The line clicks off, and I stand frozen, listening to the steady buzz of dead noise for a moment before finally returning the hand piece to its cradle on the wall.
Mrs. Flanagan taking a walkabout? It’s an old tradition, and only done to introduce new babies and—
I hurry back outside, fully awake now and able to take in something that would have been obvious if not for my hangover and panic over my possibly injured boss. Up and down Main Street, shop owners stand out front. Some sweep the sidewalk in front of their stores while others put out displays usually reserved for the warmer seasons when street shopping is popular.
How did I miss this news? Granted, when Mom tried to stop me this morning for a chat, I brushed her off in my mad dash to get to work.
I scan the street and spot Mrs. Flanagan’s purple tinted curls only a few shops away now, her hand tucked into the crook of Mr. McArthur’s arm. She wears a fine red jacket and new boots, while Mr. McArthur’s usually empty collar now sports a matching red bowtie.
The corners of my lips twitch, then spread into a large grin as happiness spreads through me. To find love a second time in life is amazing enough. But the red signifies more than that.
As the couple pauses at the shop next door to speak with the owner, I spot the red ribbon around Mrs. Flanagan’s neck. It tucks into her jacket, but I know—as everyone does—that a gold coin hangs from it. Despite the buttoned up shirt, Mr. McArthur will have a matching coin around his neck. Only those who go to the Thread Reader with their destined partner receive the gold coins, a symbol that the gods ordained their match, both in this lifetime and all the rest, past and future.
When they reach me, my legs shake with excitement. Unable to stop myself, I throw my arms around my cranky boss. “Congratulations, Mrs. Flanagan! Thread Maker’s blessing on you both.”
Her thin arms wrap around me with surprising strength. “Thank you, my dear.”
I pull back and beam at them. “Did you go to the Thread Reader last night? Were you nervous? When did you—” I clamp my hands over my mouth to stop the animated babble.
“Doolin and I went down to the docks last night.” Pink stains her cheeks, and the glance she casts up at her new husband shines with love. “I knew the moment I tried one of his lemon cookies he would steal my heart.”
Mr. McArthur smiles down at her, gentle love in his gaze. “It took you long enough to step out with me.”
“Oh, you.” She ducks her head like a bashful young woman.
I clasp my hands over my heart. Mr. McArthur’s wife passed away four years ago. Up until then, they ran Lapton Steam together. The death hit him hard, and his younger son, Peter, filled in, then took over completely when it became apparent his father would not soon return to work. I’d heard my mom talking to my dad about it my junior year of college.
Only in the last six months had Mr. McArthur begun to take part in the cafe again, bringing in homemade pastries to sell at the shop.
“Does this mean I should stop buying the cookies from the grocer?” I tease.
“Well, the book club will still eat those.” Mrs. Flanagan huffs, then focuses on me. “Now that we’re officially recognized, I’ll be moving to Doolie’s residence.” Beaming, she pats his arm. “That house is too big for just him, and he needs help with the baking.”
“You can bake, Mrs. Flanagan?” The question pops out before I can stop it. But really, I’ve never seen her turn on more than the kettle.
Mr. McArthur’s hand covers hers. “Birtie’s been helping me after she gets off work.”
“Mrs. Flanagan!” I cover my cheeks in mock horror at the implication of the scandal from her being at Mr. McArthur’s house late at night.
“I’m a widow, I can go where I want.” She sniffs, but embarrassment still colors her cheeks. Despite her words, she kept her residence above the community center. She digs into her coat pocket. “Which reminds me. Young Peter will be by tonight to move my personal items. I think you’ve proven yourself capable of taking over as caregiver there.”
I stare at the round keychain she extends to me. Three keys hang from it. One for the front door of the community center, one for the liquor cabinet in the ballroom, and one for the apartment upstairs.
My hands tremble with elation. “Are you sure?”
She shakes them at me. “Take them before I change my mind.”
I snatch them from her, my hand clutching around the ring so tight that it digs into my palm. “Thank you, Mrs. Flanagan. I’ll do the town proud.”
Her thin lips purse. “Well, I’ll be by to check on you from time to time.”
“Of course!” I nod so hard my curls fall across my face. “Thank you so much!”
She reaches out for my arm and tugs me closer, voice lowering to a whisper. “Make sure to fill that place up, girl. Don’t let those rooms go to waste like I did.”
Startled, I meet her serious gaze and nod more slowly. “I’ll try, ma’am.”
“There’s three strapping young men who might help you out with that.” To my horror, she winks.
“Mrs. Flanagan!” This time, real shock makes my voice high pitched.
“You’re too young to be so buttoned up.” She tugs on my dark pink cardigan. “Loosen up, girl.”
“Come, love, let the girl be, we have another half a street to greet,” Mr. McArthur saves me from further embarrassment as he urges her into motion. He tips his head as they leave. “Thank you for the blessing, Siobhan.”
I watch them for a moment longer, riding a roller coaster of emotions. Joy over new found love. Elation to finally have my own place. Depression when I contemplate the empty, sheet draped rooms that await me.
Scanning the street, I find myself looking for a trio of dark heads. While Hughe said he would keep the others away, I honestly expected to see them as soon as I left the house this morning. Even in my hurry, though, I’d noticed the truck missing from the O’Brien’s driveway.
Was Hughe out looking for work again?
Despite my unhappiness with them, resentment fills me at the thought of them being ostracized for their rebellious youth. My foggy brain reminds me that Hughe asked me to give a relationship with them serious thought. But my pride won’t let me yield so easily. They abandoned me. How can I forgive that?
Resolute, I square my shoulders and walk back into the community center, grab the phone off the wall, and dial the hardware store. When Tomas answers, I force cheer into my voice. “Tommy, it’s Siobhan. Get Carrick to cover any deliveries tomorrow night. I need your help to move!”
The Box
Work on Saturday flew by with the town meeting at six o’clock passing in a blur. When Mr. O’Brien arrived at the meeting alone, I ignored the pang of disappointment. Hughe took his promise to stay away seriously, and for some reason, that hurt more than it should.
With no urgent town matters to discuss, the mayor’s secretary reviewed the minutes from last month, wrote down concerns about a failing post at the pier, and the meeting adjourned.
I arrived back at my parent’s home to find Tomas and Carrick with the truck already loaded. It took no time at all to do a last check under my bed to make sure I had everything.
Mom brought out a basket of sandwiches to take with us, then gave me a tearful hug goodbye. As if she wouldn’t see me tomorrow at dinner. Dad, paint still splattered in his beard, stood by her side to see us off. Ava rode with Carrick back to the community center while Tomas and I walked.
We arrived ten minutes after them, and Carrick already had half the truck unloaded while Ava hung my clothes in the closet. She politely left my personal boxes untouched, which I appreciated. I love my sister-in-law, but some things just shouldn’t be shared.
Now we work together in the kitchen, despite my frequent suggestions that she take a seat at the dining table.
“You really didn’t have to come.” I take the box from Ava, worried that between it and her giant belly, she might hurt herself. “You’re due next week
. You should be at home with your feet up.”
“Now, you sound like Carrick.” With a groan, she presses her hands to the small of her back as her loving gaze settles on my oldest brother.
Since there hadn’t been any deliveries scheduled for today, he decided to help out, too. Not that I have enough to warrant assistance from multiple people. I think he simply wants to check out my new home.
He and Tomas stand at the front door to my new apartment, the old rose patterned mattress Mrs. Flanagan left behind balanced between them. I plan to buy a new one tomorrow morning and have it delivered, but that leaves us with the dilemma of how to dispose of the old one here. I could take it to the dump, but my large family never likes to waste what can be repurposed.
“I told you to just stuff it in one of the spare bedrooms for now,” I call as I set the box on the kitchen counter. Cold air sweeps through the apartment from the open door, driving out the lingering scent of Mrs. Flanagan’s powdery perfume.
“Then, we’ll just have to deal with it later.” Carrick scrubs a hand through his short, red hair. “We can drive it over to Shrieve Port tomorrow morning and drop it off at New Hope Orphanage.”
Tomas shoves his hands into his pockets, gaze calculating. “If we bring a few of the pallets from the shop, they can cut it in half and turn it into a couple couches for the kids.”
“I bet Mom has some spare upholstery fabric she could donate,” Ava joins in, her face excited. “We should probably cut the mattresses at the shop to make it easier for them.”
“Dad has a whole stack of pallets…” Carrick’s eyes shift to the short hallway on the other end of the living room. “Should we just recycle all the mattresses here in one go?”
Tomas’s body rocks to the side a moment before he makes a run for the hall, Carrick close on his heels. I shake my head. They’ll have the new couches made before they deliver them.
I glance at Ava as she finally eases into a chair at the small dining room table. “You should remind my brother, before he gets too far into a new project, that he’ll be needed for baby duty starting next week.”
“It will be fine.” She waves a dismissive hand before dragging a box toward her. “Do you even know what’s in most of these?”
“No idea.” I shrug. “Mom just put them in the truck along with my personal boxes.”
I’d had my entire room packed in under an hour once I got home from work last night. Even staying late for Friday Pinochle hadn’t made a difference. My room at my parent’s house didn’t leave much space for clutter, and I don’t obsess over clothes the way my teenage sister does. Dad brought home more boxes than I could possibly fill with my meager belongings.
Curious as to what else my mom threw into the truck, I open the box in front of me. A neatly folded rectangle of Lapton Weekly sits on top, dated from five years ago. When I remove it, I find a white, ceramic plate, its edge thick and sturdy. I lift it out and find another beneath the next fold of newspaper.
“I have silverware and hand towels,” Ava announces. When I turn, she holds up a neatly squared flour sack towel in her hands, edged in blue embroidery. “I think there’s a full set of seven in here.”
My eyes shift to another one of the mystery boxes, a heavier one that Tomas hauled up. When I unfold the top, I discover a well-oiled set of cast iron and a box with a brand new kettle in it.
“I feel a bit like I’m looking at my dowry,” I mutter as I drag the box into the kitchen.
“Carrick and I got the same items after we moved in together.” Ava touches the red ribbon around her neck, her expression happy at the memory. “Your mom said every new home needs a solid kitchen.”
Since most of my life growing up was spent around the kitchen table, I’m not surprised my mom would say something like that. My chest fills with warmth. She put so much thought into my future while I let myself be pulled along, blindly setting one foot in front of the other with no plans of what to do with my life.
Even the job at the community center came more through happenstance than intention. My sole qualification came from when I signed up for local history in college after discovering world history was full. That I graduated at the same time Mrs. Flanagan needed help around the center came as pure coincidence.
A thump comes from the hall, and Tomas reappears with a twin-sized mattress. When he reaches the door, still blocked by the first mattress, he comes to a stop.
He leans the twin sized one against the wall and turns back to the hall. “Hey, Carrick, get your ass out here. We need to deal with this one first!”
“What are you going on about?” Carrick pops back into the living room, yanking a king size mattress by the top edge. “Hey, Von, did you know the front bedroom is bigger than the back? You should use that one instead.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with all that space.” I laugh, watching his struggles. With three inches of pillow top on either side, this mattress looks heavier. As he give it another tug, it comes fully into the room, and a yellow piece of paper flutters from the other end. “Hold up.”
“What?” Carrick grunts, face turning as red as his hair from the exertion.
“Stop for a minute.” I abandon the box of cast iron in the center of the kitchen and hurry over to grab the tag. When I flip it over to read the front, my eyes widen. “Was this under one of the sheets?”
“Sheets?” Carrick pants as he leans against the mattress. “What are you going on about?”
“The sheets.” I repeat slowly in case all the blood rushing to his head made him stupid. “Mrs. Flanagan draped the spare rooms to keep the dust off.”
Carrick shakes his head. “No sheets in the front one.”
“The center one was still covered,” Tomas pipes in helpfully.
I read the tag again, but the words don’t change. This mattress was on sale last week at the local home store. The bottom of the tag shows a jagged line where the price was removed.
“Lean it against the couch, Carrick. I think Mr. McArthur’s son forgot to grab this last night when he moved Mrs. Flanagan out. She just bought this mattress last week.” I sweep a hand across the fluffy side that faces me, the fine stitching on it forming an ever widening flower pattern. The thickness makes it look luxurious, a mattress that will last.
“Aww, that’s too bad, we could have made three couches out of this one,” Carrick grumbles as he settles it to lean against the couch.
“You don’t cut up a brand new mattress to make couches!” Ava exclaims.
I pat her on the shoulder as I head for the wall phone in the kitchen. “You married him for his looks, right?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t for his brains.” she shakes her head.
Carrick points at his wife. “Woman, don’t think you’re too big for me to put you over my knee!”
“Isn’t that how this whole thing started?” She rubs a possessive hand over her round belly.
“No one wants to hear that!’ Tomas spins away from the lovebirds to grab one end of the queen-sized mattress in the doorway. “Let’s take this one down.”
Laughing, I flip open the town directory left beside the phone on the kitchen counter and look up Mr. McArthur’s number.
It rings twice before Mrs. Flanagan answers, “McArthur residence, Birte speaking.”
She sounds happier than any other time I’ve spoken to her. The formal announcement of their union will come out in this Sunday’s paper. Will she continue to go by Mrs. Flanagan, or will she take Mr. McArthur’s surname?
I lean against the kitchen counter. “Hello, Mrs. Flanagan, it’s Siobhan. I hope you’re having a good evening.”
“Doolin and I were just settling down for a nice cuppa, dear.” In the background, I hear a quiet murmur from Mr. McArthur. “Thank you for the flowers your family sent over. The carnations are lovely on the kitchen table.”
“I’ll let my mom know you like them.” I cringe, thankful my mom remembered since I certainly hadn’t in the excitement of
moving.
“How are you settling into your new place? Darcy rang me up that she saw the McKathry delivery truck parked at the community center.”
“We’re unpacking the boxes now. That’s actually why I called.” I glance at the large mattress. Leaned on its side, it completely obscures the living room from view. “We found your new mattress while we were bringing everything in. Would you like my brothers to bring it by tonight?”
“Oh, no, dear, that’s for you.” She laughed quietly. “Everyone should have a new place to rest in a new home.”
My mouth drops open, eyes widening. At my shocked expression, Ava hoists herself upright and waddles over, mouthing, “Are you alright?”
I shake myself. “Mrs. Flanagan, that’s very generous of you—”
“You’re welcome, dear,” she interrupts. “I’m glad you like the surprise.”
“But—”
“Ahh, Doolin just brought in the tray, so I must be going. Have a good night, dear.” The line clicks off.
At the sound of the dead line, Ava takes the receiver from my stiff fingers and returns it to the cradle on the wall. “What happened?”
“She says it’s for me.” My tongue feels dry, and I snap my mouth closed.
“That’s so kind of her!” Ava claps her hands together. “Now, you can keep your savings intact.”
“But…” I stare that the mysterious thing. “But I don’t need something that big. What will I do with all that room at night?”
“Sleep in the middle,” Ava advises with a decisive nod. “That’s what I’d do.”
~
“Thank you for all the help!” I wave from the top of the stairs as Carrick helps Ava into the truck. Tomas sits on the tailgate, one arm looped over the side for balance.
Hand on her belly, Ava leans out of the cab to wave back. “See you tomorrow night!”
My brothers both lift a hand, and then they drive away.
I shiver and rub my arms as I go back inside and close the door, leaning against it as I gaze at my new apartment. A new quilt drapes over the back of the couch, hiding the aged, rose upholstery and making it look inviting. A second quilt rests over the arm of the rocker. My books fill the shelves against the far wall, and a new kettle shines under the kitchen lights.
Falling For Them Volume 2: Reverse Harem Collection Page 69