Her Irish Surrender (2 page)

“She came by while you were at your mee
ting with Mrs. Ridgley, and he was not the only choice, there was another. However, Mrs. Teeters got him for one of her girls. She’s on her way to a little town called Nowhere as we speak.”

“Nowhere? There’s actually a place called
Nowhere
?”

“Apparently so, but enough of that.  Mrs. Teeters offered to help you pack. When do you pick up your train ticket?”

“Next week.  Why do I have the feeling you
three had decided on Mr. Brody early on?”

“Because we did,” Aunt Pri
scilla said as she giggled. “There were others besides the ones Mrs. Ridgley showed you, but like them, they were far too old.”

Adaline rolled her eyes and fell back against the settee. “Oh Auntie, you’re incorrigible.” She sat up. “But I still love you, an
d I’m going to miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you, but you know, I think you’ll be too busy to miss me much.”

“How busy can the wife of a bookstore owner be?”

“Quite busy
, especially if he’s handsome.”

“Auntie!”

Aunt Priscilla smiled. “Oh, what an adventure! I must admit I’m jealous. I almost wish I were going!”

“And become Mrs. Lorcan Brody? Wouldn’t you make a fine pair?”

“He’ll be handsome, with a big heart, and love animals and children,” her aunt reassured.

“He’ll be bookish, wear spectacles, and be quiet as a mouse,” Adaline countered.

“I suppose it would have been nice to have seen a photograph of him, but I guess some men don’t send any.”

“Or haven’t
any
to send. What if I’m a foot taller than he is?”

“Ada, he’ll be fine, don’t you worry. Mrs. Ridgley knows her business.”

“What if he lied on his application and he’s not all those things he says he is?”

Her aunt
reached for the marriage proposal papers Adaline spread on a small table. “He has lovely handwriting,” she commented. “Now let me see … here’s my favorite part, I think this sums him up nicely.” She cleared her throat and began to read:

To my future bride, whomever she may be, I’m not a prideful man, nor am I a rich man, but I’m a hard working man in search of my lady-fair, one I can cherish and love the rest of my life. I can’t wait to make you mine …

“Now isn’t that romantic?” Aunt Pri
scilla asked as she set down the papers. “At least he’s poetic.”

“Nothing in that rhymed.”

“Something doesn’t always have to rhyme to make it poetic.  Now stop worrying, he’ll be wonderful, you’ll see.  Besides, there’s nothing nicer than a man who knows what he wants and seeks it out.  He writes here he’d like someone with a courageous heart, a sweet spirit, knows her own mind and can cook, sew, and who loves to read. Why, you’re all of those things and more.”

Adaline smiled. “He could be a toad and you’d still make him sound wonderful.  At least we know he can read and write.
And by the way, I don’t cook, remember?”

“
You’ll learn.  Have you penned your return letter to him?” her aunt asked as she picked up her knitting.

Ad
aline cringed. “Yes.” Although she sounded like she had her heels dug in, she could barely suppress her excitement when she wrote Mr. Brody to tell him she’d accepted his proposal.  He did sound wonderful, almost too wonderful, and she wondered what the catch was.  His writing was precise, his short description of life in Oregon City delightful, and the thought of being surrounded by bevies and bevies of books was like a dream come true.  If there was one thing Adeline Dermont loved to do, it was read.

She should have married several years ago, but had been loath to search for a beau and leave Aunt Priscilla to the whims of her failing health. Yet like any girl her age, she often dreamed of marriage and children, but told herself she would have to wait until she could find a way to make sure her aunt was well cared for. Adeline thought she would have time before spinsterhood began to creep up on her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t counted on her money running out. After her father died in the war, Adaline’s small inheritance had taken care of both women well enough, or so their solicitor led them to believe. It wasn’t until last week they’d been informed they hadn’t the funds for next month’s rent. Thus the reason Charles was adamant about carting his sister Priscilla off to Charleston, not to mention firing Aunt Priscilla’s crooked solicitor.

Adaline started to knit.
“He’ll be handsome, with a big heart, and love animals and children, huh?”

Aunt Pri
scilla smiled. “Even if he
is
a foot shorter, wears spectacles, and quiet as a mouse, as long as his heart is in the right place, dear, you can’t go wrong. Besides, he hasn’t seen a photograph of you either.”

Adaline swallowed hard. “No, you’re
right. I can’t imagine what he thinks I’m like. Maybe he’s picturing a wicked witch with warts and a broom.”

“I doubt that, Ada. I’m sure he’s dreaming of his lady-fair and can’t wait until the day you arrive.”

Adaline smiled. “Yes, auntie. I’m sure he is.”

* * *

Oregon City, March 1, 1871

Lorcan Brody barely had time to duck before his opponent’s fist found his face. It grazed his right cheek and would no doubt add to his growing list of injuries for the night.  But the pot was good, and he’d be bringing home a decent amount this week once he was paid.

He judged the distance between himself and the stout Irishman that danced around him. His vision blurred and he shook his head to clear it before he struck, delivering a quick right hook, knocking the shorter man to the ground.

A cheer went up from the spectators as the count began. “That’s showing him, Brody!” someone cried from the crowd.

“Next week I’ll be sure to bring more men for ye to fight!” another called.

  Lorcan smiled and gave them a curt nod. It hurt, and his vision again blurred. He’d knocked out six men that night and was still undefeated. Unfortunately, being undefeated meant he would have to fight again next week. Despite the fact the prize money was good in these local fights, the conditions weren’t.  The ring was a dirt floor, his fists wrapped in rags, rather than covered by gloves, and there was no one to officiate. Once in the ring, men simply fought until one went down.  It was as far from his Notre Dame boxing days as it could get, and far more brutal. But right now, his family needed the money, and so he’d do what he had to, to get it. Even if it meant knocking the sense out of the local populace.

“Lorcan, me
boy!”

He turned as old man McPhee made his way to him. “A fine night o’ fighting ye brought to me place!  Come to the office, and I’ll see ye get yer money!”

“Aye, I will. As soon as I get cleaned up a bit.”

“You do that. That’s quite a shiner yer going to have tomorrow!”

Lorcan gingerly touched his left eye. “You can say that again. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Men slapped him on the back as he made his way through the crowd to
an alcove he used as his locker room.  He hoped no one took the bucket of cold water he’d left there earlier. He would need it to get cleaned up, but sometimes it disappeared during the fights, only to turn up empty later.  However, luck was with him, and his trusty bucket was exactly where he’d left it.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mu
mbled to it. He chuckled at the irony of the remark, and unwrapped his hands.

“I can get you fights in Portland,” a voice said behind him.

Lorcan turned. “Don’t talk to me of Portland, Finn.  My fighting days are about over.” For emphasis he again shook his head and lurched to one side.

“Whoa there, lad. You can’t be that bad off!”

“Can’t I?  You saw the punches I took from that fourth fellow.  He was good.”

“Not
good enough!  Not like my Lor!” Finn slapped him on the back.

Lorcan groaned. “Why don’t you go find yourself a
real
fighter?”

“You are a real fighter!  The best there is!”

“I’m not a fighter, I’m a businessman.”

“You sell books!  Why waste your time doing that when you can be making
real
money?”

“I don’t care about making money.”

Finn folded his arms across his chest. “Then what are you doing here?”

Like Lorcan, he’d been raised in Ohio for the most part, and came out west with his family to settle. He was an educated man, but also like Lorcan, eked out a living by helping his family run a small business. In Finn’s case,
it was one of the local funeral parlors.

“My mother told me there were extra expenses this month. I’m only trying to help them out.”

“You could really help them
if you took a fight in Portland.”

“I’ll do no such thing, get the notion out of your head
.”

“Ye can’t blame a man for trying.” Finn said, his Irish brogue exaggerated as he backed out of the alcove and sauntered off. Lorcan shook his head as he watched him go,
then dipped one of the rags used to wrap his hands, into the water.  He wiped at his bloodied face, and braced himself for an even bigger fight when he got home.  The minute his mother got a look at him, there’d be no peace for the next few days.  She didn’t mind him boxing in college, but the cheap fights at McPhee’s were not to her liking, and she let him know about it in her own, not so subtle way.

But maybe his luck would hold and she’d be asleep when he got home.  She’d been in an unnaturally good mood of late, and that too gave him hope he’d be spared her quick temper.  Ever since she got a letter from Uncle Ian in Clear Creek a couple of months ago, she’d been exceptionally good-natured. Hmmm, what would happen if Uncle Ian and Aunt Maggie came to visit?

Lorcan smiled at the thought and continued to clean himself up.

As it was, his mother was fast asleep in her favorite chair when he got home. With her head slumped to one side and her Bible on her lap, she was the picture of pure innocence.  Such would not be the case when she woke up. Lorcan pondered whether or not he should help her to bed, but decided instead to cover her with a nearby blanket, kiss her on the head, and turn down the lamp.  Let the peace of the sleeping woman last a while longer.  And it did, well into the next day.

* * *

Meara Brody ran a tight ship, and desertion was not an option.  Neither was mutiny, and she kept her crew in line with two things, her lightning quick tongue, and a trusty apron.  If she couldn’t get her way with the former, she’d whip up a few tears and wield the latter. She knew well that the one thing the Brody men couldn’t stand, was a crying woman.  She’d wrung the life out of many an apron over the years, and they’d yet to catch on.  Either that, or they were too stubborn to admit it worked at least half of the time, and knew she had her pride.

But toda
y she vowed not to wring her apron or lash out with her tongue.  Today she wouldn’t have to. Any sort of protest Lorcan put up, his father Patrick would handle, and she would be blameless in the eyes of her precious son when he got the news he was to be married.

She examined her ha
ir in a small hand mirror as she hummed a merry tune, gave her greying locks one last pat, and reached for her gloves. “Mr. Brody! Hurry yourself along now. The stage will be here any minute.”

“I’m comin’ ye don’t have to yell!”

She turned and sighed when she saw him.  He was a big man, brawny and strong like her son, and just as handsome.  His dark hair, now streaked with grey, was thick, his blue eyes as fierce as on the day they met.  He’d been fighting that day, and it wasn’t until later she found out the fight was over her.  She’d ridiculed him for his actions, and he’d stilled her sharp tongue with a kiss.  After almost twenty-eight years of marriage, he could still kiss her into submission.  When he could catch her, that is. “You look grand, Mr. Brody.”

“As do you, Mrs. Brody. Tell me, have ye told the lad yet what’s to happen?”

She turned and put on her hat. “Oh, why upset the boy with details?”

Mr. Brody’s
eyes widened with panic. “Ye mean ye didn’t tell him?” he squeaked.

She turned. “What’s to tell? H
e’s getting married today.”

“Yes, but
he
doesn’t know that!”

“Ian told me neither
did his Sheriff’s nephews, and they all got along all right.”

Her husband
shook his head. “Lord, woman, ye need to tell the lad!”

“I’m not going to tell him. You are.”

“Me!  Why do I have to tell him?  I’m not the one that ordered the bride, nor am I the one to put all that blarney in a letter and send it off!”

“It was the truth, and you know it!”

“Pah! Ye wrote he was looking for his lady-fair and that he couldn’t wait to cherish her and call her his own.”

“Those were not
my exact words, but they were meant to get a point across. Besides,
you
put it in the post, Mr. Brody, and since you were the one that done the mailing, I assumed you approved of what I wrote!”