Chapter Eight

The afternoon of the Christmas show bore down on the city of Louisville with the gloomy portent of snow. Finola worried that Liam might not fare well traveling out in the cold, but she took care to make sure his woolies were clean and ready to wear under the fashionable suit she had bought for him at the mercantile.

Timothy undertook the task of combing down the child’s unruly hair while Finola dressed. She had saved most every penny of her wages and from that cache had bought a lovely but simple navy silk skirt and jacket. She felt like a queen as she turned in front of the bedroom mirror.

Her hair, rarely ever out of its tidy bun, flowed about her shoulders, held back on each side with delicate silver combs. She even had new black slippers to wear, and she stared down at them with admiration.

With careful concentration, she clasped a dainty silver chain around her neck and adjusted the matching silver cross just above the chaste neckline of her white linen blouse peeking from the jacket’s neckline. She looked at her mirrored image with satisfaction. She may not be a Mary Louise Rankin, but she still made a fine specimen of a woman she reckoned.

Timothy called to her from the hallway to say that they would meet her by the door. Finola drew her cloak from the closet and hurried toward the door. Had she forgotten anything? Ach! Her reticule.

With her things all gathered, she made her way to the staircase and carefully walked down each step. The last thing she needed was to slip in these unfamiliar shoes and crash down head first.

“Da, look,” Liam whispered. “Look there.”

She saw him watch her as she descended the stairs, and her heart pounded with each step.

“Could this be our Finola? Could it be?”

“Oh, go on with you,” she scoffed. “You know it’s me.”

“Finola, you look divine.” Liam sighed, his smile wide.

“Well, thank you.” She shooed them toward the door. “Now, let’s get going before we miss the whole thing.”

They went out into the frigid December air, but Finola never felt a shiver. She was as warm as her heart would allow. The three of them laughed and chatted on the way to the theater, and she was overwhelmed with the impressive feeling that they had become a family. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Look at that, Liam,” Timothy said. “We’ve even made her smile.” He winked at her, and her cheeks grew warm despite the chill in the air.

All too soon they arrived at the theater. Timothy and Liam helped her down from the carriage, and she felt quite royal as they entered the building. As had been promised, Mary Louise had left three tickets for them at the box window. An usher showed them to their seats, and they were all pleased to find they had perfect seats to see every action.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Finola whispered. “It must be a dream.”

Liam sighed and patted her hand. “The lights are going down. It’s time.”

From the first tones of the orchestra to the very last curtain call, she was entranced by the production of the musical. Each time Mary Louise took the stage, she captivated the audience’s attention.—“She’s beautiful. Just so beautiful,” she whispered to Liam. As she turned to Timothy at her other side, it was obvious he thought so as well because his eyes never left the glamorous blonde a moment.

Finola felt a small lump form in her chest. Her smile faded and she quickly looked back toward the stage. Mary Louise smiled at them, and she winked at Timothy as she pranced around in her costume all covered with glitter and feathers.

Suddenly the night lost its edge of excitement and Finola felt she was shrinking into the seat beneath her.

“Are you okay?” Liam asked. “You look pale.”

“I’m not feeling meself right now, dear. I’ll be fine.”

The child nodded but kept watch on her throughout the evening.

The curtains could not go down fast enough to suit Finola. She wanted to go home and forget this terrible night. How had it happened, she wondered as she gathered her things. How could Timothy be so taken with Mary Louise and not even know her? How?

“Wasn’t that just wonderful?” Timothy asked them as they retrieved their coats. “It was like having New York right here. Just wonderful.”

“Da,” Liam said, unconsciously falling into Finola’s vernacular, “Miss Finola isn’t well. We need to get her home.”

Timothy peered at her, his brows knitted together in concern. “What’s wrong, Finola? Are you sick?”

“I’m just not feeling meself, sir. I think I need a bit of a lie down.”

“Of course,” he said, helping her on with her coat. “Let’s get you two home then,”

“Now just where do you think you’re going?” a voice rang out through the lobby.

They turned to find Mary Louise coming toward them, her bright red lips pulled into a wide, happy smile.

“We’re going home now,” Liam told her. “Miss Finola isn’t feeling well.”

“Oh, what a shame.” She addressed them together, but her eyes were fastened on Timothy alone. “I was hoping you would join me at the cast party.”

“Well, I need to get them home,” he replied, his voice strangled as the starlet caressed his arm. “With Liam just now recovering…”

“Yes, of course. Unless your driver could take them home. You can ride with me, and I’ll see you get home safely,” she said, a pure tinkle of delight in her voice.

“Well, I…” He looked to Finola.

“We will be fine, sir. Go on to your little play party. Liam and I can take care of ourselves.” Without waiting for a reply, Finola turned and took her young charge by the hand.

They found the driver and bundled themselves into the cab as soon as he brought it round to the front of the theater. Huddled together, the two remained silent as they shivered in the winter cold.

“Finola,” Liam said at last. “Do you think Miss Rankin has designs on Da?”

“Designs? What does that mean?”

“Does she like him?” He looked up into her face with his wide eyes. “Does she want him to fall in love with her?”

Finola’s heart flipped inside her chest. “I’m sure I don’t know about that, Master Liam.”

“I think she does. And I won’t have it,” he cried. “I won’t!”

She wrapped her arms tighter around him and smoothed his hair. “Now, now. There’s no need for this. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

“No, it won’t,” he sobbed. “She’s going to take him away from us.”

“Now you listen, no one can ever take him away from you. He’s your da. Nothing ever changes that.” Finola fought the tears burning behind her eyes. But she can take him away from me…And with such ease.

The boy snuggled in closer to her, his sobs calming. “But I…”

“Let me guess,” Finola murmured. “You don’t want anyone trying to replace your mother. Am I right?”

“Well, kind of, but…”

“Oh, Liam. Your mother could never be replaced. Not in your heart and not in your da’s, either. She is a special angel now, looking over you and him.” She smoothed his hair with a comforting hand. “She’s still here for you, just in a different way now. No one could ever be like your mother.”

“I know that’s true, but I…”

Finola shushed him as they pulled into the long drive of the house. “Let’s get inside before we freeze to death.”

They hurried toward the back door and into the warmth of the kitchen. Liam took their coats, and Finola put some milk on to warm.

“Finola?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I thought you looked very beautiful tonight.”

“Oh, aren’t you a darling?” She placed a few tea cakes on a plate for them to share. “Thank you. And you are quite handsome, yourself. You’re going to look a lot like your Da when you’re grown. Do you know that?”

Liam smiled and nodded his head.

“Macheevers, it’s so late. Let’s have our milk and get up to bed before the sun catches us,” Finola said, filling a mug of warmed milk for him.

He sipped at it, but then set it on the table. “About what we were talking about in the carriage. I want to finish that discussion.”

She smiled at him, always impressed at how adult he sounded. “Why, certainly.”

Liam swallowed hard and then looked up at her waiting face. “I know that Da will get married again. And I miss my mother, but I understand she’s gone. It’s just that…”

She smiled and nodded her head. “Yes?” she encouraged him.

“It’s just that I want him to marry you.”

Finola felt her face redden. She felt as if his words were cold water tossed into her face. “But Liam, you know that will never happen. I’m the housekeeper. Your father can’t marry the housekeeper.”

“But why not? You’re a nice lady. You care about us. You saved my life. It makes sense to me,” he said with a shrug.

“Of course, I do care very much about both of you,” she said. “But dear, that’s just not done.”

“Why not?” he insisted, drinking his milk as he waited for a plausible answer.

“Because, well because…” Finola searched for the right words. “Because I’m Irish.”

Liam frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“But it does,” she insisted. “I’m Irish, and you and your father are Americans.”

“But you are an American now,” Liam pointed out. “And my mother and her family are German.”

“Yes, but that’s different.”

“Why?” he asked again, draining his cup.

“Because I’m the housekeeper,” she said, exasperated by the child’s insistence.

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? You know everything, and you know how to do everything, and you love us.”

Finola sighed and took his hand to lead him upstairs. “You get in there and get ready for bed. I’ll come tuck you in directly.”

Pausing in the hallway, she turned her eyes toward the ceiling and prayed. “Father, help me.”

****

Morning brought more snow, much to Finola’s chagrin. As the three of them grumped and grouched through the kitchen, she had to wonder if it were caused by the previous night’s late hours, more snow, or a combination of the two?

“This coffee is bitter,” Timothy complained.

“I’ll make more then.” Finola huffed, snatching his cup from the table.

“Could I have more hot chocolate?” Liam shoved his mug at her.

“Yes, yes, of course.” She hurried off to the kitchen, resolved to remain clear of the both of them. Timothy with his puffy eyes from laying out with Mary Louise until all hours of the night and Liam with his searching looks after his confession of the previous night.

With a new year dawning, Finola wondered if it might be a good time to see about other employment in the area. Living here with them, these fellows who had become a family to her, would be unpleasant if Timothy were to marry Mary Louise Rankin—or any woman, for that matter.

She put the new pot of coffee on the stove and warmed fresh milk for Liam. Soon it would be spring, however, and if she were to stay she could plant her seeds and make a nice little garden. It had been quite a while since she’d been able to do that, and the prospect of it seemed so enticing.

“Is that coffee ready yet?” Timothy yelled.

She sighed and returned to the dining room. “No, sir. Not yet. A little patience, if you please.”

Liam giggled. “Yes, Da, patience.”

Timothy frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“I guess not, what with gallivanting all over Louisville until the wee hours,” Finola scolded.

“I was in just past midnight,” he protested. “Besides, how do you know?”

Liam addressed his father with serious eyes and tone. “Because, Da, Finola knows everything.”

Finola disappeared into the kitchen and fetched their drinks, and then went to work tidying up the kitchen. She had plans to straighten the cellar afterward. If she should stay, she reasoned, she would need a place to start her seeds and prepare for her garden.

Timothy stuck his head into the kitchen. “Liam and I are going out for a bit. Do you need anything?”

“Yes, sir. If you don’t mind, could you stop by the train station and get a schedule?”

His face clouded. “Planning a trip?”

“Not yet, sir. But I like to be prepared for everything.”

Timothy stepped the rest of the way in so he could face her head on. “What do you mean, Finola? I thought we had an agreement.”

“Of course we do, sir. Never mind about the schedule. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought I might travel to Virginia this summer. I have a cousin who lives there, and I haven’t seen her since I left Ireland, you see.” She silently crossed herself and asked God to forgive her lying sin.

“Oh, well. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so abrupt. I just thought…” he trailed off, averting his gaze.

“Yes?” She peered at him with a scowl. “You thought what?”

“I thought you might be angry with me for going out with Miss Rankin last night.”

Finola pressed her lips into a thin line. “Well, sir, I think that’s your business. Not mine.”

Timothy’s face went ashen at her cold words. “It’s just that I…”

She crossed her arms and waited for him to tear her world apart. “Yes?”

“I just thought that… Never mind. I’m going to town with Liam. We’ll be back later.”

“Fine,” she snapped, grabbing up her broom as she headed for the cellar. Saturdays, she thought with bitterness, are for cleaning, not for running about shopping and acting as if ye have no sense.