Chapter Eleven

Morning arrived with another snowfall, adding several more inches on top of the already frozen ground. Finola stared out the kitchen window as the oatmeal cooked. She was tired, and she wasn’t in any frame of mind for arguing with the men of the house about their eggs. It was oatmeal and nothing else.

Sleep was not to be found as the cold night dragged on. Now she had to face another day, knowing that the man she loved would soon marry another woman. A fancy actress with her hair piled high on her head with tiny hats fastened to it. A woman who thought herself fashionable because she wore those ridiculous huge bustles and such tight bodices. Finola couldn’t understand how she could breathe, much less sing.

She looked down at her own shirtwaist and skirt. No bosom plunging or bustle rustling for her. Finola’s plain brown skirt, checked blouse, and brown sweater were dowdy. Ugly. Just like her, she thought.

Her plans for the day included a visit to confession and afternoon mass. She felt her soul was blotched with the dark, hateful thoughts she’d been having about Mary Louise, and Timothy too if she were to be honest. It wouldn’t be easy confessing that she had thought such things and even said ugly things at times.

A light cough caught her attention. She turned to find Timothy waiting for her to notice him there.

“I’m sorry, sir. I was wool gathering.”

“I see. Planning to knit something up?” His laugh sounded hollow, but he did smile.

“Not exactly. I’ll get your coffee. Is Liam up yet?” she asked.

“No, he’s not. But I wanted to talk with you about something before he came down. Bring us both a cup, and we’ll sit here at the kitchen table.”

She nodded, dreading what he would say. Would she be able to remain silent and strong? Could she?

She set the cups on the table and poured hot, strong coffee into them. Her hands trembled, and she sloshed coffee on the red gingham table cloth.

“Finola? Are you feeling unwell?” Timothy asked. Concern filled his eyes, and she had to avert her gaze to keep him from seeing her pain.

“Fine, sir. I just didn’t sleep very well last night. Too much excitement, I suppose.”

He frowned. “Yes, well, last night is what I need to talk to you about.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ve been expecting this.”

“Have you? And how…well, none of that matters now. I asked Mary Louise to marry me last night.”

Panic clutched at Finola’s chest. Gathering every bit of will and strength, she managed to keep her face calm and not betray the resounding crush of her heart taking place even as they sat there together in the quiet morning.

“I see,” she said at last.

“She turned me down,” Timothy said at last.

“She did?” Finola clutched at her chest, praying that she hadn’t sounded overjoyed in her reaction.

“Yes, she did. Mary Louise told me that she couldn’t be bothered with being a wife, and she certainly doesn’t want to be a mother. In fact, she said that Liam’s illnesses were most of the reason she would never consider marrying me. ‘An actress cannot be saddled with a sick child,’ she said.”

“I see,” Finola replied calmly, but her heart she was leaping for joy and thanking God for making Mary Louise Rankin the foolish, selfish woman she was. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

Timothy smiled. “Somehow, I doubt that. I’ve had the feeling of late that you and my son weren’t all that fond of Miss Rankin after all.”

“Oh, it’s not that, sir. It was more that she just wasn’t right for you,” she answered, keeping her gaze averted. “And herself is gone now?”

“Yes. She’s leaving for Atlanta tomorrow. Some new business investor is sending her down there to work some shows in one of his theaters. I’m supposed to meet with the man this afternoon. I don’t see why she would think that would be a good idea, but you know Mary Louise. She has a mind of her own.”

“That she does, sir.” The housekeeper agreed. “And I suppose you love her still.”

Timothy’s smile faded. “Well, no. But I do love the idea of being in love again. I thought that in time I would forget ” He stopped mid-sentence and drank down his coffee.

“Yes.” She covered his hand with hers and patted it lightly. “There is nothing like love. Knowing it and feeling it.”

Timothy looked shaken, pale and confused. “I need to get some things done today before I meet this Mr. Horvay in town. Will you tell Liam I’ll see him tonight?”

“Yes, sir, but wait. Mr. Horvay, you said?” Finola shuddered with instant revulsion at the thought of the ghastly man in St. Louis.

“Yes, Elliot Horvay. He’s Mary Louise’s new promoter.”

“But, Mr. Adams ” she cried out. It was too late; he was already heading for the door.

“Tonight, Finola. We’ll talk tonight after dinner.”

****

The rest of the day proved dark and foreboding as Finola imagined all manner of horrid behavior taking place at the bank. As she knelt down in the confessional, her mind was tormented with thoughts of Elliott Horvay filling Timothy with all manner of lurid deceptions. Ghastly scenes tripped through her mind like nightmares, and all at once she was telling the priest every detail of each thing that had tormented her so.

“All right, that’s enough,” he stopped her. “You’re worrying yourself to death. For each impure thought, you shall say a Hail Mary. And as for the rest of this tale, stop worrying so much. Remember this and tell it to yourself each time you begin to get unraveled about this employer of yours. ‘Not my circus, not my monkeys.’”

She left the confessional and joined Liam in the pew. What on earth had that meant, she wondered. Finishing her prayers, she crossed herself and took her charge by the hand. As they stepped out into the winter cold, a woman stopped them.

“I’m Gertrude Lawson. You are the Adams’ housekeeper, aren’t you?” She extended her hand to Finola, who took it into her own.

“Yes, I am. Finola McNamara. Pleased to meet you.”

The older woman smiled, showing most of her teeth. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you. Apparently you’ve taken Timothy and young Liam here into hand.”

“They are a delight to look after, Mrs. Lawson. If you’ll excuse me, it’s very cold out and Mr. Adams’ carriage is waiting for us.” She motioned toward the befuddled Patrick.

“Oh, yes. Don’t let me keep you.” She patted Finola on the arm. “I look forward to meeting you again. In the meantime I’ll plan on how to steal you away for myself.”

Laughter followed them out to the street, and Lima looked up at her and said, “People are so odd, Finola.”

“Aye,” she agreed, hoisting him to the interior of the carriage. “That they are.”

****

In lieu of beginning the term at school as Timothy had planned, he had decided to put it off after the child’s latest bout of illness. A private teacher had been hired and was due to arrive at any moment.

When Liam’s new tutor, Helm Glenwoody, arrived Finola thought of going to Timothy’s office just to see if he were fine. But no, she thought. That would be silly. Besides, she didn’t even know this Mr. Glenwoody. He could be a child kidnapper, or worse.

By the time the day’s lessons were over, Liam was eager to settle down to a nice tea complete with apple cinnamon crumpets.

Mr. Glenwoody seemed a pleasant sort, she thought, but he unnerved her with his constant sneaking glances her way. He was short and rotund with a balding head and thick glasses.

“Ah, Mrs. McNamara, those crumpets smell divine. They remind me of the ones our cook made when I was but a child,” he raved, inhaling the freshly baked scent in deeply.

“Would you care for one and a cup of tea, sir?” she asked with polite reserve.

“Why, yes. If you have them to spare,” he agreed and took a place at the table.

“Oh, we always have plenty. Finola cooks enough to feed the third regiment,” Liam piped in.

“Third regiment? Ho, ho, that’s rich.” Mr. Glenwoody stuffed half the crumpet into his mouth. “Mmmm, delightful. Mr. McNamara is a lucky man.”

Finola dipped her head in austere reverence. “Me husband has passed.”

“It’s true.” Liam nodded. “She just takes care of Da and me. And she’s very good at it.”

Mr. Glenwoody attempted to suppress his smile. “I’m so sorry to hear that. My apologies.”

“’Tis fine,” Finola replied curtly, having seen the smile curling at the corners of his fat lips. “Now, if you’ll pardon me. I have to get Mr. Adams’ dinner.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He rubbed his pudgy hands in delightful anticipation.

She gave a slight nod and rolled her eyes toward Heaven as she escaped into the kitchen. Wonder of wonders, the last thing she needed was Mr. Glenwoody’s attentions.

Dark was hard falling by the time Timothy made it home. His face was red from the late winter wind and snow dusted his hat and coat.

“Oh, merciful Heavens! Is it snowing again?” Finola asked as she rushed to take his garments.

“Yes! This is the worst winter I’ve seen in years. Carriages were sliding, and some fool with a milk wagon hit a horse on Broadway.” Timothy shivered in the foyer, recalling the incident.

“Oh, may the Lord have mercy,” she replied quickly. “Come in by the fire. I’ll bring your dinner on a tray while you warm up.”

He smiled, allowing her to help him settle in the chair in front of the fireplace. “You are so very good to us, Finola. I don’t know what we did to deserve you.” Timothy reached out his hand and patted her arm.

Shocked by his unexpected display of affection, she tried to smile. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be back with your dinner and some strong, hot tea.”

In the kitchen, Liam sat by the cook stove. “It’s freezing in here.”

“I know, dear, and I’m sorry. The new fellow, Patrick, didn’t know how to feed the coal burner. I had to go out and show him. It will take a bit for the heat to catch up.”

“Is Da home?” the child asked.

“Yes, and he’s going to have his dinner in by the fire. Would you like to join him?”

Liam smiled and nodded. “Yes. I can’t wait to tell him about my lessons today.”

“Well enough, then. Run along, and I’ll bring your trays in.” She hummed to herself and gathered their plates. Now that Mary Louise had gone on about her way, they could get back to being a family.

She stopped, shocked at her own thoughts. How dare she think such a thing. But they were a family. No matter what anyone else thought or would ever think. Timothy and Liam truly were her family now, and she theirs.

She carried the trays of roasted pork, potatoes and carrots, gravy boats, and rolls to them. She refilled cups of tea and glasses of milk, fetched dishes of apple cobbler with cream, and made sure their blankets were tucked in securely about them.

“Finola! You’re going to run yourself to rags. Have a cup of tea and sit down with us,” Timothy said at last. “All this fussing! You’re bound to be exhausted.”

“Oh, Da.” Liam laughed. “Finola is never tired, and she doesn’t even sleep that much. She checks on us during the night, and today she even went out to show Patrick how to load the coal burner.”

Timothy’s eyes widened. “You did? You mean he didn’t know?”

“Well, it was nothing. You have to remember, Mr. Adams, that a lot of us from Ireland and other places over yonder have never seen such finery as you have here. A peat fire is about as fancy as it gets where Patrick and I come from,” she explained.

“I see. And do you and Patrick come from the same area?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. He is from the coast and I am from an inland family. They are fishermen and we are farmers.”

“But you still have a lot in common, yes?”

Finola wondered what he was getting at. “Not so much.”

“Da, are you worried that Patrick will fall in love with Finola and take her away from us?” Liam asked, his eyes shining in the firelight.

“No, uhm, no. Not at all,” Timothy said, sputtering as he choked out the words. “I was just curious.”

“Because Patrick isn’t the one we have to be worried about. It’s my tutor, Mr. Glenwoody. Finola gave him a scone today, and he fell in love with her right there.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

“Excuse me?” Timothy asked.

“I said that Finola gave him…”

“I heard that part, son. I just can’t bring myself to believe I just heard it. Finola, what’s this about you enticing men into falling in love with you by way of scone?”

Finola protested, her embarrassment reddening her face. “I never! He wanted one, and I was just being kind.”

Liam nodded with sage attestation. “It’s true, Da. He was watching her every minute. And when she left the dining room, he did like this.” The child demonstrated by drawing in a deep breath and sighing with dreamy heaviness.

Timothy burst out laughing. “Oh, Heavens! This sounds serious.”

“Oh, go on with you both,” exclaimed Finola, but she, too, had to laugh.

By the time the fire died down, the coal heater was back to prime operating condition. She cleaned up their dishes and tidied the living room once again. Timothy and Liam were both yawning, and she shooed them off to bed.

“Morning will come early.” She waved them toward the stairs. “Lessons, and banking, and cleaning, so we need our rest.”

“And flirting, and wooing.” Liam squealed with laughter as he skittered up the steps ahead of them.

“Liam!” she scolded, but couldn’t be too hard on him.

“Now, now, Finola.” Timothy stepped aside to let her climb the stairs ahead of him. “At least he’s not giving you the silent treatment as I received.”

“That is true,” she agreed. “But then again, he knows that I would never consider such a thing.”

The cold truth of her words bounced in the quiet hallway. She realized how she sounded and dropped her head in shame.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered, mortified by her brash words. “I didn’t mean that as it sounded.

He sighed. “Look at me, Finola.”

She raised her face, worried that he would be angry with her.

“I just wanted to do the right thing, and I didn’t think it through. You and Liam were right. Mary Louise was not the kind of woman I need in my life,” he clapped a hand to his heart. “I guess I just got lost in…”

“Her beauty?” Finola supplied. “The excitement about her? I know how that can happen.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” she nodded. “For I was the same. I truly thought she was me friend. But in the end, I was never the same to her. I was a servant. Just a housekeeper.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she bit her lip.

“Oh, Finola,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize she made you feel that way.”

“It weren’t just her, sir. It was you.” The tears rained down, and she gave into them and the power of the emotions behind them “You, too, began treating me more and more like a servant and less like family. And that’s what hurt the most.”

His face went still. “I did?”

“Yes. I realized that if you married her, I would have to leave. I couldn’t survive in that kind of mess.” She no longer cared what her confession sounded like. With tears came truth. “It broke my heart to even think about having to leave.”

“Finola, don’t cry.” He produced a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away her tears. “You never have to leave. I promise.”

She sobbed even harder into the hanky, touched by his words. “We never know what God has in store.”

“Come on, now.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Her sobs turned to laughter at his reddening cheeks. “One day, sir, you’re bound to get it right.”

They climbed the stairs, parting at the second floor. It was a good night, Finola thought. As good as anyone could hope to have.

****

The valley stretched before them in wide patches varying in shades of green and gold. The verdant quilt of fields and meadows took her breath away, and in that moment she was home again.

The apple trees, heavy with fruit, called to her like long forgotten memories. A flock of sheep grazed in the nearby meadow, and lambs pranced about in joyous play reminding her of her peaceful Irish childhood.

And then, standing strong in righteous memory was her home. A small brown house sat near a stream with its thatched roof and long clotheslines full of freshly washed laundry.

Finola’s heart swelled to bursting, and she turned to tell Timothy and Liam they had arrived. But neither was there. They had gone—swallowed into the blackness of dreams that never made sense.

She sat alone in the buggy, chilled by the sudden drop in temperature. Reaching for the reins, she discovered only wet, limp dishrags in her hands.

When she gazed back at the valley, it was filling with water. The sudden flood swept away the sheep; their cries filled her ears with piteous sobbing.

“Stop! Stop! No!”

Finola bolted awake, sitting upright in bed, beating at her bedclothes.

A dream. She had been dreaming, but it had seemed so real. Her heart slowed to its normal rate, and she lay back against her pillows. It had seemed so real. She heard the lambs crying. She smelled the apple trees. With all that was still in her, she had gone home to Ireland.

Why had Timothy and Liam disappeared? Why were they there with her? None of it made any sense. She turned onto her side and pulled the quilt up around her neck, determined to go back to sleep.

As she dozed off, she wondered what God might be trying to tell her. Suddenly her eyes flew open wide. Eliott Horvay. She had forgotten to warn Timothy about him. He was the flood that could sweep it all away—her home and her family.

Finola fought her way out of sheets and blankets and found her house robe and slippers. There would be no more sleep for her tonight, not with the likes of Horvay circling her new life like a buzzard.

She slipped down the stairs and padded to the kitchen. It was time to clean something. Anything.