by Kit Morgan
“I take it Finn likes pumpkin pie?”
“Adores it,” she told her with a wink. She left the room and closed the door behind her.
Eva fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Again hope soared, and she prayed she had the strength to deal with the dark corners of Finn’s heart. From what little time she'd spent with the Mullaney family, she’d learned they were fiercely passionate, exceedingly stubborn and, at times, wonderfully wise. It wasn't hard to figure out – if she went by what Finn’s parents had told her – that his refusal to marry her was, in reality, his way of protecting her.
She smiled at the thought – the act showed his wisdom in the matter. However, it also showed her how deep his guilt ran.
But his parents seemed to think she could help him, and if doing so meant marrying the man, she was all for it. Love could eventually come, and she'd already resigned herself to the fact that, as a mail-order bride, she’d have to let love grow over time. It was Mrs. Mullaney's insistence on them having a fierce love for each other before they married that could tip the scales for their son, and push him to the altar.
Could it be then, that she would end up marrying for love, albeit indirectly? She shook her head. “That's silly,” she said to herself. “These people can't possibly expect me to fall in love with the man in the next week …”
But hadn’t Pastor Luke and Winnie Longfellow back home done just that? Okay, so maybe it took them two weeks, but still … they had fallen in love before they’d married, and in a very short time.
Eva sighed and pushed herself up from the bed. Even if she and Finn weren't in love when they married, she knew that eventually they would be, and that was all right with her. The only problem now was convincing Finn.
Nine
Finn trudged up the stairwell, only to be met by the smell of pumpkin pie. He stopped and inhaled, reveling in the rich aroma. The scent reminded him of all that was right with the world, and the things he could control – as opposed to things like the letter he’d left downstairs.
He stood a few moments and mused on his father's words. The man had never said such things to him before, nor called him such a name. It was almost more than he could stomach. But then, hadn’t he called himself the same thing yesterday? Wasn't he just being selfish?
He thought a moment. Perhaps stupid was a better word.
He glanced up the stairwell to the landing and the entrance to his home. Through that door was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, and she was his, if he'd only have her. But could he? Did he dare?
Then it hit him. He almost staggered from the impact of the revelation.
Eva Brock was Lorcan’s unspoken message of forgiveness! His friend wanted him to be happy, married, and experience the same love he’d found with his wife Ada. But why couldn't Finn find the strength to accept such a gift?
Of course, he knew – as did his mother and father, not to mention the Brodys. And Eva had probably figured it out. He couldn't forgive himself. In fact, he wasn't even sure he knew how. How could such an obvious problem, with an equally obvious solution, be so hard? If he truly had forgiven himself for what happened to Lorcan, wouldn't the nightmares have stopped by now? Wouldn’t the sourness he felt in the pit of his stomach be gone?
He inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of freshly-baked pie a moment longer, then climbed the remaining stairs to face his mother and – dare he say, or even think it? – his future bride.
He entered the parlor. Eva looked up from her mending and smiled at him, and he felt a tiny prick of … well, something. “Good afternoon. I see my mother has you slaving away for her.”
Eva looked at the shirt in her lap. She’d been sewing on a button, from the looks of it. “As I can't get around very well, I might as well stay occupied. Otherwise, I'd die of boredom.”
“I can understand that. Maybe in a couple of days you'll be up to going to Rosie’s Café. She makes the best coffee and pastries. We could … share a cup or two.” Good grief, did I really just say that?
She smiled at him again. “That would be lovely.” There was a sudden brightness in her eyes. He liked it.
He crossed the room and sat in the matching chair next to hers. “Ye'll need something to occupy your time,” he said. “Looks like ye've done all the mending.”
“So your mother tells me. I don't know what I'm going to do next.”
“Yer, eh, wearing a different dress.”
She picked at the ivory-colored lace collar before she smoothed part of the skirt. “One of the sheriff's men brought my trunk today.”
“I'm glad he did,” Finn commented as he sat back in his chair and studied her. “You, er … look very fine indeed.”
She blushed, and it made Finn smile. Was she attracted to him? “Thank you. I'm glad you like it. It's one of my favorite dresses. I’m told it brings out the color of my eyes.”
“I’d agree,” he said, and swallowed. “Did ye bring a lot of yer things with you?”
Her eyes changed, taking on a frightened look. Finn had to fight the urge to reach out to her. “I … well, I … didn't want to bring too many things. I only brought what I thought absolutely necessary.”
His eyebrows rose at her words. Had she left town in a hurry? “Well, as long as ye have enough to get by, then there’s no worry.”
She set her mending aside and folded her hands in her lap. “What I have will be quite sufficient, I’m sure. Especially if …” She looked away again. “… if you're going to send me back anyway.”
Her words stabbed him in the heart. Cad. He blew out a long breath. It was time he took a chance. If Lorcan and his parents believed this woman could help him get past his … challenges … then shouldn't he listen to them? “I’d like you to get better first … walking again, I mean. There's time enough to discuss the details later. In the meantime, I think I'd like to have a slice of pie. Would you join me?”
She gave him a wary look.
He knew he needed to say something more reassuring. “Did you unpack your things?” It was all he could think of to lead up to the words she needed to hear – if he didn’t say them, she’d feel unsettled in his presence. He couldn't live with that, cad remarks aside. Forget about making himself feel better – this was all for her.
She looked at him tentatively. “Yes, your mother put my things away in the room I'm using … for now.”
He looked at her, really looked at her. Good Lord, she was lovely! Raven-black hair, bright blue eyes, flawless ivory skin … she was beyond stunning. How had he not noticed before? He almost snorted at his own ignorance. Of course he’d thought she was pretty, but Mr. Brody was right – she was gorgeous! And if this was his parents and the Brodys’ answer to prayer, then by Heaven, who was he to throw her back in the Lord's face? “Good. I'm glad she did, as I, uh … I suspect ye'll be staying a while.”
She sucked in a breath. “What do you mean?”
He glanced away, took a deep breath, and looked back. “Miss Brock, I’ve been thinking about … some of the things I said earlier.” He wiped his hands on his trousers, suddenly nervous. “Ye must realize that yer unexpected arrival – aside from the stagecoach accident, of course – came as quite a shock ...”
“I can only imagine. It was a shock to me to find out you didn’t know I was coming.”
“Quite. Um … that being said, I believe now that I'm more accustomed to the idea and was wondering …”
“Yes?” she said and leaned forward in her chair.
This was harder than he’d thought – he was actually sweating! “Perhaps you could find it in yer heart to … forgive me?”
Her eyes widened, and he watched her lower lip begin to tremble. Oh Lord, was she going to cry?
“Mr. Mullaney, you had every right to say those things. I know I came as a surprise to you, and I'm sorry that your friend Lorcan would do such a thing…”
“I'm not.”
She shook herself and blinked a few times. “Wh-what d
id you say?”
“I'm … not sorry that yer here,” he said, having to punch each word past his nerves. She wasn’t exactly as ease either – her hands gripped the skirt of her dress as she sat straight and stiff. He leaned toward her. “Miss Brock … er, Eva … if I may be so bold to use yer first name. What I'm saying is … I'd, I’d like to spend time with you… get to know you better ...”
She sighed, her body relaxed ... and then she gave him the most wondrous smile he'd ever seen. “Mr. Mullaney …”
“Call me Finn.”
“Finn … I would like that very much.”
Now he sighed in relief and sat back in his chair. For Heaven’s sake, who was more nervous at this point: him or her? “Well, then … how about that pie?”
* * *
They spent the rest of the afternoon in pleasant conversation. Finn, curious as to why she’d become a mail-order bride, asked plenty of questions. Besides, he wanted something to get his mind off the tall Scotsman and that blasted note. “Where do yer parents hail from?”
She set her teacup down on the small table between them. They’d both enjoyed some of the pumpkin pie she’d baked (Saints, could the woman bake!) and were now enjoying their second cup of tea. “We’re from New Jersey originally, but we came west when I was a little girl. I grew up in Independence and went away to school in California for two years.”
“Really?” He leaned back in his chair. “And what did you study in school?”
“What all young ladies study – proper decorum, a bit of literature, a little history, art. I found I was quite good with numbers.” She looked at him and smiled. “I've never had any plans of owning a business, but I suppose such a thing could come in handy if my … my husband had one.”
He smiled. “Go on.”
“What about you, where did you go to school?”
He laughed, and held up both fists. “Right here.”
She shook her head in confusion. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“That's because yer not Irish, lass. We came here from New York City when I was but a lad. My da decided he didn't want to live in squalor anymore, as so many of us were – not to mention the gangs. He wanted a better life. So here we are.”
“Has your family always been in the … ah …”
“The funeral business? Aye, only now it's official.” One of her eyebrows went up, so he thought he’d better explain. “My da did his fair share of arranging services and burying folks in New York. There was a lot of trouble back then ...” He looked away a moment. Did he really want to tell her such a story, fill her in on the brutality of living in Five Points and dealing with the roving gangs, not to mention the off-the-leash police? He settled for the short version. “He was good at it, and he's been doing it ever since. Only now he gets paid.”
“Your father has always been an undertaker?”
“It's an honest living – and, well, we’ll never go out of business.”
She had to laugh at that. It made him smile. People always laughed when he put it that way, and he was glad she liked it. A tingle went up his spine at the tiny sound she made afterwards, a small sigh coupled with a hitch in her breath, as if she just remembered something. She looked at him but said nothing, and he wondered what she was thinking. Did he dare ask? He smiled and waited instead.
“My father is a banker,” she volunteered. “My mother …” She sighed, not so pleasantly this time. “My mother is in the controlling business.”
“What's that?”
She licked her lips, looking nervous again. “She's tried to control my life for as long as I can remember. What to wear, what to eat, how to walk, what to say, when to say it, how to say it … you name it. I couldn't take it anymore. Do you understand?”
He nodded – so that was it! “I think so.”
“If I hadn’t gotten out when I had, she’d tell me whom to marry as well. We’re not so wealthy that we wouldn’t benefit from an arranged marriage. But for her, it's mostly about being able to tell me what to do.” She took a sudden breath and let it out slowly, as if the confession had drained her of all energy. Perhaps it had.
“So ye became a mail-order bride to escape yer mother?”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
He reached over and gently caressed her cheek with the back of his finger. “Do you actually want to get married?”
“Yes,” she said and nodded. “But not to a man of my mother's choosing. I wanted to make the choice.”
“Then why did ye use a mail-order bride service? Someone else is still doing the choosing.”
“Not necessarily. They present you with several applications from men seeking a wife.”
“And ye picked mine?”
“Yes.”
Well, that certainly did wonders for his self-esteem! “A good thing I wasn’t four feet tall, with legs like a turkey and a neck like a swan!”
She leaned back in her chair and laughed. “You are anything but. Far from it, in fact,” she said as her eyes met his.
He stilled and leaned toward her again. “I'm curious – what did my advertisement say about me? What did Lorcan write?”
“Not a lot, actually,” she answered a little sheepishly. “He said that you were a businessman, and that you were looking for a wife who was kind, generous, a good Christian woman and … let's see, what else… oh yes!” She smiled and looked him in the eye. “He said you wanted lots of children.”
Finn sat back in his chair, eyes wide. “Did he now? How many?”
“It didn’t specify.”
“Thank goodness,” he said in relief.
“Do you want children?”
“Aye, but only a few. I was afraid Lorcan would say I wanted a dozen or more. That would be his idea of a wee joke.”
She blushed. “I like children, too.” Her voice had softened, and he fought the urge to reach out to her again. Touching her the first time had been a bold thing to do, even if it was to get her attention.
“How many?” he asked, his voice softened to match her own.
Longing pooled in her eyes, and he couldn't help but lean forward.
“A few…”
His body scooted to the edge of his chair. “Three? Four?”
She nodded, stared at him and swallowed. “Thereabouts.”
He couldn't help but smile. “And they'll all look like their mother.”
He noted how her breathing changed. “Perhaps,” she whispered. Had she been hoping he’d make a reference to them looking like him?
He leaned further still, his face now inches of hers. She froze. “Well, Miss Brock … Eva … mayhaps they’ll look more like me.”
Her entire body shuddered, and it sent a thrill through him. “May … haps.”
His eyes darted to her mouth, and he knew he was losing control. Blast you, Lorcan! “Of course, it’d be more likely a combination of the two,” he suggested as he closed the distance between them.
“Yes,” she managed.
If Finn ever saw Lorcan again, he might have to kill him. That is, if he could remember why he was mad at him, because the taste of her lips vaporized any ill thoughts he might have toward his friend. Her sweetness was an elixir: intoxicating, full and rich. Before he knew it, his arms were around her, and he was lost. His only hope was that in that moment, she was as well.
Ten
Eva shuddered as Finn broke the kiss. Had that really just happened? She stared at him, not knowing what to say, and swallowed hard.
“Eva,” he breathed. “I didn't mean … that is …” He gave her a sheepish look and smiled. “What am I saying? Of course I meant it.”
“You meant to kiss me?”
“Well … I didn’t plan it, exactly … sometimes things just happen ...” He shut his mouth before he could say anything else that was stupid.
“I see,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Was this one of those times?”
“I suppose … but …”
She stared at him,
faint hope re-kindling in her eyes. “But what?”
“But I'm so glad it did.”
She slumped in relief. “Mr. Mullaney …”
“Please – Finn.”
Under the circumstances, she agreed, referring to him by his Christian name seemed appropriate. “Finn … this may sound odd, but I must know your intentions.”
“I understand,” he said and sat back in his chair to put some distance between them. “I won’t toy with yer feelings, or yer hopes of marriage ...”
Her eyes widened and she stiffened in her chair.
He leaned forward again and took one of her hands in his. “No, don't do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look so frightened.”
She gaped at him. “I look frightened?”
“If ye looked any more frightened, lass, ye’d be jumping out the window.”
A giggle escaped her, and he smiled. But she needed an answer. “Nonetheless, we must come to an understanding, you and I.” She took a deep breath. “Are we to be husband and wife, or not?”
Finn closed his eyes as his other hand balled into a fist. “Aye, lass. I'll take ye as my wife.” Tears formed in her eyes, and his heart melted at the sight. “It's nothing to cry about, lass,” he said as he wiped one away with a finger. “If anything, ye'll be crying after we’re married.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked around a sniffle.
He chuckled. “I'm Irish. Do ye think yer up to the task?”
“I'll ask your mother for lessons,” she said as her tears broke free again.
Finn could stand it no longer, and took her in his arms. “Now, lassie, don't cry – save it for later.”
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and looked at him. “How much later?”
“There’s a beautiful harvest moon just a few days away. We could be married under it.”
She nodded. “That does sound lovely.”
Finn swallowed and looked away. He'd done it – he’d committed himself. If he’d thought he was responsible for her before, he was really going to have to see to her now. “What have I done?” he whispered.