Longing for Home (18 page)

His butchering of her name, coupled with the prick her pride took at being spoken to almost as if she were a child, set her immediately against accepting his offer. “That will not be necessary. I can easily step down on my own.”

“You can just as easily fall on your stubborn face.”

Before Katie got out another word, Mr. Archer grabbed her about the waist and lifted her down to the ground just behind the wagon. The gesture surprised her enough to rob her of breath for a moment. He gave her a look that clearly meant he felt he’d won their short battle of wills.

The man had no idea how drawn out a battle that could be.

“I’ve found, Miss Macauley,” Finbarr said in all sincerity, “when Mr. Archer has his mind set on a course of action, it’s best to go along. I’ve never known him to be wrong.”

“He’s not right about everything,” Katie replied, just loudly enough to ensure Mr. Archer heard her. He took his girls’ hands without acknowledging her remark, though she thought she saw his eyes flicker in her direction. “He’s most definitely wrong when it comes to pronouncing my name. Perhaps, Finbarr, you might see your way to teaching him how to do the thing properly.”

Finbarr grinned. “You don’t care to be called Miss May-kuh-lee?”

He so perfectly matched Mr. Archer’s dreaded version of her name that she couldn’t help smiling. “I do like you, Finbarr O’Connor. Very much indeed.”

With that compliment the poor lad turned a shade of red Katie’d rarely seen on anyone. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him and took some comfort in seeing that his smile remained.

“I’m quite fond of Finbarr, myself,” Mr. Archer said dryly, “but we are in something of a hurry.”

Mr. Archer crossed the road, Ivy and Emma clinging to his hands. Katie followed a step behind, Finbarr next to her with his hands stuffed in his pockets, still flushed with embarrassment. Katie would have apologized if she hadn’t been entirely certain that doing so would only make matters worse.

The front windows of the mercantile displayed goods of every imaginable kind, from foodstuffs to fabric to work tools. Katie’s eyes lingered a moment on a very pretty bonnet trimmed in shades of blue. Her only bonnet looked quite old and plain in comparison. And when contrasted with the shiny, high-laced boots she spied in yet another display, her footwear looked downright pitiful. Katie tried not to be ashamed of her appearance, yet she’d always looked like a walking testament to the existence of poverty, and she thoroughly disliked it.

A sign sat in the window very near the display of shoes. Katie wished she knew what it said. Perhaps the mercantile was offering a fine price on boots. ’Twould be a good thing to know in case her beaten-up pair didn’t last much longer.

“Do you read, Finbarr?” she asked quietly.

“I do.”

For the briefest of moments she was amazed at that. That made two Irish children in this town, from beginnings as humble as her own, who could read.

“Would you mind telling me what the sign says just there in the window?”

Finbarr looked uncomfortable with the request. “That sign there?”

“I’d be greatly appreciative.”

“It says . . .” His obvious hesitation made her wonder. “It says, ‘Hiring. Inquire within.’ And, then . . .” He cleared his throat, his eyes darting about.

“And then
what
?” Finding a place of business that was openly hiring was something of a miracle.

“It says that . . .” His face went as white as it had red a moment earlier.

’Twas Joseph Archer who finished for him. “It says, ‘No Irish need apply.’ And that is meant most sincerely.”

“Oh.” She’d wager the shopkeeper had sat on the Red side of the church room the day before. “Are the Irish allowed inside at least?”

“Yes.”

Katie looked at Finbarr. He offered a tiny nod of agreement, though he still fidgeted in obvious discomfort.

“Perhaps I’d best tell you my list and wait out here.”

“Suit yourself,” Mr. Archer said. “If it sets your mind at ease, though, I have never known the Johnsons to turn away a customer. They won’t offer to be your dearest friend and are more likely than not to vaguely insult you, but they will take your business.”

Katie pondered a moment. She’d be on her own once Mr. Archer replaced her. If she had any chance of surviving in this town, of making a living there, she needed to be able to make her own purchases.

A chime rang as Mr. Archer opened the mercantile door. He held it, and his girls stepped inside. He watched Katie with a question in his eyes.

“I am no coward,” she said to him, her chin held at a determined angle.

“I never said you were.”

Katie stepped through the door he held. The girls had already moved directly to the glass jars of sweets displayed near the counter. Mr. Archer made his way there as well, though he kept his gaze on the shop proprietor.

“I have a list of things I need,” Mr. Archer said, pulling a paper from the pocket of his trousers and unfolding it.

Katie hung back, away from the counter. She would see to her purchases after Mr. Archer had finished with his. The girls yet stood eyeing the sweets. Katie would likely have done the same at their age if she’d had the opportunity.

“I have some business at the smithy,” Mr. Archer said to the man behind the counter. “Have Joshua load those things into my wagon.”

“Certainly, Joseph.”

If Katie didn’t already know her employer had a great deal of money, the way the shop owner scraped and bowed would have told her as much.

Mr. Archer turned to his daughters. “Here is a penny.” He handed Emma the coin. “You can each pick a sweet for yourselves. Then sit on the bench by the door and wait, understood?”

The girls nodded, eyes wide with anticipation as they searched the jars with renewed enthusiasm.

“You won’t mind if I leave you here?” he asked Katie.

“Perhaps if you gave me a penny as well, I’d fancy the idea a bit more.”

He didn’t seem to appreciate her attempt at humor. The man was grumpy as could be.

“I’ll be across the road at the blacksmith’s,” he said.

She nodded. He hesitated a moment before slowly leaving. Was he so worried she couldn’t look after herself?

Katie stepped up to the counter. She’d show Mr. Archer and Finbarr and all the others that she could handle a frosty welcome from the town merchant.

“A very good morning to you,” she said to the proprietor.

He didn’t reply but continued straightening cans on the shelf behind the counter.

“I’m needing to make a purchase. Is it you I’d be talking to about that?”

The man didn’t even look at her. He couldn’t have stood more than ten feet away. She knew he could hear because he’d spoken at length with Mr. Archer.

The door chime sounded. The shop owner looked up from his cans, and he smiled warmly at whoever had walked inside.

Katie glanced back. A woman stepped toward them, looking the very picture of loveliness in a soft-yellow dress trimmed in white lace two inches wide at the very least. She wouldn’t have been out of place as the lady of any of the fine houses where Katie had worked.

“Mrs. Archibald,” the proprietor greeted, his voice smooth as velvet. “So pleased to see you.” His was an accent Katie didn’t recognize in the least. The words he spoke came out long and lazy. All she could say with certainty was he didn’t hail from Ireland nor from Baltimore.

“And you, Mr. Johnson.” The woman spoke with refinement. “Have I come at a bad time?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I haven’t any customers to see to.”

Hadn’t any customers? Katie knew for sure and certain he’d heard her declare her intention of making purchases.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Johnson. I do believe it is my turn.”

He looked at her for the first time. His smile remained in place, but his eyes had lost all hint of a welcome. “Patience, miss. I’ll get to you.” He turned back to Mrs. Archibald, she of the fine yellow dress. “And what brings you in today?”

“Your wife told me you’ve received a shipment of ginghams.”

“We have. I’ll show them to you myself.”

They spoke so pleasantly, with no sign that they’d treated anyone poorly, despite Katie’s standing directly beside them.

If she were to have any chance of completing her business, she’d simply have to press her point. “My order will take but a moment, Mr. Johnson,” Katie said. “And I feel I must mention again, I was here ahead of Mrs. Archibald.”

She received another patronizing smile. “Wait your turn, I will get to you as I promised I would.”

“But it
is
my turn.”

The door chimed again. Two more women stepped inside, neither of whom looked at all familiar to Katie. She listened a moment to the chatter between them. They weren’t Irish or at least didn’t sound it.

“I’ll be with y’all in a moment,” he said to the newest arrivals. “Just as soon as I’ve pulled out the ginghams for Mrs. Archibald.”

He meant to leave her out completely. She’d been standing there before anyone else arrived, and he meant to skip right over her. What a maddening man! He and the preacher clearly embraced the same approach to courtesy.

Katie stepped back up to the counter, facing Mr. Johnson head on. “Have you no desire to sell something to a paying customer?”

Mr. Johnson looked at the others in a way that spoke of quiet but exasperated amusement, before returning his gaze to her. “A paying customer would have money. Do you have money?” She could hear the laugh he didn’t quite hold back.

“You misunderstand. These items are for Mr. Archer’s household. He would be paying for them.”

Mrs. Archibald’s hmph was so loud it was likely heard in the streets of Dublin. “Isn’t that just like the Irish? She came here intending to charge someone else for her purchases.”

She made Katie sound like a regular sneak-thief. “But these are his purchases, in a manner of speaking.” Surely these people could understand something so simple.

The two newest arrivals looked more than a touch uneasy at the conversation, though neither stepped into the fray.

Mr. Johnson crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Katie as if she were an absolute menace. “Mr. Archer was already here and made his purchases.”

“I’ve come for a bottle of bluing, a scrub brush, and a cake of soap—all household items. Mr. Archer brought me with him so I could get them from your mercantile.”

“He didn’t say anything about his housekeeper making purchases.” Katie half expected Mr. Johnson to pat her on the head and send her out to play. “We do not allow our valued customers to be cheated.”

Infuriating man.
“If I wished to make free with my employer’s money, don’t you think, Mr. Johnson, I’d choose to spend it on something far fancier than cleaning supplies?”

“What I
tink
is that you had best keep quiet and stop bothering folks.”

Tink
instead of
think.
Katie’d heard that particular mockery of the Irish pronunciation enough times not to think it a particularly impressive display of wit.

“Pardon me a moment, ladies.”

He motioned for Katie to step a bit to the side. She did so. The gaze he turned on her was sharp and piercing. She recoiled despite her determination to appear courageous.

“You are expecting me to simply hand you goods you don’t intend to pay for and which Mr. Archer didn’t request.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I would not allow a filthy Irishwoman to buy a half-penny’s worth of goods on credit. So you would do well to keep quiet and out of the way where your kind belongs.”

The entire room went silent in that moment. Katie heard nothing beyond the echo of the words he spat at her. Mr. Johnson stepped back to his other customers, quite as though he’d not uttered such a hateful, stinging rebuke. Katie blinked a few times.

Filthy Irishwoman.

In that moment she felt eight years old again standing before the staff in Derry as the housekeeper told them all every mistake she’d made, every way in which she’d failed in her duties. She’d been horrified and humiliated then.

There, in Johnson’s mercantile, with the shopkeeper and the women standing about, Katie knew she couldn’t, in that moment, bear more ridicule.

Chapter Seventeen

Tavish waited outside the smithy’s while his horse was reshod. His eyes were firmly fixed across the street on the mercantile. Katie had gone inside with Joseph Archer and his girls, but her employer had left her there some minutes earlier, crossing to the smithy to have a replacement piece for a bridle forged. No Irishman in Hope Springs could feel the least bit at ease knowing one of his countrywomen was facing the very Red Mr. Johnson on her own. That Katie likely didn’t realize the kind of man she was dealing with only added to Tavish’s worry.

When Joseph didn’t emerge from the smithy to return to the mercantile, Tavish knew something had to be done. If one thing could be counted on where the town merchant was concerned, it was that he’d not keep a civil tongue in his head simply because his Irish customer was female.

Tavish crossed the road and moved directly inside the mercantile, setting off the bell that announced a new arrival.