Longing for Home (17 page)

He could see that he had most certainly startled her. It was probably not very gentlemanly of him that he enjoyed the sight.

Katie pressed her open palm over her heart and took several quick, shaky breaths. “What in the name of Charlie MacMaster are you doin’ standing here on the porch starin’ at a door? Have you taken full leave of your senses?”

“Who’s Charlie MacMaster?”

“That has nothin’ to do with nothin’, and I’ll thank you for sticking to the topic at hand. You meant to frighten me, didn’t you?”

He nearly laughed—the woman’s words were almost impossible to understand. “Did you know your brogue gets very broad when you’re angry?”

Katie plopped her fists on her hips and glared him down. “Well? You gonna tell me what you’re about or am I to speculate on your lacking mental state?”

“‘What am I doing?’ I’m waiting for you, of course.”

“For
me
?” His answer surprised her enough to take some of the air out of her sails.

“Though I’m not familiar with the exact phrase you chose, I am certain you implied that men, as a whole, are devious.” He shrugged. “I assumed you wanted to apologize for that.”

“Very well.” Katie looked penitent, a little too penitent, in fact. “I am truly sorry that men are devious.”

The woman was quick on her feet and witty besides. “You certainly avoided that apology. Isn’t that just like a woman?”

Katie’s posture relaxed by degrees. Though she was far from the verge of laughter, at least she didn’t seem truly angry with him. He liked to think she had a sense of humor beneath her tough exterior.

“You’d be wise to speak kindly to a woman who means to do the washing today,” she warned. “I may just let your clothes sit and fester until they stink enough to bring down the very heavens and let that be a fine lesson to you.”

“As much as I would enjoy standing around talking about laundry, I do have chores.”

“Might I ask you one more thing before you go wish the animals a good morning?”

Oddly enough, he didn’t mind the delay in the least. When was the last time he’d had a good conversation so early in the morning? “If I said no, would it stop you?”

“Likely not.”

He’d expected that answer.

“As I said, Mr. Archer, I mean to do the washing today, but I’ve not found a drop of bluing nor a single bit of laundering soap. Might you know where it’s kept?”

Bluing? Laundering soap? He wasn’t even entirely sure what those things were. “I haven’t the slightest idea. We may not even have any. I’ve been sending the laundry out.”

She seemed surprised to hear that. Surely she didn’t think a man who couldn’t keep his house clean had the time, energy, or expertise to do the family’s laundry.

“Then I’ll need to add that to my list, I suppose.”

“You have a list?” Did he even want to know what her list entailed?

She looked tempted to roll her eyes. “A list of things I’m needing from town. You are ridiculously low on the most basic cleaning things. One would think your house hadn’t been properly cleaned in months.” She’d added a touch of dryness to her tone. It was clear to anyone with eyes that his house hadn’t been properly cleaned in a very long time.

He stepped off the porch on his way to the barn. “Finbarr and I are going into town today. If you’ll write down what you need, I’ll pick it up.”

She shuffled about uncertainly even as her color climbed higher. “Might I just tell it to you rather than write it down?”

He understood the difficulty in an instant. “My apologies, Katie. I’d forgotten you don’t write.” He could see he’d embarrassed her. That was badly done of him. “You are welcome to dictate a list, if you’d like. Or you could come along. We were planning to take the girls. They enjoy picking out sweets at the mercantile.”

“Would I be expected to look after them?”

What was her objection to the girls? It seemed to go beyond mere discomfort. She was always very careful to avoid being left alone with them, even for the briefest of moments. “You would not be expected to tend them.”

She nodded, her face registering immediate relief.

“Can I ask why you dislike them so much?”

“I don’t dislike them at all,” Katie said.

His gaze narrowed as he studied her. “Yet you are very insistent that you have nothing to do with them.”

Her chin went up again. “I told you when I first came that I have no experience with children, and keeping a distance seems best for all of us.”

He could clearly see there was more to it than that. He didn’t think her objection to Emma and Ivy was personal, but he knew for certain it was deeper than a lack of experience.

“You make a good show of believing that, Katie. But there’s more to it, I can see it in your eyes.”

She grew instantly uneasy. Though his own curiosity pushed him to ask more, something in the near fear he saw in her eyes stopped him. There would be time to learn more about her. He found, in fact, he very much wanted to.

“Would you like to come with us to town?”

“Yes, I think I would.” The change of topic seemed welcome.

“Then I’ll offer you a friendly warning. Those living in town tend toward the Red side of Hope Springs’ feud. They may not be very friendly.”

“I’m not riding in to make friends, Mr. Archer. I only mean to get some few things I need.”

He wasn’t reassured. “Like I said, Katie, only a friendly warning.”

Chapter Sixteen

A bit of Katie’s heart ached watching Emma sit on the wagon bench beside her father as he drove toward town. The little girl longed for Mr. Archer’s company, coveted it even. She knew that feeling so well, so deeply it hurt at times.

She herself sat in the wagon bed trying to concentrate on her duties so her mind wouldn’t wander to her past. Ivy sat in the back as well, more than content with Finbarr’s company.

They’d been in the wagon for some time, and Finbarr hadn’t said much beyond a few quiet remarks to Ivy. Katie knew little about him, though she would have realized in an instant had she met him on the street that he was an O’Connor. He had Ian’s coloring and Tavish’s startlingly blue eyes.

“Why is it you never come up to the house for lunch with Mr. Archer?” Though Joseph Archer was a suspicious sort who showed himself inclined to be argumentative, he seemed fair-minded. “Surely he allows you time for a noon meal.”

Finbarr nodded. His was an absolutely natural smile, nothing in it but contentment with life. “I bring my meal from home. That’s part of our arrangement.”

His American accent caught her by surprise. Only the slightest hint of Ireland lingered in the background of his words, nothing more than the smallest twist to an occasional phrase. He’d obviously spent most of his life in this country, perhaps all of it.

Her first thought was how very sad that must be, not to have any memories of Ireland. But growing up amongst Erin’s green hills and valleys wasn’t Finbarr’s past. His heritage, yes, but not his personal history. Would that be the way of things twenty, fifty years down the road? The children of those forced to flee the famine in their homeland would feel no special connection to Ireland.

Katie shook off the forlorn thought. She’d a lifetime of sorrow to be mulled over without adding a future of heartaches to it.

“Your arrangement?” she asked.

“I asked Mr. Archer when I first came to work for him whether I might collect a higher wage if I brought my own meal each day. Not a great deal higher, but a little.”

“And he agreed to it?”

Finbarr nodded. “And it’s made a difference. I’ve saved up quite a bit. Soon I’ll have enough to buy the land he’s holding for me.”

What did he mean by that? Katie fully intended to ask him, but Ivy chose that very moment to lean dangerously over the side of the wagon. Katie reached for her, afraid she’d tumble over. Finbarr took hold of Ivy first and pulled her back.

“I only want to see the wheels.” Ivy pouted at being pulled from her efforts.

“And suppose you lost your footing and fell under the wagon wheels?”

Ivy shrugged. “That’d kill me dead, I bet.”

“It sure would. And I’d cry and cry,” Finbarr said.

“And you wouldn’t get to marry me when I’m all grown up.” Ivy spoke quite matter-of-fact, as though their eventual marriage were a foregone conclusion.

“Exactly.” Finbarr smoothed the girl’s hair gently and then gave one of her messy braids a light tug. “So sit down before you topple over.”

Ivy plopped herself back down and sat with her hands and chin resting on the side of the wagon, eyes on the scenery.

“You’re betrothed, are you?” Katie quietly asked Finbarr.

He smiled back. “So she tells me.”

“How old are you, Finbarr?”

“I’ve just turned sixteen.”

The age suited him outwardly. Yet, he held himself like one older, wiser. “Those eleven years are quite a difference between the two of you.”

The same good-natured expression remained on his face. “By the time she’s old enough to truly be interested in the boys, I’ll seem like an old man to her.”

“Perhaps you’ll even be married yourself.” Katie tried to picture the lad grown with a wife and family. ’Twasn’t too terribly hard to do. She simply thought of Ian, and the resemblance between them did the rest.

“Tavish is twelve years older than I am, and he’s never married.”

For a moment Katie felt bad for the prying she meant to do. Tavish O’Connor was a puzzle to her, one she thought on more than she ought. She wanted to understand him better.

“Why is that, do you think?” she asked Finbarr. “Seems to me some fair colleen would have set her sights on him long since.”

“He had a sweetheart years ago. Bridget Claire was her name. He was going to marry her.”

Katie pushed back an unexpected, ridiculous surge of jealousy. “What happened? Did she change her mind?” That seemed unlikely. Most women would think him quite a catch. Though she wasn’t among them, she quickly added to herself.

Finbarr shook his head. Voice lowered, he explained. “She died of the fever, the same one that claimed quite a few others.” He looked at Ivy with obvious discomfort.

Katie thought she understood. Mr. Archer was a widower. If she had to guess, Katie would say the late Mrs. Archer had been among those claimed by that fever.

Finbarr’s attention shifted to Ivy more fully, she having inched her way closer to standing, even as she leaned further over the side again. “As my mother often says, Ivy, ‘God is good, but don’t dance in a small boat.’”

Katie grinned at the familiar Irish proverb. Ivy appeared less impressed.

“I’m not in a boat.”

Finbarr pulled her into a brotherly embrace. “The principle’s the same, dear. Don’t tempt fate.”

He kept her entertained through the rest of their short journey into town. Ivy laughed at the silly things he said, though he spoke so quietly Katie could hardly make out his voice. He had a way with Ivy and no denying. Katie couldn’t remember ever knowing a young man his age with the patience to keep a five-year-old still and content. A remarkable lad he was, to be sure.

Katie’s mind did not linger on Finbarr long but on his earlier words. Tavish O’Connor flirted and danced and teased like a man whole of heart and quite free of heavy burdens like those his youngest brother hinted at. Did he yet mourn Miss Claire? Or had he recovered from that loss?

She shook off the thoughts. Tavish O’Connor’s past, present, or future had nothing at all to do with her.

Several people called out greetings as the Archers’ wagon rolled past. Mr. Archer answered mostly with wordless waves. He pulled the wagon to a stop near the spot where the blacksmith and the mercantile stood on opposite sides of the road. Emma sat quite straight, looking like a proper young lady. Her gaze continually drifted to her father, though his attention was elsewhere.

Ivy stood in the wagon bed, motioning rather frantically toward the smithy. She tugged on Finbarr’s hand. “I want to see the big fire.”

Finbarr’s eyes met Katie’s. She bit back a grin at the exasperation she saw there.

With patience she suspected was simply part of his nature, Finbarr answered, “I don’t think lingering near the blacksmith’s fire is a good idea. Remember what we said about tempting fate.”

Ivy’s pout was monumental. Finbarr chucked her under the chin and smiled with a great deal of empathy.

During the course of the exchange, Mr. Archer had apparently alighted from the front bench, Emma with him. He stood at the back of the wagon. “Come down, Ivy.” He held his arms out for her.

“I want to see the fire.” She came very close to whining.

“Not today,” Mr. Archer said. “Finbarr and I have some business to see to.”

He set the little girl on her feet beside him. Finbarr had already hopped over the side. Katie made to hop down as well. Mr. Archer reached up for her, much as he had for Ivy.

“You needn’t—”

“It’s further down than you realize, Katie.”

Did he think her no more capable than Ivy? “I am certain I can manage it, sir.” She set out to do just that.

“If you insist on calling me ‘sir’ every time you’re put out with me, I will start calling you ‘Miss Macauley’ every time I feel the same way.” He speared her with a scolding look. “Now, if you would,
Miss Macauley,
allow me to help you down.”