My own place, he told himself, though his mind didn’t fully believe it. My own land. Freedom.
The day after James’s wedding, Ryan struck the arrangement that allowed him to work the land that had then belonged to ol’ Mrs. Claire. She’d been too aged and frail to look after it herself. He’d taken a portion of the profits he’d made selling his crop at market and paid Mrs. Claire for the use of her land. She was gone now. Her grandson had inherited the farm, but had no use for it. Ryan hoped to buy it from him, putting up what he had now and paying the rest over time.
He and Ma would have a home, away from the tension they lived in now. She would be near enough to James and her little grandbabies to watch them grow up. With a bit of distance between her and Ennis, they’d likely get along better. And Ryan would have his own corner of this valley. He’d belong to it in a real and permanent way.
His daily walk to the home that had once belonged to Mrs. Claire took him past what he’d come to silently call “O’Connor Row.” House after house belonged to members of that large and growing family. The senior Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor were among the original founders in Hope Springs. Each of their children, excepting the very youngest, had established homes of their own, all in a line, one after the other. They were connected to on another without being suffocated. He knew all too well the difference.
Thomas Dempsey, one of the O’Connors’ sons-in-law waved to Ryan as he passed. Ryan offered a good morning, receiving one in response. The Dempseys’ oldest was undertaking chores and called out a, “Good morning to you, Mr. Callaghan.”
“A good morning to you as well. How is everything at the Dempsey house?” he asked the lad.
“Busy.”
Ryan smiled. “’Tis the way of farming, isn’t it? Always being busy.”
The young man nodded. “Ma’s been crying, so I’m trying to be real helpful.”
That sounded worrisome. “Has something happened?”
Thomas joined them at the fence. “It’s her brother Patrick’s birthday. He’s one of the two who died in the war.”
Ah. “Special days can be mournful when we’ve lost someone we love.” His da’s birthday was always a touch sad.
“She misses him,” Thomas said. “I do too. He was a good lad, Patrick.”
“And Colum, here, is a good lad to be looking out for his ma,” Ryan said.
Thomas gave his son’s shoulders a squeeze.
“If you need anything,” Ryan said, “even someone to see to your evening chores so you can give Mary your time and love, you need only tell me.”
Thomas gave a quick nod. “I will.” Though the answer was one of acceptance, his tone spoke more of memorization, as if he’d offered the response after one-too-many insincere offers of help.
“I’m in earnest, Thomas Dempsey. Anything you need. Anything.”
The tension in his shoulders eased noticeably “I will.” There was the bit of relief Ryan had hoped to hear in Thomas’s voice. “And I thank you.”
Upon passing Mr. and Mrs. O’Connors’ home, he received another friendly greeting. No one stood outside the next O’Connor home, but he’d had waves and greetings from that branch of the family before. Tavish and his wife, Cecily, lived in the next house.
Cecily stood inside the chicken coop, tossing feed to the eager flock. The gate sat a mere inch from closed, just enough of a gap that, once the chickens noticed, it’d be chaos. He moved quickly off the road and up the short distance to the coop. Cecily turned her head a bit in his direction, though she didn’t turn fully.
“Just Ryan Callaghan,” he told her. “The gate was open.” He pulled it closed. “I didn’t think you wanted your hens running all over Hope Springs.”
“Thank you, Ryan,” she said.
He paused a moment. “I’m told it’s a difficult day for the O’Connors. How are the lot of you holding up here?”
“Hearts are heavy, but we are passing through well enough.”
“I’m nearby if you need anything.” He hoped she could hear that he meant it.
“Thank you, again.”
“Any time, Cecily.” He walked back toward the road.
Cecily was the most recent addition to the O’Connor family. Though it was likely a little childish of him, Ryan sometimes imagined what it’d be like to be one of them, to belong to that family.
Tavish and Cecily lived almost directly across the street from the land he worked and the house he hoped would be his one day. He needed to take only a few steps, and his corner of the world would spill out in front of him, warming his heart as it always did. He’d poured himself into the keeping of these fields. He’d worried and toiled over them. He’d studied the land and tracked its production. Using his records, he’d made changes, choosing different placements for crops and different rotations than had been used before. He knew this land so well that it was part of him now.
He turned up the short walk that led to the front of the house. He never went inside—the house was not included in his current arrangement—but walked alongside it on his way to the barn, where he kept a few tools, and where he always began his day.
Once he owned the place, house and all, he meant to make some improvements. He’d widen the house on the west side with tall windows, giving the parlor a view of the mountains rather than merely the road. He’d build a barn large enough for more than a cow and a single horse. He’d add a pig sty and build the chicken coop. And he’d make whatever changes were needed to allow Ma to get about the house easily and safely no matter how her condition worsened.
They’d both have their freedom, something they needed badly.
He took a moment to look out over the bare fields spreading out before him. His profit had been a tidy one thus far, but not enough to make the needed changes to the house. His plan simply had to work. He’d no other idea how to claim the future he dreamed of.
On the edges of the valley were a number of ranches. All of those people’s land and efforts were dedicated to running their cattle. They grew nothing. Every crop they needed had to be purchased at market.
Ryan’s experiments had significantly increased his yield of hay, something the ranches bought in tremendous quantity to stock for the winter. If he arranged to sell directly to them, he would save himself a trip to the depot. They, in turn, would not need to make that same trip and pay the higher prices the traders there charged. No one in the valley depended on the sale of hay for their own living. He’d not be hurting anyone else’s profits, but he’d be improving his own.
That afternoon, he was meeting with Mr. Gallen, the owner of the largest of the ranches, to make his proposal. If the man agreed to put up a bit of money upfront, Ryan would purchase extra seed and plant vast amounts of his preferred mixture of grasses. He’d not be putting in the usual cash crops. ’Twas a risk, he knew it was. But he’d studied the matter. He’d looked at it every which way. The investment would pay off quickly. He’d have enough by the end of this season to buy the house and land.
Make arrangements with Gallen Ranch. Then plant his crop. Tend and harvest it. Sell it to the ranch, knowing others would follow in the years to come. He need only do those things.
He’d have land. Ma would have a home.
They’d at last have a future. If only he could be certain that that morning’s bolt of premonition wouldn’t prove to be an omen of utter disaster.
Chapter Three
Maura could hardly catch her breath as she dragged herself through the door of her tenement after cleaning two houses in one day. She never knew when the next job would come, so she worked every chance she got. Sometimes that meant asking more of her body than it could give.
She hadn’t yet closed the door when Eliza came down the narrow stairs in the corridor. “Maura!”
With a smile of welcome ready despite her exhaustion, Maura turned and greeted her friend. Though she’d be willing to watch Lydia if need be, she hoped that was not what Eliza had come down to ask. Maura was tired and
worn and ready to drop.
“You’d best come up.” Worry tugged at Eliza’s words. “Aidan returned while you were gone. He’s in a bad way.”
Maura pulled her door closed once more and moved as swiftly as her pained feet and struggling lungs would allow. The single flight of stairs nearly did her in. Each breath clawed at her from inside. One cough after another only added to the misery.
“Stop to catch your breath,” Eliza insisted.
Maura shook her head. Something was the matter with Aidan; she would not be delayed from seeing him.
Eliza’s room was smaller even than Maura’s, a heartbreaking feat. The size made Aidan all too easy to spot on a spindle-back chair, a damp rag held against his mouth.
She knelt on the floor in front him. He was scuffed and dirty, and his shirt was torn. A new hole marred the knee of his trousers. “What’s happened, lad?”
He said something, but the cloth muffled his words. She pulled his hand, and the cloth it held, away from his face.
“Oh, mercy,” she whispered through her wheezing struggle for air.
His upper lip was split. Only the few inches around the cut were clean, the rest of his face was filthy. Eliza had likely washed away blood. Some continued to trickle down his chin.
“What happened?” Maura repeated.
“I tried a new corner,” he said.
“And corners aren’t shared.” Maura remembered him saying as much a few days earlier when discussing his time spent shining shoes for what pennies he could earn. She’d not expected him to be beaten for such an infraction, though. “Have you any other injuries?”
He held up his other hand, the one not holding the rag. Two of his fingers were tied together with strips of cloth. They were bruised and swollen and, she’d wager, broken.
She took a breath, deep as she could manage without her lungs seizing. A few blinks. A pushing away of anything but the most necessary course of action. She’d see them through this crisis. “Anything else?”
“They took my shoe shining kit.”
“They?” Good heavens. He’d been set upon by more than one attacker?
He nodded. “Three lads. Big ones. They said they’d be looking for me now. I won’t have a corner anywhere. Wouldn’t matter, though. I don’t have anything to shine with.”
He’d worry about their finances. Though she’d tried to keep the desperation of their situation hidden, he was clever and observant. He knew they were a breath from destitute.
“We’ll think of something,” she promised. “We always do.”
His eyes, light blue like his da’s, but heavy and worried like hers every time she caught a glimpse of herself, watched her closely. “Not the factory, though?” he pressed. “I don’t want to go to the factory.”
She glanced at Eliza, who pressed a hand to her heart, her brow pulled in concern for the lad. Everyone loved Aidan. How could they not? He was dear and kind and tender.
And he was miserable.
“Not the factory,” she vowed. “We’ll find something else.”
“There’s always something else,” he mumbled. ’Twas far from an expression of hopefulness.
She stood and motioned for him to do the same. He obeyed, but without enthusiasm.
“Have you said hello to Lydia yet?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“You should,” Maura told him. “The sweet baby loves you, and that smile of hers would do you a world of good.”
He held the cloth against his lip once more and moved to the blanket the baby was lying on. He sat down beside her and tickled her chin. Though the weight hadn’t left his posture and the cheer in his expression looked a bit forced, some happiness appeared in his eyes again. How long would it last? She saw less and less of it every day.
Eliza joined Maura near the chair Aidan had vacated.
“Thank you for tending to him,” Maura said quietly. “Does me good to know he wasn’t alone.”
“You’ve tended to all of us here,” Eliza said.
Maura watched her lad playing with the baby. His moments of happiness were growing farther apart. She very rarely saw the lighthearted boy he’d once been.
“I still can’t believe anyone would hurt Aidan,” Eliza said. “He’s such a dear boy, so sweet and kind to everyone.”
Maura coughed, but managed to get her lungs under control again swiftly. “Perhaps ‘sweet and kind’ don’t belong in the slums of New York. Perhaps he was always meant for somewhere else.”
“The city has a way of stealing futures, doesn’t it?” Eliza’s loss was still so fresh; her husband had been gone less than a year.
“If you could leave the city, would you?” Maura asked.
“Without another thought.” She offered a quick, sad smile. “But where would I go? And how could I possibly afford to get there?”
“Poverty has a way of stealing futures too,” Maura said.
“And what would I do without you if I left?” Eliza added. “I’ve not another friend in all this world.”
Maura squeezed her hand reassuringly. “With your sweet heart and kind nature, you’d make friends anywhere. But I would miss you something fierce.”
“Maybe we could go somewhere together,” Eliza suggested with a light laugh. “We could tell everyone we’re sisters.”
Maura could smile at that. “I suspect our differing accents would give away the ruse.”
“Where would you go if you could?” Eliza asked.
Where would I go? She’d need to choose a place where Aidan had someone to look after him when her health inevitably fell to bits. If she could find a place with a doctor, so much the better. And her boy wanted open spaces, and peace and quiet. He’d likely be pleased as could be to claim a bit of land as his own; his father had longed to return to working the land as he’d done in Ireland.
“Hope Springs,” she answered.
“Where’s that?”
“Wyoming Territory,” Maura said. “It’s where my husband’s family settled. Out there, Aidan would have people to look after him. He’d have land and peace and a future.”
“Have you no other family nearer here?” Eliza asked.
“I’ve a brother-in-law in Canada, though he moves about too much for us to settle with him. My parents and sister have been dead for years. Aidan has only me and relatives he doesn’t remember in the West.”
And if she didn’t find a way to pay for a doctor and medicine, he’d not have even her much longer.
She watched her sweet son playing with little Lydia. I hate it here. His whispered confession haunted her. She saw the truth of his words in his face every day. Heaviness. Misery. Growing desperation.
“This city is killing him, Eliza, and I don’t know how to save him from it.”
With an expression that spoke of barely held-back tears, Eliza pulled her to the table and bade her sit. “We’ll think of something. I’m certain we can.”
But Maura shook her head. “I’ve been trying for weeks to think of an answer but keep hitting the same uncrossable ravine. I can’t afford to replace a small shoe-shining kit. How could I possibly afford to move us away?”
Eliza’s brow tugged low, her lips pressing together as she thought. “What if we took up a collection?”
“No one in the Tower has so much as a penny to spare.” Maura knew that better than anyone.
“What if you sold your furniture?” Eliza suggested. “You wouldn’t be taking it with you anyway.”
Maura had occasionally thought of that. “It wouldn’t fetch nearly enough.”
“Do you have anything else of value?”
She did her best to ignore the twinge she felt at that. The last few days, she had pushed Grady’s ring from her mind as much as possible. She’d accepted that it would have to be sold; there was no avoiding that. When the time came that she could no longer survive without a doctor’s care, then, and only then, would she sell the ring. The delay was the only thing that made the decision en
durable.
“You’ve thought of something,” Eliza said, watching her closely.
“Not the miracle you’re thinking. I know a way to pay for my medical care when the time comes.” As if to punctuate her words, a heavy cough rose, followed in quick succession by several more. With what little breath she could manage, she pressed forward. “There would be barely enough for that, perhaps not even enough, and certainly no extra for moving across the country.”
An empathetic sadness filled Eliza’s face. “It’s one or the other, then?”
Heaven help her, it was. “Without medicine for me, Aidan will be an orphan. But leaving him here will tear him to bits. And, no matter, how hard I try, I cannot save him from both.”
“Oh, Maura,” Eliza sighed. “I am so sorry. What a choice to face.”
If they stayed, she could have a doctor’s care, she’d have a chance to live, but Aidan’s soul would wither. If they went West, she wouldn’t live long, but Aidan would at least have a chance of being happy. Her life or Aidan’s well-being. How could anyone possibly make such a decision? Her gaze returned once more to her son. He was lying on his back beside little Lydia. His eyes were on the ceiling, and his hand yet held the cloth to his poor, battered face. A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, trickling downward into his hair. How long before the beatings and cruelty of this place no longer pulled this grieving sadness from him? How long before he simply hit back, surviving the misery by giving it to someone else? She had seen that transformation before.
And I do have the means of saving him from it. If she sold Grady’s ring, if she did it now rather than waiting...
There would be nothing left for doctors and medicine. Hope Springs might not even have a doctor. The O’Connors might not welcome them. Choosing this path would be a tremendous risk.
Long Journey Home Page 3