“Reject him or his babe because he’s unwed—an’ the mother was a worthless woman, from the sounds of it.” A.J. shrugged. “Your lad’s carrying a season’s worth of freight in guilt, Seamus. Thought you should know.”
“Why tell me? You don’t even know me,” Seamus asked.
“Do you think folks don’t talk?” The captain shrugged. “I’m a river rat, and one of the best commodities to barter is a good story. Always gets you a swig of decent whiskey or more tobacco for your pipe.” He took another puff on his pipe. “You might think you live a quiet life in the backwaters in the middle of nowhere. But the story of the reunion of you and your wife is gainin’ infirmary.”
“Infirmary?” Seamus asked, scratching his temple. “Do you mean infamy?”
“Aye! You play along as well as your boy. Drives my dear Bessie mad, but then I think a little insanity goes a long way to helpin’ keep a marriage interestin’.” He winked at Seamus. “I never had to fight for my sweet Bessie the way they say you had to fight for your wife. We’re parted more than we like, but we have months together, when I’m not on the river.”
“Mary would hate that,” Seamus murmured. “She doesn’t want another night apart ever again.”
A.J. beamed at him. “So it is true. Your story isn’t a made-up fairy tale. I felt a fool, givin’ away so much whiskey, as I listened to it more than once. But a good tale on a long river float is worth the cost.”
“’Tis no fairy tale, lad,” Seamus said, his cobalt-blue eyes glowing with a deep happiness. “And there are years I’d rather forget. But we’re together again, and that’s what counts.”
“Aye, an’ you’re prosperous now. Seems you have it all, O’Rourke.” A.J. puffed on his pipe, his teeth flashing as he half smiled. “It also seems I carried up half a storefront full of merchandise for you.”
Seamus chuckled. “Well, my lads and I’ll be by to pick it up today. Come by the house soon for a home-cooked meal. I want you to meet my Mary. You’ll earn your whiskey money back when you tell the tale of sitting at her table, dining with her.” He winked at the younger man and left to rustle up his sons, whistling a jaunty tune.
Chapter 3
The following morning, Declan stood just inside the warehouse door, watching his brothers work. Kevin, Niall, and Lucien unloaded crates, as they joked and told stories, moving around with an easy precision, while they organized the goods that would be sold to eager miners in the nearby family store. Kevin was a few years older than Declan, with the look of their mum about him. The first O’Rourke brother to marry, he appeared more contented than ever with his choice in his Aileen.
Niall was Da’s eldest son with his second wife, Colleen. The woman Da had married after he believed Mum had died. Declan shied away from thinking about Colleen, instead focusing on his younger brother who had transformed into a man in his absence. Gone were the slightly chubby cheeks and the gangly limbs. Instead Niall was long and lean, with the lithe grace of an O’Rourke. The only hallmark of his mother was his penetrating green eyes.
Declan’s gaze flitted to the other brother helping Kevin. Young like Niall, at only seventeen, Lucien was strong and determined. He was the eldest of the two sons his mum had borne her French-Canadian husband, Francois Bergeron, after she had believed herself abandoned by Seamus in Montreal. Lucien looked the spitting image of Kevin, with auburn hair and hazel eyes, although he was taller, with broader shoulders. The one trait he had inherited from his trapper father, Declan mused.
As Lucien spoke, Declan no longer detected the subtle hint of the French accent he’d had when Lucien had joined the large O’Rourke family at their mother’s return two years ago. Nor did he appear reticent about his place in their large family.
While Declan stood with his shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, he was struck with the fact that he no longer knew where his place was in his own family. Rubbing at his aching chest, Declan realized how much life had continued without him. Ardan now worked at the café with his wife. Kevin was married and successfully ran the warehouse with two other brothers. Eamon had married too, and Niamh had another child and a new husband. Looking around the warehouse, the one space that had always given him a sense of purpose as he helped put things to rights, Declan saw he had no place here. He was not needed.
His chest tightened as he fought panic. All he had thought would be certain had altered on him. Nothing was constant. “Except change,” he murmured to himself, as he watched his brothers work with ease without him. “Was I even missed?” he whispered.
As a hand clapped his shoulder, he jerked, and he turned to stare at his father, who watched him with cautious hope. “You’re stayin’, lad?” Seamus asked in a low voice. “You’re not runnin’ away again an’ leavin’ me to mourn your absence?”
“Da?” Declan asked, as he shook his head. He waved around at the smooth operations of the warehouse. “I’ve not been missed.”
“That’s a bunch of malarkey, and you know it,” Seamus said. “Every day you were missed. Every day we wished you home. Every day we prayed for your safe return.” He paused as he gazed at his beloved son. “You’re home again, and the family’s complete. You’ve brought your son home to us too. Don’t leave again.”
Declan glanced into the warehouse, where he noted his brothers were no longer chattering away. “I’ve no plans to return to Saint Louis. For too long, my dreams have been of my life here, with our family.” Taking a deep breath, he admitted, “But I need something to do.”
“Ah, as to that, you could look at a few crates. The lads have been too busy to see to them yet. And you know we’ll have more supplies arrivin’ soon on another steamboat.” Seamus winked at Declan, as he squeezed his shoulder and propelled him into the warehouse toward a corner of the large space. A mound of crates lay in a haphazard pile in a corner. “I believe they are all for a new project, but I might be wrong. Ensure they arrived without rot or water damage.”
Declan stared at him in confusion, before moving to a crate and hefting it down to open it with a crowbar. After wrenching open the crate, he pulled off the lid and stared at the contents in confusion. “Books?” he whispered to himself. “Why would we order books?” He looked to his brothers, but they were busy putting away mining implements, and his da was nowhere in sight. Declan covered the crate, before moving to the small office to the side of the main room. “Da?” he asked. “Why books?”
Seamus smiled at him. “A business proposition was made last year, and I thought it worth exploring. A few crates of books seemed a small price to pay to see if it’s profitable or not.”
“But, Da …” Declan broke off at the squeal behind him, turning just in time to catch the woman throwing herself into his arms. “Niamh,” he whispered.
“Declan!” she cried out, as she gripped him tight before pushing away. “You’re home. You’re finally back where you belong.” She belted him on his shoulder and shook her head. “How could you stay away so long? How could you not know we’d be missin’ you?”
Declan stared at her in wonder. Gone was the timid woman who attempted to live each day garnering the least amount of notice. Instead a vibrant, thriving woman stood before him with sparkling hazel eyes and shiny auburn hair tied back in a braid. “Niamh?”
She beamed at him, standing tall and with unabashed pride. “Aye, ’tis me. Much has changed since you departed.”
Nodding, Declan said, “Da mentioned you married Cormac and have a son with him. A Cillian.”
“Aye,” Niamh said. “Cormac will be delighted you’ve returned, as will Dunmore. But they’re both away just now.” She shrugged. “’Tis the busy season, and they must work when they can.” Niamh threw herself into his arms again, before spinning for the door. “I have to go. Mum an’ Maggie are watching the wee beasts. Welcome home, Dec!”
Declan watched her race away as quickly as she had arrived. “’Tis truly Niamh?” he asked his da in wonder. “How could she have changed so much?” He sat do
wn in the chair across from his father’s desk, any concern about a crate of books forgotten after his sister’s impromptu visit. Although he’d been away for nearly two years, now that he was here—sitting in his da’s office, chatting over concerns with the man who he trusted most in the world—Declan felt like he had never been away. However, as he studied his da, he noticed subtle changes. More fine lines around his father’s eyes and mouth. More gray hair peppered into the black. No matter how Declan liked to believe otherwise, time had continued, and life had gone on without him.
His da settled into his own chair, the wood creaking as he relaxed into it. After steepling his hands, he gazed with intense blue eyes at his son. “Niamh suffered while you were away,” Seamus said, before shaking his head. “Nay, that’s a lie. She’s thrived while you’ve been away.” He pinned Declan with a severe stare. “’Tis nothin’ to do with your absence and everythin’ to do with the death of Connor.”
“Good riddance,” Declan muttered.
“Aye, we, none of us, liked the man. But not one of us was wise enough to discover the true depth of his depravity. He beat her, Dec. And threatened Maura.”
Declan paled, as he gaped at his father. “What?”
“Aye,” Seamus said, staring at his son. “I’ve had over a year and a half to come to terms with my failings as a father, but I never will.” He clenched and unclenched his fists resting on top of his desk. “I’d kill him ten times over for hurtin’ my baby.”
Declan rose and paced the small room. “How?” He sputtered to a stop. “Why?”
Seamus leaned forward and shook his head. “A man like that needs no reason.” He sighed. “I’m just thankful Niamh trusted enough to marry Cormac. The man she always should have married.”
Declan sat again with a thud. “How’d she ever trust again?”
Seamus tilted his head to one side, as though hearing a deeper question. “’Twasn’t easy. An’ Cormac had to show his patience and his love. But he did. And he’s shown it every day since they married. He’s not Connor.”
Declan made a dismissive noise. “Nay, he never was. He was always a good man.” With a sigh he rubbed at his head. “I hate to imagine what she suffered.”
Groaning, Seamus leaned back in his chair. “Well, ’twas made worse by the arrival in town of a miserable man who claims he’s a lawyer. I’m unconvinced as to the man’s credentials, but I’ve yet to find proof I’m correct in my suspicions.” He heaved out a breath. “A Uriah Chaffee arrived just after you left town. Missed the last ferry south and we’ve been stuck with him ever since. He’s fascinated by the family, and I fear he has an alliance with Jacques Bergeron, but, again, I can’t prove it.”
“Jacques?” Declan asked, as he sat up and appeared ready to pounce. “Has he been seen lately?”
Shaking his head, Seamus stared out the side window a long moment. “No, and that’s what worries me. Dunmore has tried to monitor his movement around the Territory, but the man disappeared last year.” Seamus’s jaw twitched as he clenched it, while thinking about the man who had terrorized Maggie and had threatened Henri and Lucien, Mary’s two sons from her second marriage to Francois—from that time she had believed Seamus had abandoned her.
“Maggie’s not alone now, Da,” Declan declared.
“Aye, ’tis true. But Jacques is a trapper, an’ this is a big Territory.” He stared bleakly at his son. “And ’tis a reminder that, while we’ve attempted to protect Maggie, I failed Niamh.” He shook his head, as the conversation ran full circle back to the eldest O’Rourke sister. “As for Uriah Chaffee, he’s also the Mortimer sisters’ uncle.”
Declan shook his head in befuddlement, as though attempting to make sense of all the disparate connections. “The wayward lawyer, who may not be a lawyer, is related to the women who now live at the house? Is that why you gave them shelter?”
Seamus laughed. “Nay. We took them in because Eamon loves Phoebe. And she was nearly killed in her escape from the saloon. But ’tis a story for Eamon and his bride to tell you.” He rose, winking at his son. “There’s no need to hear every story in one sitting.” He clapped Declan on the back and propelled him to the warehouse to continue his work on the crates filled with books. Only as he stared into the fifth crate did Declan realize his father had never answered his question about the large shipment of books from Saint Louis.
* * *
Lorena stood beside the small stream that led into the Missouri River. She had first come here with Maggie, and it had since become Lorena’s thinking spot. Although she knew she shouldn’t wander Fort Benton without a chaperone or an O’Rourke nearby because she never knew when her uncle would harass her, she had fallen into the habit of coming here alone. She found she needed a few moments during the week where she could be alone and think without listening to her youngest sister’s bitter protestations about life.
She listened to the gentle birdsong, as swallows and finches flitted from branch to branch, before swooping overhead. She wished she were as free as those birds. That she had the courage to strike out and to demand what she wanted out of life. Instead she felt hemmed in by expectations. By fears. And by her own past failures.
The stream trickled over rocks, forming a soothing melody. Rather than stand on the creek bank, she moved to the shade of a bush, settling in for long moments of contemplation. The mossy smell of the creek was more enticing than any perfume she had ever smelled, calming her roiling thoughts.
Declan’s return had set her on edge. Although Seamus had prayed every night for his son’s return, she knew that the family had begun to fear that Declan would forever remain estranged. A part of her had hoped he would never return. She ducked her head in shame, as she admitted that thought to herself.
However, she had thought that on more than one occasion. The O’Rourkes were such a wonderful family. So accepting and loving of each other, and she resented that their lives were so seemingly blessed. As though they were under a magic spell, and all that bothered them or hurt them was easily healed. Happiness and joy were ever present, and she yearned for her share of that unending happiness and joy. Even Declan’s return, with a baby out of wedlock, was seen as a reason to rejoice. Never did they make him feel shame or recrimination. Never disappointment.
Not even when the baby didn’t look a thing like him.
She swiped at her cheeks as she laid back, staring at the bright blue sky with no visible clouds. She wished she had a bigger heart. That she were more generous, like the O’Rourkes. That she could love and love, knowing that that emotion would be reciprocated. Instead she knew she was miserly. That she only had so much love to bestow, and it had already been given away.
* * *
Declan walked back from visiting Ardan and Deirdre, anxious to check on Gavin. However, he knew that Gavin would be well looked after with his mum and sisters doting on him—and with Samantha diligent in her care. Declan smiled at the thought of his son smothered with love. For the O’Rourkes knew no other way to love than to love with every part of themselves.
He paused as he saw one of Phoebe’s sisters walking from the direction of the stream toward the house. He scanned his memory, finally remembering she was Lorena. This morning she had left in a hasty, furtive manner after breakfast, and he was curious about what she did during the day. If she were a member of his family, he didn’t want her to do anything that would harm those he loved.
He quickened his step and, just as quickly, froze when he saw a man stuffed in a black suit with a turquoise waistcoat step in front of her. By all appearances, this man’s arrival was unwelcome, as the woman stepped away and jerked her head up in a haughty manner.
Declan decided to watch the interaction. However, when the older man gripped her arm, earning a squeal of pain, he rushed forward. “Sir, unhand her.” He paused as the older man glared at him, as though he were the man evoking discomfort. “Now.”
The older man released Miss Mortimer’s arm, and Declan forced himself to focus on
the older man, rather than Lorena massaging the reddened area on her forearm. “You owe her an apology.”
“An apology? An apology?” The older man took a faux menacing step forward and jutted his belly out, bumping it into Declan, as though that were threatening to him. “You are the one interrupting a private conversation between me and my niece. You are the unwanted party in all this.”
Shaking his head, Declan said, “I disagree. Any man who causes such distress to his niece is not worthy of being considered family.” He reached out and ran his fingers over her damaged skin. “Are you well, Miss Mortimer?”
She shivered and shrugged. Finally she whispered, “As well as I can be, with him as my uncle.”
“How dare you, you little hussy!” He swiped at his chin to clear it of spittle. “I am a respected lawyer. I am Uriah Chaffee. And I, not these infernal O’Rourkes, am the one who should be seeing to your future!”
Declan watched as any vivacity in her gaze faded to dull loathing.
“I will not work for Mr. Bell. I would rather consign myself to working at the Bordello.”
“The Bordello,” Declan gasped. “No fine lass would work there. Not when she has options.” He stared from the uncle to the niece. “She’s considered a part of my family, sir. You have no right to threaten her.”
“Threaten her?” Chaffee rolled his eyes heavenward, as though speaking to Declan was more than he should have to bear. “I’m attempting to ensure she has decent employment, should I suffer an untimely death. I want to guarantee my nieces are well taken care of. She’s overdramatic, in the way of all women, in equating working as a saloon girl to working at the Bordello.”
“Are you telling me that Phoebe wouldn’t have been expected to entertain customers upstairs?” Lorena asked. “Or that you wouldn’t expect the same of me?”
Pioneer Bliss: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Five Page 3