Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four

by Flightner, Ramona

  “We know you were disappointed Eamon was ignoring you on the steamboat. Now you have his attention again.” Winnifred looked at her with a calculating expression.

  “I did not go through all this to garner his attention!” She took a deep breath. “It’s like you find my injury a source of entertainment. I had thought you’d be concerned that I almost died.”

  Winnifred rolled her eyes. “You’ve always embellished the truth about everything, Phoebe. We were concerned. We are concerned, but you’re fine now. Well, almost fine.”

  “Your fever broke, so that’s good,” Lorena murmured, her gaze flitting to Phoebe over her book. Lorena appeared taken aback by Winnifred’s comments, but she refrained from defending her middle sister from Winnifred’s verbal barrage.

  “What does that mean?” Phoebe looked from one sister to the other and back again, before slapping her hands on the covers beside her hips. “If you know something, it isn’t fair not to share it with me.”

  Winnifred shrugged. “Isn’t this like the time you knew Emory was going to leave me, but you said nothing? You let me spin my dreams and act a fool, rather than warn me.” She smiled balefully at her sister. “Payback is always so unpleasant.”

  Closing her eyes as she prayed for patience, Phoebe spoke through clenched teeth. “I feared he would leave. I didn’t know he would. I had hoped he was more honorable.”

  “Don’t lie!” Winnifred shrieked. “He left because you told him the truth. It was my choice whether or not I told him everything, not you.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek, and Phoebe paused before speaking. “I never told him anything, Winnie.” She met her sister’s spiteful look. “I never liked him. I’ll admit that. But I never told him anything.”

  Winnifred glared at her, her sewing forgotten on her lap. “Even now, even after almost dying, you can’t do me the courtesy of respecting me. Of telling me the truth.”

  “I am telling the truth.” Ducking her head, Phoebe closed her eyes. “I promised,” she whispered. “I can’t break my vow.” She bit her lip and prayed for the strength to swallow back the words desperate to burst forth. However, she’d sworn on her mama’s deathbed that she would take her secret to her grave, and she refused to break her promise.

  Winnifred rose, her black hair hanging loose down her back. “Well, I can’t break my vow to tell you what you’re clearly not ready to hear yet. Lo?” Winnifred spun on her heel and left the room, Lorena following after her.

  Phoebe sat on the bed in a dazed stupor, as she thought about her sisters’ increasingly antagonistic visits. At first, they had seemed genuine in their distress about her injury. Then the sly comments had begun. And the insinuation that she hadn’t been truly averse to the plans their uncle had for her. She shivered at the implication.

  At the knock on the door, she pasted on a calm expression and forced a smile. “Maggie,” she murmured.

  Maggie stared at her with a penetrating gaze. “Your sisters seem unsettled.” At Phoebe’s snort, Maggie smiled. “I have a cup of tea and a few cookies for you. Mum always said everything’s better with tea and cookies.”

  Suddenly fighting tears, Phoebe nodded and motioned for Maggie to come in. After shutting the door, Maggie set the cup and plate on the small table beside the bed. “It’s rose hip again. I want you to drink at least two cups a day to help fight infection.”

  Taking a sip, Phoebe sighed. “I don’t mind it. It isn’t nearly as bitter as the willow bark.”

  Maggie laughed. “Oh, you’ll have more of that too, as I can see you are still in pain.” She sat with a sigh. With a calculating smile, she looked at Phoebe. “Do your sisters cook?”

  Phoebe ate her cookies and finished her tea, settling against the pillows and feeling much more relaxed than when her sisters had been present. “Cook? No.”

  “Can they use a knife to chop vegetables?”

  Shrugging, Phoebe nodded.

  “Excellent,” Maggie said. “We’re busy here, and Deirdre’s overrun at the café. Their help will be most appreciated. And I’m certain they won’t mind washing a few dishes here and there.”

  Phoebe covered her mouth, as a peal of laughter burst out. “You can’t be serious. You think to have my sisters work?”

  Maggie nodded. “Aye. All O’Rourkes work. One way or another. If you’re young, and you study, that is your work. But, in the summer, we all pitch in and work hard. ’Tis the busy season and how we earn enough to survive for next year.”

  Watching the younger woman with admiration mixed with a healthy dose of envy, Phoebe said, “It must have been remarkable to grow up in such a loving family.” When Maggie froze, Phoebe wished she could recall her words. “I didn’t mean to be impertinent.”

  Sighing, Maggie relaxed. “You’re not impertinent. I assumed Eamon had told you about Mum and me.” She paused as Phoebe continued to stare at her in abject befuddlement. “Mum and I were separated eighteen years ago from the family. A day after I was born.” While Phoebe stared at her in astonishment, Maggie shrugged. “Da thought Mum and I had died. Mum thought he’d abandoned us. He remarried. Mum married Francois.” Maggie shivered at the name. “Somehow we met up again here. And we’ve been a family again for a year now.”

  “But you’re so self-assured, so secure in your place in your family.”

  “They accepted me as theirs the moment they saw me. They’d prayed for me every night in my absence,” Maggie whispered, her voice tear thickened. “They never forgot me—or Mum—and ’twas like a miracle we were returned to them. And Da has never stopped giving thanks every night, as he says grace.”

  Tears leaked out as Phoebe stared at Maggie. “I don’t know what it is to be part of such a family.” She ducked her head, as though she were the most disloyal daughter and sister. “I’ve always known I must earn my mother’s or my sisters’ love. And I’ve never done a very good job of it.”

  “Earn it?” Maggie asked, her brows furrowed in confusion. “You don’t earn love, Phoebe.”

  Phoebe sat forward, gasping in pain as she sat a bit too far forward and put pressure on her wound. With a hand to her leg, she held the other one out as she attempted to make her point to Maggie. “Of course you do. You dress properly, speak well, always are polite, and never have too strong an opinion. Appearances—and the family’s reputation—must never be blemished.”

  Maggie gaped at her. “But then you’re just a puppet if you act like that. Who are you if you don’t speak your opinions? Who are you if you can’t show you’re mad or happy or sad?”

  Clearing her throat, Phoebe played with the covers. “You have a chance to be loved.”

  Maggie gripped her hand, stilling the nervous fiddling with the blankets. “No, Phoebe, you never have a chance to shine if you act like that.” Her gaze was filled with entreaty. “Spend time with my mum. Listen to her wise words. You’ll understand that not everything you learned as a girl was what you should believe.”

  Phoebe nodded and then whispered, “Is there something you aren’t telling me about my wound?” At Maggie’s bewildered look, she said, “My sisters acted like I didn’t understand something about my injury.”

  Maggie sighed and squeezed Phoebe’s hand. “I feared they’d heard me talking quietly with Mum last night.” Her gaze was filled with apologetic pleading. “I worry that you’ll have a limp.”

  “Forever?”

  At the breathed question, she nodded. “Yes, forever, although I hope with time it won’t be as pronounced. I fear the muscles didn’t knit together as well as I would have liked and that the infection harmed your recovery. We won’t know until you walk freely, which will be in a few more days.”

  Phoebe’s hand covered her wound, rubbing up and down the blanket, as though willing the flesh to heal. “I don’t know what else I could have done,” she said in a low voice. “I was terrified. Perhaps I was foolish and should have accepted my fate.”

  “Never,” Maggie said in a firm, confident voice. �
��You are so brave, and your actions inspire me. You’re not the only one who has demons to battle, Phoebe. And who fears being caught.” With that, Maggie rose, picking up the plate and tea mug, as she returned to the kitchen.

  Phoebe rested, suddenly wishing she could return to a simpler time, when her sisters still liked her and when Phoebe didn’t have to worry about marrying a man who only tolerated her.

  * * *

  Maggie fixed herself a cup of tea, sitting with a groan in the empty kitchen. She eased onto the bench with her back against the wall, resting her head against a cool plank. Rather than worry about Phoebe, her mind wandered to imaginings of walking to the nearby creek to soak her feet, the birds serenading her. Against her will, her mind envisioned the return of Dunmore and her wholly inappropriate desire to leap into his arms when she saw him. She fought the rush of anticipation at that last thought as she knew she should consider him simply a friend. However, she had trouble ignoring his patient, fervent stares.

  The door clattered open, and she jolted upright, grabbing her cup to prevent it from spilling. “Winnifred. Lorena,” she muttered as she woke from her daydream. “What’s the matter?” she asked around a huge yawn.

  Winnifred pulled out a chair to sit at the table, while Lorena slipped through the kitchen to go to their shared room upstairs. “We’re bored.” She rolled her eyes as she watched her sister’s retreat to read in their shared bedroom. “At least I am.”

  “Bored?” Maggie asked. “I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind help with the washing and cleaning and cooking. Nor would I.”

  “As if I would do that sort of work,” Winnifred said with a snort. “You seem to have an odd notion about who I am, Maggie.”

  Instantly alert, Maggie shook her head. “No, I fear you are completely mistaken about who you are. And about how far you can push those who would shield you from your evil uncle.”

  Winnifred sat in silence a long moment, swiping at sweat on her forehead with her handkerchief. “Now that I’ve had a little time to consider everything, I have to wonder if he is truly as awful as you claim. He did come here to claim us. He does want us.”

  “Have you always been delusional?” Maggie asked. “Phoebe seems lucid, but you …” She shook her head, as though she pitied poor Winnifred and her lack of intelligence.

  “I’m as smart as anybody,” Winnifred snapped.

  “If you are, then you’ll have the sense that God gave a goose and not attempt to reconcile with your uncle. Didn’t you hear him say he has no use for worthless, unskilled women? He was speaking about you.”

  Winnifred shrugged. “I’ve come to realize he didn’t mean me. I’m not worthless. I’ve got skills.”

  Frowning, Maggie studied her. “Although the implication is your sisters are? What kind of horrid person are you?”

  The youngest Mortimer sister rolled her eyes at Maggie. “I’m smart enough to know I wouldn’t have injured myself as Phoebe did, forcing everyone to focus all their time and energy on me.”

  Maggie watched her keenly. “No, that’s the problem. Our focus isn’t on you, and you resent your sister. Do you believe your uncle will treat you better than he threatened to treat Phoebe? Do you believe yourself more cunning and able?”

  Winnifred stared at the ceiling, refusing to reply.

  Maggie rose and moved to the stove to brew another pot of tea. At the pounding on the back door, she frowned. “Speak of the devil.” When the door creaked open, she gasped and grabbed the first weapon she found, hiding it in her skirts. “Mr. Chaffee, you know you were barred from this home. Please leave,” Maggie said, standing tall with chin high.

  He snorted. “Don’t attempt to dissuade me from taking what is mine. I know my nieces are eager to reacquaint themselves with me.” He speared a glance in Winnifred’s direction. “Or are you not as eager to claim your inheritance as I believed you to be?”

  Winnifred paled before regaining her bravado. “My desire to reside with the O’Rourkes shouldn’t diminish your regard for your nieces. Or your desire to aid us.”

  “My regard for you?” Chaffee parroted with a huff of derision. “If Marilda had instilled any familial loyalty in you, you wouldn’t have accepted the O’Rourke charity and wouldn’t be on the verge of turning yourself into a pauper!”

  Winnifred took a stuttering breath, edging ever-so-slightly in her uncle’s direction.

  “You can’t possibly be charmed by this man? He’s as smooth as an irate hedgehog.” Maggie turned to Uriah with a huff, shaking her head in disbelief. “As I said before and as I say again, you are not welcome here. You have no right to be here. Get out.”

  “I have a right to speak with my nieces! I have been cruelly denied their company.” A button from his cranberry waistcoat burst free with his agitated breathing.

  “Or you’ve been denied the profits you thought yours,” Maggie snapped. She screeched when Uriah reached for Winnifred, thrusting her aside. Acting with instinct, she raised the rolling pin high, letting out a roar as she clobbered him on the back of his head.

  She watched as his eyes rolled back, and he fell to his knees before landing on his belly. With rounded eyes, Maggie stared from him to Winnifred and then back again to the man laying lifeless on the kitchen floor.

  “Did you kill him?” Winnifred screeched. “What will we do if he’s dead?”

  “Celebrate?” Maggie asked, as she kept the rolling pin in her hands. She shook as the adrenaline left her. She careened until the kitchen counter supported her weight. “Why would you mourn such a man?”

  “How dare you judge him?” Winnifred hissed. “He’s our only family. He … came here because he wants us.”

  “Delusional,” Maggie muttered, gasping as the back door burst open. She raised the rolling pin over her head to prevent an attack. “Dunmore,” she gasped, dropping the pin to the floor with a clatter and throwing herself into his arms. “You’re here.”

  Wrapping his arms around her, he closed his eyes to relish the short time she took momentary comfort from him. “Yes, darlin’, I just returned and heard a scream. Scared the bejesus out of me.” He eased Maggie away, keeping his strong hands on her shoulder. “What happened?”

  By this time, Kevin and Niall had entered too. “Mags.” Kevin yanked her from Dunmore’s arms into his. “Tell me that you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine. Uriah came here wanting the Mortimer sisters. Mum’s with Niamh. The house was empty except for us.” She shivered as she thought of all that could have happened. “I didn’t have anything more than the rolling pin.”

  As Chaffee groaned, Kevin kissed her head and released her. He, Dunmore, and Niall picked him up, wrenching his arms and evoking more groans of dismay. Maggie heard her brothers informing him that this is what happened to men who attempted to abuse women as they dragged him from the kitchen.

  “What will they do to him?” Winnifred asked.

  Maggie spun to stare at her. “Nothing. Because they are honorable.” She paused as she marshaled her anger. “Consider that, Winnifred, as you determine who you wish to be loyal to.” She sat at the table again, as Winnifred left in a huff. Rather than spend any more time contemplating Winnifred and the confounding Mortimer sisters, Maggie’s mind returned to the moment Dunmore held her. To the feel of his strong arms around her. To the sense she was cherished and safe. Oh, how she longed to feel that way again.

  Chapter 8

  The following day, Eamon sat at the table for the midday meal, smiling his thanks as his mum placed a bowl of stew in front of him. She then placed a loaf of thinly sliced brown bread, so that there would be plenty for all. Maggie set a crock of fresh butter on the table and sat beside him.

  “She’s improving, Eamon,” Maggie murmured.

  He studied his sister and frowned. “Aye, but I fear you’re ailing. You’re working too hard, Mags. Between caring for Phoebe and helping Mum feed all of us, you’re exhausted.”

  Maggie shrugged, as she picked up a slice of the s
till warm bread. “Phoebe doesn’t need much care now, and I’ll start sleeping more again.” Her gaze flit to the sisters, sitting in sullen silence a little ways down the table.

  “Are they bothersome roommates?” he murmured. At her shrug, he nudged her.

  “They like to complain. About everything. Especially Winnifred,” Maggie said, as she widened her eyes for emphasis. “And I’m tired of hearing them bellyache when they do nothing.” She clamped her jaw shut as she focused on Winnifred speaking to Lorena in a carrying voice.

  “It’s stew again, Lo,” Winnie said. “And that horrible peasant bread.” She sniffed at the food, as though it were only fit for the pig trough.

  “I’ve had it,” Finn snapped, snatching their bowls of stew and standing up. He turned to the sink area and set down the bowls with a clatter. “All you do is complain and find fault. Never do you show appreciation. Never do you give thanks for what’s been offered you.” His blue eyes gleamed with ire.

  Eamon cast a glance in Da’s direction, noting that, although Ardan and Mum attempted a conversation, Da listened intently to Finn and Winnifred’s argument. Lorena sat with her head down, as though attempting to become invisible.

  “How dare you?” Winnifred hissed. “I have every right to express how I feel.”

  “Do you?” Finn asked. “Do you ever feel thankful? Grateful?” He motioned to all the O’Rourkes in the room. “To all of us for taking you in. For makin’ room for you in our home and for sharin’ our food with you. We already have plenty to feed without havin’ to worry about two ungrateful brats from Saint Louis.”

  “Ungrateful?” Winnifred gasped. “Ungrateful? How dare you accuse me of that when my pathetic sister, lying in her bed, is the one who has wreaked such havoc on your family.”