Long Journey Home

by Sarah M. Eden

  “The town will be very empty, won’t it?”

  He leaned closer. “Are you trying to say you’ll miss me?” That was a flirtatious tone if ever she’d heard one.

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “Can I go, Ma?” Aidan had not been distracted from his purpose.

  She hesitated before finally answering. “If you go, you will work hard?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’ll do as you’re told and not wander away from the others?”

  “Never.”

  She swore the boy was holding his breath. She looked to Ryan once more. “And you’ll look out for him?”

  He smiled tenderly. “As if he were my own lad.”

  The sincerity of his declaration echoed in the chambers of her heart. She met Aidan’s eye. “I suppose I can let you go.”

  Aidan let forth a whoop so loud it had likely sent the cattle stampeding clear out on the ranches. He rushed toward the barn, no doubt meaning to tell Finbarr that he’d been permitted to join the men.

  Maura watched him rush away. How tempting it was to call him back, to hold him close a moment longer. But he was growing up, moving away from her a little more every day.

  “What supplies do I need to send with him?” she asked.

  “Your brothers- and father-in-law mean to provide for him,” Ryan said, “and we’ll fetch food enough for the drive back while we’re at the depot.”

  “Would you do me a favor while you’re there?” she asked.

  “Anything.” That answer held something very comforting.

  “Will you buy him a peppermint? I know it’s a small thing, but he’s not ever had a peppermint. I’ve been meaning to get him one, but I can’t until I’ve bought the last things I need for his winter coat. It would mean so much to me to know he’s enjoyed that treat.”

  “Of course, Maura. I’ll make certain he has enough peppermint to truly enjoy himself.”

  “And you’ll bring him back safe to me?” she whispered, tears clogging her throat. “He is all I have left.”

  “I will, Maura.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her fingers. “And perhaps, in time, I will convince you that you have so much more than you realize.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning. How very easy it would be to toss away her determination to be wise where Ryan was concerned. She would not do that to either of them. “I will not tie you to a future of pain.”

  He cradled her hand in both of his, so gentle, so tender. “Being without you now is making the present painful.” He kissed her fingertips. “I miss you.”

  The simple declaration, spoken with such tenderness and sincerity, tugged open the armor she’d worked so hard to keep securely in place. With the hand he wasn’t holding, she gently touched his stubbled jaw. He leaned closer to her, the warmth of him filling the narrowing space between them. He slipped an arm slowly around her, shivers rippling in all directions from his touch.

  “Do you really have to go to the depot?” she whispered.

  “I really do.” His breath tiptoed over her lips.

  “But you will say goodbye before you leave?” Could he hear the desperation beneath her question? Grady had refused to bid her farewell the morning he’d left to join his regiment. He’d insisted that doing so would be bad luck. Ever since, she’d regretted not having that final goodbye. Over the years, the superstitious part of her mind had wondered if not saying goodbye had cursed his departure from the beginning.

  “We leave early in the morning, dear. This will be goodbye.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to keep her heart still and calm. This was goodbye. “I hate goodbyes.”

  His lips brushed lightly over hers, a mere whisper of a touch. A kiss filled with uncertainty would only leave her more worried. In that moment, she needed strength from him, not questions. She leaned toward him, pressing her lips more fully to his.

  He pulled her close, holding her firmly against him, and kissed her slowly and deeply. Maura simply melted into him. His embrace held such comfort, such warmth. With him, she found that elusive feel of home. This attachment, however, was unwise. Life would tear them apart; she knew it with certainty. She was inviting heartache.

  After he left, she would steel her resolve once more, but in that moment, she let herself love him and indulge in thoughts of a plan that would require so much adjusting it would simply fall apart.

  “Be safe,” she whispered. “I’ve lost too many people.”

  “I will be,” he said, “and I’ll see to it Aidan is safe as well. We’ll both return home to you.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Maura hadn’t expected the entire town to grind to a halt while the men and older lads were gone, but she was caught off guard by just how bustling life continued to be. Tavish, as one of the few who had remained, kept almost shockingly busy milking and feeding cows and tending the horses that were left behind, addressing unforeseen problems in various barns and fields.

  The women of Hope Springs set themselves to work as well. Katie insisted Maura leave her afternoons open to attend quilting bees and planning meetings. This, she explained, was the time each year when the women organized and prepared for the approach of winter. It was also when they unabashedly spent hours together every day, laughing and sharing stories, sometimes crying together, often celebrating. The men didn’t discourage the gatherings nor prevent them—certainly not—but for these weeks when so many were gone, the list of chores needing to be done, and the number of mouths needing to be fed, were smaller, and their time was more their own.

  For the sixth day in a row—six days since Aidan had joined the others on the long trip to the train station at the south end of the territory—Maura finished her work near lunchtime and headed up the road. Her sisters-in-law were having a quilting bee at Cecily’s house. Katie would join them, but only after gathering the children still at school and walking with them up the road.

  Maura arrived a little early, before any of the others. With Tavish gone so much looking after their neighbors’ animals, Cecily was often alone. A bit of company would lift her spirits. And Maura wanted to assess Cecily’s health, something more easily accomplished when the others weren’t present.

  Cecily welcomed Maura warmly.

  “What can I do to be of help?” Maura asked, closing the door behind her. She set the bundle she’d brought with her on a chest near the door, then pulled off her threadbare coat, laid it overtop.

  “There is not much to be done.” Cecily made her way toward the gathering of chairs set out for the quilting bee. “Ciara and Mother O’Connor have both vehemently insisted on providing all the victuals today. Biddy is the one needing a quilt tied, but when I suggested everyone meet at her house so she wouldn’t have to transport it, the whole lot of them banded together and insisted on meeting here so I could take part. They will arrive with everything firmly in hand.”

  “The O’Connor women seem to find a way of managing anything they put their minds to.”

  “They?” Cecily lowered herself into a chair. Maura took the one nearest it. “You’re one of us, you’ll remember, and every bit as stubborn.”

  She bit back a smile. “I like to think of myself as determined.”

  “Mysterious might be another good word,” Cecily said with a half-hidden smile of her own. “Speculation about the state of your health is rife. When you first arrived, you insisted that you simply had a little cold or a tickle in your lungs. None of us can reasonably believe that anymore. You’ve been here nearly four months and the cough hasn’t gone away, neither has it improved. You grow tired easily. You’re weary. A great many theories are being pondered.”

  Maura ought to have known she was being whispered about. Working for the Archers meant more people witnessing and hearing her coughs. Finbarr heard them every day, and he lived in this very house. The O’Connors heard her wheezing at every family gathering. Anyon
e sitting beside her at the ceílís or Sunday services would know that her struggles had not eased with time.

  “I will not ask you to tell me exactly what is the cause of the trouble,” Cecily said, “but I will ask you this: what can we do to help?”

  Maura hadn’t expected that question, yet it made perfect sense. The O’Connors were generous people, and Cecily was certainly no exception.

  “There is not much that can be done,” Maura admitted. “I’ll likely always cough and get more easily out of breath than I’d prefer.”

  Cecily’s mouth turned down. Still, she didn’t press the matter. “When I first arrived in Hope Springs, the O’Connor family was not at all happy about my presence among them. More than unhappy, they were . . .” Beneath her green spectacles her brows tugged in thought. “I wouldn’t say they hated me—that’s too strong a word—but I was unwelcome, unwanted, and soundly rejected.”

  “Because you’re English?” Maura posed it as a question but didn’t doubt it was the right answer.

  Cecily nodded. “I did not realize, not having been on the receiving end of the oppressive history our two peoples have with each other, what an enormous obstacle our differing backgrounds truly were. I quickly came to understand.”

  “I imagine.”

  “But, Maura, once they knew Tavish loved me—truly loved me—and that I loved him, that he was happier when we were together, and that he would be happier with me in his life, hatred built over centuries was no longer the impenetrable wall it once was. The grueling work of climbing that barrier became a calling to this family. When they love someone, when they wish for someone to be among them, they stop at nothing. And that labor is not a burden. It is a mission.”

  They had not veered far from the topic, as Maura had thought. “You’re telling me that I should trust them with the details of my . . . cough.”

  “I am saying you should trust them enough to let them love you.” Cecily reached for Maura’s hand, though she did not find it quickly or easily. Maura, instead, grasped hers. Cecily held firm, squeezing her fingers. “I know what it is to desperately want to be part of this family but to feel like an outsider. The trick, Maura, isn’t to wait for them to break the door down, but to simply unlock it yourself. They will step inside. They will love you and your son, no matter what difficulties have come along with you.”

  That was too pointed for Maura to misunderstand. “You know that my cough is not a simple thing, don’t you?”

  “I am not certain if it is tuberculosis or a lung disease brought on by the factories, but I know it is one of the two. I traveled this country for years before settling here. I’ve heard both, Maura. And I know that neither has a particularly good outcome.”

  Maura held fast to her hand. “Factory-damaged lungs don’t have to deteriorate all the way. And even if they do, it is sometimes slow.”

  “But you don’t believe either will be the case with you, do you?”

  “I don’t.” She had to force out the admission. “I brought Aidan here so he would not be orphaned in a big city where he was already miserable. I wanted him to have family after—after I—” She couldn’t finish. She suspected she didn’t have to.

  “I won’t tell your secret,” Cecily promised, “but I do think you should tell the family. I promise they won’t buckle under the burden, neither will they resent it.”

  “Ryan has told me much the same thing, many times.”

  “He’s a wise man.”

  Cecily suddenly stiffened. She even seemed to be holding her breath. Her hand pressed to her abdomen.

  “Are you having pains?” Maura was very nearly certain of what she was seeing.

  Cecily nodded, taking shallow breaths. “I’ve had—a few today.” A few more short breaths. “I’ve kept still—but they keep—happening.”

  Her pains were intense enough that she was having difficulty talking through them. “How close together are they?”

  “I can’t say with certainty.” She was breathing a little easier. “I haven’t a way of timing them.”

  That was a complication. “If you had to guess?”

  Cecily released a full breath. Her features eased into an expression of relief. “Two, maybe three in an hour.”

  “For how many hours?”

  “Several.” Cecily paused. “Should I be concerned?”

  “You’re still a little shy of your expected time, but much nearer than you were before.”

  “My time?” She sat up straighter. “You think this is—?”

  Maura squeezed her fingers. “I suspect so. I’ll stay until we know for certain, however long that might be.”

  ’Twasn’t long before the other O’Connor women began trickling in. They were all there when Cecily had her next labor pains. Looks of concern were exchanged all around, their eyes eventually settling on Maura.

  Before she could say anything, Cecily did. “I may not be able to see any of you”—a quick breath—“but I know you’ve been staring at me.” Another breath.

  “It’s been about twenty minutes since your last pains,” Maura said. “That is near enough together that I think we can safely assume you, our dear sister, are soon to have a baby.”

  Cecily paled but nodded resolutely.

  “What can we do?” Ciara asked.

  Maura took full charge of the situation. “At the moment, I think our best course of action is to proceed with our sewing circle. If the pains get significantly closer, we’ll focus on that then. Otherwise, we may have hours to go, and I’ve found most mothers-to-be can use a bit of distraction in the meantime.”

  Cecily nodded firmly.

  “We have our task, ladies,” Mrs. O’Connor said.

  The women chatted as they set the quilt in the stretching frame. Cecily joined in the chat, her pains having passed for the moment. Topics ranged from what the children were studying in school to the expected price for grain at market, to a number of projects the women were looking forward to undertaking that winter.

  All the while, they watched Cecily, though Maura watched her most of all. Her sister’s labor had come too early and had proven very complicated. Neither mother nor child had survived. Early deliveries had made Maura nervous ever since.

  “How are you getting along, Maura?” Mrs. O’Connor asked. “Must be odd having Aidan away.”

  She pulled her attention from Cecily and focused on the conversation at hand. “We’ve not ever been apart. I’m finding it difficult to remember that he’s not a little boy anymore.”

  “Happens faster than expected,” Mrs. Callaghan said. She was staying with Mrs. O’Connor while Ryan was away.

  Maura coughed, something she’d managed to avoid for nearly an hour. Her lungs seemed intent on making up for lost time. One cough after another seized her. She stood and stepped away from the others, trying to regain control over the vital task of breathing. She had a child to deliver in likely only a few hours. Being able to breathe would make that far easier.

  Mrs. O’Connor moved to stand beside Maura. She rubbed her on the back, speaking words of comfort and encouragement as Maura struggled for air.

  “I worry for you, dear,” she said as the fit died down. “This cough of yours doesn’t seem to get any better.”

  Maura glanced at Cecily. She’d told Maura to trust her family. Maura was asking Cecily to trust her with the safe delivery of her child. She could instill confidence in Cecily by taking that leap of faith.

  “My cough won’t get better.” She turned back to face the sewing circle. The time had come to be brave. “You remember the factories in New York, I’m certain.”

  “Unfortunately,” Mrs. O’Connor said.

  Biddy dropped her gaze, absentmindedly rubbing her arm. How well Maura remembered the horrible injury her then future-sister-in-law had suffered at the factory, where nearly all the family worked at the time. None of them had enjoyed working there.

  “After Grady died,” Maura continued, “I had to go back to work there
.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Mrs. O’Connor took Maura’s hand and squeezed it. “I didn’t know you’d gone back.”

  “I needed a more reliable income than I could get cleaning houses.” She coughed once, then pressed on. “I worked there for nearly ten years. A decade in the spinner room takes a toll.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mary pressed her hand over her mouth. “The cough.”

  Maura nodded. “Too many years breathing that heavy air.”

  “Brown lung,” Mrs. O’Connor said, a catch in her voice.

  Maura nodded.

  “Is it certain?” Mrs. O’Connor asked.

  “Yes,” Maura said. “It is certainly brown lung.”

  “And do you know if your lungs are too far gone for at least some degree of recovery?”

  She shook her head. “I won’t know for some time, but my cough has not improved as the doctor hoped it would after I left the city. At times, it has actually been worse.”

  Mrs. Callaghan spoke into the silence that followed. “Why did you not tell us?”

  “I’ve spent too many years looking after myself, I suppose. I didn’t want to be a burden.”

  Mrs. O’Connor pulled her into a fierce hug. “We love you, Maura. Dearly. ’Tisn’t a burden to stand with someone you love.”

  “Cecily told me as much,” Maura said. “Defended you quite staunchly, I’ll have you know. As did Ryan Callaghan.”

  Mrs. Callaghan looked somehow both surprised and not surprised in the least. Did she know how deeply Maura cared for her son? Am I so transparent as that?

  She shook off the question. Another matter needed to be addressed in the moment.

  “I’ve brought something with me,” Maura said. “I had it in New York and have debated what precisely I ought to do with it. I thought perhaps Cecily and Tavish would appreciate having it for their little one.”

  She rose and crossed back toward the trunk near the door. She carefully laid aside her coat and took from beneath it an old, beautiful, and well-loved, infant-sized quilt. She held it carefully and turned back to face them.