Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four

by Flightner, Ramona

  Eamon stiffened at Winnifred’s rasped words. Maggie gripped his arm, in an attempt to keep him from lashing out at the youngest Mortimer sister. “Give Finn a chance. Let’s see how this goes,” Maggie whispered.

  “Do you have any idea what desperation is?” Finn asked, as he rested his hands on the table and leaned forward, his face near hers across the table. At her mutinous expression, he shook his head. “I thought you were entertaining on the ship, and arguing with you was a fun way to pass the time. I thought there was more to you than your limited view of the world, where everything bad that had ever occurred had been done deliberately to hurt you. Little did I realize how wrong I was.”

  “How dare you mock my pain?” Winnifred snapped.

  “And how dare you mock the food we share with you? How dare you call the delicious bread Mum labors over ‘peasant bread,’ as though it were somethin’ you’d never deign to eat? How dare you turn up your nose to any food?”

  Winnifred rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Is this where you go on and on again about having survived starvation? The story does get a bit old.” She shrieked and jumped as Seamus slammed his hand down on the table, causing everything on top of it to rattle.

  “Enough!” Seamus roared. “I’ve had enough, and it seems my family has too.” He met Winnifred’s insolent stare. “You’ve had time to rest after your journey, far more time than my lads who went to work the day they arrived. You’ve acted like little princesses.”

  He shook his head when Winnifred acted as though she would dare to interrupt him. “Nay,” he said in a low voice, his blue eyes gleaming with a deep coldness. “Nay, you are no princesses. You are no better than any of us. I’ve accepted you into our family because of your relation to Phoebe. My family has attempted to show you the same charity, which you have scorned and ridiculed in equal measure. I’ve had enough!”

  “Da?” Eamon asked in a low voice, as he shared a worried glance with his siblings. Rarely did Da raise his voice, and, when he did, they knew he had been pushed too far.

  “You,” Seamus growled in a low voice, pointing to Winnifred and Lorena, “you will work and earn your place here with us, or you will not have a place here. You will act like members of our family.”

  “You promised to protect us,” Lorena said, breaking her silence.

  “Aye, an’ I will. We will. And your part of this arrangement is that you will work and be respectful and grateful.” He paused as he looked at the two sisters, his gaze roving between the two of them, one defiant, the other desperate. “Every member of our family works hard. And so shall you. Either here or at the café but you will work.” He shook his head at any attempt at a discussion. “Starting tomorrow.”

  Eamon shared a shocked glance with Maggie before watching his future sisters-in-law sit in stunned silence. “Da has a way of quieting them down.”

  Maggie snickered and nodded. “Especially the youngest one. She’s delusional in her belief that her life has been challenging. I fear life has many more disappointments in store for her due to her insolence.”

  * * *

  Eamon sat on a crate in the warehouse after the store had closed, staring into space. He had spent a portion of the day working with Finn and Niall in the store, but he had been relegated to stocking shelves due to his surliness. Now that the store was closed, he had time to think through his interaction the previous day with Phoebe. His feet tapped and kicked at the crate, and he muttered to himself as he considered what he should have said, rather than what he did.

  He jerked when Finn nudged his shoulder. “What’s the matter, Eamon? You’re out of sorts, and you’re never discourteous to customers.” He whispered the last bit as neither of them wanted Da to hear how Eamon had barked at a customer asking for advice on whether to buy a pickaxe. Eamon would generally have charmed him into buying three, rather than advising him that he’d be better off taking the next steamboat back to Saint Louis.

  Eamon rubbed at his head and leaned forward, as though he had just suffered a severe body blow. “Phoebe doesn’t want to marry me.”

  “What?” Finn gasped. “Now I’m convinced lunacy runs in that family.” He rolled his eyes. “Winnifred isn’t the only daft sister.”

  Eamon half smiled, as the ongoing feud between Finn and Winnifred had only worsened since the sisters had moved into the O’Rourke home. He looked up as his two eldest brothers joined them. “I never realized what hell it was to care for a woman and not have her return your feelings.”

  Ardan stared at him a long moment, as he and Kevin settled onto crates as well. “Phoebe cares for you, Eamon, but she’s afraid. I’ve learned that, when Deirdre’s afraid, I have to determine why and do what I can to rid her of that fear. Telling her that she’s bein’ foolish only enhances her fear.”

  Kevin nodded. “Aye, although I don’t know why you’re havin’ trouble. You’ve always managed to enchant the lasses.”

  Ardan smiled in understanding. “Those other times you were just teasin’, but this time it matters, aye?” When Eamon stared at him in silent misery, he looked at his brother with quiet understanding. “You’ve always found a way to live a charmed life, Eamon, finding joy even during the bleakest moments. You’ll find your way through this.”

  Eamon rose and began to pace. “I don’t want to charm her into marryin’ me,” he grumbled, his accent thickening to mimic that of his eldest brothers. “I want her to be as eager to wed as I am. To yearn for a time we are husband and wife.” He turned away from his brothers.

  Finn shrugged. “What are you waiting for? Tell her, and all will be well.” Finn motioned with his arms, indicating for Eamon to return home to proclaim his feelings to Phoebe.

  “’Tisn’t that simple, Finn,” Eamon murmured. “She told me yesterday she’d never believe anything I told her again after our time on the steamboat. That she’d always resent me.” He paused and met his brothers’ startled gazes. “And hate me for marrying her out of pity.”

  “Feck,” Ardan muttered, as he rubbed at his temple. “What did you do to the lass on the steamboat?”

  “How could you have been less than a gentleman?” Kevin demanded, his anger building.

  Holding up his hands to placate them, Eamon shook his head. “I was a gentleman, aye, but I realized after we’d become friends that I … couldn’t become attached to her. Refused to become attached.”

  “Why?” Kevin and Ardan shared bewildered looks. “You’re perfect for each other.”

  Eamon stared into the distance, as though envisioning long past scenes. He closed his eyes. “I never wanted to bind myself to a woman who only felt resentment and duty to me, never anythin’ more. I had just watched Declan have his heart torn out. I promised myself that I’d never be like him.”

  Ardan rose, cupping his strong hand around Eamon’s neck. Peering deeply into his younger brother’s eyes, he spoke as though only they were present. “I imagine you swore to yourself, sometime in the past, that you’d never allow yourself to be like Da.” He paused until Eamon gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “That you’d never love someone so much that you’d lose a part of yourself if she died or left you.”

  Continuing to stare deeply into eyes that matched his own, Ardan spoke softly in a passion-laden voice. “Don’t let the past, or the fears learned during the long years without Mum, define you now. For, if you do, you’ll rob yourself of your chance for future happiness.”

  Eamon shrugged, his eyes silvery bright as he fought tears. “I fear I already have, Ard,” he whispered out in a tear-choked voice. “I pushed her away, rather than gatherin’ my courage to hold her close, an’ she’ll never forgive me.”

  Ardan shook his head. “Nay, you wee eejit, she’ll find a way to forgive you and to rebuild her trust in you because you won’t give up on her. For that’s what you do for someone you love.” He waited for Eamon to nod or to give some acknowledgment that he agreed, but Eamon remained silent and still. “’Tis what I did for
Deirdre, an’ I’d do it a hundred times over again to know I’d never lose her.”

  “How did you overcome your resentment?” Eamon whispered.

  Ardan paused. “I knew Deirdre. I understood her, her hopes, and what most terrified her. And my presence in her life forced her to confront those fears. Just as Phoebe’s presence in your life forces you to face the demons from your past. But you’ve yet to have the courage to explain to Phoebe why you acted as you did.”

  Eamon shrugged. “I tried, but she didn’t want to hear.”

  Kevin spoke up in a soft understanding voice. “Imagine what she’s feeling, Eamon. She’s dependent on our family for everything right now. The man she thought would protect her and would support her attempted to turn her into a prostitute within hours of her arrival.”

  Eamon nodded and backed away from Ardan, sitting with a thud on the crate again. “She must feel deceived by everyone. Desperate. Devastated.”

  Finn cleared his throat. “Aye, an’ from what wee Maggie told me, she’ll most likely always walk with a limp.” When Eamon shook his head in denial, Finn shrugged, as though chagrined to be the bearer of bad news. “Aye, her muscles were hurt or something. I didn’t really understand all Maggie chattered on about.”

  Kevin smiled fondly, while thinking about his youngest sister. “She’s found her passion in healing.”

  Holding his head in his hands, Eamon groaned. “If Bee knows this, ’tis another reason for her to believe I’m only offerin’ to marry her out of pity.” He looked at his brothers with desperation. “What am I to do?”

  Ardan gazed at him with love and understanding. “Be brave. Tell her about everything in your past, Eamon. Everything that you’d rather not remember.”

  “Aye,” Kevin whispered. “Everything that would help her understand why you acted as you did on the steamboat.”

  Eamon rubbed at his head, his mind swirling with what he knew he needed to do.

  * * *

  Seamus knocked on Phoebe’s door, poking his head inside when she called out, “Enter.” Chuckling, he strolled inside, carrying two mugs of tea. “You sound rather regal,” he said with a teasing smile. When she flushed, he chuckled again. “How are you, lass?”

  With a grimace, she pushed herself to sit up. “I feel a bit better each day, although it will be some time before I can leave your family in peace.”

  Studying her over the rim of his mug, his blue eyes flashed with irritation. “You are not a bother, Phoebe. Not now and not ever.” When she looked down, her hands playing with the blanket, rather than meet his gaze, he sighed. “Come, lass. Why not tell me what’s upset you to the point you consider yourself a bother and why you’ve provoked Eamon so that he’s on the verge of fightin’ the entire town?”

  Her head jerked up, her eyes widening for a moment at his words. She then shook her head, letting out a huff of breath. “I was warned,” she whispered. “Warned that the O’Rourkes don’t play fair.”

  “Considering I’m not playin’ at anythin’, I don’t know what you mean,” Seamus snapped, immediately taking a deep breath. “I beg your pardon, lass. You’ve hurt my son, and I hate to imagine him in such pain.” He set his mug beside the one she had yet to touch and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at her with a fierce intensity. “I can’t help my Declan. He’s away, licking his wounds, and, I fear, chasin’ after ghosts.”

  His gaze was distant a moment before he focused on her. “But I can aid my Eamon. And, by God, I will.”

  Phoebe scrunched up her face, attempting not to cry. Her voice emerged barely louder than a whisper, as she battled tears. “I’m not someone to be pitied.”

  With an incredulous snort, Seamus sat back in his chair. “From where I’m lookin’ at you, you are.” When his blunt words provoked such shock that Phoebe forgot all about crying, Seamus nodded. “Aye, you don’t like frank talk, do you?”

  An irate flush bloomed on her chest, rising up her neck to her cheeks as she glared at him.

  “No, you’re the sister who likes to maneuver and to manage the others, all with a smile and the appearance of being so accommodatin’.” Seamus leaned forward again, his gaze hard and his voice low. “You have a good man, offerin’ you his protection an’ care. And more, if you would only open your eyes. You’re a fool if you turn him down.”

  “Pity,” she spat out. “I have his pity. And I refuse to settle for that.”

  With a shake of his head, Seamus motioned to her leg, wrapped in bandages under the blankets. “No, you have his true concern and his faithful regard. Which is more than can be said of your uncle.” A pregnant pause ensued before he murmured, “Do you want me to introduce you to my friend, the Madam? She runs a much finer establishment than the one your uncle took you to. Her girls, the Sirens, earn a decent wage, although no one can say they don’t work hard for all they earn.”

  Phoebe blanched. “I am not going to the Bordello or any such place.”

  Nodding, Seamus sat back in his chair, his anger apparently vented and now seemingly at ease, as he sipped his afternoon tea with the resident invalid, before setting down the mug again. “Then we are at an impasse,” he murmured, his hands knitted together on his belly, as he stared at her, as though she were a curiosity. “What do you suggest we do, Miss Mortimer?”

  Phoebe noted that he no longer referred to her in a familiar way and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Let me discover a way to help my sisters that doesn’t involve your son.”

  “An’ how do you imagine you’ll do that?” Seamus continued to stare at her. “And what skills do you sisters have?” When she stared with surprise at Seamus, he added, “Or will you be the only one of the three to work? So you alone will support the three?” Respect flared in his eyes, as she met his challenging gaze. “Are you an heiress, but keepin’ such good fortune to yourself?” At her quick shake of her head, he began to tick off ideas. “Are you hoping one of the men headin’ to the mines will take you three on? Or do you think you’ll manage to start a business and fend off all your uncle’s schemes by your own wit and determination?”

  “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m weak,” Phoebe snapped, groaning as she jostled her leg.

  “I’ve never intimated I think women are weak. My Mary, Niamh, and Maggie are the strongest people I know, an’ they’ve lived through trials I don’t care to contemplate.” He let out a long sigh in an attempt to calm his strong emotions. “I do know this world isn’t kind. It isn’t just. And a woman alone, never mind three attractive single women, will prove too tempting to the worst sort of men. I’m afraid the sheriff is taken in by your uncle’s fancy words and posturin’ and would never protect you as he should, so I would forget appealing to that man for aid.”

  Phoebe’s defiance deflated slightly, and she stared at him with a hint of desperation.

  After a long pause, Seamus murmured, “I’ve heard my Mary and wee Maggie talkin’, and it seems you’re much more loyal to your sisters than they are to you.” At her sharp indrawn breath, he watched her with compassion.

  “They’re all the family I have.” Her eyes gleamed, daring him to disagree with her.

  “For now,” he murmured.

  A tear slipped down her cheek, the silver line a herald of her inner grief. “I wanted more than a marriage of convenience, Mr. O’Rourke.” She closed her eyes.

  “Tell me, lass. What did you dream of when you were alone at night, wishin’ for your weddin’ day?”

  Her eyes remained closed, and a smile almost broke free. “I imagined my groom would be waiting for me, anxious and excited, but nervous too. That I would walk toward him in a beautiful dress with a scalloped neck adorned with lace, and he couldn’t take his eyes off me. That I would be so enamored of him that I wouldn’t hear a word of the preacher’s sermon, my whole focus on him. Our friends and family would be around us, celebrating, and we would have a wonderful party. And then we’d start our life together, in our own home.” S
he paused before whispering, “A home filled with love, respect, and desire. So much more than regard and duty.”

  “You could have all that, Phoebe. You must believe in it and ‘twill come true.”

  She opened her eyes, meeting Seamus’s bittersweet gaze. “I have to accept my fate, don’t I?” At his subtle nod, another tear leaked out. “Fine,” she breathed. “I’ll marry him. But nothing more.”

  “That’s enough for now, lass,” Seamus said as he rose. He squeezed her shoulder. “Rest. I know Eamon will visit you soon enough.”

  Chapter 9

  Phoebe rested on her good side, taking pressure off her injured leg, while she stared at the wall and counted the minutes until she was compelled into a farce of a marriage. She pushed her head into the pillow, hoping it would muffle the sound of her tears as they spilled from her eyes.

  Unbidden, images from her dream wedding formed in her imagination, like a mirage in the desert. Rather than a patched-together ceremony with a traveling priest, she envisioned standing in front of her parish priest, who had baptized her in Saint Louis. She would carry a bouquet of fresh flowers from her garden, her sisters beside her, with tables full of food waiting for the wedding party. Friends would smile as she walked down the aisle, wearing a beautiful wedding gown made of silk and satin, heading toward her groom, and he would stare at her in wonder, marveling that he was fortunate enough to marry her.

  With a sob, she forced away that vision, knowing the following day’s ceremony would be a sham. She’d lay in this bed, with Eamon standing beside her, in a patched-up nightgown, stiffly saying vows that bound them together forever, while little joy was expressed and even less elation was felt. Food might be prepared, but she’d have no stomach for eating it, and no friends would be present. Only her disapproving sisters would look on.