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

by Flightner, Ramona

  Nora sighed. “I don’t know about Winnifred, but Lorena has the appearance of a woman who lost all she held dear. And has had to find a way to keep living.” She paused. “Does that describe your mother?”

  “No, Mama liked men, but she never really cared for them.” She paused. “They were a necessity for her to continue to live the life she desired.”

  “Well, from my short interactions with your sisters, that only describes one of them.” She held Phoebe’s gaze a long moment. “And I hope you are intelligent enough to discount whatever sisterly advice she would deign to give you.”

  Flushing, Phoebe ducked her head. “I fear I’ve been foolish.”

  Nora patted her hand. “We all are, dear, when we are terrified to love.” Her brown eyes sparkled with understanding and fondness as she beheld Phoebe. “What is important is that you apologize to the man you love. He’s spent enough time sleeping at his brother’s.”

  Phoebe groaned, covering her face with her palms. “Does everyone know I’m such a failure as a wife?”

  “The O’Rourkes are the most talked-about family in town, and you’re an O’Rourke now. Everyone is fascinated by you.” She shrugged. “During downtime at my … establishment, the men talk about all of you. They seemed particularly disappointed that you decided to wed Eamon.”

  Phoebe shivered. “I never would have worked with you.”

  Nora tipped her head back, a full-bellied laugh bursting forth. “Oh, heavens, no,” she gasped. “Seamus would never forgive me, and I value his friendship more than any amount I would have earned from you.” She shook her head. “No, a few wish they could have married you.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “They’re mistaken. I’m a cripple.”

  “Cripple?” Nora asked with a tilt of her head, as though she were unfamiliar with the word. “How could you ever consider yourself in such a way?” After a moment, she flushed red with indignation. “Another lie from a well-meaning family member, I imagine.”

  “I will always walk with a limp.” Her eyes gleamed with the sorrow of that truth.

  Nora nodded. “Yes, you will, although it might lessen with time.” She paused. “I imagine you’d esteem Eamon less if he had a limp.”

  “Of course not,” Phoebe snapped. “That’s not …” She broke off, as she stared at the Madam in wonder.

  “No, that’s not love,” Nora said in a soft voice. She leaned forward, her brown eyes gleaming with a fervent honesty. “Heed my words, young Phoebe. Doubting your husband’s love and steadfastness will drive a wedge between the two of you that will never heal. Trust in him, as he trusts in you. Believe in him, as he believes in you. That is the very essence of love.”

  Nora rose, squeezed Phoebe’s shoulder, and departed, leaving Phoebe deep in thought.

  * * *

  Eamon halted abruptly when he entered the big kitchen of the family home and found Winnifred sitting alone at the table. “Where is everyone?”

  Shrugging, she continued to work on her needlepoint, her black hair tied back in a loose braid. “With Niamh and her children. They’ll be home soon to work on supper.”

  Eamon poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher by the sink and leaned against the counter rather than sit near her. “Why aren’t you at the café, helping Deirdre and Ardan?”

  With a huff of exasperation, Winnifred glared at him. “You may have married my sister, but that doesn’t give you the right to believe you can control my life as well.” When he stared at her balefully, she snapped, “Deirdre doesn’t want me there anymore. Finds my presence a distraction.”

  “A distraction or a menace?” he murmured, a malevolent gleam in his gaze.

  “You have no right to speak to me in such a manner. If you knew how I’d suffered—”

  “I could care less about how you’ve suffered,” he roared. “You’ve clung to imaginary hurts and used them as a bludgeon against everyone who might care for you.” He pushed away from the counter, breathing hard as he glared at her with his eyes flashing with anger. “Now, you’ve harmed my marriage. You’ve caused Phoebe to doubt. And, for that alone, I will never forgive you.”

  Winnifred gave an indifferent shrug of one shoulder, her head following the movement of her shoulder. “If she has such little faith in you, then that is your problem.”

  “You’re a witch,” he rasped, as he forced himself to pause a step away from her. “I’ve never been so tempted to harm a woman in my life.” With a deep breath, he backed away from her and spun to face the kitchen sink, staring out the window over the sink. “I will find a way, Winnifred. I will earn Phoebe’s trust and prove false every doubt you’ve sewn in her mind. And, when we are reconciled, there will never be a place for you in our lives.”

  Chapter 20

  Phoebe paced the small cabin, battling a desire to march to the store to talk with Eamon. She knew he needed to work. Needed to earn the salary his father paid him. As it was, he had spent too much time away from his job tending to her this summer. She rubbed at her temple, hoping none of the O’Rourkes would come to resent her. Eamon hadn’t spent the past two nights at home, and she worried he would never return to her.

  She took a deep breath and stilled her incessant pacing. Forcing herself to truly think about the O’Rourkes, she acknowledged they were kind, resourceful, and loving. Unlike her family, they did not withhold their affection or love due to petty squabbles or cling to their hurts and allow them to fester. Unlike Winnifred, they would never intentionally hurt her.

  She forced herself to confront the anger, pain, and sense of unworthiness she felt after speaking with Winnifred. These were emotions she’d experienced her entire life with her youngest sister, enhanced during recent years by Winnifred’s disappointments and her need to find someone to blame. With a startling insight, Phoebe realized her sister’s vision did not have to be hers. Winnifred’s opinion of herself did not have to shape how Phoebe saw herself. She swiped at a tear, as a sense of freedom warred with a tremendous loss.

  Exhaling deeply, she marshaled her strength, hoping she had the courage to tell Eamon everything. Her fears. Her doubts. And pray he would accept her as she truly was, as he had done since the moment she had been injured. She turned, ready to confront her fears as she watched him enter their cabin. She studied him with wide eyes, a blush on her cheeks and trepidation in her posture.

  “Eamon.” Her attempt at a smile failed, and she saw him freeze in unbuttoning his shirtsleeves as was his custom each evening upon returning home. He always rolled them up, undid his collar, and relaxed with her, as they talked about their day, before venturing to the big house for dinner.

  His alert gaze roved over her, and he took the few steps separating them. “What is it? What’s upset you?” He froze, remembering their argument, and the moments leading up to it, where she’d had no desire for him to touch her.

  She took a deep stuttering breath, taking strength from his instinctual behavior to protect her. “I’m trying to be brave, but I might falter.” She reached forward, spanning the distance between them, to grip his hand. She took a hesitant breath, raised his hand, and kissed his knuckles. “I love the rituals we are establishing. You, returning after a day of work and becoming comfortable. Settling in our rocking chairs to talk about the day. My hand in yours.”

  “You are pleased I came home tonight?” When she stared at him in wonder, he whispered, “I couldn’t handle another night alone in Ardan’s spare bedroom.” His gaze expressed the torment he’d felt at being away from her.

  “I missed you too,” she whispered.

  He nodded, watching her with an alert caution. “What is it, Bee?” he murmured, when she attempted to speak but appeared overcome by deep emotion. “Are you ill?”

  “No,” she rasped, reaching forward to hold onto his arm. “I’ve realized I’ve allowed others to influence me, and I’m trying to be brave and to take away their power over me.”

  “Ah, love,” he breathed, as he pulled her clos
e, his arms banding around her, as he inhaled her subtle scent. “You are brave. You always have been.”

  She kissed his neck and breathed deeply of his faded cologne mixed with sweat and dust. “How can I miss you so much, and you’ve only been away for a few days? How does Niamh handle having Cormac away for so long?”

  He chuckled, his hold on her tightening. “We’re newlyweds. The fascination will end, love.” He eased away, so he could trace a finger over her jaw. “Although I hope it doesn’t. I hope we’re like Ard and Dee.” He kissed her softly. “Or Kevin and Aileen.” Looking deeply into her eyes, he refrained from kissing her again. “And Niamh accepts that Cormac must work while there’s work to be had.” He paused as he stared deeply into her eyes. “What upset you, love? What caused you to push me away?”

  “Love,” she whispered. “You call me that all the time. Why?”

  He froze, the gentle cajoling erased from his expression, as he stared at her warily. “Don’t you know?” he asked, as he took a step back. When she continued to stare at him expectantly, he swiped at his mouth and turned away. “Brave,” he muttered to himself. “’Tis my turn for courage.” He spun to face her, his mouth in a resolute line, as he gazed at her with a profound earnestness. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the steamboat.”

  She stared at him, her mouth falling open in wonder and awe, before she took a halting step to breach the distance that separated them. “I hoped you did. Everything you did made me think you might. But I … I couldn’t assume anything until I heard the words from you.” She blushed as a smile burst forth. “I finally believe I’m worthy of your love, Eamon.”

  “Oh, my love, you are,” he rasped, as he yanked her into his arms. “You’ve always been worthy.”

  She felt him shudder as he held her close. She ducked her head, preventing him from kissing her, hearing his confused, “Bee?” as he pecked the top of her head. “No, Eamon, not until I’ve told you everything.” She kept her arms wrapped around him, even though his tight hold on her loosened. “First,” she whispered, “I love you. So much. I’ve lived with such fear that you could never care for me as I care for you.”

  “Lies,” he rasped.

  She nodded. “I know. I realized that yesterday, after talking with Lorena. She helped me to see that Winnifred was not concerned for me. I finally understood that Winnifred’s venomous words were her truth. Not mine. And never yours.” She cupped his cheek, her gaze softening as he turned his face into her palm. “I finally understood that I’d allowed other’s words to control and to influence me for too long. That I’d allowed them to color my understanding of what I knew to be true.”

  His adoration-filled smile caused her breath to catch. “And what do you know to be true?” He kissed one eyebrow.

  “I know that you will not abandon me. I know that your love will prove true.” She took a deep breath, as she continued to gaze deeply into his eyes. “I know that I’ll love you forever.”

  “You will? Forever?” he whispered, his eyes shimmering. When she nodded, her eyes glowing with her deepest emotions, he groaned, leaning forward to capture her mouth in a passionate kiss. He deepened the kiss, backing her toward their bed. “I know you need to tell me so much more,” he murmured, as his hands worked at the buttons to her dress. “But I need you, my beloved.”

  “Yes,” she gasped, as she arched into a kiss along her neck. “I need you too.” She giggled as they collapsed onto the bed, her hands stroking his thick ebony hair, joy suffusing every part of her.

  He leaned onto his elbows, grinning down at her. “I never thought to know such laughter and joy. I thought the happiness my parents have, or my brothers have, was never meant to be mine.”

  She shook her head, urging his head down to kiss her. “No, love. It was always meant to be ours.”

  * * *

  Eamon played with the long strands of her golden hair that cascaded down her back, his soft touch to her hair and skin earning a purr of delight from her. “We’ll miss dinner,” he murmured.

  She rubbed her cheek against his chest, earning a soft groan of pleasure, raising her head enough so she could meet his delighted, passion-filled gaze. “We’ll survive a night of hunger.”

  He chuckled. “You know my mum will send one of the lads over with plates of food to leave at our doorstep. We won’t be hungry.” He kissed her nose. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

  She shook her head. “That they know how much I adore my husband and want time with him? That would never mortify me.” She pushed up to rest on her elbows so she could reach out and trace a hand through his disheveled hair and scrape her fingers through the whiskers on his cheeks. “I love seeing you so relaxed and content.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not content, Bee. I’m overjoyed. Enraptured.” He paused. “Worried.” When she frowned at his last word, he ran soothing hands over her back. “Share with me what upset you a few days ago. I’d know every worry you have and happily carry that burden.”

  “Oh, Eamon,” she breathed, as she pushed up to kiss him. It was a fleeting kiss, not meant to rekindle their passion. “I talked with Winnie. And I still had my uncle’s words in my head to overcome.”

  He nodded, silently asking her to share her troubles with him.

  “Winnie claimed that, although I might have your interest right now, I would never be successful in keeping it. That you would be fickle, as all men are. And that a man forced to marry me would never want to be with me forever. That today’s happiness would only make tomorrow’s sorrow that more acute.” She bit her lip, hesitating. “Her words, combined with my uncle calling me a cripple, sent me in a spiral of self-doubt and loathing.”

  Eamon sat up, his blue eyes blazing with anger. “Cripple?” he hissed. “How dare anyone call you that?” He shook his head, as he saw fear and doubt in her gaze that she valiantly tried to conceal. “You were horribly injured, Bee. You walk with a limp. But you are not and never will be crippled.”

  “I can’t do what your mum and Maggie do,” she said, as tears dripped down her cheeks. “Oh, I thought I’d banished these fears!” she cried, as she lowered her head in an attempt to hide behind her hand. As her shoulders shook, she fell to her side, her arms wrapped around her middle.

  Eamon levered himself up on one elbow, his hands stroking over her, soothing her as he waited for her to calm. Finally he said, “Tell me what you believe you cannot do.”

  In a weak, defeated voice, she said, “I cannot cook like your mum and sisters. I cannot sew like them. I will not have the strength to run after a child and care for him or her as your sister does. In every regard as a wife, I am less than what you need.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her self-assessment. “Less than what I need?” He made a face, evaluating all she had said to determine if any of it had any merit. He held up his hand that had come to rest on her hip, raising fingers as he ticked off items she had mentioned. “I’ve eaten your food, and ’tis delicious. I’ve seen you sew, and ’tis acceptable.” He kissed her as she sputtered at him. “I know you’ll continue to regain your strength, and you’ll care for our babe, as each need arises.” He shook his head, when she started to speak and interrupt him.

  “You’re under the impression, my love, that you must be as adept or as proficient as every other member of my family at their particular skill. That, if you aren’t, it’s because of your hurt leg. You seem to have forgotten that my mum and Maggie rarely sew, except for Maggie sewing up injuries. Maggie would prefer to never cook or sew but does both out of necessity. And Aileen hates to cook. No one thinks them lacking or crippled because they do what they excel at.” He stared at her with an abiding tenderness. “Find what you love, and we will support you.”

  She stared at him in awe. “I love to tat lace, but I was always told it was a waste of time.”

  He beamed at her. “I’m certain Da would love to sell it in our store. And, if it doesn’t sell here, we’ll ship it on to Helena and Virginia Ci
ty. There are more women there, and I’m certain they miss the small touches that are reminiscent of home.” He raised her hand, tracing his chest, to kiss her fingers. “And you could tat at the kitchen table, while chatting with my mum and Maggie as they cooked.”

  “Why don’t you believe I’m crippled?” she asked in a low voice. “I’ll never dance smoothly. I’ll never walk without a hitch in my gait. I’ll never run after our child without falling on my face.”

  He rested his hand over her heart. “None of that matters, Bee. What matters is who you are. To me.” He saw the question in her gaze. “You’re my love. The woman I trust above all others. My heart sings at the sight of you.”

  “Oh, Eamon,” she whispered, as her eyes filled. “I thought your father was the poet.”

  He grinned at her. “Aye, Da’s a way with words, but we all learned from him.” His fingers continued to trace over her. “Why did you speak with Winnifred? I thought you had become adept at avoiding her.”

  She snuggled forward, resting on his chest, her fingers playing with his. “She saw me standing by the Missouri. Happy and content. She struck up a conversation and seemed friendly. Now I realize she was conniving.” With a sigh, she admitted, “Winnifred resents me. She always will, I fear.”

  “Why?” he murmured. “You’re a wonderful sister to her. You protected her on the boat, while still attempting to give her the freedom she desperately craved.”

  “She loved a man. A boy, really. Named Emory. He was dashing and charming. He convinced her that he wanted to marry her, but she admitted to me that he didn’t have the money for a wife and family. He hoped that she would come to the marriage with a large dowry and that they’d live in a grand house from her money.”

  Eamon sighed, kissing her head. “Her desire for appearances trapped her, aye?”