Eamon frowned as he studied the man who was closer to his brother Kevin’s age at twenty-nine, with Kevin now thirty-one. “What do you mean, Dun?”
“I understand your focus is on the lass stuck at the saloon, but her sisters are in as much danger. They must be removed from that hotel.” He paused as he stared at the men around the table, who were like family to him. “You know what Chaffee is like.”
Eamon shook his head, as Finn’s jaw ticked with anger. “That’s the problem. Finn an’ I have no idea what he’s like. If we did, we would have warned the Mortimer sisters. We would have discovered who the uncle was and would have ensured the sisters were safe before they disembarked the steamboat.”
His eldest brother, Ardan, gazed at him with patient understanding. Ten years older than Eamon, Ardan was the spitting image of their da as a younger man. Tall, broad shouldered, with thick black hair and a beard to match. His cobalt-blue eyes shone with love and determination. “Chaffee is a man with no principles, who delights in the torment of others. Especially if it brings him a profit. He was thrilled at the pain he caused Niamh by aiding Connor in writing a vindictive will.” When Eamon nodded his understanding, Ardan asked, “Where will the sisters go now? Is there room here?”
“They could have Niamh’s old room,” Cormac said. “The addition is finished at our house, and Niamh and Maura don’t need it here.”
Seamus nodded. “Aye, that would be fine. And, if there’s need of more room, you’ve rooms in your home above the café, Ardan.” Ardan nodded his agreement at the plan, and Seamus continued. “Finn, I want you, Dunmore, and Cormac to go for the other lasses. They know you, Finn, and won’t be as terrified by a group of strangers arrivin’ to take them away. The rest of us will go to the saloon.”
Eamon looked at the pile of money in the center of the table. “Do you think it’s enough, Da?”
Seamus shrugged. “I’ll offer what I must as collateral. The lass won’t be abused tonight, Eamon.”
Gratitude and pride swelled within Eamon, as he noted the determination in everyone’s faces when they nodded in agreement with his da.
Maggie, working quietly at the stove, turned toward the back door, and stared intently.
For a moment, Eamon was distracted by his sister Maggie. “What is it, Mags?” he asked.
“I thought I heard someone knocking at the back door. Or banging into it.” She shrugged, as though not hearing anything more. “I must have been mistaken.”
Eamon rose and squeezed his sister’s shoulder. “I’ll check,” he murmured and opened the door to poke his head out. With a grunt, he fell to his knees to catch the body tumbling toward him. “Da!” he bellowed. “Da!” He eased the body up, cradling Phoebe in his arms. “Oh, sweet Jaysus,” he breathed, “what did they do to you, lass?” He turned to face his family, ashen and terrified, the drip-drip-drip of blood on the floor the only sound in the thunderstruck room. “Dear God, what do we do?” he breathed.
“Bring her to Niamh’s room, Eamon,” Maggie said in a commanding voice, as she dried her hands on a towel after washing them. “Dunmore, boil water and tear clean cloths into strips. Cormac, find the doctor. If you can’t find him, or he’s no longer sober, find the Madam. Find Nora. Finn and Da, save the other sisters. Ardan and Kevin, get your wives.” She ushered Eamon into Niamh’s old room, now mainly used as a playroom for her daughter, Maura. However, a bed remained pushed against one wall, with a bureau on the wall beside the door.
Eamon settled Phoebe on the bed, a towel under her legs. “Oh, look at her sweet hands,” he whispered, holding them up to kiss. He swore and spun from the room. After a moment, he returned with tweezers to pull splinters from her palms and fingers.
“No! No!” Phoebe gasped in a weak voice. “I will not be a pawn.”
“Of course you won’t,” Eamon whispered, as he ran a hand over her head. “You’re at the O’Rourke house, Phoebe. We’ll care for you. We’ll ensure you’re well.”
Her wild and crazed gaze calmed at his voice, and she settled on the bed. “My sisters,” she panted out.
“We’ll ensure they are safe. Soon you’ll hear Winnifred bickering with Finn. It will be like old times. I promise you.” Maggie watched him with a curious look. “Like the time we spent on the steamboat.”
“Eamon, hold this cloth to her leg, while I ensure she has no other injuries,” Maggie instructed. She waited for Eamon to press a towel to Phoebe’s jagged wound and then ran her hands over Phoebe, searching for grimaces as she pressed against bones. “It’s difficult to tell with her fully dressed, but it appears her only wound, besides bruising, is on her leg. As far as I can tell, she has no broken bones.” Eamon sighed with relief and sat beside Phoebe as Maggie continued her ministrations.
Phoebe arched and cried out as Maggie pulled at her skirts, attempting to free the linen from the gash on her thigh. “Make it stop. Make the pain go away,” she pleaded, turning her head to the side. Some of the cloth of her skirts had dried and stuck in the wound.
Eamon fell to his knees by her bedside, resting his head next to hers to whisper words of support and encouragement in her ear. If words of love slipped out, he ignored them and refused to call them back. Right now, his focus was on Phoebe and her recovery.
When Aileen and Deirdre burst into the room, Maggie asked them to make willow bark tea and to bring her honey. She thanked Dunmore, who entered with cloth and water, and she smiled as he set up a makeshift worktable for her. Without asking, he brought in more candles and lamps, illuminating the room, and then remained, awaiting further orders from her.
“How can you be so calm?” Eamon asked in an aggrieved voice.
“You can fall to pieces, Eamon. I can’t. It would do Phoebe no good if we were all running around with no purpose.” Dabbing a piece of cloth into the water, Maggie moistened the linen stuck in the wound and eased it free. She looked up and smiled as their mum entered the room. Soon the two women worked in concert to clean the wound of any wood and cloth pieces. Then Maggie took the honey from Dunmore and trickled a small amount inside the wound. “I can’t promise anything, Eamon, but this may help with the infection.”
He blanched at the word, understanding the implications of the worst-case scenario, and then nodded. When Maggie motioned for him to ease Phoebe to sit up, Maggie handed him a mug Aileen had given to Dunmore. “Convince her to drink this. ’Tis a bit bitter,” she murmured.
Eamon looked deeply into Phoebe’s pain-filled eyes. “Come, love. Drink this up. ’Twill help with your pain, and then you can sleep for a while. You’ve earned your rest.” He coaxed her into drinking all of it before she collapsed onto the bed, white faced and panting from the exertion of sitting up.
Maggie looked over her shoulder. “Are any of the other lads around?” When Dunmore returned with Ardan and Kevin, she motioned for Eamon to remain where he was at Phoebe’s head. “Continue talking with her.” She took a deep breath and spoke directly to Phoebe. “Phoebe, I have to sew your leg shut. If I don’t, you have a worse chance of infection.” She rested a hand on Phoebe’s shoulder. “’Twill hurt.”
Phoebe tensed, leaning as much as possible into Eamon.
“Why not wait for the doctor or Nora?” Ardan whispered to Maggie.
She shook her head. “They’d be here by now if they were coming. I’ve cleaned the wound, and it needs to be closed.” Taking a deep, determined breath, she said, “It’s no different than sewing, Ardan.”
“You’re a brave lass, and I’m proud of you, sister,” Ardan said. “Tell us what you need us to do.”
Ardan and Kevin climbed onto the bed to hold Phoebe down, while Maggie instructed Dunmore to hold Phoebe’s injured leg. “With any luck, she’ll pass out soon after I start,” she whispered.
Eamon focused wholly on Phoebe, ignoring everything his sister was doing. He trusted Maggie would do what was correct and prayed she could truly help Phoebe. He rested his head next to Phoebe’s, swiping away the tears that fell.
“Shh, love,” he murmured. “You’ll be all right. We’ll care for you. We’ll nurse you back to health. You have nothing to fear now. The O’Rourkes have taken you in.” He continued to stare into her eyes, talking in a soothing voice, as she arched and screamed in pain at the first suture. Tears fell unheeded down his cheeks as her agony filled gaze fixed on his, until her body went limp, finally succumbing to the pain. When he saw she was unconscious, he dropped his head down, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed for a few moments.
All through the long ordeal, he whispered words of love and encouragement to her, wanting her to hear his voice, if she heard anything at all. In the background, he heard his mum encouraging Maggie, his brothers quietly talking to each other as they sat on the bed, in case their strength was needed again, and Dunmore’s soft words of praise.
Maggie worked tirelessly, using splashes of her father’s fine whiskey to clean the gash as she progressed down the long wound. After nearly an hour, she tied off the last stitch and rose, almost falling to the floor, as her legs had fallen asleep. Dunmore caught her, and she rested in his arms a moment before wriggling to free herself. She flushed as he eased her onto a chair.
“Eamon,” Maggie whispered, “I’ve done what I can.”
“Thank you, Mags,” Eamon whispered, using the nickname Kevin had given her after her return the previous summer. “I can never thank you enough.”
After tapping her feet and regaining circulation, Maggie rose. She murmured to Dunmore, “Can you find me a little more clean cloth?”
After he departed, she returned to look at the jagged, angry line down Phoebe’s right thigh. She looked at her mum. “I think more honey is needed along the stitches.”
“Aye,” Mary said. “Anything you can do to fight infection.” She handed Maggie the bowl with the honey, and Maggie spread a liberal amount down the length of the wound. Then, after Dunmore returned with more cloth, she and Mary bound the wound in long strips of clean cloth. “There,” Maggie whispered, as she washed her hands and dried them. “I’ve done what I can.”
Eamon tilted his head up and stared at his sister with profound gratitude. “Maggie.”
She ruffled his hair and eased from the room for a moment.
Eamon continued on his knees by the bed, his focus wholly on Phoebe. He wanted to be present when she woke. A soft hand ran over his back, and his head jerked up, meeting his mother’s concerned gaze. “Eamon,” she whispered, “we’ll do all we can to save your Phoebe.”
He swallowed, no longer protesting that Phoebe wasn’t his. Or that he didn’t care for her in such a manner. All he knew was that he was desperate for her to recover. And he would have bartered with the devil himself for her to never know the pain she had suffered to arrive at their doorstep. “Thank you, Mum.” He moved his head into her soft caress and then rose at the sound of angry voices in the living room. “Will you stay with her for a moment while I’m away?”
He poked his head inside the living room to find Lorena and Winnifred standing in one corner with Finn, while Da stared at them like they were exotic creatures. He listened as Winnifred proclaimed, “You might believe you have the right to manhandle us and to kidnap us, but I’ll find our uncle! I’ll inform him of what you’ve done, and he’ll punish you.”
Any amusement Eamon felt evaporated at Winnifred’s words. “Oh, will you now?” he snapped, as he entered the room, covered in splotches of Phoebe’s blood. “Do you think your uncle cares what happens to a niece he intended to auction at a saloon and brothel to the highest bidder tonight?”
Winnifred’s eyes rounded, the green brighter than usual with her shock. “No. He wouldn’t be so cruel. He wanted us here to … to …”
“Aye, he does. I have no idea what your sister suffered, but she lived through hell to escape whatever he had planned for her. If you care for her at all, you’ll remain here until she can speak with you. For, if you seek out your uncle, no O’Rourke will come to rescue you a second time.” He waited for her to deflate at his words, thankful she took him at his word. Despite his warning, he suspected Finn would have found a way to convince them to aid Winnifred, if needed. Although she annoyed Finn, they had an odd relationship, and Eamon knew Finn would never want to see Winnifred harmed.
“I don’t believe you,” Winnifred said with a defiant tilt of her chin, her bravado returning.
“I don’t lie,” Eamon snapped. His mouth firmed, and his blue eyes flashed with anger. “Come,” he barked, as he motioned for Winnifred and Lorena to follow him into the sickroom. He entered it to find Maggie working on Phoebe’s hands, using the tweezers he’d dropped by the bedside. His mum brushed at Phoebe’s hair, while Aileen and Deirdre were in the kitchen. Dunmore maintained his sentry in the corner.
“Maggie, Mum,” he murmured, “Winnifred and Lorena doubted Phoebe’s injury. They believe their uncle to be a good man.” Dunmore snorted in disbelief in the corner.
Maggie looked up with shock at the women hovering in the doorway a moment before refocusing on her task. “Then you’re fortunate you weren’t the one to be suffering in this bed,” she muttered. “Daft fools, you are.” She bent over Phoebe’s palm as she attempted to free it of a sliver, smiling at Dunmore as he moved closer to hold a candle for her to have better light.
“Phoebe,” Winnifred gasped.
Eamon grabbed her before she rushed to the bedside and undid all of Maggie’s work. “No,” he gasped, as she wriggled in his arms. “She’s injured, and you will not harm her further.”
“What did you do to her to force her to sleep?” Lorena whispered.
“Nothing,” Maggie said, as she gave a triumphant chirp at freeing a deep splinter. “She passed out from exhaustion and pain.” With a quick glance, she murmured, “And, I suspect, from blood loss. She was bleeding heavily when she arrived.”
“What did you do to her?” Winnifred demanded, stomping her foot in aggravation at being denied freedom to move as she pleased.
Eamon towered over her, as though a demonic creature with wild black hair and blue eyes blazing. “Everythin’ in our power to save her. She has a gash down her leg that my sister worked tirelessly to clean and to sew shut. We’re not your enemy. Your uncle is. A bluidy infection is.” He was breathing heavily, as he battled deep emotions.
Winnifred collapsed into a chair, as Lorena watched them in horror. “What are we to do?” Winnie wailed. Her green eyes were filled with desperation. “Where are we to go?” Her hand swiped down her fine skirt, as a tear leaked out. “We may have fine clothes, but we’re one step away from destitution.”
“Our uncle was to save us,” Lorena murmured. “I suspect he had a different definition of what that entailed.”
Eamon nodded. “I don’t know the man, but my da does, and, if my da says he’s not a good man, then he’s a scoundrel.”
Winnifred firmed her shoulders. “Will you allow Phoebe to remain here tonight as she recovers?”
Eamon shook his head, as he stared at her in wonder. “Of course not.” He met her dejected gaze. “She’ll stay here until she’s fully recovered. As will all of you. You’re not safe with your uncle wandering this town.”
“You can’t tell us what we can and cannot do,” Winnie snapped. “Where we may and may not go.”
Eamon quivered with rage. “No, I can’t. But I can assure you, Miss Mortimer, our time and energy will be focused on Phoebe and her recovery. Not on spoiled women who defy their better judgment merely to be spiteful.” He took a deep breath. “’Twould be better for everyone if you’d remain here, or in the company of an O’Rourke, for the foreseeable future.”
Winnifred shared a quick glance with Lorena and nodded, although she failed to lose any of her mutinous defiance as she glared at Eamon.
Mary O’Rourke had remained quiet as her children spoke with the two Mortimer sisters, but she rested a hand on Eamon’s arm as she stood beside him and felt him quivering with rage. “I’m Mary O’Rourke, an’ I couldn’t be more pleased
to welcome you to my home. I’m certain Seamus and the lads will ensure your trunks are delivered here soon, and you’ll feel right at home before you know it.” She smiled at them with compassion. “I fear ’tis not how any of us would have liked to have met.”
She paused as she saw the sisters staring at Phoebe lying prostrate on the bed. “Why don’t you have a moment with your sister and then join us in the kitchen? I imagine you haven’t had a chance for dinner.”
Everyone in the room, except Maggie and Eamon, left the sisters with Phoebe.
* * *
Eamon exited Phoebe’s room for a brief respite at Maggie’s urging. Although he had no interest in supper, she had convinced him to eat to keep his strength up for Phoebe’s sake. He collapsed, with his gaze glazed, as he stared at bread crumbs on the tabletop.
When the back door burst open, Eamon jerked into alert battle readiness. Noting a panting Cormac, Eamon relaxed and let out a long sigh. “Where have you been?”
Cormac shook his head. “All over town. To every saloon. I think I was led on a wild goose chase, searching for the doc.” His eyes shone with frustration. “I never found the man, and Nora was having a crisis at the Bordello.”
“Aye?” Seamus asked, as he took Mary’s hand. “What bothers the lass?”
“That idiot Bell got it into his head she was harboring the injured Miss Mortimer.” He paused a moment. “Phoebe?” At Eamon’s nod, Cormac continued. “That Phoebe would rather be a Siren than a Temptress.” Cormac grimaced. “That’s what Bell plans to call his … ladies at his saloon.” He was hesitant to speak about such subjects with women present. “He was on the verge of causing a riot in the Bordello. Damn fool wanted to go through every crib to ensure Phoebe wasn’t there, and the men weren’t happy at bein’ interrupted.”
“He’d doubt Nora’s honor?” Mary murmured, arriving at the important point, while skipping over the more salacious details of Cormac’s trip through town. “Eejit. She’ll never forgive him. An’ never forget.” She ran a soothing hand over Seamus’s shoulders that had tensed at the news his friend was experiencing difficulties.
Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 6
