O'Neill's Texas Bride

by Caroline Clemmons

  Stella slipped on her shoes and pretended the soles weren’t so worn. She dreaded winter when she’d feel every cold stone in spite of the cardboard she’d slid inside. “What a picture that is. But a farmer at least has a large garden and animals with plenty to eat.”

  Nettie laughed from the doorway. “So you’ll be fat but barefoot and work from sunup to sundown and never finish with your chores.”

  She couldn’t help grinning at her sister. “You are terrible, you know. Hurry so we won’t be late for school.” They left the house and linked arms.

  All day, Stella couldn’t get the picture of the handsome Irishman from her mind. His dark hair and flashing eyes haunted her. How wonderful to learn he loved music as much as she did. Every day she missed the piano they’d had to leave behind in England.

  To think he hadn’t learned to read in school. She’d never thought about the English laws affecting the Irish. Had she ever known about the one concerning schooling? Surely not or she’d have remembered something that important. Knowing now embarrassed her for her former country.

  Mr. O’Neill was taller than Papa but not by much. She guessed he’d be about five feet and eleven inches, four inches taller than she was. About the right difference to kiss. Her cheeks heated at the turn of her thoughts. Good heavens, she was worse about daydreaming than the girls she taught.

  Neither she nor Nettie received any pay for teaching. She hoped they were at least making a difference in lives. Barring that, perhaps she was gathering experience that would get her a genuine paying job soon.

  On Sunday, Stella was a bundle of nerves. Although he was coming to eat with her family, she was as giddy as if Finn O’Neill were coming to see her. Her footsteps were light as she busied herself helping her mother make early preparations for lunch.

  She washed her hands and dried them. “Well, that’s taken care of. Are you ready for church?”

  “Stella, what are you thinking?”

  She looked up to find her mother staring at her. “What?”

  Mama pointed at her. “Are you going to church in your nightclothes?”

  Her cheeks heated as she rushed to the bedroom she shared with her sister. She threw off her wrapper and grabbed Nettie’s arm. “Hurry. Help me get dressed.”

  She sped through her toilette and Nettie laced her into her corset. No time to create a fancy hairdo. She swirled her tresses into a bun. No, she wanted to wear the ribbon, so she combed out her long hair and let it hang loose down her back. With her shawl temporarily covering her head, she walked with her family to the Protestant church beside the Catholic chapel. Farland Mine Company provided both buildings.

  All the way to church she argued with herself. She would never be interested in a miner. Not even a handsome one with dark flashing eyes and a pleasing lilt in his speech. Quite the contrary to his angelic singing voice, she suspected Finn O’Neill was full of the devil.

  Chapter Four

  Finn rose early and walked to Spencer to collect his mail and send another report to Farland. The more he learned of the mine owner’s practices, the less he liked the man—and he hadn’t liked him in the first place. Farland had trouble coming to him and there was nothing Finn could do to prevent all of the problems the owner had created. His only job was to find the one deliberately endangering lives and causing delays.

  When Mr. George handed Finn his mail, he found a rude note from Farland telling him to speed up his investigation. Blast the man. If he wanted faster, he could search for himself. Only the lure of Lippincott’s ranch kept Finn in the hellhole called Farland Coal Mine.

  Finn shopped through the mercantile without finding what he sought until he stood at the counter. “I’ll take that box o’ candy.” ‘Twould do to take the entire Clayton family.

  Back in Lignite, he washed his hands and gathered his concertina before making his way to the Claytons’ home, happy to avoid James and his warning to stay away from Stella.

  Church was still meeting when he reached the Claytons’ home, so he set on the porch steps and enjoyed the morning. The smell of flowers growing on either side of the porch filled the air. Their bright heads waved cheerfully on green stalks. He wondered at their names.

  Soon, the family members walked toward him. He stood and waited to be invited inside. Once there, he presented his hostess with the candy.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. O’Neill. I-I don’t think we’ve had store-bought chocolates since we’ve been in America. But the girls made a cobbler for dessert.”

  “Oh, ‘tis not for our meal, ma’am. ‘Tis for the family’s pleasure some other time.”

  Stella met his gaze. “And what did you buy for yourself?”

  He glanced at the fingers he’d recently washed after his snack. “Pickled eggs, a sticky bun, and a sarsaparilla.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Not beer or whiskey?”

  What a snappish woman, but he enjoyed her challenge. “Not every Irishman drinks to excess any more than every school teacher is frumpy and unmarriageable.”

  Stella gasped but her family laughed.

  Her sister said, “Guess you’ll learn not to be so shrewish.”

  Stella blushed. “I suppose that was rude, but I must insist I hadn’t intended my question as such.”

  Her father shook his head. “Which made it even ruder, daughter. When will you learn to think before you speak?”

  Mrs. Clayton set the candy on a side table. “Girls, hurry and let’s get the meal dished up so we can eat. I don’t know about the others, but I’m famished.”

  After a short blessing, they passed around bowls and the meat platter. Finn took servings of potatoes, ham, corn, and beans.

  Mrs. Clayton said, “When we didn’t see you in church, we thought perhaps you’d gone to the Catholic chapel.”

  Finn almost said he attended the Presbyterian Church at home and only caught himself in the nick of time. “I had an errand in Spencer this morning. ‘Tis where I get me mail and I’d hoped for a letter from me sister.”

  “Is she still in Ireland?” Stella asked.

  He didn’t want to lie, so he skirted the question. “Me sister’s married and expecting her first. I thought mayhap she’d be letting me know I’m an uncle but I was disappointed. I’ll check again next Sunday.”

  Before the inquisitive woman across the table could ask another probing question, he asked his own. “Do most o’ the miners attend church?”

  Mrs. Clayton shook her head. “No, only a few single men and about half the families. Most use the day to rest.”

  “Well, ‘twas what the Lord did after workin’ six days. Still, mayhap next week I’ll save me errands for the afternoon.”

  Lance asked, “Wasn’t that a concertina you set down in the parlor?”

  “Aye. The Spencer store had an old one someone had traded for food. Sad when a man has to trade music for sustenance, but ‘twas gatherin’ dust on a shelf. The store owner made me a good price.”

  Clayton laughed. “Didn’t want to let anyone interested escape without a sale, eh?”

  Finn smiled broadly. “Right you are and I was that happy he was agreeable. Da has one, for all me family are musical. Ma and I play the fiddle and all the menfolk play bodrán drum, concertina, fiddle, and uilleann bagpipes. Me sister sings like an angel and dances.”

  The other man nodded. “And what does your father do for a job?”

  “He’s a farmer.” Finn laughed. “But his main occupation is talking a blue streak, such as I’m doing now. He’s that full of the blarney he can charm the birds from the trees.”

  Stella raised an eyebrow. “I think you’ve also a touch of the blarney.”

  Her mother gasped and glared at her. “Stella, I declare you sound as if you’ve not been taught manners.”

  Finn held up his hand, ignoring the fact Mrs. Clayton had accused him of the same thing last time he was here. “No offense taken, Mrs. Clayton.”

  To Stella, he said, “You’ve not heard Da speak or you
’d make no comparison. He has an Irish blessing for every occasion and can expound for hours with little provocation. Sure and the Lord gave Da the gift o’ gab like no other man before or since.”

  After sending a glance toward her mother, Stella met his gaze. “I apologize if I sounded critical. Easy to understand you miss seeing your family. As exasperating as I find mine sometimes, I’d miss them if we weren’t together.”

  “Aye, I do yearn to see them. ‘Tis grand to be included here today, for your fine companionship has softened my longing.”

  His hostess beamed. “What a lovely thing to say, Mr. O’Neill. We’re pleased to have you share in your generous gift of this ham. How about some apple cobbler for dessert?”

  “Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Finn’s mouth watered at the thought. He’d curbed his appetite and not eaten much ham. He understood how precious meat was to this family.

  After they’d all had apple cobbler, Council looked at his mandolin. “Shall we see if we can make music?”

  “Aye, I’d hoped you’d be in the mood today.” He followed the other man to the parlor.

  The women hastily put away the remaining food and washed the dishes. Finn picked up his concertina and took a seat on the bench. His host sat by the stove and strummed on his mandolin.

  Council nodded to him. “You start off and I’ll try to follow.”

  Tapping his foot, Finn played “Rocky Road to Dublin.” When it appeared by his host’s puzzled expression that he didn’t know that song, Finn switched to “Oh! Susanna” and Council joined in.

  When she came into the parlor, Stella sat beside him on the bench. He took that as a good sign and his heart swelled. The women joined in singing. The two men had played four songs when there was a loud knock.

  Lance hopped up to answer the door. James Llewellyn entered. Abruptly, Finn ceased playing.

  James stood with a bouquet of wildflowers in one hand. He looked accusingly at Stella then glared at Finn. “Looks as if you’ve a party in progress. Sorry to interrupt.” His facial expression left no doubt he was glad he’d intruded.

  Council stood and offered James his hand, which James shook. “Not a party, but a little impromptu music to brighten the day. Lance, bring another chair from the kitchen.”

  James handed the flowers to Stella. “Thanks but I can get my own chair.” James fairly stomped to retrieve a seat that he placed as near Stella’s place on the bench as he could. Then he sat, glowering at Finn.

  Stella hopped up. “I’ll just put the flowers in water. Thank you, Mr. Llewellyn.”

  Finn bore no guilt for visiting the Claytons, but James’s appearance cast a pall over his pleasant afternoon. From the bitter looks the other man sent his way, he was as unhappy having Finn there as Finn was to see him.

  Stella returned with a clear canning jar filled with water and the flowers. She sat them on a shelf by the stove and turned. “There, I believe everyone can see them now. Aren’t they pretty?”

  James’ expression softened. “I know how you like flowers, but not many are blooming this late. Mrs. Potts let me cut some of her roses.”

  Tension still sparked around the room. Stella appeared about to jump out of her skin. Nettie’s eyes sparkled with what looked like mischievous mirth at her sister’s discomfort. No matter how much a body loved a sister, didn’t he know how vexing one could be?

  To diffuse the awkwardness, Finn nodded to Council and broke into “Camptown Races” and Council joined him. Next, Finn sang as he played “Last Rose of Summer”. He smiled at Stella and suspected he angered James more for the reference. Stella blushed prettily, which must have irked James even more.

  After half an hour, he paused. “Sure and it’s been a lovely afternoon, but I’d best be getting on before I wear out me welcome. Mayhap everyone will join in a last song and sing the parts to ‘Whispering Hope.’ ‘Tis Ma’s favorite and ‘tis suitable for a Sunday.”

  Each of the Claytons chimed in on the two-part harmony. Apparently James didn’t know the words but he added his efforts, off key and always slightly behind. Finn and Council’s tenor voices harmonized on the refrain and Lance joined them. The women’s sang clear and sweet.

  Afterward, Finn collapsed his concertina and fastened the strap that held it closed.

  Stella clasped her hands against her chest. “That was lovely. What a pleasant afternoon we’ve shared.”

  Finn stood and nodded toward Mrs. Clayton. “Thank you for having me in your home today.” He turned to Council. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “And I’ll see you later, James.” With a glance at James, who seemed determined to remain, Finn left the Claytons and walked back to the bunkhouse.

  He feared he’d made an enemy of James. Be that as it may, he had no intention of staying away from the Clayton home. Even if he hadn’t wanted to learn more about the father, he was firmly smitten by the lovely Stella.

  Inside the bunkhouse, several miners played poker. They’d turned a barrel on end for a table and had found three stools and two chairs. Finn stood behind Mick Gallagher, aware Aleski Karpinski won most hands. Although Finn paid close attention, he detected nothing to indicate Karpinski cheated. Mayhap the man was that skillful. But was he skillful at cards or at cheating?

  Mick Gallagher lost most of his pay. He threw down his cards and leaped to his feet. “No man is that lucky. I think you’re cheating, Karpinski.”

  The Pole stood, dwarfing Mick. “I’ve no need to cheat. Admit you’re a bad player, lad, and I’ll let your insult slide this time.”

  Mick turned red and opened his mouth, but Finn grabbed his arm. “Sure and Mick meant no harm, Aleski. Come with me, Mick, for I’ve a need to ask you something.”

  Finn fairly dragged Mick to the end of the bunkhouse. “What are you thinking, you crazy Irishman, to challenge a man twice your size?”

  Mick jerked free. “He cheated me and I want my scrip back.”

  Finn stepped forward and peered into Mick’s face. “Lad, didn’t I watch the game? He didn’t cheat. Mayhap he’s that good at cards.”

  “Ha, maybe he’s that good at cheating.”

  Finn sat on his bunk. “If you can’t afford to lose, don’t play. That’s the way o’ life, Mick.”

  The younger man gaped at him, his face red again. “You’re taking his side? I thought you were me friend.”

  He pointed at Mick. “I’m a better friend than you know. Aleski could smash you into the floor with one fist. And his friends are near as strong. Don’t you know not to start a fight when you’ve no chance of winning?”

  Mick stood with feet braced and arms crossed. “You think I’m afraid? I’m not.”

  “Sure and you should be. There’s a time to fight and a time to back away. In the future, mind you know the difference.”

  Mick turned and stormed out of the bunkhouse. The lad appeared near tears, angry and humiliated. Mayhap a walk would cool him down enough to see reason.

  Mick reminded Finn of his hot tempered brother, Mac. Hadn’t he made a habit of keeping Mac out of scrapes most of their lives? He’d no wish to exchange one troublemaker for another, but he couldn’t stand by and let Mick talk himself into a beating.

  Finn wandered back to watch the card game. He never played except to win and he knew he wasn’t as good as Aleski. What he didn’t know was whether Aleski was that good at playing or cheating.

  The large man met his gaze. “Want to join us, O’Neill?”

  “I know not to pit meself against a player good as you. I intend to keep me scrip until the store manager cheats me out of it.”

  Aleski laughed. “Smart man. But I heard you have real money. I’d like some of that for a change.”

  Alarm shot through Finn. Where had that rumor started? He feigned indifference and laughed. “Then you’re working at the wrong place, man. ‘Tis in short supply here.”

  Aleski dealt another round of cards to the men gathered around the upturned barrel. “Where’d you come by yours?” />
  “Training horses. Hard work but I saved a little o’ me money.”

  Play resumed and Finn continued to watch. He noted the habits of each man. Pakulski rubbed his chin when he had a good hand. Gundersen pulled at his ear when he had a winning hand. Bosko drummed his fingers when he had a good hand.

  Aleski gave nothing away. Mayhap Aleski was a cool enough head to be up to mischief as Farland accused.

  Finn was tired of mining for coal. He hated being trapped underground all day. He went to work before sunup and emerged after dusk. Only on Sunday could he enjoy the light of day.

  Without the lure of Lippincott’s ranch, he would have quit the first day. Thinking of the prize green pastures, large house, and strong barns kept him searching for troublemakers. He wondered if Grandpa would honor the loan if no culprit was discovered?

  Grandpa had said he would see Lippincott that day, but what did that mean? Did Grandpa buy the ranch for himself or for Finn? The prime property would make a grand investment for Grandpa. Worry ate at his gut and his insides coiled tighter than a spring.

  He hated that his suspicions here included Council Clayton. The man had need of extra money to care for his family, that was certain. Would he jeopardize the mine for someone else?

  He supposed he’d best go looking for Mick and make sure the young man wasn’t in trouble. As angry as Mick had been, he wouldn’t be watching where he stepped. The boyo could stumble and roll down a hill. Finn turned and headed for the door.

  Finn strode from the long frame building and peered around. He heard a yell and headed in the direction he thought the call had originated. The cry came again and Finn broke into a run.

  He stopped at a mine tunnel vent hole.

  Peering inside, he could see nothing. “Mick? Are you down there?”

  “O’Neill, is that you? Help me.”

  He knelt, hoping to see something. “Are you hurt?”

  “Fall broke my leg.”

  “I’ll get rope and help and I’ll hurry back.” Finn rose to his feet.

  He raced to the longhouse and called to the card players. “Mick fell down a vent hole. Where can I find rope? And I need a few o’ you to help.”