“Why?” Mary asked, as she watched Nora open her small bag. “Why help us in this manner?”
Nora paused in extracting a few sheets that appeared tea stained. “I will always consider Seamus a friend, and I will always admire his loyalty to family.” Her gaze flickered to Aileen. “Mrs. Aileen is a good friend and a hard worker who doesn’t look at my girls, or me, as though we are inferior to her. We are still people to her.” She paused, her gaze fixed on Mary. “And you’ve treated me like a respected guest since I arrived in your home. You even invited me to dinner.”
“If we hadn’t, would you have shared those papers with us?” Mary asked.
“I’m uncertain,” Nora whispered. “One does become tired of being deemed unworthy and invisible.” She shrugged and opened the sheaf of papers. “But none of that matters as I was welcomed. And you’ve all acted with honor. Unlike the lawyer.”
“What does the will say, lass?” Seamus asked, canting forward. He noted everyone at the table leaned forward too.
Flushing for the first time, Nora said in a terse voice, “The first part is unflattering to Mrs. Ahern, and I have no wish to say such horrible things.” She looked around the table at the glowers on the men’s faces and the shame in Niamh’s, and she sighed. “I imagine Mr. Chaffee took great joy in reading that section.”
At Seamus’s aye, Nora focused on the next section. “It does say that I am to be Maura Ahern’s guardian. However, there are stipulations. And I worry those stipulations were not discussed with you.”
Niamh spoke, her hand reaching forward to grab the paper. “No. He said I had to give up my daughter and acted as though there were nothing more to it.” Her gaze roved over the paper, and she paled. “Why? Why would Connor write such a thing?”
Cormac pulled the paper from Niamh’s hold, his gaze flying over the page as he flushed and then swore softly. After a moment, he swallowed and then took a deep breath. “I know you believe this is not my brother’s will, but it is. He was spiteful and mean when he felt he’d been betrayed. Or when someone crossed him. And he believed Niamh had done both.”
Nora shook her head in confusion. “Why would he think his stipulation a punishment?”
“He hated me,” Niamh whispered. “And he believed any man who had to marry me would be as miserable as he believed himself miserable.”
“Niamh,” Mary whispered, her eyes glistening as she beheld her daughter’s desolation. “You know that’s a blatant lie, love.”
“You left,” Niamh breathed. “Why should my husband have loved me any more than you did?” She ignored her mother’s indrawn breath of pain at her words.
“Niamh,” Seamus said in his deep voice, warning Niamh to not further upset her mother. Turning to Cormac, he asked, “What does the condition say?”
“It states ‘As is well-known in the town of Fort Benton, Niamh Ahern is an unfit mother. Rarely can she care for our daughter without the assistance of a family member. Always does she put her desire to work before the needs of her child, due to her selfish yearning to be as successful as her pathetic family. To prove her love, and to deserve the right to raise my daughter, she must marry again. For she should never have the chance to ruin my child’s life by raising her alone to mold into an image of herself, a heartless woman unfamiliar with the concepts of love, honor, or devotion.’”
“Bastard,” Ardan rasped and then muttered his apologies to his mother. “How dare he insinuate you are a bad mother?”
“Or that you work because you are trying to compete with your family?” Deirdre said. “We all know it’s because he frittered away every penny he ever earned at the gambling table and at the saloon.”
Niamh sat in stunned silence. “I wanted a little something for Maura that wasn’t given to us by you, Da. I’m paying for my pride.”
“No, my darlin’ daughter, no,” Seamus said, as he reached forward to grab her hand. “You aren’t. And you won’t. You know what you must do. Marry again. Turn this farce of a will to your advantage. Marry a good man this time.”
“No such man exists,” she whispered.
“Niamh,” Cormac rasped, as he recoiled from her side. He abruptly rose and stepped around the table. “I thank you, Nora, for your help tonight. You aided in answering questions I had.”
Nora gazed at him with abject sadness and disappointment. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”
Cormac shook his head and backed away. “Oh, but I do,” he whispered, looking at Niamh with torment in his gaze. He paused, as though waiting for Niamh to protest his abrupt departure, but she refused to look in his direction or to speak. “I do.” He spun and fled from the room.
Nora looked at Niamh and sighed. “That was foolish, girl.” When everyone else remained quiet, Nora rose. “For now, I will leave you. However, Niamh, I recommend you attempt to see sense. Mr. Chaffee will be only too glad to attempt to ruin your life by tearing your daughter away from you if you don’t marry and marry soon.”
After Nora had left, Seamus motioned for everyone else present to remain seated. He stared long and hard at his daughter, who remained quiet. Mary sat beside him, quivering as she attempted to quell her sobs.
Finally Ardan burst out, “How could you, Niamh?” His blue eyes gleamed with impassioned confusion. “How could you treat the man who has always stood by you with such contempt?”
“You don’t understand,” Niamh whispered, her head bowed, her hands clutched together tightly.
“Make us,” Kevin demanded.
Deirdre made a noise of distress and shook her head. “No, Ardan. Kevin. No.” She spoke in a low, soothing tone, her deep smoky voice filled with concern. “He—Cormac—has to do with why you were sick in the summer, doesn’t he?”
Niamh stared at her in horror, her eyes widened as she became ashen in color. “How do you know?”
Deirdre closed her eyes. “I don’t know much,” she said, as she met her husband’s disappointed gaze. “And I did not betray you, Ardan. Niamh didn’t say anything, but I had a suspicion that things were not going well with Connor. As did everyone else.”
Seamus rapped his fingers on the table. “What matters is that you make peace with Cormac. And that he fulfills his brother’s wishes so that you never have to fear losing Maura.” He spoke in a gentle tone. “Your daughter is important, Niamh.”
Niamh jerked, as though her father had struck her, and stumbled to her feet. “Of course. Maura must be protected. I’m of little consequence in all this.” She raced from the room, slamming the kitchen door shut behind her.
“Feck,” Seamus whispered. “I’ll go to her when she’s calmed down.” He looked at his sons. “Keep an eye out for that Chaffee. He finds too great a joy in another’s sorrow and must never be trusted.” With that, he eased Mary up and helped her upstairs to soothe her.
Cormac stormed out of the O’Rourke house. Uncertain of his destination, he walked for minutes, gasping and then swearing softly as he stood at the temporary marker for his brother. Staring at the poorly carved wooden inscription, he glared at it.
CA
1831–1865
“Damn you, Connor,” he whispered. “Damn you for everything you did to her. For everything you failed to do. For what you continue to do to her from the grave.” He closed his eyes, as he attempted to calm his anger, but a deep-seated rage had taken root, and he worried it would never be calmed.
“You knew I loved her and took joy in stealing her from me. Why would a brother act in such a way?” He fell to his knees, as he continued to rant at his brother. “I swore, after you married, that I wouldn’t spend time with you. That I would live a life separate from you.”
He bent forward, beating his hands on the ground. “But you found a way to entice me to spend time with you. With her. You shoved salt in the wound of my disappointment every time you kissed her in front of me. Every time you taunted me with Maura. Every time you put that look of resignation and desolation in her gaze.”
H
e swiped at his eyes, smearing dirt as he rubbed away tears. “You were my only living family, Connor.” He paused. “I’ll never forgive you for what you did in August. Never.”
Seamus held Mary in his arms as she sobbed. He did not attempt any false words to soothe her as he knew the reality of the situation would prove a lie to anything he said. Although he loved Niamh, he had trouble tempering his anger with her and her treatment of her mother. How could she not know how Mary had suffered after losing them? That their nearly eighteen years of separation had haunted Mary as it had all of them?
Mary’s tears slowly abated, but she continued to cling to him as her breaths stuttered in and out of her. “Don’t let me go,” she pleaded with her husband.
“Never, a ghrá,” he whispered. “My love, I would have spared you that if I could.”
“She will never forgive me,” Mary cried, her fingers digging into his back.
“Shh, love, she will. Niamh’s dealing with loss and fear, and she’s striking out at all those who are close to her. She’s yet to make her peace with Ardan after this summer, although they have formed a sort of truce.”
“She doesn’t lash out at you,” Mary said and then flushed at her petulant tone. “I’m sorry, darling. I’d never want you to suffer as I am.”
Seamus cupped her face and tilted it up so he could look deeply into her eyes. “Don’t you understand, Mary, how I would endure all this pain for you if I could? It’s torture for me to see you suffer.”
“Oh, Shay,” she cried, as she rested her head on his chest. “All I want to do is hold her close and cherish her as her mother. But she won’t let me. She wants nothing to do with me. And I can’t force her to accept me back into her life.”
Seamus sat in quiet contemplation as he listened to the sounds of his house. His boys chattering downstairs. Maggie soothing an upset Maura. The nearly indiscernible sobs he knew were Niamh’s, as she cried herself to sleep in her room. “Soon, my love, soon, your daughter will need you. And I trust you will prove as generous with your love as you have always. For she needs you as much as any of us. Perhaps more.”
“Oh, Shay, I pray for that every night,” his wife murmured, as she fought sleep in his arms.
When he knew she had tumbled into sleep, he rested her on the bed, running a hand over her silky hair and giving thanks once more that his beloved Mary had been returned to them.
Chapter 5
The following morning, Niamh left Maura with her aunt Aileen, with her sister-in-law’s promise that she would not bring her daughter anywhere near the Bordello. Niamh wrapped a warm cloak around her and set out for a walk. She knew she couldn’t walk far, as she had no desire to climb up the large bluffs that bracketed the backside of the town. However, she needed to escape the stifling disapproval in her father’s house.
Once outside, she paused to breathe deeply of the crisp fall air. A hawk soared overhead, swooping up and down as it searched for prey. Pausing a short distance from town, she closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sun, basking in its warmth. Too soon, the cool days of fall would give way to winter.
Unbidden, images of Connor flooded her mind. A smirk. A condescending look. A derisive comment about her attempt to cook a different meal. His snide, disdainful disregard for her ideas. His gaze filled with boredom and disappointment as he looked at her. His indifference as he ignored Maura. Niamh shivered, crossing her arms over her chest.
Just as suddenly, she thought of Cormac. Always smiling. His gaze filled with faith every time he looked at her. Encouraging her to do what she thought she couldn’t do. Believing her ideas had merit as he listened to her. His laughter as he found joy in all she did. His wonder at Maura as she grew.
With a shudder, she whispered to herself, “He’s not Connor.” Although she instinctively knew that, she had battled a deep fear that the brothers were more alike than she had wanted to admit to herself. That Cormac would be just like Connor and would change into a man she didn’t recognize if she were to marry him. Or perhaps that her judgment was irrevocably flawed because she had chosen Connor rather than his brother.
Galvanized into action, she turned, racing to Cormac’s small cabin. After pounding on his door, she pushed it open when he didn’t answer. Peering inside, her frantic motions froze as she saw a tidy home with no discernible personal touches. The bed was made, the stove cold to her touch, the coffee cup clean and hanging from a peg near the sink area. His clothes were gone, as was the keepsake rock he kept by the stove that Maura had given him this summer. Spinning, she ran to the livery.
“Mr. Harrison,” she gasped out when she arrived. “Where’s Cormac?”
He stared at her for a long assessing moment, causing a soft flush to rise on her cheeks. “Seems he had a desire to be elsewhere.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Left town this mornin’ with Dunmore on Dunmore’s last trip into the Territory before winter arrives. We won’t be seein’ him again until the snow thaws next spring. If ever.”
“No,” she gasped. “He wouldn’t …” She swallowed what else she would say as she noticed the curious gleam in the liveryman’s eyes and knew she had become the town’s greatest source of gossip. “Thank you for informing me.”
“Ma’am,” he muttered, although the respect that used to tinge his voice was absent. He turned on his heel and ignored her, as he entered his tack room.
Niamh stumbled from the livery and held on to the doorway in a dazed stupor. After a moment, she forced her feet to move as she walked in the direction of her father’s home. However, she came to an abrupt halt as Aileen’s aunt, Janet Davies, waylaid her near the hotel.
“Ah, Mrs. Ahern, I have to admit I was delighted to hear the tale from Uriah of your downfall.” She snickered as she beheld Niamh. Janet wore a fashionable dress in royal blue, the bright sheen faded after numerous washings. “It seems you are the black sheep of the O’Rourke family.”
Niamh squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Although it did little to calm her roiling emotions, she pasted on a serene smile, as she met Janet’s mocking gaze. “I believe those who have fallen as low as you should know better than to throw stones.” Her smile transformed into a genuine one as Janet stiffened with indignation. “I have family and friends who will help me. I do not have to rely on the dubious alliance with a transient man to whom loyalty and decency are unknown traits. Unlike you, I am not alone in this world.”
Janet Davies reached out, gripping Niamh’s forearm in a painful grip. “You’ll come begging Uriah for his help. And I can’t wait for the day he’ll deny it to you. Your husband knew you were useless. Worthless.” Her smile broadened with evil delight as she saw her words affected Niamh. “Now the town will too.”
“No, the town will continue to learn you are a woman worth avoiding.” She wrenched her arm free and stepped around Janet Davies.
“I find it fascinating his brother left too. Couldn’t stand the thought of having to saddle himself with his brother’s garbage, so he had to flee town.” Janet cackled with glee as she saw Niamh stumble at her words before she walked away and turned for home.
After she arrived home, Niamh collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. She heard the distant chortle of Maura as she played with Maggie, Aileen, and her mother; her younger brothers chattering; and the creak of a rocking chair. Although the kitchen was warm, with the stove always lit, she knew most of her family gathered in the living room, around the second stove her father had installed. She pushed herself to rise, to join them, but she found herself incapable.
The events of the morning continued to play through her mind. Although Janet Davies’s words had stung, they did not hurt her like Cormac’s departure did. Why would he run away? She put her head on the table, as a sob burst forth.
“Niamh, love,” Seamus murmured, as he entered the kitchen. After setting aside his tea mug, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and sat beside her. “What’s brought this on?”
“He left!”
Niamh stammered out. “And I made him go. It’s all my fault.”
Rather than contradict her, Seamus held her close as she sobbed. “You hurt the lad. An’ Dunmore was leavin’ today. Cormac saw his chance an’ took it.” He sighed as Niamh sniffled. “You must have faith he’ll come back to you, Niamh.”
She shook her head, her shoulders stooped. “Why would he? I’ve given him no indication I want him.” She closed her eyes, as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I’ve been so afraid …”
When she remained quiet, Seamus sighed. “You’ll find fear is a lonely bedfellow, my darling daughter.”
Niamh stilled and turned to stare at her father, her gaze accusatory and filled with betrayal. “You knew he was leaving. You said, he saw his chance and took it.” At her father’s nod, she scooted away from him, her head shaking repeatedly, as though dumbfounded at the disloyalty from someone she had always trusted. “How could you do that to me?”
With a gaze filled with patience and love, Seamus gripped her shoulders. “He wanted to ensure the lads would tend to his oxen. Your brothers don’t have enough to do now that winter approaches, and the work will keep them out of trouble.” He waited for Niamh to react, but she scrunched up her face and stared mutinously at his shoulder. “Think, Niamh. If his oxen are here, he’ll return.”
Niamh pushed away and rose, stumbling over her skirts and the chair, nearly tumbling into the stove. “No!” she cried, as she held a hand to her belly, as a deep, searing agony washed through her, more acute and more profound than anything she had ever felt with Connor. “No. I need him here. Now. And he left. And you let him go.”
Seamus shook his head, his gaze filled with sadness. “I didn’t, Niamh. You did. And ’tis that which you find so difficult to live with.”
He rose, leaving her alone in the kitchen in her silent misery, as she contemplated a life without Cormac. A life she’d never had to imagine since the day she had met him.
Pioneer Yearning: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Three Page 6
