Longing for Home (14 page)

“If you were any sort of a gentleman,” Katie urgently whispered, “you’d stop him.”

“I might as well try stopping the rain, Sweet Katie.” He felt certain she didn’t appreciate the name he’d fashioned for her any more in that moment than she usually did.

Seamus continued addressing the group. The man never seemed quite as at home as he did when speaking before a crowd. “I do believe the lass deserves a song. What say all of ya?”

Cheers and applause answered his question. Seamus turned to the musicians. “What say you? Shall we play her a fine tune of welcome?”

The flute gave a quick, lively trill. Seamus turned back toward Katie, offered a friendly nod, and launched with enthusiasm into a tune the gathering knew well, though it had only lately come in to being.

i>In the merry month of June from me home I started,
Left the girls of Tuam so nearly broken hearted,
Saluted Father dear, kissed me darling mother,
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother.

Others joined in the singing but held back on the dancing. Everyone knew the order of such things. Everyone, Tavish realized, except Katie.

“They are waiting for you, Sweet Katie,” he said. “This is your welcome song. You are expected to start the dancing.”

“I do not dance.” She spoke firmly, her voice fair snapping with the declaration.

That reasoning wouldn’t suffice. “You also told me that you don’t smile, but I’ve seen hints of it my own self.”

Katie shook her head, shook it with great emphasis, in fact.

“Refusing would offend them all.” They’d likely see it as a sign of rejecting their offered friendship, in fact. “You’re not dancing to say ‘look how fine I dance.’ You’re saying, ‘I thank you for the welcome.’”

That didn’t appear to convince her. “I . . .” She glanced about, her eyes not resting on anyone but taking them all in quickly. “I made a promise many years ago not to dance until I—” Her brow knit, not with anger or frustration but something far closer to sadness. “I don’t dance, Tavish. I don’t wish to offend, but I do not dance. Not ever.”

The song continued. Her words sat heavy on Tavish’s mind. She’d promised someone not to dance, someone who seemed to mean a great deal to her. He could see by the pained lines in her face that the very idea of breaking that vow was ripping into her heart.

More and more eyes turned toward her expectantly. The time had come, it seemed, to trade his role of teasing companion to friend in a time of need. He’d undertake it for only a moment, he said to himself. He had no desire to get tangled up in any woman’s troubles.

Tavish pointed a finger in her direction and made certain he smiled a bit. “You owe me for this.”

His eyes roamed the crowd nearby. Who could be counted on to join him in his breach of etiquette? Ah, the very person. His littlest sister, though now a wife and woman grown, could always be counted on for a lark. He stepped up to her and held out his hand.

“Tavish?” she whispered urgently.

“I’ll explain later, only go along with me in this.”

Bless her heart, she followed his lead. He spun her out into the space set aside for dancing. He could see surprised looks on most faces in the crowd. As near as Tavish could recall, and he’d been attending the weekly parties for nearly a decade, no one had ever stepped out before the guest of honor.

He gave his family and closer friends pointed looks whenever their eyes met, silently telling them to join in. Slowly people began trickling out as well, taking up the dance. While he kept up the lively steps, he pondered just what to say in explanation. What had possessed him to step in for a woman so determined to dislike him?

The song continued as the dancing grew more general.

One two three four five
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road
And all the way to Dublin,
Whack fol la dee dah!

As the song came to a fine and energetic end, the crowd applauded. Tavish’s eyes found Katie. She looked braced for the worst, as though expecting to be thrashed or upbraided for refusing to dance.

Thrashed? For a dance?
What had this woman been through? That she assumed she’d be mistreated tugged at Tavish’s heart more than he cared to admit.

“Friends,” he called out, “I think we owe our lovely new neighbor something of an apology.”

Katie turned alarmingly pale. Tavish hoped she had the fortitude to stay standing during his explanation.

“We’ve grown so accustomed to greeting new arrivals with a dance that we’ve embarrassed our newest neighbor, I’m afraid.” And now to formulate some acceptable reason when he himself had no idea of the whys of her refusal. “Miss Macauley is a bit shy of strangers and will need time to feel at ease enough among us to dance.”

Shy of strangers.
That wouldn’t hold water. Katie Macauley didn’t care for scrutiny, but she was hardly timid.

Everyone seemed to accept that reasoning. He’d have to apologize to Katie later for such a fabrication. She was, in that moment, surrounded by throngs wishing to make her acquaintance, likely all apologizing for making her uncomfortable with their attention. If she hadn’t been shy of strangers before, she would be terrified of them after that.

Biddy, thank her kind heart, pushed through the crowd. She could be counted on to pull Katie out before her neighbors in their enthusiasm ran her off entirely.

“Good of you to take Miss Katie under your wing as you have.”

Tavish didn’t even have to look over to know ’twas Ian who spoke. He’d recognize the thinly veiled amusement in his voice anywhere.

“Your wife bullied me into it, if you must know.” Tavish felt certain Ian wouldn’t believe the half-truth. “Said if I didn’t pay Katie particular attention, she’d tan my hide.”

Ian’s smile turned up a bit more. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

Tavish shrugged, his eyes drifting back to where Katie and Biddy stood, heads together, chatting like old friends. Something Katie said drew a laugh from Biddy. Katie very nearly smiled. Very nearly. The change in her, with her eyes lit up and the weight that usually showed in her expression lifted, was captivating. What would she look like if she actually smiled? How might an evening spent with her go if she were in a laughing and teasing mood?

“A lovely colleen, she is.” Ian apparently hadn’t left yet.

“She is a mystery is what she is.”

Ian only nodded. “Those are the best kind, brother.” He slapped Tavish on the shoulder before heading off in the direction of his wife and her new friend.

Tavish considered joining them but thought better of it. While he found Katie enjoyably intriguing, he had no thoughts beyond that. Hovering about would only add to his family’s speculating. No. Katie would have a far easier time of it if he made quite certain everyone knew there was no possibility of anything but friendship between the two of them.

Chapter Thirteen

Shortly after breakfast the next morning, Katie patted at her loose knot of hair, checking her reflection in the small mirror hanging in her room. The Archer family, she’d learned, attended church on Sunday mornings. She wasn’t a religious person by any definition, but she could see the Archers hadn’t remotely accepted her. Indeed they hardly seemed to approve of her. She thought it best to go along.

She straightened her cuffs. They weren’t nearly as white as when first she’d made them upon arriving in America two years earlier. The dress was out of date and a touch worn, but it was the nicest she had. Both her work dresses were made of unexceptional brown fabric, more serviceable than pretty. This, however, was her fine dress, one reserved for rare occasions that called for something nicer. She’d chosen a sturdy fabric in a very light blue. It had held up to wear but wouldn’t hold up to any fashionable scrutiny. The skirt hung full all the way around. Women of distinction wore their dresses narrower at the front now, with all the fullness in the back. Katie never had aspired to such heights of fashion.

She stepped back, pulling the front of her skirts up a touch. If only she could do something about the shoes.

She had none but her battered old work boots. Still, the dress hung nearly long enough to keep them covered. How she hoped no one would notice. She’d never had the means to own more than one pair of shoes. But worn-out shoes were a far sight better than the disfigured feet inside them.

She let the dress hang free once more. “It will have to do, Katie Macauley,” she said to her reflection.

If the family threw her any scornful looks, she would simply do as she’d always done. She would hold her head high and pretend she cared not at all for their approval. Through countless insults and hurtful dismissals, she’d always kept her pain hidden. She could certainly continue to do so.

Katie smoothed the front of her dress and made her way to the parlor. The girls wore nearly identical dresses of lavender, white ribbons tied high on their waists. The most delicate of slippers encased their tiny feet. They might easily have been angels if not for their hair resembling two light brown bird’s nests.

Mr. Archer stood with a comb in one hand and several white ribbons in the other, eyeing the girls with the look of one about to undertake a horribly distasteful task.

“You look quite lovely in your fine dresses, girls.”

Katie smiled at the children. Ivy smiled back. Emma ignored her altogether.

“Katie.” Mr. Archer sounded oddly pleased to see her. “Excellent timing.”

She couldn’t begin to imagine what he meant by that.

“The girls need their hair combed for church. Would you, please?”

“Comb their hair?” Had the man lost his mind? “You’ll remember, Mr. Archer, tending to the girls does not fall to me.”

He moved closer, an urgency in his face that seemed extreme considering they were only speaking of hair. “Biddy combs their hair during the week, but she is not here. I try every Sunday, and it never looks any better than this. They generally are both in tears by the time we’re done, and I find myself cursing in a way unfit for children’s ears. I would greatly appreciate your help.”

He had lowered his voice, though Katie felt certain the girls could hear.

She spoke under her breath as well, mindful of nearby ears. “I have never combed a child’s hair in all my life.”

“You comb your own,” he replied.

She folded her arms across her chest and eyed him. “You comb
your
own.”

“My hair doesn’t tie itself into impossible knots that nothing can undo short of a sharp pair of scissors.”

With that declaration, chaos broke out in the room. The girls pleaded with their father, teary-eyed, not to cut their hair. They pulled on his arms, faces turned up to him in absolute panic. No matter that he assured them he wouldn’t actually cut their hair, the girls would not be soothed.

“Please, Katie,” he said over the noise.

That turned the littlest one’s attention to her. She didn’t speak, didn’t plead. She simply looked at Katie with enormous, hopeful eyes. The poor child was convinced her father was moments from cutting off all her hair and that Katie was the only person who could possibly stop him. How could any person not feel affected by such a sight?

She could see to the girls’ hair. It wasn’t as though their father was leaving her solely in charge of them. Their well-being wasn’t on the line. Katie could trust herself with that.

She held her hand out for Mr. Archer’s comb.

“Bless you,” he whispered.

His sincere gratitude touched her unexpectedly. A warmth grew inside, and it flustered her a moment. She covered her confusion by moving to the sofa and only looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

Mr. Archer dropped into a seat near the empty fireplace, relief and weariness etched into his features. ’Twas likely a hard thing for a man to raise two little girls on his own. No wonder, then, that he’d been willing to send off a housekeeper for lacking the ability to look after them. She felt an unexpected bit of urgency at that thought, a wish to help him even a little bit.

She set herself to the task of combing the girls’ hair, opting to begin with the oldest, the one she felt more comfortable with.

“What are you wishing to do with your hair, Miss Emma?”

Katie’s question noticeably surprised the girl. Likely she expected to have no say in the arrangement of her hair. She answered warily. “Mary’s mother always makes two long braids.”

Katie nodded. “Is that what you’re wanting today? Or would you care for something new?”

She had Emma’s full attention then. For once the girl didn’t overflow with dislike. “I don’t know about doing anything new. Papa might not approve.”

Katie glanced at Mr. Archer. She hadn’t thought to ask if he had rules regarding his daughters’ appearance. He silently waved her on.

“We’ll not do anything too grand,” Katie assured her. “We’d not wish to distract anyone from their worshipping.”

Emma nodded solemnly.

“We’ll try something new. If you find it too much or you just don’t fancy it, there’ll still be time and plenty to make two braids and get to church on time. What say you?”