by Ann Moore
Yes, Grace had been fifteen when their father arranged her marriage to Squire Donnelly, sixteen when they actually wed, and for the first time—looking at Josette—Sean realized how very young that had been, how much responsibility Grace had shouldered for her family, and how remarkable a woman she’d become. She would have been aghast at his taking a second wife, let alone one of such tender age. She would have deemed false any religion that sold such precious commodity at will, would have followed him up and down the stairs, in and out of rooms, wagging her finger at him and talking until she was hoarse.
He couldn’t help but smile to think of it, could almost hear her scolding, “Are you going to use the mind God so blessed you with, Sean O’Malley, or have you turned that over to the church, as well? Daft eejit,” she’d mutter, and he echoed her words now.
“O’Malley,” Danny Young whispered from the next bedroll. “’Tis a sign of sure madness, you know, sitting in the dark, muttering away.”
“Maybe I’m praying,” Sean whispered back.
“I doubt it.” Danny propped himself up on one elbow. “I’ve not seen you pray the whole time we’ve been here.”
“Have you not?” Sean replied. “For it seems I’ve been in continual discourse with Himself since the moment we left.”
“To what end?” Danny asked.
Sean eyed his old friend carefully. “Do you really want to know?”
Danny looked down and rubbed his fingers in the fine dirt of the desert floor. “Aye,” he said quietly.
“I’ll not be going back with you in the morning.”
Overhead, a nighthawk soared across the face of the moon, letting out its eerie cry. I said it aloud, Sean thought. It’s true now.
Danny pulled himself into a sitting position, arms around his knees. “You’ve not been yourself, brother.” He glanced at the other men to make sure they still slept. “Losing Grace was a blow, but it doesn’t mean you have to lose your faith, as well.”
“Ah, but I already have,” Sean confessed, “though not for lack of trying to hang on.” He stopped. “You know, Danny, you’re the only one who knew Grace a’tall.”
“Aye, she was grand—best there ever was.” Danny nodded soberly. “Those were the days, were they not? You and your sister working in Ogue’s, meeting you there for a pint before the big rallies, you stirring ’em up for the Cause. Aye, and the dances after, the boxing down in Jersey, racing day and all …”
“Not very Saintly activities.” Sean laughed quietly.
“I’d be lying to say I don’t miss it sometimes,” Danny allowed. “’Twas a grand city and grand times, but killing me it was, every day taking a little more out of me. You remember what it was to be Irish in that town.”
“Aye—‘Monkey-face,’ ‘Papist bastards,’ and the ever-popular ‘Need Not Apply,’” Sean recalled.
Danny nodded. “The Saints have been good to us, Sean, you know they have. They never did care if we were poor or Irish—”
“Or crippled.” Sean lifted his arm.
“Aye, or none of that. The Points, for all its rot, was a step up from Limerick for me, but I’d never rise above two rooms rented and full of hungry kids.” He paused. “Throwing in with this lot here was the smartest thing I ever did—and you, as well, Sean; you, as well!”
“Can you be sure?”
“Well, just look at us, man! We got our own homes—not just a couple of rooms over someone’s saloon, but a real house and farmland, cows and chickens and all. No rent to pay, and help when we need it. And a wife! Who would’ve ever thought that myself—poor, ragged Danny Young with barely a dollar in his pocket—might live like a lord with acres of land and wives by my side.”
“Ah.” Sean raised his finger. “There’s the rub. Wife, I can accept. Wives, I cannot.”
Danny hugged his knees more tightly and leaned forward. “God’s commands aren’t always easy to follow, my brother, but to my way of thinking, this is one of the better ones! All those Old Testament prophets had plenty of wives—’tis right there in the Bible, plain as the nose on your face!”
“Aye,” Sean agreed. “But the model for marriage is in the Garden of Eden, is it not? And I don’t see that God created Adam and Eve and Eve’s cousin, Evelyn.”
Danny frowned, and Sean knew he’d struck a low blow. Danny’s two wives were lovely girls, cousins, true enough, and there was no doubt he loved them both. There were babies about the place now, cows and chickens, a solid house, and Danny was respected in the community for his hard work and dedication. It was Danny who’d persuaded the quorum to let Sean accompany the married men on their expedition for gold, Danny who had argued that the change would do Sean good, would clear his head and set him to rights again. Sean had not married Josette before he left, but he’d promised to do so upon his return. He’d made a lot of promises that Danny had adamantly supported, and now his old friend would have to answer for it when he came home without Sean.
“I don’t want to quarrel with you, Danny Young,” Sean said gently. “You’re right—you’re better off for having joined up. Here I owe you so much and I’m repaying it by jeopardizing everything you have. Will you be all right?”
“Course I will.” Danny shrugged it off. “I’m known for my strong back, but simple mind—when push comes to shove, I’ll tell them I was a poor match for your silver tongue. No way to talk you out of the biggest mistake you could ever make.”
“Is that what you really think?”
“I think you think too much,” Danny said simply. “And it gets in the way of your happiness. I think I also knew you wouldn’t be coming back with us in the end.”
“Then why in Heaven’s name did you argue my case before the council?” Sean asked incredulously. “They absolutely didn’t want me to be included in this work party.”
“I’m the one brought you into the Saints,” Danny stated. “And if ’twas causing your misery, then I had to be the one got you out.”
Sean was silent for a moment, studying the man before him. “You’re a better friend than I’ve ever been to you.”
“Not true. You and I stood shoulder to shoulder many a time, and haven’t we lived through something the rest of the world knows nothing of?” Danny looked Sean in the eye. “We Irish are survivors, and so, my friend, ’tis time you moved on. Don’t waste another day mourning what you can’t get back. Find a way to live, and then get on with it. Life is too short, and you know that better than most.”
“Simple mind, eh?” Sean said wryly, though he was moved. “That was a fine bit of wisdom.”
“Aye, so don’t let it go to waste—might be my only one.” Danny laughed softly.
“Morgan was never a great one for talk, either. So when he had something to say, I listened. You’re like that.”
“You flatter me, Sean. I’m nothing like the great man himself, but thanks. I know you loved him.”
Sean nodded, then looked down. “I left him, though. Got on a ship without him and left him on his own when he needed me most.”
“You travel with too many ghosts, my brother. ’Twasn’t your fault he died, no more than you’re to blame for Grace.”
Sean’s face grew still. “Truer words were never spoken.” He stood and tucked his pistol into his belt, pocketing the extra bullets, then handed over the rifle. “’Tis your watch now, Danny, but of course I was gone when you woke up—left you all unprotected in the middle of the night.”
“Any man knows you, knows you never would,” Danny said matter-of-factly. “But if that’s the story, I’ll tell it. Will you not wait ’til dawn?”
Sean glanced up at the sky, which had softened in the east. “Nearly here, anyway.” He put out his hand. “Good-bye, Danny. I hope to see you again someday.”
Danny took the hand, then pulled Sean into a brief, hard hug before letting him go.
“Won’t be the same without you. Not enough Irish in the place yet to keep the talk lively.” His smile faltered. “God go with you, Sea
n O’Malley, and I hope you find what you’re looking for. Where to, then? Back to Sacramento, or all the way to the wicked big city?”
“I don’t know yet,” Sean replied. “West. I’m only going west.” He laughed softly. “Tir na nog, and all that.”
“There’s always hope in the land of the young. But you better take a horse,” Danny added. “’Tis a long walk into the past.”
Sean considered it. “I suppose I’ll never make it with this bad leg. I’ll take the old mare, ’cause she ain’t what she used to be.” He winked. “And that makes two of us.” He went over to where the horses were tethered, soothing them as they began to nicker.
“I’ll give you a hand.” Danny picked up a saddle and fit it over the blanket Sean had placed on the mare’s back, cinching it firmly beneath her belly. “Best lead her a ways out before you climb on,” he whispered, handing the reins to Sean. “And take this, as well.” He pulled a leather pouch out of his pocket. “You dug; the money’s yours. I’ll say you stole it.” He grinned.
Sean held the pouch in the cup of his hand, feeling the weight of it. “I don’t know.”
“Look,” Danny insisted. “You’re Irish and you’re crippled—can’t send you out poor, as well. Remember the parable of the talents and do something with this. Write me a letter one day. You know I’ll be starving for a good story.”
Sean laughed quietly. “Deal,” he said and pocketed the gold. “Goodbye, my brother.”
Rulon turned over in his sleep, and the other men began to stir.
“Go on with you, now. Hurry, before they wake,” Danny whispered urgently.
Sean put his hat on his head and led the mare carefully past the edge of the camp, out of the ring of light, then mounted her. He turned in the saddle to lift his hand to the only man who really knew him anymore, a man he was leaving behind as he’d left so many, and as the sun began to rise, he turned his back on that man, too, and rode off.
Five
“Why?” Jack asked as the cart pulled them slowly up the hill to the Wakefield house.
“Well, because we’re going to live there now.” Grace put an arm around his stiff shoulders. “For the time being, at any rate.”
“Why?”
“Do you remember what I told you this morning?” Grace reminded him patiently. “Doctor Wakefield has given me a job of work in his house. I’m to be the cook and—”
“Like in Kansas?” Jack interrupted.
“Aye. Only I won’t be so busy because there’s only the doctor and his sister, and we’ll live there, as well, you see.”
“I miss Kansas,” Jack said wistfully, looking away down the hill and out across the sparkling bay.
“I know you do.” Grace squeezed his shoulders gently.
“But where will we live?” He turned to her again.
Grace sighed and counted to five. “In the doctor’s house. In our own rooms next to the kitchen. Listen, young Jack, ’tis all settled and I don’t want you to worry anymore.”
“Will I see Sam and them again?” he asked plaintively. “What about our wagon? And where’s my gun?” He tugged on her sleeve. “Where’s my gun, Mam, that Jimbo give me?”
“In the trunk that Lily has,” and please, God, could he just forget about that?
Grace hadn’t been happy with Jimbo Dread’s parting gift to young Jack, but the boy had gone into raptures over it, refusing to get into the wagon until she’d lifted the lid of the trunk to prove it was there. They were well rid of characters like that young gunfighter, she thought, though she couldn’t help but feel a fondness for any man who showed her son affection. At least Dread’s present was useful—not like the giant buffalo head one of the wranglers had given him, a gift that had to be left behind for lack of space in the wagon.
“You’ll see Sam again, once we’re settled. Ruth, as well, and Mary. And Sol. Lily will sell the wagon and team for us, then use the money to send down the rest of our things. And we can write them a letter right away, tell them where we’re living now.”
“So we’re not going to make a farm?” Jack’s eyes darkened.
“No. We’re going to stay in the city. You’ll like it here, Jack—the doctor has a nice house with land around it.”
“But there aren’t any trees,” Jack pointed out. “Not any in the whole city!”
“’Tis a bare place that way,” she agreed, looking out at the brown hills. “But the doctor says there’s good hunting to the east, and he’s got a pond on his place. Dogs and horses, as well,” she added the clincher.
Jack brightened considerably. “Horses? And dogs? Why didn’t you say, woman?”
Grace heard a snort from Mister Litton, who was driving the team back up the hill, though to his credit, the man did not comment or turn around. She looked her son squarely in the eye and pushed as much warning into her voice as she could muster.
“You listen here, Jack McDonagh—I’m your mam, and if you ever call me ‘woman’ again, I’ll take you down a peg or two, do you hear me, now?”
“Aye, Mam.” Jack’s head dipped contritely, but in a moment the transgression was forgotten and he perked up again. “Will I ride the horses, Mam?”
“I think they’re meant for the wagon and the doctor’s carriage. But we’ll see,” Grace added, not wanting to squash his hope. “Doctor Wakefield’s a gracious man and perhaps he’ll take you for a ride one day. You mustn’t ask him, though, Jack,” she warned. “I’m a”—she hesitated, not wanting to use the word “servant”—“a cook in the house; I work for him now, and we must keep to ourselves and not bother him in his own home or we’ll find ourselves looking for another place to live.”
Jack nodded as if he understood, and Grace was relieved. Keeping him occupied and out from underfoot was going to be her greatest challenge, but she’d already considered ways to keep him busy. If Mister Litton was agreeable, Jack could help in the stable for part of each day, and also in the garden if they had one, as it would need putting to bed come winter.
The street turned into a road and then into a private drive that curved around one side of the house, taking them to the back entrance. It was a wide, solid-looking place, Grace thought; large but manageable; wood and stone, plenty of windows on the first floor, fewer on the second, and a scattering of small dormers on the third. The roof rose to a high pitch, and from the side Grace saw a window high up under the eaves; an attic, then, she hoped—an attic was the best place to dry clothes during the cold and wet months, and she had missed having one in Kansas. The house was situated on the top of a series of gently sloping hills, with a view of the city below and the busy harbor. It was a relief to be out of the confines of the hospital and away from the confusing streets; up here, the air was sweet and salty both, and she could hear birdsong and the rustling of the breeze in the long, dry grass.
Mister Litton pulled the horses up in a circular yard, then got down and lifted out Grace’s trunk, which he then carried into the house. Grace got out, holding firmly to Jack’s hand, and went the way of Mister Litton, entering a wide back door that opened into a mudroom and then into a large, disordered kitchen. They raised their eyes simultaneously to the ceiling, as from somewhere above voices rose in argument.
There were two voices: the high, sobbing sound of a woman, clearly upset, and the low, soothing murmur of a man. Though Grace could not understand any of what was being said, she suspected that this argument had to do with her new position in the house. We might not be staying after all, she said to herself, regretting that she’d gotten Jack’s hopes up before all was said and done. When something hit the floor and smashed, she and Jack looked at each other.
“Will we have a look at the garden, then, son?” Grace suggested, taking his hand again.
Jack nodded, eyes blue-black behind the winking glass of his spectacles. Grace led him back out into the sunlight, where they stood for a moment beside the wagon.
“There’s the stable, Mam.”
He pointed out the buil
ding, which was finely kept, as far as Grace could see. In fact, the entire yard was quite orderly and all the outbuildings well maintained. Whatever else Mister Litton might be, Grace thought, he was an excellent groundskeeper.
“Ah, Missus Donnelly, there you are.” Doctor Wakefield—a fine springer spaniel at his heel—hurried into the yard, shrugging on his jacket and straightening his vest. “Please forgive me for not greeting you properly when you arrived.” His face was flushed and his hair unkempt; the latter he attempted to push into place with his fingers. “I’m, uh … I’m afraid my sister is not having one of her better days. Her nerves are especially bad, and she fears a commotion in the house will be more than she can bear.”
“I understand,” Grace said carefully. “That’s a lovely dog you have there, Doctor. Might Jack play with her a bit while we talk?”
Wakefield looked from his dog to the boy. “Why, yes, of course. Of course he may. Her name is Scout,” he told Jack. “She’s very good on command. She’ll fetch sticks if you throw for her. Go easy on her, though,” he added. “She’s expecting a litter.”
Jack nodded happily and picked up the nearest piece of branch, waving it to get the dog’s attention. “Here, Scout—c’mon, Scout!”
The dog looked up at her master. “Go on, girl,” he commanded affectionately, pointing toward where Jack had run.
They watched Scout fetch a few of Jack’s ill-aimed throws, and then the doctor cleared his throat.
“I see Litton’s already carried in your trunk. Have you been inside the house yet?”
“Only the kitchen,” Grace reported. “We were waiting for you there but then came away to see the gardens.”
“Ah.” Wakefield squinted and looked down. “Missus Donnelly, I …”
Grace shook her head. “You’ve no need to explain anything to me, Doctor. The running of your house is your own affair. Would you like to reconsider your offer before we get ourselves settled in?”