Deirdre's True Desire

by Heather McCorkle

  Cat bumped Deirdre’s shoulder. “Clearly, you’re interested in the man, and he in you. You never know if he could be the true love you’ve been hoping for all your life, so why not encourage him and find out?”

  The road ahead captivated her, or so she made herself believe so she wouldn’t look back at Kinan again. The packed dirt framed by wood fencing on both sides stretched toward the horizon, beckoning as if pulling her to the future. But all she wanted to do was go back to Kinan. Therein lay the problem: it would be going backward. Wouldn’t it?

  “Because he isn’t right for me. Men of means care about societal expectations and appearances. And as you know, I have”—Deirdre paused, looking around, despite the fact that they were alone on the road—“a secret that high society would never accept if they knew.”

  Sadie laid a hand on hers. “Woman, you are a fool if you spurn the advances of that man. He’s tall, handsome, fit as a fiddle, and kind to boot. And you don’t know if he’ll judge you like your husband did until you tell him the truth. I’m not saying tell him now, but if you explore a courtship with him and he seems to be the one, you could always tell him before an offer of marriage.”

  When Deirdre remained silent for a long time, Sadie let out a snort. “And, child, the courtship alone could be worth it.”

  Mouth dropping open, Deirdre turned wide eyes to her friend. “Did you just snort at me?”

  All three women erupted into a fit of giggles. The occasional snort from Sadie made the horses toss their heads and trot along on a tight rein, which only made the women laugh harder. The sound of that laughter melted Deirdre’s troubles away. She had missed the sound, the feeling, more than she had admitted to herself. They could pester her about men all they wanted. It was worth it to be all together again.

  When the laughter passed and they snuggled beneath the blanket, sharing one another’s warmth, Deirdre’s mind turned to serious matters. The chill in the air served as a reminder that the year was swiftly getting away from them. In the trees alongside the road sat the little black-and-white birds that meant snow was coming soon. At least that’s what they meant in New York. Here, Deirdre wasn’t so sure. They looked like the same birds.

  “When does the first snow come here?” she asked.

  Sadie pulled the blanket up a bit higher, as if the very question made the air chillier.

  “Rick says it doesn’t usually snow down here so close to the coast, but the hills and mountains start to turn white by November,” Cat said.

  “’Tis a bit of a shame. I think I shall miss it a bit after the winters of New York,” Deirdre said.

  Sadie shook her bonnet-encased head—fur lined, at that. “Not me, not one iota,” she said.

  “But, in essence, that means we could build all the way through until the deadline,” Cat said.

  The news didn’t encourage Deirdre. “Only if we can get the materials we need. Cat, you said Ainsworth has most people too scared to sell to us. Which means we need to get our materials by other methods,” she mused aloud.

  Lips pursed, Sadie nodded. “Is there anyone with timber on their land they might sell to us?” she asked.

  Cat shook her head. “Sadly, no. Rick and I tried that. The only one is a gentleman up north, but the trees are juniper and his farm is two days away.”

  “Are juniper trees not adequate?” Sadie asked.

  “No. While many are straight enough, the trunks are almost always twisted. They dull a saw in no time at all, and become even harder to cut once they’re dead,” Cat explained.

  Deirdre remembered the short, twisted trees from Nevada. “And they’re generally quite short, aren’t they? Nothing tall enough for wall supports and trusses.”

  “Aye,” Cat confirmed.

  “What about any other nearby towns?” Sadie asked.

  Again, Cat shook her head. “The closest one is two days’ travel away, and they’re on the coast with hardly a tree tall enough to speak of.”

  Discouraged, Deirdre let the conversation fall to a description of the shops in Goldenvale and the people who ran them. By the time they rolled into town, the warmth of the sun had reduced the sparkling frost covering everything to dew. The speed with which it had warmed up reminded Deirdre of the high desert of Nevada. On the other hand, the welcome moisture made it quite different. Fluffy gray clouds fleeing toward the brightening horizon suggested a beautiful, dry day was on the way. White clouds of smoke curled up from most of the chimneys, filling the air with the pleasant scent of hearth fires.

  Many of the homes were grand Victorian-style architecture with long, fence-lined roads leading up to them. Still, the town managed to feel quaint in comparison to New York. Deirdre liked that. At the first crossroad, smaller homes gave way to merchant buildings proclaiming they sold all types of goods from crockery to candles. Many luxuries were available as well as necessities. Such a mixture meant there was plenty of money in the town.

  “Where do the prominent ladies take their morning tea? We’re going to need to get to know the locals to see who to invite to your engagement party,” Deirdre asked.

  The strangled look on Cat’s face made Deirdre worry for a moment that her friend may have swallowed her tongue. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Deirdre. People in this town are far too cautious of Ainsworth to associate with us. I’m perfectly happy with a small engagement party of Rick’s friends and family and my own,” Cat said after a moment.

  Pulling the reins in a bit to slow the horses, Deirdre fixed her with an innocent look. “O’ course, I only want to chat about our plans over the best tea in town. I have no intention of soliciting anyone to attend,” she said.

  “All right,” Cat said, tone filled with suspicion. “Take the upcoming left, then the second right. Fran’s Teahouse will be the third shop on the right. There’s room for the carriage across the street.”

  Deirdre lifted her chin. “Oh, that’s an unfortunate name.”

  “Deirdre!” Sadie exclaimed.

  “What? I can’t help but think of Fran the shrew from the Widows of the 69th, and how she used to heckle us all the time.”

  Groaning, Cat shivered. “Aye, she was terrible jealous of me marrying Michael, the fool.”

  “Fran is a fine name, and this Fran may be a nice, upstanding lady,” Sadie argued.

  Cat cast a thoughtful look at the road before them. “No, this one’s a mean shrew, too.”

  She and Deirdre exchanged a knowing look and a nod. Maroon mittens going up in the air, Sadie groaned. “Heaven help me now that we got the old Cat back. You two are going to run me ragged.” She hugged Cat tight. “And it will be worth every moment.”

  An arm going around Cat, Deirdre hugged her from the other side. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “On which part?” Sadie asked through a smirk.

  Laughter bubbled from Deirdre. “All of it!”

  The clap of other hooves filled the street they turned down. Buildings of wood and occasionally brick rose up on both sides of the street. Many were two stories, with a balcony wrapped around the second story. Wagons and horses alike came and went on the street, their wheels and hooves stirring up the barest hint of dust. The damp left over from the melted frost helped, but it was clear in a few hours the sun would dry it up. Already, the rays fell warm and heavy on Deirdre’s face and shoulders. Not enough to shrug off the blanket, but it would be soon. The morning chill lost more of its battle with each shadow the sun banished.

  With Cat’s directions, Deirdre pulled the wagon into the indicated lot. Thankfully, the large lot made it easy to pull the carriage up to a hitching post despite the other twelve wagons already parked in it. Some had teams of fine thoroughbred carriage horses of brown, black, or white, while even more had half-drafts, Suffolks, and even a team of Clydesdales. All stood half asleep in their harnesses, scarcely lifting their heads as the women’
s wagon passed by. The half-draft team pulling Deirdre’s wagon looked like lumbering chestnut-hued giants compared to the few thoroughbreds. Back in New York they’d be frowned upon, seen as working-class horses not fit to pull a lady’s carriage. Yet the mixture of horses here made it clear this town held no such beliefs. Unless, of course, not all of these carriages belonged to ladies at the teahouse.

  The social risk was unavoidable. Carriage horses would have been extra mouths to feed on the journey. Practicality had won out over fashion, and frankly, Deirdre didn’t mind. She had grown fond of the half-draft team and wouldn’t trade them in because of fashion. They settled in happily once she attached their grain bags to their halters, not giving her an ounce of trouble like her spirited team of thoroughbreds back in New York liked to do.

  Adjusting her cloak, Deirdre offered an elbow to both Cat and Sadie. “Shall we, ladies?”

  Cat smiled wide as she wrapped her arm through Deirdre’s. “We shall.”

  At the road, they paused to wait for a cart to pass. The driver tipped his hat to them. His passenger—a strapping young farm boy in overalls—leaned out to watch them as the wagon passed. A gaze filled with appreciation traveled across Deirdre first, eventually making its way over to her friends. After a long moment, he seemed to remember his manners and tipped his hat. Cheeks reddening, he turned quickly back around.

  Dry dirt ground beneath her boot heels as they started across the street. It seemed no small marvel to her that a place could be so dry in October. This time of year, the streets of New York would be a quagmire of mud and water.

  “Does Ainsworth’s influence truly reach everyone in this town?” Deirdre asked, as they stepped onto the wooden sidewalk stretching along the front of the buildings.

  A long, tired sigh eased from Cat. “Unfortunately, it does. I am afraid you will see by the end of the day.”

  Deirdre let the slightest smirk break through. “Well then, we shall just have to break that influence.”

  “That will be no easy task,” Cat said.

  “If it were easy, it would only be half as fun.”

  They remained arm in arm walking down the sidewalk, a united force to be reckoned with. Or at least that’s how Deirdre like to think the passersby would see them. Few people traveled the sidewalk and only a few more rode through the streets. Each one of them looked their way, guarded gazes filled with curiosity. A few sneered in contempt when they looked Sadie’s way, but only a few. Deirdre met each of their gazes with a smile and a nod, save for the latter. Those she pinned with a ferocious glare that had them looking anywhere but at her. Hostile or not, each person looked swiftly away, as if fearful of being noticed. Two of the men on the street only looked at her out of their peripheral vision while a third blushed and nodded to her in turn.

  The last gave her hope. While it meant the odds certainly weren’t in their favor, it was encouraging. In only a few feet, they came to an oak door with a bright blue sign hanging above it proclaiming it “Fran’s Teahouse” in white. Deirdre released Cat’s arm and opened the door wide for her and Sadie. She followed the women in and closed the door behind them. Tables topped with pristine white cloths set with lace doilies and crowned with dainty blue candles filled the room.

  Out of at least two dozen tables, only three were unoccupied. Women of every age huddled around the tables chatting or sipping tea. Strong perfume of dozens of varieties tainted the delicious scent of tea that filled the air. Dresses of every color and fabric drew Deirdre’s gaze here and there. Several of the latest styles were present, speaking of an interest in fashion despite the town’s isolation. Over-teased hair and fine hats abounded. Yes, this would be perfect.

  One head turned their direction, then another, and another. Head rising a touch, Deirdre put on her best smile and looped her arm through Cat’s again. She met the gazes that were bold enough to move across her. Each of them flitted away like skittish birds. These didn’t appear to be mean, vindictive women. They were frightened.

  A man young enough to still have a soft, babyish face breezed up to them from amid the tables. In his right hand he held a teapot, pinkie finger stuck out from the handle in a most delicate manner. His pressed black suit seemed to support a rigid posture most ladies worked years to achieve. It almost made Deirdre wonder if he hid a corset beneath those fine clothes. The thought brought a grin to her lips that the man readily returned. Unlike most, his eyes didn’t stray to her bosom. His wasn’t a look of flirtatious interest, but rather one of polite surprise—as if he hadn’t expected her to smile honestly at him. From his vest pocket poked the top of a decidedly feminine mother-of-pearl pocket watch.

  “Good morning, ladies. Welcome to Fran’s Teahouse. I am Francis, no relation to Fran, I’m afraid. Will it only be the three of you this morning?” he asked with a grin. He had the slightest French accent and a soft tone to his voice—one that got many a young man into a scuffle with those thinking lads shouldn’t be so gentle.

  Deirdre, on the other hand, believed the world could do with quite a bit more gentleness. “Thank you kindly, sir, just the three of us,” Cat answered.

  With the hand not carrying the teapot, he motioned to the table in the center of the room. “Right this way, if you please.”

  Cat’s eyes went to the table in the corner and her mouth opened. Before she could say the inevitable, Deirdre patted the back of her hand. “That will be perfect,” she said quickly.

  Eyes narrowing beneath a pinched brow, Cat stiffened, but didn’t resist as Deirdre led them through the tables. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything, either.

  In a show of impressive skill, Francis pulled each of their chairs out one-handed and scooted them in behind them without knocking the backs of their knees. The weight of every gaze in the room came to rest on them. Much of the chatter turned to whispers behind raised hands. Though Cat and Sadie squirmed and fidgeted, Deirdre grinned all the wider. This was exactly what they needed. Curiosity would always override fear. It was human nature. She would use that to her advantage.

  “Thank you,” she told Francis as he pushed her chair in. “My, that is an exquisite watch you have there.”

  He blushed ever so slightly and pulled it out for her to see. The colors shifted from pink to white as he moved it. “It was my mamma’s. Not the most masculine of watches to carry, I know, but she was ever so dear to me.”

  Oohing and aahing, Deirdre leaned closer. “Whoever said a watch needed to be masculine? ’Tis absolutely lovely and the sentiment makes it that much more stunning.”

  Moisture shone in his eyes. He blinked it away. “Thank you ever so much.”

  He took a blue handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the corners of his eyes. After a long breath, his smile returned even bigger and brighter. As he turned over three of the china teacups on the table and filled them, he chatted about the cookies, biscuits, and pastries they had available. He had a friendly, open manner that Deirdre found refreshing. She remarked upon the familiarity of his accent and found out his family had emigrated from Paris when he was a baby. He took their orders and whisked away with a promise to return quickly.

  The shocked look Cat gave her made her chuckle. “What?” she asked.

  “You are such a charmer. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Acutely aware of the eyes and ears on them, she let her voice rise a touch louder than table conversation—but only a touch. “Curiosity. People fascinate me. I love meeting new people and learning about them,” she said.

  “Aye, but you’re better at it than anyone I’ve ever met,” Cat said.

  “That’s our Deirdre,” Sadie said.

  Both Sadie’s soft tone and the way she kept her eyes on her teacup, as if something in it fascinated her, bothered Deirdre. The subdued mannerisms and rigid posture told her volumes about her friend’s discomfort. Sadly, it was a reaction she had seen all too often in Sadie due to the
scrutiny of high society in regards to she and Cat keeping company with her. Though she had not seen it for some time. It had taken her and Cat years to get the ladies of the Widows of the 69th to begrudgingly accept her among their numbers. To see her go through anything remotely like that again, after all that time and struggle, lit the flames of fury in her.

  Acutely aware of the weight of nearly all the eyes in the room, Deirdre all but announced, “So, Catriona, have you thought about the colors for your wedding? We will need to know for the upcoming engagement party.”

  Several heads turned in their direction just enough to hear better, but Deirdre pretended not to notice.

  A grin broke across Cat’s face. “Since ’tis so close to the holiday, I was thinking of emerald and white. Sadly, I don’t know of anyone in town able to take on such a task on such short notice.”

  Taking the bait she knew her friend was laying, Deirdre piped up. “That is quite all right, I have just the person in mind.”

  One of Cat’s brows pulled down. “You’ve only just arrived. Who could you possibly have in mind already?” Her tone of surprise was badly faked, but Deirdre didn’t think the women leaning in close to hear would care if they did notice.

  Deirdre leaned forward, yet kept her voice loud enough for other tables to hear easily. “Only the most sought-after designer in all of New York, Mrs. Sadie MacMurphy.” Deirdre indicated Sadie with a sweep of her hand.

  It was impossible to tell if Sadie blushed under her chocolate skin, but her wide eyes suggested she did. “Oh well…um…I’d be honored, of course, but I do not know that—”

  Deirdre laid a hand on her arm. “Do not be modest now, dear. ’Tis true after all. Cat deserves the very best. We need none other than a master dressmaker like yourself working on this project. All of New York will be watching, and Constance is eagerly awaiting the wire all about it so she can print the story in the Times.” Deirdre held her hands up and spread them out wide. “‘Head of the Widows of the 69th Weds California Gold Miner.’ They will be talking about it for years!”