Pioneer Dream: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga

by Ramona Flightner

  Although there was a front door along Main Street, it was rarely used. Most entered by walking up the ramp leading into the warehouse through two barn doors on the side of the building. Inside, the large space was organized by tools, mining, home, food, farm, or miscellaneous. Many of the items could fall into more than one category, and the man unloading the crate had to determine where one of his brothers had placed the last rolling pin, harness, or box of candles. To the side of the large space, Seamus had carved out a small office and he spent a large portion of his time there, working on accounts and paperwork when he wasn’t at the docks talking with the captains and deck hands. He trusted his sons to run the shop and warehouse and tried not to meddle.

  Today, Kevin unloaded a crate of axes, chisels, pans and other mining implements. He inspected each one to ensure all were in good working order. Rarely were shoddy materials mixed into their goods and their father sent them back with a letter Kevin would love to read but never receive.

  Declan entered and made a beeline for Kevin. He paused in front of Kevin’s crate, his blue eyes lit with excitement and anticipation. “So, what do you think, Kev? You said you had seen her on your steamboat as you rode up with her.” He acted like a child after having eaten too much candy.

  “She seemed like a fine woman,” Kevin said as he stared at his brother with disgruntlement. “I don’t understand why you want to marry a stranger.”

  Declan shrugged. “She’ll only be a stranger for a little while. And then we’ll be …” He broke off as his gaze became shadowed. “I’m tired of bein’ alone, Kev.”

  Kevin rolled his eyes, leaning on the open sides of the crate. “How can you say that when you live with seven of your brothers and your father?”

  “Don’t be obtuse,” Ardan said as he joined the conversation. His gaze held a warning for Kevin and then he smiled at Declan, who was seven years younger than his thirty-two. “Although you might want to clean up some if you want to impress your woman. No lass wants to bed a man who looks like he’s been lost in the wilderness for half a year or doesn’t know his way around a razor.”

  Declan punched Ardan on his shoulder before running a hand down his beard. His black hair was shoulder length and tied back to keep it from fluttering around his face when he worked. “Da has a beard.”

  “Aye, an’ we all know why,” Ardan murmured. When Declan shook his head as though he didn’t, Ardan said, “Da won’t shave off his beard because he grew it out on the journey to America. And Mum liked it. It’s as though he keeps her memory alive by not shavin’ it off.” His voice had dropped to a whisper as he talked about their mother who died in Montreal in 1847 after the birth of their youngest sister, Maggie, who also then died.

  Declan nodded. “Well, I like wearing a beard. Shaving’s too much of a bother.” He laughed as his brothers rolled their eyes at him. “Besides, we have to have some way to tell all the O’Rourke lads apart.”

  Ardan smiled at him. “Well, no one will ever mistake you for me, Finn or Eamon,” he said, referring to their brothers who were in their early twenties. “An’ Kev has the look of Mum about him.” He sobered at the mention of their mother again on the same day.

  Declan forced a grin. “What do you think of my bride to be, Ardan?” he asked. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Aye, any lass in Fort Benton is beautiful,” Ardan said, laughing as he danced away from his brother as he earned another belt from him. “I hope she’ll make you very happy.”

  “Why wouldn’t she?” Declan asked. “She wants to marry. I want to marry.” He shrugged as though there were little of more importance to say.

  “’Tisn’t as simple as that, Declan,” Kevin said with a long-suffering sigh. “Do you feel anythin’ for her? A connection? Or do you only look at her and hope she’ll cook well and give you babes?” He looked at his brother in confusion. “Is that all you want?”

  “How else are we to meet women?” Declan asked. “Besides, I want my own home. I want my own family. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

  Kevin gripped his shoulder. “No, ’tisn’t. But be sure her motives are as pure as yours. For a woman to travel all the way here, there must be somethin’ she’s runnin’ away from.”

  Declan tilted his chin up in defiance. “Or someone she’s running toward.” He spun on his heel and stormed out of the warehouse.

  Kevin sighed and rubbed at his head. “That didn’t go well,” he murmured to Ardan who watched him with unveiled concern.

  “How would it have?” he asked. “You’re givin’ romantic advice to the man who’ll steal away the woman you want. Not a sound plan, Kev.”

  Kevin nodded and stared into the crate, his mind focused on the fleeting moments on the steamboat when he’d known absolute contentment because he’d been in Aileen’s company. He feared he’d never know such joy again.

  A few days after her arrival in Fort Benton, Aileen snuck out of her hotel room a little after dawn. She left her aunt snoring soundly and knew she had at least an hour before her aunt rose. Desperate for a few moments to herself, she wrapped her cape around her and headed in the direction of the river.

  The levee was virtually abandoned at this hour of the morning as most men slept late after a night carousing when a steamboat was not expected. She stood staring out at the muddy roaring water of the Missouri as a gentle mist clung to its surface. A heron swooped in and out of the mist, appearing as though a mystical creature with its graceful long wings spread wide as it soared on the soft breeze, searching for a place to perch and fish. A fresh dew clung to the grass and shrubs not trampled by men or horses. On the opposite side of the river, brown cliffs rose over a hundred feet from the river, the top bright as the sun rose over the cliffs. Soon, she knew everything would be bathed in a brilliant light, the mist would melt away, and another hot day would begin.

  A hand touched her arm and she jolted, although she made no noise. She spun to find Kevin O’Rourke behind her. “Mr. O’Rourke,” she breathed.

  The delight in his gaze faded at her greeting. “I’m Mr. O’Rourke again,” he said in a flat tone.

  “I fear I don’t know what else I should call you,” she said as she met his disappointed gaze. “I’m betrothed to your brother.”

  “There’s no need to remind me,” he snapped. “Declan can talk of little else as I’m stuck in the warehouse workin’ beside him.” He clamped his jaw shut a moment and then rasped, “Did you know?” At her blank stare, he asked, “When we were on the steamboat, did you know you were promised to my brother?”

  “No! I swear. I had no idea!”

  He shook his head. “Why did you back away from me when I introduced myself the first day we met? When I caught you so you wouldn’t fall and I told you my name?”

  She flushed but continued to meet his gaze. “I felt a connection to you. And it frightened me because I knew I was promised to another.”

  “Why kiss me if you meant to keep your promise to the man your aunt planned to marry you to?”

  She looked hopelessly into his gaze, searching for any sign of his regard or warmth, but saw a cold intensity instead. She shivered. “I was caught up in the moment,” she whispered.

  His eyes flashed and the coldness was replaced by a heated anger as he clasped her elbow. “What happens when it occurs again, but you’re married to my brother? Will you play him false?”

  “No,” she gasped, wrenching her arm free. “I’m honorable. I will never dishonor him or myself in that way.” She ducked her head, raising her hand to swipe at her cheek as a tear fell. “I hoped …” She closed her eyes and then shook her head. “It no longer matters what I hoped.”

  Kevin took a step closer to her, his gaze roving over her as though attempting to discern her secrets as she stood stoically in front of him. “I want to understand. I want to know if …” He sighed, breaking off what more he would have revealed. He took another step closer until they were sharing the same air. “What are we to do, Aileen?�
� he whispered, noting how she shivered at the use of her name.

  “I don’t know,” she said, myriad emotions in her gaze. “For my whole life, my one great dream has been to marry and have my own family. I have that opportunity now.”

  “I made you a promise,” he said, his gaze filled with torment and thwarted hope. “I like to believe I’m a man of my word.”

  “I remember what I asked you,” she said, ducking her head. “He’s not hideous and I believe he’s a good man.”

  “Aye, he is,” Kevin whispered. “Declan’s a fine man.”

  She met his gaze, the unspoken words but he’s not you shimmering between them. She waited for him to speak, to protest she should marry him, to break his vow, but he remained quiet. “I can’t break my word,” she finally whispered.

  He backed up, breaking the intimacy of the moment. “No, you can’t. You’re an honorable lass, an’ I wouldn’t care for you as I do if you were other than you are.” He looked over her shoulder at the river, his expression bleak. “I wish you very happy with Declan. He’s a wonderful man.” He nodded before turning away.

  She watched him leave, the bright sunlight shining on him like a beacon. When he ducked around a building, hiding him from view, she pressed a hand to her heart, swallowing a sob. “You can do this,” she whispered to herself. She stood a moment longer, mourning her dream for them, and then raced back to the hotel, hopeful her aunt still slumbered.

  Chapter 4

  Mary Bergeron walked down Front Street, the busiest street in Fort Benton that ran beside the levee abutting the Missouri River. The majority of the stores stood along this street, including a hotel, café, numerous saloons and a bordello. A bathhouse and laundry did a roaring business, and she hoped the general store was as well stocked as was reported to be. A livery was at the far end of the business district. There was a patchwork wooden walkway in front of the more established buildings and long wooden poles acted as hitching posts for horses in front of the businesses.

  After disembarking a few days ago, she was thankful to have found a place to rent for her and her children, although it reminded her of the shack she had settled in Montreal after leaving Ireland. She paused, closing her eyes to push away those memories. Even after eighteen years, her abandonment brought a tremendous ache. Mary took a deep breath and continued her walk into town, determined to purchase food and a few supplies. Although she had no desire to move farther into Montana Territory, she was well aware her brother-in-law, Jacques, had gold fever. She knew better than to become comfortable here for it was only a matter of time before they would leave for Virginia City.

  She fought a weariness of spirit as she thought about her husband, Francois. He had been as much of a vagabond as his brother, never liking to remain in one place, insisting she and their children traveled with him. Although she had detested the life of a wanderer, she had learned to pack light, to wear sturdy walking shoes, and to never complain. For complaining only led to trouble she’d rather forget. With a deep sigh, she focused on the sunlight streaming through the clouds, marveling that the sky seemed endless here.

  Glancing at the dun colored bluffs that bracketed the far bank of the mighty Missouri River, she wished she could climb them to see if it truly felt like she could see to infinity. She had heard it was a land with limitless possibilities, and at fifty, she found herself yearning for more from life than that of an itinerant wanderer. An intense ache for a home with her children settled deep inside her, but she ignored it. Without the support of her brother-in-law, she would be destitute. If she had learned one vital lesson nearly eighteen years ago, it was to survive.

  Mary ran a hand over her auburn hair now mixed with gray and then smoothed her brown skirts. Picking her way around the dusty, rut filled streets, she paused at hearing laughter. Glancing up, she blanched at the sight of a tall man, with black hair shot with gray, holding a child over his head. She fell to the side as her legs gave out, thankful a wagon was there for her to lean against. “Seamus,” she breathed.

  Blinking, she stared again as she had imagined him an unfathomable number of times during the past eighteen years. He’d come to her in the depths of her despair, when she was ill, or when she feared she lacked the strength to continue. However, that Seamus had always proven to be a figment of her imagination. This man in front of her was no ghost, but a flesh and blood man, ignorant of her presence.

  A panic and then rage filled her. How dare he be filled with joy? How dare he know happiness after abandoning her? She swiped at her cheek as a tear leaked out. “Are you married?” she whispered to herself as she watched his easy lope as he walked in the opposite direction, the child tucked onto his hip.

  After a long moment, she pushed herself up and walked down the area in front of hastily constructed buildings. She ignored the saloons and prayed she never had a need to enter into the house of ill repute. She continued on, nearing an area where the steamboats tended to dock until she reached a one story, whitewashed clapboard building with the name O’Rourke and Sons in bold black letters overhead. She stared at in in wonder, confused that she had missed seeing it when she had disembarked the steamboat from Saint Louis, although that day had been filled with chaos and uncertainty. She fought the leap of joy in her heart at seeing that name again. At fighting crying out that she was an O’Rourke too. The joy faded as she remembered the harsh reality of her situation.

  “Oh no,” she breathed as she clutched her hands together. Were her children here too? She stepped aside as a steady stream of men pushed forward to enter the establishment while satisfied men left. She forced herself to enter, ducking her head to remain as inconspicuous as possible. However, the men inside were focused on the supplies they needed, not on a middle-aged woman.

  She glanced around the dimly lit store, crammed full with every mining implement known to man. The two front windows did little to allow sufficient light to enter and there were plenty of corners that allowed her to hide away and watch the interaction of the men at the front of the shop.

  Two men, both young and appearing in their early twenties, laughed and cajoled customers to buy more than they needed. One moved to the back room and her breath caught as she focused on the one who remained behind the counter. She forced herself not to stare at the young man who was the spitting image of Seamus as a young man. Although not quite as tall, and not with Seamus’s serious determination, he had his father’s brilliant blue eyes and jet black hair. Unwittingly, she had joined the line and watched as he interacted with the man directly in front of her with a quiet confidence. Mary blinked back tears at the reminder of her husband. Her feckless first husband.

  With a deep breath, she approached the counter and handed over her list. The young man barely spared her a glance before passing it on to the other man who could have been his twin and who had emerged from the back room. She gaped at the two of them, blurting out, “Eamon?” before she could stop herself.

  The man who now held her list turned back to her with a curious, impersonal smile. “Yes, ma’am?” he asked. “I did not know I was so famous.” He ribbed his brother with his elbow and winked at him, earning a snort of amusement. “See, Finn? I’m well known.”

  His brother rolled his eyes as he focused on Mary. “I’m sorry for my brother’s impertinence, ma’am,” he said with a broad smile that made her breath catch.

  She shook her head as though to reassure him, but the sound of a deep, melodious voice in the back room filtered out and she paled. Gripping the counter with all her might, she attempted to smile in reassurance as her sons stared at her with concern. When she heard footsteps approaching, she spun to race away, running heedlessly into a man examining mining supplies.

  As she bashed her head against a metal shovel, she grunted in agony before crumpling to the floor.

  Kevin organized and reorganized a pile of linens that needed no such attention. Unable to focus on anything but his interaction with Aileen that morning, he berated himself for his pe
rsistent fascination. For not turning away when he saw her standing on the riverbank alone.

  “Fool,” he muttered to himself. He hated the forced formality between them and longed for the intimacy he had known with her on the steamboat. Although he admitted to himself that had been a unique experience, most likely brought about by the amount of time they were together.

  He sighed, acknowledging that lie to himself too. He knew Aileen would have fascinated him, no matter where he met her. All she said and didn’t say that morning ran through his mind. Why hadn’t he pressed her to admit what she hoped for? Why hadn’t he admitted his need to know if she still wanted him?

  If she had, would he have fought Declan for her, rather than agreeing to step aside?

  “’Tisn’t the first time a lass has run away from your teasing,” Seamus O’Rourke grumbled as he approached the prostrate woman lying in a heap on the floor with a miner protesting he’d done nothing wrong and waving a shovel around like a madman. Seamus motioned for his customers to back up, grabbed the shovel, and stared at the miner until he had calmed down. Then he focused on the woman. The darkened interior of the room and her hair loosened from its pins obscured her face from view. Hefting her into his arms, he carried her to the back, settling her on a chair near a window. He poured a glass of water and set it on a table near her in case she needed a drink when she woke up.

  “Get me a damp cloth, Finn,” he said as he absently brushed her hair away from her face. When he turned back to look at her, he jumped away, his eyes rounded as he gaped at the woman. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he breathed as he held a hand to his heart. “It can’t be.”

  “Da?” Eamon asked as he peered around his father’s broad shoulders. “What’s the matter? Who is she?”