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For thirteen years, there’d been a hole in Patrick’s life. Working alongside his family in their fields at harvest over the next weeks, he came to truly recognize the shape of it. He was no farmer and didn’t want to make a lifelong pursuit of it, but he’d’ve given near anything to have spent any of the past harvest seasons with them.
“That oldest boy of yours is a hard worker,” he told Ian as they brought in the last of his grain on an autumn afternoon. “Is he wanting to farm as well?”
“He has more interest in horses. ’Twoudn’t be surprising in the least if he worked out at one of the ranches.”
“He’d still be nearby, though.” Patrick knew that would matter to Ian.
“Biddy’s particularly happy about that.”
“Which,” Patrick said, “I’d wager makes you particularly happy.”
Tavish came up even with them on their walk to the house. “Eliza’s here sewing with the womenfolk. I’d wager that’ll make Patrick ‘particularly happy.’”
The rest of the men were, apparently, near enough to overhear, as the laughter and jesting that followed was immediate and thorough.
Ian tossed Patrick a look that was equal parts amusement and sympathy. “Tavish told them.”
“Didn’t have to,” Tavish said. “’Twasn’t precisely a mystery.”
Patrick knew his family too well to trust they’d not embarrass him in front of Eliza. To all the group, Patrick said, “I’d be beholden to all of you if you’d keep your jesting to your own selves. I’ve made a wee bit of progress with the lass these past couple of weeks, but she’s skittish still. You’ll frighten her off.”
“If your ugly mug hasn’t already done that,” Finbarr said, “I don’t think anything will.”
“I’ll have you know,” Tavish tossed back, “Patrick looks almost exactly like me.”
Finbarr wasn’t deterred. “As I said . . .”
All the O’Connor men, those born to the family and those who’d married in, laughed heartily. Patrick’s attention, though, remained on Finbarr. He often kept to himself, a little distanced from his brothers and da. But in that moment, he grinned and laughed right along with them.
Ian slapped a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “You’ll never have the appeal of us ginger lads, but Finbarr and I’ll try not to mock you too much for your homeliness.”
“How generous of you and the bean sprout,” Patrick said dryly.
He’d missed his brothers these past years. A fellow’s spirits couldn’t be low for long with them nearby. He oughtn’t to have stayed away so long.
They reached Ian’s house, having been working his fields that day, and the whole lot of them poured inside.
“You’re done earlier than I’d expected,” Biddy said as she approached Ian.
“We’ve extra hands this year.” He set his arm around his wife and held her to his side.
Biddy turned her sights on Patrick. “You’ve made them more efficient. Impressive for a man who’s not ever been a farmer.”
“’Tisn’t true,” Da said, passing by. “He worked the land in Ireland.”
“Da, I was eight years old when we left.” Patrick had more vivid memories of the boat journey to America than he did of Ireland herself. “I can’t say even a bit of those skills crossed the Atlantic with me.”
“It’s in your blood, lad. We belong to the land no matter where we live. It calls to us.”
Patrick did like being in a place with more land than buildings. He’d liked that about Canada, as well. But farming didn’t call to him in the way it did the others. He wanted to stay in Hope Springs, but it’d be a struggle to support himself in a valley of farms.
“Pa-ick!” Lydia was getting better and better at saying his name. He loved hearing it.
She rushed to him, her little canvas shoes on and her beloved doll in her hand. Patrick scooped her up and spun her around.
“You’re walking so much better, mo stóirín. Makes me happy as a cat in the cream.”
“Happy cat.”
Patrick looked over at Eliza. “Two words.” He was both amazed and delighted. “I don’t think I’ve heard that from her before.”
She joined him, smiling softly at her daughter. “Lydia’s finding her voice.”
“You and me both, sweet pea.” He kissed the little girl’s soft cheek. She giggled. So, he kissed her again, and she giggled louder. The game continued until he was laughing too hard to continue.
Eliza watched them, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I believe Lydia has won your little game.”
“That she has.” He bounced Lydia in his arms but kept his gaze on her ma. “Thank you for letting me be in her life again.”
“You’re good to her. I’m grateful for that.”
Her faith in him did his heart a world of good. He’d made some headway these past weeks showing her she didn’t need to be wary of him. He was close to undoing the damage he’d done; he felt certain of it.
Eliza wiped a smudge off Lydia’s chin. “Your ma said that the men in the family will be making a trek to the train depot in the next couple of days.” She looked to him once more. “Are you going with them?”
He nodded. “Da said I would be. He tossed that out like nothing else made sense.”
She smiled at him. “They like having you around.”
He held Lydia closer and lowered his voice. “I always assumed I’d have to convince them to love me again.”
“And did you have to?”
Gratitude swelled inside him. “Turns out I didn’t need to. Ian told me they’d never stopped loving me, but I couldn’t believe it.”
“I told you, too,” Eliza pointed out.
He smiled. “I really should start listening to you.”
“Yes, you should.”
Lydia wiggled, pointing at the floor. “Down.”
He set her on her feet, and she toddled away toward the other children.
Eliza motioned him over to the door, away from all the others. “How much have you told them?” She kept her voice low, barely above a whisper.
He slipped his hand around hers and walked with her out onto the porch. He liked the feel of her hand in his, the warm strength of this surprising woman. He closed the door, quietly so it wouldn’t draw attention.
“Ian knows all of it,” he said. “Da asked me a few things while we were working the fields, so I told him. But he thought it best not to lay it all bare to Maura or Aidan unless they ask.”
“Is that a weight you can bear?”
“It doesn’t feel like a weight anymore. I’m being myself with them now. I talk about the places I lived and the people I knew in the war. I play music for them when I can borrow a fiddle. We sing together. We laugh. And they like me and love me.”
“Of course they do.” She hadn’t pulled her hand out of his. That was encouraging.
“You tossed that ‘of course’ out real easy. Am I right to hope that means you’re thinking more highly of me yourself?”
“I may be starting to.”
“Did your da say how long you all will be gone?” Eliza asked.
“A little more than a week. The grain’ll get sold. The men’ll buy some supplies they can’t get at the mercantile.”
She turned wide eyes on him. “I didn’t realize this was a trek to the shops.” Her tone was light and teasing. “How very exciting for you to do a bit of shopping.”
“We’ve not fooled you. This’ll be nothing but a pleasure jaunt.” That brought to mind something he’d meant to ask her. “Are you needing anything you’ve not been able to find at the mercantile? I can fetch it and bring it back for you. I’d be happy to.”
The thinnest sheen of worry tugged at her mouth. “We need winter coats, and Lydia needs proper shoes. Do you suppose those could be purchased there?”
“I can’t imagine they couldn’t be. A bigger town like that’d be more likely to carry ready-to-wear coats and shoes in all sizes.”
She pressed her lips together, brow pulled low. “I wonder how much it all would cost. Saving to pay part of the inn myself is my new plan. I have to be careful of my coins.”
“Your new plan for the inn.” He rubbed her hands between his, hoping to keep them warm in the chill autumn air. “Did Joseph Archer hear from the stage company?”
“No, and he doesn’t think that’s likely a good omen.” She slipped her hand free and moved to sit on the steps. “I’m trying not to lose hope entirely, but I’ve been chasing this dream for so long—even before I came here—and it’s become more of a struggle to be optimistic.”
Patrick sat beside her. “And are you thinking you’ll leave if the inn doesn’t get built?”
“It will get built,” she said, “even if the stage company won’t agree to make it a stop. I’m determined not to lose this dream.”
“Will you have enough business, do you think, if stage passengers aren’t stopping?”
She sighed and leaned her head against him. “That’s why I need to save money first. If I have some put aside, then I’ll be able to stay open even if I don’t have as many guests as I need. But I can’t be certain Joseph or Jeremiah would still invest in the inn with that much risk involved.”
He put his arm around her. “I wish I had answers for you, darlin’.”
“Building the inn was meant to be your next job, and your livelihood,” she said. “If it’s not built, will you leave Hope Springs?”
He honestly didn’t know quite what he’d do. Finbarr might let him work his land in exchange for a roof over his head and a bit of the profits. But he wouldn’t enjoy it. Still, Eliza didn’t enjoy housekeeping, and she wasn’t rushing off to the next opportunity. Learning to like work he’d not prefer to do was a small price to pay for staying in Hope Springs and staying with her.
“I’ve been running long enough,” he said. “I think it’s time I put down some roots.”
“And you’ll be putting them down here?”
He leaned his head against hers. “Provided no one objects.”
“They’d better not.”
Patrick grinned. “And what’ll you do if someone disapproves of my staying?”
“I would give them reason and plenty for leaving.”
He laughed long and deep. She was a delight.
“I was so certain during our stage ride that you were a happier person than you seemed,” she said. “I’m so glad I was right.”
He squeezed her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m glad, too.”
The door opened behind them, and quick steps crossed the porch.
“Enough sparking, you two,” Tavish said as he sped down the steps beside Patrick. “We’re for Thomas’s fields now.”
The rest of the brothers and Da were hot on his heels.
“What about lunch?” Patrick asked. “That’s what we came in for.”
“Already ate,” Ciara’s husband, Keefe, tossed back. “You nap through a meal, you go hungry.”
Thomas flipped around, walking backwards so he could face Patrick as he said, “I’d wager he wasn’t napping.”
“You had best go,” Eliza said. “The teasing will only get worse if you don’t.”
“It’ll get worse either way.” He stood, reluctant to go, but also eager to be with his brothers and da.
“I think you like it.” She reached out, and he took her hand, helping her to her feet.
“It’s good to be with them again.” He pulled her into an embrace. “And it’s good to be with you, even if only for the length of a quick lunch.”
“A lunch you didn’t eat.”
He bent to kiss her forehead but paused, watching her, wondering. She brushed her fingertips along his cheek just above his beard.
“They’ll tease you if you take too long.”
“And well worth it, it’d be,” he whispered.
He brushed the lightest of kisses over her lips. Such a simple, brief touch, but it set his mind spinning and his heart pounding. “I’ll miss you while we’re at the depot,” he whispered. “I’ll miss not seeing you every day.”
“You’ll simply have to come back, I suppose.” Her lighthearted response stood in direct contrast to the harsh dismissal she’d dealt him weeks earlier. They’d come so far.
He kissed her once more, the effort cut even shorter by the sound of his brothers whooping and whistling.
Patrick stepped back, letting his arms fall away from her. “Remind me again why I wanted to reconcile with those troublemakers.”
“Because you were alone far too long,” she said, “and you ought never be alone again.”
* * *
Two days later, Patrick sat on a wagon bench up beside Joseph Archer with Finbarr standing behind, leaning against the bench back. Wagons from Hope Springs rolled along in front of and behind theirs, all headed for the depot. Patrick was enjoying the company, but he’d far prefer to have been sitting on Ian’s front stoop with Eliza. He’d seen her briefly before the exodus for the depot, but with all the Archer family hovering about, they’d been limited to words of parting when he’d far rather have kissed her again.
He required every ounce of constraint he had to keep his expression neutral every time he thought about that brief kiss. His brothers would’ve asked too many questions and come up with too many answers if they’d caught him making cow eyes to himself. He liked their teasing, generally. It was how a person knew he’d been accepted by the O’Connor family. But he wasn’t fully ready to be teased about this.
“Does the town always leave together?” Patrick asked.
Joseph nodded. “We’ve found that selling our crops in bulk is easier, and we’re more likely to get a good price banding together.”
“This town looks after each other.”
“Now,” Finbarr said.
Patrick had heard bits and pieces of the town’s past feuding. While he heard regret in the voices of others who spoke of it, none held the hint of bitterness Finbarr’s did. There was pain there, Patrick would wager. Deeply buried pain. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to move out to his new house. Maybe he didn’t actually want to stay in Hope Springs. Patrick hoped that wasn’t true. He’d only just gotten his family back; he didn’t want to lose any of them.
Eliza’s future in Hope Springs was also a little uncertain. Patrick couldn’t be easy on that school. “Have you had any further word from the stage company about Eliza’s inn?”
“I’m going to stop in at the stage office while we’re at the depot,” Joseph said. “One way or the other, I need an answer from the company.”
“Do you think they’ll agree to change their schedule to include a stop at the new proposed location?”
“No.” Joseph gave him an apologetic look. “I hated having to tell Eliza that, and I won’t be much happier to give her the final news if it’s bad, as I expect.”
“She’ll be heartbroken.” Patrick couldn’t like the thought of that. “She’d love to run an inn again.”
Joseph nodded. “And you would enjoy building it.”
“I do like building, but there aren’t many chances to do much of it around Hope Springs.”
“What are your plans, then?” Joseph had a way of asking personal questions without sounding prying.
“I’ll pick up odd work where and when I can. Outside of that, I thought I’d see if Finbarr here would take me on as a farmhand out at his place.”
Finbarr leaned evermore forward, his arms hooked around the bench back. “What do you know about farming?”
He shrugged. “Practically nothing, but I’m a quick study in most things.”
“You trained Aidan in a summer to be one of the best farmhands I’ve seen,” Joseph said. “You could teach Patrick.”
Finbarr pulled his hat down further, hiding more of his face. Did he realize it did that? Is that why he so often wore his hat tilted forward that way? “There’s too much to do for me to talk him through it.”
“It’s farm work,” Patrick said. “You’ve been doing it almost all your life.”
Finbarr turned and slid down, sitting in the wagon bed. “It’s never been planted. The fields haven’t been chosen or laid out. The irrigation ditches haven’t been dug. I can’t do any of that.”
“I’ve worked digging ditches,” Patrick said. “I’m good at it.”
“I can’t see the land,” Finbarr said. “I couldn’t tell you where to dig or how to lay out the fields.”
“You and I have five brothers and brothers-in-law who take great delight in bossing me. Da enjoys it too. You can sit on a rocker under the overhang and enjoy listening to them bark orders at me.”
“Grannies sit in rockers under overhangs,” Finbarr grumbled.
“Given the choice, I’d sit in a rocker under an overhang.” Patrick kept his tone light, not caring for the turn in Finbarr’s mood.
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d be building the rocker, and the overhang, and the house it was attached to.” He slumped a little lower. “You wouldn’t want to be useless.”
Useless? Patrick shot a look at Joseph. The worry and sadness in the man’s face matched what must have been on his own. Finbarr had seemed at home and at ease in their brothers’ and da’s fields the last couple of weeks. For months, Finbarr had moved about confidently with Aidan’s assistance. Why did doing the same on his own land deal him such a felling blow? Whatever the answer, there was no mistaking that Finbarr didn’t want to discuss the matter further.
Patrick jumped back to the earlier topic with Joseph, hoping to give the lad a chance to regain his footing. “If the stage company gives you the answer you’re expecting, is there any hope of moving forward with the inn?”
“They weren’t going to make any monetary contributions. The funds would still be sufficient, but the overnight guests wouldn’t be.”
So it could still be built. “’Tis a shame, that. Having so large a building would be a boon to the town. We could have céilís no matter the weather. Wedding suppers could be held without limiting the guest list to those who’d fit in a small house. The doctor could have his infirmary.”
“Only if we build closer to town, like Eliza had wanted to begin with,” Joseph said. “But we know the stage won’t stop for the night just outside Hope Springs. They pass us closer to midday. And, with the stage running each direction only twice a week, staying afloat would have been difficult even with their business. Without it . . .”
“In one of the Canadian towns I lived in, a woman took in boarders, but only in the summer. ’Tweren’t enough visitors passing through in the winter months. She said that made things mighty lean half the year.”
Joseph glanced back at Finbarr. The man cared a lot about Patrick’s little brother, there was no mistaking that. He liked him all the more for it.
“Eliza would likely have had to close the kitchen a couple of days a week even with reliable business from stage passengers.” Joseph slowed his wagon as those in front of them slowed as well. “She is certainly in a difficult position.”
The first inklings of an idea began forming in Patrick’s mind.
Open only in the summer. Close the kitchen a couple of days a week. The stage passes midday.
He needed to think longer, sort out the details, but he had the entirety of this run to the depot to do so. And, better still, he had Joseph’s mind for business at his disposal.
An answer was tucked just out of reach; he knew there was. And he was going to find it.