Mum nodded and quietly left. Maggie smiled. “Bellow when you need me.”
* * *
The next four days were an exercise in faith, stamina, and patience. Phoebe vacillated from deep sleep to thrashing about to whimpering, as she pleaded for her agony to end. Her fever spiked in the middle of every night; her selfish baby sister quick to bemoan each middle of the night awakening. Eamon slept throughout most days and sat beside Phoebe all night. Although her sisters had demanded they be given an equal opportunity to keep vigil, Maggie had insisted they not be allowed into her patient’s sickroom without an O’Rourke present at all times. Their protestations that it was an affront to their honor to be doubted in such a manner, and their requests for time alone with Phoebe were denied by Maggie with great relish. Much to Lorena’s and Winnifred’s chagrin, what Maggie declared necessary for Phoebe’s recovery was seen as gospel in the O’Rourke household.
For his part, Eamon had argued that Winnifred and Lorena should spend time with Phoebe when she was least likely to do them any physical harm. Maggie had agreed, rubbing at the bruise on her chest. Thus, the sisters spent their time with Phoebe during the daylight hours—with Maggie or Mary watching over them with a vigilant eye.
During those long days, the O’Rourkes struggled to keep their thriving businesses open, while also caring for Phoebe. Eamon had heard his exhausted Da murmur to Mum that he’d never before been so thankful to have so many children. Maggie worked like a woman possessed, reading everything she could find to discover something to help with the fever and to stop any infection. Madam Nora had sent a basketful of books to Maggie, although few offered any practical suggestions.
Eamon spent every night with Phoebe, regaling her with stories of his youth with Finn. He embellished tales, hoping, if he said outlandish things, she’d scold him. However, she never responded, and he feared she would never come back to him. The only time he evoked a response was when he coaxed liquid into her. She fought him then but eventually drank whatever tea Maggie had brewed, instinctively understanding he wouldn’t stop until Phoebe had finished the drink.
Finally on the fifth night of her fever, nearly a week and a half after her injury, Eamon sat holding Phoebe’s hand. He’d talked himself until he was hoarse, and he found he had no more stories to tell her. He wanted to look deeply into her eyes as he talked with her. To hear her laughter, to hear her scold him, to have her squeeze his hand.
He ran his fingers over her hand again. It was cool to the touch, and she was not shivering, as she had done on the previous nights, heralding the return of her fever. Instead she continued to sleep deeply. With a stealthy softness, he caressed her forehead, letting out a sigh of relief to find it cool to his touch.
He dropped his head forward, resting it on the clean blankets and sheets by her side, thankful again for his mum and Maggie, as they had cared for Phoebe with such love and steadfastness. They had cared for her as though she were one of their own. When he felt a gentle hand stroke over his head, he tilted his head to the side. “Mum,” he whispered. “You should be in bed.”
She made a small sound as she stepped up to his side, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. “As should you, my lad. But you’re keeping vigil over your love, and I wanted to make sure you were well.”
“I fear she’ll never awaken,” he whispered. “That she’ll forever be just out of reach.” He swiped his head on the blankets to hide his tears.
“Oh, Eamon,” Mary murmured, her hand dropping to run through his hair. After a long moment of silence, she knelt by his side, so she could meet his devastated gaze. “Don’t give up hope.”
He continued to speak in a low voice. “What if she does awaken and wants nothin’ to do with me?” He closed his eyes, as he voiced one of his deepest fears. At her murmured voice indicating her confusion, he took a deep breath as he gathered his courage to meet his mum’s gaze. “I wasn’t kind to her the last few weeks on the steamboat.”
“I don’t understand, Eamon. Whyever not?” She continued to stroke a hand down his arm and back, soothing him as he quivered beside her. “No one watching you these past days could doubt your devotion to her.”
“I’m ashamed, Mum.” He met her comforting, loving gaze. “I was afraid. That I could care for her, as Da did you, and that I’d lose her.”
Mary cupped his cheek, gazing at him with a deep tenderness. “And then your worst fear almost came true.”
He shivered and swallowed, fighting a sob. “Who’s to say it still won’t?”
Mary raised her gaze from him to Phoebe, an assessing, astute gaze. “From what I can see, and from what the past nights have wrought, it appears Phoebe is finally recovering. ’Twill take her time to overcome her injury and the infection, but I know she will.” She paused as she again stared at her son with understanding and motherly concern. “You must understand. If your da had treated me as you say you treated Phoebe, I wouldn’t have been keen to forgive him. Or to trust him again. You’ll have to be patient, constant, and brave as you fight for her.”
“I’ve been fighting for her!”
She ran a hand over his head again. “Ah, love. I know that. You know that. But I doubt she’ll remember that, since she’s been delirious from her fever, while fighting off the infection.” She paused. “And she may have a different view of why you’re actin’ as you are. Women don’t think like men.” She kissed his forehead and rose with a groan. “Oh, I’m too old to think I’m young enough to wander about in the middle of the night.”
Eamon reached out and grabbed her hand. “Thank you, Mum. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She sniffled, her eyes glistening with tears. “Just as I’d be lost without you, my Eamon.”
Chapter 6
The following evening, Eamon sat in a daze as the entire family, including the two healthy Mortimer sisters, were seated at the table. After they had missed the first breakfast with the family and had gone hungry, they hadn’t failed to miss a meal. The table was crowded, as even Niamh and Maura had joined them this evening, and Niamh had given Eamon a hug, whispering in his ear to stay strong and to never lose hope. She sat beside Ardan and Deirdre, her arms over her belly. Although Cormac was away on a trip, delivering goods to Helena, her gaze continued to dart to the door, as though hoping he would appear.
Maggie and Mary set bowls of stew on the table that were passed around until each person had a bowl in front of him or her, while slices of bread were passed around too. After everyone was settled, Seamus said a quick prayer over their hearty meal, always including his thanksgiving for the return of Mary and Maggie, followed by a prayer for the return to health for Phoebe and for Declan’s safe return. At his “Amen,” the younger boys heaved out sighs of relief, as they slurped up their stew.
When everyone had eaten his or her fill, Seamus cleared his throat. The youngest boys nodded, understanding that was their cue to rise and to leave the older O’Rourkes to their discussions. However, Seamus waved them to remain seated. “Nay,” he said. “I believe everyone should listen to this discussion, as it very well might affect all of us.” He smiled as his youngest, Bryan, gave a triumphant whoop to be included in the grown-ups’ discussions.
“What is it, Da?” Eamon asked. He fought to focus on the discussion at hand, when all he wanted to do was return to check on Phoebe. Or collapse into his bed for a few hours of sleep.
“As we are all aware, Uriah Chaffee, the uncle, visited and made threats against Phoebe, Winnifred, and Lorena.” He nodded in Winnifred’s and Lorena’s direction, as they sat in nervous silence beside Finn and Lucien. “He is their uncle and believes he has the right to act as their guardian, even though they are fully grown women, and he has nefarious intentions.”
He paused, sighing as he rubbed at his temple. “This is where ’tis challengin’. I know nothin’ about the laws governin’ such things. I focused on my rights as a store owner.” He shook his head in chagrin, as though he had been shortsighte
d. “However, there is little we can do, as he claims to be a lawyer, and he knows enough hundred-dollar words to impress the townsfolk.”
Winnifred gave an indignant huff. “He might be our uncle, but he has no right to believe he can control us. After all, we are of the age of majority and have been living on our own for the better part of the year, after our mother died.”
Seamus looked at her with patience and a fair dose of pity. “So you say, lass, but I fear Uriah was correct in one assertion. I met him again today, and he proudly claimed our sheriff would do little to interfere in a family matter. Few men will intervene in such a private affair.”
Niamh shook her head. “Nay, I fear none will.” She leaned against Ardan who wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, as she battled her memories from her first marriage, wed to an abusive man. “The sheriff was aiding Chafee last fall as he attempted to take my daughter from me.”
Winnifred ignored Niamh and stared around the table in horror, her eyes widening to see the O’Rourkes nodding, as though accepting their father’s word. “And you’ll not challenge him? You’ll allow Phoebe to return to him to be used as he pleases? You’ll allow him to harm Lorena and me?”
Finn focused on Winnifred with a mocking smile, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Until now, you seemed to believe we were lying about how horrible your uncle is. That we’d treated him poorly and that we were cruel to keep you separated from him. Now you desire our protection? You are fickle, Winn.”
She glared daggers at him. “Don’t call me that! I’ve had the good sense to realize what he is. An opportunist who will never cherish his nieces.”
Eamon watched his brother lean forward to continue sparring with the youngest Mortimer sister, but Da murmured his name, and Finn sat back. His silence fueled Winnifred’s rage more than anything he could have said, as she continued to rage at Finn.
“Winnifred,” Seamus said in a firm voice, his commanding tone causing her to freeze in place, her words sputtering to a halt. “Cease sparring with Finn. He’s not your adversary.”
Mary ran a hand down Seamus’s arm, and he focused again on his family around the table. Seamus spoke with quiet authority. “I have spoken to Dunmore and Cormac. They are attempting to find a lawyer who would be interested in working here, rather than in the more profitable towns of Helena or Virginia City. As of now, Dunmore’s been unsuccessful. I continue to hope Cormac is more persuasive.”
Niamh sighed. “He’ll do what he can, but he won’t extend his journey to find a lawyer.” She rubbed at her belly. “Not when he wants to be here when the babe is born.”
Seamus nodded, a glint of delight in his gaze, as he beheld his eldest daughter. “Aye, thus we have to forge our own plan.” He addressed Winnifred and Lorena. “From what I can determine, the only way to ensure you are safe is to bring you under the shelter of the O’Rourke family.” Seamus nodded, as Winnifred gasped and Lorena paled. “One Mortimer sister, if not more of you, must marry an O’Rourke.”
“Never,” Winnifred hissed, glaring at Finn. “I’ll never marry an O’Rourke.”
“As if I’d offer,” Finn taunted.
“And the others are too young,” Lorena whispered in horror, as she looked at the younger O’Rourke boys, the eldest nearly ten years her junior.
Seamus chuckled, a wry humor in his voice as he addressed Winnifred first. “We’re not that vile, child.” Glancing at Lorena, amusement lighting his gaze, he added, “And, yes, the lads are too young for you.” He looked to Eamon, his gaze assessing, as Eamon sat in rigid stillness. “Eamon?”
Eamon looked at his da and nodded. “Aye, I’ll marry Phoebe. I would have married her with or without an injury. With or without the threat from her uncle.” He spun to glare at Winnifred who snorted in disbelief. “Think what you will, Miss Mortimer, but ’tis the truth.”
“Have fun convincing Phoebe of what you proclaim. She has a long memory, almost as long as mine, and you’ll be miserable because of it.”
Sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, Seamus spoke in a commanding voice. “There will be no strife. There will be no arguments. From the moment Eamon and Phoebe wed, Lorena and Winnifred will be members of this family and will be cherished and protected as such.” He gazed at the two sisters. “Your uncle will have no right to interfere in your lives as you will be under our protection. As long as you live here—and are with one of us—he won’t dare to approach you or to harm you. Should you go about town alone, however, you do so at your own peril.”
Lorena spoke up. “You presume he has honor, sir. What he allowed to happen to Phoebe proves he doesn’t. He won’t acknowledge your desire to safeguard us.”
“Which is why you must always have an O’Rourke with you.”
Winnie snorted, rolling her eyes, but a quick stare from Seamus had her sitting straighter.
Then Seamus smiled at his eldest sons, shaking his head ruefully as they looked eager for an opportunity to thrash the man. “No, lads. No violence. We must outsmart him with his weapon of choice—words.”
“What if he crosses the line?” Eamon asked.
Seamus took a deep breath. “As long as he’s aware of the limit of our forbearance, if he crosses it, then he only has himself to blame.”
Eamon nodded his agreement. “For his sake, I pray he’s more sensible than he’s shown himself to be.”
* * *
Jolting with the sound of a bowl slamming on a table, Phoebe fought to quell any reaction to what occurred around her. However, she knew she failed at the triumphant sound of a woman’s voice.
“Ha!” Maggie nearly shouted. “I knew you were faking being asleep all this time.” She pulled back the blankets, stripping Phoebe of everything but her nightshirt.
Gasping, Phoebe flailed an arm out for some sort of cover, flushing when she met Maggie’s triumphant smile. “Fine, I’m awake.” When Maggie continued to stare at her with disdain, Phoebe’s flush brightened to the color of peony pink. “I didn’t want to speak with him. Why should I have to? And who are you to be so bossy?”
“I’m about out of patience with Mortimer sisters spouting nonsense,” Maggie said with a long sigh, as she pushed a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. She lost her battle, and a smile emerged when she saw Phoebe wince at her comment. “I’m Maggie, the youngest O’Rourke sister. And you should speak with Eamon because he’s nearly driven himself to the grave carin’ for you,” Maggie said, her hazel eyes flashing with frustration. “Or because he nearly talked himself hoarse in an attempt to keep you company. He was terrified you’d wake and feel alone. He never wanted you to feel alone.”
Phoebe pushed to move around the bed, gasping in agony and going bone white. After collapsing back onto the pillows, she took deep breaths in an attempt to calm the searing pain. “Oh, when will the pain improve?” she rasped, her hand going to her leg to massage it. However, she stilled the movement, knowing touching her wound would only intensify the now-throbbing ache.
“I don’t know,” Maggie murmured. “I’ve done what I can to aid you, Phoebe. But I’m not a formally trained healer. I swear though that I did my best.”
Phoebe gaped at the young woman, who looked so much like Eamon. However, rather than Eamon’s startling blue eyes, she had beautiful hazel eyes. “Where was the doctor?”
Clearing her throat, Maggie shrugged. “Busy at the saloon. I thought …” She firmed her shoulders. “I made the decision that you would be better off with me than with a man who had too much to drink.”
Phoebe continued to gape at Maggie. “How many other patients have you tended with wounds like mine?”
Flushing, the younger woman shrugged. “None.”
Phoebe nodded calmly, as she looked from Maggie to her leg covered by her gown. “May I look at it?”
Maggie agreed, washing her hands in clean water from the ewer and then easing up Phoebe’s leg to slip off the bandage. “It’s time to change the bandage anyway.”
&n
bsp; Phoebe ignored Maggie, her gaze roving over the jagged scar along her leg, followed by her fingers gingerly inspecting the wound. It was inflamed and puckered, but the skin around it was cool to the touch and only slightly stung with soft pressure. She frowned as her fingers came away sticky.
“Honey,” Maggie murmured. “I read that honey could help with infections, and I was desperate to help you. I didn’t have any of the other remedies, like silver powder, and I refused to …” She shook her head, as though she couldn’t say any more.
“Refused to … ?” Phoebe asked and then blanched. She made a chopping motion with a hand, her breath leaving in a whoosh as Maggie closed her eyes in agreement. “Oh, never, please God never.”
“Aye, that’s what Eamon said. He begged and bartered with God, so you’d never suffer such a fate.” Maggie sighed. “I feared his refusal would cause you to die, but it seems he was right.”
Taking a deep breath, Phoebe lifted up slightly to help Maggie as she rewrapped her leg. Then Phoebe washed her hands on a washcloth to rid her fingers of the honey. “Why am I so tired?” she moaned, as she fell back against the pillows. She opened one eye to stare at Maggie. “I’m not pretending now.”
Smiling, Maggie sat on the chair beside her bed. “No, I believe you. You’re recovering, Phoebe. And you will for some time. Be patient.”
“My sisters?” she asked, as she fought sleep. “Were they here at all?”
Gripping her hand, Maggie squeezed it. “Yes. Every day they chattered away worse than a pair of magpies—Lorena reading from a book and Winnifred complaining about her mistreatment from Finn and how she plans on revenge for your uncle.” Maggie smiled. “I rather liked how inventive she is.”
“Lorena’s the fanciful one,” Phoebe whispered with an indulgent smile.
“I’d say they both are.” Maggie met Phoebe’s gaze, pausing as though attempting to read the unspoken question held within. “You were never alone. Someone was always with you. And your sisters were dedicated to you.” When that did little to ease Phoebe’s worry, Maggie said, “They are living with us now. We won’t let your uncle near them. We O’Rourkes are protective of those we’ve taken in.”
Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 9
