Longing for Home: A Proper Romance

by Eden, Sarah M.

  “A selfish person you are, Katie Macauley,” she scolded herself. “You know full well you’re about to march into that kitchen and insist on keeping the job.”

  Katie gave a firm nod and turned back toward the house. She needed the job and the money and a roof over her head. She vowed to be very careful in her interactions with the Archer girls. They’d not come to harm at her hands. If time showed she was as incapable as she’d been with Eimear, Katie would resign her post. She’d return to Baltimore and look for something that suited her limitations, though the cut in pay would set her back by several years.

  ’Twas an acceptable arrangement, she told herself. Trouble was, she didn’t entirely believe it.

  She pulled open the door. Mr. Archer stood glancing doubtfully at the pot of boiling potatoes. The girls were nowhere to be seen. Katie hated feeling that their absence was a relief. If ever anyone was unsuited to the task of tending children, she was.

  “Dinner will be ready in a trice, Mr. Archer.” She’d do well to keep to areas she knew.

  He poked at her boiling potatoes with the wooden spoon, not even glancing in her direction. “You seem to have forgotten you were just let go.”

  “About that, Mr. Archer. I know I had some misgivings, but—”

  “Misgivings?” His was not an empathetic expression in the least. “You told me that putting you in charge of my daughters was not a good idea.”

  She hadn’t said that exactly. “I said it wasn’t the best idea. Only because I haven’t any experience, not because I can’t be trusted to look after them.” The lie sat thick in her throat. She didn’t entirely trust herself, so why on earth should he?

  “Katie.” He held himself with a confident air Katie could not help finding intimidating. “You have been quite clear in admitting you are not qualified. That, to any father who cares at all for his children—and I assure you I care a great deal for mine—is completely unacceptable. I will find someone else who is capable of looking after this house and my girls.”

  Though her first thought was to insist she could do both, the words died on Katie’s tongue unspoken. Her history wouldn’t support her claim. And she’d done far more lying already that day than she could be comfortable with.

  What could she say in her own defense that wouldn’t be completely untrue? Perhaps she could call upon his sympathies. “I’ve nowhere to go, no family hereabout.”

  “I made my requirements very clear in my telegrams. That you have arrived unsuited for this position is not my fault.”

  “Aye, that’s a truth, sir.” Neither was it her fault she hadn’t been read his messages in their entirety. But arguing the fact seemed pointless.

  “Then you will understand why there is nothing more to discuss. The O’Connors said you could seek them out if this didn’t work.” He nodded his head in the direction of the back door. “Theirs is the fifth house down the left side of the Irish Road, over the bridge. It is about three miles.”

  Could circumstances possibly grow worse? “You’re in earnest, sir?”

  “I am always in earnest.”

  She could see by the determined set of his chin that he’d hear no more appeals from her. She’d lost enough battles to know how to accept defeat with dignity.

  “The soda bread will be ready to come out of the oven in another minute or so.” She didn’t allow her shoulders to stoop or her voice to shake in the least. “The praties should be boiled nicely not long after that. ’Tis a humble meal, but it’ll fill you.”

  She moved swiftly to the far side of the room where Mr. Archer had set her bag and fiddle. She picked up the bag and held it firm in her grip. The fiddle case was old and worn clear through in places. She’d no desire to see the fiddle ruined by the rain. She would simply have to come back in the morning.

  The wafting smell of bread filled the kitchen as Mr. Archer pulled the soda bread from the oven. Katie told her stomach to hush its begging. She wasn’t sure when or from where her next meal would come. She’d do well to push ahead and not think on it.

  The sound of something heavy toppling over in another room pulled Mr. Archer’s attention away from the oven. He set the pan, steam rising from the bread, atop a dish towel on the table and left to investigate.

  Katie stepped to the back door. A person couldn’t leave behind the smell of warm bread without some regret. How often her stomach had sat empty during The Hunger. She’d come out of that terrible time strong and determined to survive, but she’d also emerged scarred. She knew too well the gnawing pain of hunger. The mere thought of facing it again frightened her, tensed her from head to toe.

  She took her heavy wool shawl from her carpetbag and pulled it over her head, the only protection she had against the rain that continued to fall. How she hoped the O’Connors really would take her in, at least for the night.

  “The fifth house down the left of side of the Irish Road,” she repeated aloud. That was the road that ran over the bridge.

  She left behind the porch and the respite it offered from the elements. Before she’d even walked around the side of the house, rain had left her skirts heavy and wet. She pushed against the continual gusts back toward the road. Did the wind always blow so fierce in Wyoming?

  By the time she reached the bridge, Katie was shivering. Damp hair was plastered to her face. The smell of wet wool filled the air around her. Everything she owned must have been soaked through in her secondhand carpetbag.

  She’d considered Mr. Archer’s telegram a miracle when it arrived. The salary was more than she’d ever hoped to make, and, at least as she’d understood it, he was looking for someone with her particular qualifications. She’d even rejoiced at the rarity of finding such a position in a home without children. Her fortunes had changed, she’d confidently declared. What an utter fool she’d been.

  For two months she’d sought this job. Two months of dictating her qualifications and sending them off, hoping to be chosen, then planning the journey and undertaking it. She would have had enough money to go home, not just to Ireland but to the very place she’d grown up, where life had, at one time, been good and hopeful. She could have put so many things right with the money she would have earned at the Archer home. Her family might even have welcomed her back after seeing what she’d made of herself.

  She’d been let go after less than an hour on the job. Two months for one single hour.

  Katie stood on the bridge, too overwhelmed to take another step. She turned her face toward the heavens, rain pelting her mercilessly.

  “Another failure?” she called out. “I have been trying to make this right since I was eight years old. Why can nothing I do ever be enough? Why must every day be a punishment?”

  Even as her bold words faded to silence, Katie knew the answer. She’d always known. Her sister was dead, and it was her fault. Forgiveness for such a thing did not come without suffering.

  Chapter Six

  Walking through the deepening mud and unending downpour, Katie couldn’t keep thoughts of the past at bay. Too often she’d been out in the elements with no place to turn for relief. The skies had been steely gray the day Father walked her from back door to back door down the finer streets of Derry begging the housekeepers to give her a job.

  Katie had cried the whole day long but hadn’t spoken a word against his efforts. What parent would wish to keep a child who’d killed another? When at last someone agreed to take her, Father left her there without a backward glance, shoulders hung in wearied defeat. Pain had broken him. Pain she’d caused.

  He’d mourned the loss of his land, wept at not having the means of giving his dead daughter a proper headstone, railed against The Famine for taking so much from him and his family. For two decades Katie had worked, trying to save enough to get back all he’d lost. Nothing she did could bring her sister back, but if she could only return her father’s land and the pride he’d once taken in working it, surely he’d forgive her all she’d done. Surely he’d love her again.
/>   Thunder rumbled around her. Katie eyed the sky with misgivings. The last thing she needed was lightning joining the fall of rain.

  She blew away the water dripping off her nose and running down her lips. Water had long since seeped into her badly worn shoes. She could endure a cold face, aching hands, wind piercing through her clothes. Hair heavy with rain could be borne. But when the cold reached her feet, Katie fought not to panic. She’d spent too many days and nights as a little girl crying from the pain of feet unprotected against the elements.

  “My feet are beginning to ache, Eimear,” she whispered into the punishing wind. Talking to her sister had become an oddly soothing habit over the years, one that gave her a sense of being less alone. “They’re growing cold.”

  But at least they are cold. Katie well remembered what it meant when one’s limbs stopped feeling frozen.

  A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed quickly by an ear-splitting crash of thunder. She’d best find shelter quickly. Katie had passed only two houses. The O’Connor home was the fifth down that road, a long distance to cover with a storm breaking overhead.

  She could see lights in a house not far distant but none beyond. Either the rain made seeing further impossible, or the next farm was quite far off. She’d not be making it to the O’Connors’ house in this storm.

  “Now what am I to do, Eimear? Continue on in the lightning, or turn in at a stranger’s farm?”

  Just beyond the small farmhouse sat a barn, silhouetted against the darkened night sky. No lights burned inside the barn, a sign the family who owned it had finished their work for the night. She could likely slip in without being seen.

  Another thunderous crash overhead made up her mind for her. Shelter was necessary sooner rather than later.

  For more than six weeks she’d followed her parents into barns or abandoned homes under the cover of night. Taking refuge in either place was against the law. They’d risked imprisonment every time, but winter weather was unforgiving in the vast openness of the Irish countryside. There’d been no money, no food, no home to return to.

  The storm brewed ever louder as she turned toward the barn, careful not to make more noise than necessary. She glanced now and then in the direction of the home as she passed. Quick flashes of light lit the sky, followed quickly by the deep roll of thunder.

  Her hand shook as she slowly pushed open the barn door. Blessed warmth sat inside. The rain no longer pelted her. The wind did not come inside, save the tiniest bit of a draft under the door. She could hear the sounds of animals moving about and talking in their own way to one another. They’d likely pay her little heed if she stayed near the door and kept quiet. Katie pressed her palm to the wall, following it almost blindly. A few paces inside, she set her carpetbag down before sliding to the ground herself.

  Katie pulled the wet woolen shawl off her head, laying it out across her bag. Perhaps it would dry out a bit before she need brave the storm once more. Water dripped down her face, off her nose and chin. She pulled her arms around herself, grateful for the respite despite the chill seeping through her wet clothes. A miserable, miserable night.

  She wiggled her toes, finding a deep sense of relief in knowing she still could. ’Twas a childish and silly fear of hers, but she worried that every moment of cold and wet would prove disastrous. Yet the worry never fully left her.

  She allowed her head to fall back against the barn wall, tired to her core. A barn was not the place she’d expected to spend the night. The smell of animals would almost certainly linger with her in the morning. The darker corners and piles of hay likely hid rats and mice. She’d spent most of the two weeks’ journey across the Atlantic worrying over the vermin that made their homes alongside the poorest passengers, like herself, who endured that voyage in steerage class.

  “Meaning,” she told herself firmly, “you’re perfectly capable of enduring this. ’Tis nothing you haven’t borne before.”

  Endure it she could. But how long could she hide out there? She’d need to eat eventually. She’d need a job. ’Twas always the same. Work and money. She seemed to forever be chasing down both.

  “It’s not a selfish thing I’m wanting. I’m not looking to challenge the queen herself for riches. I only want to go home.”

  Home. Speaking that word hadn’t broken her voice in years, yet, sitting there in the dark of a stranger’s barn, she couldn’t push the word out whole. She shook her head at herself, shook it again and again. There would be no tears, she silently insisted. None.

  “Enough now,” she whispered. “You made this bed eighteen years ago, and you’ll lie in it until you’ve earned the right to get out.”

  Katie rubbed her chilled arms. What was she to do now? If she couldn’t find work elsewhere in town, she was in a pinch, to be sure. ’Twas more than two days’ wagon ride back to the train station, and she hadn’t so much as a pony or a mule to her name.

  “A fine fix, this,” she muttered. “A fine, fine fix.”

  A burst of fierce wind sounded through the cracks and gaps of the barn. The door flew open, slamming against the wall not far from where Katie sat. She leaped to her feet and pushed hard against the door, grateful when the wind died down enough to allow her to close it again.

  Her pulse continued racing some moments after calm returned to the barn. The door had come too close to pinning her against the barn wall. The animals were noisy after the disruption to their peace. Katie moved slowly back to where she’d been. ’Twas a very good thing she’d been inside during that gust. It would’ve knocked her off her feet.

  Just as she made to sit once more, Katie heard a sound that unnerved her more than the continued wind: approaching footsteps.

  She froze, listening and frantically thinking. Katie knew herself in the wrong, trespassing on another’s land. She might try hiding but hadn’t the slightest idea where nor the time to look about. Huddling further in the corner wouldn’t help much, for there was nothing to slip behind. She’d be seen for certain.

  She heard the door creak open.

  Oh, help.

  Katie stepped back, away from the doorway, as far into the corner as she could quickly and quietly get. She couldn’t hide, precisely, but perhaps whoever stepped through wouldn’t look in her direction. She lowered herself to the ground, tucked into the corner, just as the door opened fully.

  ’Twas a man, largely built. Katie froze, her heart pounding through every inch of her. He held a lantern up, moving it from one side to the other as he stepped further inside. If only he would turn back and go. The man was searching and no doubt about it. He must have seen the wind blow the door open, then watched as it closed seemingly on its own. He’d have known someone was inside. He’d know it as surely as a cloud knows the sky.

  Help me!

  He had already passed her when he turned toward the side of the barn where she hid. Even through the slats of the stall near her, she could see he’d come with more than his lantern. The man held a shotgun, held it like he knew just how to use it.

  Katie pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her breathing. Saints, if the man found her there she was good as dead. Cold and fear set her shaking. Katie only hoped she didn’t make enough noise to draw his attention.

  Please walk on past. Walk past.

  He stopped a bit beyond halfway and held the lantern high, glancing in all directions. If only he’d decide there was no one to be found and go about his way. He glanced toward the front once, then twice, the second time keeping his gaze there. By the tilt of his broad-brimmed hat, he wasn’t looking at the door but something on the ground.

  She’d left her shawl and bag near the door. Saints above! There they sat, in full view of this stranger and his gun, testament to her presence. She couldn’t slip out. He’d look until he found her.

  Panic seized her. There’d be no sneaking away, no hiding. He hung the lantern on a peg beside the door and hunched down, taking the wet shawl in his hand. He turned his head in her dir
ection. The man must have been looking directly at her from under his hat. She knew he saw her there.

  Saints o’ mercy. Just don’t kill me.

  Katie opened her mouth to explain, but no sound would emerge. He yet held his gun and was well within his rights to use it. She couldn’t breathe.

  His head tipped a bit to the side. “Katie?”

  What, begorra, was Katie doing hiding in the corner of Ian’s barn? Tavish leaned his shotgun against the wall.

  “Have you gone and lost your mind, woman?” he asked. “I might’ve shot you if I’d not recognized you first.”

  “Tavish?” Had she only just realized who he was?

  He took off his hat. “Now how about you answer my question? What are you doing hiding in my brother’s barn?”

  The stubborn woman with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue fell to pieces right there in front of him. Her face crumbled. She dropped her head into her hands, her breath coming broken and unsteady.

  Tavish strongly suspected he’d scared her out of her wits by coming into the barn with a gun. If he’d had any idea she was the one who’d closed the door, he wouldn’t have arrived armed.

  He squatted down in front of her, thrown by the fact that she still hadn’t spoken. She must have really been upset. “Come now, Katie. No harm done. Don’t cry.”

  She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose but still didn’t look at him. Several deep breaths seemed to calm her a bit. She even hazarded a terribly uncertain glance at him.

  He gave her his most winning smile. “Are you fond of barns, then, that you sit about in them in all kinds of weather?”

  Katie shook her head. “I was so very wet, and the lightning seemed terrible close, and . . .” She let out another long breath. “I’m sorry.”

  She chose the barn to escape the elements?

  Tavish shook his head at that bit of female logic. “But why didn’t you knock at the house?”