Longing for Home: A Proper Romance

by Eden, Sarah M.

“Have you written to them since you came here?”

  “No.”

  He watched her a moment, debating. An offer hovered in his mind. But would she appreciate it? “Would you like to write to your family?”

  “Perhaps someday,” she answered.

  She’d told him her goal was to return home, yet she didn’t wish to send word to her family. What had happened between them?

  “Tell me if you decide to send a letter. I’d be happy to write it out for you.” He couldn’t imagine the frustration of illiteracy. He did, however, know the difficulty of waiting months for a reply to a letter sent so far away. “Actually, I could send it as a telegram to be mailed from Baltimore. The letter could reach Belfast in less than a fortnight.”

  Her eyes opened wide and something like eagerness lurked just beyond reach. He was immediately grateful he had made the offer.

  “Thank you, Joseph. I’ll consider it.”

  He couldn’t extend an invitation to work there longer. He couldn’t. The man in her song might have kept silent, but Joseph was certain that man didn’t have to live under the same roof as his unrequited, impossible love.

  He rose to his feet. Late night conversations in her bedroom were not the best method of maintaining his sanity.

  “I should take the girls up to their beds. They are worn out from all the dancing, it seems.”

  Katie smiled. “You watched them, did you?”

  “From just outside the door. I can’t remember the last time Emma laughed.” He lightly stroked little Emma’s hair as she slept. He missed the lighthearted child she’d been before Vivian died. “Thank you for giving her a reason to smile.”

  “She’s such a sweet girl. I only wish we’d found the tune she wanted to hear. We’ll have to try again, I suppose.”

  Joseph looked away from his daughter to her. “You would indulge her again?”

  “Of course I would.” She looked fondly at Emma. “The music made them both so happy.”

  Joseph lifted Ivy from the bed and held her to him with one arm. Emma took a little more doing, but in a moment’s time he held both his daughters in his arms. At the door, he turned back.

  “Have a good night, Katie.” He wanted to say more but knew better.

  “And you as well,” she answered.

  He stepped out into the dim kitchen. The girls lay heavy against him. He looked back only once in the direction of her door. He’d found a woman who loved his girls. She had a tender heart and undeniable strength. If only she could forgive him for insisting she couldn’t stay. If she never left, he’d never have a chance to win her over.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Katie welcomed the smells and sounds of the céilí the next evening. The atmosphere of friendship enveloped her. Life had changed for her here. It had changed for the better.

  Biddy and Ian both greeted her as she walked among her Irish neighbors. Tavish’s mother and father did as well. Mrs. Claire offered a “good evening,” to which Katie replied, “Good evening kindly,” bringing a smile to the old woman’s face. So many welcomed her, asking after her health and her business, praising her bread and the way in which she’d managed to undermine the unjust practices at the mercantile. They were kind and accepting.

  Yes, life had certainly changed for the better.

  “What is this here, my friends?” Seamus’s voice carried in the relative quiet that followed the end of a song. He stood not too many paces from Katie. “I see our Miss Macauley has brought with her a fiddle.”

  Katie froze. She’d not meant to draw attention to her instrument but merely to sneak in on a song or two. There’d not been time to bake anything. Her music was all she had to offer them that night.

  “Do you play that fiddle, Katie?” Seamus asked, a very Irish twinkle in his eyes.

  She hid her embarrassment behind a cheeky retort. “I’m not such a fool as to carry it about simply for show, the way one would a fancy green hat.”

  A few laughs and noises of enjoyment emanated from the crowd.

  Seamus tipped his green hat to her. “We’d like to hear you play. Would you do best on a slow bit, or are you up for a jig?”

  “I can hold my own.”

  “Oh, can you now?” He looked equal parts doubtful and intrigued. “Perhaps ya’d like to play a piece for us.”

  Play by herself before all these people? Twas not at all what she had in mind. “Perhaps you’d care to get started, and I’ll join in.”

  Seamus shook his head. “That’s not how it works, I’m afraid. You play us a piece, and we’ll pick it up from you. That way, you see, we don’t outpace you.”

  The town certainly had proven set in its ways. First she’d been expected to dance, then declare her origins in church. She’d managed to wriggle her way out of those obligations. Katie couldn’t figure a means of avoiding playing for them all.

  “Do you know ‘The Donegal Reel’?” she asked.

  A man seated amongst the musicians, Thomas Dempsey she knew his name to be and a son-in-law to the O’Connors, nodded and looked around at the others.

  “Here I go, Eimear,” she murmured.

  She slowly opened her fiddle case, worried at the shaking she sensed in her hands. Would she even be able to play? She pulled out the bow and tightened the hairs just so. The musicians offered her a note to tune by.

  If only Father were there beside her. He could play any song ever thought of, at any tempo, in any key. He’d sat beside her many times as she’d played. She would have welcomed his encouragement just then, as well as the chance to show him how far she’d come, how hard she’d worked to learn to play well the fiddle that had meant so much to him.

  Katie set her fiddle under her chin and took up her bow. She knew “The Donegal Reel” well and knew it to be a fine song for dancing, besides being quite a thing to listen to. If she could play it well for this crowd, she’d have no reason to feel ashamed of her ability.

  She took a breath and began. As always, the music took hold in an instant. The notes flowed and jumped and trilled. Though she didn’t close her eyes, her vision filled with Cornagillagh and Father and the people who’d played the songs of Ireland when she was but a tiny child.

  She’d played for some time before realizing the others had not joined in. She focused once more on her surroundings, confused that she yet played alone. Her bow stilled. Everyone stood watching her.

  Had she done something wrong?

  Katie lowered her fiddle and looked around. No one was even dancing. That had never happened at any céilí she’d attended. Her face burned with embarrassment. She knew she hadn’t played poorly. Why, then, had she been left to play alone?

  “Why did you stop?” Until he spoke, she’d not realized Tavish was there. He’d played least in sight for days and days, so she’d not expected to see him that night.

  Katie looked over at him, knowing her humiliation must have shown.

  “No one else was playing,” she explained quietly. “I’m not certain why.”

  “Sweet heavens, Katie.” He shook his head. “They were all too blown down by you. I don’t think any of us have ever heard your equal.”

  She looked about. Had they truly been impressed?

  “Finish the song, will you?” Seamus said, amongst murmurs of agreement from the others.

  Katie shook her head. “I don’t care to play for people, not all by myself.”

  “We’ll play with you,” Thomas Dempsey offered, taking up his pennywhistle once more. “We were only amazed, is all. Play a spell with us. ’Twould be a shame for you to put away your fiddle so soon.”

  She hesitated. Tavish took her hand in his and led her quite easily to where the musicians were gathered. She stood just a bit apart from the others.

  “Couldn’t I stand in the back?”

  “Just play like you did a minute ago,” he said. “You’ll fair knock ’em all down.”

  She pushed out a tense breath. “This isn’t at all what I had in mind when I
thought to bring my fiddle.”

  He kissed her fingers before releasing her hand. A man ought not do that to a woman who needs steady hands to play. She watched him make his way back into the edge of the crowd.

  “‘The Donegal Reel,’ now,” Thomas Dempsey instructed the musicians. “Follow Miss Macauley’s lead. And keep up—if you can.”

  Katie set her instrument under her chin once more and began playing the tune from the beginning. The pennywhistle joined first, with the others taking it up over the lines that followed. She breathed a sigh of relief as the dancing began again and her efforts faded in with the others.

  She remained among the musicians for several songs more, grateful they’d chosen tunes she knew. Seeing the joy that dancing or singing along to the music brought her neighbors made her smile. She’d learned to care for these people who’d been strangers to her not two months earlier.

  Katie’s eyes fell on Tavish again and again. He didn’t dance with anyone but stood nearby, watching her with such a smile on his face as made her heart melt inside. She had to force her thoughts away from the kiss he’d given her hand and the all too vivid memory of his embrace but a few days earlier. Thinking on either moment would likely leave her too shaken even to play.

  After a full half-hour, Katie’s fingers protested. She’d asked a lot of them during her time with the girls the night before. As the last strains of “The Little Beggarman” died out, she lowered her fiddle. She offered a quiet thank-you to the other musicians and made to step away.

  “One more, Katie!” Seamus Kelly called out before she’d moved far. “Give us one more.”

  “One more!” someone else shouted.

  Katie looked to the musicians. She saw only smiles and encouragement. Perhaps she could play one more.

  “Something fast or slow?” she asked.

  Thomas Dempsey spoke for the lot. “Slow. Show ’em how a Donegal fiddler can play anything at all.”

  Slow? The first song that always came to mind was “Ar Éirinn.” But she couldn’t play that tune without tears spilling from her eyes. She searched her mind for others that might do without breaking her to pieces.

  She settled on “The Dear Irish Boy.” Within a measure or two, understanding and approval touched the faces of most gathered around. The plaintive tune was an old one and familiar.

  Thomas Dempsey joined with his pennywhistle, but the others merely listened. Oddly enough, this time she didn’t long for the rest of the instruments. The simplicity of the duet added to the beauty of the song.

  The air came to its close. Katie held her fiddle to her and mouthed a silent “Thank you” to Thomas Dempsey. He nodded in return.

  “I’d say you broke everyone’s hearts with that one, Sweet Katie.”

  She looked up at Tavish, suddenly at her side. “I haven’t played that tune in years. I can’t even say what brought it to mind.”

  “Well, you’d best think of a few more. They’ll likely not let you come back next week unless you have your fiddle with you.” His usual teasing grin held a note of tenderness that went straight to Katie’s heart. He’d enjoyed her music, and that touched her deeply.

  A tiny voice reached her ears in the very next moment. “Katie, that was the most beautiful song ever, ever!”

  Katie spun about in shock. “Ivy Archer, what in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

  Had the girl followed her? How had she not noticed the child? Ivy was too young to be out alone. She might have become lost or wandered off.

  Katie lowered herself to Ivy’s level. “Listen to me, love. Your father’ll be out of his mind with worry. You ought not have—”

  “But Pompah said we could come listen to your violin.”

  As those words sunk in, Katie’s entire frame froze. “Your father’s here?”

  Ivy nodded.

  Katie lifted her eyes and glanced about the gathering. She didn’t need to look long. For the second time that night, the entire group had gone still and quiet. Until that moment she’d not even wondered why another song hadn’t begun.

  There in the midst of the céilí, the most Irish thing that happened in Hope Springs, stood the one man who had sworn to avoid anything that even resembled taking sides.

  Joseph Archer.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tavish was not often at a loss for words. But Joseph Archer standing in the midst of a céilí was not a sight he was at all prepared for. The way Katie’s eyes lit up when she realized Joseph stood there wasn’t terribly comforting either.

  “If everyone stares Joseph down like they are, he’ll turn tail and go.” Katie sounded decidedly displeased at the possibility.

  “You can’t fault them for being a touch shocked,” Tavish answered. “Seeing anyone at a céilí who isn’t Irish is . . . Well, it’s never happened once in the ten years I’ve been here, I’ll tell you that much.” And Tavish suspected Joseph hadn’t come out of a sudden burning desire to study Irish culture.

  Ivy tugged Katie in Joseph’s direction. Katie, in turn, tugged Tavish in that direction as well. He hadn’t been forgotten; that was promising. He kept at her side as the littlest Archer girl pulled her to the center of everyone’s attention.

  “You’ve come to the céilí, then?” she said to Joseph.

  “The girls wanted to hear you play.” He looked around at the gathering.

  Everyone still watched him, likely as thrown by his appearance as Tavish was, though for decidedly different reasons.

  He spoke to Tavish next. “I hope we aren’t ruining the party.”

  You’re full ruining my party. But Tavish shook his head. He knew Katie would want the Archers to enjoy themselves. ’Twas only his own jealousy that made him reluctant to welcome the first of their non-Irish neighbors to the weekly gatherings. “Everyone is welcome at a céilí.”

  “Oh, Pompah!” Little Ivy still held Katie’s hand, even as she eyed the gathering with unmistakable eagerness. “This party smells so good!”

  Katie smiled at that. How Tavish loved her smile. Perhaps it was the rarity of it.

  “They’ve scones over on the table,” Katie told Ivy. “Have you tried one yet?”

  Ivy’s eyes grew wide. She shook her head no.

  “Do you mind if she has one, Joseph?”

  Joseph. How long had they been on a first-name basis? Tavish watched them both but saw nothing really beyond perhaps a friendship.

  Joseph motioned his daughter on. “Go ahead, Ivy.”

  She ran the moment the words left his mouth.

  “But don’t take them all,” he called after her.

  “A fine thing it is that you’ve come,” Katie said. “A fine thing.”

  Tavish inched a bit closer to her, keeping a firm eye on Joseph Archer. He took some comfort in knowing Katie had not shown a preference for her employer. But then, she’d only shown the very beginnings of a preference for him the last time they were together.

  “A person can’t help but love a céilí.” Katie looked around at the gathering before turning her gaze once more to Joseph Archer. “There are so many fine things to eat, and the music’ll make your heart dance inside you.”

  “The music we’ve heard already has been . . .” Joseph’s voice trailed off, as he searched for the right words.

  Tavish, for the first time that evening, felt some kinship with the man. How did one describe a talent like Katie’s? She surprised him at every turn.

  “I wasn’t horrible, then?” Though Katie laughed as she posed the question, there was some uncertainty in her tone.

  Tavish opened his mouth to heap well-deserved praise on her, but Joseph beat him to it. “After last night’s concert and this evening’s, I have to wonder what I’m doing having such a talented musician cleaning my kitchen.”

  Last night’s concert? Katie played her music for him? That thought sat in his mind about as peaceably as a summer storm.

  She smiled hopefully. “Did you really think it was good?”

/>   “Good?” Tavish shook his head at the inadequacy of the word she’d chosen. “I think you need to search out a bigger word than that.”

  Joseph nodded. “I’ve attended concerts in the finest halls of New York and London, and what I have heard you play would have shamed most of those musicians and thoroughly impressed the rest.”

  Tavish had always thought Joseph a reticent and ineloquent man. Yet, that compliment far outshone what he himself had managed. But then, he had never attended concerts in fine music halls nor heard any professional musicians play. He couldn’t offer a compliment like Joseph’s; he hadn’t Joseph’s history or privilege.

  “I do wish my father could hear your words,” Katie said. True regret laced her tone. “He often despaired of me ever learning to play well.”

  “Your father would not despair of it in the least if he had the pleasure of hearing you.” Joseph smiled in a way that did not strike Tavish as anything near indifferent.

  Tavish set a light hand on Katie’s back, a gesture he knew was possessive but one he felt driven to make. He’d seen the very real hurt in her expression during her conversation with Joseph Archer a few days earlier. He’d seen her smile at the sight of Joseph there at the party. Her feelings weren’t entirely evident. But Joseph, at least, ought to know Tavish’s interest in Katie wasn’t casual.

  “Are you certain we’re allowed to be here, Papa?” Emma asked. “We don’t usually . . .” Her eyes took in the crowd with obvious misgivings.

  “Tavish,” Katie whispered, looking up at him. “Do you think Finbarr might be recruited to help with Miss Emma?”

  “I’ll see to it.” He’d recruit the entire céilí to do her bidding if she wished it.

  Ian’s Michael passed by in that moment, saving Tavish from having to actually leave Katie’s side. He motioned the boy over.

  “Fetch Finbarr over, will you?” he whispered in the lad’s ear and received a nod in response.

  He leaned in close to Katie once more. “Michael will fetch Finbarr,” he told her in a low voice.

  The smile of gratitude she gave him lit up the entire night. A man would do a great many things to see a woman look at him in just that way.