Tavish pulled something from the back of his cart—the loudest crate Ryan had ever encountered. It must’ve held a half-dozen hens, none of which sounded the least pleased about their current arrangement.
“The rooster’s in his own box,” Tavish told his sister-in-law.
“I didn’t know these were coming today,” she said. “I haven’t any feed.”
Tavish lugged the large crate to the coop. “Cecee scolded the lot of us for not warning you. Insisted we each send feed enough for one of the chickens for the next week so you’d not have to worry over it.”
“She did?” Maura’s amazement was as evident as her relief.
Tavish grinned broadly. “My wife sounds enough like Queen Victoria that we all obey out of habit.”
Maura laughed, something Ryan had never heard. There was a musical quality to her laughter, one that settled on his very heart like a warm, comforting blanket.
Pull yourself together, man. This is the enemy.
He grabbed the crated rooster from the cart and carried it to the coop, where Tavish and Maura already were. Once inside, he pulled the gate closed behind him.
Tavish pried open the top of his crate. Chaos immediately erupted in the box. Maura took a large step backward, eying the birds with misgiving. Did she also not know how to look after chickens? How could a woman so ill-prepared to look after this land be the one in a position to snatch it away? Surely fate didn’t hate him so entirely.
As Ryan released the rooster to join the others, he attempted to hold back his annoyance. Once free, the rooster pecked aggressively at his feet. He nudged it away with his boot and a mild Irish curse.
Maura continued watching the new arrivals with unmistakable distrust. When the rooster moved her direction, she slipped swiftly to the other side of the gate, closing it with a snap.
Tavish joined Ryan in the midst of the frantic flock. “I don’t imagine she has much experience with chickens, living in New York for so long,” Tavish said.
’Twas the perfect opportunity to stress how ill-suited she was to this life, how much wiser Tavish’d be to let Ryan have full claim to the land. He wouldn’t even be planting the doubt; the doubt was already there, clear as day.
Yet he heard himself saying, “We were all new to this at one point, yourself included. ’Twould be unfair not to give her a chance to learn.”
Tavish slapped a hand on his back. “True enough.” Smiling and content, he crossed to his sister-in-law.
What is the matter with you, Ryan Callaghan? You’ll not secure your future or Ma’s by being soft-hearted.
Chapter Seventeen
As Saturday evening arrived, Maura prepared herself for a fight with Aidan. ’Twas time for the weekly ceílí, Aidan’s opportunity to build friendships and spend time with his extended family. She, however, felt too ill to attend. Her cough was worse, and she simply had to rest. She also desperately wished to avoid the inevitable questions that would come if the entire town listened to her hacking for hours on end.
Aidan needed to be welcomed and part of this community before they knew how soon he was likely to become a burden to them. If he could be loved and wanted for who he was and for any joy he brought to their lives, he could be more than the orphan left on their doorstep.
He needed to attend the ceílí, even if he had to do so alone. She stood at the front door, squared her shoulders, and called out to him.
“Come on down here, lad.”
He was up in the loft. He had truly come to love the space, with so much room all to himself. He’d only ever known cramped quarters in their one room at the Tower. ’Twas a luxury having the whole loft to his own self. Maura was so very happy for him.
“We’re for Tavish’s house,” she said. “I’m meaning to ask him and your aunt Cecily to take you to the ceílí.” Before he could ask questions or make any objection, she pressed on. “M’ cough’s been fierce today, and I’m needing to rest. Going to the party would be a fine thing for you, Aidan. Michael and Colum will want you to come. Your grandmother and grandfather will as well.”
He shrugged a little. “I know how to get to Grandmother’s house. I could walk there alone.”
He didn’t mean to object? “I’ve full confidence in your ability to walk down the road a few miles,” she said, “but I’d like you to go with your aunt and uncle.”
“We’d better ask them first.” He rolled his eyes as he reached past her and opened the door.
“You’re not going to argue with me?” She’d fully expected him to do exactly that.
“I liked the ceílí,” he said. “And Ivy said her mother’s bringing tarts. I’ve never had one, but she said they’re the best thing I’ll ever eat in all my life. Emma says her sister’s exaggerating only a little.”
Maura ought to have known that food would be the key to getting Aidan’s cooperation, especially as there hadn’t been any eggs that morning, and the cupboards were basically bare. They were both hungry.
“Let’s go see if Tavish and Cecily have left yet,” Aidan said, already to the edge of the porch.
She pulled the door closed behind her and walked at his side. “You and Ivy Archer seem to be good friends.”
“That’s what she tells me.” He flashed a smile, one heavy with embarrassment. “Michael has a little sister. She pesters him same as Ivy pesters me.”
Ah. He spoke so seriously that she didn’t dare laugh, though she felt sorely tempted to. “So Ivy’s rather like a little sister to you.”
“I suppose.” Far from bothering him, he seemed pleased.
“I’ll be working at the Archer house starting Monday,” she said.
“Did you know Uncle Finbarr works there?”
Now that he said it, she thought she remembered hearing something like that. Perhaps Finbarr would tell her a bit about the Archer family, about what working for them was like, how she’d best prove a helpful but unobtrusive addition to their household.
Before even reaching the road, Maura began coughing again. That day her lungs had felt more like they had in New York. Heavy. Tight. Painful. She’d been doing better, yet had watched for this to happen. Dr. Dahl had warned her not to be fooled by periods of improvement.
“Too many workers see a little improvement after leaving the factory and think they’re healed enough to go back,” he’d said. “They do not last long.”
She stood at the edge of the road, coughing and wheezing, trying to take small enough breaths to get the air she needed without further irritating her lungs. Her shoulders heaved with the effort. Sometimes these bouts lasted for so long that every muscle in her upper body hurt and ached for days afterward.
Aidan set his hand on her back. When she’d first been afflicted with these body-shaking coughs, he’d thumped her back, wanting to help. The effort didn’t improve her breathing and only added to her misery. She’d finally convinced him to try a different approach.
“I can walk the rest of the way alone,” he said. “I can see Tavish’s house there. I’ll not get lost.”
His turns of phrase grew more Irish whenever he tried to comfort her. Did he know he did that? Did he realize how much that tiny connection to her homeland touched her?
“I only need a moment.” She managed all five words without stopping to gasp for air. “I want to offer them a good evening. And thank them for taking you. And—” ’Twas too many words, too much air. She breathed slow and shallow through the tightness and pain. A bit of calm came to her lungs. “And I’d like to speak with Finbarr.”
“But if you should be resting—”
“I’ll not stay long.” The last emerged easier and more whole. And, thank the heavens, she’d not coughed up any blood. Everyone knew what it meant. The other women at the factory had called that “the red mark of death.”
She’d regained enough control to resume their journey. Neither of them spoke. She knew Aidan worried, but she didn’t know what to do about it. He knew of her illness, but he didn’t kn
ow how potentially dire the situation truly was. She would not allow him to carry that burden. But how could she set his mind at ease without lying to him?
They reached Tavish’s door and knocked. Very little time passed before it opened.
Cecily was beautiful. That truth always surprised Maura, though she couldn’t say why. Perhaps because she was strikingly beautiful, not merely pleasant-looking. Perhaps because Tavish was also rather shockingly handsome, and two such fine-looking people finding each other in such a tiny place seemed too unlikely to be real.
Perhaps because Cecily’s green spectacles would, on anyone else, have been the aspect of her appearance that most pulled one’s notice, but on her they weren’t.
Perhaps because when she spoke, it was an almost aristocratic English voice that emerged and, being Irish, Maura had been brought up to associate the well-to-do in England with all that was ugly and horrid in the world. She’d unlearned those lessons to a large extent, living as she had amongst so many different people from different places in their rundown tenement. But underneath all the learning and unlearning, a person still struggled with the way she’d been first taught to respond to certain voices, certain languages, certain appearances.
“I will need you to tell me who you are.” Cecily spoke both firmly and gently. She clearly was not ashamed of her blindness, but she also acknowledged that people were unaccustomed to the accommodation and often needed reminding.
“’Tis Maura and Aidan,” she said.
Cecily’s mouth tugged down at the corners. “Are you unwell, Maura?”
How could she possibly tell that? “A little.” She didn’t care to share the extent of it; she didn’t dare. “That’s why we’ve come by.”
“Please, come inside.” Cecily motioned them in.
They slipped past her. All of the easy confidence Aidan had exuded upon leaving their house had disappeared. That often happened. When only the two of them were together, he was sure of himself, talkative. He grew far more uncertain with other people.
“I’m hoping you and Tavish would be willing to take Aidan with you to the ceílí,” Maura said. “I’m not feeling equal to it this evening.”
“You sound as though you have a little bit of a tickle in your lungs or throat,” Cecily said.
“Yes.” That was as detailed an explanation as she would offer. “Would you mind terribly if he went with you?”
“Not at all.” Cecily smiled at Aidan. How did she know where he was? He’d not spoken. “Tavish should be done hitching the cart in a moment.”
Knowing Aidan had a means of arriving at the party, as well as someone to look after him, Maura’s worries eased. For the first time, she truly looked around the room. There, facing the empty fireplace, sat Finbarr. He’d not said a word in greeting, nor turned toward them. Cecily was blind as well, yet she faced them as they spoke. Why didn’t he?
“Good evening, Finbarr,” Maura said.
His head moved the smallest bit. “Good evening, Maura.”
’Twas still so odd to hear such a deep voice coming from the lad she’d known at a time when his words had emerged in the high-pitched tone of a six-year-old. That he was broad-shouldered, tall, and a touch lanky, like Ian, was equally jarring.
She moved to an empty chair adjacent to his. “Are you meaning to go to the party tonight?”
He shook his head in mute denial.
“Would you mind, then, if I sat here a spell? I’m in need of a rest, but I’d also appreciate some advice.”
That clearly surprised him. He turned fully toward her for the first time. Saints, the scars on his face. She would likely grow accustomed to them in time, but they were extensive and thick and dark. Something truly terrible must have happened to him.
“I’m to begin working for the Archers on Monday.” A cough—one blessedly small—prevented her from continuing.
“Joseph said you were.” Finbarr spoke into the silence that followed her cough. “He’s grateful to you. Katie’s been struggling. He worries a lot about her.”
Maura didn’t yet know Joseph Archer, but from all she’d heard of him, she liked him already.
“I know you work for them,” Maura pressed forward. “What can you tell me of the family? What is most likely to gain their approval? What ought I do to make certain they’ll be pleased to have me there?”
He rubbed at the back of his neck, making a sound of pondering. “Don’t be late,” he said. “They’ll not scold you or even begrudge you, but Joseph’s always pleased when I arrive on time or a bit early.”
Arrive on time. That would not be difficult. Working in the factory taught one the importance of being punctual.
Tavish stepped inside. The man was forever smiling. Grady had been the same way.
“We’re to take Aidan with us tonight,” Cecily said without needing to be told who’d arrived.
“Are you not coming, Maura?” Tavish asked.
“I’m feeling a bit poor this evening.” She made certain to show none of her actual concern. “And I’m of a mind to ply Finbarr for information about my new employers.”
“He’s the one to ask,” Tavish said. “Though anyone in town will tell you the Archers are fine, good people.”
Cecily held her hand out to her husband. He took it without hesitation.
“We would do well to be on our way,” she said. “Your parents will be quite upset with us if we are late bringing their grandson.”
Tavish kept her hand in his as he moved back to the door. He pulled a cane off a hook and set it in her hand.
“Come along, Aidan,” he called over. “Your aunt’s right; your grandparents’ll have our necks if we’re late. They like you better than they like either of us.”
Aidan flushed a deep red, but he also laughed. He and Maura had always been happy together, but he didn’t laugh often. She didn’t laugh often. How might he have been different if he’d had his father around, or at least the O’Connor family? They’d’ve made him laugh, would’ve brought a smile to his face. He’d only had her, and instead of laughing, he was often withdrawn and uncertain. Had she done that to him? She didn’t consider timidity a failure in a person by any means. But his quietness was often more than simple bashfulness. ’Twas doubt: in himself, in the world around him, in the future.
He’ll have the O’Connors now, though. He’ll have them after I’m gone.
The door was closed, and they were gone. Finbarr sighed, deeply. If she was not mistaken, his was a sigh of disappointment.
“Is something the matter, lad?” she asked.
He started the tiniest, minutest bit. Apparently, he’d forgotten she was there.
“I’m just glad they’re gone,” Finbarr said. “Tavish never stops talking. It’s peaceful only when he leaves.” He was not the least convincing.
“I enjoyed the ceílí last week,” Maura said, keeping her tone neutral. “’Twas a bit chaotic, though.”
“They usually are.”
She heard no longing in his voice. Perhaps the disappointment from before had not been about missing the party.
“Ivy Archer told Aidan that her mother would be bringing tarts, and that those tarts were the most delicious food in all the world. Makes me wish I felt well enough to be there, to find out for myself.”
“Katie had a business for a time baking breads and tarts and things like that. She really is very good. But Ivy is also a born storyteller. Everything is theatrical with her.” Finbarr smiled, though it was brief and marred by his scars.
“I look forward to knowing her better.”
His brow pulled in thought once more. “That’s another thing that’ll help with your new position. Katie loves those girls. Treat them kindly, and she’ll praise you to the heavens.”
“And Joseph? Does he love them as well?”
“Of course he does.” Finbarr spoke as if that ought to have been obvious, despite his having only specifically mentioned Katie. “They’re his daughters.”
His words didn’t make sense.
“And hers,” she added.
Finbarr shook his head. “They’re not, though she thinks of them that way.”
Joseph is the girls’ father, but Katie is not their mother. More than the mystery of it, Maura clung to the promise. Here was someone in this town lovingly raising another woman’s children.
There was hope that someone would do the same for Aidan.
Chapter Eighteen
Agreeing to teach Aidan O’Connor how to milk a cow most certainly made Ryan’s list of ill-advised decisions. The lad and his mother stood between Ryan and his future, between Ryan and his ability to look after his ma. More than that, though, teaching these things to a lad ’twas the work of a father, not that of a neighbor.
He knew nothing about being a father. He indulged in dreams of one day having his own children and the moments he’d share with them. But in his heart of hearts, he knew he’d fumble his way through fatherhood, trying to pull from fuzzy memories of a man he’d never really known.
Aidan was in the barn when Ryan arrived Sunday morning as they’d arranged at the ceílí the night before. The boy stood only a few steps inside, holding himself stiff and uncertain.
How well Ryan remembered the first time he’d milked a cow. Before Hope Springs, he’d lived in large cities all his life, buying milk, just as Maura had in New York.
Only five years ago Ryan had dropped himself onto a milking stool for the first time, when they’d moved here at the urging of Seamus Kelly, a friend to the Callaghan brother just older than James. Seamus had come to this tiny Irish oasis and started a blacksmith shop. Once the family arrived, their neighbors, anxious to add another Irish family to the precarious balance in the then-feuding town, had undertaken the Callaghan brothers’ farming education with a fury.
That first time, Ryan had confidently approached the cow he’d been charged with milking—and had been promptly kicked for his efforts. Only by a miracle had the kick gone wide, grazing him rather than truly injuring him. That taught him to treat the animals with a healthy degree of respect. Now, the least he could do was teach Aidan how to avoid getting himself knocked around by an angry cow.
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