Fingers traced down her shuddering back. Stifling a shriek, she rolled over and then gasped out a groan of dismay as the rapid movement provoked severe pain in her leg. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t see me before the wedding!” Swiping at her sodden cheeks, she grimaced at Eamon, witnessing her sobbing.
“Oh, Phoebe,” he whispered, sitting at her bedside and resting his elbows on the mattress. “Please tell me that you aren’t sobbing because we are to wed.”
She hiccupped out a breath, shrugging.
Blanching in the faint light cast by a lamp he’d left on the bureau, his eyes widened in horror. “If you find the idea of marrying me so repulsive, we don’t have to wed.” He closed his eyes, and he hunched forward in defeat. “I had hoped we could find a way forward, Bee.”
“How?” she whispered. “I haven’t seen you in days.”
His piercing blue eyes pinned her in place, as he stared at her. “I’ve been here, every day. Eager to speak with you. But, every time I come to your room, you’ve been asleep. Or busy with Maggie. Or a sister. You never had a moment to spare for me.” He yanked at his hair. “I know ’tis not proper for me to be here now, but I had hoped to speak with you before the weddin’. Alleviate some of your fears.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks, but the outpouring of sobs had ceased. “How would you do that?”
“I want to explain why I acted as I did on the steamboat. I need you to—” He broke off when she shook her head and looked at him with deep disappointment. “Bee?”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t want to hear all the reasons you believe I should trust you now. You and I both know why you acted like you did.”
“Do we?” His brows furrowed as he stared at her. “Why?”
“You were bored, and, for a while, you found me entertaining. Then you found me more tedious than the journey.”
“No—Bee, that’s not true!”
She stared at him with loathing mixed with sorrow. “I heard you, Eamon. Talking with Finn. I heard you say only a fool, or a desperate man, would ever bind himself to one of the sisters.”
Eamon shook his head, over and over again, as though that action would somehow keep her from believing what she’d heard. “No,” he rasped. “You must have misheard. I never said that.” He held up his hand as she was about to argue with him. “Finn may have very well said that, but not me. I would never have said that,” he repeated. After a moment, he whispered, “I readily admit I was mean and dismissive to you for the last weeks of the journey. Let me explain.”
“No, Eamon,” she said in a cold voice. “I have no need of your excuses.” She took a deep breath, her gaze as frigid as her voice. “But let me reassure you, I will be a good wife to you, Eamon. I will find a way to bring harmony into our home.”
He nodded dumbly, his shoulders stooping forward. “A good wife, of course. Harmony. What more could I want?”
She sat in stony silence, the tracks of her tears now drying on her cheeks as she fisted her hands in agitation. “I have the right to one last night alone. I understand, after tonight, I will be at your beck and call. But tonight, at least, remains mine.”
“Bee,” he whispered. “Please, it won’t be like that.”
She stared at him with implacable stillness, until he rose and slipped from the room, the door closing with a quiet click. Only after he left did she allow the tears to fall again.
* * *
The next morning Mary knocked on Phoebe’s door, poking her head inside after she heard a weak “Enter.” She offered a tentative smile as she stared at the woman lying on the bed, who expressed as much eagerness for a wedding as a surgeon about to perform an amputation. At the younger woman’s gentle nod, Mary entered and closed the door. “Are you well today, Phoebe?”
With a shrug, Phoebe remained cocooned under the blankets, as though she could prevent what was to come if she refused to participate.
Mary perched on the chair beside her bed, her hands reaching forward to stroke her forehead in search of fever. When Phoebe flinched at her touch, she yanked her hand back. “Forgive me. It has become habit these past days.” She sat in stilted silence for a few moments, her earnest gaze taking in the miserable young woman. “Are you in pain?”
With a shrug, Phoebe whispered, “I’m always in pain. I fear I’ll never know a time without pain again.”
Mary nodded, her hand slowly reaching forward to clasp Phoebe’s, even though it was buried under a pile of covers. “In this life, there are all kinds of hurts, lass. Some are physical, like your leg pain, and I pray every night that your wound heals and that you’ll soon have moments you forget you were ever injured in your act of bravery.” She squeezed Phoebe’s hand. “Other aches are much deeper, and harder to soothe, for they are wounds to our souls. The scar is not as easy to see, aye? But the pain is all the more acute for it.”
She smiled softly as tears coursed down the younger woman’s cheeks. “Oh, lass, I never meant to make you cry.” She swiped at her cheeks. “Eamon will be irate with me.”
“He should be thankful for you,” Phoebe sputtered out, mouthing her thanks as Mary handed her a handkerchief. “I’ve never known what it is to have a mother truly concerned about me.”
“Ah, lass, I’m certain you are mistaken. All mothers worry about their babes. It’s just that some are better at showing their concern than others.” She gazed at Phoebe a long moment before whispering, “Does the mere notion of marryin’ him send you into a panic?”
Phoebe shook her head.
Smiling, Marry squeezed her hand again. “Good. For I know he’s out there, pacin’, eager to have you as his bride.”
Phoebe swiped at her cheeks. “I wish we weren’t forced to marry to protect my sisters.”
Mary tilted her head to one side and stared at her in wonderment. “Due to your sisters?” She fought to hide her amusement but knew she failed when Phoebe glared at her. “Your sisters have little to do with Eamon’s decision, lass. ’Tis all about you.”
“You’re wrong, Mrs. O’Rourke, but I thank you for trying to ease my fears.”
Mary sat in quiet companionship with Phoebe for a few moments. “I have no idea what occurred between you and Eamon on the steamboat. ’Tis none of my business. However, I would ask that you think about your life. Have you never done something you regretted? Have you never acted out of fear?” She paused as she saw Phoebe staring at her with a mutinous stubbornness. “I almost lost my chance for happiness again with Seamus. I refused to risk my future happiness by clinging to the pain of my past disappointments.”
“How?” Phoebe whispered, the word bursting forth, as though torn from her. “How were you brave enough to trust him?” She shrugged. “I never realized you and Mr. O’Rourke had fought.”
“Oh, lass, we never fought. We had a horrible misunderstandin’. I gave birth to Maggie soon after our arrival in Montreal, nearly nineteen years ago in the middle of a typhus outbreak. One of the nuns moved me to a small shed to keep us safe from the illness. Another mistakenly informed Shay we had died. He left Montreal, believing he was a widower, while I waited for him, thinking he had deserted me and my babe.” Her eyes were haunted, remembering those long-ago moments of grief, fear, and determination to survive.
“What did you do?” Phoebe asked, fascinated at Mary’s story, even though she’d heard a similar version from Maggie.
“I married another man.” Mary shifted uncomfortably, now in discomfort at recalling her time away from the O’Rourkes. “A mean man who relished punishing me. Thankfully he died. And I traveled here with my brother-in-law, who was just as cruel.”
“And you met Mr. O’Rourke and fell into his arms again!”
Mary laughed. “Oh, dear God, no,” she said. “At first, I didn’t trust Seamus, and I was filled with anger. And hurt. And resentment that he seemed unscathed by our years apart, while I …” She took a deep breath. “I suffered.”
Phoebe scrunched up her
brows, as she thought through what Mary said. “How did you forgive him?”
Staring over Phoebe’s shoulder, as though seeing a distant scene, she smiled. “I listened to him. I heard the sincerity in his voice. I realized he had suffered just as greatly without me as I without him.” She paused, recalling those moments of reconciliation with Seamus. “And I listened to my heart. I knew I wanted to be with Seamus. I’d never been happy without him. I knew I could be again, if I were brave.”
Phoebe frowned. “But Mr. O’Rourke loved you, Mrs. O’Rourke. It’s obvious when he stares at you.” She ducked her head. “Eamon sees me as a sister.”
“Does he?” Mary asked in feigned innocence. “I fear you are as blind as he’s been.” She paused as Phoebe considered Mary’s words. “Now, Maggie, Aileen, Deirdre, an’ I want to help you prepare for your weddin’. Niamh wanted to be here too, but Nora believes she should be on bedrest as she nears her time. Niamh sends her best wishes. ’Tis important to have your womenfolk around you as you prepare for such an important day.” Mary paused and studied Phoebe, who remained silent. “Assumin’ you will marry the lad?”
Phoebe ignored the omission of her sisters from the list of women who would help her today. “Yes, I’ll marry him,” Phoebe said. “I gave my word.”
Rising, Mary kissed her head. “You won’t regret it, lass. Soon you’ll be an O’Rourke, an’ I’ll have another daughter. ’Twill be yet another reason to celebrate.” She slipped from the room to gather the O’Rourke women, leaving Phoebe deep in thought.
* * *
When Mary returned soon afterward with Aileen, Maggie, and Deirdre on her heels, Phoebe clenched her hands together and battled tears. Each woman carried something to enrich her wedding day. Mary carried a brush, her nimble hands playing through Phoebe’s gold-spun locks as she asked if Phoebe wanted her hair up or down. Maggie carried a pan filled with warm gardenia-scented water, towels draped over her shoulder to aid Phoebe with her sponge bath.
Sighing with relief as she felt pampered for one of the first times in her life, Phoebe asked Maggie, “How did you know?”
Maggie smiled at her with her impish charm. “It’s your wedding day. Every woman should be spoiled a bit on her big day.”
As Deirdre explained the menu for the party, Phoebe’s eyes rounded and filled with tears. “Now there will be roasted venison, vegetables, mashed potatoes, fresh bread, and cake. Always cake.” She laughed as Maggie sighed with delight. “I know it’s a simple meal, but, with our numbers, there will be plenty, and we won’t be chained to the stove.”
“It’s not simple at all. I can’t believe you’ve gone to such trouble for me,” Phoebe whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Mary squeezed her shoulder, her hair shining like a beacon as it hung loose.
“It was no trouble, Phoebe. You are my new sister. We celebrate each other’s happiness together.” Deirdre beamed. “And it always brings me joy to cook for the family.”
Mary clasped Phoebe’s hands, staring deeply into her eyes, before frowning at the confusion in Phoebe’s gaze. “We are your family now too, Phoebe, and it brings us pleasure to help you prepare for your wedding to Eamon. For I know you will be blessed. With happiness, joy, and love.” She squeezed Phoebe’s hands again.
Phoebe’s eyes swelled at Mary’s words. “I’ve never felt such kinship.”
“Oh, lass. Don’t cry, or Eamon will scold me,” Mary teased. “Besides, we’ve saved the best surprise for last.” She turned to Aileen.
Aileen had remained silent in the background, but she now stepped forward, cradling a gown over her arm. “I wanted to make you something beautiful for your special day. I wanted it to be partly a surprise as well, so I hope this gown comes close to your dream wedding gown.” She carefully unfolded the gown and held it up for Phoebe to see. The cream-colored satin gown had a scalloped neckline with touches of lace at the wrists. “Do you like it?” When Phoebe remained silent, her mouth opening and closing as she shook her head in wonder, Aileen frowned. “Do you not like it?” Aileen stared in dumbfounded silence at her mother-in-law. “But Seamus said this is what you wanted. What you dreamed of.”
Openly crying now, Phoebe nodded. Reaching out a shaking hand, she traced a finger over the finely wrought gown. “How can this be for me?”
Aileen passed the gown to Mary and enfolded Phoebe in a gentle hug. “Oh, Phoebe, of course it’s for you. You must have known that we never would have wished for you to be married in your night-robe.” She giggled and shook her head. “We all have a bit more vanity than that.”
Phoebe laughed, her spirit light and filled with hope at the kinship offered so effortlessly by these O’Rourke women. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking at each woman for her priceless gifts.
After exchanging smiles, each of the O’Rourke women gently hugged the bride-to-be, all four whispering a blessing into her ear.
* * *
Eamon took a deep breath as he stood outside the door to Phoebe’s room. He felt as though the usual wedding day ceremony had been flipped on its head, as she waited for him to approach her. Mary had stepped outside for a moment to delay Eamon a bit more, reassuring him that Phoebe was still getting ready.
When his mother returned not long afterward and nodded that he may now enter Phoebe’s room, he took one more deep breath, and Eamon crossed the doorway. Ignoring his chattering family, the sullen looks from her sisters, and the quiet presence of the priest by the head of her bed, he stared at Phoebe.
Rather than the exhausted, pale woman who had fought a terrible illness, she sat in a resplendent glory, her hair cascading over her shoulders, gleaming like the sun shone on it. Her mysterious green eyes were filled with trepidation and, he hoped, a touch of eagerness. She held a small bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, and her wedding gown had beautiful embroidery at the neck and sleeves. Kevin and Niall played a sweet tune on a tin whistle and a fiddle, a song that reminded him of home and filled him with the promise of tomorrow.
Smiling, he remained wholly focused on her as he approached her. “You are a vision.” He tried to ignore her instinctual grimace, not believing him. Once he reached her bedside, he motioned for the priest to move to face the two of them. Reaching down, he clasped one of her hands, but couldn’t raise it to his lips without causing her distress. Tugging the chair to the side of the bed, he sat beside her, kissing her palm as he gazed deeply into her gaze. “Hello, love,” he murmured.
“Eamon,” she breathed. She bolted as the priest spoke in a deep voice.
Fighting a chuckle, Eamon continued to gaze deeply into her eyes, ignoring the man’s words, until it was time to exchange vows and to give her a ring. He slipped his simple gold ring on her finger, raising her hand to kiss the finger after it slid into place.
As the priest intoned, “You may kiss the bride,” Eamon leaned forward, gently kissing her on her lips. Rather than deepening the kiss as he would like, he eased away to accept the congratulations from their family. For she was an O’Rourke now.
He rose, accepting his father’s embrace. Soon he moved to his brothers, until he arrived at Ardan. “Ard,” he whispered.
“Congratulations, Eamon,” Ardan said with pride. “Endeavor to understand her needs, what her desires are, and you will be happy.”
Eamon studied his eldest brother for a long moment. “I must focus on her,” he murmured. At Ardan’s nod, Eamon smiled. “Well, that will be no hardship, for she fascinates me.”
Ardan chuckled. “You say that now. Wait until she infuriates you.” He stepped aside to allow Maggie to throw herself into Eamon’s arms.
“Eamon!” Maggie squealed. “I’m so excited. Finally you’ve married her. Now she’s truly my sister.” She kissed him on his cheek.
“Thanks, Mags,” he said, as he watched his bride flush at something Finn said. He frowned as he saw her delight fade at her sisters’ approach. “I’d think they’d be pleased for her.”
Maggie shook her head, following his
gaze to watch the sisters interact. “No,” she murmured with a shake of her head. “There’s a difficult history between them that I don’t understand. I fear it only brings your bride pain.”
He grunted his agreement as he saw the pleasure of the moment leech from Phoebe’s expression. With a squeeze to Maggie’s arm, he moved to Phoebe’s side again. Pushing his way through the sisters, who had formed a small wall around their sister’s bed, he barreled his way to his wife’s bedside. Bending over, he kissed her cheek, murmuring, “Do you want them to leave?” At her subtle shake of her head, he rose with a sigh.
“Eamon, I had wondered if you would arrive today,” Winnifred said in a sly, cutting voice. “Made for a nice change from the usual wedding tension. Generally the guests are left to ponder if the bride will make a run for it.”
Stiffening at the snide comments, Eamon glared at her. “You had no reason to doubt I would arrive to marry my bride. I adore her, and I was eager to marry her.” He bent over to kiss her softly again, before facing Winnifred. “Anyone who questions my sincere devotion to her is mistaken. And, I fear, not to be trusted.”
Winnifred stepped away. “Forgive me for wanting to wish my sister well in her marriage. I had thought congratulations were in order.”
“As long as they are sincere,” Phoebe murmured, her gaze toward Winnifred filled with mistrust and hurt.
Eamon watched as Phoebe looked to Lorena, but her eldest sister remained quiet. After a moment fraught with tension, his bride’s sisters sauntered away. Soon Finn was bantering with Winnifred, and Lorena had escaped the crowded room.
Eamon sat on the chair beside her, grasping her hand. “What can I do for you, Bee?” He frowned, as she pasted on an impersonal smile.
“Nothing, Eamon. Everything went as we expected. We are married. And all is well.”
Swallowing what more he would have said, he accepted a glass of whiskey from Finn as Da raised a glass to toast the newlyweds. Eamon forced himself to focus on his father’s blessing, rather than his growing unease.
Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 13
