Longing for Home (29 page)

“The man eventually grew anxious to move on and wished to sell his land but refused to part with it in pieces. He wouldn’t divide it and sell the parcels to the O’Connors or the Kesters, who lived here at the time, or any of the others here in the valley. He meant to hold out for the entire sum at once.”

“But who could possibly afford to buy thousands of acres?”

Biddy gave her a significant look. “Who indeed but a wealthy young businessman from the East looking to start a new life?”

“Joseph.”

Biddy nodded. “He bought the entire valley and enormous swaths of grazing land beyond. Then he began selling it in family-sized parcels to those looking to farm. He sold larger parcels to those looking to ranch.”

“So everyone bought their land from him?”

“He was offering a livelihood to people poor as the earth itself. Not a soul among them had enough money on hand to buy two hundred acres outright. They’re buying their land from him on time. He holds the notes to nearly every farm in Hope Springs.”

Biddy pulled the cart to a stop yet again. Katie had another delivery, though she dearly wanted to sit and hear the rest of the tale.

Upon returning she didn’t need to breathe a single word. Biddy continued on without prodding.

“There’s been Irish hatred in this country ever since the first of us arrived desperate and starving on its shores. We came as a matter of survival and discovered far too many in America would rather we had died along with the millions back home who’d done just that.” ’Twasn’t bitterness in Biddy’s voice but an aching sadness. “Many jumped at the opportunity to have land in a valley with irrigation and natural sources of water in a place as dry as Wyoming. But so very many of those who came brought their hatred of the Irish with them, and they infected the others. They’d point down our side of the road and tell their newly arrived neighbors that, if not for ‘those filthy Irishmen,’ the town might have been home to ‘good, deserving Americans.’”

Katie had heard those arguments all over Baltimore. Never mind that the Irish fought in America’s Civil War. Never mind that Irish labor built the railroads. They were considered a scourge that needed to be driven out. They were despised simply because they looked a bit different, played music that sounded a bit different, and spoke in a way that landed a bit odd on American ears.

“Joseph holds the note on nearly every farm in this valley,” Biddy continued. “He once confided in Ian that staying out of the feud was every bit as much a wish for peace as it was a matter of being ethical. He owns homes and land on both sides of the argument. To take one side over the other would be crossing a line for him.”

Katie had never thought of it that way. Of course, she’d had no idea of his true position. “He’s a landowner.” The word sat sour in her mouth. She knew all too well the monster a landowner could be.

“A heavy word, that, for anyone who has lived in Ireland.”

Katie nodded.

“I suspect he hates being put in such a position,” Biddy said. “But his ownership of the area is a bit of leverage no one hereabout can overlook.”

“He holds it over their heads.”

“No, quite the opposite in fact. He has been known, during difficult years, to accept late payments or partial payments or barters, none of which he is required to do. He has helped people survive here who wouldn’t have otherwise. Dragging him into the feud, everyone understands, might very well forfeit any claim they might have on his mercy.”

“That sounds so . . .” How did she even explain what struck her so wrong in that? “It seems terribly heartless.”

Biddy shook her head. “In our darkest days, there was no one—
no one
—but him who could stop the fighting. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t ever taken sides but that he held power over both sides equally.” Regret filled Biddy’s voice. Katie listened with hardly a breath breaking her concentration. “I’ve seen him broken by it, Katie. He’s sat by our fireside, head in his hands, telling my Ian, ‘I didn’t come here to be the ruthless businessman. I didn’t come here to lord it over my neighbors. This was supposed to be a peaceful place.’”

Katie knew she’d seen a glimmer of that the first day she knew him. In the moment he’d realized she was Irish, a frustrated tiredness had washed over him. He knew she would cut further away at the peace he’d not managed to find.

“Don’t judge him too harshly, Katie. He keeps himself apart from his neighbors because we give him no choice. He knows if he left, the town would kill each other. And he knows if he ever took sides, there would be no one left to stop the fighting.”

They made several deliveries in silence. Katie tried to digest what she’d heard. The accusations she’d thrown at Joseph that first day haunted her. She’d accused him of harboring hatred toward the Irish, of being petty in his dismissal of her. But he had been right all along. She’d brought to his doorstep the very trouble he worked hard to prevent.

The second basket was empty and the cart turned back in the direction of Biddy’s home before Katie took up another topic. Theirs had been an outing for heavy conversation.

“Why is it Joseph and Tavish don’t get along?”

“Honestly?”

Katie let her tone turn dry enough for humor but not offense. “No, I’d rather you lie to me.”

Biddy smiled for what seemed like the first time all afternoon. “The two of them are mad jealous of each other, though neither would ever admit it.”

“Jealous?” Katie wouldn’t have guessed that. “What is it they envy in the other?”

Biddy lightly laughed. “If we make too many of these journeys every week, you’ll have me spilling every secret I know.” Still, Biddy indulged her. “I am sure you’ve been given ample opportunity to discover Tavish is a flirt of the first water.”

Katie grinned. “I have, indeed.”

“But you’ve not yet seen that he is the hardest working man you’ll likely ever meet.” A sisterly fondness touched Biddy’s expression. “He was among the first to buy land from Joseph. He knew just what parcel he wanted, but he wasn’t content to take up farming purely for feeding himself and any family he might have. Tavish planted berries.”

“Berries?” She’d certainly not heard that.

“He knew there were no berry farmers anywhere near here, perhaps none in the entire territory. Yet berries grew wild, so he felt certain they could be cultivated. He has worked himself to the bone in the years since building on that dream. He bottles preserves, cordials, and, though we don’t mention it to the preacher, some of the best berry wine you’ll taste anywhere.”

Katie was impressed. It seemed Joseph and she were not the only business-minded people in town.

“Tavish has eager customers all over the territory, south of the railroads, even. His crops are as good, perhaps even better, than anything found back East. He can ask an impressive price for what he produces.” Biddy guided the horse around a rut in the road. “Yet, for all Tavish’s work and long years of saving, he still lives in a one-room house on a farm he does not yet own outright. All his work has not gained him a drop of water in the ocean of wealth Joseph was handed at birth. I think that is a hard pill for Tavish to swallow.”

“I can see how that would be difficult.”

Biddy flicked the reins. “And Tavish puts that same tireless determination into calming tempers and arguments among the Irish. He wants so much to see this feud put aside. He’s often spent all night long talking sense into some stubborn, hotheaded Irishman, only to have the lot of them at someone’s throat again in a few days’ time. That would wear on any man. I think he envies Joseph’s ability to stay out of it, because he knows that is impossible for him.”

“What does Joseph envy in Tavish, then?” The scale seemed decidedly tipped in Joseph’s favor.

“Tavish has an easy and effortless way with people. He makes friends almost without trying. He hasn’t a bit of shyness about him. Tavish is quick with a smile or a quip. People are drawn to him.”

“Joseph doesn’t strike me as shy.”

Biddy shook her head. “No, but he strikes everyone he meets as standoffish.”

Katie could solve that riddle. “Likely because he
is
standoffish.”

Biddy laughed right out loud. “Aye. Standoffish. Grumpy. Often everything but sociable. Part of that is the result of his need, his determination, to keep out of the town argument. He needs to be in a position to help, but that means he is often lonely. He sees friendships and connections come so easily to Tavish, and I suspect it eats at him.”

Biddy pulled the cart to a stop at her father-in-law’s house.

“Do they know how the other feels about them?”

“I doubt it. Men can be terribly thickheaded.”

’Twas Katie’s turn to laugh at that.

Biddy put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, a gesture that had become surprisingly commonplace between them. How quickly they’d become friends. “You just keep in mind what I’ve told you when next you see those thickheaded men. Know there’s more inside than they let on.”

“That’s true of all of us, I daresay.” Katie had her share of complications and secrets.

She thought on it all as she made her way back to the Archer home. These two men she’d come to care for were so mired in the feuding, though in drastically different ways. Both had told her they believed she could make a difference in it. She and her bread could help.

That, she found, was as strong a motivation as the promise of enough money to one day go home.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Two hours after the start of the céilí Saturday night, Katie was doubting the wisdom of coming. The words of gratitude offered to her at every turn were overwhelming. What would happen to these people if her venture failed? They had come to see so much more in it than a few loaves of bread.

Katie breathed a sigh of relief when the company gathered about the fire, sitting as families to listen to the stories. Though she enjoyed a bit of blarney, she didn’t care at all for open flames. And she was feeling acutely the weight of her neighbors’ faith in her.

Where was Tavish when she needed someone to tease her from her heavy mood? He’d not come to the gathering. Katie told herself she cared little, that she hadn’t been counting on his company. She didn’t believe a word of it.

With the attention of the gathering firmly rooted elsewhere, Katie thought it best to take her leave. She’d return to the quiet of her own bedroom and get an early start on her night’s sleep. She had to be up in the morning to cook the family’s breakfast and see to the girls’ hair before they left for services.

As she walked away from the party, her thoughts returned to Biddy’s startling revelations. Hope Springs had caught itself in a complicated web. She’d come to know the families there. They were good people. Good people who seemed so very trapped.

The homes down the Irish Road were generally dark during the céilí—no one was at home after all—but a light shone under the door of the barn Katie was steps from passing. She counted back from the elder O’Connors’ house where the party was always held. She had passed the oldest sister’s house first, then Ian and Biddy’s. This, then, was Tavish’s home. From the look of things, he was in his barn.

Why hadn’t he come to the céilí
?

She ought to continue on, go about her own concerns without bothering him. But she’d missed him more than she’d expected to. Katie stood on the road facing his barn for long, drawn-out moments, debating.

“What would you have me do, Eimear?” Talking to her sister had seen her through many difficult times. But in that moment, knowing she had no one but her long-dead sister to turn to, the conversation only drove home how very lonely she was. Even with every Irish family in town greeting her, she felt alone.

She stepped off the road and onto the path leading to Tavish’s barn door. She needed a friend.

Katie rapped lightly on the door before opening it the tiniest bit. She stepped inside but didn’t immediately see anyone. “Tavish?”

From the far reaches of the barn, hidden in a shadow, echoed a voice. “Is that you, Sweet Katie?”

Tavish stepped out into the light cast by a lantern hanging from a peg on the center post of the barn. He held a metal bucket in his hand.

“I thought I’d come by and see where you lived,” Katie said.

Tavish’s smile tipped. “This here’s the barn, dear. I live in a house like a right regular person.”

Ah. There was the teasing she’d missed. “Do you, now? I’d heard rumors you were born in a barn.”

“Why is it you aren’t at the céilí
?
” he asked.

She came the rest of the way inside, stopping not far from the post where the lantern hung. “I might ask you the same thing.”

“I haven’t finished my chores.” He set his metal bucket down beside the cow stall. “The workday never ends during harvest.”

“I thought harvest wasn’t for another month or more.”

“For the sane farmers, yes. For those of us raising berries, which I might point out is only me, this is the busy time.” He stood with one hand on the door to the stall. “Would you like to stay a bit? Talk to me while I finish?”