The train pulled into the depot on time, squealing and wheezing, then puffing and snorting like a pent–up bull. Princess shied, jerking the wagon, throwing Zeb off balance.
“Gosh–dern skittery animal,” he mumbled, pulling himself erect and calming the dappled–gray mare. He climbed down onto the platform and waited. “Shouldn’t be hard to recognize one of them fancy city folks,” he continued mumbling to himself.
He was right. Robert Arnaud alighted, shading his eyes from the glaring noonday sun with his hands—the only one to get off the train.
He was much younger than what Zeb had expected. Zeb’s heavy–lidded eyes took in all of Arnaud, and he speculated. Another one of them rich man’s brats come to show us poor country folks how things is done, Zeb thought. Certainly gentleman material in his fine, tailored suit and spats.
Zeb approached, skillfully avoiding the platform as he spit a stream of brown tobacco.
“Mr. Arnaud?” he said, grinning. A gold tooth glinted in the sunlight.
“That’s right.”
“I’m Zeb Chadwick, come to fetch ya fer Mr. Brewster down at the shipping line.”
Robert extended his soft, manicured hand, accepting Zeb’s grubby paw, heartily shaking it with a friendly smile.
“Nice to meet you, Zeb. Frank told me I’d be well taken care of when I arrived.”
Quite disconcerted by the unexpected commensurate greeting, Zeb clumsily pointed an arm toward Princess. “If ya care to take a seat on the wagon, I’ll collect yer luggage and take ya to the boardin’ house where you’ll be stayin’.”
Robert climbed onto the buckboard, watching Zeb as he lumbered over to the baggage car and loaded his trunks on a dolly. With the luggage secured in the back of the buckboard, Zeb settled in his seat, spit out of one side of his mouth, and gave a clicking “gee–yup” out of the other.
They left the small gray and red depot behind and trotted off toward an expanse of open farmland that extended far to the west and north, a patchwork of greens and browns intersected by a lattice of train tracks. Shortly, Zeb turned left, heading south onto a wide, cobblestone road.
“Beautiful country,” Robert commented.
“Yup. Surely is. And mighty peaceful. Farmers got an early start this year, too, with the weather bein’ so mild and all. Most spring plantin’s been done.”
Within minutes, they were at the top of the ridge. Wide ribbons of tall, stately pines on either side of the road stood like imperial sentinels guarding the town below, protecting it from the onslaught of wind and snow that swooped down unmercifully from the north in the winter. Lake Erie loomed up ahead at the foot of the sloping hill, an enormous green emerald glinting with facets of golden sunlight, spilling over the far horizon and hugging the rocky shoreline of the sleepy town tucked neatly between it and the ridge.
“Now, there’s another pretty sight,” Robert commented, leaning back to enjoy the view.
On the left, a deeply rutted dirt road wove its way through stands of oaks and maples. Somewhere beyond, a buzz of activity could be heard.
“What’s going on back in there?” Robert asked.
“That’d be the sawmill over by Osaga Falls,” Zeb drawled. “You probably noticed the train trestle passin’ over the river ’bout a mile or so back when you was comin’ here.”
Shifting the bulge in his jaw from one side to the other, he spit over the side of the buggy. Brown tobacco stains at the corners of his mouth hyphenated his lips.
“In the early years, when the farmers was clearin’ the land of all them pine trees, they used that road to haul lumber over to the sawmill. Then, after they was cut and made ready fer shippin’ and marketin’, the sawmill’d haul the lumber back over here to Broad Street, that bein’ where we are now, and straight down to the shippin’ yard or up to the railway depot. There’s still some occasion to use the road, but not much. Nowadays, most of the lumberin’s done upriver and sent on down. And ever since them railroad folks put in them side rails off to the other side of these woods, the sawmill don’t have much need fer that road no more.”
“Interesting,” Robert commented, looking curiously at the unflappable face sitting next to him.
“Have you always lived in Herron’s Point?”
“Yup. Forty–one years, now. My pap came here when the town was bein’ built. Worked at the sawmill fer ol’ John Mahoney, he did. Lost him and my ma to the influenza epidemic back in ’57. Died within two weeks of each other. I was growed by then. Been on my own ever since.”
“Unfortunate. Do you have any other family here?”
“Naw. Just me,” Zeb answered. Then his doleful face nodded toward the right. “Town folks all live over here to the right side of Broad Street that’s separatin’ the harbor, shippin’ yards, and sawmill from the town. Carl Herron planned it that way when he built the town. And exceptin’ fer Water and Commerce Streets, which just seemed to sprout when the town was first built, he named all the east–west streets after the Great Lakes, him who spent a great part of his life sailin’ on ’em. These last two streets we’re passin’ right now, Michigan and Superior, are where all the swells live. They don’t call ‘em streets. Too good fer that. They call ‘em avenues.” He stuck his nose up in the air, giving Robert a sardonic grin.
Robert smiled. “So that’s why the town is named Herron’s Point? This Carl Herron fella started it?”
“Yup. Bought up a mighty parcel of this land here after his ship was sunk durin’ a terrible storm. It was young Johnny Mahoney what saved ol’ Carl’s life, and they ended up on this here very shore. Them poor immigrants he was haulin’ up to Minnesota all got drowned.”
“Interesting. It’s always fascinating to learn the history of how people and places got together.”
“Hard to get lost in a place like this. Comin’ from a big city like Toronto, I suppose you’ll find it kinda slow movin’.”
“So far, I’ve found it quite appealing. Actually, I’m looking forward to my time here. I intend to learn all I can about the shipping business and this town. By the way, Zeb, you mentioned earlier that you’d be taking me to my lodgings. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to stop off at the shipyard and see Frank Brewster first. I’m anxious to get myself established there. Just give me the directions, and I’ll walk over to the boarding house later.”
“Suits me. ’Twon’t be hard to find,” Zeb replied.
Princess slowly clip–clopped down the hil.
“Ya know, Mr. Arnaud, it’s not for me to question, but would ya be any kind of relation to the Arnaud that owns the shippin’ yards?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. And I don’t mind your asking. My father is Pierre Arnaud. One of the owners. We have an import–export business back in Toronto. That’s where I’ll be working when I go back home. But my father feels I should learn all aspects of the business, so that’s why I’m here. We also have another shipping line near Quebec City, along the Saint Lawrence. That’s the one my grandfather and his friend Henri Alexandre started back in 1836. Father married Henri’s daughter, Antoinette, and it’s been the family business ever since.
“When Carl Herron put his shipping line up for sale fifteen years ago, my father jumped on it. ‘Lake Erie’s where all the action is, son,’ I remember him saying to me. What did I know? I was six at the time, and just starting school. Turned out he was right, though. With all the immigrants coming in and filling up the land, and with such a supply of raw materials to be had, the Great Lakes have turned into a beehive of activity. Best investment he ever made.”
“That’s mighty interestin’.”
Princess, anticipating being put back in the barn, knew exactly where she was headed, and without any coaxing from Zeb, turned left into a wide, semicircular cinder driveway leading up to the short end of a long, T–shaped building. A large sign ran along the length of the roof:
ALEXANDRE & ARNAUD SHIPPING
A smaller sign over a door, indicating Offices, faced the driveway. The lake–side stem of the T–shaped building was lined with loading docks facing the ships at the Point. Another rectangular building facing the loading docks was divided into garages for machinery and stalls for horses on one side and loading docks on the other, facing the railroad tracks.
The entire shipping yard was filled with men busily loading or unloading. Some supplies were coming in from the ships; those were destined for boxcars at the railroad tracks beyond the far end of the building. Other supplies were being unloaded from boxcars; these were targeted for shipment at some point along the Great Lakes. The long strand of land, better known by the natives as the Point, jutted out onto the lake and made up the harbor.
Muscular men familiar with the daily activity of strenuous lifting steered their horsedrawn wagons to and from the four large freighters moored at their docks. Cranes emptied the ships’ holds or filled them with cargo. The entire area was alive with cacophonous sounds of activity. There was a burst of laughter as someone at the docks bellowed an off–key version of “Roamin’ in the Gloamin.”
“Well, here ya be, Mr. Arnaud. Ya won’t have no trouble findin’ your way to the boardin’ house. You can see the top of it from here.” Zeb pointed. “That big green roof up there with the widow’s walk. That’d be 7 Erie Street. I’ll be takin’ yer luggage over to the house now and bringin’ Princess back here to her stall. But I’ll be seein’ ya agin at supper. Yer in fer some real good eatin’.”
Robert could hear Zeb’s ‘gee–yup’ as he climbed the steps and opened the office door.
Can’t be much of a place if that old coot lives there, he thought. How’d I ever get myself exiled to a place like this? It’s going to be a long few months.
When Zeb delivered the luggage that Saturday afternoon, Maggie realized the new guest must be a man of means. The trunks were covered with labels from exotic places: Paris, Rome, Budapest, even Cairo. Mam had told her someone important would be coming, and she’d spent all day Friday getting his room ready. She’d just finished dusting the parlor and was passing through the foyer, heading toward the kitchen to help Mam with dinner, when the screen door began to rattle, a man rapping.
She hadn’t expected anyone so young. And so good–looking. And beautifully dressed.
“I’m sure I must be at the right place,” Robert smiled through the screen. “Something smells delicious. And since I was told there was no better cook than Mrs. Mahoney anywhere around these parts, I just followed my nose right up to this front door.”
Maggie laughed as she opened the door to welcome him. “You must be Mr. Arnaud. Please come in.”
She watched as the handsome young man stepped into the foyer, looking around at the fine surroundings. “This is truly an elegant home. Much more than I expected from such a small town as this.”
She smiled. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to freshen up and rest a bit before dinner. I’ll just show you to your room.”
Maggie led him up the stairway. She pointed out the bathroom at the top of the stairs, explaining the schedule for bathing as they continued down the hall to the front of the house.
“This is your room.” She nodded toward the windows as she walked over to raise the shades and pull back the lace curtains. “There’s a lovely view of the lake. I do hope you’ll be comfortable here.” She pointed with pride to the beautiful room.
She walked over and took the large ewer off the washstand in the corner. “I’ll just get you some warm water, and you can freshen up. If you’d like, I’ll unpack your trunks for you after dinner.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, miss. I don’t even know your name.”
“Just call me Maggie.” She smiled shyly.
“Well, Maggie, I thank you for putting me so at ease. And there’s no doubt I’ll enjoy the comfort of this wonderful room.”
Robert took advantage of the view while he waited for Maggie to return with the water.
“Now you can just relax. Dinner’s at six. You’ll be meeting the other boarders then.” Once again, she smiled and left him.
Robert watched her move across the hall and disappear down a back stairway.
My God, he thought, what beautiful eyes. What a stunning creature.
He washed his face and hands. Restless and aroused by his new surroundings, especially Maggie, he strolled back over to the windows.
She’s right. This view is outstanding.
He’d seen much of the world, purely for pleasure, of course, and thought of each new place as an adventure. He loved to travel. But he hadn’t relished being exiled to this backwater town and put to work. Still, with a little female companionship of the nature he’d just met, it wouldn’t be so bad. He decided to go down to the kitchen to meet the lady of the house. Maybe Maggie would be there.
Brigid was leaning over the oven door, basting the leg of lamb. His voice startled her.
“Hello, madam, I’m your new boarder, Robert Arnaud,” he said, entering the kitchen that rarely saw a visitor. “Just thought I’d come in and meet the lady everyone’s been telling me about.” He extended his hand.
She closed the oven door, gave him a quizzical look, wiped her hands on her apron, and accepted his handshake. “And just what might ya be meanin’ by that?”
“Only that you’re the best cook around these parts, I’m told. And if your dinner tastes as good as it smells, I’ll know it must be true.”
“Go ‘long with ya,” she grinned.
Brigid’s kitchen was quite large. A huge black stove sat in the center of the west wall, flanked by oak cupboards and countertops that wrapped around to the left for about four feet, then stopped at the swinging doors leading to the dining room. On the right side of the stove were more cupboards and countertops that wrapped around that corner to meet a large sink and four more feet of cupboards and countertop. Two windows sat above the sink, dressed in green–checked, tie–back gingham curtains.
The door next to that led to a mud room and out the door, with a four–by–six–foot pantry on the side. On the other side of that door were three windows in the same dressing as the others. A welcoming window seat was underneath the windows. It was padded with a dark green cushion and scattered with colorful pillows. A large, round oak table on a dark green and gray braided rug was in that section of the kitchen.
On the other side of the swinging doors was a fairly tall icebox and a strip of hooks for aprons and sweaters, then a doorway that led down the center hall. Next to that was a large stone fireplace. Two rockers rested on either side across from the oak table. Another door next to the fireplace led up the back stairway.
At the end of the room was Maggie’s bedroom. This room was the coziest and most desirable room in the house. Not only did Brigid love it, but Maggie did as well.
Another doorway next to it led up the back stairway to the second floor. With the exception of necessary dinner preparations, the kitchen was immaculate.
Robert made himself at home, sitting at the kitchen table, chatting as Brigid busied herself at the stove, stirring a vanilla pudding.
It was a pleasant visit in a pleasant room, just long enough for him to ingratiate himself with the lady of the house and find out more about his surroundings. Maggie was nowhere to be seen, but he’d detected movement in the dining room. Probably setting the table. He’d check it out.
After he left, Brigid was quite elated.
Now there’s a boarder worth havin’, she thought. What a charmin’ gentleman.
Robert Arnaud was a hit with everyone. He charmed the Carter sisters with flattery; listened with rapt interest, nodding intently, as Kurt Baughman expounded on the plight of the country’s invasion of foreigners; complimented Zeb on the fine landscaping around the house, especially the flower garden on the east side; and showed genuine regard for Chester Deidrick’s experiences as captain of the Herriot.
All the while, Maggie moved in and out of the kitchen, serving dinner. Robert was aware of her presence, of the fragrance of lavender soap as she leaned over to serve him generous portions of lamb.
If he’d ever had any reservations about this trip, he now discarded them. He was going to enjoy his stay here. She would be worth it all.
It had been decided that Robert would accompany them to the eight o’clock Mass on Sunday.
Maggie knew this could create a problem. She was already aware of her mam’s strong disapproval of Tim. They’d had it out that evening two weeks before, after she’d spent the day with him and Rosemarie. “He’s just not yer sort,” Brigid had said, sticking her chin out doggedly. “You should be expectin’ better fer yourself.”
But Maggie had held her ground. She and Tim sat together at church the following Sunday, and he’d called on her that same afternoon. They’d walked up to the Conroys’ farm, giving Mrs. Conroy a hand with the chores in the barn while the three older Conroy boys were in the fields doing the spring plowing. It had been a wonderful day.
But today she knew Mam would insist she sit with her and that new boarder—right up front. How would she explain that to Tim? And why should she have to? Today was her birthday. Shouldn’t she have what she wanted?
Brigid preened and strutted all the way up the hill, a handsome gentleman on one side and Maggie on the other. A matching pair if she ever saw one. They met up with Brigid’s friend Molly Flannery at the corner of Huron Street, and Brigid proudly introduced her to Robert.
He bowed, plying Molly with compliments, “What a lovely complexion, Mrs. Flannery. And such beautiful eyes. Blue as cornflowers, Mrs. Flannery,” which flustered and delighted her completely.
Brigid swelled, ready to burst with pride. He would fit quite nicely in her plans. They continued on to Michigan Avenue— Molly and Brigid, Maggie and Robert.
Tim was waiting on the corner, watching, slightly nonplussed at seeing the handsome young stranger beside Maggie as they came up the hill.
Brigid brushed right on by, expecting Maggie and Robert to follow. But when she reached the church door, she could see the three standing on the corner, talking. Seething, she followed Molly inside.
When Maggie introduced Robert to Tim, Robert sensed the affection between the pair immediately. He said, “I’d best go sit with your mother, Maggie. I think she’s expecting that I do.”
When it came to women, Robert’s instincts were keen. They told him he would make a better impression if he joined up with the two older ladies, knowing from experience that they always made great allies.
“It was very nice meeting you, Tim,” Robert said, shaking his hand again. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
Tim nodded.
I’ll bide my time, Robert thought. This fella isn’t bad to look at. Certainly no real competition, though. When it comes right down to it, Maggie will come around my way.
Maggie smiled with relief as he walked up the steps and into the church. This was not as difficult as she’d feared.
It’ll be a good birthday, she thought.
She and Tim sat in the back.
After Mass was over, Tim walked Maggie back to the house. They both commented on how tired Father Charles looked.
“I think he works too hard,” Maggie said. “He’s so dedicated. He walks everywhere, visiting up over the ridge and in the town, making sure there’s never a want or need. Concerned about everyone but himself.”
Tim fully agreed. “It must be an awfully lonely life. I noticed your mam sees to it he doesn’t go hungry, though. I was down at Fellerman’s market one day and heard her talking to some of the ladies shopping there, telling them what days they should be having him in for dinner. What does she do, set up a dinner schedule for him?”
“Actually, she does. She’s head of the Altar Guild and makes it her duty to see that he has a place to eat every day. He really has just one big room over the church, you know. No one to take care of his needs there. Someone’s always inviting him to come and eat or sending him something—soups, stews, homemade breads or cakes, knowing that if he had to look after himself, he’d probably starve.”
They stood at the back gate touching hands, lingering.
Tim could look into Maggie’s eyes forever; they swallowed him up. Finally, he broke the spell, saying, “Since today is your birthday, would you like to go sailing this afternoon? Fred Jacobs said I could use his skiff for the day. Perfect weather for it.”
“Sounds wonderful.” She would have liked it if he’d asked her to go to the moon.
Brigid was furious. How could Maggie choose to sit with that good–fer–nothin’ Liam Ryan’s son in preference to a gentleman like Robert? But it was her daughter’s birthday. She’d best hold her tongue. There would be a wonderful coconut cake for dessert after dinner, with sixteen candles. Perhaps Robert would ask Maggie to go walking later. She could already see he’d taken an interest in her.
If Robert had taken notice of her, Maggie wasn’t aware of it. She did, however, notice the small pile of gifts that had gathered on the sideboard in the dining room. She was truly excited about the whole idea of being sixteen, feeling quite grown up with her hair piled on top of her head and wearing her peppermint–pink striped dress with the huge puffed sleeves, the one Mam had picked out the last time they were in Toronto. Tim had even commented on how pretty she looked.
It had taken her the best part of thirty minutes to do up her hair that morning, and she had to admit it looked nice, much more womanly, like Mam said, but all the fussing and primping were really just too much trouble. She wouldn’t wear it that way very often, she decided.
After dinner, Maggie cleared the table, and Brigid brought in the cake. Everyone oohed and aahed. Birthdays had not been much of an occasion since she was a little girl, but this one was special, because it marked her passage from youth into womanhood.
Unaccustomed to such attention, Maggie blew out the candles and began to blush.
Everyone laughed and clapped.
“Open your presents,” Clara said. “It isn’t every day a girl has her sixteenth birthday.”
Agnes got up, took the packages off the sideboard, and placed the gifts in front of Maggie. “I hope you like what we got you,” she said excitedly. “I think it’s something you could have used this morning.” She handed her the package with the pink bow. “Here. Open this one first.”
Maggie was aware of all eyes watching her hands shaking slightly as she slowly untied the bow. It was a pair of tortoise– shell combs with small, crystal–green stones resembling emeralds inlaid along the edges.
Maggie gasped, “How beautiful! Thank you so much, Agnes, Clara.” Her eyes misted.
Agnes smiled with satisfaction at seeing Maggie so pleased. “When we came across them down at Baughman’s, Sister said, ‘Now won’t these look just perfect with Maggie’s beautiful hair and green eyes,’ and I couldn’t help but agree. We’re so happy you like them, dear.”
“You deserve beautiful things,” Clara added matter–of– factly.
“The one in blue wrapping paper is from us,” Elsa Baughman said, blushing.
“Picked it out myself,” Kurt bellowed. “Soon as I saw it, I said, ‘Now, that’s the perfect thing for our Maggie.’ Didn’t I, Mama?”
Elsa nodded and turned red.
Maggie smiled at them both as she tore away the blue tissue. “Oh, what a lovely apron. I certainly can use this.” She held it up for all to see. “Look at the nice patch pockets. And isn’t that a pretty pattern? Thank you, Kurt and Elsa.”
Elsa’s blush deepened. “You’re welcome, Maggie,” she said, almost in a whisper.
“Open mine,” Zeb said. “I didn’t have any pretty wrapping, so I just used some butcher paper. Figured s’what’s inside that counts.”
Maggie ran her hands over the smooth leather binding of a book of poems by Emily Dickinson. “My goodness, Zeb! This is wonderful. I just love poetry. How did you know?”
Zeb squirmed slightly. “I asked Clara to pick somethin’ out fer me, not having any notion as to what to buy fer a young girl myself. I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it. Thank you, Zeb.”
The next package was a box of three linen handkerchiefs from Father Charles.
“They’re just what I need, Father Charles. Look at the beautiful lace around the edges, everyone. Aren’t they pretty?”
“I’m wishin’ it could’a been more,” Father Charles said wistfully.
“I love them. Especially because they’re from you.” Maggie got up, went over to his chair, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Father.” He truly was the only father she had.
“You still have one more,” Clara said. “Hurry and open it. I can’t wait to eat a piece of that delicious–looking cake.”
Maggie figured it was from Mam. She tore away the tissue, opened the box, and saw an exquisite crystal bottle of perfume.
“On such quick notice, I wasn’t sure what to get you,” Robert said as he anxiously watched her open it. “I know most young ladies love perfumes.” He looked for a sign of her approval.
When Brigid had told him of Maggie’s birthday the day before in the kitchen, he knew he’d been given an opportunity to quickly gain her favor. Kurt had been more than obliging to walk over and open the store for him after dinner. What better way to captivate her? Females were easily swayed by extravagant gifts.
Maggie was overwhelmed, never having had such a grown–up gift before, and so expensive. She lifted the diamond–shaped crystal stopper from the vial and sniffed. “Oh, it’s wonderful. Like a field of carnations. Thank you so much, Mr. Arnaud. But you really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. With you being new in town and all, I can’t imagine where you even found the time.”
“It was no trouble. And please call me Robert. I love birthdays. It’s as much fun watching someone open gifts as it is getting them.”
Brigid came over and handed Maggie an envelope. “I’ll be wantin’ ta give ya this,” she said, standing there, waiting for Maggie to open it.
Maggie was completely puzzled as she looked at the sheet of paper she’d taken out of the long white envelope. “What is it, Mam?”
“’Tis yer registration to Saint Cecilia’s in Toronto. You’ll be needin’ to go there this June to take an entrance exam. But that’ll be no problem fer you, I’m thinkin’.” And ya won’t be cavortin’ around with that Tim Ryan. I’ll see to that.
“Mam! I can’t believe this. You mean I’m actually going away…to school? Oh!” Now she was truly overwhelmed. “This is so exciting. I can’t wait to write and tell Rosemarie. This has to be the very best birthday I’ve ever had.” She jumped up and hugged her mother, lifting her right off the floor.
“Go ’long with ya, Mary Margaret.”
Unaccustomed to displays of affection, completely flustered, Brigid turned to the others. “How many will be wantin’ cake?”
Robert did ask Maggie to take a walk with him. She’d cleared the table and was busy in the kitchen when he came in, escaping Kurt Baughman’s request to play gin.
“It’s such a beautiful day for a walk. Perhaps you could show me the town, Maggie?”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Arnaud, but I’m to go sailing with my friend Tim as soon as I finish the dishes. Perhaps the Carter sisters or the Baughmans could oblige you.”
Brigid, who was preparing to take her usual Sunday walk with Father Charles, overheard and immediately stepped in. “And can’t that Tim Ryan be takin’ ya sailin’ any day? What with Mr. Arnaud needin’ to learn his way around, I’m thinkin’ it would be an act of kindness to show him the town. Tim won’t be mindin’ atall, atall.”
“But I can’t disappoint him, Mam. He borrowed a skiff just for today.” Maggie was not to be dissuaded. She looked at Robert. “What I will do, Mr. Arnaud, since the days are getting so much longer, is take you around the town after supper. It’s always lovely that time of day. We can walk down by the lake. You’ll just have to see one of our beautiful sunsets.”
“That sounds like a fine idea, Maggie. I’ll look forward to it. And please, I’ll ask you again, call me Robert,” he said with a broad smile that hid his feeling of rejection, something he wasn’t accustomed to—worse yet, knowing full well he would be exiled to the parlor for an afternoon of gin with Kurt Baughman.
She’ll be worth the wait, he thought.
Brigid held her tongue in Robert’s presence, but when he left, she turned on Maggie. “How can ya be thinkin’ to turn down such a fine gentleman as that?” she snapped. “And fer the likes of Tim Ryan.”
“Mam, I didn’t turn him down. Really. I just feel I should keep my promise to Tim.” She had no desire to upset her mam. Not after that wonderful gift she had just given her. “But I will go walking with Mr. Arnaud this evening. Now, isn’t that fair?”
“Hmph!” Brigid stamped out of the kitchen. She wasn’t used to being thwarted.