Joseph drove in another nail. “Next Seamus Kelly will raise his prices for blacksmithing and shoeing,” he said. “Then both sides will decide that is reason enough to be at one another’s throats. That is the cycle of life in Hope Springs.”
“But if someone among us responded to the mercantile by swapping needs with Mr. Johnson, like you’ve done, rather than punishing the Red Road, maybe that cycle would stop.”
He tested the sturdiness of the newly repaired drawer and found it much improved. “The key isn’t finding just any need, but one that holds equal weight as his reason for raising prices.”
“His reason is he hates the lot of us. What could possibly be traded to outweigh that?”
Joseph realized she wasn’t speaking in hypotheticals. He slid the mended drawer back into the chest and looked at her, reminding himself to remain simply friendly, helpful, emotionally neutral.
“Are you hoping to get the Irish prices down to what the Red Road pays?” That was, he knew all too well, a fool’s errand. “He’ll never do it.”
She gave him a worried, pleading look. It was too much. He set his eyes on the next drawer. Work was as good a distraction as any.
“Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way, Joseph.”
You have no idea. “Turn out what way, exactly?”
He heard her sigh. “I gave up home for this. I stayed here because I love it, because I thought it would be a happy place to live.”
He thought she’d decided to stay because of Tavish. That had worried him. His late wife had given up the only hometown she’d ever known to come with him to Wyoming, and she had regretted it every year she’d spent there. She’d been miserable. He didn’t want that for Katie.
Joseph focused on the next drawer. He didn’t look up at her. Seeing her upset would eat away at him. “Are you unhappy?” he asked quietly.
“Not unhappy. I’m more frustrated, I suppose. Between Ian’s troubles and Biddy’s worries and the Irish not knowing if they can afford to survive the winter, I’m weighed down. And . . . I—”
She stopped. Joseph looked up and immediately wished he hadn’t. Her chin quivered and a tear coursed down her face. He had to grip his hammer tight to keep from reaching out for her.
Katie pressed her eyes closed, turning her face toward the ceiling. “I never used to be a crier, Joseph. Hope Springs has ruined me for it, I’m afraid.”
She was smiling a little, even through her tears. Joseph had never known anyone quite like Katie Macauley. “What has brought the tears on this time?”
She shrugged with one shoulder, but Joseph didn’t believe the dismissive gesture for a moment. Katie wasn’t one to grow upset over something small.
“I was only thinking of my father.” Her voice broke on the last word. She pushed out a breath and composed herself on the spot. “He’s dying, and I’m so far away.”
“Do you regret staying?” He hoped she didn’t.
She shook her head. “I only feel helpless. I can’t do anything for him, and nothing I do here seems to help anyone either.” She picked up a few of the spare nails, fiddling with them in an absentminded way. “I used some of my savings to get Ian medicine—Mr. Johnson was asking five dollars instead of two bits, and the O’Connors couldn’t afford it.”
“Five dollars?”
“Aye. That’s the new Irish price.”
Joseph bit back a curse. Johnson had no conscience. “I wish you had told me, Katie. I could have bought the medicine for two bits.”
“I didn’t even think of that.” She pushed out a puff of air, her expression falling. “Now I feel foolish and helpless.”
He hadn’t meant to add to her burdens. What Katie needed was encouragement.
“You did a good thing, Katie. You helped Ian and Biddy when they needed it.”
She didn’t look reassured. “It doesn’t solve the bigger problem, though. You can’t purchase everything that every Irish family is overcharged for. And I haven’t the means of buying wool for all their coats or paying for dozens of shoes. If others grow ill, I’ll run out of money before I can get medicine for all of them. I can’t even pay you the three dollars I owe you for flour without dipping further into my savings.”
“Don’t worry yourself about—”
“I will pay you,” she cut across him. “I just haven’t made my bread deliveries this week, so I don’t have enough money from that to pay you with, and I need my savings to live on now that I don’t have a regular job.”
He knew she wasn’t trying to make him feel guilty, but he felt so just the same. “I am sorry you couldn’t stay at our house. We’ve missed you there already.”
She smiled at him. “I’ve missed you as well—all of you. The mornings are far too quiet here.”
“I missed our morning chat at breakfast this morning as well.” He had to look away or he knew he’d reach out for her. She chose someone else.
Katie handed him a nail, and he set back to work. He was nearly done with the last drawer when a knock sounded from the front. The house was small enough that they easily heard Mrs. Claire invite the visitor in.
A moment later, Katie’s face lit with a brilliant smile as her eyes settled just past Joseph.
“Tavish.”
Joseph drove in the final nail with a force that surprised him. He thought he’d come to terms with Katie’s choice. Apparently not.
“Hello there, Sweet Katie.” Joseph thought he heard a question in Tavish’s tone.
“I wasn’t expecting you, Tavish, but I’m pleased you’ve come.” Katie’s tone had lightened. How was it Tavish managed to do that for her when he had only managed to talk about heavy things, topics that made her cry? Maybe it was for the best that she’d chosen Tavish. “Joseph brought me my bread flour and was kind enough to stay and mend the chest of drawers I’d not gotten around to.”
“I would have done that for you,” Tavish said. “You needed only ask me.”
“I didn’t actually ask Joseph. He simply took on the task,” Katie said. “He can be very bossy, you know.”
He glanced up at her. Her teasing smile pulled an answering one from him. The connection was a brief one, over almost the moment it began. Katie rose and walked past him, no doubt straight to Tavish.
Joseph slid the newly repaired drawer into place. He didn’t look behind him. Katie would be holding Tavish’s hand or leaning into his embrace. He had no desire to see that.
“I came by to offer to drive you about while you made your bread deliveries,” Tavish said, “but I don’t smell any loaves fresh out of the oven.”
Joseph scooped up the nails and dropped them on top of the bureau. He set the hammer beside them.
“I didn’t have time for baking today,” Katie said. “If you’re free tomorrow, I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“I’ll make certain I am. As for today, Finbarr is tending Ian’s animals, so I am at your disposal for the afternoon. What else needs mending?”
“I’ve been meaning to put a couple nails in the wall to hang my dresses on,” Katie said. “And there’s a shelf in the kitchen that’s not terribly sturdy.”
“I’ll get started, then. You keep adding to that list. I’ve an entire afternoon.”
Joseph knew an invitation to leave when he heard one. Tavish had arrived, and Joseph was no longer needed or welcome. He picked his coat up off the floor and stepped past Katie and Tavish to where his hat hung on the doorknob.
“Thank you for bringing the flour,” Katie said. Joseph fancied that he heard a small thread of regret in her words. Perhaps she’d enjoyed his company, though likely not as much as he’d needed hers. “I’ll pay you for it just as soon as I can.”
“Don’t fret over it. Take your time.” He set his hat on his head and turned to Tavish. He could at least try to show the man that he held no true malice toward him. Jealousy, certainly. Envy, yes. But even with all that, Joseph couldn’t actually hate him. Tavish was a good man, and lucky. “How�
�s Ian?”
“Better.”
Tavish’s eyes locked with his own. He made a miniscule nod in Katie’s direction and took her hand.
“Show me where you want your dresses hung.” Tavish smiled at Katie.
Joseph could easily read the warning there. The time had come for him to beat a hasty retreat.
He slipped from the room and down the short hallway to where Mrs. Claire sat rocking by the window.
“Is there anything I can do for you before I go?” he asked.
“Quitting the field so soon, then?”
“Quitting the field?”
She clicked her tongue. “It wasn’t yesterday I was born, Joseph Archer. You’ve been sweet on our Katie almost since she first came. Seems to me you’ve given up terrible quick, you have.”
“She made her choice. I am determined to respect that.”
The look on the older woman’s face clearly showed her lack of faith in his intelligence. “I thought you a man of greater determination than that.”
“What I am is a man who doesn’t believe in trespassing.”
Mrs. Claire’s gaze narrowed as though she were studying his very soul. Joseph didn’t particularly want his most guarded feelings laid bare.
“Katie has made her choice,” Joseph said firmly, reminding himself as much as Mrs. Claire.
“Has she now?”
That was a tone of doubt if ever he’d heard one.
“I worry for her.” Sadness touched Mrs. Claire’s expression. “She’s known so much suffering in her life. I only want her to find the happiness she deserves.”
“So do I,” Joseph said. “And she seems happy with Tavish.” As much as he hated acknowledging that, it was true.
“I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Joseph. I’ve heard the way she speaks of you and with you. What if you’re right for her after all?” Mrs. Claire asked, resuming her rocking. “Doesn’t she deserve to know she has a choice?”
“It seems a little underhanded.”
Mrs. Claire actually rolled her eyes. “Saints above, Joseph Archer, I’m not suggesting you kidnap the lass.”
He shook his head a little at the picture Mrs. Claire painted. “Kidnap her? My house is in shambles already, and the girls are so angry at me for ‘letting Katie leave,’ I’ll soon have a mutiny on my hands. Kidnapping her may be my best option.”
“And now I’ve lost all faith in you, lad.” Still, she was grinning, her eyes dancing with laughter. “What sort of a ham-fisted suitor are you anyway, stealing the girl off to do housework?”
“And that, Mrs. Claire, is the reason I leave the courting to men like Tavish, who know how to do the thing properly.”
“Think on what I said.” She gave him what his childhood nanny had called “the look”—a combination of pointed reprimand and fond condescension. “At least give the lass a chance to know you—the man and not the employer—better.”
“Good day to you, Mrs. Claire.” He tipped his hat and stepped out.
He shut the door behind him and stood silent and tense under the front overhang. For just a moment Mrs. Claire’s words tempted him. He hovered on the thought of Katie being in his life again, of holding her hand the way Tavish did, of courting her as he’d planned to.
I’ve seen the way she looks at you. What had Mrs. Claire meant by that? Was there reason to hope after all?
Then he remembered the smile that lit Katie’s face when Tavish had arrived. Tavish made her happy in a way he never had. He couldn’t take that away from her, not when she was so burdened by life. He could be her friend, help her where and when he could. He’d keep himself to that. Eventually he might even learn to accept it.
Give her a chance to know you better.
Perhaps he could do that, too.
Chapter Eight
A man could do far worse than to have Katie Macauley riding up beside him in a buggy, even if that buggy was not exclusively his and they’d nothing finer to see than the very familiar Irish Road. Tavish had driven her about the past few afternoons, but that Sunday evening was different. They weren’t making deliveries, weren’t rushed for time. This wasn’t business. ’Twas courting, true and proper, something there’d not been time for before.
“I still say ’tis a full shame there was no céilí yesterday.” Katie had sorrowed over that a few times during their drive. “I look forward to the music all week.”
“A fine fiddler such as yourself can have music whenever she pleases.” He kept the horse at a sedate pace. Driving a fair lady about ought to take time, after all.
Katie tossed him a smile. “Granny and I had plenty of music last evening. Between my fiddle and her talent for tapping spoons, we had tunes all night. Our own little céilí, it was.”
“And you didn’t invite me?” He scoffed dramatically. “I’m fully offended, Katie Macauley. Fully offended.”
She rolled her eyes, and he couldn’t help a grin.
“What would you have contributed to our little party?” Katie asked. “No one was allowed admittance unless he added to the music.”
“I’d have sung for you, Sweet Katie.” He could see the comment intrigued her.
“Have you a talent for it, Tavish? Or are you of the sort to frighten off small children?”
“Perhaps if you’re very nice, dear, you’ll find out one day.”
He loved that her smile grew when he teased her. In the first weeks of their acquaintance his joking had seemed to only confuse or upset her. She understood him better now.
“Why is it you don’t toss your voice in at the céilís? Are you more terrible than you’re letting on? Can’t keep a tune in a brand-new bucket, is that it?”
“Are you trying to trick me into serenading you, you troublesome woman?” He laughed as he clicked the reins, setting the horse going a bit. “I’ll tell you here and now, Sweet Katie, I don’t sing for just anyone, nor for just any occasion.”
“But you would have graced our tiny little céilí last evening?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But, you should know, my own family can likely count on just one hand how many times I’ve joined in a tune with any of them these past few years.”
“What’s made you stop?”
The answer came in a single word: Bridget. He’d sung often with his poor sweetheart before she died. While he wasn’t full mourning her passing any longer, there were some things that still pricked at his heart too much, even after a half-decade.
“You tell me you have a fine voice, and then you refuse to prove it.” Katie shook her head, a twinkle in her eyes. “You’re terrible, Tavish. Terrible. Terrible.”
“And you shouldn’t be forced to ride about with a terrible man.” He gave her his most dramatic look of empathy. “I’ll just slow the wagon down enough so you can jump out and walk the rest of the way home.”
Her face lit with silent laughter. She slipped her arm through his, scooting closer to him. He could grow quite used to having Katie sitting beside him, hugging his arm with hers. Even the ache of thinking back on Bridget tucked itself firmly away when Katie was with him. She leaned her head against him. He wished the Irish Road were longer. Their drive would be over in but a few more minutes.
“Is there anything else needing attention at your new home?” Between Katie’s bread deliveries and repairs at Granny’s house, Tavish had managed to spend some time with her the last few days, but not near as much as he would have liked. He was strung thin, trying to see to his own farm and Ian’s.
“Everything is holding up,” Katie answered. “We’re quite snug there.” She slid her hand into his, still managing to keep her arm wrapped around his arm. “Did you know I never had a room all to myself before coming here? Servants share quarters. And my sister and I shared the loft in our home growing up. The boys slept there too before they all left—only a blanket hung up to divide the tiny space in half.”
A small house with little but a family space and a loft. Tavish’s current home could be de
scribed in exactly the same way. He’d put all his profits into paying down his debt on the land itself. Only in the last year had he begun putting aside what he needed to begin adding on to the house. ’Twas that money, and what he could have gotten from Joseph Archer for selling off his land, that he’d meant to live on in order to follow Katie to Ireland. He hadn’t, in the short time since those plans had changed, given any real thought to what he’d do with the funds from his berries.
“So you enjoy having your own room, do you?”
“It makes me feel very fancy.” Her smile was a touch whimsical. “A person feels less—I don’t know, less dispensable when she has a space all her own. She feels more important, I suppose. A person has to be truly needed for her to be worth more than a tiny corner of an attic or a blanket on the kitchen floor.”
Tavish knew in that instant exactly how he meant to spend the bit of savings he’d set aside. He meant to court Katie and, in time, he’d ask her to marry him. But when he brought her to his home—to her new home—she’d find a room waiting there just for her. If a room was what she needed to feel essential in his life, that was exactly what he would give her.
He turned the buggy in at Ian and Biddy’s. He and Ian shared ownership of the buggy. Ian had acquired it in a shrewd deal two years back whilst they were down at the train depot selling off grain. It was something of an extravagance—not useful really, but a fine thing to have for riding about or making a quick trip into town.
Tavish brought the buggy to a stop just outside the barn. Katie made to climb down, as she always did.
“At least give me a chance to be a gentleman,” he lightly scolded.
They’d had this very conversation a few times. She stopped at the edge of the bench and waited for him to make his way around. He reached up and lifted her down.
“I don’t know why it is you insist on doing this,” she said as her feet reached the ground. “I can get down on my own.”
“Oh, I know you can.” He kept his hands at her waist and leaned in toward her. “But it gives me a rare opportunity to stand particularly close to you.”
Hope Springs (Longing for Home - book 2, A Proper Romance) Page 6