Liam shook his head. “Then let her lead off with the left. What difference does it make to ya, lad?”
“The Institute wants all of their horses to lead off with the right foot so when they march in a line, they’re synchronized. I’ve had everyone at the farm attempting to work with her, but no one’s been able to succeed.”
“Ya should be tryin’ Baucher’s method.”
The three of them turned to see who was speaking.
“Well, if it isn’t Mary Margaret O’Flannery,” Paddy said. “Have ya met Mary Margaret?” he asked, turning toward Liam and Daughtie.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure,” Daughtie replied. “Are you new to Lowell?”
“Yes. I work with Bridgett over at number five—at the Boott mills,” she added.
“How is it that we haven’t met you before now?” Daughtie asked.
“I have na been here but a short time, and I do na know many folks yet. But I attend St. Peter’s every Sunday. Bridgett says once I become more accustomed to the work hours, I’ll have more energy and want to become more involved in activities. Right now I’m content to do my work and little more,” she commented.
“Bridgett is correct. It takes time to adjust. Even though it’s been many years since I worked in the mills, I well remember the weariness of those first months. Ah, Liam, there’s Kiara and Rogan. I haven’t had an opportunity to speak to them this evening. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mary Margaret—and good luck with that horse,” Daughtie added.
Liam grinned at Mary Margaret. “I believe you were going to tell Paddy how to correct that problem with his horse, weren’t you?”
“Aye—that I was,” she responded sweetly. “ ’Twas a lovely weddin’, don’t ya think?” she asked, turning her attention back to Paddy.
“Aye. Bridgett’s a lovely lass, and Cullen’s a lucky man to be havin’ her as his wife. Did Bridgett happen to tell ya that she sailed to America on the same ship as Kiara and me?”
Mary Margaret tilted her head, and he noticed a sparkle in her bright blue eyes. “She told me Rogan saved his money to pay her passage and that Lowell has been the only place she’s lived since comin’ to America, but she did na tell me about the voyage.”
“Then sit yarself down, lass, and I’ll tell ya what Bridgett was like when she was a very young lass.”
Liam stepped away from the couple to greet some friends with a slap on the back.
For a brief time, as Paddy regaled Mary Margaret with stories of life aboard the ship with Bridgett and Kiara, he was transported back to his youth. Back to a time he’d not thought about for many years—a time when death had crept into their home and snuffed out the lives of his ma and da, and then hovered nearby, eager to claim his life also. Those were days filled with despair. Paddy knew that had it not been for Kiara, he would have perished on the Emerald Isle. He always dreaded such memories, but somehow sharing them with Mary Margaret made them seem less worrisome.
“So ya see, ’twas Bridgett who made the match between Kiara and Rogan,” Paddy explained.
“What’s that I hear ya tellin’ the lass? That yar hopin’ I’ll find ya a match?” Rogan teased as he approached the couple.
Paddy’s cheeks flushed at the comment. Once again, Rogan had embarrassed him in front of Mary Margaret.
“When the time comes that I’m lookin’ for a match, I do na think I’ll be needin’ someone to help me,” Paddy retorted.
Rogan emitted a loud guffaw and slapped his thigh, obviously enjoying Paddy’s discomfort. Mary Margaret remained silent, her gaze fixed upon Paddy. Had the lass not been within hearing distance, Paddy would have given Rogan Sheehan an earful.
“If ya act as though his teasin’ does na bother ya,” Mary Margaret whispered, “he’s more apt to stop. Next time, just give him a smile and tell him ya’ll be sure to let him know when ya’re ready.”
“Should there be a next time, I may be forced to give him a taste of his own medicine!”
“Do ya na realize that’s exactly what he wants? To get ya all riled up?”
Rogan ceased his laughter and turned his attention back to the young couple. “Liam tells me the lass appears to know all about trainin’ horses and is willin’ to give ya some lessons.”
Before Paddy could reply, Mary Margaret jumped to her feet. “Now ya would na be exaggeratin’ a wee bit, would ya?”
“Ah, lass, so ya’re catchin’ on to me tricks, are ya? Though I may have overstated the facts a bit, ’tis the truth that Liam said ya’re talkin’ like a lass who knows her way around horses,” Rogan countered.
“Me master in Boston owned horses—I cared for his children except when their tutor had them for lessons. Ornery lot of youngsters, they was. Their ma died, and instead of spendin’ time with his children, their father bought them gifts. They all had horses, and it’s many an hour I spent waitin’ at the stables while they was riding or taking their lessons.”
“So are ya then considerin’ yarself an expert? Because, if it’s an expert ya are, I’m thinkin’ Paddy could put ya to work at the Houston stables,” Rogan prodded while directing an exaggerated wink at Paddy.
Mary Margaret shook her head, causing her soft curls to swing to and fro. “I’m na an expert, but I do know Baucher’s method works, for I’ve watched it used on horses meself.”
“And what
is
this Baucher’s method?” Paddy asked.
“ ’Tis a whole system of trainin’ a horse. But for gettin’ the horse to lead off with his right foot like ya were mentionin’ earlier, ya must first get the animal well in hand, with his head in an easy position. Then ya need to make certain his hind legs are well under his body. Once ya have done that, ya bear yar hand to the left and give an increased pressure to the animal’s right leg.”
Paddy scratched his head as he attempted to process the method Mary Margaret had just explained. He gave a gentle shrug of his shoulders. “ ’Twould be worth a try since nothin’ else has worked.”
“And would ya na be willin’ to try it otherwise?” she asked.
He detected a flash of anger in her blue eyes. “I do na know. I’m na a man to change my way of doing things if they’re workin’. Does na make any sense.”
“Have ya never considered there might be an easier or better way to perform a task? Is that na reason enough to change?”
“I suppose ’twould be cause enough,” he agreed. “But if ya’re sayin’ ya think I should be shiftin’ the entire way we train our horses to this Baucher method ya’re talkin’ about, I do na think that will happen. We pride ourselves on selling the finest, best-trained horses in the country.”
“Aye,” Liam said as he rejoined the conversation. “Even West Point and the Virginia Institute buy Arabians from the Houston Stables.”
“The Shagyas?” Mary Margaret asked, recognition shining in her eyes.
Paddy squared his shoulders and his chest swelled. “Ya know of our horses?”
“I heard me master speak of them at the time he was buying another horse. He said he had seen the Shagyas, and though they were beautiful animals, he found them to be far too costly.”
“Ha! The man is a fool. Ya need to come to the stables and have a look fer yarself,” Paddy said.
Liam waved at Rogan as he and Kiara approached. “Our young Paddy has invited Miss O’Flannery fer an outin’,” he told them. “Say, Paddy, when was it ya were gonna be comin’ to escort Mary Margaret to the farm?”
Paddy glanced at Mary Margaret, uncertain what he should do. If he set a time, the lass might tell him she had no interest in keeping company with the likes of him. And if he said Liam had twisted his words, Mary Margaret might be insulted and think he didn’t find her attractive. Of course, it would be altogether impossible to find the lass undesirable, with her piercing blue eyes and hair the shade of gingered carrots.
“I’m thinkin’ we can arrange the time fer ourselves. Would ya like to dance, Mary Margaret?” Paddy asked, anxious to escape Liam and Rogan’s antics.
“Aye, that I would,” she replied.
Before there was opportunity for further discussion, Paddy led the slender beauty off toward the assembled dancers.
“Have ya found a good Irish family to live with here in the Acre?” Paddy asked as he put his arm on her waist.
“The Corporation put me in one of the boardinghouses,” she explained.
His eyebrows raised to resemble twin peaks. “In one of the boardinghouses?”
The flounce of her deep green dress shimmered as they twirled in time to the spirited music. “Aye. And why is that surprisin’ ya?”
“I would think ya would prefer livin’ among yar own people,” he said. “Na many of the Irish lasses live in the boardinghouses, and them that do say they’re treated poorly. I’ll talk to Bridgett. I’m sure ya could live with Granna Murphy, who’s a fine cook.”
Mary Margaret’s dancing came to an abrupt halt. “And why would ya be thinkin’ to take it upon yarself to talk to Granna Murphy? I’ve got a perfectly good voice, and if I want to move to the Acre, I’m more than capable of doing so without yar help. And I have na been treated poorly at the boardinghouse. Mrs. Brighton keeps a good house and will na tolerate foolishness,” she retorted.
“Are ya feelin’ a wee bit too good to live with yar own people?” Paddy asked.
Mary Margaret’s eyes flashed with anger. “Who do ya think ya are to be sittin’ in judgment of me and where I choose to live?”
“Ya have more than yar share of a temper, Mary Margaret O’Flannery.”
“So I’ve been told!” She gave a small stomp of her foot for emphasis.
Paddy narrowed his eyes as he glanced at her foot and then met her angry gaze. “Ya should na take offense so quickly.”
She put her hands on her hips, her elbows pointed outward like two triangular blockades. “And you should na be attemptin’ to pass yarself off as a horse trainer when ya do na even know anything of Baucher’s method!”
She marched away, her hair flying as she threaded her way through the crowd. The lass had a sharp tongue and more than her share of pride! Who did she think she was, questioning his ability to train a horse? He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, continuing to track her every move. She had stopped to talk to someone. He elevated himself to full height and strained to see above the crowd. Timothy Rourke! Why would she want to speak with
him
? Everyone in the Acre knew Timothy traded one lass for another at the drop of a hat. Yet even the brokenhearted continued to tag after him, seeking attention. What special charm did Timothy Rourke possess?
Paddy ignored Rogan, who was pointing his thumb in Mary Margaret’s direction as he approached. “Why did ya let that bonny lass escape? Can ya not see she’s talking to Timothy? Get yarself over there before he offers to walk her home.”
“If it’s the likes of Timothy Rourke that interests her, then she’s na the lass for me,” Paddy said while still keeping Mary Margaret in his sights.
“Then why are ya still staring after her like a lovesick pup?” Rogan asked. “If it’s fear that’s holdin’ ya back, I’ll go and fetch her back here for ya.”
“I do na need yar help,” he said, breaking loose of the firm clasp Rogan held on his arm and striding off.
He could hear Rogan’s deep belly laugh as he approached Mary Margaret. He gave momentary thought to walking past her and pretending he didn’t see her standing with Timothy Rourke. But if he did such a thing, Rogan would find some other way to embarrass him.
He approached the lass feeling a combination of fear, hope, and discomfiture. “I was wonderin’ if I might escort ya home this evening,” Paddy inquired.
“She already has an escort home,” Timothy said.
“ ’Twas Mary Margaret I was askin’.”
She met his expectant gaze. “And why would ya want to escort the likes of me? A lass with a dreadful temper?” she inquired sweetly.
“I’ll explain while I’m seeing ya home,” he replied, now feeling somewhat more confident.
“If ya want to wait until I’m ready to go home, then ya may escort me. But I do na have to be in the boardinghouse until ten o’clock, so until then, I believe I’ll accept Timothy’s offer to dance.”
Tim Rourke grasped Mary Margaret around the waist. As he began to lead her off, he whispered to Paddy, “No need to wait—I’ll see the lass to her boardinghouse.”
Paddy scowled at his rival. “I’ll na be leaving without her. It’s
me
that’ll be seein’ her home.”
Filled with envy, Paddy watched Mary Margaret and Timothy. The man would not turn her loose for even a moment.
“He hangs on her arm as though he’s afraid I’ll steal her away,” Paddy muttered aloud, angry he hadn’t insisted upon dancing with Mary Margaret himself. Instead, he stood idly by while Timothy held her and danced another eight-handed reel.
“Come join us for a game of kick the turnip,” Johnny Kelly urged as he tugged on Paddy’s sleeve.
“I do na want to play games,” Paddy retorted. There was more irritation in his voice than he’d intended, and Johnny’s smile quickly changed to a frown. “I’m sorry if I hurt yar feelings,” Paddy called out as the boy hurried away without another word.
It seemed as though hours had passed before the musicians finally set their instruments down and cited the need for something cool to drink. Paddy quickly stepped forward to claim Mary Margaret. “If ya’re to be home by ten o’clock, we best be leaving,” he said.
Her face was flushed from the dancing, and damp curls clung to her forehead, forming an auburn frame around her creamy complexion. “I’m having such fun I now am wishin’ I would have asked Mrs. Brighton for special permission to return later than ten o’clock,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “So ya find Timothy Rourke pleasant company?”
“He’s a lively sort of fella and can dance better than most. He did na miss a step on the jigs nor the hornpipe, though I do na think he can step dance as well as I. He said I should wait until the fiddlers returned and give him a chance to outshine me,” she said with a cheery smile.
“I do na doubt he’s tryin’ to talk ya into staying a wee bit longer. If the fiddlers hadn’t stopped for a drink, he’d still be fightin’ to keep ya by his side. And then what would Mrs. Brighton say when ya returned home late?”
Mary Margaret’s laughter filled the air like the soothing sound of a rippling brook. “I do na know, but I’d like to think she’d be understandin’.”