Katie found herself wanting to go, but she’d need to ask for the evening off. Men, she’d learned while working in kitchens over the years, were most amiable after they were fed. She’d best wait until he’d eaten.
She heard the telltale sounds of chair legs scraping in the dining room later that evening. The family, it seemed, had finished their meal. She stepped into the room just as Mr. Archer rose from his seat. The girls were only just disappearing into the parlor.
“Might I have a word with you, Mr. Archer?”
“Is something the matter?” Why did he jump so quickly to that conclusion? She’d not created any disasters at his house since securing her position once more.
“I only wondered if I might request the evening off. Biddy O’Connor invited me to a céilí tonight.”
“I have no idea what that is.” He was not one for making a person feel at ease in conversation.
“A party, Mr. Archer. Céilí is the word used in the old country.”
He pushed his chair back up to the table, standing beside it with the air of one anxious to be moving along. “Ah, yes. The weekly Irish gathering.”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“I have,” he said. “I simply didn’t realize it had a special name.”
He didn’t seem immediately opposed to the idea. That was promising.
“I know I’m supposed to work here mornings and evenings, so asking an evening off only a few days into the job is rather a lot to ask.”
He raised a hand and cut her off. “You have already worked beyond the hours required of you. An evening off is not so presumptuous as you seem to think.”
His words surprised her. After several days of pointed reminders that she wasn’t being paid for her extra work, she’d have thought he wasn’t counting the longer hours in her favor. An odd man he was, to be sure.
“And,” he added, “I was more or less expecting you to attend. All the Irish in Hope Springs do.”
“Then you don’t mind if I go?” She wanted to be perfectly clear on that before hieing herself down the road. ’Twould be just her luck to return and find her things packed and waiting on the back porch, her job snatched away for a third time.
He shook his head and walked out of the room without further comment. ’Twas an easier thing than she’d expected.
Katie quickly saw to clearing the table, then slipped inside her room to tidy herself up. It would be a fine thing to hear the old tunes and stories.
She’d played a few of those songs on her fiddle for the Garrisons as they’d journeyed north from the train station but hardly ever in the months before that and not at all since arriving in Hope Springs. Her fiddle sat in a corner of her room, untouched. She hadn’t had time to pick it up.
She missed her father every time she slid the fiddle beneath her chin. She longed for the sound of his expert playing, missed the peace she’d once felt at hearing his music fill their tiny house. More than anything, she missed the way he’d once smiled at her as though he loved her more dearly than anything.
“Go on with you, now,” she whispered sternly to herself. “You’ve no right to miss what you don’t deserve to have in the first place.”
She wrapped her woolen shawl about her shoulders, closed the kitchen door behind her, and set off toward the bridge.
The sound of fiddles, tin whistles, flutes, and bodhráns led her to a tidy farmhouse several miles down the Irish side of the road from Mr. Archer’s house. The fifth house on the left, she realized, which meant it was the home of Tavish and Ian O’Connor’s parents. Katie smelled colcannon and bacon. The voices floating on the air rang deep with the tones of Ireland. She breathed it in, both soothed and upended. She longed for home, yet dreaded the memories connected to it.
Dozens upon dozens of people milled about. A group of musicians played together near the barn. Many of those gathered danced enthusiastically. A table sat spread with a great many dishes. Children eagerly stole sweet biscuits from the plates at the table’s end.
Katie clasped her hands and watched it all unfold. With so many in attendance, she’d go entirely unnoticed. That was her idea of a perfect evening. No one other than Biddy would be expecting her. The night would be quiet and peaceful.
She believed that right up until the moment Tavish O’Connor and his teasing smile appeared at her side.
Chapter Twelve
Tavish nearly laughed at the startled look of alarm on Katie Macauley’s face. He hadn’t the slightest worry she was actually frightened of him. He’d wager she simply didn’t know what to make of him. And, seeing as the feeling was entirely mutual, he found it endlessly amusing.
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to sneak up on a person?” She didn’t look over at him as she spoke. The stern set of her mouth didn’t fool him for a moment. Katie meant him to believe her angry, but he didn’t think she was as irritated with him as she worked to appear.
The woman could do with a fair bit of teasing, she could.
“You know, I don’t think my ma ever mentioned that.” He made a show of pondering the idea. “Perhaps we should go pull her aside and let her know you don’t think too highly of her abilities as a mother.”
For just a moment he saw panic flit across her face, quickly covered with an overdone look of scolding. “I knew you were trouble the moment I laid eyes on you.”
“Oh, come now.” He kept close to her side and smiled to himself when Katie inched further away. “Are you telling me when you first saw me sitting up in my brother’s wagon that your very first thought was, ‘That fine-looking Irishman over there is most definitely a rascal’?”
She kept her gaze on the crowd milling in front of her. Meant to not even look at him, did she? He would most certainly enjoy undertaking her introduction to the townspeople.
“So which of our fine Irishmen have you chanced to meet these past few days?” he asked.
Her chin rose more than a fraction. She’d certainly mastered the dismissively haughty look. “I’ve met hardly a soul, excepting you, and I can’t say you’d fit on a list of ‘fine Irishmen.’”
His chuckle at her well-turned response was joined by another amused rumble. He’d not realized until that moment that Seamus Kelly had happened past and overheard.
“I do believe you’ve been shown the door, Tavish,” Seamus said with a grin beneath his ginger whiskers. “Aye, and kicked right on through it as well.”
Tavish agreed with a nod. Katie had a way with set-downs. “This, Seamus, is Miss Katie Macauley, late of Mother Ireland. Though she’s not told me exactly where she hails from, I’d wager Ulster.”
“Ulster?” Seamus took off his green derby hat long enough to scratch at his head in an overly dramatic display of pondering. “It seems to me she has more than a touch of Dublin about her.”
Tavish knew he would say exactly that. “You think everyone’s a Dubliner. So which is it, Sweet Katie? Have I guessed right, or do the honors go to Seamus, here?”
Katie adopted a theatrically serious expression. She could tease and joke with Seamus but was all prickles with him? Tavish wasn’t certain what to make of that. “Though it pains me to admit you’re right about anything in this whole world, Tavish O’Connor—”
Seamus grinned at that. Tavish only just kept his own smile under the surface.
“—I was, in fact, born in County Donegal, directly in the heart of Ulster, and lived many years in Derry and Belfast.”
Tavish began an exaggerated bow in acknowledgment of his own correct guess, a guess, if he were being honest, that had been helped along by Biddy’s quick summary of her earlier conversation with their newest Irish neighbor.
Katie, however, raised a hand to stop him. “’Tis with deepest sympathy for your friend Seamus, him of the impressive hat—”
Seamus tipped the brim of that very hat.
“—that I confess I’ve never been to Dublin nor set eyes on the Liffey. I hope that’s something you can overlook and let me sta
y at this fine gathering.”
A friendly word from Miss Prickles? It seemed she saved her standoffishness and disapproval for him alone. He rather liked the idea of that particular challenge.
“You’ve gone and done it, you have,” Tavish said to her under his breath, leaning in closer so as to be heard. Katie pointedly regained the distance between them. “Seamus is a Dublin man, born and raised in the Liberties. He’ll likely claim you as kin, hearing you speak so highly of his town.”
Seamus turned in the direction of the crowd and in a deep and booming voice called out, “Attention, my good people.” He clapped, the sound echoing around them. The gathering grew still and listened. ’Twasn’t everywhere the town blacksmith was also the resident entertainer. “We have here a fine Ulster lass who is newly arrived among us.” He motioned back toward Katie.
Her eyes widened on the instant. Clearly she’d not expected to find herself the center of attention and didn’t at all enjoy the experience. Biddy had apparently left out that bit, then. New arrivals always received a very warm welcome.
“If you were any sort of a gentleman,” Katie urgently whispered, “you’d stop him.”
“I might as well try stopping the rain, Sweet Katie.” He felt certain she didn’t appreciate the name he’d fashioned for her any more in that moment than she usually did.
Seamus continued addressing the group. The man never seemed quite as at home as he did when speaking before a crowd. “I do believe the lass deserves a song. What say all of ya?”
Cheers and applause answered his question. Seamus turned to the musicians. “What say you? Shall we play her a fine tune of welcome?”
The flute gave a quick, lively trill. Seamus turned back toward Katie, offered a friendly nod, and launched with enthusiasm into a tune the gathering knew well, though it had only lately come in to being.
i>In the merry month of June from me home I started,
Left the girls of Tuam so nearly broken hearted,
Saluted Father dear, kissed me darling mother,
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother.
Others joined in the singing but held back on the dancing. Everyone knew the order of such things. Everyone, Tavish realized, except Katie.
“They are waiting for you, Sweet Katie,” he said. “This is your welcome song. You are expected to start the dancing.”
“I do not dance.” She spoke firmly, her voice fair snapping with the declaration.
That reasoning wouldn’t suffice. “You also told me that you don’t smile, but I’ve seen hints of it my own self.”
Katie shook her head, shook it with great emphasis, in fact.
“Refusing would offend them all.” They’d likely see it as a sign of rejecting their offered friendship, in fact. “You’re not dancing to say ‘look how fine I dance.’ You’re saying, ‘I thank you for the welcome.’”
That didn’t appear to convince her. “I . . .” She glanced about, her eyes not resting on anyone but taking them all in quickly. “I made a promise many years ago not to dance until I—” Her brow knit, not with anger or frustration but something far closer to sadness. “I don’t dance, Tavish. I don’t wish to offend, but I do not dance. Not ever.”
The song continued. Her words sat heavy on Tavish’s mind. She’d promised someone not to dance, someone who seemed to mean a great deal to her. He could see by the pained lines in her face that the very idea of breaking that vow was ripping into her heart.
More and more eyes turned toward her expectantly. The time had come, it seemed, to trade his role of teasing companion to friend in a time of need. He’d undertake it for only a moment, he said to himself. He had no desire to get tangled up in any woman’s troubles.
Tavish pointed a finger in her direction and made certain he smiled a bit. “You owe me for this.”
His eyes roamed the crowd nearby. Who could be counted on to join him in his breach of etiquette? Ah, the very person. His littlest sister, though now a wife and woman grown, could always be counted on for a lark. He stepped up to her and held out his hand.
“Tavish?” she whispered urgently.
“I’ll explain later, only go along with me in this.”
Bless her heart, she followed his lead. He spun her out into the space set aside for dancing. He could see surprised looks on most faces in the crowd. As near as Tavish could recall, and he’d been attending the weekly parties for nearly a decade, no one had ever stepped out before the guest of honor.
He gave his family and closer friends pointed looks whenever their eyes met, silently telling them to join in. Slowly people began trickling out as well, taking up the dance. While he kept up the lively steps, he pondered just what to say in explanation. What had possessed him to step in for a woman so determined to dislike him?
The song continued as the dancing grew more general.
One two three four five
Hunt the hare and turn her down the rocky road
And all the way to Dublin,
Whack fol la dee dah!
As the song came to a fine and energetic end, the crowd applauded. Tavish’s eyes found Katie. She looked braced for the worst, as though expecting to be thrashed or upbraided for refusing to dance.
Thrashed? For a dance? What had this woman been through? That she assumed she’d be mistreated tugged at Tavish’s heart more than he cared to admit.
“Friends,” he called out, “I think we owe our lovely new neighbor something of an apology.”
Katie turned alarmingly pale. Tavish hoped she had the fortitude to stay standing during his explanation.
“We’ve grown so accustomed to greeting new arrivals with a dance that we’ve embarrassed our newest neighbor, I’m afraid.” And now to formulate some acceptable reason when he himself had no idea of the whys of her refusal. “Miss Macauley is a bit shy of strangers and will need time to feel at ease enough among us to dance.”
Shy of strangers. That wouldn’t hold water. Katie Macauley didn’t care for scrutiny, but she was hardly timid.
Everyone seemed to accept that reasoning. He’d have to apologize to Katie later for such a fabrication. She was, in that moment, surrounded by throngs wishing to make her acquaintance, likely all apologizing for making her uncomfortable with their attention. If she hadn’t been shy of strangers before, she would be terrified of them after that.
Biddy, thank her kind heart, pushed through the crowd. She could be counted on to pull Katie out before her neighbors in their enthusiasm ran her off entirely.
“Good of you to take Miss Katie under your wing as you have.”
Tavish didn’t even have to look over to know ’twas Ian who spoke. He’d recognize the thinly veiled amusement in his voice anywhere.
“Your wife bullied me into it, if you must know.” Tavish felt certain Ian wouldn’t believe the half-truth. “Said if I didn’t pay Katie particular attention, she’d tan my hide.”
Ian’s smile turned up a bit more. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”
Tavish shrugged, his eyes drifting back to where Katie and Biddy stood, heads together, chatting like old friends. Something Katie said drew a laugh from Biddy. Katie very nearly smiled. Very nearly. The change in her, with her eyes lit up and the weight that usually showed in her expression lifted, was captivating. What would she look like if she actually smiled? How might an evening spent with her go if she were in a laughing and teasing mood?
“A lovely colleen, she is.” Ian apparently hadn’t left yet.
“She is a mystery is what she is.”
Ian only nodded. “Those are the best kind, brother.” He slapped Tavish on the shoulder before heading off in the direction of his wife and her new friend.
Tavish considered joining them but thought better of it. While he found Katie enjoyably intriguing, he had no thoughts beyond that. Hovering about would only add to his family’s speculating. No. Katie would have a far easier time of it if he made quite certain everyone knew there was no poss
ibility of anything but friendship between the two of them.
Chapter Thirteen
Shortly after breakfast the next morning, Katie patted at her loose knot of hair, checking her reflection in the small mirror hanging in her room. The Archer family, she’d learned, attended church on Sunday mornings. She wasn’t a religious person by any definition, but she could see the Archers hadn’t remotely accepted her. Indeed they hardly seemed to approve of her. She thought it best to go along.
She straightened her cuffs. They weren’t nearly as white as when first she’d made them upon arriving in America two years earlier. The dress was out of date and a touch worn, but it was the nicest she had. Both her work dresses were made of unexceptional brown fabric, more serviceable than pretty. This, however, was her fine dress, one reserved for rare occasions that called for something nicer. She’d chosen a sturdy fabric in a very light blue. It had held up to wear but wouldn’t hold up to any fashionable scrutiny. The skirt hung full all the way around. Women of distinction wore their dresses narrower at the front now, with all the fullness in the back. Katie never had aspired to such heights of fashion.
She stepped back, pulling the front of her skirts up a touch. If only she could do something about the shoes.
She had none but her battered old work boots. Still, the dress hung nearly long enough to keep them covered. How she hoped no one would notice. She’d never had the means to own more than one pair of shoes. But worn-out shoes were a far sight better than the disfigured feet inside them.
She let the dress hang free once more. “It will have to do, Katie Macauley,” she said to her reflection.
If the family threw her any scornful looks, she would simply do as she’d always done. She would hold her head high and pretend she cared not at all for their approval. Through countless insults and hurtful dismissals, she’d always kept her pain hidden. She could certainly continue to do so.
Longing for Home: A Proper Romance Page 10