Longing for Home (37 page)

He’d thought back on that conversation several times, wishing he had found a way to explain the situation without hurting her feelings. The moment she’d suggested staying on an extra month or more, his entire frame had tensed. He’d lose his mind trying to stay indifferently friendly. He’d fallen in love with her. But telling her so was entirely out of the question.

She lowered her fiddle and opened her eyes. A look of dismay crossed her face. Clearly she didn’t want him there. He searched his mind for an appropriate explanation and a parting comment.

Katie didn’t say anything. She didn’t insist he leave or scold him for coming in the first place. She silently set down her bow and swiped at her cheeks, the movement quick and embarrassed. Perhaps she was more uncomfortable with her tears than with him.

Joseph crossed to the head of the bed. She looked miserably unhappy. He pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her, but her tears only picked up pace.

“Please take it,” he said quietly.

She accepted his square of linen and dabbed at her wet cheeks. They’d hardly spent a moment in the same room over the past week. The air around them radiated their mutual discomfort. Joseph had no idea how to get back what little ease they’d once had with each other. Confessing the entire reason for letting her go would likely only make things worse. He’d seen for himself how naturally she’d turned to Tavish O’Connor in her moment of disappointment.

He would content himself with doing what he could to help her. He reached for the bow and took it up along with her fiddle. He set the instrument carefully in its case, left open on her dressing table.

Why was she weeping? He’d seen her upset and frustrated and, at times, noticeably emotional. But he’d not once seen her cry.

“Did the girls upset you?” He hoped they hadn’t.

“No. They’re such sweet little angels.”

He sat on the edge of the bed beside his sleeping daughters. “Am I to assume, then, you’re no longer deathly afraid of these ‘sweet little angels’?”

She smiled a bit at that. He hadn’t spied so much as a hint of a smile from her in days. Seeing it eased some of the weight he carried.

“I was never afraid of them,” Katie said, “only afraid I’d break them or misplace them or something.”

She wiped another tear from her face with his handkerchief. They were falling slower but hadn’t stopped. The girls hadn’t upset her. Then what? He didn’t think she would have hesitated to tell him if he had caused her tears. The only other possibility was the music.

“Is it the song that makes you sad or is it playing the song?”

She sat silently thoughtful a moment. “Both, I suppose.”

She pulled her legs up next to her. The girls yet slept at the foot of the bed. Joseph shifted so he faced her more directly. Did she have any idea how much he worried about her, how much he’d missed talking with her the past week?

“My father played that song every night.” She blinked hard several times, likely trying to stop the tears that still gathered in her eyes. “I would fall asleep listening to it.”

“Does the song have words?”

“Aréir is mé téarnamh um neoin . . .” The words drifted off, a look of uncertainty on her face as her eyes met his. “The lyrics are Gaelic.” She said it as something of an apology.

“That wasn’t English?” He knew he didn’t have the O’Connors’ knack for teasing and joking. She did seem to appreciate his attempt, at least. “What do the words mean?”

“I don’t know that I can translate word for word.” Katie pinched at her lower lip, her brow furrowing.

Joseph fought back a smile but found doing so hard in the face of how appealing she was when thinking so hard.

“’Tis the story of a man who falls in love with the woman of his dreams.”

He doubted she had any idea how fully she’d captured his attention with that brief description.

“But they can’t be together,” Katie continued. “So he loves her in silence. He won’t even whisper her name in order to spare her the pain of a hopeless love.”

A hopeless love.
He let his gaze drift away from her face. “What keeps them apart? Does she not love him in return?”

“I believe their circumstances prevented it. Perhaps their families would not have approved, or she was promised to another.”

“Or perhaps something about their situation made it impossible,” he said. That scenario struck far too close to home. “That is a sad song, Katie.”

“But it was so beautiful when my father played it.” Her voice filled with longing and the real sound of emotion bubbling again. “I’m sorry to have turned so weepy tonight. I only ever cry when I’m tired.”

He shook his head. She didn’t need to make excuses for her very understandable tears. She’d made clear her music made her think of her father. “Being separated from family is a difficult thing. Do you ever write to them, or they to you?”

“On rare occasions. I’ve had word from my mother a few times since we were separated. Their priest in Belfast writes her words down. She even wrote once while I was in Baltimore.”

He knew she’d lived in Baltimore over two years. Had she truly only heard from her mother once in that time? No wonder she always seemed so lonely.

“Have you written to them since you came here?”

“No.”

He watched her a moment, debating. An offer hovered in his mind. But would she appreciate it? “Would you like to write to your family?”

“Perhaps someday,” she answered.

She’d told him her goal was to return home, yet she didn’t wish to send word to her family. What had happened between them?

“Tell me if you decide to send a letter. I’d be happy to write it out for you.” He couldn’t imagine the frustration of illiteracy. He did, however, know the difficulty of waiting months for a reply to a letter sent so far away. “Actually, I could send it as a telegram to be mailed from Baltimore. The letter could reach Belfast in less than a fortnight.”

Her eyes opened wide and something like eagerness lurked just beyond reach. He was immediately grateful he had made the offer.

“Thank you, Joseph. I’ll consider it.”

He couldn’t extend an invitation to work there longer. He couldn’t. The man in her song might have kept silent, but Joseph was certain that man didn’t have to live under the same roof as his unrequited, impossible love.

He rose to his feet. Late night conversations in her bedroom were not the best method of maintaining his sanity.

“I should take the girls up to their beds. They are worn out from all the dancing, it seems.”

Katie smiled. “You watched them, did you?”

“From just outside the door. I can’t remember the last time Emma laughed.” He lightly stroked little Emma’s hair as she slept. He missed the lighthearted child she’d been before Vivian died. “Thank you for giving her a reason to smile.”

“She’s such a sweet girl. I only wish we’d found the tune she wanted to hear. We’ll have to try again, I suppose.”

Joseph looked away from his daughter to her. “You would indulge her again?”

“Of course I would.” She looked fondly at Emma. “The music made them both so happy.”

Joseph lifted Ivy from the bed and held her to him with one arm. Emma took a little more doing, but in a moment’s time he held both his daughters in his arms. At the door, he turned back.

“Have a good night, Katie.” He wanted to say more but knew better.

“And you as well,” she answered.

He stepped out into the dim kitchen. The girls lay heavy against him. He looked back only once in the direction of her door. He’d found a woman who loved his girls. She had a tender heart and undeniable strength. If only she could forgive him for insisting she couldn’t stay. If she never left, he’d never have a chance to win her over.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Katie welcomed the smells and sounds of the céilí the next evening. The atmosphere of friendship enveloped her. Life had changed for her here. It had changed for the better.

Biddy and Ian both greeted her as she walked among her Irish neighbors. Tavish’s mother and father did as well. Mrs. Claire offered a “good evening,” to which Katie replied, “Good evening kindly,” bringing a smile to the old woman’s face. So many welcomed her, asking after her health and her business, praising her bread and the way in which she’d managed to undermine the unjust practices at the mercantile. They were kind and accepting.

Yes, life had certainly changed for the better.

“What is this here, my friends?” Seamus’s voice carried in the relative quiet that followed the end of a song. He stood not too many paces from Katie. “I see our Miss Macauley has brought with her a fiddle.”

Katie froze. She’d not meant to draw attention to her instrument but merely to sneak in on a song or two. There’d not been time to bake anything. Her music was all she had to offer them that night.

“Do you play that fiddle, Katie?” Seamus asked, a very Irish twinkle in his eyes.

She hid her embarrassment behind a cheeky retort. “I’m not such a fool as to carry it about simply for show, the way one would a fancy green hat.”

A few laughs and noises of enjoyment emanated from the crowd.

Seamus tipped his green hat to her. “We’d like to hear you play. Would you do best on a slow bit, or are you up for a jig?”

“I can hold my own.”

“Oh, can you now?” He looked equal parts doubtful and intrigued. “Perhaps ya’d like to play a piece for us.”

Play by herself before all these people? Twas not at all what she had in mind. “Perhaps you’d care to get started, and I’ll join in.”

Seamus shook his head. “That’s not how it works, I’m afraid. You play us a piece, and we’ll pick it up from you. That way, you see, we don’t outpace you.”

The town certainly had proven set in its ways. First she’d been expected to dance, then declare her origins in church. She’d managed to wriggle her way out of those obligations. Katie couldn’t figure a means of avoiding playing for them all.

“Do you know ‘The Donegal Reel’?” she asked.

A man seated amongst the musicians, Thomas Dempsey she knew his name to be and a son-in-law to the O’Connors, nodded and looked around at the others.

“Here I go, Eimear,” she murmured.

She slowly opened her fiddle case, worried at the shaking she sensed in her hands. Would she even be able to play? She pulled out the bow and tightened the hairs just so. The musicians offered her a note to tune by.

If only Father were there beside her. He could play any song ever thought of, at any tempo, in any key. He’d sat beside her many times as she’d played. She would have welcomed his encouragement just then, as well as the chance to show him how far she’d come, how hard she’d worked to learn to play well the fiddle that had meant so much to him.

Katie set her fiddle under her chin and took up her bow. She knew “The Donegal Reel” well and knew it to be a fine song for dancing, besides being quite a thing to listen to. If she could play it well for this crowd, she’d have no reason to feel ashamed of her ability.

She took a breath and began. As always, the music took hold in an instant. The notes flowed and jumped and trilled. Though she didn’t close her eyes, her vision filled with Cornagillagh and Father and the people who’d played the songs of Ireland when she was but a tiny child.

She’d played for some time before realizing the others had not joined in. She focused once more on her surroundings, confused that she yet played alone. Her bow stilled. Everyone stood watching her.

Had she done something wrong?

Katie lowered her fiddle and looked around. No one was even dancing. That had never happened at any céilí she’d attended. Her face burned with embarrassment. She knew she hadn’t played poorly. Why, then, had she been left to play alone?

“Why did you stop?” Until he spoke, she’d not realized Tavish was there. He’d played least in sight for days and days, so she’d not expected to see him that night.

Katie looked over at him, knowing her humiliation must have shown.

“No one else was playing,” she explained quietly. “I’m not certain why.”

“Sweet heavens, Katie.” He shook his head. “They were all too blown down by you. I don’t think any of us have ever heard your equal.”

She looked about. Had they truly been impressed?

“Finish the song, will you?” Seamus said, amongst murmurs of agreement from the others.

Katie shook her head. “I don’t care to play for people, not all by myself.”

“We’ll play with you,” Thomas Dempsey offered, taking up his pennywhistle once more. “We were only amazed, is all. Play a spell with us. ’Twould be a shame for you to put away your fiddle so soon.”

She hesitated. Tavish took her hand in his and led her quite easily to where the musicians were gathered. She stood just a bit apart from the others.

“Couldn’t I stand in the back?”

“Just play like you did a minute ago,” he said. “You’ll fair knock ’em all down.”

She pushed out a tense breath. “This isn’t at all what I had in mind when I thought to bring my fiddle.”

He kissed her fingers before releasing her hand. A man ought not do that to a woman who needs steady hands to play. She watched him make his way back into the edge of the crowd.