Chapter Three
Joseph sat on the bench of his buggy, trying to keep his mind off the tender good-bye taking place on Biddy and Ian’s front step. Tavish had staked his claim on Katie’s heart weeks earlier, and she clearly returned the sentiment. Joseph could respect that. He could keep to his quiet corner of Katie’s life. He could even manage some semblance of a smile for her when she mentioned Tavish’s name. He could do all those things. But he didn’t have to like it.
Katie reached the wagon a moment later, and he offered her a hand up.
“Thank you, Joseph.” Even after three months, she still seemed surprised when he showed her that civility.
She settled on the bench and tucked her feet behind her skirts as she always did, keeping her battered shoes out of sight. He knew that the state of her footwear bothered her but that the broken and scarred state of her feet bothered her even more. He wished he could do something for her, anything to ease even one of her burdens.
“If only Hope Springs had a real doctor.” Katie sighed, long and heavy. “Mrs. Claire is a fine midwife and knows every folk remedy ever thought of, and she’s been so very helpful with Ian, but it would ease my mind considerably to have an actual man of medicine to consult. I worried all day that I’d make a mistake, and he’d be the worse for it.”
He tightened his grip on the reins, resisting the urge to take her hand in his and offer some words of comfort.
You are her employer. And she has given her heart to someone else.
“There is nothing for it but to wait and see what the next few days hold for him.” Joseph took some pride in his businesslike tone. If he could feign indifference, perhaps he would eventually learn to feel it.
Katie nodded. “We’ve a saying in Ireland much like that. ‘For what cannot be cured, patience is best.’”
He flicked the reins, urging the horse along. Patience was all well and good, but it wasn’t the most satisfying companion. Distraction was more often the best approach where his feelings for Katie were concerned. He certainly had enough to worry about.
His first thought upon hearing of Ian’s condition was fear for his friend. But immediately afterward came concern for Katie. Was she still safe in his home? Would the Red Road take out their anger on her? He hated that he did not know the answer to those questions.
The wagon rolled over the bridge that led off the Irish Road. His house sat first after the bridge, the no-man’s-land in the town’s decade-long feud. He was caught in the middle in every sense of the word.
“Seems the girls arrived home before we did.” Katie motioned toward the barn, easily visible from the bridge.
Finbarr O’Connor sat in the back of his father’s wagon, playing some kind of game with Joseph’s daughters. Though only sixteen, Finbarr had the patience of a saint and the uncanny ability to keep the girls occupied. Ivy saw him as a fun friend and playmate; Emma was half in love with him. If Emma hadn’t been only nine years old and if Finbarr hadn’t been the most trustworthy young man of Joseph’s acquaintance, he might have worried about that.
Joseph raised his hand in greeting to Mr. O’Connor and received the same gesture in return. He pulled up to the side of the O’Connor wagon.
“How’s my son?” Mr. O’Connor asked, his expression tight and worried.
“There’s been no change.” Katie’s tone twisted with guilt. She blamed herself for far too many things that weren’t her fault.
The discouragement in all of their faces pricked at Joseph. These were good people, yet terrible things continually happened to them.
“At least he isn’t growing worse,” Joseph put in, hoping to give them at least a little hope to cling to.
Their nods of acknowledgment were noticeably low on enthusiasm.
Joseph lifted his daughters down from the O’Connor wagon, keeping little Ivy in his arms. “Send word if you need anything.”
Mr. O’Connor nodded in understanding and with a quick twitch of the reins, had his wagon turned about and on its way back toward the Irish side of the valley.
“Pompah.” Ivy turned his head with her tiny hands, bringing his gaze to her face. “Is Mary’s papa still ill?”
“Yes, dearest. He is still very ill.” Joseph had decided the moment he heard about the nature and extent of Ian’s injuries to spare his daughters those details. They’d seen too much hatred in their short lives without knowing just how deep it ran in Hope Springs.
Ivy laid her head on his shoulder. Joseph felt Emma’s hand slip in his. He glanced down. Her nine-year-old eyes were often too old and knowing for his peace of mind. She, it seemed, suspected there was more to the difficulties than he’d let on. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he could see she still worried.
“What say you to a steaming pot of potato-and-leek soup?” Katie jumped in.
Joseph could see in the strain of her smile that she made every effort to appear cheerful. Did she sense the girls’ uneasiness as well? Though she’d thoroughly protested her inadequacy as a caregiver for the children initially, she’d proven her worth again and again.
“Can we have bread too?” Ivy asked hopefully.
Katie put her hands on her hips and eyed Ivy with a teasing scold. “Now what kind of baker woman would I be if I didn’t serve bread with the soup? You just tell me that, now.”
“No kind of baker woman at all.” Ivy shook her finger in rhythm to her words, even managing the tiniest bit of an Irish inflection.
Joseph smiled to hear it. He very much liked the idea of Katie being an influence in his daughters’ lives. They would do well to learn from her strength and determination.
“Could it be soda bread?” Ivy pleaded.
Katie nodded. “I think it’d best be; we haven’t time enough for making anything else.”
Ivy’s grin was wide as a Wyoming horizon.
“Come on then, sweet thing.” Katie reached out for her. “We’ll get you and your sister washed up just quick as can be and have your supper on the table as well.”
Ivy willingly made the switch from Joseph’s arms to Katie’s. Though he loved the feel of his little girl in his embrace, giving her over to Katie felt as natural as anything in the world.
Katie loved both his girls. She simply didn’t love
him.
Emma moved to Katie’s side as well. Joseph nodded her on toward the house; he needed to tend to the horse. And he needed a few minutes of quiet to settle his thoughts.
He’d only just turned in the direction of the barn when Katie’s voice, steady but uncertain, called out to him. “You seem to have yourself a visitor, Joseph Archer.”
A visitor?
He looked back over his shoulder. A silhouette stepped out of the shadows of the back porch. Joseph knew him after a moment. Bob Archibald.
Bob Archibald despised the Irish more than anyone else in town did, and he’d never attempted to hide his animosity. He’d been behind most of the escalations in the Hope Springs feud over the years. Though he had no proof, Joseph firmly suspected Bob Archibald had a hand in Ian’s current state.
Katie had frozen in the yard, the girls standing close at her side. Joseph crossed the yard in a few quick strides. He’d not have Bob infecting the girls with his vitriol. And he absolutely would not allow the man to insult or threaten Katie.
“Bob.” He nodded his acknowledgment.
“I came to see how that Paddy is doing.” Bob’s smile was that of a man enjoying another’s suffering.
Katie’s posture stiffened. The Reds called every Irish person in Hope Springs “Paddy” and in the same sneering tone Bob Archibald had used.
Joseph joined Katie and the girls. “Go on inside,” he told them in as quiet and calm a voice as he could manage. To his unwelcome visitor he said, “I don’t know anyone named Paddy.”
“You know the one,” Bob answered. “Rumor has it he fell and hurt himself.”
Emma’s worried eyes turned up to Joseph. He motioned her once more toward the door. Katie took her hand and pulled her along. That she knew what to do without him specifically asking was a blessing.
As soon as Katie and the girls were inside, Joseph took up the discussion with Bob once more. “I think you know perfectly well that Ian O’Connor didn’t fall.”
Bob managed an almost believable look of uncertainty and rubbed his chin as if in thought. “Is that so? I am certain I heard he tripped.”
As much as he hated playing the snake’s game, Joseph could see no other way of getting the information he sought, short of storming down the Red Road himself and demanding the guilty parties identify themselves.
“One has to wonder why a man as peaceable as Ian O’Connor, one who never causes trouble nor stirs things up, would ‘trip’ that way,” Joseph said. “One would expect such a thing to happen to someone with a reputation for fanning the flames.”
“Yes, one does have to wonder about that.” The oily smile disappeared, replaced by a look so pointedly serious Joseph couldn’t help but feel a wave of apprehension. “It seems to me it would be best if
everyone
got it into their heads where they belong.” His eyes darted quickly, almost imperceptibly, toward Joseph’s house.
Joseph forced himself to take a calming breath. As angry as the feud made him, he alone stood in a position to reason with both sides. Pummeling Bob Archibald would not help in the long run.
“I have to disagree with you there,” Joseph said. “What would actually be best is for both sides of this ridiculous argument to forget about beating each other down and mind their own business for once in their lives.”
One side of Bob’s mouth tipped. He plopped his hat on his head. “You had best keep a weather eye out, Archer. Things can get a little stormy this time of year.”
Joseph watched him go, a weight settling in his stomach. Bob hadn’t come simply to gloat over Ian’s injuries; Joseph felt certain of that.
The Red Road had never been happy about Katie living off the Irish Road. They had made an issue of it almost from the beginning.
Panic flared on the instant. Ian’s injuries remained fresh in his mind. If that happened to Katie . . .
Having her nearby was the greatest thing that had happened to him since his wife died. The girls loved her.
He
loved her. But if she wasn’t safe in his home, on his land, he could not—
would
not—keep her there.
His new housekeeper would not arrive until the end of harvest, some weeks down the road. Practicality demanded he keep Katie there until he had a replacement. His own loneliness called out for the same. More than mere loneliness—she was such a crucial part of his life that he couldn’t imagine his days without her. But how could he ask her to stay if there was even the tiniest possibility any harm would come to her?
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow Katie to remain in danger.
He sat through dinner, debating how to go about insisting she leave without either wounding her feelings or alarming her. She’d been mistreated by far too many people in her life. He didn’t want his name added to that list.
He stepped into the kitchen after the girls had finished their meal.
She looked up at him. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a question, Joseph.” She continued working as she spoke. “I saw a stack of letters on your writing desk. Does there happen to be one for me in there?”
Katie had written to her ailing father in Ireland and was clearly hoping for a response.
“There hasn’t been enough time yet for a letter to reach here from Belfast,” he told her, hoping to ease her disappointment.
“Are you trying to tell me that patience is a virtue?” Her light tone and smile did his heart good.
He loved her smile. Though she had arrived somber and painfully unsure of herself, Katie had eased into life in Hope Springs and in his home. She fit there like a piece in a puzzle.
Joseph leaned against the countertop near the sink where she worked. “Bob Archibald’s visit has me thinking.”
Katie’s smile dimmed visibly. “Is it terrible that I’m convinced within myself that he was behind Ian’s beating? I know I’ve not a bit of proof, and maybe it’s only my own dislike of the man talking, but I blame him for it. I blame him entirely.” She gave a tiny shake of her head, shrugging as she did. “’Tis likely terribly unfair of me, I know.”
“I doubt there is a single person in all of Hope Springs who
doesn’t
think Bob Archibald is responsible for Ian’s condition.”
Her hands stilled in the dishwater. She pressed her lips together, mouth downturned. “I’ve heard whispers,” she said hesitantly, “that many suspect Ian was set upon by an entire group of people.”
Joseph was certain of that. Even caught off guard, Ian could have defended himself against a single attacker. Still, Katie was worried enough; she didn’t need to know the feud had truly descended into mob attacks. He could only hope more violence would not follow.
“You think that as well, do you?” Katie returned to her washing, scrubbing with more determination than she had before. He’d learned that about her—she cleaned with vigor when she was upset. “That is a terrible, terrible thing to do to a man. Did Bob Archibald say anything to you about it?” She spoke uncertainly, watching him closely. “Did he say what might happen next? If . . . if there’s more danger?”
Leave it to Katie to strike directly at the heart of the matter. He’d never known her to shy away from a problem, little or great. “Archibald didn’t make any specific threats, but I didn’t care for his tone.”
She dried her hands on a dishrag, her brows drawn as she spoke to him. “Did he make
vague
threats, then?”
Nothing got past Katie. He was grateful in that moment to have someone to talk with. “His main point of complaint was ‘people not staying where they belong.’”
She turned the tiniest bit pale. “He was speaking of me, was he?”
Joseph brushed his fingers against her arm, wanting to reassure her. He never allowed himself anything but the friendliest connection, a momentary touch on the arm, an encouraging word or two. He never crossed beyond that no matter how desperately his heart cried out for her companionship. Touching her was torturous.
His touch brought a half-smile to her face. His own burden lightened seeing even a tiny bit of her worries lifted. He wished he was in a position to do more than that.