“Ian?” His brows pulled in before understanding dawned in his eyes. “I’d forgotten you never knew Grady. He and Patrick, the brother just younger than me, were soldiers with an Irish regiment from New York. They both died at Gettysburg.”
“I’ve heard tell of that battle. ’Twas said to be fierce beyond imagining.”
“Aye. Both sides suffered heavy losses,” Tavish said. “Our family alone lost two. Mr. Johnson lost a brother. I suspect that’s part of the reason he hates us so. Johnson hails from the South; his brother fought against the Irish regiment in that very battle.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder as they sat side by side. “Losing a family member brings a person such pain.”
He took her hand in his. What Katie wouldn’t have given to have received from her parents even a fraction of the sympathy she felt from Tavish in that moment.
“Now I have Grady’s watch,” he continued, “which was my grandfather’s. I miss them both, but having something that belonged to them, something real I can hold in my hand, makes them feel closer, somehow. Probably the way your father does, having something he gave to you that means so much.”
He compared her father’s fiddle with his brother’s watch. Little did he know how painfully different the situations were. Tavish came by his treasure rightly.
“My father didn’t give me his fiddle.” She pushed out the confession. “I stole it.”
“You what?” Clearly he thought she was joking.
“He took me to Derry for my first job, and while he was talking with the housekeeper, I nipped off with his fiddle and hid it behind some flour sacks there in the kitchen where he’d not see it.” She rushed the words so she’d not lose her courage. Confession, she’d heard said, was cleansing for the soul. She’d not thought she would ever be willing to confess this. “Father had a great many bundles that day, and I thought he might not realize right off that he was missing something.”
She glanced up at Tavish, a little nervous at what she’d see there. The smile had entirely disappeared from his face. “Did he notice?”
“I imagine he did eventually.” She lifted her head from his shoulder once more. He likely didn’t appreciate the contact any longer. She’d just admitted to being a thief, after all. “I think he knew where it was, but it wasn’t worth coming back for.”
“You said he played it every day. I can’t imagine he’d not come back looking for it.”
She felt tears building behind her eyes. She never cried. Not ever.
“Katie?”
“He loved that fiddle. Not a day went by he didn’t open the case and take it out. I know he knew I had it. I know he knew. He could have come for it. He could have come back for—” Emotion choked off the word that would have come next. Me.
She hadn’t taken the fiddle because she wanted to play it nor because she wanted it for herself. In her desperation she’d taken it out of fear she’d never see him again. Stealing his fiddle meant he would come back.
But he never did. His utter silence after Eimear’s death, his willingness to give her away to a stern-faced housekeeper, had hurt. But knowing not even his beloved fiddle could make him come back and see her again had broken her utterly.
“How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“You were only a child.”
“No one was a child after The Famine.” Her lungs squeezed tighter with every breath. “We were nothing but cobbled-together pieces of the children we once were.”
Rather than pull away, he’d begun rubbing her hand between his. “I suspect, Katie, there’s a great deal you hold inside from that time.”
“Too much,” she whispered.
One of his arms slid around her shoulders and pulled her close once more. Katie melted against him, welcoming his warmth and his embrace. She’d expected him to toss her out upon hearing she was no better than a thief. Instead, she was offered comfort. She’d received no embrace, no comforting touch after the fire, nor on any of the long and miserable nights they passed in cold and hunger afterward. Neither of her parents spoke a word to her in the days after Eimear’s death.
“I mean to give my father back his fiddle someday.”
“I’ve a feeling,” Tavish said, “he’d be far more grateful at having his daughter nearby than his fiddle.”
“I want him to be.” She made the confession quietly, almost afraid to speak her misgivings out loud. “I want him to see I’m not the selfish person I was then.”
Tavish kept his arm around her, rubbing her arm with his hand. “There’s not a soul on earth who would think you selfish.”
Selfishness was her besetting flaw, the part of herself she’d worked hardest to overcome. ’Twas that shortcoming that had led to the worst mistakes in her life.
“I can see you think I’ve no idea what I’m saying.” He turned the tiniest bit, enough to look more directly at her. “Let me give you my list, then. You talked Joseph into paying a bit of your salary to Ian and Biddy for watching his girls, knowing they could use an extra dollar or two. I suspect you’re the one who works magic with Emma Archer’s hair every Sunday.”
She looked up at him. “You noticed that?”
He smiled. “She’s so proud of her fanciness. I think the whole town’s noticed how she’s brightened up over it.”
Katie’s heart warmed at the thought. “Sweet Emma. I wish I could do more for her.”
Tavish tipped his head, eyeing her a bit pointedly. “That’s not the wish of a selfish person, Katie.”
“Well, I do try not to be.” She could even smile a little. “But you’re talking of little things. Tiny bits of kindness don’t make up for an all-consuming flaw.”
He watched her, his brow creased as though sorting out a great mystery. “You truly think of yourself as selfish?”
“I know the things I’ve done and the person I’ve been.” So many pieces of her past told her what she was.
He touched his hand lightly to her face. “And you need your father to tell you otherwise?”
“I hurt him, Tavish.” Pain and regret sat heavy on her heart. She’d wronged her father in many ways, cost him so very much. “I need to know that he sees a change in me.”
“My Sweet Katie, you’ve a far more tender heart than you let on when first we met.”
That was the truth and no denying. She’d kept a lot about herself hidden for years. ’Twas safer, easier that way. “I might turn that around and say you are a vast deal less obnoxious than you let on when first we met.”
She felt him chuckle. “Seems we’ve been a good influence on each other,” he said. “Maybe if I’m a very good boy, you’ll come sit in the straw with me every Saturday.”
“Anyone hearing you say that who didn’t know just what you meant might think we were misbehaving.”
He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “You mean like gazing into each other’s eyes and whispering sweet nothings to each other?”
She smiled. “You’ve been threatening to do that for some time now.”
“Not threatening. Promising.” He lightly touched the tips of his fingers to the underside of her chin, tipping her face up toward him once more. “You know something, Katie Macauley? I love that smile of yours. ’Twas well worth waiting to see it, you know.”
His thumb brushed just below her lip. She closed her eyes, aware of nothing beyond the tiniest whisper of his touch. Her pulse pounded a rhythm she felt through every inch of her.
If she’d wondered before whether or not her heart was in jeopardy, she knew in that moment it was in very real danger.
“I think I’d best be heading back to the Archers’,” she whispered with some effort.
His thumb stilled but remained lightly touching her. The briefest of moments passed before he answered. “That is probably wise.”
His hand fell away from her face. Katie kept her eyes closed, hoping her heart would slow again. She felt him move on the straw next to her and his arm aro
und her shoulder fell away. With him no longer touching her, Katie could regain control of herself.
She opened her eyes and glanced warily up at him.
“I do know how to behave, I assure you,” he said with a small smile. “Come, then.” He took hold of her hand as he stood, bringing her to her feet with him.
He released her hand as soon as she stood. Katie felt more than a little relief at that. She’d likely have gone too weak in the knees to stand if he’d kept as close to her as he’d been.
“I’ll walk with you back to Archer’s,” he said.
“Are you afraid I’ll lose my way?” Her attempt to lighten the conversation felt forced even to her own ears.
Tavish grabbed the lantern as they passed it. “No. I think it’s a good thing for the cow to see I have other females in my life besides her.”
“Cows do have a tendency to become far too full of their own importance.” The ridiculous topic helped release her tension. How she’d needed him again and again the past years to lighten her burden when it grew too heavy to bear.
“Ah, there it is again. I have sorely missed that since I last saw you,” Tavish said, pulling the barn door closed behind them.
“Talk of cows?”
He chuckled. “No. That rare smile of yours. ’Tis a sight, I’ll tell you that. And I mean to see to it you pull it out often.”
“I’d be greatly appreciative if you did.”
“Well, then, how about I strike a deal with you, Sweet Katie. Since you were good enough to share something of your history with me, as we spend our walk to the Archers’, you feel free to ask me a few prying questions. We’ll even up the tally that way.”
“Prying questions, you say.” Katie thought on it a moment. “Do you prefer your soda bread in farls or loaves?”
His eyes darted in her direction, amusement and confusion in his expression. “I have no idea.”
She’d wondered if he would know that term. “Did your mother cook it for you in triangles or circles?”
“Triangles.”
Interesting that farls were the preferred style in Ulster. “Are you from Ulster, then?”
“Aye. County Antrim. We’d a farm not far from Larne. Out in the countryside.”
Memories flowed over her fast and thick. “There’s nothing quite like the Irish countryside. We had shades of green there I don’t think even exist here.”
“If there are shades of green here that aren’t actually shades of brown, I’d be very much surprised.”
He did have a way of bringing out her smile. She’d nearly put back the emotions that had grasped her while reliving that terrible fire. “I think I heard your family’s been here in Wyoming ten years.”
He nodded. “And eight years in New York City before that.”
Eighteen years, then, since they left Ireland. “Was Finbarr born in America?”
“That he was.”
Thoughts of Finbarr turned her curiosity another direction, to a very quick conversation she’d had with the boy during her one and only trip into town. “I heard you had a sweetheart many years ago, that she was taken by the same fever as the late Mrs. Archer.”
His expression grew noticeably strained. “Many people died of that fever. It was a bad time for Hope Springs.”
They kept walking, but Tavish didn’t speak more. She’d never seen him close off so quickly and so entirely. Clearly his memories of his lost love still weighed on him, much like her memories of Eimear and father and the fire.
Katie slipped her hand in his and walked at his side. She knew the pain of loss and loneliness. There’d be no pressing him for further discussion, no adding to his weight. She simply walked with his hand in hers, grateful they had each other’s company on a night that had unexpectedly held difficult topics and confessions.
She had little experience with such things, but she began to suspect this was exactly what it meant to have people in one’s life who cared about each other. They talked through burdens and walked at each other’s side. ’Twas something she knew in that moment she wanted very much indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I’ve such a problem, Biddy, you’ve no idea.” Katie slumped onto the bench of the wagon beside her friend. ’Twasn’t the most elegant of hellos.
Biddy set the horse in motion. “Tell me about this terrible problem of yours.”
For a woman who never told another soul about things even as small as a sore throat or a poor night’s sleep, she’d become a regular budget spiller.
“I think I’m falling in love.”
Biddy, the troublesome creature, smiled as though she’d been told the funniest of stories.
“There is nothing funny about love, Biddy O’Connor.”
“I’m not laughing at the idea of love. I’m laughing at you.”
Troublesome, troublesome, troublesome. Why, then, did Biddy’s words trigger a smile inside? Of course, she’d no intention of letting Biddy see that smile until she’d ribbed her a bit. “A fine friend you are, laughing at my pain. Would you care to say now that my bread is dry and Donegal is the lowliest of counties? Or did you mean to save those stabs for a bit later?”
Biddy frowned dramatically. “A terrible friend I am. And yet, I’ll not apologize for laughing at you. ‘I’m falling in love,’ you say, as though you’re making a grand revelation.” Biddy clicked her tongue. “You’ve been treading that path for a while now.”
The wagon rolled over the bridge leading to the Irish Road.
“But I didn’t tell you the whole of it. I’m falling in love with two men. At the same time, Biddy.”
Biddy nodded. Katie did not believe her friend, for all her confidence in her observations, had realized that bit of Katie’s dilemma.
“Joseph and Tavish, am I right?” Biddy spoke far too calm for one who’d been brought into the confidences of a very confused woman.
“How did you know?” She could imagine few things worse in such a situation than everyone and their barn rats knowing the state of her heart.
“Little things.” Biddy shrugged a shoulder. “A bit too much curiosity when Joseph’s name comes up. The way the tension in your shoulders relaxes when Tavish sits near you.” She pulled the wagon to a stop at the very first house. “And the fact that they’re the only bachelors you’ve spent any amount of time with since coming to town.” Biddy tapped at her head. “Quick thinking, I am.”
“Quick thinking and troublesome.”
“Go deliver your bread. We’ll discuss the mess you’re making of your heart as we go.”
Smiles and deliveries went hand in hand, but Katie had to force the latter in that moment. Just as soon as she’d climbed back onto the bench, she took up the topic again.
“What am I to do? Falling in love is not at all what I came here for.”
Biddy flicked the reins. “You can’t plan love the way you do a meal. It happens when and where it will.”
Not very considerate of it. “And what’s a woman to do when she’s served up two of those meals and isn’t sure she wants either one?”
“Is that truly what you’re debating? Truly?”
Tavish was next on Katie’s list of deliveries. Love had not only a poor sense of timing but a horrid sense of humor to go with it.
“I never meant to stay here. How can I even consider love if I’ll be gone in a few years?”
Biddy’s teasing slid away on the instant. “A difficulty, that is. I don’t think you can fully open your heart until you can open your mind to new possibilities.”
Biddy could have made a living creating new proverbs with the number she’d tossed out during that ride alone.
“Even if staying were an option—” Katie had very briefly entertained the idea in the quiet hours of the night “—what am I to do with two of them? I know enough of these things to know that’s not how it works.”
They’d reached Tavish’s tidy little house.
“Run on up, Katie. I’m certain Tavish
would be happy to help you make your mind up.”
Katie snatched up the loaf and shot Biddy a look of warning. Bared her soul, she had. Confessed her worries and feelings, she had. Might just as well have saved yourself the trouble and confessed to a mockingbird.
Tavish was not home; he never was when she made her deliveries, being a farmer with work to do. But, as was his custom, he’d left her something on the porch alongside the towel she always wrapped his loaf in. On a previous day she’d found a length of ribbon almost exactly the same shade of blue as the dress she wore to the céilí each week. This time ’twas a small bucket of plump, ripe raspberries.
’Twas no wonder she’d fallen for him. In all reality she hadn’t stood a chance. A rather underhanded thing for fate to do to her.
Biddy noticed the bucket almost the instant Katie sat in the wagon once more. “Those are prize berries you have there, Katie. Takes a fine sort of man to think of such a thing.”
“I might’ve guessed you’d cheer for Tavish.”
Biddy reached across and squeezed her hand. “No, my dear friend. I am cheering for you.”
She groaned in frustration. “Then why won’t you help me and give me a bit of advice? I don’t know anything about fancying a man or how to tell if that fancy is something more.”
They rolled on down the road, a weekly occurrence for them. The ever-present Wyoming wind sent swirls of dust on ahead. Katie had come to relate to the tiny dust devils, all turned about and traveling a road full of twists.
“Would you care to hear how I first knew my Ian was in love with me?”
Katie reached into her basket to pull out the next loaf. “Is that how a woman goes about deciding if she loves a man? Figuring out first if he loves her?”
“Saints, no. It does help a wee bit knowing where a man stands. But in the end, you love whom you love.”
Biddy drove along, quite at ease with handling the horse and wagon. How long, Katie wondered, did learning such a thing take? She’d very much like to be able to drive herself.
“Tell me about Ian.”
A fond and affectionate smile immediately crossed Biddy’s face. “We worked at the same factory in New York, but at different times of the day. He arrived in the dark of morning and left early in the evening. I arrived near noon and left in the dark of night.
Longing for Home: A Proper Romance Page 23
