After the Storm (13 page)

She tasted the curve of his ear, and his breath caught. Exultation exploded within her as she offered him a share of the pleasure he was giving her. His fingers inched along her waist. As the robe gaped, she reached to pull it closed. He grasped her hand, drawing it away. His other hand curved beneath the robe before gliding up her back. Tugging her closer, he found her mouth with a longing she could feel along him. His shirt's coarse texture stroked the skin that was bare above her chemise.

He drew her toward the bedroom door, and her foot caught in the clothing she had dropped. She clutched his arms to keep from falling.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he steadied her. He chuckled. “I already know the answer to that. You're far better than all right.”

Cailin pulled the robe closed around her, and the fire in Samuel's eyes dimmed.

He reached past her to pick up his paper. “I'll empty the tub. Good night.” He laughed again, but this sound was as chilly as his eyes. “It could have been a good night.”

“This is moving too fast. My gratitude to you doesn't go that far.”

“Gratitude?” He brushed her lips with his fingertips. “I didn't taste any gratitude here.” His eyes narrowed. “Nor any sorrow for your late husband.”

Bending, she picked up the clothing. “I think we should both admit this was a mistake.”

“And pretend it never happened?”

“Yes. That would be for the best.”

“Are you this dishonest with everyone or just me?”

He walked into her bedroom before she could answer.

Cailin wanted to call him back, but that would be dull-witted, for she doubted she would be able to resist his kisses again tonight. Abban had wooed her with kisses, too. In astonishment, she realized she could not recall Abban's kisses being as fiery as these. She put her fingers to where Samuel's lips had touched her's. The heat pulsed through them, warning of the peril she invited when she allowed him to hold her.

She saw something under the chair. A garment? She bent down and drew out a crumpled newspaper page. She started to call to Samuel but paused. Even speaking with him again tonight might be trouble.

Taking the page and her clothes into the kitchen, she saw her dress hanging over a chair next to a bucket that was topped by the grease left by the soap he had used to wash her dress. She put the page on the table and dropped her chemise into the bucket.

She began to wash her underclothes, putting each garment into a pile on the table. When Samuel did not come through the kitchen with the buckets from the tub in her room, she wondered if he had decided to leave the task until morning. That did not sound like him.

Just as she was wringing out her chemise, he walked into the kitchen with the tub. He said nothing when he opened the door and carried it outside. A hollow clang sounded, and she guessed he had hung it up on a brad nailed into the white clapboards.

She put the chemise on the table and bent to pick up the pail. An arm reached around from behind her, lifting the bucket before she could.

“Thank you,” she said, straightening. When she bumped into Samuel's chest, she grasped the handle of the bucket before the water could splash out onto the floor. Her fingers clasped over his, and the longing careened through her anew.

Edging away, she faced him. Slowly she lifted her hands off the handle.

He set the bucket on the table, and he smiled. “How did you manage to wash those clothes without getting the floor wet? I always have to mop up afterwards.”

“You probably have more help than I did,” she replied, glad his frown was gone.

“That's true.”

She gathered up the washed garments. “And you clearly made the water in the tub magically disappear.”

“I poured it out the bedroom window. It's easier than toting buckets through the house, and there's a flower bed outside the window that could use the water, since we haven't gotten much rain lately. Just the night you arrived.”

“Thank you for arranging that bath for me.”

“You're welcome.” His smile widened. “You'd better hang up those clothes before the dripping water makes that whole robe transparent.”

She looked down. Where water had dripped from the clothes, the robe was spotted, making the silk seem to disappear.

“Such a sight could make a man do something he knows he shouldn't.” He grasped her arms and pulled her to him. The wet underclothes were squeezed between them as he kissed her soundly. Releasing her, he grinned. “I'd suggest you keep those clothes close to you unless you want to tempt me more than I can be tempted and resist.”

She knew it was time to leave before he tempted
her
more than she could be tempted and resist. Something about him drew her to him, even when he was not looking at her. She had never met a man who could be so tenderhearted yet possessed such a captivating sensuality.

Bidding him good night again, she rushed to her bedroom and closed the door, but not quickly enough, for she heard his laugh follow her from the kitchen. As she sat on her bed, she glanced at the door and smiled reluctantly. The days ahead might be challenging, but she was sure of one thing: They would not be boring.

Seven

Cailin appraised the village of Haven, which was set on a bank high above the Ohio River. Her hazy memories of a town enveloped in darkness did not match the neat houses edging a village green. Today, with the sun shining, she saw a large white building on one side of the green that she had not even noticed in her blind need to get to her children.

Even though sweat dripped down her back, she shivered at the memory of that moment of being so close yet so uncertain of what she would find at what she hoped was the end of her journey. That uncertainty remained, but not about her children. Getting away from the farm and Samuel would give her a chance to clear her head.

She hoped.

The day had begun poorly when she had sat with the children on the porch. She had talked to them about Ireland and the journey to America, a subject that Lottie seemed to find boring. Only when Cailin had pulled out the cracked photograph of their father had she understood why.

Lottie had stood on tiptoe looking over the arm of the rocker. “Who's that, Mama?”

“It's your father.” She told herself she should not be surprised that Lottie did not remember the picture Cailin had shown her often when she spoke of the father Lottie had never seen.

“Papa?” asked Megan and Brendan at the same time. Both rushed over to look at the photograph.

Cailin was startled when neither of them spoke. When she saw them glance at each other uneasily, she asked, “Don't you recognize him?”

“Yes,” Megan said slowly. “Yes, I think so.”

“I recognize him, Mama.” Brendan added nothing more, not even to taunt his sister because he remembered something she did not.

That he changed the subject had unsettled Cailin more than anything else. She wondered what had been said in Mrs. Rafferty's house when she had not been there. Although she had tried to ask, Brendan kept returning to the topic of his cow and how she was certain to be judged the best at the fair.

On the white building, the letters
H-A-V-E-N-G-R-A-N-G-E
were painted over the door facing the green. A brick building next to it had a sign atop its door with the letters
H-A-V-E-N-P-U-B-L-I-C-L-I-B-R-A-R-Y
. The wood looked new, so she guessed it had been placed there recently. No one stood near it or on the green, which shimmered in the heat and humidity. At one end of the open space, a cannon was set into a flower bed.

“That's the Grange over there,” Brendan said as he steered the wagon with a skill that impressed her.

“What's the Grange?” she asked, wiping a handkerchief across her forehead. She had not guessed it would be so unremittingly hot here in Indiana. When she had tried to sleep last night amid the heat, she had longed for the cool, gray days in Ireland.

“It's where the farmers around Haven meet.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. The heat did not seem to bother him. “They have meetings, but I don't go. I'd rather play baseball with my friends.”

“Baseball is the game with the ball and the bat, right?”

“Yep. Baseball is fun. Samuel said he saw the Red Stockings play in Cincinnati. That must have been exciting!”

“What are the Red Stockings?”

“They were a baseball team in Cincinnati. They haven't played in about five or six years, but I saw an article in one of his newspapers that said they might begin playing again. It depends on whether they can get enough money to pay the team.”

“This team gets paid to play a game?”

He nodded. “Each side has nine players, and whoever gets the most runs wins. I like baseball. Maybe I'll try to get on the team when I get old enough.”

Cailin marveled that every answer he gave her created two more questions in her mind. “I see,” she said, even though she did not.

He grinned. “Pretty soon you're going to know everything you need to know to be an American.”

“I don't think anyone will believe that as long as I speak with this accent.”

“Americans have all kinds of accents. You should hear how differently they talk up in Chicago or on the other side of the river.”

“You've traveled to those places?”

Brendan laughed. “No. Sometimes guests come to the Grange to speak with the Grangers. Some of them sound really odd.” He pointed along the main street. “The store's over there, Mama.”

“Emma's store?”

“Yep, and that's the livery stable just across from it.”

“Where your friend lives?”

“Don't talk about that when we're in Haven!”

Cailin looked away so her son could not see her smile. Samuel had told her about Brendan's calf-love for a young girl named Jenny Anderson, whose father owned the livery. Hearing Brendan mumble something, she said, “Samuel says you got every word but two right last night when you were reading to your sisters.”

“All but one!” His grin returned. “If I read to Megan and Lottie again tonight, will you come up and listen? I'm going to be the best reader in school when it starts this fall.”

She wanted to hug him to show him how proud she was but knew she would embarrass him, so she just squeezed his arm. “I'd love to hear you read to your sisters.”

“Then will you tell us one of your stories?”

“I'd be glad to do that, too. Do you want to hear one of the fairy stories?”

His nose wrinkled. “I'd rather have one with a giant or a monster in it.”

Cailin laughed and looked around the village again. The church at the other end of the green was receiving a new coat of whitewash from some boys who clearly wished to be elsewhere. They stared wistfully after the wagon. One of them waved, and Brendan waved back.

“A friend of yours?” she asked.

“Yep. Jimmy.”

“Did he come on the train with you and your sisters?”

“No, he's lived in Haven all his life.” He gave a sigh that sounded too old for his years. “I wish I'd lived here all my life.”

She put her hand on his arm. “Do you really like living here so much?”

“Yep.”

“You keep saying that.”

“That's the way Americans talk, Mama.” His expression became pensive again. “I like being here in America.”

“In New York—”

He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like Samuel's favorite oath. “I hated it there. All those buildings and too many people. Here there are trees and the river and I've got my cow. I don't want to go back to New York.”

Cailin knew she was risking an answer she did not want to hear, but she asked, “What about Ireland? Would you like to go back there?”

“Why?” he asked, stopping the wagon to let another pass by. “Here we've got a nice house, and I have my own room, without Megan and Lottie poking their noses into my stuff. We've got lots to eat, and I'm going to school.” His grin returned for a moment as he said, “I don't always like school, but Samuel says a man can only get ahead if he's educated.” He slapped the reins, and the wagon moved forward again along the main street. “If we went to Ireland, would Samuel come with us?”

She shook her head, then realized Brendan was so busy concentrating on his driving that he could not see her. “I don't think so.”

“Then why would we want to go back there?”

“It's where we were born, and your grandfather is there.” She was not sure what else to say, because, even though she had girded herself for this answer, she had hoped Brendan would be willing to go without Samuel.

“Wouldn't it be easier for Grandpa to come here?” His eyes lit up. “He'd like Haven, Mama. The folks here are nice, and they enjoy working in the fields and with animals as much as he does. Don't you think he'd like Haven?”

“Yes, I think he'd like it here.” She would not lie to her son.

“Then why not ask him to come here?” He slowed the wagon in front of a brick house with tall, thin windows that was near the livery. “I can write to him if you want, Mama. Just tell me what you want me to say, and I'll write it to him. Then we can have Emma send it out on the next train.”

“It's something to think about.” Cailin gave him a smile, but she sighed when he looked back along the street. Her father had been furious when she decided to come to America. She had mentioned he would be welcome, too, in Abban's home. How innocent she had been then! Not that it mattered, for Athair had refused to leave his home and cross the ocean. He had said that after all his years of living on the farm, he intended to be buried in the churchyard near it. He had tried to persuade her to stay and wait patiently for a response to the latest letter Father Liam had written to Abban. She had considered remaining, because her father's health had been unsteady for years, but she had believed her place was with her husband. There had been no answer from Abban, just as there had been no answer to the three previous letters she had sent. She had feared there was a problem, but she could never have imagined the truth.