Long Journey Home (Longing for Home Book 5) Read online

  While they prepared supper, they spoke easily on a number of topics: where in New York Maura had lived, where in Ireland, questions about Aidan’s likes and dislikes. Cecily shared much of her own history, and the extensive traveling she’d done.

  Maura found she liked her new sister-in-law, a realization that brought as much relief as it did joy. She’d lost her husband, then her father, followed by her mother, and lastly, her sister, all within three years. Sometimes she felt as though grief had filled every available space in her heart, leaving no room for friendships. Eliza had been the only real exception over the years. Even the other women at the Tower had been neighbors and associates, not true friends.

  She and Cecily had nearly finished preparing supper when the door opened again. Maura was bent over a bowl, stirring, and didn’t look up immediately.

  “If you’ll wash up, you can help us finish,” Cecily said. Then she added, “We’re to have guests.”

  Was it not Tavish, then? He, after all, knew she and Aidan were staying for supper. Maura turned her gaze to the doorway. The man who’d walked in was certainly not Tavish. Whereas Tavish’s hair was black as night, just like Aidan’s, just like Grady’s, this new arrival sported wisps of ginger poking out from beneath his broad-brimmed hat.

  Ian, perhaps?

  “I need a moment first, Cecily. I’ll help, I just need a moment.” A nearly American accent. Ian would not have lost the Irish in his voice, not as deeply rooted as it was. His voice hadn’t the timbre of a fully-grown man, but the mere beginnings of it. Could this be little Finbarr? Tiny, darling Finbarr.

  Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes, and a deep pulsing grief. The little boy she’d adored was grown. She had missed his entire life.

  Cecily had abandoned the kitchen area of the room and crossed to him. “What’s happened?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing to do with my vision.”

  “I’ll ask a hug if you’re willing to give one,” Cecily said.

  Finbarr set his hat on a hook. “You’re beginning to say things like an Irishwoman.”

  “I’m not sure that could have been avoided, living where I do.”

  He turned back from the hook to face Cecily, meaning he faced Maura as well. Finbarr’s face was horribly scarred, his skin twisted in misshapen ridges on the right side of his face. A thick scar ran from his forehead, over the bridge of his nose, and beneath his left eye, ending at a patch of discolored, scarred skin along his left jaw. Her heart dropped to her toes.

  Saints of mercy, what could have caused such injuries?

  She did her utmost not to study overly long the change in him. She’d no desire to embarrass him. He, however, hadn’t taken note of her at all.

  As requested, he gave Cecily a hug, one that spoke far more of affection than obligation.

  “I’m sorry you’ve had a difficult day,” she said. “Take the time you need. I can always put you to work after the meal.”

  “Oh, I have full confidence in your ability to ‘put me to work.’” The merest whisper of teasing hung in those words, so small it was almost unnoticeable. He stepped away from her, moving toward the fireplace.

  Practicing in her mind a few different ways of greeting this nearly grown version of the little boy she’d loved so dearly, Maura waited for him to notice her. But he walked to the ladder and simply climbed it to the loft above.

  Cecily’s mouth pulled downward in a tight line as she walked back toward the stove. “I wonder what went wrong today.” She clearly spoke to herself.

  Maura was wondering about things far bigger than the events of today. What had happened to Finbarr’s face? Did Cecily know he was scarred?

  Another question jumped to mind, one she felt more comfortable asking. “Does Finbarr live here, then?”

  Cecily nodded. “Since before I came to Hope Springs.”

  “And he lives here still? Even now that you and Tavish are married?”

  Cecily set the pot of stew on the table. She moved with perfect confidence. “He’s not yet ready to live on his own.”

  “He must be eighteen or nineteen now.” She kept her voice low, as did Cecily.

  “It’s not his age he struggles against,” Cecily said. “Life in the dark, especially when thrust upon someone unexpectedly, requires a great deal of adjustment.”

  Life in the dark, Maura repeated in her mind. He had been in a heavy state of mind. Perhaps that was a perpetual state for him. She hoped not; he’d been a joyous child.

  Cecily pulled bowls from a shelf, then spoons from a drawer. ’Twas so easy to forget she couldn’t see. Maura doubted she’d be half so capable were she in the same situation.

  Again, the door pulled open. This was a busy house, considering only three people lived here. With Finbarr and Tavish, Cecily had known who’d arrived without a word being spoken. Could she manage the thing again?

  Tavish stepped inside, with Aidan trudging in behind him. He held out his arm to stop the lad from moving any further, and pressed a finger to his own lips, indicating they should keep quiet.

  Cecily tipped her head in contemplation. “Must be Tavish. Only he would try to trick me by keeping so quiet.”

  Still, no one spoke or moved. The amusement in Tavish’s eyes nearly pulled a laugh from Maura.

  “There were two sets of footsteps, though,” Cecily continued. “I’d wager you managed to convince your nephew to come along after all.”

  He sighed quite dramatically. A twinkle evident in his eyes, he shook his head. “One of these days, mo mhuirnín, I’ll manage to fool you.”

  Cecily tipped her chin up, her lips pursed in arrogance. “I wouldn’t place any wagers on that, if I were you.”

  Tavish resumed his entrance. Though he crossed directly to his wife, he spoke to Maura. “We’ve delivered your goods to the house. This lad, here, is a hard and willing worker.”

  “He always has been,” she said.

  Deep splotches of red touched Aidan’s cheeks. He always had been put easily to the blush. Would he outgrow that tendency? She wasn’t sure if she hoped he would.

  Her brother-in-law set his hands atop Cecily’s, still holding the bowls. “I’ll set these out.”

  She nodded and let him take them. She kept near his side as he crossed to the table. “Finbarr’s home,” she said quietly, “and he’s in one of his moods.”

  “Combative or despondent?” Tavish asked.

  Both descriptors were difficult for Maura to reconcile with the boy Finbarr she’d known.

  “Despondent,” Cecily answered. “And frustrated, I’d say.”

  Tavish glanced up at the loft, though Finbarr was not visible, having made his way into the shadows. “He intended to try his hand in the fields today. I’d wager it didn’t go well.”

  Worry tugged at Cecily’s mouth. “I am at such a loss as to how we might help, having never faced that particular challenge. No one I’ve written to for help has any insights to offer either. Short of tying himself to a fence post, I’m not sure how he’d navigate fields he cannot see.”

  Mercy. Of course. So much suddenly made sense. Cecily’s comment about living in the dark, Finbarr not yet being on his own... How had she not pieced together the truth of the situation sooner? He, like his sister-in-law, was blind. Maura would wager that his lost sight was related somehow to the horrific injuries he’d sustained to his face. Heavens. The idyllic life she’d imagined the O’Connors living in this corner of the world had apparently been anything but.

  What does that mean for the kind of life will Aidan have here? What if it proved no better than his fate would have been in New York?

  Finbarr didn’t join them when the time came to take their meal, which did not seem to surprise either Cecily or Tavish. Aidan didn’t talk, which was normal for him. They all kept to very neutral topics: crops, neighbors, the coming harvest. Perhaps it was just as well. She’d missed so much of the O’Connors’ lives that trying to explain it all to her was likely beyond the scope of a
single meal.

  Though Maura would have preferred not asking even more of her brother- and sister-in-law, she required more of their help. Pride and comfort would have to be set aside. “I’m needing a job,” she said. “But I haven’t the first idea where to begin looking. Are either of you aware of anyone that might be hiring.”

  They both sat quiet a moment, thinking.

  “Jeremiah Johnson is sometimes looking for some extra help,” Tavish said after a moment. “But I haven’t heard he’s looking just now.”

  “The ranches on the outskirts hire help now and then,” Cecily said.

  “Only ranch hands and cowboys,” Tavish countered.

  Aidan looked from one of them to the other. His food, a larger meal than either of them had seen in years, sat all-but forgotten as he watched, anxiousness pulling at the corners of his mouth. He was too aware of the state of their finances to have the least doubt she needed a job quickly.

  “If you hear of anything,” Maura said, “please let me know. I’ve experience cleaning houses, delivering babies—”

  “Delivering babies?” Tavish interrupted.

  Cecily reached for his hand, needing two tries to find it. “She and I spoke of it already. It is a fine thing having a midwife so nearby.”

  “It is indeed.”

  Perhaps they weren’t the only people who would feel that way. “I’ve also worked in textile factories and taken in sewing and laundry. I’ll not balk at any honest work available to me, no matter how menial. Truly, anything you hear of.”

  “We’ll keep our ears open,” Cecily said. “And we’ll have the rest of the family do the same. Everyone will do whatever they can to help, I am certain of it.”

  “That was always the O’Connor way,” Maura acknowledged.

  “Still is,” Tavish said. “It still is.”

  Chapter Nine

  Friday afternoon, Ryan sat in Joseph Archer’s dining parlor, papers spread out on the table before them. Joseph was a man of business, Ryan was an uneducated and inexperienced farmer, and he’d come to rely on the expertise of his neighbor. Joseph had helped with the details of Ryan’s plan to sell hay to local ranches. He only hoped the man could help him now, when so much of his planning needed to be redone.

  “Do the numbers still work if I’m not here in Hope Springs?” Ryan asked.

  “You mean if someone else works your land while you’re away?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I mean if the land where I’m growing my crops is somewhere other than Hope Springs.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  “I’ve no idea.” He pushed out a tense breath. “The O’Connors have a daughter-in-law living in the Claire house now. They may very well give her the land.”

  Joseph made a sound of pondering, even as he leaned back in his chair, eyes a bit unfocused. “That does toss a great deal of uncertainty into your situation.”

  “There is still land not yet being farmed in the Hope Springs valley.” Pointing that out was probably not necessary. After all, Joseph owned nearly every bit of this valley. If Ryan meant to attempt to purchase a piece of it, Joseph would be the one he’d be buying it from.

  “The land here, so near an established town and community, combined with the recent addition of a stage line running nearby and the rare and valuable presence of a river, make that land very valuable,” Joseph said. “And I paid a pretty penny for it. I can’t sell it to you cheap.”

  Ryan understood Joseph’s situation well enough, though that didn’t help his dilemma. “I used up a fair bit of my savings purchasing the sickle-bar mower so I could harvest my hay faster. I’ve so much of it now; it’s too big a task by hand. If I lose the land I’ve been working all these years, I don’t have enough money for buying land at a premium.” He tried not to be angry at the possibility—at again losing something he’d worked hard for—but it was difficult.

  “Perhaps I might be able to find something less expensive elsewhere,” he thought aloud.

  “More isolated land would be cheaper,” Joseph acknowledged.

  At last, a bit of good news.

  “But your business arrangement wouldn’t work if you don’t live here.”

  The sentence landed like a brick. “It wouldn’t?”

  “Your profits rely on the cost of delivery. Hay that ranches buy at market is usually grown very near to where it’s sold, saving the growers the cost of delivery. By growing the hay near ranchers, you’re saving them the cost of hauling it back. If you aren’t near them, you’ll have to factor that extra cost back in.”

  A number of very colorful exclamations ran through Ryan’s mind. “And that cost...”

  “Would essentially eliminate your profit,” Joseph said.

  Ryan rubbed his eyes with his palms. ’Twasn’t the direction he’d wanted this conversation to take. “So, if I lose the land I’ve worked these past years, I’m sunk.”

  “You might very well be,” Joseph said.

  “Well, that’s a right kick in the bread basket, isn’t it?”

  The door to the kitchen behind them swung open, and Joseph’s little girl Ivy bounced into the room. “Pompah! Guess what I did at school today.”

  Joseph scooped her onto his lap. “You wrote your name on your slate.”

  “I do that every day.” Ivy sounded just a touch indignant.

  “Then I haven’t the first idea.”

  Proud as could be, Ivy declared, “I ate my lunch with a boy.”

  Joseph clearly didn’t know whether he ought to make a show of being impressed or being shocked. “Did you?”

  She nodded. “And he said he would be my friend even though he’s very old.”

  “As old as I am?” Joseph asked.

  Her nose crinkled up, lips twisting tightly. “No one at school is as old as that.”

  Joseph’s older daughter, Emma, had stepped into the room. She was as quiet as her sister was excitable. “She will not leave him alone.”

  “This boy she ate lunch with?” Joseph asked.

  “Aidan O’Connor,” Emma said. “It’s embarrassing.”

  The little one was uncowed. “He’s my friend. Not Emma’s. He said, ‘good day’ to her today, and then she turned red and ran away. Everyone laughed.”

  Emma’s face crumbled, and, as her sister had so eloquently described, she ran away. Joseph set Ivy on her feet and followed the path his older girl had taken.

  Ivy, undeterred, turned her attention to Ryan. “Good afternoon, Mr. Callaghan.”

  “Good afternoon, Ivy,” he said. “It seems you had a fine day.”

  She nodded. “You look sad.”

  Was he so transparent? “I’m trying to sort some business matters.”

  She climbed onto her father’s vacated chair and looked over the papers spread across the table. Her brow pulled into a look of pondering very like the expression her father wore when discussing finances and evaluating risks. No matter that his mind was heavy, Ryan found himself smiling at the sight.

  “Are you going to be a businessman?” she asked, still bent over the papers, studying them.

  “I am hoping to be a farmer.”

  She nodded solemnly. “Finbarr wants to be a farmer, but he gets lost in the fields because he can’t see them.”

  “That does make things more difficult.” All the town wondered what would become of Finbarr O’Connor. The lad, no doubt, wondered that himself.

  “I asked Aidan if he’s a farmer,” Ivy said.

  Ryan attempted to answer in a casual tone. “What did he say?” He could plan much better if he knew the answer to that.

  “He said he’s not a farmer. And when I asked what he was, he said he wasn’t anything. He said it with his shoulders down like this.” She slumped forward, sporting a frown.

  How easily he could hear those words. I’m not anything. ’Twasn’t Aidan’s voice he heard, but his own. He’d felt that sense of not belonging, that struggle to know who he was and what he was meant to be. He’d felt
it in Ireland after his da died. He’d felt it when they first came to America, and again when they arrived in Hope Springs. Truth of it was, he felt a touch of that ol’ struggle even now.

  But feeling a kinship with Aidan O’Connor would not help Ryan’s situation in the least. His only fully developed plans depended on Aidan and his mother finding a different place to live.

  Again, the kitchen door swung. Katie, Joseph’s wife and the girls’ stepmother, came in, a wee baby fussing in her arms. “Ivy, where’s your father?” she asked, a frantic edge to her words.

  “He went after Emma. Her face was red.”

  The little one let out a screech like a banshee. Frustration and exhaustion touched Katie’s already harried expression. She stood in indecision. Having seen this play out in James’s house a few times, Ryan had little trouble sorting it: Katie had something that needed doing, but the baby wasn’t allowing her the freedom to see to it.

  “Allow me to look after your little handful,” he offered.

  “I’d not put you out, Ryan.”

  “Nonsense.” He held his arms out for the child. “I love little ones, and I haven’t any of my own. It’d be a treat.”

  Still, she hesitated. “He’s in a difficult mood.”

  “It’s no matter.” Ryan stood and accepted little Sean, who objected quite vocally. “Now,” he said to Katie, “you don’t worry the least if you hear him in here fussing. Just see to whatever it is you’re needing to see to; I’ll not be felled by his complaining.”

  She smiled a little, the strain in her face easing for the first time since she’d stepped into the room. “You mean to have a battle of wills with him, do you?”

  “I do.” He eyed little Sean with an overblown look of challenge. “And I mean to be victorious.”

  Katie set a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, and she slipped back into the kitchen. Sean’s cries of outrage turned to whimpers of dismay. The drool this child was producing would put a Saint Bernard to shame. He popped his little hand in his mouth, gumming it even as he continued mewling.

  “He’s my brother,” Ivy said, pride evident in every syllable.