Hope Springs (10 page)

“If the two of you are done loving on each other, you might give us a hand.” Tavish’s older sister, Mary, gave him a look of pure scolding, but she winked at Katie.

“Have I mentioned that being under my sister’s iron thumb for these few days every year is my absolute favorite part of being a berry farmer?” The sarcasm in his voice made Katie smile ever brighter.

“What is it you need me to do?” She directed the question to Mary and earned a grin wide as the River Foyle.

“I see our Katie knows just who is in charge here,” Mary said.

Tavish laughed. “It’s only that you’re so everlastingly bossy.”

Mary stuck her tongue out at him just as she’d likely done when they were small children.

“Have a sit down, Sweet Katie.”

“We’re mashing and straining these for jellies.” Mary indicated the bowls of berries on the table. “We’d be most grateful for your help.”

Every woman in the room gave Tavish an “I told you so” look. Katie could almost feel sorry for the man. He was terribly outnumbered.

Katie pulled a pail of blackberries close to her and took up a mashing implement. She’d spent enough hours kneading dough that she knew she had the strength for this task. Work would do her good, just as she’d said it would. Using her muscles helped clear her mind.

The berries were small, but a beautiful color. Katie had had the chance to eat a few over the past weeks as they’d ripened, so she knew they were as delicious as they looked.

Tavish returned to his own work, with something of resignation in his demeanor. Was he upset with her for arguing with him?

He looked up briefly, just long enough to indicate his sister with a jerk of his head and roll his eyes theatrically. They shared a quick moment of amusement. Katie knew then all was forgiven.

“’Tis a very good thing you had the jars already, Tavish,” Mary said as she stirred a large pot heating on an ancient stove. “I hear Johnson has raised his price.”

“Aye.” Tavish crushed more berries. “He’s trying to put me out of business, no doubt. No one else needs jars as much as I do. But if we run out of sugar, I really am in trouble. He’s tripled the price for us ‘Paddies.’”

Medicine. Cloth. Jars. And now sugar prices had gone up as well? Where would Johnson stop?

“Is it true about salt?” Biddy’s voice was so small it drew all their eyes to her. She was too pale. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.

“Aye. ’Tis true enough,” Tavish said.

Biddy took the tiniest step back from the table. Her shoulders slumped a bit. “How are we to preserve the meat when it’s time for the hog slaughter if we can’t afford salt? We’ll have no meat for the winter. What’ll we eat? The children—.”

All the others exchanged uncertain, worried looks.

“We’ll manage, Biddy,” Ciara, the youngest sister, said. “We always manage.”

A tear gathered in Biddy’s eye. Her lips shook. Biddy had been so strong through the difficulties she’d faced. To see her break down over the price of salt was heartrending.

Katie spoke up. “Do you think you can see to the mashing on your own, Tavish? I’ve a longing for a walk in the fresh air, if Biddy’ll come along.”

“I really should stay and help.” Biddy’s protest was halfhearted at best. “Tavish has done so much since Ian’s . . . injury.”

Katie threaded her arm around her friend’s elbow. Biddy allowed herself to be led away. “He has two sisters helping him just now. That’ll do fine.”

She opened the front door and looked back once more at Tavish. He smiled and nodded encouragingly, mouthing a “thank you.” She led Biddy outside. The day had turned a bit cool. Winter was coming early to Wyoming.

Biddy hesitated at the edge of the porch. “Tavish’s ma usually helps with this as well, but she’s looking after my Ian and the little ones. Tavish is shorthanded without her. I can’t just walk out.”

Katie kept Biddy at her side and walked slowly toward the road. “We’ll double back after a moment,” she said. “But just now I need you to talk to me. Tell me what’s weighing on you.”

Biddy shook her head. “You have troubles enough of your own.”

Why did everyone seem to think her incapable of bearing difficulties? She’d not crumbled under the weight of the last eighteen years—she wasn’t about to do so now.

“Friends are supposed to share burdens, Biddy. I am your friend, aren’t I?”

“Of course you are.” Biddy actually looked shocked that she would question it. But Katie had never really had a true friend before. She often felt as though she were guessing her way through their friendship.

“Then tell me what’s brought on the tears. I may not be able to help, but I can at least listen.”

They turned up the road, not heading anywhere in particular.

“I overheard my father-in-law and my brothers-in-law talking when everyone was over on Sunday evening. They don’t think Ian will be very well recovered for the busiest parts of the harvest.”

Katie had her doubts on that score as well, but had kept the thoughts to herself. Biddy had enough reasons for worry.

“They all mean to help bring our crop in, but they have their own to see to. And Tavish is already behind in preparing for his deliveries. He lost some of his berries because we didn’t preserve them quickly enough. He can’t afford to lose any more.”

Tavish hadn’t said anything to Katie about that.

“We’re going to lose some of our crop.” Biddy spoke quick and low, as though the thoughts were simply pouring out of her now that she’d started. “And the prices at market are expected to be low this year as it is. Now Mr. Johnson is raising the Irish prices again. I don’t know how we’ll get through this next year.”

“You’ve made it through before.” Katie hoped the words didn’t sound hollow. She simply didn’t know what else to say.

“This time is different.”

“Because of Ian?”

“And—” Biddy swiped at a tear and then at another.

“And
what?
”

Biddy stopped at the side of the road. She slumped under an invisible weight. “I’m to have a baby, Katie. Toward the end of winter.”

“But this is good news, is it not?” Katie couldn’t at all tell just by looking at Biddy.

“We were so happy when we realized.” Biddy rubbed at her own arms. Katie wished she’d brought shawls or something as a shield against the constant wind. “We lost a little one to the fever all those years ago, a sweet little girl, in age between Michael and Mary. There’s been such an emptiness in the home since then. Not that this babe will ever take little Fíona’s place, but we were so happy at the thought of another.”

“And that’s changed?”

Biddy began walking again, something like pacing but all in the same direction. “Mary’s shoes are falling to bits. Michael’s outgrown his coat. Ian has a very long and difficult time ahead of him. And I have a wee babe inside depending on me. There’ll not be any extra money coming in this year. We’ll be fortunate if we can purchase the seed we need for next year and make our payment on the land.”

“Surely Joseph would give you more time to pay him.” She knew for certain he would—had heard him say as much, in fact.

But Biddy was already shaking her head. “I cannot ask him to do that.”

“But he
would.
”

“Too much depends on his control over the farms here. Undermining that would put us all at risk.”

Katie walked with Biddy a while longer, grateful when she saw some calm return to her expression. She was understandably exhausted and overwhelmed, but talking of her worries seemed to have helped. Katie only wished she could do more.

She didn’t know how much Ian and Biddy’s payment was on their land. Perhaps she had enough in her savings to make it for them, or part of it at least. But would they even accept her help? She knew enough of Irish stubbornness to doubt it very much. And what would
she
live on if she spent every penny she had? She and Granny Claire would be in dire straits without money. Neither of them had paying jobs. Katie’s baking hardly covered its own costs. How many others on the Irish Road were looking ahead with fear?

She didn’t sleep much that night. Too many heavy questions weighed on her. She lay on her bedtick, staring into the darkness.

What am I to do, Eimear?
she asked her long-dead sister. There’d never been anyone else to listen to her worries over the years. But Eimear never had answers for her, and, in that moment, she needed an answer badly.

“How do I stop a greedy and hateful man from robbing his neighbors?” She whispered the question into the night.

It was late and the night was very cold. Otherwise, Katie would have slipped outside with her fiddle, letting the music clear her thoughts. Playing inside was out of the question with Granny sleeping so nearby. She closed her eyes and quietly hummed. “The Dear Irish Boy.” “Abigail in Breitamain.” She had hummed twice through “Éamonn a’ Chnuic” when an answer began to formulate in her mind.

It started as little more than a breeze of memory, a conversation she couldn’t quite recall. She’d spoken to Joseph about Mr. Johnson and his prices. He’d managed to talk the merchant down from a price increase by loaning him money.

Katie sat up, searching her mind for the rest of it. Weariness and worry slowed her thoughts.

“I needed the flour price to remain the same,” Joseph had said, “so I discovered something Johnson needed just as much.”

That was the key. If she could trade on something Mr. Johnson needed—more than he needed to put the Irish in their place, to punish them for existing—she might convince him to bring the prices back to where they’d been and to not raise any others over the winter.

But what did he need? What could a man with an entire mercantile at his disposal possibly need?

The words came clear and precise.

Help wanted.

Mr. Johnson needed an employee. Based on the look of his shop, he needed someone to straighten and organize and clean. He needed a housekeeper for his shop. A housekeeper.

Katie’s heart lodged firmly in her throat. She knew perfectly well how the rest of that sign read: “No Irish need apply.”

But if she
could
somehow convince him to take her, then she would have income, beyond the mere pennies she brought in with her bread. Perhaps she’d have enough to support herself and Granny, and then she could use her savings to help Ian and Biddy.

But what of the rest of the Irish? She didn’t have enough money for them all.

Think, Katie. The answer is there somewhere.

She stood up and walked to the small bedroom window. ’Twas a clear enough night to see the stars. She watched them sparkle above her.

He needs a housekeeper. You have more experience at that than anyone.

But you’re Irish.

Jeremiah Johnson would no sooner pay an Irishwoman a salary than he would dance a bare-skinned jig in a rainstorm.

He will never pay an Irishwoman a salary.

She took a gasping breath, a thought dropping fully formed into her mind. He wouldn’t pay her to work for him, but he might be willing to trade: her labor in exchange for lowering the Irish prices to where they had been.

Could she really do it? He would be a horrible person to work for. Every day would likely be miserable. And she’d be making no money. Not a single cent.

But if she didn’t at least try, the Irish would be driven out one by one. She’d lose this new home she’d chosen for herself. Her plan might very well fall to pieces. But she had to try. She wasn’t ready to give up yet.

Chapter Ten

Granny Claire opted to spend Friday keeping company with Mrs. O’Connor, they being good friends despite their age difference. Katie couldn’t imagine anyone not being instantly charmed by the sweet old woman.

With Granny gone for the day, Katie had her first opportunity to go to town and approach Mr. Johnson with her idea. She felt certain any of her Irish neighbors would argue against her efforts if they knew what she was up to. She was unsure enough of her plan that she might just be talked out of trying.

If only she were still living at Joseph’s house. She could have spoken to him about it over breakfast. He always listened, and he was smart about these kind of things. She could sort out even the most complicated of worries by talking through them with him. But she was on her own now. Her problems were hers alone.

Town was quiet, but not empty. Having witnesses about might very well ruin Katie’s chances. She stepped into the mercantile, but kept to the back wall, waiting until Mr. Johnson finished with his customer. The shop appeared to be in greater disarray than it had been during her last visit just over a week earlier. Perhaps Mr. Johnson was feeling a bit frustrated. That might help her cause.

Dusting. Organizing displays. A good waxing of the floors.
Katie mentally listed the various jobs needing done.
Straighten and coordinate the bolts of fabric. Sweep up the bits of spilled flour. Wash the windows.

Only one customer stood inside, Matthew Scott from down the Irish Road. His farm sat just past Granny Claire’s.