by Regina Scott
The hens didn’t come running at her, clucking, so she bent to peer into their house. Her chickens lay like old rags on their perches, eyes glazed.
No! They couldn’t be sick! She counted on their eggs for her baking, for food. There were only so many of the precious birds in the area, and she’d paid a pretty penny for these. She couldn’t lose them.
She ducked out of the henhouse and ran to the kitchen. Dropping her basket on the floor, she dunked a cup in the bucket of water waiting by the oven and returned outside. Crooning to the hens, she slipped into the house.
“There now, me beauties. What’s troubling you?”
She offered the water to each in turn, stroked feathers, checked for bugs or sores. The hens seemed healthy, just tremendously tired. Had some threat kept them awake and agitated last night? She hadn’t heard them cackling in fear.
By the time she returned upstairs, Ciara and Aiden were awake and dressed and waiting at the table, Amelia Batterby watching them with questionable approval from the doorway to Aiden’s room. Michael had poured them tea and offered Maddie a cup as she joined them. She nodded her thanks. His dark brows raised in question as he glanced at her empty hands.
“I’m afraid there will be no eggs for breakfast this morning,” she told them all. “Something’s ailing the chickens.”
Ciara and Aiden exchanged glances, and Michael stiffened. Maddie narrowed her eyes in suspicion.
“And what would you three be knowing about the matter?” she challenged.
Michael set his cup on the table and looked to the children. “You didn’t.”
Ciara nudged Aiden. “It was your idea, remember.”
“You helped!” Aiden protested.
Maddie swallowed, though she had yet to take a sip of her tea. “What have you done?”
“It was only for fun,” Aiden said, wide brown eyes begging for her understanding.
“You didn’t give us enough to do,” Ciara accused her, face as militant as usual.
Michael held up his free hand. “Don’t blame your sister for this. I told you it was a bad idea.”
“Someone had better be telling me the whole of it,” Maddie warned, “or there will be no breakfast at all.”
Aiden flinched, then straightened. Amelia Batterby wandered closer and began twining herself around his hanging feet as if she supported anything he had to say.
“The chickens kept running all over the yard,” he explained to Maddie. “I thought they liked to run. So I had the idea we could race them.”
“Race them,” Maddie repeated, trying in vain to picture it.
“It was clever, really,” Ciara said, nose in the air with obvious pride. “They kept trying to fly, so I had the idea it would be best to weigh them down so they wouldn’t escape.”
“And be caught by a fox,” Aiden agreed, as if weighing down a chicken was an act of kindness.
“We pulled some loose thread from a shirt in the laundry and tied the chickens’ legs to the frying pan,” Ciara continued. “But they were stronger than we’d thought.” She shook her head, clearly impressed.
“So we filled the pan with rocks,” Aiden supplied.
“And they still ran?” Maddie asked, not sure whether to be shocked or exasperated.
“We had to chase them a little at first,” Aiden admitted. “But then they ran very well. And my chicken won!”
“The first time,” Ciara reminded him. “The little red one won the second.”
She shouldn’t laugh. Her poor chickens were exhausted, and she wasn’t sure when they’d lay again. No eggs meant she couldn’t practice the fancy cakes she was hoping to make for the wedding. But the picture of the hens scurrying around the yard dragging her frying pan made a smile tug at her mouth. She pressed her lips together to keep Ciara and Aiden from seeing it.
“That wasn’t kind to the chickens,” she said, voice stern. “How would you like me to tie a cart to you and chase you down the road?”
“It might be fun,” Aiden protested. Amelia Batterby hopped up on his lap as if ready to go with him, and he laid a hand on the cat’s fur.
Ciara made a face. “You needn’t get so high and mighty, Maddie. They’re just silly birds.”
Michael took a step closer to Maddie, but to stop her from reacting or to offer his advice, she wasn’t sure. She also wasn’t sure why she took comfort from the gesture.
“Silly they may be,” she told Ciara, “but their eggs feed us and help in my baking. From now on, you will give them the respect they deserve.”
Ciara sniffed, avoiding Maddie’s gaze, but Aiden nodded.
“And breakfast will be tea and toast,” Maddie said.
“Again?” Ciara complained.
Maddie cast her a look. “Be thankful there was bread left over from yesterday.”
Aiden’s face fell, and Amelia Batterby leaned against him in support.
“You could just go buy eggs from the grocers,” Ciara said with a huff.
Maddie opened her mouth to tell her little sister exactly what she thought of the idea. As if Michael sensed her intentions, he laid a hand on her shoulder, kind.
“Perhaps later we could go by the mercantiles so Ciara can see what’s available,” he suggested with a look to Maddie.
He was right. If Maddie protested the cost and scarcity of eggs, Ciara would just scoff. If her sister saw the prices in the shops, she’d realize how precious eggs could be.
“Delighted,” Maddie said. “Right after services. And thank you, Michael, for the suggestion.”
His smile was slow and pleased, and something fluttered in her stomach at the sight of it. Oh, yes, she would be glad to visit every mercantile in Seattle, if for no other reason than to encourage the owner to hire Michael Haggerty. No matter how helpful and kind he was, the sooner she got him out from underfoot, the better.
* * *
Michael took his bag down to the kitchen to shave and change while Maddie finished getting the children ready for services. He might not own anything that wasn’t currently wrinkled, but at least what was in the bag was clean.
Still he had to admit they made a fine group heading for church that morning. Maddie was once more in the russet dress she’d worn when she’d met them on the pier, her velvet hat perched atop her red hair. A light rain was falling, so she’d brought an umbrella of green-and-orange plaid, handing it to Michael to hold up over all their heads. Ciara in her blue gown and white collar—the only dress that hadn’t gone to the seamstress—looked as proper as a young lady might be. Even Aiden had his hair combed for a change as he loped along beside them in shirt and trousers held up by green suspenders.
They made their way through the business district on the boardwalks that ran along the buildings, aiming for the white steeple to the north that pointed heavenward. The worst part came in crossing the skid road, which was a rutted bog of black mud.
Michael handed the umbrella to Maddie. “Stay here.” Before she could protest or question him, he swung Aiden up on his shoulders and scooped Ciara up in his arms. Aiden whooped from his perch, clinging to Michael’s shoulders as Michael slogged across the mire and deposited them on the other side.
Ciara arranged her skirts and ignored the amused looks of the other people on the street, as if such conveyance was commonplace. “Wait for your sister and me,” Michael instructed them before going back for Maddie.
“Look at your pants, now,” she said with a tsk as he joined her. “Sure-n Mrs. Bagley, our reverend’s fine wife, will be dismayed at the dirt you’re bringing into her church.”
“Better my pants than your skirts,” Michael countered. He bent and scooped her up.
Brown eyes met his, amused. “Many a time I’ve managed these streets without your help, Mr. Haggerty.”
“You f
orget, I’m in your debt, Miss O’Rourke,” he replied, and he set off across the street once more.
She was heavier than she looked, though not nearly as heavy as the loads he’d borne on the docks in New York, and he didn’t think it was the weight of the dress. Maddie O’Rourke might appear to be a frail, petite thing, but he now knew the physical burdens she had carried. Muscle born of hard work strengthened those arms and legs. He was proud to be of assistance to her.
And the feel of her in his arms wasn’t half-bad either.
He set her down beside Ciara and Aiden, appreciating the pink that tinged her cheeks. She busied herself settling her skirts about her, then slanted a glance up at him through her cinnamon-colored lashes. Michael smiled.
“Miss O’Rourke?” Another fellow hurried to meet them. He was slight and gangly, every feature sharp on his narrow face. Dressed in a gray wool suit, he looked to Michael as if he might blow away like mist in a good wind.
Maddie, however, beamed at him. “Mr. Weinclef. And how are you this fine morning?”
He whipped off his narrow-brimmed hat, gripping it with both long-fingered hands. His sandy hair was slicked back with pomade, and the scent of lavender made Michael’s nose itch.
“Fine, fine,” Weinclef murmured. “Did you remember we were to sit together today in church?” He cast Michael a quick glance as if to draw her attention to the extra gentleman in the group.
Though Michael didn’t remember Maddie mentioning anything about company this morning, she fluttered her lashes at the man. “Well, of course, Mr. Weinclef. And I intend to visit your fine establishment afterward.”
As the fellow colored in obvious pleasure, she put a hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “Ciara and Aiden, this is Mr. Weinclef who works at the Kellogg brothers’ store. He’s been a great help in outfitting the bakery. Mr. Weinclef, this is my sister and brother who have come to live with me.” She glanced back at Michael. “And our good friend Mr. Michael Haggerty, who was kind enough to escort them on their journey from New York.”
Once more she made it sound as if she owed him a debt rather than the other way around. But Weinclef glanced at Michael again as if considering how Michael had come upon such an honor as befriending Maddie. The man had to wonder what place Michael held in Maddie’s affections.
He must have decided not to ask, for he turned his attentions to Ciara and Aiden, offering them a weak smile.
“Children. How pleased you must be to see your sister. She’s quite the famous lady in Seattle. One of Mercer’s Maidens, you see.”
Maddie raised her chin. “Sure-n but I hope I’ll be more famous for my bakery than for coming with Asa Mercer to Seattle, sir.”
Weinclef blanched as if realizing he’d blundered. “I meant no disrespect, Miss O’Rourke. You know I hold you in the highest esteem.”
Another moment and the fellow would be stammering out a marriage proposal. Michael stepped forward. “As I’m new to town, Mr. Weinclef, perhaps you’d be so good as to lead the way to church.”
Weinclef’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked up at Michael. “Certainly, sir,” he said, voice squeaking. “This way.” He seemed to remember his purpose, for he held out his arm to Maddie. She took it, and the man escorted her toward the church.
Michael knew he could have found the church easily enough. Maddie had already pointed it out to them, and the steeple would have made it obvious in any event. Now a steady stream of people was winding toward the chapel on the hill. The Brown Church, Maddie had told them everyone called the building, to distinguish it from the other church in town, which was painted white.
Inside, pews of carved dark wood stretched on each side of a center aisle, beams open above them. Already a goodly portion of Seattle’s citizens filled the space, voices stilling, bodies settling.
Weinclef led Maddie to a box pew about halfway back from the altar and let her enter first. Ciara and Aiden squeezed past him, putting themselves between him and Maddie. Weinclef heaved a resigned sigh as Michael took up his place on the end.
The service followed the typical pattern of prayers and readings. When they sang the familiar hymns, Michael heard Maddie’s alto rising over Weinclef’s tenor. Then the minister, Mr. Bagley, came to speak. A small man, his bushy hair and eyebrows gave testament to the energy inside.
“We often speak of the Lord’s condemnation,” he said, gazing at them all over his spectacles. “There are right ways to live, following His commands. Thou shalt not lie. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not covet.”
“Thou shalt not race your sister’s chickens,” Michael heard Aiden whisper to Ciara, who poked him into silence.
Maddie shook her head at the pair of them, and Weinclef shifted on the pew. Michael wondered which made the fellow uncomfortable, his Creator’s expectations or the children’s whimsy.
“But today,” the reverend continued, “I want to speak of His unfailing love. The scriptures say there is no greater love than this, that a man should lay down his life for a friend.”
The words echoed through the church, and something rose to meet them inside Michael. Glancing down the pew, he saw Maddie regarding the preacher as if drinking in every word as deeply.
He’d suspected her of going off to escape her responsibilities to her siblings, but she’d done exactly what Mr. Bagley said. She’d laid down her freedom, jeopardized her financial security, to make a better life for them. That was love.
What had he felt for Katie O’Doul, then? When she’d encouraged him to do as her father demanded and help the Dead Rabbits rob the port, Michael had never considered sacrificing his career or his honor. He still thought the request wrong, but what if she’d asked for something else? What if she’d wanted to head west and make a new life? Would he have left family and employment for her? He was no longer certain of the answer.
All he knew was that Katie’s love had been untrue. She hadn’t been willing to change anything about her life for him. He’d merely been one piece in her plans, a piece she could discard at will.
Was Maddie O’Rourke truly so different? She flattered her bakery customers, had obviously given Weinclef leave to join her today for all she paid him only polite attention now. Was she merely being kind or feathering her own nest?
How was he to know the truth about Maddie O’Rourke? For only when he was sure about her could he trust her with Ciara’s and Aiden’s futures.
And perhaps his own.
Chapter Nine
Maddie walked out of the church, hand on Mr. Weinclef’s arm, thinking that Mr. Bagley had the right of it. Love meant sacrifice and sorrow. Her father and stepmother had worked their fingers to the bone for Ciara and Aiden. They’d had nothing left for each other. Sad to say, but she simply didn’t have it in her to offer a fellow a chance at making her life worse. She would save her love for her brother and sister.
Her siblings strolled beside her now on the boardwalk, eyes wide at the things on display as well as the people on the street. Once again Maddie was struck by how different things were here. Back in her part of New York, seeing a horse was a rarity, never mind a cow traipsing along the cobblestoned streets. Here oxen trudged the mud, pulling rattling farm wagons laden with goods destined for outlying farms or the last of the harvest from those farms to the local shops. The stores were short wood buildings, only a few painted, instead of the stone and brick edifices of the city. The dry scent of fir mingled with the salty perfume of the tide flats instead of the clogging smoke from coal fires.
But as much as she saw the differences around her, she found herself more aware of the towering shadow behind her.
She could see Michael’s reflection in the windows of the businesses they passed. She’d glanced at him from time to time in service. He seemed to be paying the preacher heed, which was commendable. She’d seen him stiffen when Mr. Bagley had mentioned l
ove. Had Michael been thinking about his Katie? Did he wish he’d stayed in New York and fought for her hand?
Once more she’d felt that urge to scold the woman. Good thing Miss O’Doul wasn’t likely to venture west.
Now Michael sauntered along as well, glancing at the stores with interest. Perhaps he was choosing which next to approach about employment.
“A great deal of work to be done in Seattle,” she commented with a look of encouragement back at him.
She caught his smile before she faced front again. “There must be someone needing a worker,” he agreed.
“I hear they’re clamoring for fellows out at the coal mines across Lake Washington,” Mr. Weinclef offered.
All the way out across the lake? She might never see him again. Ciara and Aiden would be so disappointed.
“Surely there’s work here in town,” Maddie insisted. She smiled at her would-be suitor. “A fine upstanding citizen such as yourself must be knowing who needs help, Mr. Weinclef.”
He flamed. “You give me too much credit, Miss O’Rourke. Besides, I believe the local employers are becoming quite particular as to whom they hire.”
Did he imply there was something wrong with Michael? Michael must have thought so, for his reflection showed dark brows dipping down over his nose.
Maddie decided not to judge Mr. Weinclef so strongly. “I’m not taking your meaning, sir,” she said sweetly.
He tugged at his high collar, which she noticed was in need of a good washing. “There have been rumors recently that some people distrust the Irish. Though not me,” he hurried to add.
Her temper flared at the old insult. “The country of a person’s birth has less to do with their actions than their character, I find,” she told him, twitching her skirts out of her way.
“Oh, agreed, agreed,” Mr. Weinclef said with a hasty glance back at Michael. “No offense meant, Mr. Haggerty.”
“None taken,” Michael said. “Though you might remember that I’m not the only Irish person in your company.”