Longing for Home (44 page)

Katie pointed a finger at her new granny. “I’m suspecting you’ve been plotting.”

“’Twould be a further fine thing if that old helpless woman lived but a short walk across and up the road from a certain blue-eyed Irishman.”

“Old and helpless, are you? Mischievous and unrepentant, more like.”

“And is that a trait you look for in a potential landlady?” Granny was clearly enjoying herself.

Katie quickly got into the spirit of it. She rose from her seat and paced about, making quite a show of thinking through the situation. “I’ve lived under unrepentant landowners, though malicious seems a better word for them than mischievous.”

“Aye. Aye.” Granny nodded as she rocked.

“And you being old and helpless will make nipping off with your valuables a great deal easier.” Katie spun to face her. “I do believe you’ve talked me into it.”

“Just how long do I have before I need to hide the valuables—that is, how long before you’d be moving in?” Granny Claire acted flustered over her seeming slip, but the twinkle remained in her eyes. She would be a great deal of fun to share a house with.

“Just as soon as the Archers’ new housekeeper has come. That might be a couple weeks yet. Likely longer. I’m not entirely certain.”

“That’ll do fine. Whenever you need a roof, you just bring yourself by.”

A feeling of peace Katie hadn’t known in three months settled over her. For once her future was not entirely mired in uncertainty. “And how much would you be wanting for rent?”

Granny waved a dismissive hand. “None of that. We’re family now, you and I.”

“But will you still think that a year or two from now when I’m living here for free and taking up space in your house?” Katie teased.

The dear woman shook her head. “Perhaps in five or ten years I’ll start demanding a king’s ransom from you. But not until then.”

“Fair enough.”

“And with you here, I suspect Tavish’ll come visiting more often,” Mrs. Claire added. “That’ll be a treat. And I’ll enjoy getting to know that handsome Joseph Archer a touch better as well.”

“Joseph?”

“Oh, he’ll be by, and don’t you doubt it.”

“So you’re happy to keep me here in exchange for having handsome men hanging about the place?” Katie clicked her tongue. “Seems to me you’re just using me. Hoping to find yourself a beau of your own, you are.”

Granny laughed, her face wrinkling happily. “I’m hoping for something else as well, if you go to that of it.”

“What is it you’re wanting? I’d happily do anything for you.”

“Promise you’ll sit with me now and then and speak to me of Ireland.” Such loneliness filled her eyes in that moment. Katie’s heart ached to see it. “I haven’t seen m’ homeland in twenty-five years, but you were there only two years ago. I want to remember it, to go back there in my thoughts.”

“Of course.” Katie took her hand. “I miss Ireland myself.”

“’Twill be a far finer winter having you here, Katie.” Her thin hand squeezed Katie’s. “I’ve spent the last four since my family died dreaming of Ireland all alone in this quiet house. I would sit here on my own and wish I could go back.”

“We’ll both of us enjoy talking of Ireland,” Katie said, squeezing the dear woman’s hand. “’Twill be something of a journey in itself. I’ll tell you of the places I’ve lived, and you can tell me of the Ireland you knew.”

Granny patted Katie’s cheek as lovingly as she always did Tavish’s. “’Tis glad I am that you’ll be staying with me. A comfort and a friend you’ll be.”

The words remained with her as Katie walked back to the Archers’. Whether or not she stayed in a place or moved on had never been helpful nor important to anyone else. Being needed and wanted and useful felt good. More than good, in fact. Katie hadn’t felt so peaceful since she was a tiny child.

That no one stood guard watching the Archer home as Katie walked back told her as nothing else could that Joseph had come in from the fields already.

She stepped inside the house and smiled broadly at the scene that met her eyes. Ivy sat on the table, loudly explaining something to Tavish, who was sitting on a chair listening with an overwhelmed look. Joseph sat exactly opposite him, talking to Emma about a book she held in her hands. Ivy and Joseph’s voices competed to be heard over each other.

’Twas a lovely bit of chaos. Standing in the doorway watching it, Katie felt grateful she didn’t have to leave it behind just yet. Mrs. Claire’s home would be very quiet compared to the joyful laughter of the girls.

Tavish noticed her standing there in the next moment. His look of pleading made her laugh, pulling everyone’s attention to her.

“Good evening, everyone. Are you having a party and didn’t invite me?”

Tavish leaned back in his chair. “We have been playing with dolls, Katie. You missed all the fun.”

“
You
have been playing with dolls?”

He nodded slowly and with emphasis. Apparently he’d been quite horribly tortured.

She pulled the kitchen door closed behind her and came fully inside. “I have played dolls with Ivy myself. She is the very best of playmates.”

Ivy smiled broadly at the praise. She was not, however, the sister who generally needed to hear it. Katie went around to the side of the table where Emma sat with her father.

“Good evening to you, Emma.” She gave the girl’s shoulders a friendly squeeze.

“My new book has arrived.” Emma held a leather-bound volume up for Katie to see. Lovely golden letters shone on the cover. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Very.” Katie brushed a finger along the book’s surface. “What is the book called?”

Emma read each word slowly with the occasional stumble. “
Stories of Ireland and Her Four Provinces
.”

“Stories of
Ireland?
” Katie was full astonished. She looked to Joseph, wondering just what had inspired such a selection.

“Emma wished to learn more about where you come from,” Joseph explained.

Katie gave Emma a hug. “What a sweet, sweet girl you are.” She pulled back enough to smile at her and receive a smile in return.

“May I read them to you?”

“I would love for you to.” Katie pressed a kiss to the top of Emma’s head.

“No reading just now, Emma,” Joseph said. “You and Ivy need to wash up for dinner.”

“Yes, Papa.” But Emma dragged her feet.

“You as well, Ivy.” Joseph motioned his youngest daughter to the doorway.

The girls left, but not without protest and slow, lingering footsteps. Joseph followed them out. He helped them wash up every night.

Katie heard Tavish’s footsteps as he approached the spot where she stood. She did not, however, expect him to wrap his arms about her, holding her tenderly.

“You’re very affectionate this evening.” She rested her arms on his.

“I sat here waiting for you to return and realized how much I’ve missed you.”

She adored hearing that. Still, she opted to tease him rather than let him know as much. “Missed me, did you? Could it be you’re feeling a bit jealous that I spent a good deal of time with your granny instead of with you?”

A wry smile spread slowly across his face. “I am not at all jealous of that.”

“Not jealous ‘of that’? Am I to assume you’re jealous of something else, then?” she teased.

“I’ll not admit to any more than I already have.”

“But you’ve not admitted to anything.”

Tavish bent down enough to whisper, “I think I have, Sweet Katie.”

He took one of her hands in his and, in a flourish, spun her out of his embrace. Katie nearly giggled like a schoolgirl. Tavish grinned like the mischief maker she knew him to be.

“You’ve plenty of work to do tonight,” he said. “Why don’t you see to it, and I’ll gather up Ivy’s dolls?”

She accepted the offer, knowing she had far too much to do, especially considering how little sleep she’d had the past few nights trying to keep up with her work and her baking, as well as worrying over her prices and her neighbors. As she began her meal preparations, she talked with him.

“First you play with the dolls and then you willingly pick them up. I’m beginning to suspect you’re a touch too good to be true, Tavish O’Connor.”

He winked at her as he set the dolls in a pile on the work table. “Just keep reminding yourself of that.”

Katie set to chopping vegetables. “Have you finished harvesting your berries?”

“Nearly. And then I’ll be spending days on end with the women of my family canning preserves.” He offered a dramatic shudder.

Katie set a hand on one hip, pointing her chopping knife in his direction as though she’d just had a tremendous insight. “Perhaps if you’re particularly lucky, they’ll play dolls with you as well.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t goad a man on that way, Katie.”

She dumped the vegetables into a strainer and moved to the sink to rinse them. “Don’t tell me you aren’t equal to a little teasing?”

“Oh, I favor it to be sure.” He walked slowly in her direction, gaze firmly set on her, his eyes capturing hers. “But, you see, m’ father has a theory, he does, about just why a woman plagues a man that way.”

He stopped directly in front of her where she stood at the sink facing him. Her heart began pounding, her lungs tight with tension.

“What is this theory of his?”

“That a woman who pricks at a man does so”—he set his hands on the sink’s edge on each side of her—“because she’s begging to be kissed, and to be kissed well and good.”

Kissed? Katie could hardly breathe, let alone anything beyond. She’d been near dying for him to properly kiss her for weeks, but he’d never done more than place a kiss on her hand or, if she were particularly lucky, on her forehead or cheek. The man was driving her out of her mind.

“And are you a believer in this theory, as well?” The words only just came out whole.

He nodded and leaned in closer. She could feel each of his breaths against her lips. There was no contact between them, not so much as a brushing of hands.

Katie held herself perfectly still, both wishing for him to remain as close as he was and unnerved by his nearness.

“But you see, Katie, I’ve another theory as well.” Each word brought his mouth achingly closer to hers. “A first kiss isn’t something that ought to be begged for. ’Tis something that comes from a place deeper than that.”

The slightest movement would press their lips together. Yet, Katie was frozen. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

“And,” Tavish whispered, “that first kiss shouldn’t happen in another man’s kitchen.”

He lingered there but a moment before stepping back. Even with the added distance, Katie felt ready to burst. For him to come so close to kissing her only to pull away again was nothing short of torture.

Joseph returned in the next moment. She was happy to see him, as always, yet resented him being there at the same time. His gaze moved from her to Tavish before falling away all together.

“The girls will be down in a few more moments,” he said. “I thought you might like to see this before they return.”

He held out a letter to her.

“For me?”

Joseph nodded. “From a ‘Mrs. Mary Macauley’ in Belfast.”

Katie was certain her heart stopped in that moment. “Mama.” She hadn’t heard from her mother in nearly a year, though she’d sent her new address to her parents before leaving Baltimore.

She took the letter and brushed her fingers along the tidy letters. Katie had learned to recognize the handwriting of her parents’ priest the way one recognizes a loved one’s voice.

Excitement warred with fear in her as it always did when a letter arrived from home. With each letter she received—there’d only been six in eighteen years—she would tell herself
this
letter would surely hold some words of tenderness. She would convince herself they’d written to say they loved her in spite of everything, or that she might come home even without the money to buy back the farm or place a proper headstone at Eimear’s grave. The letter she would receive would heal wounds so deep no one saw them but Katie herself.

She told herself with each letter that she’d find in it what she so desperately needed, but it was never the case. Mother only ever wrote of her brothers, briefly mentioned that Father worked hard as always, and little else. With each letter, Katie’s heart broke all over again.

She turned to Tavish. “Would you read it to me?”

“Certainly.” He took the envelope from her and broke the seal.

Katie swallowed against the thickness in her throat.

Tavish must have sensed her sudden, painful tension. He took one of her hands in his, squeezing it a moment before unfolding the letter.

“‘My dear Katie,’” he read, “‘I hope this letter reaches you in your new home. I’m pleased to hear you’ve found a position of such importance. To be a housekeeper is a fine thing.’”

Katie smiled to herself. ’Twas the closest either of her parents had come to saying they were proud of her.

Tavish kept reading. “‘I’ve some bad news, Katie.’”

Bad news.
Katie’s breath caught in her lungs.
Bad news.

“‘Your father is ill. We’ve had the doctor in, and he fears ’tis a fatal ailment.’”

Pain stung Katie’s throat. Panic surged through her. The word
fatal
repeated again and again in her mind.

“‘He’ll likely not live out the year, Katie. Your brothers mean to come and say their farewells. I don’t know if you’re able to come, but I wanted you to know so you can come if you’d like.’”

Father is dying. He’s dying.
Tears welled in her eyes as the thought repeated in her mind. She didn’t have the money she needed yet. She couldn’t give him his land. But he was dying. That meant she was too late. She couldn’t give him what she owed him. She couldn’t make amends.

She was too late.

“‘I wish I had better things to tell you, Katie,’” Tavish continued. “‘I wish so many things had gone differently in our lives.’ And it is signed, ‘Mother.’”

Tavish looked up at her with such compassion in his eyes. The emotion she barely held back rushed out. Tears fell unchecked. Her breath shuddered out.