After the Storm

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  “I was certain you would want it straightaway.” Emma stood and set the glass on the railing. “Now I need to deliver an order out to Thanington Hills.”

  “Thanington Hills? I hadn’t heard Mr. Thanington had named his farm.”

  “Farm?” Emma laughed. “I suspect he envisions it as a fancy English estate. Enjoy your mail, Cailin.”

  “If you see the children along the road, would you send them home right away?” She could ask Brendan to read the letter that must be in the envelope to her if he arrived home before Samuel.

  “Gladly. Enjoy your news from home.”

  Cailin stroked the envelope and nodded. Waving as Emma went back to her wagon, she sat in the rocking chair and opened the envelope. She drew out the letter, which was only a single page. She silenced her disappointment, reminding herself that the handwriting was small, so there might be a lot of news on that one page. Folding it up, she slipped it back into the envelope.

  She started to open the package, then knew she should wait and see what the letter said. It had been put on top of the box, so maybe she should know what was written there before she saw what was inside the box that was almost as long as her arm and about as thick as her clenched fist.

  She took the package into the house and put it on the mantel in the parlor. There, it would not get splattered as she washed the windows and did the rest of her chores.

  Time after time, during the afternoon, Cailin went to look at the package. Once she knew what the letter said, she would have Samuel help her write back to her father, for this package must have come from him. She could sign her own name now, and Athair would be so proud of her. Not even the day’s oppressive humidity could steal her smile as she finished washing the front windows and began to cut fresh vegetables for supper.

  When she met Samuel and the children at the door, she grasped his hand and pulled him into the parlor. He put his arm around her waist and asked, “So eager? I like this.”

  “Read this to me.” She smiled at the children as she lifted the package off the mantel. She pulled the envelope off the front and then held the box to her chest. “Read it to us.”

  He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief before taking the letter. He whistled as he looked at the writing on the front. “This came all the way from Ireland.”

  “That’s what Emma said. Is it from Athair?”

  He held out the envelope and pointed to some writing in the upper lefthand corner. “It’s from a Father Liam. Do you know him?”

  “He’s our priest in Ireland.” Setting the box on a nearby table, she took the envelope and pulled out the letter. “What does it say?”

  He scanned the letter and drew in his breath sharply.

  “Samuel, what is it?” She gripped his arm. “What does it say?”

  “I think we should discuss this alone.”

  A chill that swept away the day’s heat congealed inside her. As if from a distance, she heard herself telling the children to help each other get some supper from the platters on the table. She saw Samuel’s mouth tighten as he looked at the letter again.

  “What is it?” she asked as soon as the children ran into the kitchen, along with the promise that they could have the rest of the fresh blackberries for dessert.

  “It’s about your father.”

  She put her hands to her mouth as she whispered, “Is something wrong with Athair?”

  “Cailin …”

  The truth was in his eyes. She closed hers. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  When he took her hand, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Did Father Liam say what happened?” she choked out.

  “Yes.” He touched the center of the letter. “Your father had been to the public house and had a convivial evening. When he didn’t come to church the next day, Father Liam went to check on him. As you asked him to.”

  “As I asked him to,” she repeated.

  “Father Liam found your father in bed. He apparently died in his sleep.” Samuel brushed a loose hair back from her face. “Father Liam says his face was peaceful, so there must have been no pain.”

  “Oh …”

  “Cailin, I’m so sorry.”

  “Read it to me.”

  “What?”

  She tapped the letter. “Read it to me. Every word.”

  “Cailin, the children may hear.”

  “Read it quietly. Please, Samuel. Please read it to me.”

  He picked up the letter and read in an expressionless voice:

  Dear Cailin,

  It grieves me deeply to have to write to you at this time when you are embarking on your new life in America. I hope the journey to your home with your husband and his family has brought you all the blessings and joy you believed awaited you there with Abban.

  Your father passed on to his heavenly reward sometime during the night. He went, as was his habit, which you know so well, to the public house and enjoyed the company of his friends. When he left, he seemed unchanged. Then, this morning, when he did not attend mass, I went to your house to make sure nothing was amiss. Your father never missed morning mass.

  I found him in his bed. His face was so peaceful, I knew he was already with your mother in the arms of the angels. I know these tidings are sad for you and your family, but he told me more than once, he would not go to his reward and to your mother until he was certain you were with the man who would give you and the children everything you needed … everything he believed he could not give you himself. He promised your mother when he stood beside her deathbed that he would take care of you until he could trust someone else to do so.

  He was a good man, and I know he loved you and the children with all his heart. You were the joy that put lightness in his step and kept the devil’s own despair from his heart after your mother’s death.

  As your father requested, I am sending you the possession he prized most—his fiddle. I hope it reaches you in one piece.

  God bless you and your family. I will pray for you that you found everything you hoped for in America.

  Samuel put the letter back into the envelope. “It’s signed with Father Liam’s name.”

  Lowering herself to the sofa, she took the envelope and ran her fingers over it. “Athair had been suffering some pains in his chest, but he assured me that he was well.” She swallowed around the grief clogging her throat. “He insisted on continuing his work on the farm, so there was always food for the children and me. There might not have been much to eat, yet there was always something.”

  “And he sent you this.” He picked up the box and held it out to her.

  She fought her trembling fingers to untie the strings and undo the paper around the box. She opened the lid. Her father’s fiddle case was within. Lifting the leather case out, she opened it and touched the strings of the fiddle he had always loved playing. She looked into the box and saw the bow. She picked it up and put it across the fiddle.

  “It was his most precious possession,” she whispered.

  “Other than you and the children.”

  “Yes.”

  “So he did as he promised your mother and took care of you.”

  With a sob, she turned her face against his chest and clutched his shirt. He gently stroked her back. He said nothing, and she was glad. False platitudes would have been painful.

  She had never known that Athair had made such a promise to her mother. Each time he had suffered from a painful heartbeat, he had reassured her that he was not ready to go yet. But she had been married to Abban.… Had her father seen some streak of treachery in her husband that she had failed to notice? Athair had not wanted her to go to New York, and at the time she had been sure it was because he did not want to be alone. Maybe it had been something more.

  Lifting her gaze to where Samuel was watching her with the gentle compassion she had first seen in his eyes when she told him of her trials in New York, she whispered, “When did my father die?”

  He took out the letter again. “I
t’s dated a little over a month ago.”

  “Around the time I was leaving New York to come here.” She touched the paper. Had Athair somehow known she would find Samuel, a man who would reawaken her deadened heart at the end of the train journey to Haven? Her father would have liked Samuel and respected his knowledge, but most of all Athair would have appreciated how Samuel opened his house and his life to Brendan, Megan, and Lottie … and her.

  “Will you tell the children?” Samuel asked, and she knew, for once, he had not guessed the course of her thoughts.

  “I must.” She put the letter on the table beside the case and rubbed her hands together. “This loss isn’t like with Abban. Their memories of him are sparse at best. Lottie may not remember Athair well, but the other two will.”

  “Do you want me to get them?”

  She almost said no, because she did not want to tell them when her cheeks were red with the stains of her tears. Then she nodded. She would not hide her grief from them. Not about this.

  Samuel’s taut face must have warned the children that something was amiss because they were silent as they came into the parlor. When she held out her arms to them, they ran to her. She embraced them as she told them about their grandfather’s death.

  Sitting next to Cailin, Samuel took Megan onto his lap and held her as she wept. Lottie wore a lost expression, and Cailin guessed her youngest was uncertain how to respond. When Samuel set the little girl on his other knee, she cuddled close to him.

  Cailin looked to where Brendan had stood and saw him walk to the door opening into the back parlor. Rising, she went to him and put her arm around his shoulders. She was astonished when he shook it off.

  “Brendan, I’m—”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry!” he snapped. “You’re the one who dragged us away from Grandpa and brought us to America. Then you left us after telling us Papa had died. Then they said you died, but you didn’t. Now you’re saying Grandpa died. What if he didn’t? What if he’s still alive?”

  She heard Samuel draw in a sharp breath. “Brendan …” he began, his voice as rigid as his face.

  Waving him to silence, Cailin knelt in front of her son and folded his hands between hers. They trembled as fiercely as his words had. “You were lied to about what had happened to me. I’m not lying to you. You believe that, don’t you?”

  “But you didn’t die!”

  “No, that was a lie. I wish I could tell you that the letter was another lie, but it isn’t.” She reached up to frame his face—his face that looked so much like a youthful version of Athair’s. Swallowing her sorrow, she whispered, “Brendan, you know I’d never, ever lie to you.”

  “Like Papa did?”

  “Your father?” she glanced at Samuel, who had come to his feet, holding each girl by the hand.

  “I know what Papa did,” Brendan said. “I knew before we left New York, Mama. We saw Papa’s other children come to the house. Mrs. Rafferty told us who they and the lady with them were.”

  Samuel swore, but Cailin only asked, “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?”

  Brendan looked at his sisters, then said, “We didn’t want you to be upset, Mama.” He barely paused before he asked, “Are you going to die, too?”

  “Do you mean soon?”

  He nodded.

  “No.” She struggled to smile. “I’ll be here to tell you to pick up your clothes and eat your vegetables for many, many more years.”

  He threw his arms around her.

  “Tá grá agam duit. I love you,” she whispered. She leaned her head on top of his and looked across the room to Samuel, Megan, and Lottie. “I love all of you.”

  The little girls ran to throw their arms around her again. She knew the danger of letting Samuel’s gaze capture hers, but she could not look away. Did he know her words had been for him, too?

  She could not guess, for Megan tugged on her sleeve.

  “Yes?” Cailin asked.

  “Can we? Can we now?” Megan’s tears fell down her cheeks.

  Cailin nodded, coming to her feet. As the girls grasped her hands, she said, “Samuel, we’re going down to the river. Will you come with us?”

  “Why are you going there?”

  “When someone died,” she said, her voice catching, “we tossed flowers into the stream on the farm and watched them flow down to the sea. It’s sort of a tradition in our family. Will you come with us?”

  He nodded and picked up Lottie. Taking Cailin’s hand, he started toward the door.

  She drew her hand out of his and went to get the fiddle. Taking it and the bow, she followed Samuel out of the house. Brendan trailed after them. They paused only long enough to pick some wildflowers by the fence, then walked down the hill to the river.

  Where the riverbank dropped sharply into the water, Cailin quickly twisted the flowers together in a garland. It would not hold together long, but it did not need to. She handed it to Brendan. He was the oldest, so he should have the honor. When the girls did not protest, she wanted to draw them into her arms and hold them until every hint of their pain was gone.

  Picking up the fiddle, she drew the bow across the strings. A few quick turns tuned them, and she began to play. Samuel’s eyes widened as her fingers flew across the strings in a lighthearted tune. First Megan, then Lottie began to clap along.

  She lowered the fiddle. “Samuel, don’t think I’m a horrible daughter to play such a happy song. It was my father’s favorite.”

  “I’m not shocked because of what you played, but how. I had no idea you could play so well.”

  “Athair began teaching me when I wasn’t much older than Brendan.” She touched the fine wood. “I’d intended to start teaching him on my fiddle, but—”

  “You had to sell it when you got to America.”

  She nodded, then turned to Brendan. “Now you should toss the flowers into the river. They’ll eventually reach the sea.”

  “Down the Ohio to the Mississippi,” Samuel said quietly. “Then they can drift back to Ireland.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, slipping her hand into his.

  “Careful,” he added as Brendan eased closer to the edge of the bluff. He shot a quick smile at Cailin. “Sorry. Habit.”

  “A good one. Go ahead, Brendan.”

  He held up the garland. “Good-bye, Grandpa. We’ll miss you.” He flung the flowers out toward the water.

  Somehow, the garland hung together as it hit the river and was swirled into the currents. The children cheered. As Brendan and Megan told their favorite stories of their grandfather and asked her to play more of the songs they remembered, Samuel squeezed her hand. She had never guessed she could be so happy and so sad at the same time.

  Nineteen

  As her daughters got into bed, Cailin hushed them, but they kept talking about the fair that would be starting in two days. When she blew out the light in the girls’ room and went onto the landing, she was not surprised to hear soft footsteps behind her. She looked back to see Lottie climb into bed with Megan. Immediately they were giggling.

  Leaving them to their mischief, for their laughter was a wondrous sound, Cailin looked in to see that Brendan was already asleep. Or pretending to be asleep, because he had agreed to go to bed early tonight so he could spend tomorrow night at the fairgrounds with his cow. That would allow him to rise early and be ready for the judging on the first day of the fair.

  The everyday sights and sounds eased her grief over her father’s death. Athair would not have wanted her to weep. He had always believed in celebrating every minute of life. So had she, until Abban’s cruelty and then his mother’s drove all joy from her. She would not allow it to be stolen again.

  A light was on in the back parlor, and Cailin went to the door. Samuel was sitting at his desk, squinting as he tried to see what he was writing on a paper in front of him.

  “Is it important?” she asked.

  He looked up. “This letter? I want to get it in the mail, but it can wait until
the end of the week. If you want some company, I can set it aside.”

  “I don’t want some company.” She drew the door closed behind her and walked around a crate to his desk. Lifting his glasses off his nose, she placed them carefully on top of the letter. The letters of her name tried to catch her attention, but she smiled at him. “I want you.”

  “Here?”

  “Why not?” With her foot, she shoved away a short stack of books. “You’ve got a nice carpet here, Samuel.”

  “You’re a brazen woman.”

  She ran her fingers along his face, tipping it up to her lips. “Are you complaining?”

  “I’ll never complain about this.”

  When she knelt on the floor and held out her hands, he dropped from the chair to sit beside her. He cupped her face and kissed her tenderly.

  “Don’t hesitate,” she whispered. “I’m not asking you to hold me because I want to forget about my father. I want you to hold me because I was a fool to storm away when we could have had these nights together.”

  “Counting our stings?”

  She laughed. “As long as we did it lying side by side.”

  “I like the way you think.” He started to kiss her again, then said, “I don’t want to hold you—”

  “What?”

  He laughed. “Let me finish. I don’t want to hold you to banish another woman from my mind. I want to hold you because I was a fool to let you storm away when we could have had these nights together.” He laughed again. “To count our stings or whatever. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re lying by my side.”

  “Is there an echo in here?” She laughed as she swept her arms up his chest to curve over his shoulders.

  “Just of two people yearning for each other.” His fingers stroked her face. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “A happy one?”

  “A very happy one.” He teased her ear with the tip of his tongue. When she shivered with delight, he whispered, “Sometimes, on the nights when you were with me, I’d wake up and watch you sleeping. I wanted to make sure you weren’t only a dream.”

  She rested her cheek against his as his arms enfolded her. “Sometimes I did the same. I burst into your life so quickly that it swept my breath away.”