Longing for Home: A Proper Romance

by Eden, Sarah M.

“You know I can’t do that, Katie.”

  Disappointment stung at her, but she hadn’t truly expected any other answer. She nodded silently and slipped from the barn. She’d come to love his little girls, and she felt at home with his family despite the difficulties with the Red Road. She would miss that when her replacement arrived. But, she told herself, she wouldn’t be far away. And living on the Irish Road would be a fine thing.

  Finbarr walked companionably with her down the road, carrying her basket wherever she needed him to without a word of complaint. Her deliveries ran quickly and smoothly.

  Things changed at the senior O’Connors’ house. Mr. O’Connor stood in his yard talking with members of the Scott, O’Donaghue, and Flynn families. Even from a distance, Katie could see they were not having a light, friendly chat.

  “Trouble, it is abrewin’.” Finbarr could certainly manage a deep, rolling brogue when he put his mind to it.

  Katie approached the group warily.

  “Seamus has a good point, O’Connor,” Mr. Scott said as Katie drew within hearing distance. “We have turned the other cheek so many times the entire road’s grown dizzy from spinning about. The Red Road crossed our bridge on Saturday. They could’ve killed your son’s horse.”

  Mr. O’Connor didn’t let that assertion stand. “Injured, perhaps. But I don’t think the animal would have been killed.”

  “I, for one, am tired of making excuses for the Reds,” Mr. Scott said. “They come after us every time. Every flare-up of this feud has been started by them.”

  “I’m asking only for patience,” Mr. O’Connor said. “We’re approaching winter too quickly to risk the kind of trouble Johnson gave us the last time we retaliated.”

  Mr. Flynn nodded along with him. “But how do we convince everyone their patience will pay off in the end?”

  Mr. O’Connor pulled Katie up next to him. He kept an arm about her shoulders. “Because, lads, we finally have one of our own who has taken the Red Road on and come out victorious. She’s shown them what we’re capable of. She’s shown them we’ve backbone enough to stand up to them. And, most important, she’s done it without getting into this feud, without warring with the other half of this town.”

  All the men watched her. Katie would have found their attention unnerving but two months ago. In that moment she simply returned their gaze, not shrinking in the least. She’d become a part of this community. She’d found a way to help.

  “If our Miss Katie can make a success of herself with the odds so stacked against her, surely the rest of us, with land of our own, with each other’s support, can as well. And we can do it without going to war.”

  While doubt still hung in their faces, Katie also saw an easing of tensions. She suspected they didn’t want to be neck deep in conflict again. Had the town ever managed to avoid that?

  “Kelly’ll make a fuss,” O’Donaghue warned.

  Katie gave them all her brightest smile. “Perhaps if I brought Seamus Kelly a fine berry tart, he’d be so terrible pleased, he’d forget all about marching on the Red Road.”

  Finbarr grinned at her, the breadbasket still in his arms. “I don’t think Tavish’s entire crop could make enough tarts to keep Seamus Kelly’s temper in check.”

  Thank the heavens for Finbarr O’Connor. Chuckles rippled through the group.

  Mrs. O’Connor waved to Katie from the porch. She pulled the O’Connors’ loaf from the basket and hurried over.

  “Good afternoon to you, Katie.”

  “And to you. I have your bread.”

  Mrs. O’Connor raised the loaf to her face and took a deep breath through her nose. “Delicious.”

  “Well, I’m not the town baker woman for nothing.”

  “Indeed not.” Mrs. O’Connor gave her a fond look. “I don’t believe anything about you being here is ‘for nothing.’”

  Katie glanced back at the men still deep in conversation up the path. “I am apparently here to save everybody. I can’t say I’m entirely confident in that. Though I fully mean to do my best, I can’t say it’s a role I’m at all suited to.”

  Mrs. O’Connor leaned against the porch post, her eyes on the men as well. “The more important the task, the more likely it is to be accomplished by one who seems too small for the burden. Big men are not the only kind that can reap a harvest, Katie.”

  “Aye, but they make shorter work of it.”

  Mrs. O’Connor nodded sagely. “But if it’s got badly, it’ll go badly.”

  Katie felt a smile return to her face and her heart. “Are we to exchange old-country proverbs, now?”

  For that she received a conspiratorial wink. “I know a great many of them, I assure you.” She motioned Katie back toward the road. “Get on with you now. I know you’ve work enough to do. Let my husband talk down the tempers. You just keep showing our people what it means to keep your shoulders back and your head up.”

  Shoulders back and head up. Life hadn’t entirely broken her yet. She could stand tall under this newest burden.

  Before she’d taken so much as a single step off the porch, a shout pulled everyone’s attention to the road.

  Ian drove his wagon at a quick clip toward the spot where the men stood. “To town, Da!” he called out. “Quick, now.”

  “What’s happened?” Mr. O’Connor hadn’t moved, but his expression showed concern.

  “A fire.”

  The words sent a chill down Katie’s spine.

  “Fire at the smithy’s. Kelly’s fit to tear the town to the ground searching for the one responsible.”

  “Reds.” Mr. Scott’s eyes hardened. “Has to be the Reds.”

  “We don’t know that.” But Mr. O’Connor seemed a bit suspicious himself.

  Ian had reached the group. “While we’re all standing here debating, Seamus is likely belting everyone in sight. Tavish is holding him back for the moment, but we all know that won’t last.”

  The men climbed in the wagon and in a trice were rushing back up the road.

  “Do you think the Reds set the fire?” Katie asked Mrs. O’Connor, still standing on the porch. She didn’t like the idea of people going about setting things aflame.

  “’Tis hard to say. Seamus Kelly’s never had a fire get out of control before. But, on the other hand, a blacksmith is always at risk of such a thing happening. On yet another hand, the Red Road is plenty mad enough just now to do something hateful.”

  “That is a great many hands.”

  “Aye.” Mrs. O’Connor nodded gravely. “And a great deal of trouble.”

  Finbarr came up the path to where they were speaking, still holding Katie’s basket. He, too, looked troubled.

  “Will Seamus Kelly really go about swinging his fists, even not knowing who might have set the fire?” Katie asked. “Not knowing if it was even done by anything other than bad luck?”

  Mrs. O’Connor nodded slowly.

  “That seems a foolish thing to do.”

  ’Twas Finbarr who answered. “But Seamus Kelly is not one who’s likely to die of wisdom.”

  Mrs. O’Connor gave him a half-hearted scold. Clearly she agreed. And more clearly, still, the lad was repeating what he’d heard said before.

  “I’ll walk with you to make the remainder of your deliveries,” Mrs. O’Connor said. “I think it’d be best if Finbarr tells Joseph what’s happened.”

  “Mr. Archer likely already knows,” Finbarr said.

  “Even so.” Mrs. O’Connor gave her youngest son a pointed look. “’Tis the beginning of more troubles, and well we know it. It’s best Joseph prepares himself.”

  Finbarr silently nodded. He set Katie’s basket on the porch steps and hurried off.

  Katie’s heart had lodged itself clear in her shoes. The beginning of more troubles. If trying to burn down a man’s business, the very means by which he fed his family, was the mere beginning of troubles, the feud was likely to grow bad indeed.

  “Is this all my fault?” she asked, despite not entirely
wanting to hear the answer.

  “No.” Mrs. O’Connor gave her an empathetic look. “This has been brewing for years. You’re only the latest excuse.”

  “And, it seems, I’m to be the saving grace as well.” They walked slowly down the path back to the road.

  “We’ve put a great weight on you, haven’t we?”

  Quite a task they’d handed her. Katie’s list of past failures sat heavy in her thoughts. She had let people down before. She’d fallen monumentally short of the mark.

  She couldn’t bear to cost these people so much.

  Shoulders back. Head high. “I only hope I don’t let you down.”

  “We’ve faith in you, Katie Macauley. You’ll not disappoint a one of us.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Why, Katie Macauley, what brings you round here?” Mrs. Claire asked the question with such an eagerly hopeful look.

  Katie was instantly glad she’d chosen to visit on her way to the céilí. The dear woman had taken a spill the week before, and Katie worried about her. “I’ve brought your bread.”

  “Ah.” Though Mrs. Claire tried to hide it, Katie saw the woman’s face fall.

  “If I’d not be bothering you,” Katie quickly added, “I’d like to visit a moment.”

  “And why would a young lady with admirers waiting for her down the lane want to sit and chat with an old woman?”

  Katie could hear the loneliness behind Mrs. Claire’s words. “For one thing, I love hearing you talk of the old country, but you’re never given a chance at the céilís. Too many people there who’re fond of hearing their own selves speak.”

  Mrs. Claire smiled at that. “That’s true as the day is long.” She pulled the door open all the way. “Come in out of the wind, dear. I’ll not turn away a visitor, especially one who’s not coming out o’ pity.”

  “Pity?” Katie offered a very overdone scoff as she stepped inside. “You’re a customer. I’m here out of pure greed.”

  Mrs. Claire’s laugh did Katie’s heart good. Mrs. Claire looked pale and worn and older than she had before. Katie hated seeing it.

  “I don’t suppose you mean ever to tell me who it is that’s paying for my bread three times a week.” Mrs. Claire had been attempting to force the information from Katie from the first loaf she’d delivered.

  “Not a chance of it.” Katie set her fiddle case down near the door and looked about. “Shall I put your loaf by the stove?”

  “Aye. That’ll do.” Mrs. Claire shuffled, cane in hand. She lowered herself into an old rocking chair. A cool breeze came in through the slightly open window, as did the not-too-distant sounds of the céilí.

  Mrs. Claire hadn’t a proper kitchen like the Archers but something of a lean-to attached at the far end of the house. Katie’s heart sank at what she saw there. Dishes sat awaiting a good washing. The narrow table needed cleaning. ’Twas not the months of neglect she’d first come across at the Archer home, but rather the week Mrs. Claire had spent since her fall unable to see to her own housekeeping.

  “Just set the loaf down wherever you find a spot,” Mrs. Claire instructed from her chair by the window. “I’ll not keep you longer than need be.”

  “Oh, I’m not in any hurry.” Indeed, Katie meant to stay until she had things straightened a bit.

  “You can’t tell me you aren’t anxious to spend the evening with Tavish, now.”

  “’Twould do him good to wonder why I’m not rushing to his side. The man doesn’t exactly rush to mine, I’ll have you know.”

  Mrs. Claire nodded as she rocked. “Far too sure of his welcome, I’ll wager. He’s never had trouble catching the lasses’ eyes, you know.”

  “Oh. I know it well enough. Handsome and charming and quick with the sweet words. He knows just exactly how to make himself agreeable.”

  “Someday, though, some sweet colleen’ll have him wrapped about her finger, and he’ll not quite know how to win her over. She’ll expect more than a twinkling eye and a roguish smile when they happen to be together.” Mrs. Claire’s smile spoke of fondness and humor. “He’ll have to make quite an effort then.”

  Speaking of efforts, Katie needed to find a way of cleaning Mrs. Claire’s home up a bit without offending the dear woman. Her eyes fell on a tin of Pratt and Montgomery Tea—anyone from Belfast would recognize the tin immediately—and an idea struck.

  “How in heaven’s name did you come across this?” She held the tin up for Mrs. Claire to see. “I’ve not seen Pratt and Montgomery Tea since leaving Ireland.”

  “M’ daughter lives in Belfast. She sent me the tea for my last birthday, she did.”

  “A fine gift, that.” Katie set the tin back but straightened a few things around it as she did. “Your daughter lives in Belfast, does she? In which part?”

  Katie kept Mrs. Claire talking. She asked questions about her daughter and grandchildren. She even shared stories of her own time in Belfast. And she worked as they visited. She washed the dishes and cleared the table.

  Just as Katie reached for the broom, a knock sounded at the door. “Who might that be?”

  “’Tis Tavish. I can see him standing at the door.” Mrs. Claire watched through the window. “He’s waving to me. Do you think we should let him in?”

  Katie found herself firmly in the mood for a bit of teasing. She crossed to the doorway and sent a grin in Mrs. Claire’s direction. “Who are you knockin’ on the door?” she asked in her most foreboding voice.

  “Katie?” Tavish sounded surprised.

  “You don’t sound like a ‘Katie’ to me,” she called back. “You sound like an unrepentant mischief maker.”

  Mrs. Claire’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. The woman looked twenty years younger in that moment.

  “If you don’t let me in, dear,” Tavish said, “I’ll show you just how much mischief I can make.”

  Katie could see Mrs. Claire was enjoying this as much as she.

  “I assure you, I’m quaking in my boots at that threat,” Katie said through the door.

  Tavish appeared at the open window in the next moment. He raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Claire sitting there. “I’ve a feeling you’re encouraging her, Granny.”

  “I’m only agreein’ with her. Takes some work to be afraid of a lad who calls himself ‘Katie.’”

  Tavish shook his head. “I’m beginning to think introducing the two of you was not the wisest thing I ever did.”

  Mrs. Claire exchanged a knowing look with Katie. “’Tis good when a man can admit he’s not very bright.”

  Katie pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to hold back a laugh. Mrs. Claire didn’t bother keeping her amusement hidden.

  “The two of you together are trouble, and no denying it.”

  Katie moved to the window. “Good evening there, Mr. Katie.”

  He shook his head, smiling at her. “You gonna let me in, darlin’?”

  “Keep calling me darlin’ and I just might.”

  Tavish shifted so he looked directly through the window at her. “Open the door, Sweet Katie.”

  She shrugged and glanced at Mrs. Claire. “What say you? Should we let him in out of the wind? Or should we leave him there to ponder just how to sweeten us up a bit more?”

  “I suppose we’d best let him in.” Mrs. Claire sighed as if terribly put upon. “He’s such a wee little thing, he’s like to blow away with the slightest gust.”

  “And that would be a full tragedy, it would,” Katie said dryly.

  Tavish dropped his head into his hands. Katie and Mrs. Claire laughed.

  “The door’s not locked,” Katie said. “Let your own self in.”

  In the next instant, Tavish stepped inside, eyeing them both warily. “Are the two of you through teasing me, then?”

  “I make no promises,” Katie answered.

  Tavish leaned down and kissed Mrs. Claire on the cheek. “How is life treating you today, Granny?”

  Mrs. Claire patted his face. “Better and b
etter.”

  “Precisely how I’d feel if Katie were spending an evening with me.” Tavish winked.

  Katie felt her face flush.

  Mrs. Claire began rocking again. “And how would you feel if she talked your ear off, hoping to distract you while she slyly set herself to cleaning your house?”

  “I wasn’t fooling you, then?” Katie should have known.

  “’Twasn’t yesterday I was born.”

  Katie moved back toward the kitchen. “I’ll just sweep up, then, and not worry about finding a way to keep you from noticing.”

  “I shouldn’t let you.” Mrs. Claire shook her head. “But pride is only friend to a fool.”

  Katie took up the broom and set to work once more.

  “Seems Katie and I are thinking alike,” Tavish said to Mrs. Claire. “I stopped in to see if I could chop you some wood. Looks like rain again tonight, and the air might grow chill.”

  Mrs. Claire’s shoulders drooped a bit. “Growing old is a hard thing, it is.”

  “Aye,” Tavish said, “but ’tis a difficulty too many are denied the privilege of enduring.”

  That perked her up a bit. “Keep your philosophizin’ to yourself, Tavish O’Connor, and get to work on that firewood.”

  He passed Katie on his way to the back door. He tipped a crooked smile at her. “And how have you been?”

  She swept as she spoke. “Busy I’ve been. Busy and worn. But it’s best to leave the bad tale where you found it, so I’ll not stretch it far and wide.”

  “But you’re well?” he pressed. “And no one’s threatened you or made trouble?”

  She shook her head. “No more than usual. I’m watched all the time. And the Red Road comes by the house often to ask Joseph how much longer I’ll be overstepping my rightful boundary.”

  “And you’re not leaving Joseph’s property alone?”

  “No.” Though Katie rarely had reason to leave the Archer farm, she did, at times, feel as though she were imprisoned by its boundaries. There was some safety to be found there, but she was chafing under the limits of it. “Has anyone yet solved the mystery of that small fire at the blacksmith shop?”

  Tavish leaned against the frame of the closed door in the makeshift kitchen. “It’s impossible to tell if the fire was set intentionally or merely a bit of bad luck. Far too many of our countrymen are determined to believe it deliberate and to exact some form of revenge.”