by Kit Morgan
“How did he know?”
“Mr. Dalton told him.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake.” Finn rubbed a hand over his face and looked at Rev. Franklin. “It's true, the little blighters got me right here,” he said and pointed to his temple.
Rev. Franklin examined the lump. “Ouch; that had to hurt!”
“Trust me, It did.”
“After Finn got whacked in the head, he plucked Miss Brock out of our pumpkin patch,” Mr. Mullaney stated with pride.
The minister’s eyes darted to the pumpkin patch beyond the cemetery. “Do tell?”
“Aye,” said Mr. Mullaney and slapped his son on the back. “They'll be married within a week, I'd wager.”
“Well, if I were a betting man, I’d take you up on that, Mr. Mullaney,” said Rev. Franklin with a smile.
“It's just as well you aren’t,” said Finn as he glared at his father.
Mr. Mullaney chuckled, his eyes twinkling something fierce. “I'll make the bet for you.”
Rev. Franklin chuckled, shook Mr. Mullaney's hand one more time, and turned to leave. “Perhaps I will see you at a wedding, then,” he said over his shoulder.
“You can count on it, Reverend!” Mr. Mullaney called after him.
“Da! Don't be telling folks such things! In fact, I'm going down to the station to buy a ticket for Miss Brock and send her back to where she came from, just as soon as we’re done with Mr. Sampson.”
“You'll do no such thing!”
“Da …” Finn said in warning.
“Don't you Da me, laddie! The best thing that could have ever happened to ye, and ye just want to toss it away?”
“The best thing? Shouldn't I be the judge of that?”
“Yer judgment would be a lot better, lad, if ye weren’t tearing yerself up.”
That got him. Finn stared at his father and fought the urge to tell him to mind his own business. Especially since he was right. Instead, he grabbed a shovel and plunged it into the mound of dirt he’d made the day before. “I'll finish here while you go check on our … houseguest.”
“She's a beautiful woman, son. Young, fresh, and wants to get married.”
“Yes, but for what reason?”
Mr. Mullaney wearily sighed. “Women become mail-order brides for all kinds of reasons, lad.”
“Yes, but she hasn’t told us why she did. I think there has to be more to it than that. She should have come clean and told us last night.”
“Yer looking for any excuse not to be with the lass, aren't ye?”
Finn got a good shovelful of dirt and tossed it into the grave. It hit the pine coffin with a loud thunk. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“I’m talking about love, marriage, life! But yer too deaf to hear it! Clean that grief out of yer ears, son, and listen to what the lassie has to say.” With that, he spun on his heel and left him alone with poor Mr. Sampson.
* * *
Finn pulled out a handkerchief, wiped the sweat from his brow, and leaned against his shovel. As usual, his extra help was nowhere to be found, so he labored alone. “Well, Mr. Sampson,” he said and looked at the now-filled grave. “I think I'll call it a day.” He crossed himself, said a quick prayer for the poor soul, and turned to leave.
“Ack!” he yelped in surprise.
A huge man stood in front of him, his arms crossed over a massive chest. He stared down at Finn with casual indifference.
“Ye scared me to death, sir!” Finn said as he looked him up and down and took a step back. The man was huge and powerfully built, his dark hair wind-tossed and shoulder-length.
He looked at Finn with piercing green eyes and smiled. “An Irishman?” he said to himself and chuckled. “I'm sorry if I startled ye.”
Finn took another step back to get a better look at him. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall! How could a man of that size sneak up on him like that? “I didn't hear ye come up behind me. How long have ye been standing there?”
“Long enough to see ye bless the poor man ye just buried.”
Finn studied him more closely. He was a Scot, if his accent was any indication. “What can I do for ye, sir?”
“I was told ye might be able to help me find someone.”
“Who told ye that?”
The Scotsman looked around for a moment. “Tell me laddie, is there somewhere we can talk?”
Finn eyed him warily. Did he have anything to do with Miss Brock? Was he looking for her? The thought rankled, and he fought the urge to pick up the shovel again. “Aye,” he said. “There's a coffee shop down the street, if ye'd like a cup, or we can go to my house.”
“Coffee sounds fine.”
“Excuse me, sir … ye seem to know who I am, but I didn't get yer name.”
The man smiled again. “MacDonald’s the name,” he said. “Shall we go then?”
“All right.” Finn brushed dirt from his hands and motioned for the man to follow him. He led him out of the cemetery, down the street, and around the corner to Rosie's Café. They went inside, found a table, and sat.
Within moments, Rosie came to take their order. “Two coffees, Rosie,” Finn told her with a smile.
“Right away, Finn,” she said, yet stared at the tall Scotsman. Finn looked between the two. He had to admit the Scot was a strikingly handsome fellow. No wonder the lass was gawking. But she finally gathered her wits about her and left.
Not wasting time, the big Scot rested his arms on the table and leaned toward him. It was clearly time to get down to business. “I'm looking for someone.”
“So ye told me.”
“His name is Brennan.”
Finn felt himself pale. “Brennan? Lord Philip Brennan?”
“Aye, laddie. Ye’ve seen him, then?”
Finn sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Aye, but I don't ever want to see him again!”
“Calm down, man. That makes two o’ us, but I havena a choice, I’ve got to find him. D’ ye ha’ any idea where he went?”
Finn studied the man's face. “Who are you? What do ye want?”
The Scot’s piercing green eyes narrowed. He leaned back in his own chair and gave him the most intense look Finn had ever seen. “I’ve told ye who I am. And what I want … is justice.”
Seven
“Mrs. Mullaney?” Eva called into the kitchen from her chair in the parlor.
“Yes, dearie?”
“A man came by while you were, ah … tending to Mr. Sampson.”
Mrs. Mullaney came into the parlor. “Really, dearie, it’s all right to say ‘funeral’. Who was he?”
“He said his name was Thaddeus Slade. He left this.” She pulled the envelope out of the sewing basket. “I'm sorry I forgot to mention it before.”
Mrs. Mullaney examined the pile of mended clothes. “You've been busy! Thank you so much – I think you've done an entire week’s worth!”
Eva smiled. “I'm just glad I could help.”
Mrs. Mullaney returned her smile, then looked at the envelope. “I wonder what it could be.”
“He said it was for Finn.”
“Finn?” Mrs. Mullaney tapped the edge of the envelope against her chin a few times. “What could he want with Finn?”
Eva shrugged. “He didn't say. He asked for you and Mr. Mullaney first, and when he found out you weren’t here, said to give that to Finn.”
“That's curious.” She shrugged. “No matter – the boy will tell us what it's about. Are ye ready to have yer lunch?”
“Yes, thank you. I am hungry.”
“Come on then, I'll help ye to the kitchen.” Eva got up and, with Mrs. Mullaney's help, limped to the table and sat.
Just then Finn came home. “There ye are, lad,” Mrs. Mullaney said with a happy smile. “I trust ye've worked up an appetite taking care of Mr. Sampson.”
Finn said nothing, and sat at the table.
Mrs. Mullaney frowned. “What's wrong?”
He looked up and met her
gaze. “Nothing.” His eyes searched the room. “Where’s Da?”
“He hasn't come up yet, but he'll be along,” she said as she turned, took a pot of soup from the stove and placed it on the table. “Eat up, the both of ye, before it gets cold.” She returned to the stove and pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven, then popped it out of the pan, put it on a plate and started to slice it. “A man came by earlier.”
Finns eyes flicked to her. “A tall man?”
“I didn't see him – the lass here did.”
“Was he tall?” Finn asked again, his voice oddly urgent.
“Well … yes, very,” said Eva. “But then, most men are a lot taller than me.”
Finn didn’t much feel like it, but a smile graced his mouth all the same. Eva Brock was a wee thing, and a pretty one at that. “What did he want?”
“He said to give you … oh, but I gave it to your mother, she has it.”
“Give me what?” he asked and looked at his mother.
She turned, placed the sliced bread on the table, then pulled the envelope out of her apron and handed it to him.
Finn studied the blank envelope as he turned it over in his hands. Had the Scotsman come to the house before he’d sought Finn out? He broke the seal, opened it and pulled out a piece of parchment. He unfolded it, read the brief missive, and went cold.
“What is it, lad?” his mother asked.
He swallowed hard and looked at her. “It's nothing,” he said and, as calmly as he could, folded the note up and stuffed it back into the envelope. Then he shoved it into the pocket of his jacket.
“Finn?” Mrs. Mullaney asked, her voice suspicious.
“Maither, I said it's nothing.”
“I know what ye said. I also know it’s not nothing.”
“Let's eat lunch, I’m starving,” was his only reply.
She watched him as he grabbed a piece of bread and set it near his bowl. Then he took another piece and gave it to Eva. Both women watched as he took her bowl, spooned soup into it, then got some for himself. He said a quick blessing and began to eat.
Mrs. Mullaney drummed her fingers on the table as she eyed him. “If ye know what's good for ye, lad …”
Finn glanced up from his meal and met her accusing stare. “Maither, please – leave it be!”
Mrs. Mullaney gasped. “Phinehas Mullaney, don't you use that tone with me!”
Eva sat, her spoon midway to her mouth, and watched the two. What was in that note? She wondered. And who was this Mr. Slade?
“Well,” huffed his mother. “Perhaps you'll tell yer father when he asks about it.”
“Maither, I said it's nothing.”
“And I said I know better,” she answered just as sharply.
Eva was surprised when she said nothing more. They ate in silence for a few moments, until Mr. Mullaney came home. What surprised her at that point was that Mrs. Mullaney didn't bring up the envelope with him. She was positive she would.
Finn, however, looked relieved. It appeared Eva wasn't the only one at the table with concerns she didn't want to talk about. Perhaps whatever was in the envelope would keep him from talking to her about going back to Independence. She had a feeling he didn’t believe everything she’d told him earlier, and she still needed time to come up with a backup plan. Mrs. Mullaney’s faith that her son would marry her within a week might be sadly misplaced.
But then, what if the news Finn had received was bad? Really bad? Wasn't she being selfish, hoping it would detour him? Come to think of it, bad news or good, the thought that she could use it to get Finn off the scent of her own trouble didn't say much for her character ...
The meal over, she set her spoon down and sighed. “Mr. Mullaney,” she said, turning to Finn. “May I speak with you?”
“Not right now,” he said. “I’m afraid I have business to attend to.”
“What business?” asked his father. “We’re done for the day, unless of course someone else has died.”
“It's a … private matter,” Finn said and stood.
“Ye mean ye haven't a few moments to speak with the lass?” asked his mother.
Finn looked at Eva, and she noticed his hands were balled into fists. “I can spare a minute or two, but no more.” She nodded and stood, and he helped her into the parlor and the chair she’d occupied while mending. Was he going to stand to speak with her?
No. Much to her surprise, he knelt next to the chair. “What is it?”
Her mouth went dry with the realization that she enjoyed being so close to him. “Um … in regards to what I said last night, about not being able to return to where I'm from?”
“Aye,” he drawled in suspicion.
“Well … it's about my mother …”
“Is she ill?”
“No, nothing like that. It's … just that she thinks I ought to live my life a certain way.”
Finn gave her a warm smile, albeit a small one. “You and yer maither don't see eye to eye, is that it?”
Her sigh was long and weary. “Something like that.”
“Is that why ye became a mail-order bride? So ye could get away from her?”
“I'm not proud of it,” she said.
He blew out a breath and looked at her. “I’ll tell ye, lass, ye wouldn't be the first and ye won't be the last to have a disagreement with a parent. But was it really enough to make ye want to leave?”
“Years’ worth.”
“I see,” he said and nodded. “Well, then, maybe ye can find another husband here in town.”
Eva bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. The man was determined to get rid of her! She swallowed hard. “Perhaps, but I'm not sure how to look for one.”
He took her hand. “We'll talk about this when I get back. Right now, I've something to attend to.”
A jolt of heat shot through her as he squeezed her hand. The man was telling her she should marry someone else, yet he looked at her like she was already his. Her heart confused, she watched as he stood and strode to the door. With a curt nod, he gazed at her one last time and left.
* * *
Finn raced down the stairs and out the back door. He practically ripped the envelope taking it from his coat pocket. His angry strides carried him quickly to Brody's Bookshop. Nightmares about what had happened with Lorcan were one thing, but to have them come to life was quite another. First the Scotsman's visit with all his questions, and now this! He gripped the envelope harder and strode on.
From the sounds of it, the Scot had delivered the envelope to his home then sought him out in the cemetery. What was the man doing? What could he possibly be up to? He must be using his search for Lord Brennan as a ruse to cover his real intentions. But why? Why not just grab Finn, drag him into a corner, and beat him to a pulp if that’s what he wanted? No, even Finn knew that wouldn't work. But what the demon Scot had just done would ...
Trying to calm himself, he stormed into the bookshop and went straight to Mr. Brody, who stood behind the counter. “Afternoon, Finn. What can I …”
“What do ye know about this?” Finn asked. He slapped the envelope on the counter and slid it across.
“What's the matter, lad? For Heaven’s sake, ye’ll do yerself a mischief!”
Finn tapped the envelope. “Read it.”
Mr. Brody looked at the envelope and picked it up slowly. Then he opened and read out loud the note inside. “Meet me at Harvey Wall’s barn at midnight, in three days. Or I cannot guarantee the safety of your family.” He slowly raised his face to Finn. “Who gave you this?”
“A tall Scotsman. Have ye seen him?”
“Mr. Brody shook his head. “No, I've seen no such person. What is this about? What does he want?”
“He found me in the cemetery, after Mr. Sampson's funeral, and wanted to speak with me. He asked a lot of questions.”
“About what?”
“About Lorcan and that … that devil Brennan, the one who caused all the trouble.”
Mr. Brod
y took a step back, his mouth open in shock. “No,” he breathed.
“Has anyone like that come to see ye, Mr. Brody? Anyone at all?”
“No, no one came here asking questions.”
“What about Meara? Has anyone bothered her?”
“If they had, she’d have told me about it.”
Finn sighed. “I don't know what do, Mr. Brody.”
“You ought to speak to the sheriff.”
“You remember what kind of man Lord Brennan was. If he has anything to do with this, he will hurt my family. Just look what he did to your son.”
Mr. Brody rubbed his face with his hands a few times and groaned in frustration. “We've got to do something, lad! We just can't stand by and let that maniac have his way with us. Did ye tell your da?”
“No. Mother tried to find out, but I didn’t tell her anything.”
“Do they know the man who brought this?”
“They weren’t home when he delivered it. Be wary of the tall Scotsman, though – he goes by two names.”
“What are they?”
“When I met him at the graveyard he told me his name was MacDonald. But he must have delivered this to my house before he found me, and he told Miss Brock his name was Slade.”
“Are ye sure it's the same man?” asked Mr. Brody. “Could it be there are two of them?”
“Tall is tall, Mr. Brody. And believe me, that Scot is tall.”
Did Miss Brock describe him the same way as ye saw him?”
Finn froze. Did she? He'd been so upset after reading the note that he couldn't recall. But she did say he was quite tall, didn’t she? Good Lord, what if there were two men? “The only thing I can think to do is to find the Scotsman and settle this.”
“Settle what? Ye don't even know what he wants.”
“He wanted to know if I'd seen Lord Brennan, or knew of his whereabouts.”
“We already told the law that none of us have seen the man again, or anyone who was with him that night.”
“Aye, I know. So why is this Scot looking for him now?”
“Is he a Pinkerton? Or mayhaps a U.S. Marshal? Finn, did ye think to ask if he was the law?”
“He showed me nothing that told me so, nor did he say he was.” Finn sighed in frustration and kicked the counter. “Fool that I am, I didn’t ask! I just wish I knew what he wanted.”