Longing for Home: A Proper Romance

by Eden, Sarah M.

  “Then why don’t you speak of the living? We can say all the unflattering things about them we want.”

  Biddy laughed at that. “Emma doesn’t speak of her mother often, but when she does, ’tis always of a lady who was sophisticated and proper. She remembers her being quite a fine lady. The rest of us, however, remember her as quite a—”

  “Pill?” Katie finished for her.

  Biddy’s face filled with mischief. “May she rest in peace.”

  “May she, indeed.” Katie kept a straight face, though she felt sore tempted to laugh.

  “You’re trouble, you are.” Biddy leaned her shoulder against Katie’s, giving her a friendly nudge. “We’d best choose a different topic, else I’ll be at my rosary all night.”

  “Aye. A living topic, I’m guessing you’re wanting.”

  Biddy tapped on her lips, eyeing Katie thoughtfully. “You know, that Tavish O’Connor, he’s quite alive, I hear.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. Then I’ll be all night at my rosary—coveting my neighbor’s brother-in-law, I’d be.”

  Biddy burst out laughing. Katie laughed along, right until the moment she realized that Tavish stood but a few feet away, watching her with a look of utter amusement on his face.

  Heat stole across her cheeks. How long had he been standing there listening to her gossip like a dairymaid? She slouched low in her chair and muttered, “Ah now, if that doesn’t just burn it all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “A pleasure seeing you as well, Sweet Katie.” Tavish shot Biddy a questioning look. Why did he get the feeling he wasn’t entirely welcome?

  “Your timing’s near about as good as an unwound pocket watch,” Biddy told him.

  “Interrupted a good gab, did I?”

  “You may well say that.” Biddy’s tone was too exaggerated to hold any actual scolding. “I’ve not seen my friend Katie since Thursday, when we drove up and down the road delivering bread at such a speed you’d think the banshee was nipping at the horse’s hooves. I’m needing a more leisurely coze just now.”

  Katie smiled at that. Tavish loved the sight of her smile. She’d seemed so irritable the first day or so that he’d known her, so quick to spit nails. He liked her fire, but he adored the moments when she softened.

  “I don’t know that those were the fastest deliveries ever made,” Katie said, “though we were a bit rushed if you go to that of it.”

  “Heavens, Katie.” Biddy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a tight, friendly squeeze. “There are times I swear you sound like Ireland herself. I can’t remember the last time I heard someone say ‘if you go to that of it.’”

  While he agreed, Tavish hadn’t come to discuss Katie’s turns of phrase. “Though I risk getting my ears boxed for interrupting again, I haven’t seen Katie in a week, I haven’t. So find some reason to give your seat over to me for a piece, would you?”

  “Would I? Would a duck swim?” Biddy tossed back.

  Katie pushed against Biddy’s shoulder with her own. “Who sounds like Ireland now?”

  Biddy stood. She gave them both a terribly conspiratorial glance. “Have a fine coze you two.” Then, as she passed him, she whispered a bit of advice. “Don’t drag your feet, Tavish. She’s beginning to wonder.”

  What did she mean by that, exactly?

  He took Biddy’s vacated seat.

  “The word around the céilí is a certain town baker woman brought a fine raspberry tart to share,” he said. “And, to hear tell, the tart is made of quite the plumpest and finest berries, which makes clear just which farm they came from.”

  “I stumbled across a basket of berries while making my deliveries, and I stole away with it before anyone could stop me.” Katie’s attempt at a devious look was entirely ruined by the smile in her beautiful brown eyes.

  Tavish settled back in the chair, at home for the first time all week. Again and again he’d cursed his early harvest schedule. He’d thought of her every single day but hadn’t a moment free to call on her. He’d had to settle with leaving the coins for her bread beside a bucket of his finest berries on the porch. She’d baked the tart with those berries, and he noticed she wore the ribbon in her hair he’d left for her at the last delivery.

  “I’ve been meaning to thank you, Katie,” he said.

  “Thank me for what?”

  “For being a friend to Biddy. Though I can’t say why, she’s not had a close friend in all the years we’ve been here. The entire family is grateful to you for that bit of kindness.”

  Katie shook her head. “You say that as though it were a great act of selflessness to accept her friendship, when I know it is not.”

  He hated the picture she carried around of herself. “You’re still convinced you’re a horrible person, then?”

  “Not horrible, only—” Her forehead scrunched in thought. “Only not as good a person as I’d like to be.”

  “Who among us is?”

  “But I’m working on it.” Katie seemed to speak as much to herself as to him. “I’ve a few things yet to do before I can feel satisfied with the person I am.”

  Things to do? He watched her closely. “Like returning your father’s fiddle?” He lowered his voice, remembering she’d spoken of that in confidence.

  Katie nodded, a heartbreaking earnestness in the gesture. What other weights did she carry in her heart?

  “I’ve a feeling it’ll mean very little to you,” Tavish said, “but even with that mark on your record, I think you’re far from being the greedy person you’re convinced you are. More important than having your father see that, you need to see that about yourself.”

  He knew the instant she decided to change the topic. Her entire expression underwent a transformation from deeply thoughtful to lighthearted. “I’ve not seen you about lately.”

  “I hope you know I’ve not been avoiding you.” He not only accepted the new direction for their gabbing but appreciated it. He wanted her to know the reason for his absence, that he wasn’t staying away on purpose or not thinking about her.

  She smiled and some of his worry lifted. He hated that he couldn’t seem to lighten her as easily as he managed with others. She needed it more than any other person he knew.

  “I may have been young when we left our farm,” she said, “but I remember what harvest time was like. You’ve likely hardly slept, let alone had time for socializing. I had my doubts you’d even come tonight.”

  “I do miss a great many céilís in July and August.” He had a feeling he’d feel that loss more acutely that season. “And I spend the fall making preserves and listening to my female relations telling me what I’m doing wrong in the undertaking, and I help my brother and brothers-in-law with harvesting their fields. Come October, I’m running deliveries all over the territory and beyond, trying to beat the snows.” He grew tired just thinking of the relentless schedule ahead of him.

  “Then ’tis little wonder your family despairs of ever seeing you married off. Sounds to me as though you haven’t time at all to be courting.”

  “Hmm.” Tavish leaned in so close he could smell the flowery scent he’d come to associate with her since their picnic by the river. Could she hear how hard his heart had begun pounding? “Is that a complaint or an invitation, Sweet Katie?” he whispered.

  Her gaze locked with his. They were near enough to each other he could see her eyes turn a touch foggy. Her expression turned nearly blank. Each breath came slow and long. If he hadn’t been entirely convinced that kissing her would undo every bit of progress he’d made at getting past her barriers, he’d have done so without wasting a single moment.

  “I’m sorry, what was your question?” Katie’s voice sounded hushed and jumbled.

  Tavish’s gaze remained on her face, though he didn’t move the slightest nor answer. He couldn’t look away from that dreamy expression she wore. He also had no idea, himself, what question he’d asked.

  A third voice jumped in. “Seems to me a
lad ought to kiss a lass when she looks at him that way.”

  Tavish nearly laughed out loud. Leave it to Granny Claire to say just that. Katie smiled despite the color creeping across her face.

  “Good evening,” she said to Granny.

  “Good evening kindly.”

  Though Tavish vaguely remembered that old country way of returning a greeting, only his granny still used it.

  He stood and helped her into the chair on Katie’s other side. Many of the chairs and benches gathered around the empty fire pit were filling. The storytelling would begin soon.

  He lightly kissed his grandmother’s wrinkled cheek. “I missed visiting with you at the céilí last week.”

  She patted his face the way one would a small child, something she’d done these many years. “A sweet half-truth, that. I’ll wager you weren’t pining for any female company but this sweet lass’s, here.” She nodded with her head in Katie’s direction.

  “Ah, but when I didn’t come to the party, Katie came to see me.”

  At Granny’s curious look, Katie rushed to clarify. “On accident.”

  Tavish laughed heartily. On accident. What a delight she was when wary and stubborn.

  “This one’ll keep you humble, Tavish, no mistakin’. A handsome man needs that in his life near about as much as anything else at all.” Granny emphasized the declaration with a firm nod. “So”—she lowered her voice to an overly loud whisper—“go sit next to her again, will you? Storytelling’s a good time for a little snuggling.”

  “Is there anything you need, Granny, before I have me a ‘little snuggling’?”

  Katie colored up adorably.

  “Get on with you.” Granny laughed and shooed him away.

  Tavish settled in once more. He grinned at Katie.

  “Watch yourself,” she warned him.

  Adorable, and no mistaking. Was it any wonder he’d missed her so much over the week since he’d seen her?

  In the midst of the circled chairs and benches, Seamus stood and spoke in a roaring voice. “Now do you know what I’m going to tell you.” A typical beginning to a very tall tale.

  The gathering hushed quickly, eager eyes turned in his direction.

  “Not many years back, a lass and a lad were wearing out their soles walking up and down the roads of . . .” He offered the crowd an overdone look of contemplation. “Bless me if I can’t bring to memory just which county they were walking about in.”

  Knowing their cue, the listeners immediately filled the air with suggestions, no doubt naming their own home counties.

  Tavish cupped his hands around his mouth and made his own enthusiastic suggestion. “Antrim!” To Katie he said in a tone of utmost seriousness, “There’s no county can equal Antrim.”

  Katie raised an eyebrow before calling out in her most carrying voice, “Donegal!”

  She must have spoken at precisely the right moment. Seamus pointed in her direction. “It was County Donegal, now I set me mind to it. Over the craggy roads of Donegal this lad and lass were walking.”

  He wove his tale in the traditional broad and expressive way.

  Katie turned to Tavish. “There’s no county can equal Donegal.”

  “Aye. Quite full of their own importance over there, they are.” He pulled his features into an overdone look of disapproval. “Nothing like the fine people of Antrim.”

  She smiled just as he hoped she would. A teasing remark, a sincere compliment, and she colored up and smiled sweetly. Finding little ways to please her was becoming a favorite pastime of his.

  He hoped Joseph Archer was wrong and that her baking would prove sufficient to support her. Otherwise, she’d likely leave. Life without Sweet Katie Macauley didn’t bear thinking about.

  Chapter Thirty

  Katie nearly doubled her bread orders over the next two weeks. She baked twice a week, alternately making her deliveries on foot or gratefully accepting Biddy’s offer to drive her about on those days when she was able.

  She knew as long as she lived she’d not forget the look on Rose McCann’s face when she delivered an iced cake for her husband’s birthday. Her eyes grew wide. Absolute joy filled her smile. The McCann children looked as though they’d been granted full access to a candy shop. Katie couldn’t remember the last time she’d brought someone happiness so easily.

  She’d also had an order for a berry tart and a loaf cake. Joseph had helped her determine the lowest price she could charge and still make a small profit. Katie struggled with charging her neighbors above her cost. She needed something to live on, but she wished she could simply give them the lower prices she paid at the mercantile. The Irish had been pushed and starved and driven from their homes enough times in the past without such cruelty following them there.

  Katie came inside after gathering vegetables from the small family garden just behind the barn late one morning to find a folded bit of paper stuffed under the kitchen door. Someone had written a word across the front, though Katie couldn’t say what the word was. She flipped it around in her hand a few times, trying to decide what she ought to do with it.

  Any note left for Joseph would have been brought to the front door. Even then, she couldn’t imagine anyone in Hope Springs communicating with him that way. They came to call when they had something to say.

  The note, she felt more and more certain as the day went on, was meant for her. She even unfolded it, despite the pointlessness of that. It wasn’t a long note. But a few lines of words.

  Who would leave a note for me? She wondered that again and again. The Irish who knew her well were full aware she couldn’t read. Perhaps one of the other families?

  But as she made her next round of deliveries, no one inquired after a note they’d left, no one seemed to be expecting anything from her. ’Twas then she began to worry a bit. If an Irishman hadn’t left the paper, then someone from the Red Road must have.

  She kept the note in her apron pocket, wondering over it as the days continued to pass. If someone from the Red side of the argument had left her a note, ’twasn’t likely to be a friendly bit of conversation. Part of her wanted to know what it said. But another part of her dreaded the knowing.

  Worse, yet, people had begun watching her. Not people she knew but strangers. Katie was acquainted with every Irish family in town. The people who’d taken to staring her down whenever she was out of doors were unfamiliar. She knew in her increasingly wary heart that these were Red Roaders keeping an eye on her and doing it in a way that left no room for doubt as to their ability to keep close track of all she did.

  Katie didn’t like it one bit.

  Tavish seldom came around to see her, almost never, in fact. She understood the absence; a farmer was quite busy during the growing and harvest months. She didn’t expect to see him, yet she found herself watching. He would read the note to her. She could have someone to talk to.

  She stood in the lingering heat of late afternoon, pulling laundry off the line. If only the town would quit pitting themselves against each other. Even with those worries, she was happier in Hope Springs than she had been since leaving home. If not for the feud, she’d not hesitate to believe she could live contentedly there until returning to Ireland. And even if the returning took years longer than she’d originally planned, the thought of a delay didn’t panic her as it once had. She actually looked forward to the promise of time spent there. Without the fighting, Hope Springs would be almost perfect.

  “I’ve heard a certain baker woman is in need of a few berries.”

  She looked up from folding the girls’ bedding. “Berries, is it?” She dropped the precisely folded sheet into her laundry basket. “I’ve not seen you in nearly a week, and it’s berries that finally bring you round?”

  Tavish set his bucket of berries down beside her basket, a look of amused surprise on his face. “I’m beginning to suspect, Sweet Katie, that you’re a touch put out with me.”

  She was, a bit. She’d seen only the tiniest glimpses
of him over the past fortnight. That he hadn’t even come to the céilí the last two weeks quieted any worries she’d had that he was avoiding her specifically. Still, she saw no reason to tell him as much. ’Twould do him good to work a bit at keeping her good opinion. She suspected he didn’t have to work hard at it where most people, most women especially, were concerned.

  “I’ve not a had a moment to myself.” His tone was apologetic enough to speak of actual regret but not so thick with it to convince her he entirely believed her show of offense. He was teasing her as he always did.

  Katie shrugged and turned back to the laundry, pulling one of Emma’s dresses from the line. “You might at least have stopped by after services yesterday and said a quick ‘Good day. Fine to see you. Must be off.’ Would it have killed you to do even that?”

  She didn’t turn back but could hear he’d come closer. “I couldn’t do that,” he said. “See, you weren’t at church, and I don’t speak to heathens on the Sabbath.”

  “That had best be a comment made in jest, Tavish O’Connor.” She sent him a look of warning over her shoulder.

  Far from appearing penitent, Tavish’s lips turned up in a lazy smile. Her heart flipped about at the sight.

  “Now why don’t you—” She stopped short, snapping her head in the direction of the not-too-distant road.

  “Katie?” Tavish sounded understandably confused.

  She motioned with her head toward the wagon slowly lumbering toward the Red side of town. The wagon’s occupants watched her as they passed.

  “I swear I can feel them looking before they even come into view,” she said, something of a shudder sliding through her. “The Red Road’s taken to staring me down when I’m out of doors. They don’t say anything, don’t truly act threatening, they just . . . watch me.”

  Tavish’s eyes were fixed on the wagon as it picked up speed just past the edge of the Archer farm. “How long have they been doing this?”