by Kit Morgan
“Yer welcome.”
“Sit down now,” said Mrs. Mullaney as she carried a large pot to the table. “Finn, after breakfast ye'll need to see to Mr. Sampson. His family will be here soon.”
“I will, Maither. But as soon as we’re done with Mr. Sampson, we need to talk.”
“About what, lad? There's nothing to talk about. The matter is settled. Now, eat your oatmeal.” She slopped a large spoonful of the stuff into his bowl, then went to Eva. “You and I’ll get acquainted this afternoon after poor Mr. Sampson's had his service.”
“Sampson?” asked Eva. She then remembered what it was the Mullaneys did for a living. “Ah yes, I understand. Poor Mr. Sampson.”
“Not really,” said Mrs. Mullaney, and quickly gave the sign of the cross. “He was a drinking man, and poor wee Mrs. Sampson is, shall we say, relieved to lay her husband to rest.”
Eva’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness.”
“I always knew that one day I'd be lying Mr. Sampson down in something other than his own bed,” added Finn.
Eva looked between Mrs. Mullaney and her son. “I don't understand,” she said.
Mrs. Mullaney put the pot of oatmeal back on the stove. “Finn helped put that man to bed many a time after helping him home from McPhee’s place.”
“Aye, the poor man never could hold his liquor,” commented Finn.
Eva stared at him. “Liquor? You would help him home after he'd been drinking?”
“Aye, more times than I can count.”
The Sampsons live just a few doors down,” Mrs. Mullaney explained.
Eva vaguely remembered seeing a house or two next to the cemetery, but hadn’t paid them much attention because of her own circumstances. She stared at Finn. The thought he might be a drinking man didn't set well with her. “I see,” she said with an accusatory tone.
He looked up from his oatmeal. “Here now,” he said. “Don’t ye go thinking that.”
“Thinking what?” she asked with an inward sigh of relief.
“Mr. Sampson and I did not drink together. He drank alone, and liked it that way.”
She eyed him with an accusing stare. “And do you like to drink alone?”
“I never drank at McPhee's. I was there on business.”
She raised a curious eyebrow. “What kind of business?”
“Don't pay him any mind, dearie,” said Mrs. Mullaney. “Finn doesn't do that sort of thing anymore – do ye, son?”
“No,” he said solemnly. “I never should've gotten involved with it in the first place.”
Eva watched as Mrs. Mullaney’s eyes became downcast. “May I ask what kind of business it was?”
“Oh sure, dearie. Finn used to manage Lorcan’s fights for him.”
“Fights?” she asked, her voice rising an octave, and looked at Finn. She briefly recalled him telling her Lorcan was a fighting man, but …
“I have nothing to do with it anymore – do ye hear me, lass? And I never will again. It's a nasty business, and I don’t know what I was doing thinking I could make money at it.”
“Now, Finn, Lorcan made plenty of extra money for his folks with his fights. And you helped him.”
“Aye, and look what happened to him. The man's blind now because of me and my bad decisions.”
Eva’s eyes flicked from one face to the other as they talked. What was all this about?
“Son, ye can't blame yourself. It’s over now, so stop.”
Finn closed his eyes. “Maither, that's easier said than done.” He opened them and looked at her across the table. “If only I could.” Without another word, he got up and left the kitchen.
* * *
Eva watched Finn go then turned to Mrs. Mullaney. “What happened?”
“It's a sad story, really, but with a happy ending,” she said. “Lorcan was a brawny lad, still is, and married to a wonderful lass. He stopped fighting after they wed, or so he thought. He was forced into a fight by a very bad man.”
Eva thought a moment as she took in what Mrs. Mullaney was saying. “And Finn managed Lorcan?” she asked, wondering if Finn really had been the downfall of his friend.
“Aye – he would arrange the fights, many of which were held at McPhee's. That’s a pub on the other side of town. They were fair fights, supervised for the most part. Lorcan was undefeated. And though he brought in extra money for his family – they own a bookshop– his mother didn't like him fighting so much and wanted him to settle down. She and Mr. Brody thought if he was married and had a pretty wife at home, he’d stop. They were right,” she finished with a wink.
Eva sat back in her chair, her mouth half-open. “I see … this explains a few things. Am I right in assuming that Lorcan lost his sight due to a fight that Finn arranged?”
“Aye, you heard the lad. He arranged the one that took his sight. But a later fight was arranged for him by a man named Brennan, a stranger in town. English.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Finn knew Lorcan wouldn't want to do it, not only because he was married, but because he’d already lost his sight. But this Brennan blackguard wouldn’t take no for an answer. He kidnapped Lorcan and forced him to fight even though he was blind.”
Eva's gasped as she stared at Mrs. Mullaney. “Then what happened?”
“Well, Lorcan’s wife, Ada – she’s a feisty thing – she found Finn as soon as she realized Lorcan was missing. They fetched the sheriff, who gathered a gang and rode out to the farm where the fight was. They left Ada behind in a field to wait, while Finn and the men stormed the place and rescued Lorcan.”
Eva was enthralled at this point. She leaned across the table. “What happened to … what was his name? The Englishman.”
“Lord Brennan, he called himself.” Mrs. Mullaney leaned across the table as well. “He got away from them somehow, and no one has seen or heard him from him since.”
“That's quite a tale, Mrs. Mullaney. I can understand now why your son feels so guilty.”
“Aye, but he’s got to let it go! I've talked to him and so has his father, but something like this only time can heal. Eventually, he’ll come around, but until then all we can do is be patient and help the lad along.”
“What a terrible burden to bear.”
“Aye, but mark my words, he will come around. And when he does, we’ll have to make sure you're waiting for him, now won’t we, dearie?”
Eva’s eyes widened. “What?”
Mrs. Mullaney leaned closer. “I'll tell ye this, dearie – that son of mine has an eye for ye, I can tell. He just feels like he doesn't deserve ye, that's all.”
Eva felt her hopes soar. “You really think so?”
“He's handsome, don't ye think?”
Eva blushed a furious red.
“I thought ye did,” she said with a wink. “Don't ye worry. If Mr. Mullaney and I have our way, the two of ye will be married by harvest moon.”
“Harvest moon? When is that?”
Mrs. Mullaney laughed. “Ye must be from a big city and not know many farming folk.”
“I'm sorry, I’m just so muddled by this whole mess. Of course I know when harvest moon is.” Her eyes widened even further. “But Mrs. Mullaney, that’s only a week away!”
“Aye. And if our son wasn't so stubborn and bent on torturing himself, ye'd likely be married already.”
“I must say, you sound awfully sure of this.”
“That’s because I am. Now eat yer oatmeal like a good lass, then we'll see about locating yer things. Someone should've brought them to the house by now.”
A tingle went up her spine, and she attacked her oatmeal. Perhaps things were going to work out for her after all.
Six
After breakfast, Mrs. Mullaney helped Eva back to her room to wash. The woman then sat her down at a small vanity and pinned her hair up for her. Eva belatedly realized she’d been wearing it down at breakfast. She was appalled that Finn had seen her with the long braid.
“Don't let it worry ye none, dearie,” hi
s mother consoled. “All men love to see a woman's hair when it's down. Ye just met in the middle and had yours braided.”
“This business has me more mixed up than I thought,” she confided. “I've never left the house wearing my hair down, in any fashion.”
“Well then, ye still have a clean record, don't you? After all, ye didn't leave the house.”
Eva had to laugh at the woman's logic. “No, I didn’t, did I? Still, your son is a stranger to me, and I feel it was improper.”
“Nonsense, nothing improper about it. Not when the two of you are going to be married.”
Eva saw Mrs. Mullaney's happy countenance in the mirror. “How can you say that? He still doesn't seem happy that I'm here.”
“I’ve said it once, I'll say it again – if I have my way, the two of you will be married by harvest moon.”
I hope so, Eva thought to herself. She continued to let Mrs. Mullaney fuss over her hair, even let her place a pretty bow in it.
“Ye look grand, dearie. Finn will really be upset with himself now!”
“Upset?”
“Of course, dearie. Men are always fighting with themselves over a woman. Didn't ye know that?”
“I wasn't aware. The only fights over women I've ever seen were between two men, not one.”
“He's got to wrestle with himself. If he doesn't, he’ll feel guilty over Lorcan’s blindness the rest of his life. But I trust that yer being here will help him win the fight.”
Eva was glad one of them was confident. Still … could she put her faith in such a thing? Her earlier surge of hope diminished with the thought. For years, her mother told Eva to trust her ability to know what was best for her. Unfortunately, Mrs. Brock's ability to run Eva’s life consisted of controlling it lock, stock, and barrel. She’d soon learned that the only ones she could put her faith in were the Almighty and herself. Everyone else was suspect.
Speaking of the Almighty … “What time is Mr. Sampson's … er … funeral?”
“You can say the word, dearie. It is what we do for our living – that and the pumpkins.”
“Ah yes, the pumpkin patch I tripped in.”
“Is that where ye hurt yer ankle?” asked Mrs. Mullaney. “Well, now. There's no doubt about it, ye have to stay. We’re responsible for ye.”
Eva smiled. “Your son informed me of that last night. But he said I was his responsibility. I’m afraid he didn't mention you.”
“Why would he? He's the one that found ye out there.” She patted her own hair and studied her reflection in the mirror. “The Mullaney men are stubborn like that, but don't worry, ye'll learn. Before ye know it ye'll be able to handle Finn just like I handle Mr. Mullaney.”
Eva looked at her and smiled. “And how is that?”
Mrs. Mullaney grinned. “Good food, a clean house, lots of love … and a really sharp tongue.”
Eva couldn't help but laugh and tried to picture giving Finn Mullaney a good scolding. The image that popped into her mind, however, was not what she expected. In her mind’s eye, he grabbed her, kissed her, then swept her into his arms and carried her up a staircase. She gasped at the unbidden thought.
“What's the matter, dearie?”
“Oh … nothing.”
“Well, then, I'll get ye settled in the parlor and, if ye don't mind, have ye do some of my mending for me while I attend to Mr. Sampson's services.”
“I'd be happy to! It's the least I can do for the kindness you’ve shown me by letting me stay here until my ankle is better.”
“Oh, I'm sure ye'll be up and around in time for yer wedding.”
Eva’s heart leapt at the words, but her mind clouded with doubt. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Mullaney, but until I see for myself that your son has changed his mind about marrying me, I’d prefer not to be told such things.”
Mrs. Mullaney leaned against the vanity and looked at her, frowning “I'm sorry, dearie, but if I wasn't sure, I wouldn't say anything.”
“Ma'am, you might be sure, but I'm afraid I don't have your faith in this matter. I wish I did.”
“He'll come around, I promise ye that. Now, let's get ye into the parlor. I've got to get downstairs and get to work.”
Eva nodded and let the woman help her into the parlor. She settled into a chair near a window that overlooked the street, and took up the mending from a nearby basket.
“I'll be back in time to fix lunch, dearie,” Mrs. Mullaney called over her shoulder as she headed out the door.
“I'll be waiting,” Eva called after her.
But of course she’d be waiting. Where would she go with a twisted ankle? She shook her head, then pulled up a shirt and inspected it. It was large, and she immediately knew it belong to Finn. Part of the sleeve had been torn at the armpit. “Why, Mr. Mullaney,” she whispered. “However did you tear your shirt?” She picked up a needle and thread from a small sewing basket near her feet, and set to work. She mended the shirt, sewed several buttons onto another, and repaired part of the hem of one of Mrs. Mullaney's dresses.
She was about to start darning a sock when there was a knock on the door. She froze. Should she answer it? It wasn’t her house, after all … and she was here alone …
“Mr. Mullaney?” a man's voice called.
“Just a moment,” Eva called back. Whoever it was was probably there on business and didn't know the Mullaneys were at a funeral. She got up from the chair and limped across the parlor to the door. “I'm sorry, but Mr. Mullaney isn't here right now,” she said without opening the door.
“Oh, that's too bad,” the voice drawled in a southern accent. “Is Mrs. Mullaney home?”
“I'm afraid they’re both working right now, but you can find them in the cemetery, I'm sure.”
“I have somethin’ faw them. Would ya mind openin’ the doah?”
Eva thought a moment. This wasn't her house, but then, this was also the Mullaneys’ place of business.
“Miss?”
Eva shook herself. She was being silly. She opened the door. “I can take whatever it is you have for them, and see that they get it.”
A tall, well-dressed gentleman stood on the landing and smiled at her. He had dark hair, a trim mustache, and an ugly scar that ran down the left side of his face. “That would be most kind of ya.” He took a moment to look her over. “Ah you … related?”
“To the Mullaneys?”
“Of cawse, who else?”
“No, I'm not related,” she told him. “What did you want to leave for them?”
“Ah, yes.” He reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out an envelope. “If you would be so kahnd as to give this to Mr. Finn Mullaney, Ah would be evah so grateful.”
Eva looked at the envelope. There was no name on it. “Finn Mullaney?”
“He doesn’t still live heah, does he?”
“Yes, he does. It's just that you asked for Mr. and Mrs. Mullaney earlier, so I thought that’s who this was for.”
He smiled at her. “Mah apologies, ma’am – Ah’d heahd he’d moved away, so Ah thought Ah’d be givin’ it to them to pass on to him.” He smiled again and studied her. “And you ah …?”
“Miss Brock,” she told him. Something about the man seemed off. Oh no! What if her mother had hired someone to find her? “Are … you from around here?”
“Naw, just passin’ through. It was a pleasuah to meet you, Miss Brock,” he said and tipped his hat. “Ah'll be goin’ now.”
“Thank you,” she said, relieved. How could her mother find her that quickly? Yet there was still something odd about him. “It was nice meeting you too, Mr. …”
He turned on the landing and smiled. “Slade. Thaddeus Slade.”
* * *
“My condolences, Mrs. Sampson,” Finn said, and gave the new widow a hug. She nodded and continued on her way to receive the same from Finn's father, who stood next to him.
They shook hands and hugged the rest of the mourners as one by one they left the gravesite, until there was no one left bu
t the Mullaneys and Rev. Franklin. “Poor Mrs. Sampson,” the preacher said as he looked sadly after the young widow. “I hope she's able to get along all right.”
Finn and his father watched as she led a small boy through the cemetery gate. The Sampsons’ son had just turned four, and Finn wondered if he would remember his father as he grew up, or if the man would soon be forgotten. Mr. Sampson hadn’t been the best husband and father, having spent most of his time with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. As far as he knew, young Ellie Sampson had no family in the area. Even becoming a mail-order bride wasn’t an option, not with a child in tow.
“Aye,” agreed Finn’s father. “I hope so, too.” He turned to Finn. “Best we get to work, son. Reverend, it’s been a pleasure as always.”
Rev. Franklin shook his hand. “Perhaps next time the pleasure will be a wedding, instead of a funeral.”
“Ye can count on that!” Mr. Mullaney said with a happy smile.
Finn rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was going to have to put a stop to this. His parents were becoming too used to the idea of him marrying Miss Brock.
“Terrible thing about the stagecoach accident yesterday, wasn't it?” said the reverend.
“Oh, terrible to be sure,” Finn's father agreed. “But we have the young lady safe and sound with us. Don't worry, Reverend, Finn here will take good care of her.”
Finn groaned. “Da, stop.”
“Stop what? Yer going to marry the girl.”
“Marry?” asked Reverend Franklin in surprise. “Who is this girl?”
“Ye’ve not heard the news?” asked Mr. Mullaney. “Phinehas here went and got himself a mail-order bride.”
Reverend Franklin's brows rose in question. “You ordered a bride?”
“No,” Finn replied sharply. “I didn't.”
Rev. Franklin flinched at the comment. “I'm sorry, but I seem to be confused …”
“Don't mind him, Reverend,” Mr. Mullaney assured him. “The poor lad got a bump on the head yesterday.”
“How did ye know that?” Finn asked in shock. “I never told you”
“Ye didn't have to. The sheriff did.”