Her lips twitched upward.
“Women have been known to faint dead away at the smallest glance of his heart-capturing smile. Which makes one wonder: is the breathtakingly beautiful woman sitting in his muscular embrace still conscious, or has she, too, fallen victim to the overwhelming nature of his good looks?”
“The narrator of your story needs to be told that the woman’s eyes don’t function. That would answer his question.”
His hand rubbed her arm in a slow caress. “The narrator would be happy to offer a full description of her eyes, but he, alas, has never seen them.”
“I don’t want to hear a description of my eyes.” She began to pull away, but his gentle, reassuring embrace kept her there. The fight drained from her. “The last time I saw them, they were hideous. They will be even more so now.”
He turned a little, likely looking nearly directly at her now. “The green spectacles are meant only to hide your eyes? They don’t protect them from the light or anything like that?”
“I grew tired of being stared at,” she said. “It was far easier to simply hide this part of me from the world.”
“But I am not the world,” he said. “Do you not trust me?”
“Of course I trust you.” There was no question about that.
“You saw the pain, and grief, and guilt I hid from even my own family,” he said. “Do you trust me enough to let me see what you hide from everyone?”
Could she? Of all people, Tavish would not think less of her because of her deformity. He might very well be horrified, and his stomach might turn at the sight, but he wouldn’t make her feel hideous because of it.
She sat up straighter. His arms fell away. Her hands shook a little as she reached up and removed her spectacles, slowly lowering them to her lap. Her eyes were yet closed; habit wouldn’t allow her to do otherwise. Not yet. Heavens, she was trembling.
His fingers lightly brushed her jaw line. “Take your time, love.”
“I don’t know if I can do it.”
He continued his caress. “I’ll not pressure you. I only want you to know that you’re safe to share anything at all with me.”
She felt a lot of things whenever she was with him, including safe. He was her refuge. So yes, she could share this vulnerability with him. After a moment’s fluttering, she opened her eyes entirely and held perfectly still, waiting for his reaction.
He didn’t gasp. That seemed like a good sign. His fingers brushed along her face, softly and slowly. She didn’t know whether to lean in to his touch or pull away from it. Her spectacles had been a shield, the size of which she was just realizing. Without them, she felt exposed, defenseless.
“My eyes are likely entirely milky now.”
“They are.” A simple statement. No pity or disgust touched the words. He would be honest with her.
“Is there any other color left at all, or is it only white?”
“Only white.” His hand slipped behind her neck, inching her closer to him.
“At least you didn’t run away screaming,” she said.
“Oh, Cecee,” he whispered. “I have no intention of running away.”
His hand slid down her back, resting at her waist. The air grew quickly warmer, and the welcoming scent of him enveloped her. She felt his breath against her lips in the instant before she felt their touch.
His kiss was gentle. Tender. Earnest. He held her as though she were the most precious of treasures. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight to him, and returned his kiss with fervor. Her heart skipped and jumped and pounded, yet somehow, she still felt utterly and completely at peace.
His forehead pressed to hers, he said, “I am so glad you didn’t turn out to be a man.”
How was it he could make her laugh no matter the jumbled state of her mind? A person couldn’t help but live her life happy and joyful with this man a part of it.
But that didn’t bear thinking on. Their lives were taking different paths.
“As much as I’d love to sit here kissing you all afternoon,” Tavish said, “I do need to get you back home. The family has plans this afternoon.”
She nodded. “I won’t keep you.”
“Won’t keep us. You’re a part of their plans as well.”
Bless his optimistic heart. “I doubt that.”
“You shouldn’t.” He helped her to her feet.
“Forcing them to invite me to a gathering isn’t going to change—”
“Your first lesson in your soon-to-be family is this: the O’Connors cannot be forced to do anything. They are far too headstrong.”
His words pulled her up short. “My ‘soon-to-be family’?”
“You don’t think I go about kissing lasses I’m not desperately in love with, do you?” He clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“Love isn’t always enough,” she reminded him.
He helped her into the buggy once more then climbed up himself. “I think you’ve underestimated the power of love, my dear. More of it is playing a role in this than you know.”
The buggy began moving again. She hadn’t the heart to continue reminding him of the inevitable. He didn’t want to admit how hopeless their situation truly was; she rather hated the reality of it. She slipped her spectacles on once more and folded her hands on her lap. A quiet ride back seemed best.
But when they reached the front of Granny’s home, suddenly “quiet” was out of the question. “I hear voices. A lot of voices.”
“I’d wager all of Wyoming hears their voices,” Tavish laughed. “They’re making quite a ruckus in there.”
“Who is?”
His footsteps brought him around, and he lifted her down. They were getting quite adept at that. So long as she was in Hope Springs, she would never worry about navigating the short distance from a wagon or buggy to the ground.
“We’ve something of a surprise for you.” As he always did, Tavish took her arm and walked her to the front porch.
The air inside the house was warm, though whether someone had built a fire, or it was simply the result of so many people occupying the relatively small space, she couldn’t say. Neither could she distinguish how many people were inside or who they were.
The chatter died down. Suddenly nervous and uncertain, Cecily slipped her hand into Tavish’s.
“They’ll not eat you, a mhuirnín,” he said. “Ma made certain they were all well fed, just in case.”
“We hope you won’t think we’ve overstepped ourselves.” That was Mr. O’Connor. “We’ve come to make a proposition and a plea.”
Cecily stepped closer to Tavish, her nervousness momentarily overriding her curiosity.
“We’re wanting to help you with your books,” Mr. O’Connor said. “We’ve been practicing, so we’re faster, though you’d likely laugh yourself into a fit to see what we consider ‘faster.’ On the table there are a new half dozen Braille slates and styluses, extras that’d be kept here. We’re making more. You’d have a small army helping with your work.”
“I don’t understand,” she said quietly.
“We believe in what you do,” Mr. O’Connor said. “Our Finbarr’s a changed person because of you. We all are, changed for the better, and we want to help you work that change for others. It’s important that we do.”
“But . . . why?”
Why would they help someone who had only recently moved up from the rank of adversary?
Mrs. O’Connor answered. “To summarize what someone once told my youngest boy, ‘It is important to us because it’s important to you.’”
The emotion Cecily had been fighting all afternoon bubbled anew. She held ever tighter to Tavish’s hand, needing his anchor in these uncharted waters.
“We want you to stay,” Mr. O’Connor said. “Not because we’ve been coerced or are pitying you or any such thing. We want you here as a part of our lives.”
She shook her head. “But I’m English. That won’t ever change.”
“We can’
t promise to not ever be uncomfortable or, I’m sorry to say it, rather stubborn in the assumptions we’ve been taught to make,” Mr. O’Connor said. “But you’ve given us back two of our sons.”
Tavish slipped his hand from hers and put his arm around her.
“We O’Connors are not the brightest in the bunch,” Mr. O’Connor continued, “but we do learn from our mistakes. We tried to separate Tavish from you early on, and nearly lost him because of it. He’d hidden behind his pain and grief for so long, and only you were able to bring him back once more. We’ve a lifetime of wrong-headed lessons to relearn, but heaven help us, we mean to try.”
She hardly dared hope, but she wanted so desperately to believe them. Leaning toward Tavish, she whispered, “Are they in earnest?”
“Utterly.”
She turned to face him more fully. Her mind spun with all she was hearing, all she was struggling to understand. “What about the rest of the Irish in town? They are none too pleased with my origins.”
Tavish rubbed her back reassuringly. “They’ll be slower to come around, I’d imagine. But you’ll have us, and this family rallies around its own.”
“I am not one of your own,” she reminded him.
“Did I not tell you just today that you soon will be?” he said. “You need to start believing me, you stubborn woman.”
“You’ve not told her the best part yet,” Ian’s voice called out. “Don’t underestimate the power of a good bit of bribery. Go on, then.” Bribery? This conversation grew stranger and stranger.
“Matthew Scott, an Irishman here in town, worked in a printing office for a time before coming to Hope Springs,” Tavish said. “He is very familiar with printing presses and such. Seamus Kelly happens to be something of a dab hand at inventing new-fangled bits of equipment. The two of them have agreed to help the lot of us, with your expert guidance, in designing a press to print entire pages at a time in Braille.”
“A Braille press?” Her heart leapt at the very thought. Though books in France were printed in Braille, only one press in the United States did. This was the gap she was attempting to fill for her students and for the pupils at the Missouri School. She could do so much faster with a press.
“It may take a great deal of time and a great deal of trial,” Tavish said. “But in the meantime, you have an entire family wanting to help you reach your goals and live your dream of creating your lending library.”
“I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”
“Whatever you mean to say,” Mr. O’Connor jumped in, “sit on it a moment. We’re all going to slip out onto the porch and let the two of you have a moment alone.”
As a cacophony of footsteps made their way to the door, Cecily’s mind spun. Could she trust this offer? She didn’t doubt the O’Connors’ desire to help with the books, or that it was a gesture of friendliness and support made from love for their son. But would that be enough to see her accepted as part of the family? Was being accepted too much to hope for? Was their support and apparent determination to not reject her outright enough to ensure that she wouldn’t be pulling Tavish away from the family he’d dedicated his life to supporting and protecting?
“I’ve come to know your expressions fairly well, Cecee, and I can tell that you are at war with yourself.” He hadn’t waited a single moment after the door closed. “I know the questions you’re asking; I’ve asked them myself. And I will tell you this: I cannot guarantee that my family will be the warm and loving one you deserve, but I do know that they don’t mean to turn you out. I cannot promise that everything will be fairy tale perfect, but I swear to you that there is a very real chance it could be.”
“I don’t want you to be unhappy.” That fate was, in fact, one of her greatest worries.
“And, my dear, darling Cecily, I don’t want you to be either.”
She took a steadying breath. “So what do we do? How do we know what comes next?”
“We take one step at a time.” His hands slid down her arms and threaded his fingers through hers. “Rather than leaving in another week or so, give us the summer. See if m’ family can be as good as their word, see if you can make a home for yourself here. If everything falls apart, and we find that the O’Connors cannot overcome the burden of history, we will decide what to do then. If, however, we find more and more reason to hope, if we discover that all of these fears and hesitations are unfounded, then I hope you will stay through the fall. Through the next winter. Through the coming of another spring. You could simply stay. Stay here. With me.”
For once she could not hear the objections of her mind. Her heart shouted that he was right, that she shouldn’t leave, that she couldn’t.
“Please, Cecee,” Tavish whispered. “Stay with me.”
“Through the summer,” she said.
“For now,” he added on a whisper. “For now.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
AUGUST
Tavish was finally home after spending several weeks driving all over the territory and a bit beyond, making his annual deliveries of preserves, cordials, and bushels of late-summer berries. He’d gained quite a reputation thereabouts for having a fine crop and products worth the asking price. No one else grew so much variety this far from civilization. He made a decent living off his crop, something not all farmers could say.
He’d not wanted to leave with Cecily’s future yet undecided, but he’d taken out an extra note on his land the previous autumn, one that needed paying off. Further, he’d skipped deliveries the summer before to take Finbarr to the doctor in St. Louis. He couldn’t have afforded to lose another year’s sales, or he might very well lose his land.
He only prayed that the progress he’d seen in the relationship between Cecily and his family had continued during his absence. He meant to look in on his parents and ask a good many questions, but they were not his first stop. Not remotely.
Tavish knocked at the door to Cecily’s home, not bothering to hide the gift he’d brought for her. She would not be able to see it either way, so the element of surprise was rather guaranteed. His heart pounded in anticipation as he waited. He’d not seen her in weeks. Heavens, he’d missed her.
If the fates chose to smile upon him, he’d take her with him on next year’s deliveries. He couldn’t imagine a better way to undertake the trek.
The door opened. Tavish’s grin bloomed on the instant. The interior of the house was dim, but he had no difficulty seeing Cecily in the doorway. She wore the blue dress he’d always liked so much. Her distinctive green spectacles sat the tiniest bit askew on her nose. Her golden hair hung in a loose bun. But what truly drew his attention was her brows turned downward in confused concentration. Apparently his scent was not so distinctive today; she didn’t appear to realize who’d come to call.
“You’ve baffled me,” she said after a moment. “I’ll need some idea who you are.”
“I’ve not been gone so long as all that,” he said. “Surely you still remember me.”
Her hand flew to her heart. “Tavish.” The way she whispered his name, with such a mixture of earnest longing and relief, warmed him through. “You’ve returned at last.”
“That I have.”
She held her arms out to him, an invitation he didn’t need explained. He leaned her present against the wall of the house, then took her into his embrace. She wrapped her arms about his neck and clung to him, fiercely and firmly.
“You were gone entirely too long, Tavish O’Connor,” she said.
“Couldn’t be helped, dear. I’m needing to make a living.”
She smiled. How he loved that smile.
“I’ve missed you is all,” she said.
“Has my family been good to you?”
She nodded. “They’ve been good as gold. The rest of the Irish in town are following their examples. Seamus Kelly hasn’t sung a single tune about the horrible English at any of the céilis. And though a few of the stories shared around the fire have touched upon our difficul
t history, none have been directed at me. I’ve received compliments on the food I’ve brought, invitations to dance—”
“From whom?” he asked firmly.
She ignored the question. “And I never want for company when I wish for it. We haven’t yet worked out a usable design for the Braille press, but we’re getting closer. Finbarr is advancing in his studies. And I’ve not been kissed in six weeks. That last bit needs addressing.”
“It most certainly does.”
He kissed her long, and he kissed her well. The ferventness with which she returned the affections gave him a great deal of hope. A woman intending to leave a man behind wasn’t likely to kiss him so enthusiastically.
Feeling lighter and more hopeful than he had in ages, Tavish rested his forehead against hers, his arms still wrapped lovingly about her. “I’ve a present for you.”
“I should hope so. After so many weeks away, you had best be making up sweet to me.”
He made a sound of feigned frustration. “What did I do to deserve so many headstrong women in m’ life?”
“You are too much like your Grandfather Claire, I would guess. He, I was once told, had a weakness for determinedly independent women.”
“The very best kind, they are,” he said. “They’ll let a fellow hold ’em for minutes on end right on the porch for all the world to see.”
He felt her laugh. “No one passing by would discover anything they don’t already know.”
“Have we been so obvious?”
She only smiled.
“Set yourself down on the swing, a mhuirnín. I’ll sit beside you while you sort out what it is I’ve brought for you.”
A moment later, they were quite snuggly, situated on the swing he’d installed at the beginning of summer for just such a purpose. She leaned against him, comfortable as can be. How far they’d come in under a year. She’d been nothing but prickles back then, and he’d been anything but welcoming.
“Though I dearly love a guessing game,” he said, “I’m far too excited about my offering to make you sort it.” He hopped up and fetched his gift, leaning against the house where he’d left it mere moments earlier. He retook his seat and set the gift in her hands.
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