Phoebe let out a sigh of relief, tumbling into a deep sleep.
* * *
Mary sat on the bed in the tiny room she shared with Seamus. She looked around the cramped space, smiling at the small signs of a shared life. Random buttons on the bureau to repair several shirts, a pebble from Maura from her recent ramble by a nearby stream, a comb with a few strands of Seamus’s black and gray hair. A shawl draped over the back of a chair and a pair of thick socks at the base of it. She rose to take off her necklace and stilled when she saw a rock on the bureau that she didn’t recall seeing before. Tracing the top of it, she stared at its familiar color but couldn’t discern where or how she had seen the rock before.
“So, you’ve seen it then,” Seamus murmured, as he came to stand beside her.
Mary sighed with pleasure, leaning backward to rest against him. Her head turned to nestle into the crook of Seamus’s neck, and she gave a small purr of pleasure as his hands caressed her shoulders and down her arms. “Shay,” she murmured, before turning to press into his chest, her arms folded over her chest, as though protecting herself from harm. “Hold me.” Her breath caught as Seamus’s arms banded about her, hugging her securely to him.
“What is it, a ghrá?” He kissed her head, his tender embrace eliciting a shiver. “You’re well, my love. You’re safe.”
“I know,” she whispered. “All is right in the world when I’m in your arms, my Seamus.” She paused, as she unfurled her arms to wrap around his back and to tug him incrementally closer. “Eamon,” she choked out.
“Ah, love, he’ll be all right,” he soothed. “He and Phoebe will find their way and will be happy. As our other lads are, as our Niamh is.”
Mary sniffled and tilted her head up, so she could meet his worried gaze. “Aye, I know they’ll find their way true soon enough.” She paused as she shook her head, unable to prevent her eyes from filling with tears again. “Nay, my darling, ’tis that he’s accepting I’m home. He doesn’t look at me with distrust or fear any longer.” She ignored the tears coursing down her cheeks as she gazed deeply into her husband’s beautiful blue eyes. “When he burst into the kitchen the first night he returned from Saint Louis, a fraction of his tension eased when he saw me standing beside Maggie. As though he didn’t believe I’d truly be here.”
She turned her head into Seamus’s hand, as his thumb swiped at her tears on one cheek. “I wanted to run to him, to hold him, and to ease him of his burdens. But he’s a grown man, not my little Eamon.” Regret filled her gaze as she bit her lip. “I am tired of feeling so bitter for all the time I lost with my children. Why did I have to be denied all those years, Seamus?”
“Oh, love.” Seamus cupped her cheeks, lowering his head so their foreheads touched. “Ah, a ghrá mo chroí,” he breathed, calling her the love of his heart in Gaelic. “There’s no reason. There’s nothing to ease the pain of all the lost memories. But you have time now to make more memories.” His smile filled with encouragement, he said, “Eamon’s discovering that he can have faith and not be betrayed by it, thanks to you and your constancy, Mary.”
She fell forward, clinging to Seamus again. “I’d be lost without you, Seamus. Promise me that you’ll never do anything to risk being taken from me.”
“I promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep our family safe and to return to your arms every night.” He kissed her head and eased away to unbutton his shirt and to prepare for bed. Mary slipped off her robe and slid under the covers, shivering as the evenings remained cool, even though the days were warm.
After Seamus curled around her in bed, she sighed as she slid her foot over his calf and used his chest as her pillow. “I’ll never take such moments with you for granted.” Her eyes drifted shut as he kissed her head. “What is that rock on the bureau?” Her fingers played through his black and gray chest hair, before he clasped her hand, tangling their fingers together.
“Do you recognize it?” he asked, his cheeks flushing.
Twisting so she could gaze into his eyes, she nodded. “Aye, but I don’t know why I do. ’Tis just a rock.”
“Nay,” Seamus said in a low, nearly reverent voice. “’Tis not just a rock. ’Tis a small piece of stone from our land in Ireland.” His eyes gleamed with the anguish that continued to resonate nearly twenty years after leaving his farm behind.
“Oh, a chuisle,” she whispered, her hand rising to stroke through his hair and then his beard. She saw his eyes flash with deep emotions at her term of endearment for him, my heartbeat, in Gaelic. “Oh, my darling. I never knew you carried it with you.”
He ducked his head, as he kissed her fingers. “We had so little space in the bags we brought with us. I should never have used any of the space for it.” His eyes gleamed. “But I needed something from home.”
“A talisman,” she whispered, as tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Aye, and a reminder that I would again build all that I had lost.”
Mary pushed up until she sat with her legs on either side of Seamus’s waist, leaning forward so she bracketed him with her arms on either side of his head, her hands caressing his cheeks, and her hair forming a curtain, blocking out everything but the two of them. “Nay,” she said in a fierce, low voice. “You did not lose anythin’, Seamus. ’Twas taken from us. By misfortune and greed and bad luck. You did everything you could for us. And you still do.” She kissed one eyebrow and then the other, before moving to kiss his cheeks.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her down to rest on his chest, her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Mary, I was lost without you,” he breathed. “Let me love you.”
“Please, my darling,” she said, as she arched into his kiss. “Reassure me that you’re here and never to be taken from me.” Words were soon unnecessary, as they lost themselves to each other’s touch, rekindling their passion for each other.
Chapter 7
Two days later, Phoebe grimaced as she moved, a razor-sharp pain shooting outward. With slow, deep breaths, she repositioned her leg and then relaxed as she struggled not to cry. She was exhausted. From fear. From uncertainty. From overwhelming emotions. From the lagging effects of the fever. She sniffled and turned her head to the side in case one of the sharp-eyed O’Rourkes watched from the doorway. She would not have them think of her as weak or pathetic.
Praying that Eamon would grow bored and leave her be, Phoebe grappled with her contradictory emotions. Her soul called out to him, and yet she dreaded seeing him. She resented his attentiveness now, when he had refused to show her such concern when they were on the steamboat. When she was a healthy, whole woman, he had spurned her. Now that she was an invalid, he was solicitous and caring. Anger and bitterness built, allowing her to stifle her tears.
At the sound of his voice, her gaze flew to his, and her defenses scattered.
“Hello, sunshine,” Eamon whispered, as he stared at Phoebe with tenderness. “How are you feelin’?” His gaze roved over her, as though attempting to discern how she was without her telling him.
Tugging at the bedcovers, she pulled the blankets up to her chin. “Fine, Mr. O’Rourke,” she whispered. After a confused, searching stare, she dropped her gaze to the floor. “There’s no need to spend your time worrying about me.”
“Phoebe,” Eamon murmured, moving to sit in the chair by her bed. He touched her hand gently. When she jerked away from his soft touch, he stilled, any joy in his gaze leeching away. “Phoebe?”
She laid in the bed, shaking her head over and over again as he stared at her. “No,” she whispered in an emotion-laden voice, filled with sadness rather than elation at his presence. “No, you do not have the right to all of a sudden care for me. To … to pity me because of my circumstances. I am strong. I am capable.” Her voice broke. “I’ll find a way to be fine. Without you.”
She shivered and shook like she was in the throes of a fever again, but, after a few long minutes, her excess emotions eased, and she rested against her pillows, exhausted.
“Don’t call me that,” she gasped out. “Not now. Not after the way you wanted nothing to do with me on the steamboat.” She swiped at her wet cheeks, her chin quivering and her gaze mutinous, angry at herself for betraying any emotion.
He gripped her hand, stilling it from waving about in agitated circles. “You’re wrong, love,” he said in a soft cajoling voice. “I avoided you because I feared what I felt for you. I had promised myself to never care for a woman, and then there you were. I was terrified.”
Refusing to gaze at him, she stared at the bureau with the chipped ewer and pitcher on top. “I don’t believe you. Not after seeing your family these past days.” She turned her head and stared at him with an emotionless gaze. “Why can’t you be honest and admit what you truly feel?”
With a gaze filled with uncertainty and puzzlement, he shook his head. “You’re not making any sense.”
“You pity me. You pity me!” she yelled at him again, before she swallowed a sob and covered her face with her free hand. “And I hate you for it.”
He froze at her whispered words. “No,” he gasped, gripping her hand harder, tugging on it, as though to extract her love with as great an ease. “No, Phoebe. That’s the last thing I feel. And, I pray, the last thing you feel about me.”
“I’ll never believe you,” she sobbed. “I’ll never trust your motives, ever again.”
Letting out a stuttering breath, he whispered, “Please don’t say that, Bee. Please. For we are to marry. And I can’t imagine a lifetime of mistrust between us.”
With tears pouring unheeded down her cheeks and chin, she gaped at him. “Why would you say such a thing? You know I will never marry you. Never.”
Eamon dropped his head forward, resting it on the bed by her hip. He bounced it a few times and took a deep breath, as though attempting to find the words that eluded him. Finally he looked up at her, any teasing replaced by a resolute earnestness. “We will marry, Phoebe Mortimer. To protect you and your sisters from your conniving uncle. We will try to be happy. That is all I can promise.”
“No,” she whispered, staring at him as though he had the plague. “No.”
Rising, Eamon dropped her hand and backed away a step. “Yes, Miss Mortimer. We will wed.”
“You would force me into a farce of a marriage?” she whispered, her gaze filled with betrayal and pain as she stared at him. “I thought I knew what sort of man you are …” She broke off, as she attempted to swallow a sob.
“You know who I am, Bee,” he rasped, flinching at calling her Bee rather than Miss Mortimer. Eamon closed his eyes for a long moment and then opened them again to stare at her with dulled determination. “Within a few days’ time, the priest will visit, and we will have a quiet ceremony. For this isn’t only about you but those you love. And I know you aren’t the sort of woman to leave your sisters vulnerable to your uncle. I know you wouldn’t want them to suffer as you did.” He paused as he watched tears drip off her chin. His hands twitched as though he wished to swipe them away and to offer her comfort, but he remained across the room from her. “We will find a way forward.”
She watched as he spun on his heel, leaving her staring at him in shock. How was she to argue against his logic, when it seemed his goal was to protect her and her sisters? How would she ever survive a marriage of convenience, when there was love felt only by one in the union?
* * *
“Why are you such a baby?” Winnifred hissed. “I thought you were more adventurous, Lo. You did vote to come here.”
Lorena tripped as Winnifred tugged her along beside her. “I was as desperate as you, Winnie.” She gasped as she barely righted herself before tumbling into a pile of muck. She wrenched her arm free of her sister’s hold and slowed her pace, forcing her sister to slow her march to the nearby creek. “Phoebe’s the stalwart one. She would have found a way to survive with ten cents.”
Winnifred snorted with disgust. “Shows her poor heritage, and I don’t mean Mama.”
Lorena sighed with relief as they arrived at the creek, finding a small shaded area and sitting on two large rocks. “We all have questionable antecedents, Winnie. And Mama’s family isn’t without blemish. Look at our uncle.”
Settling beside her sister, Winnifred asked, “But is he truly that awful?” She waved her hand as though disregarding any argument Lorena could make. “I’ve spoken with him a few times, and he seems rather charming. And repentant for the way the O’Rourkes provoked him into speaking against us.”
“Provoked?” Lorena asked with a quirk of an eyebrow. “How did they do that? It sounded to me as though he proffered those sentiments on his own.” When Winnifred remained mutinously quiet, Lorena said, “He called us worthless and unskilled, Winnie.”
“I’m certain he didn’t mean you or me,” she said with a shrug. “How could he have?”
Lorena studied her youngest sister, as though truly seeing her for the first time. “I see,” she murmured. “How did you speak with him?”
“He loitered near the privy, and we spoke a few minutes,” Winnifred said with a triumphant smile. “The O’Rourkes believe they can control us, but they are mistaken!”
Staring at the sky, as she studied the large puffy clouds, Lorena took a deep breath. Rarely in the past five years had she allowed herself to feel any deep emotions. However, anger and resentment toward her youngest sister had begun to stir. “Did you never consider that the O’Rourkes are generous in their concern for us and their desire to protect us from a man like our uncle?”
“Did you never consider that their actions prevent us from receiving our rightful inheritance?” Winnifred snapped. “Uncle is running out of patience, and he doesn’t have to give us the money he’s set aside for us.”
Lorena sat in deep contemplation, her silence enraging her youngest sister.
“You may desire to remain a pauper, living off their kindness, but I dream of more.” Winnifred pushed herself to stand, freezing in place as she looked toward town.
Lorena sat up straight, peering over the prairie grass to see Finn O’Rourke approaching. “For once, be nice.”
“Ladies,” Finn said. He smiled at Lorena and stared with unconcealed animosity at Winnifred. “How unfortunate you didn’t inform any of us that you planned on a walk. Maggie was quite worried about you.”
“We’re not your prisoners,” Winnifred snapped.
“No, but we would like to ensure you are well, regardless of your lack of gratitude,” Finn said. “Although I hear the rooms above the Daybreak are quite … entertaining. Perhaps I should escort you there, so you could peruse them and choose one of your liking?”
“You vile man,” Winnifred sputtered.
He shrugged. “Be careful, Winn. One of us will seek you out only so many times before we lose patience. Then you’ll discover who truly is vile.” He paused. “Come. ’Tis time for the midday meal, and we’re starving.” He heaved Lorena to her feet, winked at her, and ignored Winnifred’s moaning the entire walk back to the house.
* * *
Phoebe sat propped up on pillows in the comfortable bed, although she had tired of the four walls a few days ago. She yearned to go outside, to explore the town, to watch the chickens peck in the ground. Anything but sit cooped up in this room, as the world carried on without her. Eamon had poked his head in a few times to ensure she was well but had refrained from speaking with her, as though understanding they would only argue.
Now her sisters sat with her, and she yearned for quiet. Or the cheerful chatter Maggie always provided. Instead a sullen silence interspersed a pointed pecking that left her feeling as though she were bleeding inwardly. She sighed at her thoughts, for they were becoming fanciful. She feared this was what boredom provoked in her.
; “You’ll have to forego any dream you have of walking down an aisle,” Winnifred said, as she sewed. “He’ll have to walk toward you.” She snickered.
“I fear you won’t have the wedding gown of your dreams, Phoebe,” Lorena murmured, true regret in her gaze. “I’ve heard the seamstress wife is working on repurposing a nightgown as we speak.”
“Just think. You’ll have a marriage of necessity,” Winnifred said with a giggle. “The one thing we promised each other we’d never have.” She muttered a curse as she poked herself with her needle. “Do you remember the oath we took as girls, about the marriages we would have?”
Lorena bit her lip, shaking her head, as though to quiet Winnifred. However, Winnifred was in a mood to poke at her sister.
Nodding, Winnifred said, “Remember? We proclaimed we’d only marry men who were madly in love with us. Who were rich. And who would never expect us to have children.” She smiled smugly as she stared at Phoebe. “It seems you’ll fail on all three parts of the vow, dear sister.”
“Why is any of that amusing?” Phoebe asked, as she stared at her two sisters. “If I marry him, it’s to save you too.”
Winnifred rolled her eyes and made a tsking sound. “You’ve always been too dramatic, Phoebe. I thought that would be Lorena’s role, as she fills her mind with fantasy stories. Now that I’ve thought about it, I’m certain our uncle never meant to harm you as you claim. You’re exaggerating everything, as you always do.”
Phoebe flushed beet red with incredulity and anger. “You seriously believe that I’d tear a whole in a wall, climb through it while ripping a gash in my leg and launch myself onto the neighboring business’s roof one story below if I hadn’t thought I was to be sold as a prostitute that very evening?” She shook her head, as though she didn’t speak the same language as her sister. “I can’t believe you’d doubt what I went through. What I knew I needed to do.”
Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 10