Eamon nodded, sitting in contemplative silence for many moments. “You’re concerned I’ll think less of you because your mum was like Nora. Like the Madam?” At her defeated nod, he stroked a hand over her head. “Do you wish you could have a life like hers?”
“Like hers?” Phoebe breathed in horror.
“Free to do what you want. Free to find a man who suits your fancy at any given time.”
“No, no, no, no,” she stammered, flushing, while he watched her with loving amusement. “I’ve never wanted her life.”
“Then why do your sisters resent you so much?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It’s like all families. There are misunderstandings and resentments.”
“Perhaps, but we usually fight them out and are over them within a few days. The only time a disagreement has lasted is this one with Declan.” He rubbed at his forehead. “I wish I were certain I did the correct thing.”
Arching over the table, Phoebe stretched so she could caress his forehead free of worry lines and then to run her fingers over his face. “You know you did, Eamon. From what Maggie told me one day, while I was convalescing, you did all you could for your brother. No one could ask you to have done anything more.”
“Ardan would have found a way to talk him ’round, so that Declan would return home. Ardan never would have left Declan in Saint Louis, alone and suffering, for another year.” He paused as he saw her staring at him with deep emotion and devotion in her gaze. “What?”
“You are as good a man, as honorable a man, as your big brother. I wish you could see that.” She paused and swallowed before whispering, “I wish you could see what I see.”
“What do you see?” he asked in a voice barely louder than a breeze.
As the back door slammed shut, she jumped, releasing her hold on Eamon’s hand. Dropping her gaze to her forgotten vegetables, she picked up her knife in an attempt to focus on chopping again. However, her hand shook, and she had trouble concentrating.
Eamon turned to glare at the interloper. “Finn,” he muttered.
“Lovebirds,” Finn said with a sly smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt your interlude.”
Phoebe focused on Finn and frowned. “Do you have news of Niamh and her babe?”
Sighing, Finn collapsed onto the bench beside Eamon. “No. Only that ‘these things take time’ and that ‘men should learn patience for once.’” He rolled his eyes, as Eamon snorted. “The first was a quote from Mum, the second, Maggie.”
Phoebe giggled and shared an amused look with her husband. “From what I’ve heard, they’re correct. Where’s your father? He could soothe them.”
Eamon stared at her in confusion, before looking at his younger brother.
Shrugging, Finn grabbed a piece of carrot. “He’s playing with Maura. I’m sure he’ll arrive here soon with her. Niamh doesn’t want her daughter to hear her screaming, especially when she’s swearing at Cormac and Connor.”
“Why both of them?” Eamon asked, as he played with one of Phoebe’s hands. His fingers tickled her palm, and he was momentarily distracted by the fetching color that rose on her cheeks.
“Connor, for putting her into this state, and Cormac, for being away from home,” Finn said, as he rose with a wink. “I’ll be at the store with Niall and Luc.” He departed as abruptly as he had arrived.
Phoebe traced her thumb over Eamon’s fingers, tugging gently at her hand. “I’ll need both hands if I’m to help with supper.”
He stared at her intently for a long moment before releasing her hand. “One day, I pray that’s you,” he whispered.
“What?” she breathed.
“I pray, one day soon, that I’m the madman pacing the porch, as I wait for news of the birth of my—our—babe. I never realized how much I wanted that until now.”
“Eamon,” she breathed.
“Come. Let’s finish this stew, for I know they’ll descend on us like a pack of hungry wolves.”
* * *
That evening after supper, Eamon and Phoebe retired to their room so an exhausted Phoebe could rest after the day’s exertions. Eamon held her in his arms as she slipped into sleep before easing away from cuddling her. He pulled on his pants and tugged on a shirt before walking into the kitchen in bare feet. “Da,” he whispered, as he saw his father wandering around the kitchen, humming to himself. “I thought I heard someone pacing.”
“Eamon, lad,” Seamus murmured. “I didn’t mean to wake anyone.” He motioned to the table, and they sat, an unopened bottle of whiskey in front of them.
“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep.” Eamon thrummed his fingers on the tabletop. “I’m worried about Niamh. ’Tis takin’ too long, aye?”
“Nay,” Da murmured. “It could take up to a day or longer if she’s unlucky. Seein’ as she’s having her second babe, I pray ’twill be easier for her.”
Eamon nodded, his brows furrowed as he stared at the whiskey bottle. “Am I a fool, Da?”
Seamus grinned and nodded. “Oh, most likely. All men are, especially when we are in love.”
Matching his father’s grin, his countenance brightened for a moment before he sobered. “I fear she’ll never care for me as I do her.” He ducked his head after his quiet confession. “I don’t know what to do to inspire her love.”
“Ah, lad, you already are a fool.” When Eamon flushed, he gripped his shoulder and squeezed it. “For you cannot see what is plain to us all.” He paused as he waited for Eamon to fully focus on him. “Your wife cares for you, as much or more than you do her, but she’s terrified of feelin’ so much.”
Eamon gave a huff of disbelief.
“And ’tis it any wonder? She’s suffered terribly, from the sounds of it.”
A resounding silence filled the room, with only the distant sounds of the town entering the cracked open window. “I know you were harmed by Colleen. I’m sorry, lad.”
Eamon gaped at his da, unable to deny his words. “’Twas a difficult time for all.”
Seamus made a sound of regret in his voice. “Don’t, lad. Don’t diminish the damage done by my marriage to her. Not to you.” He closed his eyes, as though facing his son’s sorrow was too much to bear.
“Da, I don’t blame you. I never have.” He stared at the icebox, but his gaze was focused on distant scenes. Of listening to his da and Colleen fight. Of jumping in front of Finn to take his brother’s punishments when Finn sought love. “She didn’t have the capacity for love that we needed.”
“No,” Seamus breathed, “nor did I. Not for her.” He took a deep breath and met Eamon’s gaze. “Forgive me, Eamon, for ever marrying a woman who would hurt the family. Hurt you.”
“’Tis all right, Da. We’re all together again. Mum and Maggie are returned to us.”
“Aye, an’ you’ll find your happiness with Phoebe. I know it.”
“I know you want to reassure me, Da, but I fear you are wrong,” Eamon whispered. “I almost blurted out that I loved her today, and I thought she would faint from disappointment.”
“Perhaps ’twas shock,” Seamus murmured. “Your wife has known too much disillusionment in life to believe in mere words.”
Eamon tapped his hand on the tabletop, his eyes flashing with indignation. “What more am I to do, Da? I sat by her bedside every night for over a week, praying to God and bargaining with the Devil to keep her healthy. To keep her with me. I married her to keep her safe and because I can’t imagine a life without her by my side. I protected her from her hurtful sisters. I …” His voice broke off, as he fought tears of frustration and impotence.
“You’re doing what you must to show her your steadfastness.” Seamus sighed. “But I think your wee wife needs a push too. Encourage her to want your embrace. To miss your kisses. To want more than a brotherly cuddle in bed.” He looked mildly chagrined at the last bit of advice but shrugged, as though it couldn’t be helped. “She must know you want her as a wife, not as a cook or friend.”
“But I do want a
friend,” Eamon murmured.
“Aye, but ’tisn’t all you want, and she needs to understand that,” Seamus said with a wry smile. He looked to the door, as it burst open, and Mary barreled inside. “Love, a ghrá, is all well?” He rose, his chair nearly toppling backward with his haste.
“Aye,” she said, as she beamed at him, panting. She radiated joy and excitement with a hint of exhaustion. “Niamh is well. The babe is well. A fine big boy.”
“A boy,” Seamus breathed. “My first grandson.” He opened his arms wide, pulling Mary close as he held her, kissing her head. “Oh, to be so blessed.”
Eamon eased from the room, leaving his parents to quietly celebrate the arrival of Niamh’s baby, as Eamon returned to Phoebe. To dream of a day when he was so fortunate.
* * *
Later that evening, Mary rested in bed, fighting sleep, as she waited for Seamus to return. His desire to see Niamh and to meet his grandson had prevented him from resting, and he’d whispered he would return after a quick visit. Sighing with gratitude, Mary said a quiet prayer of thanksgiving that such a man was her husband.
Rather than her abusive, abrasive second husband, Francois Bergeron, who had taken pleasure in destroying her spirit and in tormenting her children, Seamus was the opposite in every possible way. He relished being a father and rejoiced in every new family member. Although the Mortimer girls are proving a challenge, she thought with a wry chuckle. She hoped they would find their way, although Mary was losing her patience with Winnifred.
Curling onto her side, a smile bloomed as the door creaked open. “A chuisle,” she murmured, her eyes glowing with delight as Seamus gazed at her with absolute devotion as she called him “my heartbeat” in Gaelic. “You’ve returned to me.”
He chuckled as he stripped. “Aye, love, I’ll always return to you.” He groaned with pleasure to pull her into his arms as he crawled into bed, her head resting on his shoulder. “Heaven,” he breathed.
She ran her hands over his chest, kissing him every few moments, frowning when she sensed a deep tension thrumming through him. “What’s the matter, love?” She pushed up, her auburn and gray hair falling over one shoulder. “Is Niamh ill? The babe?”
“Shh, a ghrá, they’re well. They’re fine. Maggie will spend the night there, as will Aileen. Kevin insists on sleepin’ on one of the chairs, so, if there’s trouble, he’ll run for us.” He kissed her head, his strong hands running over her back. Little by little, he relaxed in her arms.
“What is it, love?” She pushed up so that her forearms rested on his chest, her fingers stroking his trimmed beard.
One of his fingers traced over her delicate jaw, before caressing the elegant line of her throat. “Never doubt how much I love you. Or adore you,” he whispered, a soft plea in his voice. At the flash of fear in her gaze, he pressed two callused fingers to her lips. “I spoke with Eamon tonight. About Colleen.” He closed his eyes a moment. “I hate how my decisions harmed all the lads. Niamh too.”
Mary heaved out a breath, wrapping her arms around him, as she pressed herself fully against him. “Oh, Seamus, dear God,” she gasped. “Never scare me like that again.” When he cupped her head and tilted it so she met his confused gaze, she bit her lip. “I feared you’d met another. That you … didn’t want me—”
He rolled her under him so quickly that she barely had the opportunity to gasp out “Oof.” He panted, pressing his lips to her cheek, as a shudder ran through him. Inching away from her, he rasped, “Not want you, lass? That I’d met another?” He shook his head over and over again, his startling blue eyes filled with a fierce determination, as his hands held her almost to the point of pain. “Never. Never,” he vowed again, dipping forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss. “Dear God, what must I do to rid you of this fear?”
A tear trickled out, and he chased it with his lips, and she shivered at the soft caress of his mouth. She took deep heaving breaths to stifle her sobs, but a keening wail managed to burst forth. “Nothing. I’m foolish.”
“No,” he said, as he held her and refused to allow her to move away from him. To hide from him. “What have I done to give you such doubt?”
“It sounded like you were saying goodbye to me,” she whispered. Her eyes closed, shielding her from his penetrating gaze.
“Please, love, don’t hide what I’ve done to hurt you.” His voice broke. “I can’t bear the fact I’ve hurt you.” He paused, before breathing, “Again.”
“Shay,” she cried, her eyes opening to expose the anguish in her gaze.
“Tell me what I did,” he pleaded, his head lowering with his failure. “Tell me what I said to hurt you so badly.”
Mary took a trembling breath, her fingers playing through his silken locks. Finally she whispered, “Those were the words you whispered to me before I had our baby. Before I had Maggie. The last night we were together in Montreal.” She paused, as they shared a tortured look. “They brought me back to the time I lost you. To my deepest fear.”
He gaped at her, dumbfounded. “I do love you. I adore you, a ghrá mo chroí.” He spoke the Gaelic words, “love of my heart,” like a vow.
“I know,” she whispered, her cheeks now soaked. “And I you, Shay. Some memories are hard to overcome. Some fears impossible to ignore.”
“I will be here tomorrow … and the day after … and the day after that,” he promised. “I will not lose you again.”
“Hold me. Help me to believe,” she cried, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
He held her, finding comfort in comforting her. With a shaky sigh, he felt the tension about his regrets from his second marriage ease as his whole focus was on his first love. His Mary.
Chapter 15
Phoebe sat in the living room of the O’Rourke house, quietly fanning herself as the day warmed. Even though she knew she should be thankful her new family was so protective of her, their insistence she not leave the home for a walk made her feel hemmed in. Although her uncle would never be a man she would esteem or would have faith in, she believed that the O’Rourkes would keep her safe.
With a jolt of disbelief, she sat back against the sofa. Trust. She trusted the large, at times overbearing, family. For, no matter what, they had shown devotion and dedication to each other. A steadfastness she had only dreamed of.
Letting out a huff of frustration, she heaved herself to her feet and walked to the kitchen. As she approached the back door, Maggie jumped in front of her. “No, Phoebe. ’Tis better if you don’t go outside just yet.”
Frowning at Maggie, a woman who was becoming closer to her than either of her sisters, she said in a low voice, laced with hurt, “Why are you keeping me a prisoner? Why can’t I walk in the small yard or sit on the steps and watch the chickens? I want to be outside for just a few minutes.”
The back door opened, and Eamon entered.
“Eamon,” Maggie said, “please tell me that it’s time.”
Eamon gave a small nod, and Maggie sighed with relief.
“Time for what?” Phoebe asked in confusion. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to accept this one,” he said with a wink. He had a fine sheen of sawdust on his clothes and hair. “Come.” He waited for her to grip her cane and walked with her in slow, measured steps out of the house, ignoring her persistent limp.
“Oh, how lovely,” she breathed when she was outside, the soft breeze billowing over her. She stilled and closed her eyes, raising her face to the sun. A contented smile spread, her worry easing. After a moment, she jolted and covered her face with her free hand. “Oh, no! They’ll worsen.”
“What will?” he asked with a perplexed frown.
“My freckles.”
“You daft woman, who cares if you are happy? Enjoy the sun. You’ve been deprived of being outside for too long as it is. And part of that is my fault.” He raised one of her hands to kiss it. “I fear I didn’t tell you the full truth. Although I did want to protect you f
rom your uncle, I also wanted to give you a completed wedding present.”
“A wedding present?” she asked with a shake of her head. She slipped her free hand through his arm, walking with him a short distance from the large O’Rourke home.
“Aye,” he said with pride. “Our home.” He paused at a small cabin with a covered front porch and two rocking chairs.
“Ours?” she breathed. “When? How?”
“My brothers and I have been working on it during every free minute. Which we haven’t had enough of lately.” He bit his lip as he looked at her. “Do you want to see the inside?”
“Yes!” She followed him up the steps, pausing at the threshold.
He swooped her into his arms, laughing as she shrieked with surprise, and carried her inside to a large room still dirty with sawdust everywhere. He gently set her down and kissed her deeply. When he broke the kiss, he stroked a thumb over her cheek, murmuring in a low voice, “Finally we have our own home to share.” He swung his free arm wide, waiting for her response, his blue eyes shining with a hint of trepidation.
No furniture or curtains were present, although a potbellied stove stood on bricks along one wall. “You just built this?” she asked, wonder in her voice.
“’Twas nothing,” he said. “The shell of the building was here. My brothers an’ I finished it. Filled in the gaps in the walls. Rebuilt the floors. Made sure the roof won’t leak come winter.” He shrugged as though none of that were difficult work.
“Oh, Eamon,” she breathed, before throwing herself into his arms, earning an “Oof” from him. “Thank you!”
“I know it looks a mess, but—”
She covered his mouth with hers, and, when she broke away, her green eyes were lit with an incandescent joy. “No, it’s wonderful. It’s ours.” A tear tracked down her cheek. “I can see how it will be. With curtains over the windows and a bed in one corner. A small table with a pot of flowers.” She sighed with pleasure. “Our home.”
Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 18
