Hope Springs (49 page)

“How many people are down there?” She felt increasingly nervous now that she was facing this gathering.

“We are packed to the rafters. Nearly the entire town has come to see you.”

Katie leaned into him, watching with discomfort as the bottom of the stairs loomed near. Her heart jumped into her throat as they rounded the corner.
Merciful heavens.
The room was bursting at the seams.

Katie bent her arm more closely around his neck, feeling entirely unequal to the immediate attention she received from the room. The crowd grew instantly quiet, all eyes following her arrival.

Biddy stood near the stairs, with Ian directly beside her. She reached out and quickly touched Katie’s arm. “You’re looking better, Katie.”

She
felt
better having her dear friend nearby. Her eyes fell next on Tavish and his mother, not much farther into the room. Tavish smiled at her in his usual friendly way. Facing a crowd when she was yet pained and ill proved easier with so many familiar faces.

Mr. O’Connor stepped up beside Joseph. He chucked her under the chin, his traditional way of greeting her. “We’ve missed having you among us, Katie,
mo ‘níon.
”

Mo ‘níon. My daughter.

“And I have missed you,” she said.

He smiled fondly before turning his gaze to Joseph. “I’ll let you set her down. I just needed to see for myself how she was.”

Joseph nodded and carried her further into the crowded room.

“Some of these are Red Road,” she whispered to Joseph.

He pressed a quick kiss to her temple. “That is a distinction that means less and less with each passing day.”

He set her down on a chair in the middle of the room and took his place in the one beside it. She’d seldom felt so out of her element. Her hair wasn’t done up. Though her shoes and shawl would pass even the most rigorous inspection, she doubted the rest of her looked fit for company.

Ivy and little Mary O’Connor sat not far off, playing with matching carved horses. It was good to see Ivy happy and lighthearted. Emma sat with Finbarr on the sofa. Emma smiled at Katie.

Her eyes fell on Mr. Murphy amongst the gathering. “I thought you’d been forced to evict the Murphys,” she said, her voice lowered. There were others among their number whom she knew had lost their claim on their homes the day before the bridge was burned.

“This town means to make a new start,” Joseph answered quietly. “I have torn up the eviction notices and everyone, except the Archibalds, is back in their own homes. This feud will be laid to rest once and for all.”

“Truly?” She could hardly believe it.

“Truly.”

Seamus Kelly stepped out from among the crowd, his gaze kind as he looked at her. “Joseph Archer’s asked us for a favor,” he said. “Something that started out small, but grew, likely beyond what he’d expected.”

Katie glanced at Joseph, but saw no clues in his face.

“Joseph explained to us that you’d lost more than merely a bit of your hand to our fighting. Though we can’t give it back, we want to give you something we hope will help.” Seamus nodded to the group of people gathered nearest him. “We started with a handful of Irish, listening to Joseph humming a tune to us.”

A tune?

“But word spread among the Reds, and they wanted to give you something as well.” Seamus slipped his hands in his trouser pockets. “We only hope we do it well enough for you.”

Seamus stepped back into the group, and Thomas Dempsey lifted his tin whistle to his lips.

Katie knew the tune within three notes. “Ar Éirinn.” Her father’s song.
Her
song. A lump of emotion threatened to choke her even as tears gathered fast and thick in her eyes. That song was her connection to home. No one played it quite the way her father did. She had reproduced it from her memories of him, but no one had ever come close to the pure melody he’d managed.

She felt Joseph’s hand slide into hers, but she didn’t look at him. A flute, two or three violins, a guitar, another few whistles all joined Thomas. Someone from the Red Road even had a harp. She hadn’t heard a harp in years.

Katie watched them, her lips pressed together, so consumed by emotion she could hardly breathe.

“I know it isn’t the same as playing it yourself,” Joseph whispered into her ear. “But I wanted—we all wanted you to have
something.
They’ve been practicing for days. Red and Irish. Together.”

A sense of amazement joined her grief as she looked over those gathered around. There was no division along national lines, no repeat of the glares she’d seen between sides the first Sunday she’d been in Hope Springs. They were gathered together without threats, without angry words.

And they were playing the song that had, for her, always been the one unfailing source of peace in her life.

She looked up into Joseph’s dark eyes. “You taught them the tune?”

He gave a small nod. “I’ve heard you play it so many times I have it memorized. It fills my mind whenever my thoughts turn to you.”

Katie blinked back tears even as more fell down her cheeks. She leaned her head on his shoulder and turned her gaze to the musicians again. Their song washed over her like a calming wave. She found she could even smile as she listened.

Pain and heartache and death had ripped at the very fabric of this town. Healing was slow and difficult, but they were managing it. And so was she.

The tune came to a beautiful end. The gathering applauded. Katie offered a grateful smile to the musicians.

The music continued, with the Irish playing their traditional tunes and the Reds sharing songs they knew. The gathered townspeople mingled and mixed, crossing boundaries that had once been unscalable walls. Food appeared in abundance, both traditional Irish fare and dishes Katie had learned to make since arriving in America.

“Perhaps your Irish parties will become more general affairs now,” Joseph suggested. He looked uncertain, almost nervous. He lowered his voice and leaned close. “I hope hearing that song wasn’t painful for you. I—”

Katie set a single finger on his lips to stop his words. “I loved it. That you knew exactly the song, and took the time to arrange this . . .” She couldn’t find the words. “I loved it.” Katie locked her gaze with his, needing him to feel and see the depth of her feelings. “I love
you,
Joseph Archer.”

He kissed her quickly, once, then again, brushing a finger along the line of her jaw. “And I love you, Katie Macauley.”

He mangled her name in a way he hadn’t in many weeks, mispronouncing it even worse than he had when they first met. She gave him an exaggerated shudder.

“We need to do something about your unpronounceable name.” ’Twas a pointed remark, one accompanied by a look of such earnestness she knew on the instant he meant it as more than a jest.

“Perhaps I need a new one,” she suggested.

He whispered, his breath tickling the hair that hung loose over her ear. “There is no ‘perhaps’ about it, Katie. I mean to see to it you have a new last name, and I know exactly which one it ought to be.”

Her pulse leaped, pounding with excitement. She knew he loved her as much as she loved him, but, though they’d spoken the night before of always being together, he’d not specifically brought up the subject of marriage until now. Even having known that was his intention, hearing the words filled her heart to overflowing.

“You do realize,” she said, unable to hold back a smile, “if you change my name, you have to keep me.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “My darling, darling Katie.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her.

His embrace felt like home in a way nothing had in years. To love and be truly loved in return was a gift she’d only ever dreamed of. But she knew, sitting with Joseph, in the sanctuary of his home and his affection, that she had found the place where she belonged.

Katie sat in the comfort of his arms the rest of the day while the town worked at healing their wounds. There would be harder moments as the weeks and years rolled on. They had deeper conflicts that needed addressing. But there in Joseph Archer’s home, the very beginnings of a new day dawned.

Chapter Forty-Three

People, Katie had been told, kept lists of their favorite moments and brightest days. Her life had contained so few bright moments, the idea of tracking them had never occurred to her. But standing in the guest bedroom at the Johnsons’ home the morning of her wedding day, she felt certain that day would live forever as the best of her life.

Mrs. Johnson had delivered a healthy son less than a month after the fire. They’d named the boy Connor Gabriel. Connor in honor of Finbarr O’Connor, for his efforts to save Marianne, and Gabriel in honor of Mr. Johnson’s late brother. The family still carried the weight of mourning, but there was a bond there that gave Katie hope they would eventually emerge, if not whole, closer to one another.

They had offered their home for her to make her wedding preparations, as it sat closer to the church than any other building in town. She wore the boots they’d given her as a gift in the aftermath of the tragedy. The women on the Irish Road had made the sky-blue dress she wore. Joseph’s shawl hung about her arms, adding an elegance she was grateful for and the feeling that he was there even in the last moments of her life without him.

She had mostly recovered in the two months since being trapped beneath the remains of his barn. Her broken arm and hand no longer hurt when she moved them. She’d even relearned how to do quite a few things. She could breathe without pain. The burns she’d sustained were little more than still-pink scars.

Through it all, Joseph had been at her side, doing anything and everything she asked, more even. Though she’d moved back to Granny’s home three weeks after the fire, he had visited her every day without fail.

There would be no more visiting. They would be together.

Katie smiled at herself in the tall mirror. Life had often been cruel, but it had brought her to this moment, to a measure of happiness she had never known before. For that she was grateful.

A knock sounded at the bedroom door, a knock she knew without having to even think on it. ’Twas the exact rhythm Joseph tapped out on a door.

Katie crossed the room and pulled the door open enough to peek out. She gave him a teasing look of reprimand. “You were supposed to go to the church, Joseph Archer. I do believe you’re lost.”

He quirked an eyebrow, even as one corner of his mouth pulled up. “I know exactly where the church is, Katie, and I fully intend to be there today. But one of the ranch hands from up the road just returned from the train depot.”

“He traveled there in the winter?” After more than two months of cold and snow, Katie had gained a deep respect for the severity of a Wyoming winter.

“I know. They’re a little crazy out on the ranches.” He smiled. “Nonetheless, he brought back something you need to see.”

“On my wedding day? It must be particularly important.” Her teasing tone dropped off as his expression grew inarguably serious. “What is it?”

“May I come in?”

She nodded and pulled the door open.

He stepped inside, dressed in his Sunday suit. “The ranch hand left this at the house. It—” Joseph’s eyes widened, his words trailing off. “You look beautiful.”

Heat crept up her neck at the intensity of his gaze. “Did you push your way in here to tell me that?” If she could tease him, she might not blush quite so hard.

He shook off his distraction and pulled a folded bit of paper from his jacket pocket. “There was a letter at the post office for me, with one inside it for you.”

“A letter for me?” Only one person ever wrote to her.
Mother.
Katie’s heart fell to her feet. Father had not been expected to live out the year. Was this the news she had dreaded hearing?

She looked to Joseph, pleading silently with him. She couldn’t bear to hear such a thing on today of all days.

Joseph came to her side and wrapped an arm around her. “I received a letter that explained this one. I would not have brought it today if it was a painful thing.”

Katie nodded, breathing through the tension in her lungs. “Will you read it to me?”

“Of course, darling.”

She sat on the oak chest at the foot of the bed, preparing herself for whatever the letter might contain. “It is from my mother, isn’t it?”

Joseph’s gaze was steady and reassuring. “No, Katie. It is from your father.”

Her breath caught. A fierce uncertainty clasped her heart.
Father.
He had never written to her nor sent a single word of greeting in the nineteen years since she’d seen him last. Not once. Not ever.

Joseph unfolded it.

“My dear Katie,

“I hope this letter finds you well. Though I know you to be a woman grown, when I close my eyes to sleep at night I see you as the wee girl you once were. I worry for you and think of you every day. It’s twenty years since I lost you, the last child I had in my keeping. I regretted the boys’ leaving. I mourned your poor sister’s passing. But you, my brave little bird—losing you hurt like nothing before or since.