Conor's Way (28 page)

He gave in, of course. "All right, then.
We'll go to Newport. We can invite my associates there for a
weekend meeting."

"Thank you, Papa."

He smiled at her. "You know I can't say no to
you."

She laughed and bent to kiss his cheek. She
knew. In fact, she was gambling her future on it.

***

The girls returned with enough blackberries
for a dozen pies, but Olivia made only two. She spent the afternoon
turning the remaining berries into jam, and she kept the girls busy
helping her.

She deliberately kept herself busy so that
her thoughts would not dwell on Conor, but his tormented face
haunted her just the same.

She had no idea where Conor was or what he
was doing, but by late afternoon he still hadn't returned, and her
relief at his absence began changing to worry. She decided she'd
better go in search of him.

She'd seen him go out to the barn, and that
was where she began looking. But she did not find him there. She
checked all the other outbuildings, she searched the gardens, and
she walked through her orchard again, calling his name until she
was hoarse, but after an hour, she still hadn't found him.

Worried now, she paused at the edge of her
orchard, trying to think where to look next, but she knew she had
looked everywhere. Maybe he had walked to the road and some farmer
on the way to town had given him a ride.

No, he couldn't have left just like that,
without even saying good-bye. But even as she thought it, she knew
he could. He probably had.

Olivia sighed and leaned back against a tree.
He was a loner, a man who didn't want the company of anyone, at
least not very often and not for very long. A man who had built a
wall around himself to keep people at a distance. A man filled
with pain who could snarl like a wounded animal, but who could
soothe away a little girl's fear of thunderstorms.

What horrible memories did he relive in his
dreams? But she knew. Starvation and death, prison and torture,
treason and amnesty, guns and someone named Sean Gallagher. He said
that he'd betrayed everything he believed in, he said that his
scars were exactly what he had deserved; Olivia didn't care what he
had done. Whatever it was, she would not believe it bad enough to
deserve what had happened to him in prison.

She began walking back toward the house. She
walked slowly, her thoughts spinning in futile circles.

***

"You can catch the stage in Callersville."
The farmer looked over at Conor, who sat beside him on the seat of
a wagon filled with turnips. "Stage'll get you as far as Monroe,
and from there you can take the train anywhere you want to
go."

But Conor knew he could not. Six dollars
would not get him to Boston. Perhaps, if he could get a ride as far
as Monroe, he could find a pub that might take him on for a round
of boxing and pay him enough to get train fare.

But even as he thought it, he saw Olivia's
face in his mind, and her eyes held him with that look. That look
that pleaded for help even as her pride refused to let her ask for
it again. His promise came back to him, mocking him.

I'll stay long enough to
help you bring your crop in
.

It was a broken promise now. That was why he
never made promises, because he knew how lousy he was at keeping
them.

He drew a deep breath, and the dust churned
up by the wagon wheels razed his suddenly dry throat, choking him.
His own promise suffocated him.

What if he went back? He closed his eyes. It
was only a month. He could handle that, couldn't he? One month.

He thought of his first few
months in Boston, three years ago, and his dirty room at Polly
Keane's. He thought about the day Hugh O'Donnell, the head
of
Clan na Gael
,
had asked him to help get American money for the Irish cause. Hugh
had claimed Conor would be the perfect man to get Irish-American
hearts breaking and wallets opening, because he was such a heroic
figure. That night the dreams had come again, and he'd almost laid
Polly out when she tried to wake him, because he'd thought she was
a prison guard.

He could remember the way Polly's whores had
looked at him afterward, how they had stepped back warily as he
passed them in the hall, and how they had whispered about him
behind their hands. But his reputation had caught up with him, and
after they learned he was a Fenian who had survived torture in the
Mountjoy, their fear had changed to an awe-tinged respect. That's
when he'd left Boston, unable to bear how they had made his shame
into something glorious, how rumor made a man a hero when he was
nothing but a fraud.

I'll stay long enough to
help you bring your crop in
.

He couldn't stay. He'd made Olivia a promise,
and he couldn't keep it.

He saw her eyes again, and
guilt washed over him in a smothering wave. He hadn't even finished
fixing her roof. He thought of her trying to go up on that roof and
finish the job herself.
Damn, damn,
damn
.

Conor straightened on the seat. "Stop the
wagon."

"What?"

"I said, stop the wagon."

The farmer yanked hard on the reins and
brought the wagon to a halt. He watched Conor jump down, and he
shook his head in bewilderment. "Mister, I thought you wanted a
lift to town."

"I changed my mind," Conor replied, certain
he was going to regret his sudden attack of scruples. He always
did.

It was nearly dark by the time Olivia
returned to the house. The girls were in the kitchen, and they
looked up hopefully when she walked in. "He didn't come back
here?"

"No, Mama," Becky answered, pulling a pan of
corn bread from the oven. "I've finished making supper."

Olivia glanced at Carrie and Miranda, and saw
their disappointed faces.

She crossed the room and put an arm around
Becky's shoulders. "Thank you, honey. We'd better eat."

They did, and the supper table was unusually
quiet.

It was Miranda who finally broke the silence,
voicing aloud the question that was on all their minds. "Did Mr.
Conor run away from home, Mama?"

"Mr. Conor wouldn't do that!" Carrie cried,
dropping her spoon into her bowl of gumbo with a splash and giving
her younger sister an indignant scowl. "He wouldn't leave without
saying good-bye. I know he wouldn't."

Olivia reached out and put a comforting hand
on Carrie's arm. "I know you like Mr. Conor, but he might have
left. This isn't his home, remember."

"We should look for him," Carrie said. "He
might have fallen or something. He might be hurt."

"I looked everywhere," Olivia answered
gently. "Besides, it's dark out now. We can't go searching for him
in the dark." She saw Carrie's crestfallen expression and added,
"We'll look again in the morning."

After supper, she put all three of her gloomy
daughters to bed. She went into the kitchen and put the iron on
the stove to heat. She might just as well get some work done, and
there was always plenty of ironing. She knew she wouldn't be able
to sleep yet. Not until he came back. If he came back.

It was silly. As she worked, she told herself
that he was probably halfway to Shreveport by now, and she ought to
be glad. He was a man who didn't need anyone, who could easily
pick up and move on without so much as a backward glance. Besides,
the girls had become far too attached to him. She was glad he was
gone.

A noise outside had her flying for the door
with a cry of relief. She flung it open, ready to lay into Conor
Branigan for worrying them all to death. But there was no one
there.

Olivia stepped outside. Walking as far as the
porch steps, she peered into the blackness beyond the square of
feeble lamplight that shone through the kitchen window. But she
could see nothing. He hadn't come back.

She turned to go back into the house, but a
movement in the shadows caught her eye. She froze, watching as a
man emerged from the darkness, stepping into the pool of light
surrounding her porch. It wasn't Conor.

"Evenin', Olivia." Joshua Harlan moved
closer, his gait a bit unsteady. Planting one boot on the bottom
step, he grabbed the rail and grinned up at her. The wad of tobacco
in his cheek bulged out.

That grin sent a tiny shiver of apprehension
dancing along her spine, and she remembered Oren's admonition to
be careful. All the Harlan boys were bullies, and she knew by his
slurred speech and unsteady movements that Joshua was drunk. But
she met his gaze squarely, remembering the days when his family had
lived just the other side of Sugar Creek and all the times when
Joshua and his brothers had teased her, and pulled her hair, and
tried to intimidate her. It had worked back then, but it didn't
work anymore. "Evenin', Joshua. Bit late for a walk, isn't it?"

He shrugged and thrust his other hand into
the pocket of his trousers. "Nice night for it, though. Wouldn't
you say?"

"No, I wouldn't. Too hot and humid, if you
ask me." She folded her arms across her ribs. "What do you want,
Joshua?"

He turned his head and spit, sending a stream
of tobacco juice across the dirt. "Vernon's gone on business for a
few weeks, but he asked me to drop by your place while he was gone
and see if you might have changed your mind."

How often did she have to repeat her answer
before they accepted it? "No, I haven't."

"He also told me that he's willing to up his
offer by another hundred dollars."

"The answer's still no. You tell Vernon it
doesn't matter how much money he's offering, I'm not selling my
land."

He nodded, moving the wad of tobacco to his
other cheek. "I'll tell him." He glanced back over one shoulder in
the direction of the orchard. "How're your peaches doing these
days?"

She stiffened. "My peaches are just fine,
Joshua. You tell Vernon that, too."

She turned to go back in the house, but she'd
only taken two steps before he caught her by the arm, swinging her
around to face him. "Now, I'm mighty glad to hear that. They're
right fine trees, and it'd be a shame if anything happened to 'em.
A fire, for instance."

She tried to yank her arm free. "Let go of
me!"

"A fire could ruin your whole crop." His grip
tightened. "Why don't you just sell that land now?"

"I said no, Joshua, and I mean it." She
raised her free arm to hit him, but he caught her wrist. Shoving
her back against the door of the house, he leaned closer. "I think
you'd be smart to take Vernon's offer. Real smart."

The smell of moonshine and tobacco made her
want to retch. She turned her face away. For the first time in her
life, Olivia felt truly afraid of Joshua, and she had no idea what
to do.

But before she could decide, she was suddenly
free. Joshua let out a yelp of surprise as he was hauled away from
her, and Olivia turned her head just in time to see Conor wrap an
arm around the smaller man's throat from behind.

"I don't think she's interested, boyo," Conor
said through clenched teeth, yanking Joshua's arm and twisting it
back. "Shall I be needin' to tell you what the word 'no' means,
lad?"

He jerked the pinned arm higher up Joshua's
spine, and the other man let out a squeal of pain, shaking his head
in answer. Olivia watched in shocked relief as Conor hauled him to
the edge of the porch and trapped him against the rail. He grabbed
a fistful of Joshua's shirt with his left hand, then drew back his
right arm and slammed his fist into the other man's face.

Olivia heard the awful crack of bone against
bone, and she winced at the sound, watching as Conor lifted Joshua
over the rail and sent him tumbling into the dirt with a thud.

"I believe you're trespassin'," Conor told
him, leaning over the rail. "Now, get the hell out."

Joshua staggered to his feet. "Irish
bastard," he moaned, raising one hand to his face. "You broke my
nose."

Conor moved to go over the rail after him,
more than happy to break the rest of the other man's face, but
Joshua turned and fled, disappearing into the darkness.

Olivia let out her breath in a gasp of
relief, sagging against the door.

"Are you all right?" Conor asked, crossing
the porch to stand in front of her.

"I'm fine." She started to straighten away
from the door, but then she began to shake with reaction, and her
knees started to buckle.

He caught her, pulling her against him to
hold her steady. Her arms slid around his neck and she clung to
him, her face buried against his chest. "I heard a noise," she
said, her voice muffled by the front of his shirt. "I thought it
was you. He just grabbed me, and I didn't know what to do."