“I’m having a good day. I’ll help while I’m able.” She leveled him a look Maura’d be hard-pressed to equal in its determination. Far be it from Ryan to stand between an Irishwoman and something she meant to do.
He, instead, carried the heavy iron pot to the fireplace, then hung it on the pot hook. He set the jars of soup on the mantel shelf, waiting for the fire to take. Aidan saw to his task quickly and easily. Here was one thing he’d not need to be taught how to do.
He spotted Ryan watching him. “Ma says I’m an expert fire maker.”
“She’s right about that. You’ve stacked the wood just as you ought, laid the right amount of kindling. Making the fires was my task from a young age. I know a fellow expert when I see one.”
Aidan stood, having started the flame. They’d have a nice, low fire going in a moment more. “Did your da not see to the fires?”
“My da died when I was a young boy,” Ryan said.
“So did mine.” Aidan stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets. “I was a baby. My grandparents have been telling me about him, though.”
“Does your ma tell you about him?”
“A little. She grows sad if she speaks of him too long.” He chewed at his bottom lip. “But not sad like she’s still grieving. More that she . . . I don’t know how to explain it. She feels bad that he’s gone. She maybe feels a little guilty.”
’Twas an insightful observation for so young a lad. Ryan hadn’t recognized the misplaced guilt in his own ma’s mourning for a very long time.
Aidan pushed out a breath. “She doesn’t let on, but I think she’s a bit lonely, too.”
Her words had repeated in his head again and again the past days: “We’re simply lonely.” She’d reached out, not because she felt the same pull he did, but because she, too, was lonely. The moment they’d shared, the kiss they’d nearly shared, had been about loneliness.
She’d kept her distance since. The regret she’d spoken of hadn’t been avoided, but his regret wasn’t quite the same as hers. She clearly wished they’d not had that tender moment together. He, on the other hand, wished he hadn’t realized how much his affection for her had grown. Unrequited feelings were difficult enough in the best of circumstances. Falling even the tiniest bit in love with a woman when, in the end, one of them was going to crush the other’s hopes for a future . . . that was a complication in the plan he did not know how to adjust for.
“Ma misses Eliza, her friend in the Tower.”
Ryan opened the first of the jars, trying to set his mind on his task rather than his dilemma. “What’s ‘the Tower’?”
“The building we lived in,” the lad said. “It was old and falling apart, so the rent was low. Most people wouldn’t live there, except widows like Ma who were too poor to live anywhere else.”
A slum. He’d seen plenty enough of those in Boston.
“I didn’t earn much money shining shoes,” Aidan said, “but she wouldn’t let me work at the factory, even though I’d’ve earned a lot more that way. She was always saying I needed to be a child a little longer.”
“She’s bang on the mark there, lad.” Ryan poured the soup in the pot. “This ol’ world will force you to grow up before you know it.”
Aidan leaned his back against the wall beside the fireplace. “‘Any place you live should be better because you lived there.’ She always says that, but I didn’t make the Tower any better. I didn’t help people the way she did.”
He set a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “In case you don’t hear it often enough, I’ll tell you that your mother is powerful proud of you. That pride shows in her eyes when she watches you and when she talks about you.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.” He poured the second jar of soup in the pot.
“She says I look like my da,” Aidan said. “I really do, at least a little.”
Ryan eyed him, confused. “How is it you know what he looked like?” Aidan had lost his father far younger than Ryan lost his, and Ryan had only the vaguest idea what his father had looked like.
“Ma has a photograph.”
“She does?” That was not a common thing.
Aidan nodded. “I know where she keeps it. I’ll show you.” Without waiting for a response, he rushed from the room and through the door to Maura’s bedchamber.
Ryan stirred the soup. Heavens, but the lad was desperate for a connection to his da. What would he do if he lost his ma, as well? He’d be devastated.
Ryan’s ma shuffled to where he stood and gave him an unexpected hug. “You’re very good to the lad. I suspect he needs it.”
“I know all too well what he’s feeling.”
Ma offered a sad sort of smile. “’Tis a difficult thing, losing a father.”
Ryan nodded. “That it is.”
Aidan returned quickly. He must have gone in after the photograph often to have found it as quickly as he did. Ryan waved him to the chairs near the fireplace. They sat, each beside the other. Aidan carefully unlatched the tiny metal hook holding the book-like leather frame closed. He slowly opened it, nervousness in his movements. Behind an engraved tin oval matte and thick glass lay the image of a man in the uniform of the Union army, his eyes looking directly at whomever opened the frame. Dark hair showed beneath his army cap. The eyes were very light, like Aidan’s. He looked shockingly like Tavish and precisely as Aidan would in another ten years or so.
“You look very much like him,” he told the lad. “Strikingly so.”
“Ma says he was very handsome.”
“He was,” Ryan confirmed. “And brave to have fought as he did.”
Aidan carefully closed the frame again. “Ma said he fought because my uncle did. He was trying to keep his brother safe.”
“He was protecting his family while serving this new country of ours. ’Tis an admirable thing.”
Aidan held the frame tenderly, the way one would a treasure. “Do you think he—?” Emotion cut off the question.
An answering ache echoed in Ryan’s heart. He didn’t know precisely what Aidan meant to ask, but he recognized the worry underneath it. He, too, longed to connect to a father he’d never truly known. He desperately wished to understand him, to please him. So many questions pressed on Ryan’s mind and heart where his da was concerned, but there would never be an opportunity to ask the man any of them. ’Twas a weight and a sadness he carried with him, one Aidan likely did as well.
Ryan gave the lad’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “It’s a fine thing having a photograph of your da.”
Aidan nodded and smiled a little. “Sometimes I pull it out and just look at him.”
“If I had a photograph of my da, I’d look at it every day.”
He nodded, a gesture that acknowledged how deeply they both understood this particular pain.
“I should put it back. Ma doesn’t mind if I look at it, but she’s always tired on laundry day. She grows sad more easily when she’s tired.”
While Aidan returned his treasure, Ryan stirred the soup again. He met Ma’s eyes and saw both sadness and pride in her eyes, precisely what he’d seen in Maura’s expression time and again when she’d watched her son.
The door opened; Maura had returned. He’d seen her on previous laundry days and knew she’d be tired, as Aidan had predicted. ’Twas different this time, however. She looked utterly done in. Exhausted. She had almost no color.
“Laws, woman, are you ill?” He moved quickly toward her, but she held up her hand to halt him.
“Only tired. A moment or two and a bit to eat, and I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t fully believe her but knew better than to say as much. “I’ll fetch you a bowl of soup. You set yourself down somewhere.”
Aidan stepped back out in the next moment. “Ma, you’re home.”
Maura didn’t answer, which was odd enough to pull Ryan’s attention back to her. What little color she had drained in an instant. She dropped, without a word, to the floor.
�
��Ma!”
Ryan was closer and reached Maura before Aidan did, though the lad ran to where she lay crumpled on the floor. Ryan knelt beside her and set a hand on her shoulder. She was breathing, that immediately settled some of his worries.
“Maura?”
A quiet, quavering voice answered. “What happened?” She was sensible enough to speak. A good sign, that.
Ryan brushed her hair away from her face, hoping to get a better look at the state of her. She was still worryingly pale. A small trickle of blood slid from beneath her hairline.
“You’ve hit your head, love,” he said.
She attempted to reach up and touch it, but seemed to run out of strength, her hand dropping away.
Ryan met Aidan’s eye. The poor lad looked nearly panicked. “She’s bleeding.”
“Only a bit, lad.” He hooked his thumb toward the kitchen. “Fetch us a rag.”
Aidan did so without hesitation. He handed the cloth over. Ryan wiped away the blood rolling down Maura’s forehead, then pressed the rag to the wound. “This hasn’t happened before,” Aidan whispered.
Maura struggled to sit up. Ryan slipped an arm around her, offering her his support in her weakened state. Watching her struggle, Aidan didn’t appear the least reassured. She was very nearly seated, still on the floor but upright. She swayed a bit. Ryan tucked her up beside him, and she leaned against him.
“What do we do?” Aidan asked.
“I’ll look after your ma. You run across the road and have your uncle Tavish ride up to your granny’s house and send her down here. She’ll know what’s best.”
Aidan didn’t look away from his ma, his brow pulled in lines of worry.
“Go, now,” Ryan insisted. “And be quick.”
At last Aidan shook off his shock and rushed for the door. He was gone in a flash.
Maura leaned more heavily against Ryan. The blood had not stopped, though it was a thin line, likely a small cut. He suspected she wasn’t feeling well enough to remain sitting without his support. She certainly couldn’t stand. Though she wasn’t coughing, her breaths rasped. And she was overly warm. Was fever a sign of the brown lung progressing? Saints, he hoped not.
“I’d really rather you not collapse like that again, Maura,” he said quietly.
“I’d rather not either,” she whispered.
He kept her in his arms, trying not to think about what this deterioration might mean.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The next day, Ryan returned from the fields at lunchtime as he usually did. Today, though, he’d come not merely for food nor to look in on Ma. He was worried about Maura. She had not been left to fend for herself; Mrs. O’Connor was there looking after her. But Ryan had to see for himself whether she was improving.
“Hello there, Ryan,” Mrs. O’Connor greeted when he stepped through the front door. “Come for a bite to eat?” She exchanged a look with Ma that told him she knew perfectly well that food was not his primary motivation. With mischief twinkling in her eyes, she turned back to Ryan. “A bit of brown bread, perhaps? A boiled potato? Bite of sausage? What is it you’re interested in?”
“I’ll assume our patient isn’t too poor off,” Ryan replied. “Else you’d not be spending your effort giving me grief.”
Ma took pity on him. “Maura’s resting. She’s still fighting that cough and is weary to her very bones, but otherwise seems well.”
He nodded. The cough would persist the rest of her life; she’d told him as much. “How’s she been sleeping?”
“No worse than usual,” Ma said. “She’s coughed throughout the night ever since I began living here. That hasn’t changed.”
’Twas little wonder Maura was so tired all the time. Was that why she’d fainted last night? From pure exhaustion?
The door to her bedroom opened. He moved there with all the dignified haste he could manage. “Maura, why’re you up? You should be resting.”
“All I’ve done today is rest.” The words were quiet and slow. Her steps were measured. Weakened.
“Are you certain you won’t go lie down again?”
“I’d be more than willing to sit, if there’s a chair handy.”
He motioned her toward the fireplace, where an empty chair sat waiting. While she made her way there, he opened the trunk under the window and pulled out a blanket. He grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and brought it and the blanket to her. He set the chair next to hers, then spread the blanket over her lap.
“Thank you,” she said.
He sat beside her, grateful to see her awake and alert. Though exhaustion still hung heavy over her, she was entirely lucid and upright.
“How’re the fields treating you?” she asked. “Tavish has lost a good bit of his crop. I heard Mrs. O’Connor say this morning that they’ve a bit of loss in their wheat.” She paused for a labored breath. “Your hay really is fine?”
Wasn’t that just like Maura? Fretting for others when she had worries of her own.
“The hay is fine as feathers,” he said. “Berries are very different from hay. What’ll ruin Tavish’s yield won’t make any trouble for mine.”
She coughed, but only once. “I’m glad to hear it. I know you’ve a lot depending on this crop.”
He shrugged a bit, allowing himself a hint of a laugh. “Only my entire future.”
“I know what it is to gamble your future on something risky.”
His gaze unfocused as the reality of her words hit him anew. She, too, needed the house and land. If only they could continue as they were, somehow. If he thought long enough, he might find a way to heat the soddie to make it habitable in the winter. It’d be lonely and a bit uncomfortable, but he could make do, surely. For a time, at least.
His gaze focused on Maura once more. She tucked the blanket more snuggly over her shoulders, then turned her head in his direction. When she met his eye, a small, weary smile touched her face.
Aidan said she’d never been courted. How was that possible? He couldn’t imagine any man not being drawn to her. He certainly was. Did she feel that pull between them too?
“James and Ennis are coming up the walk,” Ma said, looking through the front window. “And they’ve brought Nessa.”
James was calling? That was odd enough to make him nervous. James didn’t usually bother with Ryan’s company unless he had something to complain about. A difficult visitor was the last thing Maura needed while recovering.
They knocked. Through the window, Ma motioned them inside. Ennis entered first, Nessa’s hand in hers. James followed close behind. The man seldom looked happy; he certainly didn’t now.
Nessa pulled free and rushed to him. “Uncle Ryan.” She held her arms up to him.
He plopped her on his lap. “How are you, flower?”
She didn’t answer, just rested her head against him. He looked to Ennis, confused. “Is she ill?”
“She woke me up long before the usual time this morning, and she refuses to go back to sleep, no matter that she’s exhausted.” Ennis moved slowly, one hand pressed to her back. She’d been uncomfortable in the weeks before Nessa was born, and her time was fast approaching with this new arrival. “I brought her here in the hope that you could get her to sleep. You’ve managed to in the past.”
James shook his head, clearly annoyed. Trying to appease him was like juggling cats: precarious, exhausting, and arguably pointless. Nothing Ryan did, whether that meant tending to his crops or spending time with Nessa, ever failed to bother James. Their interactions didn’t used to be that way.
“Sit with me a spell, James,” Ma said patting the chair next to hers. “I don’t see you anymore.”
He sat. “Things’ve been overwhelming the past weeks. I’ve so much to do around the place.”
“For you and Ryan, both,” she said. “Who’d have thought you’d be working longer hours here than we did in Boston?”
“I like this work better, though,” James said. His eyes settled on his wife. “And I
decidedly like the company.”
That tender declaration was, quite possibly, the most tender thing Ryan had heard his brother say in years. He knew James loved Ennis. He’d never harbored the slightest doubt about that. James’s was a happy little family, except when Ryan was with them. Perhaps James’s resentment at having to share the house stemmed from frustration: so long as the space didn’t belong wholly to him and his wife, their happiness remained out of reach.
Nessa waved at Maura, who smiled back.
“This is my friend, Maura,” Ryan told his niece. “I’ve been trying to convince her to go back to sleep as well, but I’ve a feeling neither of you is going to pay me the least heed.”
“Does she live here too?” Nessa tucked her legs up and curled into a ball.
“Maura lives here with her son and your granny. I live in a house nearby.” Describing the soddie as a house was something of a stretch.
“Do you like it?” Nessa asked.
He didn’t like the soddie. But he did like living on this land he loved. He was grateful to be near Ma in a place where she was happier. He found, more and more, he treasured being near Maura. “I mostly like it.”
James watched him, a look of genuine curiosity on his face. “This arrangement’s working out for you, then?”
“Well enough,” he said. “I’m still sorting how to heat the soddie in the wintertime.”
“Surely things will be decided before then.” Ennis’s brow pulled in concern. “You can’t go on living in that drafty vegetable cellar. And we’ve only just begun feeling like a family with a house of our own.”
“Ennis,” James struck a warning tone.
“Of course we’ll have you back if need be,” Ennis said, “but—”
“Don’t you fret, sister,” Ryan said. “If things don’t work here, I’ll come up with something else.”
“Another plan?” James clearly doubted he’d sort out anything at all. “When have those ever worked?”
“That’s the way of life,” Maura said. “We make plans, and then we adjust.”
Quoting Ryan’s own words. She’d listened to him. His own family didn’t always do that.
“He’ll find his way,” Ma said. “I’ve every confidence.”
Long Journey Home (Longing for Home Book 5) Page 23