, but he moved to step in front of her. “Samuel, will you leave me alone?”

  “I can’t.” Framing her face with his hands, he said, “Tell why you stormed out of the room.”

  “I can’t read!”

  He stared at her, not sure what to say.

  “I wanted to learn to read,” she continued, “but there was no school near us. My father could play any song on his fiddle after just a single hearing, but he couldn’t read or write, so he couldn’t teach me.” She sat on the rocker. “I was so excited to come to the United States, where my children would have chances they’d never have had in Ireland. That I never had.” She dabbed her apron against her eyes. “I’m so proud they’re learning to read and write their names and do their ciphering.”

  “You can learn, too.” He leaned against the railing.

  “Me? I’m too old for school.” She flung out her hands. “Can you imagine me sitting in that schoolroom with the children?”

  He smiled. “That’s an interesting image.”

  “I’m glad you’re amused. I don’t find this in the least bit funny!” She came to her feet.

  He put his hands on her shoulders to halt her from leaving. “Cailin, you need to stop being ashamed.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Why? Because your mother-in-law made you ashamed of your life?” He could feel her breath catch before her shoulders shook again.

  “She’s so elegant, with her nice home and fancy furniture. The children and I didn’t match her grand house.”

  “Would you have wanted to?”

  Cailin stared at him, her eyes widening. As Samuel’s hands shifted on her shoulders, she was glad he did not draw them away. She needed this connection and this compassion.

  In a near whisper, she said, “No, I didn’t want that hypocrisy. I’m proud of what I am and how, all by myself, I brought these three children across the sea to America. I kept my promise. Not like Abban, who married another woman after he left—”

  “He married here in the United States while he was wed to you?” Anger laced the question.

  “Forget I said that. Please. Please forget it, Samuel.” She pulled away. She had let his comforting words make her speak without thinking … because she trusted him.

  “How can I forget something like that?”

  “I’m trying to.”

  He walked toward the door. She bit her lower lip to keep from calling out to him not to abandon her—as Abban had.

  He slammed the flat of his hand against the wall and demanded, “The children don’t know, do they?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Are you trying to protect them or their father?”

  Cailin took a step back from his fury, then snapped, “That’s the silliest question I have ever heard! There’s no need for the children to know how their father betrayed me.”

  “And them.”

  “Yes!”

  He shook his head as a frigid smile settled on his lips. “So their father can remain a saint to them.”

  “They barely remember him.” She looked up at the porch roof, imagining the two rooms at the top of the low-slung house. She could hear Brendan reading now to his sisters. As long as she and Samuel kept their voices low, the children would not hear what was being said on the porch. “Lottie has no memory of her father. When I showed Megan Abban’s picture, she didn’t recognize him. Brendan said he did, but I think he wasn’t certain. They don’t talk about him unless I bring up the subject, so I don’t believe they have any attachment to him any longer.”

  He walked back to her, but her hope that he would hold her faded when he asked, “Do you love him still?”

  “He was my husband, and I can see him in our children. There weren’t just bad times, Samuel.”

  “Except when he beat you and married another woman.”

  She sank to the chair again. “Yes.”

  “So answer my question.” He rested again on the railing next to her. “Do you love him still?”

  “No.”

  “That was a quick answer.”

  “I’ve had more than a year to consider it. When we were married, he told me how he longed for a big family because he had been an only child. I had no idea that he intended to have children with another woman.”

  Samuel put his foot on the arm of her chair, halting it from rocking. In a tone she had never heard him use, he asked, “There are children from his second marriage?”

  “Two. It’s because of them, as well as my own children, that I agreed with Abban’s mother’s plan for me to work in another house to earn the money I needed to support my children until we could leave New York.”

  “The same offer I made you.” He leaned forward and stroked her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Cailin. Now I know why you were reluctant to agree to
what—to me—seemed an obvious solution to our problems.”

  “You didn’t know.” She wove her fingers through his. “One thing I know is that I want nothing more to do with Mrs. Rafferty.”

  “Nothing? Your children are your husband’s heirs.”

  “His other family—”

  “Are, in the eyes of the law, without a legitimate claim to a single penny of his estate.” He laughed, warning her doubt must have been apparent. “You can definitely trust me on this, Cailin. I know the law.”

  “I know you do, but I don’t want anything from Mrs. Rafferty.”

  “Your anger is making you shortsighted. Your children deserve a part of their father’s estate.”

  “How do you know Abban had an estate?”

  He laughed coldly. “If you were wearing that naïve expression when you met your mother-in-law, she must have been delighted. Didn’t you just say Abban was an only son?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve mentioned his mother, but not his father.”

  “Abban’s father is dead.”

  “When his father died, some part of his estate must have been set aside for his son. Now it should belong to his children, but it seems his mother was determined it would go to his children by his other wife.” He laughed again, the sound even icier. “No wonder your mother-in-law was so eager to put you into service and send your children somewhere where no one would know about them. That you went compliantly and were willing to protect all the children from their father’s sins made you the best ally his mother could have wished for.”

  “I never guessed.”

  “That’s exactly what she hoped.” He chuckled. “I think I’ll write to a friend in New York. He’s an attorney, and he’d enjoy calling on your mother-in-law and her attorney.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” she repeated. “I don’t want money or anything else from her.”

  “But you could give your children a very comfortable life if even a portion of what you saw was theirs.”

  “I know, but the price of their souls would be too high.”

  “You’re still thinking of taking them back to Ireland, aren’t you?”