“Aye,” he whispered, pulling her close. “Our home.”
* * *
One week later, Phoebe worked diligently in the cabin to clean it and to make it feel like a home. A cloth was spread out on the table, as she labored over the curtains for their windows, gasping as she pricked her finger. She’d never liked sewing. She resented the fact she would need to sew more as a married woman, mending ripped hems and replacing buttons.
At a knock, she gladly set aside her project, limping to the door. “Maggie!”
The younger woman grabbed her in a quick hug before looking into the small cabin. “Oh, you’ve made progress.” Her blue eyes shone with teasing. “Although you’d be further along if you allowed me to help you.”
Phoebe sighed and rubbed at her blond hair. “I fear you are correct. I wanted to do something on my own.” Her shoulders drooped, as though admitting she’d failed.
“Nonsense,” Maggie proclaimed. “We’re family, and I like to think we’re friends. We help each other.” She paused when she heard Phoebe’s stomach growl. “Never tell me that you haven’t eaten since breakfast.” At Phoebe’s embarrassed flush, Maggie towed her out the door.
“Wait! My cane,” Phoebe protested with a laugh. Rather than head in the direction of the large O’Rourke family home, Maggie led her in the direction of the saloons. “I … I shouldn’t walk in this direction.”
“It’s all right, Phoebe,” Maggie soothed, her arm linked with her sister-in-law’s. “You’re not alone. Besides, Deirdre makes some of the best food you could ever eat, and I know she longs for company.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Besides, I thought you’d want to see how your sisters are doing.”
Ducking her head, Phoebe bit her lip, so as not to laugh and to agree with Maggie’s pronouncement. Ever since Seamus had declared that the two uninjured Mortimer sisters needed to work to earn their keep, Phoebe had been intensely curious about how Lorena and Winnifred were coping working at Deirdre’s café.
Chuckling at Phoebe’s silence and her display of loyalty, Maggie murmured in a conspiratorial manner, “I heard Ardan tell Kevin that Winnifred is driving poor Deirdre to distraction. Always complaining that no woman should have to work so hard.”
“Oh my,” Phoebe muttered. “I fear we’ve all been … coddled.”
Squeezing her arm, Maggie shook her head. “Not you, Phoebe. For some reason, you’re not much like your sisters. Especially Winnifred,” she said, with a disgust-laced voice. She marched up the back steps to the café and trooped inside, pulling a recalcitrant Phoebe along with her.
Phoebe stood stock-still upon entering, her gaze roving over the room. Bowls were set out on the butcher-block table, while stew bubbled in a pot on the stove, and bread cooled on a rack. Phoebe inhaled the intoxicating scents, realizing she had been wrong—she’d believed nothing could smell better than the O’Rourke kitchen. However, Deirdre’s kitchen was heaven.
After taking another breath, she focused on Ardan’s wife, Deirdre—a beautiful woman with red-gold hair, who stood with her hands on her hips as she glared at Winnifred. They stood near the pantry to the side of the room. For her part, Winnie stood with a mutinous expression on her face as she returned the glare.
“How could you have ruined the butter?” Deirdre demanded, ignoring Phoebe and Maggie. “’Tis a simple-enough process.”
“Don’t act all high-and-mighty when I’m the one with a sore arm and calluses on my hands, due to the manual labor you expect me to perform every day!” Winnifred snapped. She stomped her foot on the ground with a huff.
Lorena worked at the sink, washing a mound of ever-growing dishes, ignoring her sister’s outburst. Phoebe edged closer to Winnifred as Deirdre pulled off the lid, before jumping back a step at the rancid smell.
“Mother of God, that reeks,” Maggie gasped. “What did you do?”
“I put the cream in there to churn,” Winnifred said with a defiant shrug of her shoulders.
Sighing, Deirdre rubbed at her forehead. “Did you wash it out with scalding water before each use, as instructed?” At Winnifred’s baleful stare, Deirdre nodded. “Fine. Take it to the creek and clean it out.”
“I’ll go with you,” Maggie said, with an encouraging smile to Deirdre. “That way you won’t be alone, Winnie. But you have to carry it and to clean it yourself.” Ignoring Winnifred’s affronted gasp, Maggie spoke to Deirdre. “Can you fix Phoebe something to eat? She’s been working hard at her home and forgot to eat lunch.”
Deirdre nodded, her expression brightening only at the sight of Winnifred trudging out of her kitchen. “Please, have a seat,” she murmured, as she spooned a healthy portion of venison stew and set a thick slab of oatmeal bread beside her bowl. “Eat up. If you’re still hungry, I made cookies.”
“Oh, you’re too generous,” Phoebe protested, her eyes closing with delight at the delicious aromas wafting around her.
“You’re family, Phoebe.” Deirdre glanced at Lorena, working diligently in the corner. “Does she ever talk?” she asked in a low voice.
“Rarely,” Phoebe murmured. “Before the War, she was vivacious and opinioned, like Winnifred. But not mean, like Winnie.” She hung her head, as though she’d been disloyal. When she saw no judgment in Deirdre’s gaze, she said, “Something happened. I know she lost the man she loved. But I have the sense something more occurred.”
“You don’t know what it was?” Deirdre asked, as she mixed together the batter for a cake for the evening rush.
Shaking her head, Phoebe shrugged. “It was never to be discussed. A veil of silence descended, and no more was to be said about Lorena’s disappointment.”
Deirdre cast a worried glance in the eldest Mortimer’s direction. “Well, it appears to have been traumatic.” She paused in her fluid motions about the kitchen to focus on Phoebe. “Although she appears to be Winnifred’s puppet, I’ve detected no true malice from Lorena. I sense it’s more a way to deflect notice from her as she continues to mourn whatever she lost.” She noted Phoebe’s intent stare. “She reminds me of myself, before I met Ardan.”
“Ah, love,” Ardan murmured, as he entered the kitchen. “Before you had the good fortune to be swept off your feet by a man like me?” he teased, as he rubbed his strong hands over her shoulders. He winked at Phoebe, as Deirdre groaned with pleasure as his fingers worked to ease knots of tension.
“Aye,” she sighed. “Before I realized that a life alone was no life at all.”
Phoebe watched the O’Rourke couple, a fierce yearning filling her for her relationship with Eamon to evolve into so much more than it was.
* * *
A few weeks later in mid-July, Phoebe scrubbed and polished the floors, stove, and table in what would be her new home with Eamon. After weeks of working, the sawdust and grime had been washed away, the curtains were hung, and the bed had been made. She looked around the one room of her new home, and she smiled with satisfaction.
Standing at the door, a large bed with a pile of pillows and a homemade quilt sat against the left wall. The stove and cooking area were to the right of the doorway, with a small table to one side of the door. At the foot of the bed sat two rocking chairs, waiting for Phoebe and Eamon to relax and to share stories at night. They were a matched pair to the two rocking chairs on the front porch, for cool evenings outside.
Phoebe stretched her arms overhead, gasping as she lost her balance from trying to balance on her injured leg. She yelped as strong arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her against a solid chest. “Eamon,” she breathed.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing her head as he stabilized her. “You’ve done too much today, and you should rest.”
Feeling like a petulant child, she wished she could throw a fit. That she could stomp her foot or could yell her frustration at her weakness and her need for help. Instead she took a deep breath and swallowed, hiding her annoyance. “Thank you for ensuring I didn’t fall,” she said, wriggling to free herself from
his embrace.
“Hold still,” he breathed into her ear. “Let me cradle you a little longer.”
Her eyes closed at his soft voice, teasing at a memory from when she was sick. “You sound much like your father,” she said, as she relaxed against him, sighing with pleasure as he kissed the side of her neck. “I never realized that until today.”
“Da has a much stronger accent than I do,” Eamon said. “I’ve only picked up a few words here and there that make me sound like I’m an Irishman.”
She chuckled, her hands playing over his strong forearms. “No one would ever doubt your heritage, Eamon.” She gasped as the palm of one hand stroked up over her belly to her breast and then back down again. “I’m a mess. I need a bath.”
“You’re beautiful as you are, but, if you want a bath, you’ll have one.” He kissed her one last time on the side of her neck and then carefully released her, ensuring she had regained her balance before stepping away from her.
Phoebe raised a hand to her head, smiling with embarrassment as she realized her shakiness had nothing to do with her injured leg but with her husband’s embrace. Drawing in a deep breath, she silently berated herself to pull herself together and to stop acting like an infatuated schoolgirl.
She turned to find Eamon pouring a pan of steaming water, always waiting atop the potbellied stove, into the large wooden tub set near the kitchen stove. He added cooler water and then tested it.
With a smile, he held out his hand to her. “Come, love. The water’s perfect for a bath. ’Twill ease the soreness of your muscles.”
She balked, backing up until she met the wall. “I couldn’t possibly undress in front of you, Eamon. You’ll need to wait on the front step.” Her hand clutched at the collar of her high-necked light-green calico dress.
“Bee?” he asked, with a shake of his head. “We’re married. ’Tis fine for a husband to see his wife unclothed.” He fisted his hands, holding them on his hips to prevent himself from reaching out to touch her.
“No, it isn’t. It should never be proper,” she gasped.
With an exasperated snort, Eamon muttered, “Who do you think helped you into and out of the ice baths when your fever raged? You weren’t wearing anything then.”
Paling, Phoebe pressed into the wall as though she were on the verge of fainting. “I presumed your mother and Maggie attended me. I know your father sat beside me at night. His soft words soothed me.”
Shaking his head to clear it of confusion from the nonsensical words she had just spoken, he approached her. “What are you talkin’ about, Bee?” With careful, slow steps, he approached her. “I lifted you into and out of the bath. I sat beside you every night, calming you as you fought fever dreams. I—” His voice broke off, and he closed his eyes in defeat at the horror in her gaze.
“You?” she gasped. “All the time, it was you?” Her eyes widened with wonder, as she continued to stare at him. His head was bowed, and he stood in defeat in front of her. “You didn’t forsake me?”
His head jerked up, his blue eyes shining with a fierce devotion. “Never, Bee. Never. From the moment Da told me that your uncle was a scoundrel, I was intent on finding a way to aid you.” He took a step closer, his hand trembling as it rose to brush at her golden hair. “Nay, from before then. I knew on the steamboat that I’d find my way back to you after a little time. I was a fool to ever let you go. I had hoped to have more time with you in Fort Benton, as I accepted what I felt for you. As I hoped to earn your trust.”
Her chin trembled, and her eyes filled while she battled tears. “I … I thought I was too much of a bother …” She broke off with a gasp, as he leaned forward, kissing her. His hands cupped her face, his fingers twining in her hair, as he held her close to deepen the kiss.
Moaning in distress as he backed away, Phoebe clutched his shoulders, tugging him close again.
“Never a bother, my beloved,” he breathed. “Never.” He kissed her softly again, before gazing deeply into her eyes with unguarded tenderness. “Come. Your bath water is cooling.”
She ducked her head.
“Be brave, Bee,” he urged. When she continued to stare at her feet, he murmured, “I’ll lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling while you bathe. If you need me, you can call out for help. But we can still chat.” He paused. “Or do you prefer to be completely alone?”
She raised her gaze to study him, shaking her head. “No, I have no desire to be completely alone.” She looked around their small home with a rueful smile. “I know I will love our home, but I find I am missing the chaos of your family’s home.”
He grinned at her. “As am I. But we can join in the bedlam at any time. Remember that.” He kissed her on her forehead and then moved to the bed, kicking off his boots before crawling onto it, resting with his hands on his chest and his eyes closed. “Get in, love, before it feels like you’re having another ice bath.”
She giggled and slipped off her clothes, keeping her back turned to him the entire time. Thankful for the curtains, which now made their home feel like a private oasis, she slipped into the bath with a contented sigh. “Ah, heaven,” she whispered. Rather than chatter away, she rested in silence, soaking up the warmth of the bathwater, but also the peace of being in her husband’s company with no words needed between them.
After many minutes, she forced herself to open her eyes, and she reached for the nearby soap. Rather than a harsh lye soap, this was a gentle soap that smelled of vanilla. She sniffed appreciatively. “Thank you, Eamon,” she murmured. She cast a glance in his direction and saw his smile. She bit her lip before blurting out, “I know I never let you explain why you acted as you did on the steamboat. I’d like to understand that now.”
He leaned up on his elbows, looking into her eyes. “I want you to understand.” He smiled as he beheld her in her bath. “But I’d prefer talking with you when you are dressed and not such a temptation.”
Flushing, she whispered, “How can you find me fetching while I’m in my bath?”
He groaned, flopping onto his back so he stared at the ceiling. “Don’t be a tease, Bee.”
Phoebe washed hastily, sloshing water over the sides of the tub before she rose. Grabbing the large bath sheet Eamon had set beside the tub, she wrapped it around herself, limping to the bed to perch on the edge of it as she faced him. “I’m not a tease. Winnie and Lorena were the flirts in the family.”
Eamon rolled onto his side, his arm bent at the elbow, as he propped himself up while he took in the beauty of his wife. “Well, from where I lay, you’re a temptation that is hard to deny, Bee.” He paused. “And I never wanted your sisters. It’s always been you.”
Hope flared in her gaze as she stared at him, one hand wrapped tightly around the bath sheet knotted in the crease between her breasts, the other reaching out to stroke his leg. She needed to touch him in some way. “Help me to understand why you were so cruel to me.” Her eyes were filled with pleading.
“Bee,” Eamon breathed, as his hand caught hers, his fingers caressing and playing with her delicate fingers. “I was afraid. You’ve heard the story about how my mother and Maggie were separated from us for nearly eighteen years.” He closed his eyes, reliving that pain. “I’ve had little faith in forever. Or the promise of constancy.”
He paused, speaking in a low voice. “My da married again. A woman who was miserly with her love. She resented Da’s inability to love her as he had loved Mum. She hated his children with Mary because he was devoted to us and adored us. We were a constant reminder of what Colleen would never have.”
“What did she do to you, Eamon?” she whispered, her hand stroking over his leg.
“She’d find an excuse to punish one of us. Her favorite was Finn. He was so young, and she’d convinced him that he’d earned every blow.” He shook his head. “How can a child be punished for crying because he missed his mum?” His eyes glowed with impotent rage. “I took as much of his punishment as I could, and we never told Da.”
<
br /> “Oh, Eamon,” she breathed.
“I learned that love only brings pain, Bee,” he whispered. “And, when I met you, it terrified me.” He swallowed as he stared at her. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Phoebe nodded and scooted up the bed, closer to him, as her attention was wholly riveted by his words and the sharing of his childhood pain. “Colleen is dead, and your mother has been back for a year now. Surely you trust Mary will not leave again.”
Staring deeply into her gaze, Eamon shrugged. “On the steamboat, I wondered if she would be here when we arrived. I wondered if her return had been a dream. If she had come back to torment us, to taunt us, with what we could have had.” He paused, studied his hands. “Mum isn’t cruel, and I should have known better.”
“You were afraid,” she whispered in understanding.
“Aye,” he said in a barely audible voice. “Terrified. And I hurt you. I’m so sorry, Bee. If I had been brave, I could have prevented you from being harmed. All of this is my fault.” His hand stroked her injured thigh.
“Hush,” she said, as she leaned forward, pressing fingers to his soft lips. By now, she had forgotten all about her bath sheet, falling loosely around her. “I’ve had too much time to think these past weeks, and I believe nothing would have been different. Even if you were courting me when the steamboat docked, I would have insisted on going to a hotel with my sisters. I would have seen my uncle, and nothing would have been different.”
He kissed her fingers. “I hate that you were hurt.” When he saw her nod at his words, he murmured, “But you understand your injury has not changed my regard for you? My desire for you?”
She looked down, gasping to find the bath sheet gaping open. Tugging at it, she tried to pull it closed. However, as she had scooted toward him, it had tangled on the bed behind her, and her attempt to wrap it tighter around her only stripped her more fully of any coverings.
Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 19
