Blacksmith Brides

by Amanda Barratt

  “Thomas?” Esther stood from the window ledge and hurried toward him. She kept her voice low. “You came.”

  He couldn’t tell whether the pinch in her tone was from surprise or unease. Flynn motioned to the bed. “How is he?”

  Water sprang to her eyes, and she shook her head. “I should have paid more attention to the doctors. They warned me he wasn’t well, but they wanted to take him from me. I didn’t want to hear anything they had to say after that. Now his heart is damaged, and he—”

  Flynn braced her arms, and tears tumbled down her cheeks.

  “He’s dying.” She leaned into him, tipping her head against his shoulder. “He’s dying, Thomas, and it’s all my fault.”

  “No,” Flynn choked. Charlie slept so peacefully in the bed, his chest rising and falling with steady rhythm. He couldn’t imagine a child so full of life fading away. “You did everything you could to keep him safe. He couldn’t ask for a better mother.”

  “All I did was love him. He needed more than that.”

  And yet, Flynn would have given anything for that much. “How long?”

  She sniffled and straightened away. “There’s no way to know. His heart is doing better, but we were so close to losing him. Father says it’s only a matter of time before …” She pressed her hands to her face, shaking her head.

  Flynn stood silent, not knowing what else to do. He felt as though he’d taken an anvil to the gut. He barely heard the shuffle of feet behind him and the punctuation of a feminine gasp.

  Esther looked past him, but he didn’t turn. He didn’t need to see Julia Allerton’s shocked face to imagine her sentiments. And now there was little chance word of his presence would not reach their father’s ears.

  Esther stepped around Thomas to confront her sister, but Julia hurried from the room and disappeared down the hall.

  “I should go.” Thomas touched her shoulder, and she set her hand over his fingers to hold him in place. Just for a moment, to soak in his strength.

  “Thank you for coming.” Esther looked up at him, but her gaze snagged on his mouth and the wistful upturn of one side. As it lowered toward her own. She closed her eyes.

  Warmth. Touch. A hint of moisture. The subtle but lingering aroma of smoke and iron that was such a part of who he was. She slid her hands to his freshly shaven face, discovering it again for the first time. The hair at the nape of his neck was thick but soft between her fingers. Fire ignited in her chest, both pleasant and burning. A twinge of pain as her heart opened wide and lodged him in place.

  She’d never felt this way with Charles. Excitement at the beginning. Affection. But not this hunger, this need for him.

  “Mama?”

  Thomas drew away first, Esther’s own thoughts in a blur. He released her and stepped toward Charlie, who lifted his head from his pillow. A smile split across her little boy’s face and his blue eyes brightened.

  “Mr. Flynn!”

  “Shhh,” Thomas crooned, crossing the distance and dropping to a knee at the bedside. He laid his hand over the blankets, over Charlie’s heart. “I don’t want ya getting yourself excited on my account.” His subtle accent rolled from his tongue, softening his words.

  “But … I missed … you.”

  “I missed ya too.” Thomas wrapped Charlie’s smaller hands in his good one.

  Heavy boots up the stairs made them all turn. Father appeared in the doorway, his face flushing red. A vein bulged in his neck. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Thomas moved to stand, face drawn, as though facing a firing squad. Even Charlie’s eyes widened.

  Esther hurried across the room and grabbed her father’s arm. “Please.” She stressed the word, making sure she gained his attention. “Mr. Flynn is here to see Charlie. Give them a few minutes.” She waited, but he never looked at her. “Don’t risk upsetting Charlie over this.”

  Her father glowered at Thomas, his jaw working, but finally his gaze fell on his grandson. The pounding of Esther’s heart counted the moments before he grunted out a “Very well.” One more glare cast in Thomas’s direction and he retreated down the stairs.

  Esther looked to Thomas, who stood beside the bed, eyes hooded. “Please stay a little longer. For Charlie.” And for me. His kiss still tingled on her lips and life coursed through her limbs. But Charlie needed his friend more.

  After expelling a breath, Thomas lowered to the edge of the bed and leaned back on the headboard. Charlie sat up just enough to recline against his arm. “Grandfather is … always grumpy.”

  “I’m sure he just wants you to rest and get well,” Thomas said in return, his speech no longer relaxed.

  Esther sank onto the end of the bed. “He does love you, Charlie. He’s never been good at showing it.” As a child, she had questioned his affection as well. Even now, it was often hard to see. She didn’t want to live like that—her feelings buried deep. Time was too short.

  Her thoughts wandered as Thomas turned Charlie’s mind to other things. They talked about the smithy, all the things they could build someday, and how important it was that Charlie listen to his mother and get well soon.

  “I don’t feel sick anymore,” Charlie insisted, sitting up more.

  “My arm is also feeling much better, but if I use it again too soon, it won’t heal properly. I could damage it for good.”

  Esther reached for her son’s hand. Oh, that Charlie would heal, perfectly and completely. But Father’s prognosis was much grimmer. He might recover now, but be it weeks, months, or a few years, one day his heart would no longer be up to the task of supporting his body. The end would come.

  Time was too short.

  She glanced at Thomas.

  Life was too short to worry about what others thought of an Irish blacksmith. Too short to pass up a chance at happiness for her and Charlie.

  After a while, Charlie yawned, and Esther nodded to Thomas.

  “You should rest for a while, Master Charlie,” he said, helping her son settle back.

  “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

  A smile grew on Thomas’s face. “I don’t want to leave yet either.” He put his feet up on the bed and semi-reclined beside Charlie, who still gripped his arm. “You go to sleep again, and I’ll sit with you for a while longer.”

  Minutes later, Charlie’s eyes dropped and then closed. Thomas leaned over and kissed his brow. When he finally stood, his shoulders slumped. “What can I do?” he whispered.

  About Charlie?

  Or about their kiss?

  “I don’t know.” She clasped her hands. “You’ve done so much already. Thank you.” A meager offering for gratitude she longed to show. Would another kiss be untoward?

  His gaze brushed her lips as though he’d understood her thought, and she stepped closer. But instead of taking her in his arms again, he shook his head and walked past her.

  Rejection. The pain of it burned in her chest, though she recognized the wisdom of his actions. Esther found her feet and started after him. “I’ll show you out.” The least she could do was see him past the wolves.

  “I know the way.” His tone suggested understanding, and the desire to face her father alone.

  “You’re sure?”

  He nodded and turned away.

  Esther’s heart thundered as she stood in the doorway, listening. All she heard was departing steps down the stairs. She closed her eyes and laid a hand over the thudding in her chest. “What now, Lord?”

  The murmur of men’s voices at the front of the house drew her to the opened window in time to see the local sheriff and his deputy clasping Thomas’s wrists in shackles. Head tipped forward, he went without a fight, without a word of protest.

  “Father, what have you done?” She spun and raced through the house, almost stumbling on her petticoats. By the time she reached the foyer, her father had closed the front door and was halfway to his office as though nothing had happened.

  “Go back upstairs to your boy, Esther. That man is
none of your concern.”

  “That man? He has a name. Just as Charlie has a name. Thomas did nothing wrong in coming here. Why are you doing this?”

  “Thomas, is it?” He pointed a finger at her. “I know what’s best for my family—what’s best for you.”

  “No. I’m not a little girl anymore, Father. I can’t stay here and pretend to be who I was. As soon as Charlie is well enough, I will no longer be under your roof or any of your concern.”

  Chapter 15

  Flynn stared past the thick iron bars to the bleak hall beyond. He’d expected a confrontation with Dr. Allerton, but the man had never been one to do his own dirty work. He’d probably sent a runner for the sheriff as soon as he learned of Flynn’s presence in the house. They’d been waiting. Trespassing and unpaid debt. He’d go before the judge in the morning, but Allerton had enough leverage to see him rot in prison.

  “Is this what you planned for me, Lord?” His whole life seemed one downward spiral. From his birth in famine-stricken Ireland, to his parents walking away for the sake of their younger children. He’d poured his sweat into pleasing his master only to be buried under the man’s debt. How could he have let his head be turned by Allerton’s daughter? He had nothing to offer her or Charlie.

  He leaned his head back against the hard wall, one pleasant memory rising over all the muck. Esther in his arms, his mouth over hers, and her returning his kiss.

  Maybe life wasn’t so bad after all.

  “Thomas Flynn?”

  He stood at the deputy’s bellow and moved to the barred door as it swung open.

  “Come along.” The man motioned for him to pass. “There’s a lady waiting for you in the office.”

  Flynn’s stomach dropped. Not Esther. He didn’t want her seeing him like this, dirty and stinking after three days in that tiny cell. But the deputy prodded him on, so there was no way to go but forward. He stepped into the office, and Esther pushed up from a creaky, wooden chair.

  “Charlie?” he asked. What if he’d had more trouble with his heart, what if Esther had come to tell him—

  Esther waited until the deputy passed through the room before speaking. “Charlie’s well. Up and about more every day.”

  Flynn nodded and let the relief have its moment. He brushed his hands down the front of his wrinkled shirt. His coat sat back in his cell, too much for this July heat. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said, though he’d thought of little else than of her and Charlie since he’d been locked up.

  “It’s my fault you’re here in the first place.” She waved a hand around the room with its oak desk and simple chairs. Sparse, but clean and brightly lit—unlike the cell he’d come from. Thankfully, this was all she’d seen of the jail.

  “You had nothing to do with it,” Flynn stated. “Your father warned me.”

  “My father has no right to dictate my life.”

  “But he can dictate mine.”

  Esther crossed the room and gripped his hand, eyes sparking. “Not anymore. Your debt has been paid.”

  Flynn stared, not quite believing, not quite ready to hope. Freedom? “How?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. Pieces fell into place. First Eli. Now him. “You?”

  She stepped back. “Why should I not put my money to good use?”

  Humiliation burned through him. “Because I didn’t ask you to.” Bought and sold from one Allerton to the next. “I don’t need you.”

  Her expression faltered for a moment then hardened. “Yes, you do. You expected me to leave you here?”

  “It was my problem.”

  “Stop thinking about yourself!” She shook her head and backed away. “I have done what I’ve done. If you want to stay here and rot, that’s your choice.” With the swoosh of her full skirts, she walked from the room.

  “Stop thinking about yourself.”

  Thomas Flynn climbed the steps to the miserable little room where he’d lived the better half of his life. Small. Hot. Smelling of smoke.

  “If you want to stay here and rot, that’s your choice.”

  Choice? Did he have a choice now? From apprentice to debtor—had he ever really known freedom?

  He wasn’t sure he knew it now. He still felt indebted, but now to the one woman he had wanted to impress, to prove himself to.

  “Guess she knows what I’m worth.” Down to the penny. He groaned and plopped onto the edge of the bed, which creaked in protest. A small rodent scurried along the wall before vanishing down a hole. Flynn worked his right hand. The tips of his fingers tingled and the bone in his arm ached, but less every day. “What am I worth?” To the world, who had both looked down their noses and praised his work. To Esther, who had paid the debt hanging over his head. To Charlie—his friend.

  To God above.

  He glanced to the dark rafters.

  “I have done what I’ve done. If you want to stay here and rot, that’s your choice.”

  Chapter 16

  After a last glance around the room, Esther closed the lid on the last trunk. All that remained were the goodbyes. With news of a major battle between Charlottesville and Washington, near the town of Manassas, waiting was no longer an option. Father agreed that Charlie was well enough to travel by carriage, and she had purchased the most comfortable one she could find. With a small bed made up for him inside, and some medicine for his heart, hopefully their journey would prove smooth and uneventful.

  “You ready, ma’am?” the footman asked from the doorway.

  Esther nodded and stood back as the driver hauled her trunk downstairs to the carriage. Charlie sat on the window ledge watching the bustle below.

  “It’s time to go, sweetheart.”

  He dropped to the floor and took her extended hand. “To go see … Mr. Flynn?”

  She squeezed his shoulder. “Yes.” The goodbye she dreaded the most for so many reasons. Esther had not seen him since she stormed out of the Charlottesville jail over a week ago. Was he still angry? He’d made no attempt to visit her—at least, that she was aware of. No one had been eager to talk to her since that day. Father confronted her once, but backed down as soon as she’d turned the questions back on him.

  “How does a blacksmith even have that much debt? With a doctor, no less?”

  “I did the boy a favor when he came to me asking for help. The debt was with others. Gambling losses and failed speculation. I was the one who bought him time.”

  “Thomas gambled?”

  Her father had glared, but answered. “No, Leighton was the one.”

  “Then most of this was his old master’s debt?”

  Uneasiness flickered in her father’s eyes. And maybe a little shame. “The man was dying.”

  “So you made Thomas sign the loan too.” Much of the debt had never been his, and yet he had borne it. Why would he not let her do the same?

  Esther turned her thoughts back to the present and slowly guided Charlie down the stairs. Julia waited by the front door and allowed for a brief embrace. “I’m sorry,” Esther whispered.

  “So am I.” Julia’s eyes glistened as she touched Charlie’s face. “Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye, Aunt Julia.”

  Father stood next, face drawn. He’d not argued with her when she’d revealed her plans to return north. Simply nodded and mumbled that it was probably for the best. His farewell was short, but his eyes softened when his grandson stepped near.

  “Farewell, Charles.” He squeezed the child’s shoulder, but Charlie wrapped his arms around his middle. Her father returned the hug.

  Esther froze the image in her memory, locking it securely in her heart. If she never saw her father again, this is how she wanted to remember him.

  The carriage ride to the smithy seemed to take an eternity … and yet was over far too soon. She lifted Charlie to the ground and let him lead the way. He knew it well enough.

  The front door sat open, but inside, shelves and displa
ys sat dusted and empty of Thomas’s workmanship. The clean window streamed light into the empty storefront. The swoosh swoosh of a straw broom beckoned from the smithy. Charlie beat her over the threshold, but stopped just inside.

  The man wielding the broom was larger than Thomas, taller by at least half a foot, and broader through the shoulders.

  “Excuse me?”

  The older man looked up, brows raised.

  “Where is Mr. Flynn?”

  He harrumphed. “Not here, as you can see. Gave up the lease. Offered him a loan to keep going, but he won’t take it. Packed up his things and off he went.”

  Esther’s heart seized. “He’s gone? Where?”

  “What business is that of mine? But it’s not like there aren’t any other blacksmiths in this town. I’m sure you’ll find someone who can see to your needs.”

  What she needed was Thomas Flynn. Head spinning, she turned back onto the street, Charlie in tow.

  “Mama?”

  How to tell him that they might never see his friend again? The thought made her heart sick. How would they find Thomas now? Why hadn’t she come sooner? She was well enough acquainted with his pride to know he’d not come to her, not after their meeting at the jail. But her own pride had stood in the way of reaching out again, and now it was too late.

  Too late for what? A goodbye?

  Maybe it’s better this way.

  Now if only she could convince Charlie—and her heart.

  Charlie tugged away and started up the street.

  “Charlie, come back.”

  “I need Mr. Flynn.”

  “No, sweetheart.” She stepped around him and gently took his shoulders. “Listen to me, Charlie. Mr. Flynn left. He’s not here anymore.”

  “But he’s right there.” Charlie pointed past her.

  Esther spun. Sure enough, Thomas stood speaking with a man in an apron just outside of the mercantile several buildings away. Her pulse skittered out of control and her feet seemed welded to the walkway as Charlie hurried past her, weaving around people, until he threw his arms around Thomas’s waist.

  Thomas jerked in surprise then dropped to one knee and wrapped her boy in an embrace. His gaze searched until it found her.