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“Canada is not exactly a temperate clime. I’m keenly aware of the difficulties of building in the harshness of winter.” Patrick looked over his gathered family, grateful for the acceptance he’d found among them. He needed a favor, and even a month earlier he’d not have dared ask for it. “But if the exterior of the inn can be up and complete before winter truly and fully arrives, I can work on the inside no matter the weather. And if I can do that, we’ll have an inn ready to open come spring.”
“Why’s this inn so important to you, then?” Tavish asked with his usual teasing glint.
His wife set her hand on his, effectively shushing him but not wiping the grin of amusement from his face.
“This is a big project, more daunting than Finbarr’s house. I can’t get the framing up entirely on my own. Getting the exterior walls boarded, sealed, and plastered would likely take me longer than I have.” He was keeping calm, but only just. Eliza’s heart was so set on this; he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her down. “If the inn can’t open in the spring, we’re sunk.”
“We?” Tavish, it seemed, couldn’t help himself.
“Continue on that way, Tavish,” Ma warned, “and I will beat you like a rug after a dust storm.” She turned to Patrick once more. “Tell us what you need, mo buachaill álainn.”
“He’s your lovely boy, and I’m the rug you beat?” Tavish made quite a show of being offended, but they all knew him far too well to think he was anything but amused.
“He is behaving,” Ma said.
Ian jumped in. “Patrick, you see what you left me with the last decade? It’s a miracle I’ve any ability to converse like a human being. Thank the heavens for Finbarr, or I’d’ve been rendered a mess of a person.”
Saints, it was good to laugh with his family again. Patrick had needed it for years.
Da, though clearly enjoying the banter, brought things back ’round to the subject at hand. “Are you needing us to hold a barn raising?”
“An inn raising, but aye. If I can get the inn framed and most of the outside walls boarded as soon as possible, I might have a fighting chance.”
“You’ll want the fireplaces in and functioning as well,” Thomas tossed out. “You’ll not be able to do a lick of work inside in the dead of winter if you can’t heat the place.”
Patrick had been so focused on the walls, he’d not even thought of that.
“Karl Kester is a dab hand at rockwork,” Keefe said. “And Matthew Scott isn’t shabby, either. Between the two of them and a few more willing workers, they could have the fireplaces you need built quickly.”
“That would help tremendously. How much do you think they’d ask for their work? We haven’t a lot to spend, but we’ll pay what’s fair.” He was taking some liberties using “us” and “we” when referring to the inn. Yet he had every reason to believe those would soon enough be the correct words.
Biddy, with her little boy bouncing in her lap, joined the discussion. “If the exterior walls are completed and the fireplaces are working, could we hold céilís inside the unfinished inn this winter, even with your ongoing work?”
“There’d be space enough, certainly. And I don’t think Eliza would object.”
Biddy looked to the lot of them. “If finishing this inn means we won’t all have to descend into isolation for the winter, I’d wager the entire town would be willing to help get the walls up. They did for Joseph after the fire. They built Ryan’s hay shed. They’d help build the inn.”
The entire town. With that much help, Patrick would be far ahead of schedule rather than in a desperate race with the calendar. “Do you think they would?”
“You leave it to us, son,” Da said. “We’ll rally the entire valley.”
Patrick wasn’t so optimistic. “They aren’t all in favor of the inn, worrying about the town being overrun, or the inn turning in to something too much like a saloon.”
“Placing it on the other side of our hill will set most minds at ease,” Da said. “Jeremiah Johnson is eager to open the tiny mercantile inside the inn that Eliza proposed. That will address the town’s worries about strangers coming into town looking for items to purchase. And Eliza’s said she doesn’t mean to serve liquor, which answers the remaining worries. Letting the town use the inn for gatherings and winter parties will take them from acceptance to enthusiasm.”
The family was already getting to their feet.
“We’ll begin getting the word out,” Mary said. “We can schedule the raising for this Saturday and end with the céilí—outside, if need be.”
Patrick’s brothers and Da, as well as Joseph, had brought the building supplies back from the depot. Work could begin immediately.
Ma didn’t head out with the others but crossed to him instead. “Mo buachaill álainn.”
“You used to call me that all the time. I haven’t felt very ‘lovely’ in a lot of years.”
She touched his cheek softly and affectionately. “And, yet, I’m full certain you’ve been precisely that. Not perfect, not saintly—who among us is?—but lovely. And kind. And lonely.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“And I’ve missed you, my sweet, darling Patrick. Having you here with me is a miracle. Not a day goes by in which I don’t thank the heavens for you.”
“Being back with this family has saved my life,” he said. “And it’s given me a future and a reason to hope.”
“And it’s given you Eliza,” Ma added.
“Almost,” he corrected.
“Oh, son. Not nearly as ‘almost’ as you think. There’s no mistaking what I see between the two of you.” She slipped her arm through his. “I suspect you need only ask her.”
They walked toward the front door of Da and Ma’s house.
“What if she says no?” Patrick’s heart dropped at the thought.
“Then I will eat my bonnet.”
He could not hold back the laugh that comment summoned. “I adore you, Ma.”
“And I love you, my Patrick. Be brave, son. You had courage enough to come here and reclaim your life. It is time you begin fully living it.”
* * *
Saturday morning dawned a little colder than expected, but with clear skies and only a light breeze: the perfect day for building. Patrick stood in the midst of the piles of lumber and burlap sacks of nails, looking out over the gathering. He’d hoped his family could round up a few extra hands to help. The crowd gathered to help exceeded his wildest hopes.
At least as many people were gathered around the inn site as attended the weekly parties. They’d arrived with hammers and saws and friendly greetings. The spread of food was impressive. The excitement in their faces was encouraging.
“Best get them started, son,” Da said.
“Me?”
“’Tis your inn, lad.”
He shook his head. “’Tis Eliza’s.”
“I’ll grant you that, but they’re here to help you build it. Direct ’em so we can get started.”
Patrick climbed onto the back of a nearby wagon. He let forth a shrill whistle, pulling the crowd’s attention. “Thank you all for coming out to help this morning. We’re to have an inn near enough for gatherings like this, and for céilís, and for having a place to store unwanted family members when they come for a visit.”
That earned him the expected smiles and eyerolls.
“We’ll divide into four teams,” he told them. “The plans have a few bends and corners, which complicates things for three of the four teams, but the fourth team will be building the long back wall and the interior load-bearing wall. That should even things up.” He pointed to the simplified building plans nailed to a makeshift easel he’d constructed. “This is what we’re needing. I’ve marked where the windows, doors, and fireplaces are meant to be. Frame up accordingly. I’ve a prize for the first team to finish their portion.”
“And what would that be?” Seamus Kelly called out.
“I will fell, cut, and deliver a wagon full of logs to be divided amongst the winning team.”
That brought a murmur of excitement. Obtaining wood was a time-consuming thing, and winter tended to sneak up on the people of this valley.
“Put together your teams. We’ll break in a couple hours’ time for a bite to eat, then push through ’til we’re done. And we’ve a céilí awaiting us at the end of the day, though that means listening to Seamus yammering all night.”
Seamus took the taunting in stride; he always did. The group wove about, forming their teams.
Patrick spotted Eliza not far distant, sitting with Maura at one of the tables hauled over for the day. Lydia sat on the table, clutching her doll and handkerchief and wearing the shoes Patrick had brought back for her from the depot. They were building more than just an inn that day. They were building a home for two people who meant the world to him. They were building a fresh start and a brand-new future. Patrick felt more and more certain that he’d be granted a place in that future. He couldn’t believe Eliza would kiss him the way she had if she didn’t care for him as much as he did for her.
Quickly enough, four teams were assembled. The appointed heads of each approached Patrick for their assignments. He answered their questions, gave some further instructions, then declared the competition started.
Everyone there had helped build homes throughout the valley. They wouldn’t need much input from him. He’d keep an eye on it all, walk around to make certain everything was as it ought to be. Overall, there wasn’t much for him to do. He didn’t dare join his family’s team, as he was meant to be impartial. He’d help anywhere he was needed, though.
Not long after the inn raising began, Eliza found him. “I cannot believe everyone came to help with this. So many people didn’t even like the idea of an inn when it was first presented.”
“You heard their worries and didn’t brush them aside.”
“I care about this town. I would never do anything to hurt the people here.”
“Is that why you’ve decided not to serve liquor at the inn? Not every stage passenger or driver will be happy about that.”
She slipped her hand in his. “I’ll serve them all the tea they want. I mean to have plenty on hand.”
Tea. That word stirred emotion in his heart; he knew what she was telling him. She’d made the decision for his sake.
“I don’t want you to ever feel anything other than at home here,” she said.
He raised their entwined hands and kissed the back of hers. “This will be home to you and Lydia. Finbarr’s house isn’t so far from here, plenty near enough for visiting regularly. That’ll make this one of my favorite places.”
“You will come visit, then? You’ll not be so close as you are to the Archers. I’ll miss seeing you every day.”
He leaned near her ear and whispered, “I believe we can sort out a solution to that difficulty, love.”
Someone shouted his name from the building site. He pressed an all-too-brief kiss to her all-too-tempting lips before moving to see what was needed.
As the day went on, there was no opportunity for anything more between him and the woman he loved than smiles and quick words in passing. While the building was going on, he was in constant demand. During the lunch break, she was.
Through it all, Ma’s words echoed in his mind. Be brave. You need only ask her.
Be brave.
By the time the inn was framed and the winning team declared—the O’Connors, Callaghans, and Scotts, despite having chosen one of the more difficult sections of the inn—Patrick’s resolve to be brave had evolved into a plan.
The tables were gathered together and laden with foodstuffs for the céilí. The chairs were moved to form the usual groupings, with room for dancing and a spot for a fire and tale telling. The musicians gathered, chatting and laughing.
Patrick snagged Ryan and Thomas from among them, then pulled Ian, Tavish, and Keefe aside as well. “I’m needing a favor from the lot of you.”
“You still owe us a wagon of wood,” Tavish said. “Are you truly wanting to add to that debt?”
“I’ll risk it,” Patrick answered dryly. “Besides, Ma’d skin you if you turned me down on this. ’Twas her idea, in a way.”
“What is it you’re needing?” Ian asked.
“A song. I know you know it. We’ve sung it before, ages ago.” He looked to his newer brothers-in-law. “I actually don’t know if you lot know it, seeing as I didn’t know you ages ago. But it ain’t a tricky one. Even if you’re new to it, the chorus is the same thing again and again, and that’s the bit I need your backing on.”
“We’re quick studies,” Keefe said. “Get on with you; we’ll join in.”
He next had a quick word with Seamus, explaining briefly what he needed, and secured that man’s cooperation.
As soon as most of the gathering had settled in, Seamus cued Ryan on the pipes to catch everyone’s attention with the usual trill of notes.
“Welcome, friends!” Seamus called out. “We’ve something a bit different to begin tonight’s céilí. Our host for the inn raising will be playing host of the music for the length of a song.” He motioned his green derby hat toward Patrick, then stepped back, giving him leave to do his business.
Be brave.
Patrick traded places with Seamus and addressed the crowd. “When I first arrived here, you sang a welcome song, a tradition, I was told. But, there’s something in the offering that’s not sat well on m’mind ever since. While I was honored to share the moment with Eliza Porter, she deserves a song of her own.”
Eliza watched him from her seat at the edge of the dancing area, curiosity in her expression, but, to his relief, no sign of panic or worry. Lydia watched him as well, with the sweetest smile he’d nearly ever seen from her.
“I’ve not done a vast deal of singing,” Patrick warned them all, “so I’ve enlisted a bit of help.”
His brothers knew their cue, though he’d not specified it. From amongst the crowd and the musicians, they made their way toward him. Ma looked like she might cry with excitement. How long had it been since her boys had sung together? Not since Patrick’s arrival, at least. If only Finbarr had come.
“Eliza.” Patrick met her eye. “A song for you.”
Maura nudged her to stand, which she did. She looked around the gathering, uncertain. Lydia sat on her hip, clinging to her, clearly unsure what was happening.
“You needn’t search out a dancing partner,” Patrick said. “I don’t hold to that part of the tradition.”
She smiled at him. Just enough amusement lay in her expression to tell him she suspected he had something mischievous in mind.
He looked to his brothers. “Lads?”
They gave him nods.
His heart thrummed in his neck and head. Be brave. He swallowed down his nerves, and dove in.
“I’m tired now of single life.
“My mind’s made up to take a wife
“To help me through this world of strife,
“And keep me out of danger.”
Right on cue, his brothers joined him in the chorus, striking just the right harmonies and trills.
“Love, won’t you marry me,
“O, marry me, marry me?
“Love, won’t you marry me
“And keep me out of danger?”
They stepped back, allowing him full ownership of the next verse, which he’d reworked a bit for the occasion.
“My heart belongs to Eliza P.
“She is the only lass for me.
“I know our lives will happy be,
“If she’ll agree to marry me.”
His brothers rejoined for the chorus, though a few laughs and grins and elbows to the ribs made it more raucous than before.
“Love won’t you marry me,
“O, marry me, marry me?
“Love, won’t you marry me
“And keep me out of danger?”
Patrick stepped toward his love while singing, on his own this time, the chorus once more. The crowd parted as he drew nearer her.
“Love, won’t you marry me,
“O, marry me, marry me?
“Love, won’t you marry me—”
He took a breath and took her hand.
“And build a life together?”
Silence fell over the gathering, all eyes on the three of them. Patrick tapped Lydia’s little button nose. He offered the little girl a reassuring smile before looking fully to Eliza once more.
You need only ask her. Time to discover how wise his ma truly was.
“Build a life with me, Eliza,” he said softly. “I’m far from perfect and nowhere near ideal, but I love you, darlin’. And I love our Lydia. And I’ll spend all m’life doing all I can to prove that to you, if you’ll let me.”
She reached up and brushed her fingers along his cheek. “I’ll give you an answer under one condition.”
He hadn’t expected that. “What is your condition?”
“That your brothers sing the chorus again and sing it with gusto.”
He didn’t even have to make the request. The lot of them burst immediately into the most enthusiastic version of “Love, Won’t You Marry Me” that he’d ever heard or could possibly have imagined.
She laughed, and he couldn’t help but do so as well. The townspeople picked up the tune, and the two of them were soon being serenaded by the entire town.
“What’s your answer, darling?” he asked as the crowd posed the question again and again in song.
“Of course I’ll marry you, my love. I’ve been hoping you’d ask me for ages.”
Patrick kissed her and kissed her thoroughly. The musicians began playing, joining the enthusiastic voices. Dancing broke out all around them. Still, he kissed her. He’d come to Hope Springs looking for mere survival, but he’d found so much more. He’d found hope. He’d found a future.
He’d found love.