Norah- A St. Patrick's Day Bride

by Amanda McIntyre

  “You didn’t, Norah. You’re seeing what you want here,” he said placing his hands on her shoulders.

  “Oh, no. To be sure I’m not. Though I have to wonder what more I might have been privy to had I arrived later.” It tore her apart to look in his eyes, remembering how he’d once looked at her, like she was the only woman in his life. She was angry, hurt, and more than a bit humiliated. “How could you? And after all the things Mrs. Kinnison preached in her letter about how well-respected, what a man of integrity you are.” She blinked away the tears of frustration pooling in her eyes, angry at herself for allowing him to see her cry.

  “If you’d let me explain,” he said.

  “I’m going to scoot on home. We can pick up where we left off later, Seamus, honey.”

  Norah turned her fiery gaze on the woman.

  Felice gripped the bottles and hurried out the door.

  Norah shrugged from his grasp and scooped up her bag. “I assume given that the stagecoach driver recommended this place that the rooms upstairs are not otherwise currently occupied with more tarts the likes of her? If so,” she said. “I’d sooner sleep in a barn.”

  Seamus stared at her a moment, then stated calmly. “The Nugget’s residents are some of Noelle’s finest, thank you very much. They include Reverend Hammond and his wife, and the new bank manager and his wife, who are currently on a business trip to Denver.”

  Norah could see questioning his establishment that she’d touched a nerve. Fine, let him stew. Given what she’d walked in on he still had a lot to explain. But she was tired, soaked and cold to the bone and in no mood to hear anything he had to say, particularly with that rouge still on his cheek.

  “Let me get a key and I can show you to your room.” He fetched one from beneath the bar’s counter and met her at the bottom of the stairs.

  She held out her hand. “I’ll find it myself, all the same.”

  “Norah. Would you stop being so bloody stubborn. Let’s sit down and calmly talk this through.”

  She’d imagined a reunion so far different than this. Better to cut things off and not prolong the pain. The truth was clear to her. They had changed in these past for years. “The key, if you please.” She pushed her palm toward him.

  He studied her face, released a heavy sigh, and dangled the key in front of her hand. As she reached for it, he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him.

  In an instant, his lips were on hers, crushing them, his determined need bruising her mouth. Any other time, she’d have helped him tear off his clothes, meeting him with equal passion.

  But things were not the same. She’d found out too late. She tore from his grasp, angry how her treacherous body betrayed her anger. Norah started up the steps and refused to look back.

  “You’re a stubborn woman, Norah Malone.”

  “And a bloody fool for having not seen what a snake-charmer you are, Mr. Malone. You might wish to wipe that rouge from your face.”

  ***

  After a fitful night of tears, tossing and turning on the single bed, Norah wondered if she’d ever find happiness. Perhaps it was a family curse. Look at her da and ma, losing all they’d worked for their entire lives. Her aunt, who loved her social standing and material wealth more than family.

  She pressed her fingers to her forehead and rubbed the throbbing ache that could not begin to match that in her heart. Seamus had been, from the day she met him, her hope that life could be as grand as a fairytale. Despite his recklessness, she had fallen hard and fast and learned what sorrow can come from giving your heart to such a man.

  A soft knock on the door jostled her from her thoughts.

  “Norah?” A moment ticked by. “Norah, it’s Seamus. Are you awake?”

  Norah stared at the threadbare curtains over the murky windows covered with a season of cold and mud. The sun had barely broken through the dank gray sky. It made her pine for home…home in Ireland where life had once been simple. Where you knew you were loved. She glanced down at the timepiece she wore on a ribbon around her neck. It had been the only thing her great-aunt had ever given her. “To make certain you are on time with your duties,” she’d told her.

  She turned as the doorknob jiggled, grateful she’d made certain it was locked, praying he didn’t have an extra key. Her eyes stung, dry from crying, when fresh tears threatened to give her presence away. Norah clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. There was the soft murmur of voices and then she heard his footsteps descending the stairs.

  Her stomach growled and she realized that she’d not eaten since eating her last apple on the train from Denver. Swiping her eyes, she found a pitcher of water by the washstand and splashed her face. Brushing through her hair in haste, she set her jaw firm as the tangles fought her resolve to pick herself up and move on with her life. Pulling her unruly tendrils up, she used a leather clip to hold them in place. She could do nothing about the hem of her skirt darkened with mud, but she changed her blouse and stepped back to look in the dim mirror.

  Another knock sounded on the door. Realizing from her watch that she’d been preening for more than an hour motivated her to find out when the next stagecoach was to leave.

  “Yes?” she said standing at the door, praying Seamus hadn’t returned.

  “It’s Libby. I thought you might like to get something to eat. I passed by a diner on my walk here.”

  Norah opened the door and met Libby’s smiling face.

  “I said a prayer for you last night. How are you doing today?” she asked.

  A wave of dizziness washed over Norah. “Let me get my shawl and we can talk over breakfast.”

  Libby nodded and waited in the hall.

  Norah pulled shut the door and slipped the key into her reticule. “Oh, wait. Did you happen to see Seamus downstairs?” she asked her new friend.

  Libby shook her head. “Not when I came up. There was another man behind the bar.”

  “Aye, good. I’m in no mood to see him.”

  Libby took her arm. “I can certainly understand why you wouldn’t. Did he have any explanation for last night?”

  Norah followed Libby down the stairs. At the bottom, wiping down a corner table was a tall gentleman. He turned with a smile and greeted them.

  “Mrs. Malone, I presume?” He said looking at Norah. “We’ve not met. I’m Reverend Chase Hammond.”

  Norah nodded her head, still nervous to escape the saloon before Seamus returned.

  “Oh, Reverend, my father, Deacon Garrett Campbell, is to meet with you this afternoon to discuss plans for a home here in Noelle for the Benevolent Society of Lost Lambs,” Libby said with a smile.

  “Indeed, and you must be Libby Rose. Genevieve has mentioned you’re a teacher.”

  “Well, I haven’t yet found employment as a teacher, but Genevieve tells me that Noelle doesn’t yet have a schoolhouse.”

  The kind-faced reverend smiled. “Perhaps we can discuss this further when I meet with your father.”

  Libby nodded.

  “Uh…Mrs. Malone. I’m to tell you that your husband had a business meeting today. He wanted me to make sure you were entirely comfortable.”

  “Yes, Reverend, thank you. But I won’t be staying. I intend to take the stagecoach back to Junction today.” Norah forced a smile. “Thank you kindly for bringing me the message.”

  He glanced at her friend and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m afraid that the stage won’t be going to Junction until the next train and that’s not for another two days, if my memory serves,” he said with an uncertain smile.”

  Norah inhaled a soft breath. She couldn’t stay here another day. “Are there other rooms I might stay while in town, Reverend?”

  He frowned. “Right now, the Nugget is the only place for travelers,” he said. “I know the conditions aren’t exactly ideal.” He looked at her. “Oh, my wife and I live right down the hall. Noelle doesn’t yet have a church or rectory.” He chuckled. “I remember my Felicity--”

&n
bsp; Norah’s eyes widened. “Did you say Felice?”

  Shock registered on the pastor’s face, then realization. “Oh, no, that’s Felice, she’s one of the girls over at the…er, well, anyway. No, they are not the same. When you meet my lovely wife, you’ll see that right away.”

  Norah was mildly surprised by the pastor’s overt judgement. Not that she hadn’t already been judgmental of the woman herself. She’d ask forgiveness later when she was on the train bound for…she didn’t know yet where she’d wind up.

  Flustered by having to explain, she had the feeling that it wasn’t the first time the mistake of names and identities had been made.

  “The point I was trying to make is that with the proper touch, the rooms can be made quite comfortable.” He bumbled over his words, then cleared his throat. “We’d hoped that you might be persuaded to stay longer in Noelle,” he said. “Seamus has become quite the mainstay in town. He’s a most enterprising man, and Noelle needs men like him.”

  Norah thought of the curly fair-haired tart that Seamus was doing business with last night. “I’m most certain his charm has worked wonders for Noelle. If you’ll excuse us, Reverend.” Norah took Libby’s arm and steered her out the door.

  Stepping out onto the boarded walkway of the saloon, Norah took a cleansing breath, realigning her thoughts.

  “My father will be traveling back to the rail station on the next stage. Perhaps you could ride with him back as far as Denver.” She hesitated, then placed a hand on Norah’s arm. “And if need be, you could always partake of the services of the Lost Lambs Society. They could help you get back on your feet. Would you like to speak with Mrs. Kinnison about it?”

  Norah’s worst fears lay before her. She wanted to take charity from no one, especially Genevieve Kinnison who had played up her husband to be something he wasn’t. “I’ll find a way,” she told Libby as they prepared to enter the diner. She glanced down the street and noticed several women standing atop a balcony. They were calling out to the men walking the street below. She thought of Felice’s fancy clothes, her brazen attitude and seeming control of having her own business, seedy though it might be. But at least, it seemed, she was not a woman held prisoner by any man’s charms.

  Chapter Five

  His life had gone to hell in a handbasket in less than twenty-four hours. Not only that, he now had less than a couple of days to convince his wife she had gotten the wrong idea about him. The gossip that could travel so quickly in town could very well prove a challenge, but he intended to do his best to show her that he’d made good on his promises and could offer her more than the man who had left her.

  He started at Cobb’s Penn, where he picked up some lovely lace curtains and the hardware to go with them. Liam Fulton then told him then that Peregrine’s Post and Freight had a storeroom where they kept a few pieces of overstock items available for purchase.

  A few moments later, Seamus was picking through the crates and odd pieces of furniture in the back storeroom. Driven he’d already picked out a beautiful cream-colored quilt with soft, pink roses, and a few other items Birdie had crafted that would go well to making the room more presentable and hopefully impress his wife. While these impromptu touches would certainly set back his plans to expand the Nugget, he had greater concerns. He needed to save his marriage. And perhaps by showering his wife with a few lovely things, it would validate Genevieve’s assessment of his success as a businessman.

  “These are all quite lovely items, Mr. Malone. Are you purchasing them for something special?” Birdie Peregrine, Jack’s wife, asked, wrapping the quilt in paper tied with string to protect it.

  Seamus glanced at his feet, then met her waiting gaze. “I was hoping you might allow me to start a ticket, Mrs. Peregrine. I can pay you half now, and the rest when the next mine investments come in.”

  She paused and looked over at her grandfather-in-law, Gus Peregrine, seated on a stool at the end of the counter.

  The old man eyed him. “The lad’s good for it, Birdie. And I trust all this ta-do is fer yer wife?” He narrowed his gaze.

  Word gets around in Noelle. “Aye, sir.” He felt sheepish that perhaps the encounter involving Felice had also gotten out. He rubbed his hand over his chin. “I wasn’t expecting her.”

  “Son, ain’t you been writin’ that woman for years?” Gus asked.

  “Aye, tis true. But not until Mrs. Kinnison’s letter toutin’ what an accomplished businessman I am did she decide to come.”

  Birdie had been writing down a list of the items on a ticket. She held it up, going over his purchases. With each one he could hear the hammer on another nail to the coffin that held his dreams for the Nugget.

  “That’s one full-length floor mirror, a dressing screen, quilt, feather pillows, a floral tablecloth, and towels for the hand basin.” She looked up. “Is that everything, then?”

  “Aye,” he answered. “I do appreciate you opening up your storeroom. I’m in a bit of a rush and need to take these items with me as soon as possible.”

  “I’m glad we could be of service,” Birdie said, her blue eyes intent on him. “She must be a very special woman, your wife.”

  “She is, to be sure, Mrs. Peregrine. And would you mind putting the delivery charge on my ticket as well?”

  She nodded and handed him the ticket. “I’d like to meet her one of these days. Perhaps you could bring her in?”

  Seamus averted his gaze, feeling the woman knew very well what a slippery slope he was navigating. “Aye, ma’am. She’s still getting acclimated to Noelle.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

  Birdie narrowed her pretty eyes. “Oui. I’ll see to Woody loading these and delivering them to the saloon for you.” She started toward the door.

  Seamus started stacking the wrapped bundles. “I’ll take these Mrs. Peregrine. I’m hoping to surprise my wife before she gets back from breakfast with a friend. If Woody could bring the rest, I’d be obliged.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Malone,” she said before she went out the back door.

  “All them fancy things should impress any woman,” Gus remarked.

  Seamus thought of the tiny attic he and Norah had lived in. The dust. The mice skittering across the rafters at night. The leaks in the roof when it rained. Norah had never complained. Not once. “Aye, she deserves a great deal more than this. But this is all I can offer until my investments begin to improve on the mine.” He gathered up a few of the bundles in his arms. “Much obliged for the advance, Mr. Peregrine.”

  “Now, you just hold on there. We both been in Noelle a long time so you know better than to call me mister. You call me Grandpa Gus or nothin’ at all.” Gus slapped the counter for emphasis then heaved a sigh. “Hope all them nice things make the impression yer hopin’ for, son. “Some women are taken with nice things, others don’t seem to care so much as long as they feel wanted.”

  The old man’s words smacked the back of his head with the sting of a stone. He had to remind himself that Gus didn’t know anything about how they’d once lived, or the promises he’d made to his wife.

  “Top o’ the morning to ye, Grandpa Gus,” he said, shifting the Twined packages in his arms as he strode back to the saloon. He hoped to be able to slip into Norah’s room while she was gone, one of the other rooms if she wasn’t, and fix it up proper. It had essentially been the reverend’s idea. Reverend Hammond had seen him knocking on Norah’s door earlier in the day and mentioned how his wife had made the room homier with a few feminine touches. In a show of camaraderie, the reverend had offered to watch the saloon while Seamus ran his errand. After the confrontation between the pastor and Charlie, he hadn’t figured the pastor would be so helpful. But the suggestion to tidy the room, to make Norah feel more welcome had been inspired.

  “It shouldn’t take much,” the reverend had said. “Felicity added new curtains, the wedding quilt, and suddenly it’s a different room—not one I plan to stay in long, mind you,” he was quick to point out. Then he grinned. “Not
to toot my own horn, but I suspect it’s not just the frilly touches that makes it feel like home, but it can’t hurt.”

  Seamus thought about their conversation, and when he walked into the saloon he was aware, perhaps for the first time in a long while, of the stench of smoke. “God in heaven, help me open some windows. Bob, prop that door open,” he barked at one of the card players seated near the front door. “A pig sty has a better odor than this place.”

  Reverend Hammond looked up from where he’d been writing. “Ah, there he is. Gave the missus your message as instructed. She’s none the wiser.”

  “Thank you, Reverend. You’re a God-send,” Seamus said as he started up the stairs to the rooms above.

  “You’re welcome, and I hear that a lot,” the pastor said with a grin.

  “Reverend, if I might impose on your patience a bit?” Seamus paused on the steps. “Would you keep watch down here a few—”

  The pastor waved his hand dismissing him. “I’ll just continue working on my sermon for this Sunday.”

  “And if Norah comes back, don’t let her upstairs,” Seamus instructed.

  “Now, how in blazes am I supposed to manage that?” The reverend looked at Seamus as though he’d asked him to part the sea.

  “You’re a man of God,” Seamus answered with a grin.

  “Not a miracle-worker,” the pastor muttered. “Go on.”

  A short time later, Seamus heard noise on the stairs and turned from hanging the last curtain to find Woody holding the mirror, and behind him Felice holding the dressing screen. He didn’t have time for a confrontation with Felice just now. He had a lot to accomplish before his wife returned. “Bring it all in. The screen goes in the corner,” he directed. “Woody, they added your delivery charge to the ticket, but you’re welcome to get a drink from the pastor downstairs before you go, if you like.”

  “Much obliged,” Woody said, and tripped his hat. That left Felice.

  Thankfully, she at least had on more clothing today. Still, he didn’t need more trouble added to what he already had. “Why are you here?” he asked, scrambling to unwrap the parcels and put the room in order before his wife returned.