Long Journey Home

by Sarah M. Eden

  “He’s my brother,” Ivy said, pride evident in every syllable.

  “I know. And a fine brother you have, even if he thinks his hand is tasty.”

  Ivy giggled. “Pompah says Sean is getting his teeth. That’s why he’s such a miserable tyrant.” The unexpected turn of phrase pulled his gaze to the little girl, who grinned unrepentantly. “Mama calls Sean that, and it makes Pompah laugh.”

  The tyrant was, at that moment, leaning his head against Ryan’s chest, crying in the most despondent way. Ryan gently patted his back, walking slowly about the room. Ivy watched his every move from her spot in her father’s chair.

  “Mama says we’ll have to do without clean clothes and meals if Sean doesn’t stop being fussy. I think she’s saying it bigger than it is. She’s examertating.”

  She was likely searching for the word exaggerating. Ryan didn’t correct her; doing so hardly seemed necessary.

  “Mrs. Smith left, you know,” Ivy continued. “Her sister wanted her to live with her, and she thought it was a good idea.”

  Mrs. Smith had been their housekeeper. Joseph had come West from Baltimore, where he still owned a very profitable shipping firm. The Archers were the only family in the valley who could afford a housekeeper. Ryan, as it was turning out, couldn’t even afford a house.

  Sean was settling a bit. Ryan began humming “Nil Na La,” hoping a touch of music would soothe him further.

  Ivy rested her head on her hands, which lay on the table. A little smile touched her lips. “I know that one,” she said. “Katie plays it sometimes.”

  “Do you now the words?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He began to sing, keeping his voice soft and the tune nice and slow. “Níl 'na lá, tá 'na lá. Níl 'na lá, tá ar maidin.”

  His was not a voice that’d earn him any accolades, but neither was it unpleasant. Sean hiccupped between his increasingly quieter whimpers, which Ryan chose to take as approval of his efforts. Even Ivy had stopped talking, which was something of a miracle. He had vague memories of her being far quieter in the years before Katie had come into their lives. Joseph had kept his distance from the rest of the town then, so it might simply have been Ryan’s inexperience with her rather than the true way of things. He did, however, firmly believe the fierce and strong Irishwoman had done a world of good in this family.

  What would that be like? He thought often of how much he’d appreciate having a goodhearted, fearsome woman at his side, building a life and a home and a family with him. The two of them walking the floor with their babies. Those imagined waves across the river when the little ones were old enough to be at school.

  ’Twasn’t the sort of thing most men admitted to longing for. Why not? Why was wishing for love and family and home so often considered a strictly feminine desire? It ought not be. Men wanted those things as well. They were simply seldom permitted to express as much.

  Joseph returned to the room, holding Emma’s hand. Her eyes were puffy and edged in pink. The tell-tale tracks of dried tears showed faintly on her cheeks. Still, she seemed comforted. Both their eyes settled first on Ivy, who had, without Ryan’s realizing it, fallen asleep.

  Joseph’s attention next turned to the little one in Ryan’s arms. “How did this arrangement come to be?”

  “Katie came in looking for you. Seems this unhappy fellow was making trouble for his ma.”

  “He does that,” Joseph said. He looked from his son to his youngest daughter a couple of times before settling on a course of action. “Emma, will you take Sean? I’ll carry Ivy to the sofa.”

  Emma nodded and moved slowly toward Ryan. She was quiet and cautious, always had been. Hers was also a widely acknowledged tender and caring heart. Joseph picked up his sleeping daughter and carried her from the room.

  Ryan offered Emma an empathetic look. “I’m sorry your sister was teasing you, lass. ’Twasn’t kind of her.”

  “Papa says she doesn’t realize that she embarrasses me. She isn’t easily embarrassed, so she doesn’t understand.”

  “Knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less, though, does it?”

  She shook her head. “But it helps me not be mad at her, and that’s good.”

  “That is very good.”

  Her smile was quick and subtle, but genuine. She reached out for little Sean. The transfer was made with little incident, though Sean did toss Ryan a look of utter betrayal.

  “I believe your brother is put out with me.”

  Emma held the little one firmly in her arms. “Katie says he has a mind of his own, which is how we know he’s Irish, even though he won’t likely sound that way.”

  “What does your da think of that?”

  “He likes everything Katie says. He just smiles and hugs her. Sometimes he kisses her, which makes Ivy squirm.” Emma adjusted her hold on her brother, who was beginning to fuss again.

  “You’d likely best take him to your da. He’ll be screaming the roof down on top of us in a minute.”

  Emma sighed. “He screams a lot lately.”

  She walked from the dining room in the direction of the kitchen. Ryan was alone again. He gathered his papers, careful not to miss any. He’d labored over the ciphers for days.

  He meant to leave by way of the kitchen, having come in that way and, admittedly, he felt less out of place there than if he’d walked through the formal sitting room. Katie stood over the stove, stirring sharply at something. The poor woman did look done in.

  She looked up as he passed. The smile she offered was edged in exhaustion, though she clearly meant to make an effort to be personable. “Are you leaving, Ryan? You are welcome to stay for supper if you’d like.”

  Though he’d have appreciated a warm meal and company, he could see the strain in her eyes. “I thank you, but I’ve work yet to do on the land today. I’d best get to it while the sun’s still shining.”

  She nodded. “Did you know Cecily hadn’t the first idea you worked that land in all the months she lived with Granny? Even when I lived there, you did have a tendency to slip about unnoticed.”

  “The newest occupant certainly noticed,” he said, with a laugh. “Held me at pitchfork-point until I could prove I belonged there.”

  Katie laughed, the traitor. “Maura O’Connor does strike me as a woman ready and willing to go to battle if need be.”

  That was precisely what he was afraid of. Fighting with a widow over land they both needed was hardly an experience he wanted to have.

  “A good evening to you, Katie,” he said with a dip of his head.

  “And to you, Ryan.”

  He tucked his papers inside his jacket as he stepped outside, knowing the wind would be blowing, as it always did in Wyoming.

  If I lose the land, I’m sunk. Those words, in all their horror, repeated in his mind over and over. Were he on his own, were it only his future that depended on the outcome, he might have accepted the loss. But Ma needed a home. She needed the support of this community. She needed to live near both her sons and her grandchildren. She needed what joy she could claim, having suffered as much and for as long as she had. He had to fight for her.

  As had become his motto over the years, he’d make plans and he’d adjust. But this time, what if all the adjusting in the world wasn’t enough?

  Chapter Ten

  Maura could hear what must have been dozens and dozens of voices not far up the road. She and Aidan were walking to her mother- and father-in-law’s home late on Saturday evening. Tavish had told her the town held a weekly party, a ceílí, like they’d once known in Ireland. Everyone came, he’d insisted, and she and Aidan would be missed if they didn’t attend. The idea of a ceílí had appealed to her from the moment Tavish mentioned it. ’Twould be such a good opportunity for Aidan. He would come to know his family better, as well as his neighbors far and near. And there was nothing so joyous as a ceílí. She ought to be eager and excited.

  Why, then, was she so nervous?

  “Michael
told me yesterday that he would be at the ceílí,” Aidan said as they slowly approached the edges of what appeared to be a very large group of people. This was the party, then.

  “Who is Michael?”

  “One of the lads at school.”

  Hope bubbled inside Maura. This was the first time Aidan had spoken of any of the school children other than Ivy, the little girl who had insisted on being his friend that first day and, according to the mumbled reports he’d made each evening over their admittedly meager meals, had continued her efforts in the days since.

  “Is he your age?” she asked.

  “A little younger. They’re all a little younger. I’m the oldest.”

  She’d worried over that possibility. The children of this town had been blessed with the chance for schooling their whole lives. Aidan had been required to give up school years ago to supplement their income. She insisted he take it up once more in the hope that he could finish and learn all he’d been prevented from learning in New York. That meant, however, being grouped with children younger than he was, sometimes considerably younger.

  “Is Michael a nice lad?”

  Aidan nodded. “He said we’re cousins.”

  “Truly?” She watched him closely, trying to gauge his feelings on the matter. “Did he say who his parents are?”

  “He said Da was his da’s brother.”

  Ian and Biddy’s son, then. They hadn’t had any children in New York. Biddy must have been expecting when they’d left, though she’d not said as much. “You’ve a cousin near to your age. That’s a fine thing.”

  “Two, actually,” he said. “Colum’s my cousin too, but he and Michael aren’t brothers. And his name’s not O’Connor.”

  “He must be your aunt Mary’s boy.” Two nephews Maura hadn’t even met. Thirteen years of separation had left quite a gap.

  Aidan watched the nearby townspeople with both interest and uncertainty. There’d been an eagerness in him, a hope that been growing ever since they left New York. In that moment, the conflicting responses filled his expression.

  “Let’s scout out the food, shall we?” she suggested conspiratorially.

  “I’ll agree to that.” His voice hardly rose above a mutter. He was as nervous as she.

  He was likely also hungry. Knowing there’d be food, she’d opted to skip making supper to stretch their supplies further. They already needed more of several things. Her remaining money would not last long, and she hadn’t the first idea what she would do for work when it was gone.

  They wove through the gathering. So many people took note of Aidan, no doubt taken aback by the resemblance to Tavish. What would they all have thought of Grady? Would the similarity between uncle and nephew be less noteworthy if the town had been accustomed to the resemblance between the brothers? And if Patrick had also been here over the years, no one would likely have given a second thought to Aidan’s appearance. The three brothers had looked as alike as triplets.

  She and Aidan had not gone very far when a tall, lanky lad, brown-haired and tender-eyed, stopped them.

  “You’re here,” he said to Aidan. More of Ireland lay in his voice than in Aidan’s, yet there was still so much of America.

  Aidan shrugged. “I heard there’d be food.” His humor had always been dry and subtle. She recognized the jest for what it was. Did this new arrival?

  “I can show you where it is,” the boy offered.

  Aidan looked to Maura, hopeful. “May I, Ma? May I go with him?”

  “If you tell me who he is.”

  Aidan’s brow pulled a bit. “I thought you’d know him.”

  Ah. “This must be either Michael or Colum.”

  Both Aidan and his friend—his cousin—nodded. Now that she knew the lad belonged to the O’Connors, she could see bits of Ian and Biddy in him.

  “Michael, I believe.”

  Aidan made a sound of confirmation.

  “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Michael.”

  He dipped his head. “And you, ma’am.”

  Why ma’am and not Aunt Maura? He must have known their connection. He, after all, had been the one to tell Aidan they were related. Perhaps, given time, she’d feel more like family to him and the others. Time, however, was not something she had in abundance.

  “Run along then, you two,” she said with a smile. “Fill your bellies.”

  Her heart warmed to see Aidan rush off so willingly. He’d made a friend, and he’d made it amongst his family. She attempted a deep breath, but it ended in a cough. The walk here had proven quite a trek. She was worn and weary, and the night had not even begun.

  If her condition grew worse—she refused to think of it in terms other than if—she’d need to ask Tavish’s or Ian’s families to make certain Aidan still participated in these gatherings. It wouldn’t do for the lad to be cooped up at home because she wasn’t there.

  Not far distant was a grouping of chairs, many of which sat empty. Maura made directly for them. She swore she could hear her lungs thanking her as she lowered herself into a vacant seat. She was away from the city now, but felt only marginally better. If only Dr. Dahl had given her a more definitive idea of how long she’d need to be away from the city for her lungs to calm as much as they were able.

  People milled about on the far end of the chairs, all holding various instruments. Tavish had said the ceílís featured music. She’d enjoy that bit, having always been fond of music, especially that from home. Aidan had not grown up hearing as much of it as she would have liked.

  That first day, Katie Archer had indicated that the town claimed a great many Irish families. ’Twas another reason to be grateful Aidan would be settled here. He would come to know the culture of his parents and grandparents in a way he hadn’t in New York. Many of the tenements there had been filled with Irish, but the Tower had been a mixture of people from many different places. The experience had been a good one—Aidan had learned to be accepting and open, had learned to love the differences in people rather than fear them—but he didn’t feel a particularly strong connection to the land of his ancestors. She regretted that.

  Someone approached her from the side. She didn’t wish to be obtrusive, so she kept her gaze a bit lowered. The person spoke anyway. “Begging your pardon, Miss Maura.”

  She thought she knew the voice, but looked up to be certain. As she’d suspected: Ryan Callaghan. She offered a single nod.

  “Would you mind if my ma sits beside you?” He indicated the woman leaning heavily on both his arm and her cane.

  “I’d not mind in the least,” she said.

  A painstaking rearranging took place, with Ryan holding fast to his ma as she carefully lowered herself into the chair beside Maura’s. The woman wore a look of unmistakable pain.

  “Are you comfortable?” Ryan asked his mother.

  “I’ll do.”

  He watched her a breath longer, as if unconvinced. After a moment, he seemed to accept her answer. “I’d best join the musicians, or Seamus’ll have my neck. If I see Mrs. O’Connor—the senior Mrs. O’Connor—I’ll send her your way. I’m sure she’d love to gab.”

  “I’d be obliged to you, lad.”

  “Seeing as you gave me life, I’ll consider us even.”

  Mrs. Callaghan laughed and shooed him away. “Go join the others. I’ve a yearning for some music, and they’ll not start without you.”

  “I am very important.” With a laugh of his own, he sauntered away, greeting people as he passed. He was personable and obviously well-liked.

  She wasn’t surprised. Though she and he had not begun their acquaintance on a positive footing, he’d not ever been unkind. He’d even come surprisingly close to making her laugh, something she’d not done often enough the past years.

  “Mary O’Connor’s been eager for your arrival,” Mrs. Callaghan said. “She’s spoken of it again and again for weeks.”

  Her mother-in-law had been anxious to see her? Maura wanted it to be true, but no one in the O’C
onnor family outside of Tavish and his wife had come by. And none had written to her in the years since Grady’s death.

  “She couldn’t quite bring her mind to picture your boy as anything but a baby, though she knew he’d be grown.”

  “He’s not quite grown,” Maura said, with a small smile. “My mind’s not ready to picture him that old yet.”

  Mrs. Callaghan looked over at her son, standing amongst the musicians. “It happens faster than you think.”

  “Is he your oldest?”

  She shook her head. “Youngest. I’ve three others. The first is in Ireland yet. The second remained in Boston after we left. The son just older is here in town. Ryan and I live with him and his wife and their little one.”

  Exactly the situation Maura had expected to find herself in. “That has the makings of either a cozy arrangement or a” —she allowed her tone to reflect the discomfort possible in sharing a house with another family— “cozy arrangement.”

  Mrs. Callaghan nodded. “It is decidedly cozy.” Though her tone was neutral, Maura suspected ’twas the uncomfortable kind of cozy she meant.

  The musicians were beginning to tune up. Ryan had opened the large drawstring bag he’d carried over his shoulder. What instrument could be inside? The bag couldn’t’ve held a fiddle. ’Twas too large for a pennywhistle. He reached into the bag. Maura recognized the instrument he pulled out.

  “He plays the pastoral pipes.” Maura made the observation aloud, though she’d not intended to.

  “He does, and he plays them well.” Mrs. Callaghan’s pride in her son was touching.

  Maura’s mother used to speak of her that way. She missed that feeling, the knowledge that someone in this often-cruel world thought highly of her. She missed having a parent to simply love her the way her parents had. She’d lost her sister so soon after her parents’ deaths and all of that on the heels of Grady’s death. Life had asked so very much of her. Too much, at times.

  “Do you play an instrument?” Mrs. Callaghan asked.

  “Yes, actually.” She couldn’t help a grin, what earned her a look of curiosity from her companion. “I happen to play the pipes as well.”