Love Remains Page 10

  “Lace them yourself,” he repeated, overly emphasizing the words.

  “Finbarr—”

  His footsteps drew closer. Furniture legs scraped along the floor as he collided with something in his path. “I don’t need you here. I don’t want you here.”

  Cecily swallowed hard and forced a breath. “Finbarr, rein in your temper.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” The lantern cast enough light to emphasize how tall Finbarr truly was.

  “You must lace your boots,” she said. “Lacing your boots for you is not part of my job.”

  “But ‘belting me in the gob’ is?” He towered over her. “Maybe I ought to belt you in—”

  “Finbarr O’Connor.” Tavish’s rumbling voice shattered the air around them. When had he returned? People very seldom caught her by surprise. Either she’d been very distracted or he’d been exceptionally quiet. “You’re not ever to talk to a woman that way. Not ever.”

  “Are you going to tell me what to do now, too?” Finbarr snapped back. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this. Especially not her.”

  “You’ll treat her the way you were taught to treat a lady, or—”

  “I hate all of this. I hate you, and her, and I hate these boots.” They thudded across the floor again. Kicked, probably. “I hate it all.”

  Finbarr’s stomps indicated a path toward the ladder leading up to the loft. Cecily let out the tense breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “Finbarr,” Tavish called after him.

  “Let him go,” Cecily said. “He needs to let his temper rage a moment. He needs to get it out.”

  “But he threatened you.”

  Her pulse hadn’t entirely slowed. “I know.” She’d been expecting his anger to surface at some point, but his outburst had been more than she’d bargained for.

  Tavish drew a touch closer. “Sometimes I fear I don’t know him any longer.”

  Here was the concern for Finbarr she’d searched for beneath Tavish’s objections to her and her methods.

  “He used to always be light and kind. He brightened rooms and lives.” More than concerned, Tavish sounded grieved. “This Finbarr is a stranger.”

  “This Finbarr is angry and terrified.” She tried to look and sound reassuring. “Episodes of this nature will continue for a time, until he is ready to begin healing.”

  “But to threaten you the way he did, looming and raging . . .” Tavish paced away, his footsteps echoing with exhaustion and worry.

  “I do not believe he would have followed through with the threat.” She felt more certain as she spoke the words. The truth of the realization calmed her further. “I heard far more pain in his words than rage.”

  “Still, I mean to keep an eye on the lad. And you’ll tell me if you ever feel unsafe?”

  She nodded even as she prayed the situation would never reach that point.

  Chapter Twelve

  “He threatened to hit her, Da.” Tavish rubbed the back of his neck. “He was livid enough, I’d not’ve been surprised if he’d made good on the threat.”

  “Finbarr? Quiet, sweet-tempered, little Finbarr?” Da paced away, stopping at the nearest stall. Barns weren’t the best place to have difficult conversations, but Tavish hadn’t wanted Finbarr or Ma to overhear. “He’d not truly hit a woman, would he? I didn’t raise any of m’ boys to be the sort of men who’d hurt a woman.”

  “If you’d seen him in that moment, you’d be as unsure of that answer as I am.” Tavish released a breath slowly, though the knot remained in his stomach, as did the weight on his mind. Had he been right to share this latest trouble? Da had aged a decade over the last year. It showed most in worry-filled moments like this, when the lines on his face deepened and exhaustion filled his eyes.

  Da leaned his forearms on the upper slats of the stall, his eyes on the cow, though Tavish didn’t think he was looking at anything in particular. “What did Her Majesty have to say about Finbarr’s outburst?”

  The title Tavish fashioned for Cecily had stuck and spread. He felt a little bad about that. “That outbursts are to be expected.”

  “Did she think he was going to strike her?”

  “She said she didn’t. But I saw a seed of fear in her face. I think she wasn’t certain her own self.” That flicker of worry had stayed with Tavish all the day long. It confirmed his own worries, ones he couldn’t in good conscience ignore. “We’d be well advised to not leave her alone with him until we’ve a better idea about how much his temper may rage.”

  Da’s shoulders slumped. Such weariness. Such defeat. Tavish ought not to have burdened him with this.

  “The lad’s in my care and living in my house,” Tavish said. “I’ll see to it someone’s with him when I can’t be.”

  That would be often. He had land and animals to see to, repairs to make before winter set in fully, his own meals and care to see to. But he’d not allow Finbarr to harm anyone.

  “I can come by and sit with the lad. Ian will, too, I’d wager. And your sisters’ husbands.” Da’s tone held very little hope, as if he couldn’t be confident the plan would work. “Joseph Archer. Jeremiah Johnson. They’d all take it in turns.”

  Tavish knew a bad idea when he heard one. “And convince Finbarr we all think he’s in need of a nursemaid? He’d likely only grow angrier.”

  “Katie, then?” Da pushed away from the stall wall and paced. “She has the beginnings of a friendship with Miss Attwater. Finbarr might believe the ladies were merely visiting.”

  That likely would work. Of course, that would mean having Katie in his house regularly. That possibility had once been his greatest hope. Now ’twas a painful necessity he’d have to endure. Perhaps if he added another person to the rotation of visitors, he wouldn’t have to face her as often.

  “We could ask Ma as well.”

  Da held up a hand to stop the suggestion before Tavish could finish making it. “We’ll not tell your Ma any of this.” He rubbed at his face and eyes. “We’ve got far too much pain in this family just now, with Ian’s struggles, Mary and Thomas thinking of leaving us, and Ciara pulling away.” Sorrow filled every syllable. “I can’t bear to hear her cryin’ anymore at night.”

  “She cries?”

  Da nodded, slowly. “When she thinks I’m asleep.”

  Tavish set a hand on his da’s shoulder. “I’ll see to this latest difficulty with Finbarr. You and Ma don’t worry over him. I’ll sort it.”

  Exhausted relief filled the lines of Da’s face. “Thank you, son. This family would never’ve survived the last months without you.”

  “We’ll manage this latest bend in the road as well. I promise we will.”

  Tavish had expected one of his sisters or Biddy to come around the next day. All three did. To their credit, they’d managed a good excuse, citing their tradition of helping Tavish see to his crop, nothing that would raise Finbarr’s suspicions.

  The last of the berries ripened quite late in the season, and the crop wouldn’t hold. Little time remained for preserving what he’d salvaged. The women helped him each year, along with Ma. She didn’t come today, no doubt due to Da’s wish to protect Ma from Finbarr’s growing struggles.

  The lad had resumed his usual sulking, slumped in the chair he always occupied near the fireplace. The boots he’d not even tried to lace today sat atop the small end table beside him. Cecily sat in a chair opposite him, waiting.

  Mary and Ciara looked over at the pair of them repeatedly. Biddy didn’t glance toward Cecily even once. It broke his heart to see how much Cecily’s presence pained his tenderhearted sister-in-law, though no one knew entirely why.

  Under the pretense of bringing her a new bowl of freshly washed berries, Tavish leaned a touch close to her and, voice lowered, said, “If you can’t bear it, Biddy, you can head home. I’ll not begrudge you that.”

  But she shook her head. “Finbarr needs us, and so do you, whether or not you’ll admit it.”
<
br />   “When have I ever not admitted needing the lot of you?”

  She shot him a look of dry disbelief. “You’ve never admitted to needing anyone.”

  “That seems a bit harsh.” He was independent, certainly, and he’d needed to be strong for the sake of his crumbling family. But she’d taken that reality to a level of pride he didn’t think he’d fairly earned.

  Her gaze, however, turned tender. “I’d not meant to offend. I only wish we could do more for you than we do.”

  “You’re doing plenty,” he assured her. “So little of m’ crop was salvageable by the time we returned to town, so your help in saving all the bits of it will make a difference come next year.”

  “And for that reason, I’ll stay and help all I can, even considering your current company.”

  Tavish glanced at Cecily, still waiting patiently for Finbarr to begin lacing his boots. Biddy’s family had a particularly difficult history with the English; some of her loved ones had been killed at the hands of Cecily’s countrymen. He assumed those losses were at least part of the reason for her discomfort with Cecily.

  “If it’ll set your mind at ease,” he said, “I truly think we’ve nothing to fear from her.”

  “Likely not,” Biddy said quietly, “but I mean to keep my distance, just the same. ’Tis always safer that way.”

  ’Twasn’t a matter of safety so much as comfort. Either way, it left Tavish with something of a struggle on his hands. He cared too much for Biddy to see her grow as scarce in his life as Ciara had. But what could be done? Finbarr couldn’t be left to remain in his current state, and Cecily alone knew how to save him from it.

  “I’ll not lose your company,” he told her, “or Ian’s. Neither will I ask you to be miserable. That means, you realize, that Finbarr and I will likely be knocking on your door at all hours, expecting food and company and a great deal of entertainment.”

  A welcome hint of amusement crossed her features. Biddy had been too solemn of late. As had Mary. And Ciara. Heavens, his entire family was plagued with worries.

  Mary met his eye from across the table.

  “How’s Thomas?” he asked.

  “Same as always. Stubborn.” She applied herself with extra force to the berry mashing. “And forgetful. The man doesn’t seem to recall how miserable we all were in New York.”

  “He’s thinking of taking your family as far as that?” Tavish didn’t care for the thought of his sister and her brood being away from Hope Springs, but he’d assumed they were thinking of somewhere closer, like St. Louis.

  “I’m not certain he knows what he wants,” she said. “But he’s convinced himself that if we stay here, the children’ll wither and die of lost opportunities.”

  “And are they showing symptoms of withering?” He’d thought her young ones seemed content enough.

  “They’re in that difficult time between childhood and adulthood. Of course they’re rebelling against any constraints they feel. ’Tis the way of things, but it’s not a reason to uproot the lot of us.”

  Tavish had seldom heard such frustration from Mary, especially directed toward her Thomas. The two of them had been sweet on each other for ages, seeming as smitten more than a decade after marrying as they’d been when they were courting. The rift growing between the two was worrisome.

  “Would it help if I spoke with him?” Tavish wouldn’t relish the undertaking, but if it’d help at all, he’d do it willingly. Someone had to keep the family from falling apart.

  “If he’s still being difficult come spring, we need only convince him to plant his crop,” Mary said. “He’ll stay at least long enough to harvest it. That’ll grant us a stay of execution.”

  Tavish didn’t at all like the way she spoke, with such a loss of hope. He hadn’t any idea how to fix it.

  Biddy’s little one, Patrick, began fussing. She, however, was at the stove, stirring the preserves. “I can’t let this burn,” she said. “Ciara, will you rock the baby a moment or two. He’ll settle down straight away; I’m certain of it.”

  Ciara hesitated. “Mary could fetch him.”

  “I’m up to m’ elbows in berries,” Mary answered. “You’re between batches. Be a help and see to the little lad.”

  “I’ve been a perfectly fine help today.”

  “I never said you hadn’t been.” Mary seemed intent on matching her sister’s tone.

  In the background, wee Patrick made his own objections to the delay in attention. His whimpers were fast turning to cries. Soon enough, he’d be wailing to bring down the rafters.

  Ciara’s eyes flickered in the baby’s direction for only a moment. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “This would go faster if we had more than one stove working at a time.” She took up a large basket of berries. “I have jars at my house. I’ll make a batch there and bring it by in the morning.”

  Tavish hated to see her go. “Ciara—”

  She didn’t let him object. “You can trade me for the jars and the sugar.”

  Without a backward glance, she made for the door. Tavish rushed to catch up and stopped her on the porch. “Don’t rush off,” he said. “I’ve not seen you in weeks and weeks, it feels. I’ve missed you.”

  Her expression turned apologetic. “I like being at home, is all. I like the quiet and the peace.”

  He knew with certainty that quiet and peace weren’t the entirety of her reasons for keeping away. “What is it that’s weighing on you?”

  “Nothing you need to worry over.”

  Not worry? She was his dear, sweet, baby sister. Of course her pain and sadness worried him. “Do you remember all those times in New York when we’d walk home from the factory in the dark of night, and you’d be tired or worn down or nervous around the shadowy corners? I’d sing to you as we walked down street after street, and you felt better, if only for the moment.”

  She shook her head, not in denial of the memory but in rejection of it. “Singing won’t help now, Tavish. There are some things a song cannot heal.”

  With that, his heart fell further. “It needn’t be a song. It was the being together that helped.”

  She took a step away. “You’ve people enough you’re carrying just now. I’ll not add my weight to theirs.”

  Oh, Ciara. He watched her walk away. You weigh on my heart already.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Fire first. Then you can eat.” Cecily had uttered the instruction so many times, she no longer had to think about what she was saying.

  Finbarr never built the fire yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. She hadn’t expected him to, either. The boy’s walls were thick and unlikely to come down easily. “My family won’t let you starve me.” His faith in his family’s concern, though frustrating when used to undermine her, was encouraging. He must not feel entirely abandoned by them.

  “Then they must find a way to make you build this fire. That is my requirement, and you will do it if you want to eat.” She disliked making the threat, but if he was to eat as life went on, if he was to survive the harsh Wyoming winters, he needed to learn how to safely start, maintain, and extinguish a fire. No two ways about it.

  Tavish had not yet left to see to his chores. Unlike the first time she’d told Finbarr that he would earn his meals by building the fire, Tavish didn’t express any objections. She hoped that meant he saw some wisdom in the firmness of her approach.

  A change as drastic as the one Finbarr had experienced often left a person feeling sorry for himself. That self-pity often prevented the person from learning to do for himself, which, in turn, prevented him from regaining any confidence, plunging him ever deeper into sorrow. The cycle was a difficult one to break.

  He must’ve been eating something, probably sneaking food in the middle of the night. She didn’t scold him for that, didn’t mention it. He might very well recognize it as an accomplishment, and she didn’t wish to take that away from him.

  A knock sounded at the door. She guesse
d who it probably was.

  She’d told Tavish several times that Finbarr’s outburst was understandable, expected, even, and nothing she couldn’t handle. He didn’t believe her, and neither did any of the O’Connors. Ever since the day Finbarr had first lashed out at her, Tavish had kept a steady stream of people in the house. All of the grown women in his family except for his mother had come the day after Finbarr’s flare of temper. They’d done so under the pretense of canning berry preserves, and had spoken a great deal under their breaths, wandering over regularly to check on Finbarr. The tone they’d struck, and their often stilted conversation, had spoken of discomfort. Though much of that, she’d guess, was due to tensions within the family, she firmly suspected that her presence played a not insignificant role.

  Mary, the older sister, had come the second day. Biddy O’Connor the day after that.

  Cecily wasn’t sure who had been more miserable during that visit, her pupil or her assigned “protector.” Both had remained all but silent. Finbarr had refused to leave his chair by the fire. Biddy had moved away from the windows only when absolutely necessary. It had been a terribly awkward day.

  Mary had come again the day after that. A new week had begun, and Cecily didn’t know who to expect today, as Ciara, the younger sister, had left on less-than-congenial terms three days earlier.

  Tavish crossed the room and pulled open the door.

  “Good morning to you, Tavish,” Katie Archer said. “We’ve come for a visit.”

  The small silhouette beside Katie wore a dress. One of the Archer girls, no doubt. Ivy was the more active of the two, and this new arrival kept very still. Emma, then.

  “Perfect. An audience again.” Finbarr was in a rare mood this morning, even grumpier than usual.

  “Mind your manners, Finbarr,” Katie said without hesitation. “I know you were raised with them.”