Laughing as though she had just gained the upper hand, Winnifred shook her head. “No, dear sister, he’s considerate. He only married you to ensure we were safe from uncle. Did you truly believe he cared for you?” She rolled her eyes, as though her sister were the naivest of women. “Now that we are safe, and now that you won’t be harmed by uncle again, he’s free to do what he wants.” She nodded, as Phoebe paled.
“If that’s so, then I’m free to ensure you never disparage my wife again,” Eamon said in a deceptively friendly voice as he leaned against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore an impeccable gray suit with a waistcoat that matched his eyes. His blue eyes were glacially cold as he looked at Winnifred and then Lorena. “That you never again spew your poisonous words at her.”
Winnifred paled, as she gaped at Eamon. “I never meant …”
Nodding, Eamon pushed away from the door and approached her. “Of course you did, Winnie. On the steamboat, I thought you were amusing, the way you always argued with Finn. But now I realize you are filled with a venomous discontent. And you want everyone near you to be as miserable as you are.” He shook his head. “I won’t let you harm my wife, or our relationship, ever again.”
“I speak the truth,” she proclaimed, her chin tilted up.
His gaze raked over her with disdain. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you. Phoebe is the best sister you could ever dream of having. She’s loyal and kind. But you intentionally hurt her because you’ve filled your mind with fantasies of betrayal and nothing will free you of them. From now on, you are barred from Phoebe’s room. And when we move to our new home, you are forbidden from visiting.” His gaze flit to Lorena, so as to include her in his pronouncement. “As are you, until you can find the nerve to stand up against the bully in your family.”
“Forever?” Phoebe whispered.
Eamon cast a worried glance in his wife’s direction before focusing on Winnifred again, largely ignoring Lorena, as though understanding Winnifred was the instigator of his wife’s distress. “Until Winnifred has a change of heart and can be civil and honest and can prove she truly cares for you. Until then, she is barred. Forever.”
“You have no right!” Winnie screeched.
Eamon smiled, standing tall and calm, as Winnie became hysterical. “I have every right. I’m Phoebe’s husband. And I promised to protect her.” He paused. “Out.”
Winnifred tossed her head up, storming from the room, Lorena on her heels, the door slamming shut behind them.
Phoebe sat in stunned silence, staring at her husband as he paced the room like a caged animal. “You didn’t have to involve yourself,” she said. Whatever more she might have said sputtered to a halt when he spun to glare at her. She noted the ire in his gaze, before ducking her head in shame. “I’m sorry you felt the need to intervene.”
Eamon sat on the chair beside the bed and stared at her with abject frustration. “Bee, how could you expect me to stand by and to listen to her treat you horribly and to disparage me and how I feel about you at the same time and to say nothing? I couldn’t. I refuse to.”
“They’re just words,” she whispered.
“Aye, an’ as powerful as any blow,” he murmured. “I won’t tolerate anyone harming you, love.”
Bending her head forward, she refused to meet his entreating gaze. “I knew what she said was true, Eamon.”
When he swore and reached for her, she raised startled eyes to meet his furious gaze. Now he appeared angrier with her than he’d ever been with Winnifred. “What part of that vicious nonsense was true, Bee?” When she stared at him in open-mouthed wonder, he whispered, “That I would tire of you and seek out comfort at the Bordello? That I had been forced to marry you solely to save your sisters? That I don’t care for you?”
Phoebe shrugged, mesmerized by what she saw in his gaze. “I don’t know what to believe. I thought I knew, but then everything changed on the steamboat.”
“Bee, if you’d just let me explain—” He swore under his breath at the knock on the door, glaring at Maggie as she poked her head in. “What is it, Mags?”
“Don’t growl at your sister,” Phoebe commanded. “It’s not her fault we’re at odds.” Phoebe looked to Maggie, who watched them with frank amusement. “Maggie?”
“It’s time for Phoebe’s walk. She needs to keep moving, if she’s to regain strength and her independence.”
Eamon jumped up, waiting to help her from the bed. “Of course.”
Phoebe motioned for him to leave, and he shook his head. “Eamon, Maggie and I are fine.” When a deep hurt entered his gaze, Phoebe reached forward to grab his arm but missed him as he moved too fast from the bed. “Eamon!” she screeched as she started to tumble from the bed.
One minute, she was falling, and, the next, she was cradled in his arms. The memory of falling—of not knowing if she would land or if she would die when she did land—coursed through her memory, and a shaking overwhelmed her. Her teeth chattered, and she clung to Eamon as he sat on the floor with her in his lap. “Hold me,” she pleaded, soaking his shirt. “Don’t let me go.”
“Shh, love,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re well. You’re fine. You’re here in my arms, and I’ll never let anyone harm you again.” He continued to speak soft words of comfort and love in her ear, as he rocked from side to side.
After long minutes, Phoebe calmed, hiccupping out shaky breaths. “Forgive me,” she said, as she wriggled to be let up.
“Stay,” Eamon said. “Please. Let me hold you a little while longer. For me.” When she had settled, he whispered, “What happened, Bee? What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, as a tear coursed down her cheek. “Nothing.” She looked to Maggie and flushed, sighing with relief when Maggie slipped from the room to leave them alone. “I never realized I could hurt you,” she whispered. When he made a noise expressing his confusion, she said in a soft voice, “I never thought you cared enough that something I did would hurt you.”
Cupping her face and turning her head so she looked at him, he looked deeply into her eyes. “Heed me, Bee,” he said in a low, passionate voice. “I care. And I’m tired of being doubted.”
Another tear trickled down one cheek as she nodded. “I saw the pain in your eyes, and I realized I wanted to walk with you. To hear you banter with Maggie as I leaned against you for support.” She leaned against him, as she stiffened from her memory. “But you moved too quickly, and I knew I would fall. And then the memory of falling from the saloon rushed back.”
Eamon stared at her with horror. “From the day you were injured.”
Nodding, she pressed her face against his chest. “I thought I’d die. Or become crippled. Or never stop falling. I still have nightmares where I wake up falling.”
He ran his strong hands over her back, pulling her even closer. “I thought you’d dream about your painful injury.”
“It was injured in the fall. It’s all tied together.”
“Feck,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe. I’d make it better for you, if I could.”
She wrapped her arms around his back and sighed deeply before whispering, “Don’t you see? You already do.”
His arms tightened at her words, causing her to squeak as he pushed the air from her. “I do?”
“I’ve never had someone hold me through one of my terrors,” she whispered.
Eamon helped her up and eased her onto the bed. He kicked off his boots and crawled in, drawing her in to rest beside him. “Come, love. Let me hold you a little longer.”
* * *
Phoebe woke to the calming sensation of feeling cherished. She rested in her husband’s arms, her head on his strong chest, while his hands slowly stroked her back. He kissed her head, murmuring soft words and sounds of comfort as he held her. With a sigh, she wished she could remain asleep forever, just like this.
“Are you awake, lass?” he murmured with another kiss to her head.
“Yes,�
�� she whispered, her voice filled with regret as she moved to ease off him. When his arms tightened around her, she settled again on his chest. At his soft “Stay,” a tear leaked out.
“Let me hold you.” Fingers traced patterns on her back. “Soothing you soothes me, my love.”
“I’m fine,” she protested, although her voice emerged slurred, as she battled slipping into sleep again.
“You are now,” he agreed. “However, I hate envisioning what you suffered.” When she shivered, he said, “Share the memory with me.”
Tilting her head up to meet his gaze, she frowned in confusion. “Why? What purpose does that serve?”
Callused fingers traced over her silky cheek, while he stared intently into her eyes. “It helps me to understand. And it takes away the power of the memory over you.”
Sighing, Phoebe rested her head on his chest again, her fingers rising to play over his shoulder. “I was taught to be dutiful. To respect my elders. When my uncle insisted on showing us around the town, I thought to appease him.” She paused. “Lorena and Winnie refused, in part because I think they knew I would agree.” With a sigh, her fingers dug into his shoulder. “I can’t blame them. I can’t be angry with them.”
“But you are,” he murmured, as he kissed her head again.
“I wonder, over and over, how it might have been different if we’d stayed together.”
Eamon made a sound of disagreement. “You do realize Mr. Bell alone could have harmed all three of you and made it harder to ensure your safety? It was easier to bring your sisters here because they were at the hotel, not locked upstairs at the Daybreak.”
“I know,” she said in a voice filled with shame. “I knew something was wrong by the way Uncle encouraged men to leer at me.” She shivered. “I should have done something. But I didn’t know what. And I never would have imagined he had planned something so terrible. I’m his niece!” Gasping, she whispered, “And then he forced me into the saloon.”
When her voice broke off, one of his hands rose to clasp the one gripping his shoulder. He linked their hands to weld their strength together. “What happened after that?”
“All I remember is panic. And praying someone would help me. Would show me mercy. Instead they seemed amused. And eager.” She shivered, pressing into his strong hold. “And then a giant of a man stepped out of the shadows and threw me over his shoulders, promising that I’d be ready for tonight’s entertainment.” She took a stuttering breath. “I realized that I was the night’s entertainment.”
She raised her head and looked deeply into her husband’s tormented gaze. “I … That’s not who I am.” She paused, as though expecting him to disagree. When he remained quiet, she lowered her gaze. “He tossed me into a windowless room and locked me inside.”
He ran a hand down her head, his voice filled with pride. “And you had the strength and the determination to break through a wall and to jump to freedom.” His thumb traced over her cheek. “Never doubt how remarkable you are, Bee.”
“I’m not remarkable,” she protested. “I was desperate.” She shivered. “And terrified. I thought I’d die. From the fall. And, if not from that, I knew they’d find me, and the beating I’d receive would be worse than anything I could envision.”
Eamon’s jaw tightened at the mention of her being harmed. “No one will ever mistreat you, Bee. You’ll never know how thankful I am that you chose the O’Rourke home as your place of refuge.” He kissed her forehead and swiped away a few tears. When he noted she continued to appear ashamed, he shook his head. “I wish you could see what I see, Bee. Too many would have accepted their fate. You fought back.” He leaned forward, kissing her softly. “Take pride in who you are, love. For I know I do.”
She rested her head against his chest, crying softly, as she attempted to banish those fearful moments. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Always, Bee. Always.”
Chapter 13
A few days later, Phoebe walked around the first floor of the O’Rourke house, holding on to the wall or pieces of furniture for balance. Although the stitches had been removed with surprising ease and little pain, her strength had not returned as quickly. Sweating, she leaned against a wall, closing her eyes in defeat, as she had only made two circles around the lower living space today, rather than the three yesterday, before having to stop.
With a frustrated huff, she hit the wall with her open palm, then pushed away, intent on walking faster and with less of a limp. She moved quickly, and her foot caught on the edge of the rug. With a yelp of distress, she tumbled to the ground, landing with a groan of agony.
“Phoebe!” Maggie gasped, as she emerged from the kitchen, swiping her hands on a cloth. “Are you all right?”
Rolling onto her uninjured side, Phoebe rested with an arm slung over her face, as tears leaked out. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“Don’t be a ninny,” Maggie scolded. “Of course I’ll worry about you. You’re my sister now.” When Phoebe gazed at her in abject amazement, Maggie smiled. “Besides, I like you too.” With a mischievous wink, she knelt beside Phoebe and pulled at her skirts. “Let me have a look at your leg and ensure you didn’t break open the scar.”
Phoebe pushed at her skirts and dug her heels into the rug, until she had scooted herself away from Maggie and sat, leaning against the sofa. “It’s not proper to look at my leg in the open.” A scarlet flush covered her cheeks.
“No one’s here except Mum,” Maggie said with calm understanding. After a long moment, where Phoebe’s frantic breathing calmed, Maggie loosened Phoebe’s hands and eased up her skirt. She gave a satisfied nod and smiled. “You didn’t do any damage, although you might have a new bruise.” She rose and held out her hand. “Come. I knew I should walk with you.”
“I’m not a child.” Phoebe immediately ducked her head at the petulance of her words.
“No, but I imagine we’ve made you feel like one. All coddled and making decisions for you.” She paused, her hazel eyes shining with concern. “You do understand it’s because we care for you and don’t want any more harm to befall you?” She pulled Phoebe into a hug and then looped her arm through Phoebe’s, as they walked slowly to the kitchen.
“Mum,” Maggie called out, “do you have any tea for Phoebe? Walking is thirsty work.” She winked again at Phoebe, as she motioned for Phoebe to sit, before Maggie bustled around the kitchen.
Phoebe sat with a relieved sigh, rubbing at her injured thigh, as she watched the two women work with envy. She wanted to have such ease of movement again but dreaded she never would. A deep fear settled inside that Eamon had saddled himself to a cripple, and he would come to regret his rash decision.
A cup of tea was set in front of her, prepared just the way she liked it, with a splash of milk and a tiny bit of sugar. Somehow Mary never forgot how someone liked to drink their tea. After a comforting squeeze to her shoulder, Mary returned to the stove to work on the evening meal, leaving Phoebe to join in the conversation or to sit in silence.
Rather than enter the speculation about where Dunmore and Cormac were, and whether Cormac would be in town when Niamh had her baby, Phoebe sat sipping her tea in a daze. The fear of never walking unaided had taken root inside Phoebe, and she didn’t know how to quell it. Eamon had shown her a tremendous kindness since their marriage, but she knew better than to confuse kindness with affection. Or love. Rubbing at her head as a headache brewed, she finally noticed the kitchen was unusually quiet, when Maggie and Mary always chattered away while they worked together. She raised her head to find them both watching her with concern.
“I’m fine,” she said in a quavering breath, her eyes closing for a moment in defeat at her inability to speak without betraying her inner turmoil.
Mary watched her with an assessing gaze, before joining her at the table with an appreciative sigh, a mug of tea between her palms. “Fine,” she murmured. “I’ve never been keen on that word. I feel it fails to fully express any true f
eeling.” She took a sip of her tea as she stared at her newest daughter-in-law, a note of challenge in her beautiful hazel eyes. “How are you really?”
“Terrified,” Phoebe blurted out, before she bit her lip and dipped her head.
“Of Eamon?” Mary asked, her concern deepening in her gaze.
“No, never of him,” Phoebe said, closing her eyes in defeat. “Partially,” she admitted on a nearly inaudible breath.
Maggie gasped but quieted after a “Hush” came from Mary.
Mary sat in quiet companionship with Phoebe at the table, sipping tea as the sounds from town entered through the open window on the warm early summer day. Carts rolled past, horses neighing and their hooves clomping, while drivers called out greetings and warnings to those they passed. Chickens clucked as they roosted in the chicken coop, while a dog barked in the distance. Soothing everyday sounds of a thriving town.
“I hate that I have a limp,” Phoebe whispered, her hand dropping to her leg again as though of its own volition.
Mary nodded, sending another quelling glance in Maggie’s direction. “Are you angry?”
“Angry?” Phoebe shook her head. “I’m grateful I have two legs. That I can still walk. But I’m vain.”
Maggie sputtered out a laugh. “You’re the least vain of the Mortimer sisters.”
That earned a rueful smile. “That isn’t saying much. I’ve always known I was the plainest of the sisters. There was never much reason for me to primp and to fuss in front of a mirror.”
“Plainest?” Mary asked with a confused tilt of her head. “Who filled your head with such nonsense?” Sensing the deeply rooted hurt within Phoebe, Mary spoke in a soft motherly tone. “You’re beautiful, lass. You’ve hair that shines like gold in the sun and beautiful green eyes that remind me of Ireland.”
“There’s no need to lie. I know what I am.”
Maggie snorted and sat with a huff. “No, you don’t. For too long, you’ve believed the lies you were fed. Just like I did.” She cast a worried glance in her mum’s direction before continuing to speak. “I believed I had to be quiet, to not have opinions, to never laugh louder than a whisper. For if I did, I’d be allowing my pagan roots to shine through.” She beamed at Phoebe. “I’ve come to realize I like who I am.”
Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 16
