Tears filled her eyes. She was beginning to realize that almost everything she thought she’d known about Aidan had been wrong. She hadn’t known him at all. “And now we’re home?”
“Not quite yet. But close enough.”
Outside, late summer rain began falling, and under a roof ten thousand miles from the land of their birth, Farrell O’Rourke fell asleep in her husband’s arms.
* * *
Early the next afternoon, Farrell was standing in the kitchen making soda bread for dinner. It was her third try. Although she was thrilled to have a stove to cook on, getting used to it was another matter. The first loaf turned out with a golden crust but a gooey middle. The second was as charred and black as a cannon ball.
Ordinarily, she would have felt a grinding guilt over wasting the flour and buttermilk. In Ireland, they would have eaten that bread, burned or raw, no matter what. But today she felt only a twinge of remorse over the lost food, hummed to herself, and thought about the night she had spent with Aidan. They had dozed and awakened to make love until dawn. He’d done things to her that should have embarrassed her just to remember them, but the images that moved sweetly through her mind didn’t bother her either. She hummed on, forming the soft dough into a dome-shaped loaf.
Just as she slid the bread into the oven, Aidan came through the back door.
“I’ve got some grand news,” he said. She could see he was excited—his blue eyes shone like dark stars and he was grinning from ear to ear. He looked different to her today. More rested, she thought, even though he hadn’t slept much. She wiped her hands on her apron. “What is it? Did ye find us a good parcel of land?”
“Even better. I met with Dr. McLoughlin, and he knows of a man who’s looking to sell his sawmill. It comes with property and a house already built.”
“Sawmill—whatever is that?”
He went to the stove and shook the empty coffeepot. “You know, it’s where they make trees into lumber for buildings or crates or, well, lots of different things.”
She went to the hutch and took down the teapot and tea cannister. “But I thought we were going to farm. That’s what we talked about. That’s why we came here. For the free acreage.”
“I know. But if we farm, we’ll probably have to clear the land and build a log cabin and live with dirt floors again. It will take months and months. The sawmill and the house already exist. All we have to do is move in.”
She paused in her spooning of tea into the pot. “Well, it’s not free, is it? Where will you get the money to pay for it?” She waved the spoon at him, as a thought occurred to her. “Oh, no. You’d better not be planning what I think you’re planning,” she warned.
“And what would that be?”
“You’re going to get into another card game. Aidan, ye can’t. You just can’t risk what little we have on such foolishness.”
He shook his head. “No, no, lass, you’ve got it all wrong. The owner—his name is Geoffrey Brother—his wife died recently, and he has no other family out here. He wants to go back to Ohio, where he came from. Dr. McLoughlin confided that he thinks the man has a broken heart and will just pine away.”
“So he’s giving you the property? Really, Aidan, I’m smarter than that.” She poured boiling water from the kettle over the leaves and put the lid back on the teapot. She didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but all these months she’d believed she’d finally get a chance to connect with the earth again. To grow good crops and not have to worry about giving up the harvest to pay the rent. Now Aidan had come home and thrown the plan out the window.
“Of course he’s not giving it to me. But he’s been successful and he’s not hurting for money. He’s willing to carry a contract. We’ll send the payments to him in Ohio.”
“Do you know anything about sawing logs, or sawmilling, or whatever it’s called?”
“No, but Mr. Brother has a work crew that will stay on. He can give me the details before he leaves and I can learn the rest on my own.”
She leaned a hip against the kitchen table. “Aidan, this isn’t what we planned at all. You were so eager to work the soil, to see your own vast acres under plow.”
“I’ll plant your kitchen garden, Farrell, don’t worry about that. But this is better than farming, and your life will be easier as a businessman’s wife than a farmer’s, a ghrá.”
“You might not think I’m so ‘darling’ if this doesn’t go well. We’ve been through so much already.”
He came to her and took her upper arms in his hands. “Ye trust me, don’t you?” He kissed both cheeks. “You did last night.”
His comment made a flush creep up the front of her throat and over her face. She nodded. “Aye, I trust you.”
He arched a dark brow at her. “Can ye say it as if you mean it, then?”
“Didn’t I follow you all these months and miles, because I believed in you?”
“Is that why you came?” He looked very pleased.
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“All right, then. We’re to have supper tonight with Mr. Brother at his house. It will give you a chance to see the place.”
“Supper tonight?” She cast a regretful glance at the oven where the soda bread was baking. “I guess I’d better see what I have to wear.” She untied her apron and left the kitchen, wondering what in the world was in store for them now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aidan looked at the machinery inside the mill with awe and a little intimidation. A creek-fed water wheel supplied the power to cut logs with a system of belts, gears, saws, and terms that were as foreign to him as anything he’d heard yet. Geoffrey Brother referred to a host of people and animals—mule, dog, Swede, donkey, bear fighter—but Aidan saw no individual or animal anywhere. The place smelled of grease and fresh-cut green wood, not an unpleasant combination.
“In the summer we run the mill twelve hours a day, from five-thirty to five-thirty,” Brother told him over the racket of the machinery. “I’ve got a small crew, about seven men, and though I’m not a wealthy man, I’ve done well enough.”
Aidan nodded, following him through the noisy place.
Suddenly a bell rang out, loud enough to be heard over the din of everything else. “It’s quitting time,” Brother added, looking at his pocket watch and then at the mill foreman manning the bell. “Let’s go on, then. We’ve left Mrs. O’Rourke on her own long enough.”
Farrell had remained in the house to be served a cup of tea by the housekeeper. Accustomed to hard work and lots of it, Farrell had never been waited upon until she’d arrived in America. Mr. Brother also employed a cook, and one of the mill workers who did odd jobs around the business maintained the house’s yard as well.
This was a beautiful home, a huge home, with a lush green lawn that sloped down to the Willamette River. The view from the parlor window offered not only an unbroken vista of the water, but the massive forest of trees on the other side. As Farrell watched, a slow-moving barge floated by and ducks waddled around on the grass. It was peaceful and yet majestic.
After remarking so to Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, the Farrell was told, “Oh, yes, the late missus loved this place. She chose the furniture and decorated the rooms herself. I can’t believe she’s been gone almost a year.” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Please forgive me—she was so dear to me and she leaves a great gap with her passing.”
From what Farrell could gather, Ann Brother had died suddenly, perhaps from apoplexy. At least that was what her doctor had said. Mrs. Hill made a noise of disgust. “Doctors! You can’t believe a single one of them. If they don’t know what’s wrong with a body, they just make up something that sounds important so they’ll sound important. Miss Ann was barely thirty-five years old—apoplexy is an old woman’s ailment.”
At last the weepy servant returned to her kitchen and Farrell was left to investigate the parlor while the men toured the mill. She was afraid to sit anywhere, afraid to touch anything. She’d
never seen such a wondrous place from the inside, except for Greensward Manor. And she’d been so miserable there, she’d barely taken note of her surroundings.
A lovely patterned carpet had a place of honor at the center of the room, and the furnishings, artfully arranged, were of good quality. Although she had no real experience with such matters, Farrell had no trouble telling the difference between these finely-finished, well-tended pieces, and the few serviceable but crude ones they’d had back home.
A pianoforte stood against one wall, a magnificent thing that she stared at in wonder. She’d heard of the instrument, but never seen one. They were expensive, and only a wealthy few could afford them.
And books, one wall was line with bookcases, filled with different colored volumes of various sizes. Pride and Prejudice, Ivanhoe, Lives of the Poets, The Pilgrim’s Progress—she was not familiar with the titles but she was curious. She was also grateful that her mother had taught the village children to read so that now the titles on the book spines were more than just a jumble of symbols.
For a moment, just for a single moment, she imagined sitting in this room in the evenings, a crackling fire burning on the hearth, while she and Aidan sat here reading and talking and drinking tea from flowered china cups that had no chips in them. It was an enchanting daydream.
But she could just as easily imagine a house such as the one they were now renting, with a kitchen to cook a big meal for her hungry man, who’d spent his days in the fields, making things grow, tending animals, and building fences. They could still read and chat in the evenings—books were not only for the wealthy. That image was every bit as appealing. More so, in fact.
Just as she put a finger on the top of a book to pull it from the shelf, she heard male voices in the hall and jumped back, feeling like a guilty child.
“Ah, Mrs. O’Rourke. Please forgive us for leaving you alone so long,” Mr. Brother said, standing in the parlor doorway. His face clouded when he added, “I hope you haven’t been too bored while I showed your husband the mill. I’m sorry that there is no hostess to entertain you.” Aidan had told her that he was about forty, but he was as gray in the face and hair as a much older man. Perhaps his wife’s death had aged him.
“Not to worry, sir. I’ve been enjoying the view from your window. It’s most pleasant.” She gestured lightly about the room. “As is your home.”
She caught a glance from Aidan, who stood behind Brother and seemed very pleased by her comments.
“Thank you, madam. I believe Cook is about to serve our supper. Shall we retire to the dining room?” He held out his arm to her and she joined him, with Aidan on her other side.
A dining room in a house, she thought. A room in a house that was used solely for eating. It was a staggering notion.
Supper consisted of baked salmon, potatoes, and garden vegetables, accompanied by wine. For dessert, they enjoyed a tasty, moist cake and coffee, served in dainty cups, just as Farrell had been envisioning earlier. Having come from a place where even bread was a delicacy and sugar a rare treat, she had to resist the temptation to lick the crumbs from between the tines of her fork. Glancing frequently at their host, she could scarce believe that anyone could have so much and consider leaving it behind.
During the meal, the conversation shifted from the mill itself to Mr. Brother’s plans. “I came out here from Ohio as a young man and worked for the Hudson’s Bay Company. I met Mrs. Brother at church and was instantly smitten. Although she was quite young, we were married three months later and had fifteen wonderful years. Unfortunately, we had no children and I have no real ties here now that she’s gone.” His voice began to quiver and he paused, apparently to collect himself. “Oregon has become my home, but I’d rather spend my last years in the company of my family. I have brothers and sisters still in Ohio. I’ll be going by boat around the Horn and it’s a long journey, so I must get my affairs settled here soon.” Farrell thought she’d never seen a man so grief-stricken. He wasn’t that old but sounded as though he’d come to the end of his life.
He turned to Aidan. “Dr. McLoughlin speaks well of you. He tells me you’re an ambitious young man, eager to make his mark in the world. I’d much rather have the mill go to someone like you than a man who would just see this as another addition to his holdings.”
Aidan cast a sidelong look at Farrell. “Well, sir, I do appreciate your circumstances and your consideration. But there is a matter of funds . . . ”
Brother twiddled with his dessert fork. “Yes, I understand that. I’m not a wealthy man, but I’m well-fixed enough. If you’re interested in pursuing the opportunity, let’s say that we’ll meet again tomorrow to discuss the details. The hour grows late for me and I’m sure that Mrs. O’Rourke isn’t interested in such mundane business matters.”
“Aye, of course, sir.” Aidan flicked a meaningful glance at Farrell. “My wife has plenty to do with her own concerns.” Arrangements were made for the men to talk again the following day.
Actually, Mrs. O’Rourke was very interested—after all, this would affect her life as well—but she didn’t want to contradict Aidan in front of Geoffrey Brother.
“In the meantime, I’ll draw up a list of the equipment, what I think it’s worth, and what the business itself is worth.”
Brother saw them to the front door, the two men shook hands, and goodnights were exchanged.
Walking home, Aidan could barely contain his excitement over the potential business deal, but he made an effort to rein it in. So far, he’d been unable to tell what Farrell thought of the matter.
He studied his wife’s profile in the twilight. The last light of day was very complimentary to her face, to the softly rounded cheeks and slim, well-shaped jaw line. “How did ye like the house, Farrell? Could you imagine living there?”
“Maybe. But it seems awfully lavish for just two people.”
He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and grinned. “Well, it won’t always be just the two of us. I expect we’ll be having some sons.”
She turned to look at him, a spark in her green eyes. “Oh, sons is it? And what about daughters, then? Will ye have nothing to do with them if that’s what I give you?”
His grin widened. “Of course I will. They’ll have fine bedchambers in our new house, and books, and music. I saw that pianoforte in the parlor. It’s a lady’s instrument, they say.”
“But . . . ”
He knew she wasn’t sold on the idea of the mill and the house, but he might be able to work on that. “We came here to make a better life, not just for us, but for our children. Wouldn’t ye rather see them grow up in a fine home than live one on top of the other in a little cabin? To have an easier time of it than we did?” He bent to pluck a pink wildflower from the side of the road.
“Of course I would.”
He teased her ear with the late-summer bloom. “I think we stand a good chance of giving that to them. And Mr. Brother hinted that he would probably leave behind much of the furnishings and so on. He said he didn’t want to ship them to Ohio and suffer reminders of his late wife.”
“I can surely understand that, just from the standpoint of packing up all that stuff. I wouldn’t want to do it.”
“So you’d agree to the arrangement for our children.” She nodded with only a moment’s hesitation that he could see. He stopped in his tracks and turned her toward him. “Then would ye let me do it for you, for the joy it would give me?”
“Joy?”
“Remember I told you in St. Louis that I like doing for you? Will ye let me?”
She smiled and shook her head at him. “You’re too charming for your own good by half, ye know. And mine as well.”
“That means you agree.”
“Aye, Aidan.”
He searched her pretty face and swept her into his arms. “You’re a fine woman, Farrell Kirwan O’Rourke.”
“Ah, well, I’ve a fine man for a husband.” He kissed her then, long and leisurely, stirring up memories
of their night before, which made Aidan want to step fancy for home. Instead he put her hand back in the crook of his arm and began walking again at a leisurely pace, reminding himself that even a married lass needed a wee bit of romancing. He pointed to the deepening sky.
“Have ye ever seen such a brilliant sparkle of stars? They remind me of the way your eyes shimmer in candlelight.”
Even in the dim light, he saw a blush of pleasure on her cheeks. “Aidan, this sounds like some of the blarney I used to hear about back home, the stuff that made the colleens weak in the knees. You’ll not be turning my head with that.”
He just grinned and laid his hand over hers. She could protest all she liked, but he could tell when he’d set spark to tinder.
Her slender fingers felt so small and finely made, sandwiched between his larger ones and the starched sleeve of his shirt. He brushed his thumb over the protrusion of her wrist bone and felt her shiver. His grin broadened, because by that he knew he wasn’t alone in remembering last night.
His thoughts returned to the mill and the fine life he could give her there. Her heart set on farming, Farrell was indulging him and he knew it. But as they neared the little house that was their home for now, he swore to himself that he’d make sure she never regretted it. He would win her love yet.
Even if he had to work eighteen hours a day to do it.
* * *
Noel Cardwell had never set eyes on drier, uglier terrain in all his days. Granted, in the distance he could see mountains covered with trees, but in this immediate area, on the outskirts of Sacramento, the sun had leeched the soil of moisture, and only the hardiest of scrubby bushes had managed to take root.
Yearning for the greenness of home, Noel lamented his long absence and silently cursed Aidan O’Rourke for being the cause of it. Even the peat bogs of Ireland had been more appealing to the eye than this godforsaken landscape.
The Irish Bride Page 17
