Chapter Fifteen

“What I think,” Dorothea said decidedly, “is that you should lie low for a while. Go underground where no one can find you, till all this dies down.”

She eyed O’Hare in an effort to read his mood. The three of them—Ron Murray included—sat round a table in Ron’s upstairs quarters, sharing a pot of tea. O’Hare appeared relaxed, sitting with his elbow propped on the table and one leg bent across his other knee. But Dorothea sensed the tension he strove to disguise.

“Will it die down, though?” Ron Murray objected. “The way I see it, there’ll be unrest until there’s some sort of equality established.”

“I want to know how he sees it.” Dorothea nodded at O’Hare.

His tawny eyes met hers. What did she see there? What had she seen when she told him she loved him? Dismay? Caution? A brief flare of passion?

She feared he’d prove stubborn now—not that he usually did, not stubborn the way she was, anyway. Hare O’Hare didn’t indulge in displays of emotion; he just gave that half smile—the one even now curling his lips—and carried on.

But she needed so desperately for him to give in, to be safe. Her fingers tensed around her tea cup. What could she do to convince him?

Softly, he said, “An assassin could find me any day of the week. That’s what you’re worrying about, isn’t it? An assassin? It’s no secret who I am, or where I work. Thugs could take me on the street or come here at any time. It’s a risk I take for the cause.”

The cause. Dammit. She widened her eyes. “I believe in the cause too—you know that. But I don’t believe you need be stupid about it.”

“Stupid, is it?” He lifted the mobile eyebrows.

“Yes. What happens to the cause if they eliminate you? If they succeed in silencing your voice? These articles I’ve written have raised feelings to fever pitch. Maybe you don’t appreciate how things have changed…”

“Sentiment has changed, yes.”

“And along with it, the danger to you. Losing you as leader would set everything back.”

“She has a point there,” Ron put in.

“So what do you expect me to do? Hide like an infant? Shrink like a coward? I’ve a life, and a job. We’re in the middle of a big installation.”

“I don’t ask you to lie low for long, just till the immediate furor raised by the series dies down. I handed in the second-last story today. Only one to go. After that, I’ll move on to other things—I’ll still be speaking for equality, for the Irish and all women, but this strong light won’t be shone directly on you. Then you can reemerge.”

“It smacks of cowardice, Dora.”

“It does not! It smacks of good sense.”

“And where, precisely, do you suggest I go to ground?” he asked with an edge.

“I have an idea about that also.”

“I thought she might,” Ron remarked.

“Listen to this: we can plot out the details of the final interview any time. I thought we might present your views for the future, your vision of what a fair and just Boston might look like. Once we do that, I can write it ahead. You don’t need to be here.”

“I don’t, eh?”

“No. I thought I’d send you to Maine, to the little town where I’m from. I know my friend Josie will let you stay with her and her family. And once I’ve handed in the last story, I’ll join you there for a few days. I can write my next series from anywhere, so long as Mr. Winton gives his approval.”

“Whoa.” O’Hare held up a hand. “Maine, you say. What in hell would I want to do in Maine?”

He sounded angry, and Ron gave him a sharp glance.

“Lie low, as I’ve said. Maybe for a week or two.”

“Out of the question.”

“But I think—”

“No, Dora. The last place on earth I want to be is Maine.”

“Why?”

He shook his head, his face closed tight.

“But it’s a reasonable plan. You can take the train most of the way and catch a packet boat to…”

“I said no. I’m not leaving here, and I’m not abandoning my responsibilities—or the fight.”

Heat rose to Dorothea’s head. When she lost her temper, it was quick and fierce. “Let someone else lead the bloody fight for a few days. Are you the only Irish man in Boston?”

“Not by a long chalk. But I’ve struggled hard to get myself in a position to do some good. You can’t expect me to back down just because you fancy—” He waved a hand.

“Now…” Ron attempted to intervene. “Let’s not speak in haste, here. Lad, the lady has your welfare at heart.”

Close at heart. Dorothea gazed at O’Hare intently. Didn’t he realize she couldn’t rest with him in danger? That she’d have no peace while he stood in jeopardy?

He visibly strove to compose himself. Whatever else Hare O’Hare might be, he was not a man who flew off the handle easily. “Dora, lass, I do understand your concern. But I can’t walk away from this. If I’ve knocks to take, I’ll take them. It won’t be the first time.”

Panic joined the terror in Dorothea’s heart. Would he just dismiss this raging trepidation she felt on his behalf?

She challenged, “Yes, and what if it’s the last time?”

He shrugged. “Then I hope I leave this world a bit better than I found it.”

Dorothea surged to her feet on a rush of anger—or perhaps it was dismay—and glared at him.

“So you’ll throw your life away? Let them win by vanquishing you? And that will advance the cause how? By making you a martyr? I’m surprised. I truly am—I never expected you to behave so stupidly.”

He returned her glare with one that glowed like amber. “Well, now you know the truth about me and what to expect—I’m stupid as well as lowborn. Good thing you found out now, eh? A lucky escape.”

Dorothea snatched up her hat from the table and slammed it on her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’ll never be saying that.”

“I will write the last piece from my notes, shall I, so you don’t have to see me again?”

“You’ll do as you wish.”

“You’re right.” She walked to the door that led downstairs. “I absolutely will.”

****

“Well, now,” Ron said softly after several moments passed and the reverberations from Dorothea’s forceful exit died down. “You might have been a little rough with her there.”

“No, I wasn’t, Ron. I was kind. She’s been getting ideas. About me. Best she should lose them now before there’s any damage done.”

“Heaven forfend that anyone should care about you.”

O’Hare looked up sharply, his gaze narrowed on Ron’s face. He gave a hard laugh. “No one ever has.”

“You have friends.”

He did, and good ones, like this man beside him. “I’m not talking about friends. My ma and Gene—growing up with them I always felt like an afterthought. I don’t even know why they kept me around. We traveled all over New England before Gene settled in Boston—they could have lost me anywhere.”

“You were her son. How could she abandon you?”

O’Hare thought of his ma lying on her deathbed and the look in her eyes. He buried his face in his hands.

“Anyway,” Ron went on steadily, “sometimes friends are better than family. In a way they are family.”

“True.”

“So why chase one away? You’re whimpering because no one’s ever cared for you…”

“Not whimpering, dammit!”

“Sounds like whimpering to me. And here comes somebody tearing herself up because she cares so much—”

“That’s just it, Ron. Look at her! Smart, beautiful, with that bright spirit and a heart so full of compassion she’d spill it on one such as me. She deserves the best.”

“Reckon she does, when you put it like that. I was going to ask if you’ve been getting ideas about her. Don’t suppose I have to, after that description.”

“I’ve never met anyone like her,” O’Hare admitted bleakly. “And I’m fighting all the time to resist. So drop it, will you?”

“Even if I think you’re being as stupid as she claims? She’s a prize, sure. I see that. But why shouldn’t you claim that prize?”

O’Hare lifted his face from his hands. “Oh, yes, because I’ve so much to offer. The bastard son of a barmaid who drank herself to death, with a ragtag past and a piecemeal education, working as a laborer—”

“A skilled laborer, mind! You’ve a damn good job.”

“And living in a room at the top of a tenement. She says her father’s a blacksmith. He’d flatten me with his hammer if she ever took me home. As for what her ma would likely say…”

“She’s a grown woman, living and working on her own. Surely it’s up to her whom she marries.”

“Marries?” Mirroring Dorothea’s movement, O’Hare scraped to his feet. “Whoever said anything about marriage?”