Longing for Home: A Proper Romance
Page 1
© 2013 Sarah M. Eden.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Shadow Mountain®. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Shadow Mountain.
To Anne,
who left her beloved Ireland in search of a better life
and, in doing so, blessed generations
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Eden, Sarah M., author.
Longing for home / Sarah M. Eden.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-60907-461-6 (paperbound)
1. Irish American women—Fiction. 2. Nativism—Fiction. 3. Wyoming—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3605.D45365L66 2013
813'.6—dc232013014178
Printed in the United States of America
Edwards Brothers Malloy, Ann Arbor, MI
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Sequel Coming in 2014
Chapter One
Discussion Questions about Longing for Home
Let's Talk History
About the Author
Other Books by Sarah M. Eden
Acknowledgments
With gratitude to the following:
The Ryan family of Tramore, Ireland, for welcoming us into their home and proving that Irish people are every bit as kind and witty and good as I have always believed them to be.
Ranee S. Clark and Krista Lynne Jensen, who answered countless questions about Wyoming, saved me from frequent embarrassment, and helped add an aura of authenticity to this work I could never have achieved without their insights.
Pam van Hylckama Vlieg, who has seen me through innumerable hiccups, detours, and temporary roadblocks on this crazy journey. An author couldn’t possibly hope for a better cheerleader, advisor, and all-around go-to gal.
Annette Lyon, Heather Moore, J. Scott Savage, LuAnn Staheli, Michele Holmes, and Robison Wells, the world’s greatest critique group, for countless hours of encouragement and support and for teaching me so much about being a good writer and a good friend.
To my family, for putting up with late hours and frozen-waffle dinners, and for listening to me talk endlessly about the characters and stories in my head. Their support and willingness to embrace this madness has made it all possible.
Chapter One
Wyoming Territory, 1870
Eighteen years had passed since Katie Macauley killed her sister. Time hadn’t erased the memory of poor Eimear lying pale and still in the biting cold of an Irish winter. Even some two decades later, sitting in the back of a stranger’s wagon, surrounded by the vast desert of the American West, Katie knew if she closed her eyes for more than a moment, she would see her sister’s face.
The five children climbing around the covered wagon bed bumped and jostled each other and Katie with them. She’d taken to sitting on the very back, facing the direction they’d come, with her legs hanging free. The Garrison family was kind but a bit much to take in. She’d not been truly at ease with children since Eimear’s death, and the Garrisons had children in abundance.
“Take care,” Mrs. Garrison called out from the front. “You’ll knock Miss Macauley clear out of the wagon.”
’Twasn’t an exaggeration in the least. She’d nearly toppled out a few times over the past two days. The tiniest Garrison offered her a gap-toothed grin before returning immediately to his mischief.
She clasped her hands in front of her. She’d helped prepare meals and see the wagon ready for each day’s journey since they’d left the train station. Keeping busy meant never being asked to tend the children. Otherwise she’d have spent every moment reliving her sister’s death. Children did that to her every time.
“Hello, there!” Mr. Garrison, driving the wagon, called out to someone Katie couldn’t see from her place in the back.
Every face turned at the sound, necks craning as the wagon slowed to a stop. The children rushed to the front for a peek. They’d not come upon another soul in two full days. Katie found a welcome comfort in the loneliness of the place, despite the constant ebb and flow of the Garrisons’ ocean of offspring.
“Are you men headed home by chance?” Mr. Garrison asked. “We have someone here bound for Hope Springs.”
Mr. Garrison had addressed them as “you men.” Katie didn’t care for the idea of traveling with a group of men she’d never met. She carefully lowered herself off the back of the wagon and leaned around, keeping herself half-hidden behind it.
Another wagon stood near the Garrisons’, pointed in nearly the same direction. Neatly stacked crates filled the back. Two men sat up front.
The driver was a fine-featured man, his ginger coloring familiar to one who’d grown up in Ireland. His was a pleasant face, ordinary enough to not be worrisome. The man sitting next to him was far too handsome for anyone’s good.
He had hair the color of a lake in the darkest hours of night, and a teasing hint of a smile played on his lips. He sat with one arm bent over the bench back, his sleeves rolled up, collar hanging limply open. Something his companion said brought out his smile. Where he’d been handsome before, the change rendered him rather breathtaking.
“If that just doesn’t beat all,” she whispered to herself. The handsome men always were the most trouble. She’d do well to keep her distance from that one.
Katie realized with no small degree of alarm that she’d caught the dark-haired man’s attention. He’d turned about on his seat just enough for his eyes to settle on her. He gave her a questioning look before moving to slide off the bench he sat on.
She stepped quickly back, fully behind the wagon once more. Eighteen years of living on her own had taught her to hit and kick and use her knee to great effect. She could do so again if need be. Still, there was some comfort in knowing that the Garrisons and their children were near at hand. Surely even the worst of rogues would cause no trouble with a wagon full of freckle-faced imps grinning out the back at him.
The handsome stranger stepped around the wagon, stopping within reach of her. Katie held herself still and alert, careful not to show even a hint of wariness. She’d appear confident, whether she felt it or not, and she’d keep a close watch on him.
“I hear tell you’re on the road to Hope Springs.” He spoke with the flavor of Ireland.
“Aye,” she said. “That I am.”
Surprise turned his expression. “Ah, you’re an Irish lass.”
“As are you.”
His smile tipped and laughter twinkled in his eyes. “Not a lass, exactly, but Irish-born, for sure.”
Wasn’t that just like a man. Knew exactly what she meant and yet turned her words about. “You know full well I didn’t mean you were a lass.”
“Didn’t you now?” He leaned against the back of the wagon, arms folded across his chest, and kept grinning as though he’d never enjoyed himself so much in all his life. Katie didn’t relax her guard in the least—even a snake in the grass knew how to smile.
The children had made their way to the back of the wagon, watching Katie and this stranger with curious eyes.
“My name’s Tavish O’Connor,” he said. “And it’s very pleased I am to meet you.”
Katie held her ground and kept her peace. There was nothing that irritated an arrogant man more than a woman who showed no interest in him.
Tavish’s smile remained in place. “Might you see your way to telling me what it is I’m to call you?”
Katie didn’t trust this mysterious Tavish O’Connor and his twinkling blue eyes, not for one moment. Handsome he was. Talkative to be sure. But she’d not give him credit for more than that.
“Come now,” he said. “It seems we’re to take you on to Hope Springs. Wouldn’t do to be calling you Miss for the next two hours.”
“You’re taking me to Hope Springs?” When had that been decided? “I don’t even know you.”
His smile flashed once more. “Aye, but you needn’t be overly worried. I’m not.” The twinkle in his eyes reached ridiculous levels. “You don’t seem the type to kill a person when he’s not looking.”
She looked away, her tiny sister’s pale, still face filling her thoughts for one searing moment. Not the type to kill a person, he said. He’d be surprised.
Katie squinted against the bright sunlight, bracing herself against the constant wind, and kept silent.
“I don’t suppose it would set your mind at ease if I told you I’m quite trustworthy.” Tavish gave her a smile that sat with such ease on his face, she didn’t doubt for a moment he knew just how effective it could be.
“Not in the least.” Katie shrugged a casual shoulder. Let the man make of her lack of interest what he would. “If you are untrustworthy, you’d have no qualms saying you were honest and all, though it were a bold-faced lie.”
“You don’t mean to trust me even an inch?”
Katie looked him dead in the eye. “Not even half an inch.”
She couldn’t say if he looked more intrigued or entertained. Either way, he didn’t seem the least discouraged. Katie had dealt with gnats who were less persistent.
“It seems I’m to have plenty of time to convince you. You’re headed to my town in my company.”
He knew she’d be going along despite her uncertainty—she could see the triumph plain in his eyes. She wasn’t ready to label him a saint by any means, but giving him her name seemed reasonable.
“I am Katie Macauley.” She added, with emphasis, “And I don’t particularly like you.”
“A great pleasure to be making your acquaintance, Miss Macauley.” He tipped his hat. “And I’ll wager you’ll most particularly like me before too long.”
Katie kept her expression unimpressed and painfully neutral.
The infuriating man laughed. Their young audience laughed as well, pulling Tavish’s eyes in that direction.
“A fine day to you, Josephine and Henry,” he said.
“Hello, Mr. Tavish,” Josephine, the Garrisons’ ten-year-old daughter answered, a bit of a blush heating her freckled face. Handsome men did that to females of all ages.
“You know the Garrisons?” Katie couldn’t say if the revelation was comforting or shocking.
“Aye,” he answered. “I’ve passed through their town a time or two. You didn’t think they meant to send you off with two strange men, now did you?”
Katie’d had no reason not to think that. The Garrisons hadn’t known her three days earlier. They’d taken her up in their wagon as an act of charity, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t wash their hands of her at the first opportunity.
“Now,” he said, “might you tell me just what it is that has you headed for Hope Springs? ’Tis not a place most people have even heard of, let alone seek out.”
Before she could reply, a voice interrupted. “Tavish O’Connor, you right lazy bum, quit your jawin’ and let’s get on the road.”
The Garrison children laughed at that. Katie leaned around the wagon once more. ’Twas Tavish’s riding companion who had called out.
“Your boss?” she asked.
“My older brother,” Tavish answered, “which amounts to the same thing, really.”
“Your brother’s fair glaring you into an early grave.” Katie liked his brother. “Maybe you’d best return.”
Tavish didn’t so much as glance in his brother’s direction. “I still haven’t learned what it is that’s bringing you to Hope Springs. I hadn’t heard any of our Irish families had sent for anyone.”
“I’ve not been sent for.” She tipped her chin up a notch. “I’m to work as a housekeeper.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned on his face, mixed with a bit of shock. “For Joseph Archer, no doubt.”
How had he pieced that together so quickly? She held her hand up once more to shade her eyes from the sun. “Do you know Mr. Archer?”
His smile grew ironic. “Everyone knows Joseph Archer. What’s more, they all know he’s missing a housekeeper this week or more.” Tavish motioned her in the direction of his waiting wagon. She followed, though more than a touch warily. “Ian! See who I’ve found.”
“She’d best be Queen Victoria herself for all the time you’ve spent bending her ear.”
“Better even than that,” Tavish said. “This here is Joseph Archer’s missing housekeeper.”
The oldest O’Connor’s mouth dropped open. “Oh aye, she isn’t.”
“As I live and breathe.”
The brothers spoke to each other but looked directly at Katie. With both turned fully facing her, she could see them quite well. The family resemblance was well nigh ridiculous. Little except their coloring differed between them. That didn’t bode well for her liking this Ian O’Connor. She didn’t like his brother at all.
“Now won’t that cause an uproar when we ride into town with her sitting up beside us,” Ian said, his expression growing more amused.
“Better than that, even. She’s an Irish lass, her brogue so wide and deep that I’m certain she’s only just been tossed off the boat. She likely tripped on a shamrock and landed on American soil.”
Ian finally looked at his younger brother. In perfect unison their musical laughter rang out. Laughing at her, were they? The Garrisons had been overwhelming, with children climbing about constantly, but at least they didn’t mock her.
The oldest Garrison girl took Katie’s fiddle case to the O’Connor wagon, her father close behind with Katie’s carpetbag. Tavish took both and set them in the wagon bed. Her acceptance of their hospitality was a foregone conclusion.
Mrs. Garrison had alighted as well. She squeezed Katie’s hands in a reassuring way. “We’ve known the O’Connor brothers for five years now. We would not have even suggested you ride with them if we didn’t completely trust them both.”
Her sincerity could not have been more apparent. Katie’s worries eased a small bit. A very small bit. “Thank you for bringing me this far. I know it was out of your way.”
Mrs. Garrison smiled in return. A moment later the family was all back in the wagon and, another moment after that, on their way once more.
“We’d best be off,” Tavish said.
She’d first begun wearing a long, thi
ck, sinister hatpin while a scullery maid in the town of Derry. That pin resided in her bonnet even then. A fine weapon in a pinch.
“Give your seat over to the lass, will you?” Ian said.
“And just where do you mean to put me?” Tavish eyed his brother. “In the back with the crates?”
Ian looked entirely unrepentant. “Seems a good solution to me.”
Katie agreed. Tavish made her far more uncomfortable than did his kind-eyed brother. If Ian would stow Tavish as near to the back as could be arranged, she would be quite satisfied.
“Not a chance of it,” Tavish said. “I’ll drive, and you can stand up for the next two hours.”
Ian shook his head. “I’ll be driving, and don’t you doubt it.”
“What’ll your Biddy say, brother, if you come driving into town with a beautiful young lass up next to you? I think you’d best let me drive.”