Longing for Home (12 page)

“Aye. I’d say they were wandering about as far as the Archer place,” Ian threw back.

Tavish didn’t acknowledge that remark in the least. He set to digging, leaving Ian to think what he would. His brother never had needed encouragement to offer his opinion.

“She’s a fine-looking lass, I’ll grant her that,” Ian said. “But she’ll not be easily won over.”

Tavish tossed a shovelful of mud-plastered leaves and branches out of the ditch. “When did I say I wanted to win her over?”

“The last time you stood around staring at nothing was the week Bridget Claire moved to town, and we all know where that led.”

Bridget Claire.
Tavish didn’t imagine he’d ever reach the point where hearing her name didn’t strike some regret in his heart. If not for the fever that had claimed half the town and her with them, he’d have married her.
Darling, lovely Bridget.

“Katie Macauley is—”

“A challenge?” Ian finished for him.

Tavish shook his head. “I was going to say a pill.”

Ian sent another shovelful of muck out of the ditch. “You’ve a taste for sharp-witted and determined women, Tavish. Bridget, for all her sweetness of temper, could give you such a tongue thrashing at times. And we could all see you loved it. Teased her mercilessly you did, something you didn’t stop doing the entire time you spent with Miss Katie. And, I’m thinking, you’ve a taste for brunettes.”

Tavish pretended not to listen. His own musings about an attractive, fiery woman were one thing, but hearing his brother analyze the situation to death was another thing entirely. And bringing Bridget Claire into the discussion was not something he’d go along with.

“You know something, Ian? You sound just like a nosey old hen. Why don’t you go put on one of your wife’s skirts and bonnets and play the part to its fullest?”

“So have you called on Katie down at Archers?”

Not even thrown off the scent.
Ian was a regular bloodhound, he was.

“I’ve plenty of work to do, and so does she.” He thrust his shovel into the ditch blockage.

“We’ll likely see her at church, as it is.”

Tavish kept working, knowing Ian meant to prick him into a response. His silence must have at last got his message across. They were back to work after a moment. Two more ditches were soon free of unintended dams.

Thoughts of Sweet Katie—he had to smile remembering how hard she’d worked to show him she didn’t care for that pet name—only slipped in a few times. As he’d told Ian, she was intriguing, but she’d made her determination to dislike him abundantly clear. He’d enjoy teasing her when she came around but had no thought beyond. None.

Tavish’s irrigation canals were finally clear and ready to run again. He and Ian walked down the road to Ian’s farm to begin working on the clogged ditches there. Rain was ever a mixed blessing in Wyoming. The water was sorely needed, but the soil seemed to do nothing but run when wet.

Biddy cut them off as they passed between the barn and the house. “I’ve had a fine idea, Tavish.”

The gleam in her eyes was too excited for Tavish’s peace of mind, though he couldn’t help a bit of amusement at seeing it.

“From the look of you, I’d say what you have in mind is more of a scheme than a mere idea.”

She was undeterred. “Only wait ’til you’ve heard me out.”

Ian chuckled low. “Send him out to the ditches when you’ve finished with him, love.” He gave his wife an affectionate kiss before moving on.

Biddy spared a moment to watch her husband walk off, a look of contented happiness on her face. Tavish seldom envied his siblings’ loving marriages, but every now and then he did wonder what it would be like to have someone look at him in just that way. Plenty of women blushed at him when he smiled. And there was a certain woman newly arrived in town who scowled at him regularly. None gave him anything resembling the fond gaze he saw on Biddy’s face.

“So I had a thought earlier.” Biddy was back on topic in a heartbeat. “I don’t think anyone has stopped by the Archers’ to invite Katie to the
céilí
tomorrow night. No Irishwoman alive could resist the lure of an Irish party such as we have here.”

Tavish eyed her with suspicion. “And are you trying to say
I
ought to go extend an invitation?”

He thought he saw Biddy roll her eyes. “It’s an absolute miracle any man ever wins a woman’s regard. The lot of you are so hopeless at courting.”

Tavish smiled. “Would it do a bit of good to tell you I’m not looking to win Katie’s regard?”

She waved him off. “I saw the way you looked at her.”

“And how, I beg you, did I look at her?”

“Much the way you looked at Bridget when she first arrived.”

Again, talk had turned to Bridget. He shook his head firmly. “I’ve had this discussion with your husband already. I’ll say this much, Katie Macauley is too stubborn by half and has made no secret of the fact that she doesn’t much care for me. Amusing, certainly, but that’s all it is.”

He made to walk away, but Biddy’s hand on his arm stopped him. “Tavish.”

Saints, he hated it when she used that sympathetic sister voice of hers. Soon she’d be looking at him as one looked at an abandoned puppy.

“I’m not saying you’re in love with her. You don’t even know her.”

At last someone was making some sense.

She, of course, wasn’t finished yet. “But I’ve not seen you look twice at a woman these past four years. You flirt a bit and give them a smile meant to leave them weak in the knees. But I watched you watching Katie when she was here. That she’s grabbed even a tiny bit of your interest isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

No, not
bad.
But not the sign from above his family wanted to make it.

“Would it hurt you to get to know her better?” Biddy asked.

“I suppose not.”

“And—”

“Ah, begorra.” Biddy always had an “and.”

“—would it kill you to be a friend to her, welcome her, and see that she makes the acquaintance of others in town?”

He raised an eyebrow at that suggestion. “Don’t think you’re fooling me for a minute, Biddy O’Connor. ‘A friend to her,’ you say. I know the look of a matchmaker when I see one.”

She shrugged. “A sister’s allowed to hope, isn’t she?”

“Katie Macauley dislikes me severely. And while I find that intriguing, I’m not crying myself to sleep over it.”

Biddy’s eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Did I also mention I fully intend to call on her tomorrow morning?”

Tavish groaned. Did no one in the family listen to him? “Don’t get your hopes up, Biddy. I’ve a feeling Katie and I are destined to be nothing more than neighbors who ruffle each other’s feathers whenever we cross paths.”

Biddy smiled in a way that showed she clearly didn’t believe a word of it.

He set his shovel over his shoulder again, ready to get to work and leave behind the gossip. “Am I to assume, then, you fully intend to throw Katie and me together, despite my objections and the fact that none of us knows much more than nothing about her?”

“I’ve a feeling about her, Tavish.” Biddy tapped at her heart. “A feeling.”

He shook his head at her female logic. She didn’t know this stranger at all, and yet Biddy was already convinced of her goodness.

“I’ll see you at the céilí, then.” With that declaration, Biddy turned and walked back into the house.

Women always did seem to get the last word and the upper hand. An unsolvable puzzle they all were. Katie, perhaps, more so than most. She was half forged steel, half spun glass. And though he’d been kind and helpful and friendly, she’d declared him untrustworthy and thought him beneath her notice.

And the family wondered why he was not yet married.

Chapter Eleven

Saturday dawned earlier than Katie would have liked. She’d put in full workdays that week despite her arrangement with Mr. Archer. There was simply too much to do. Besides, she had no other job to be getting to.

In those few days, the kitchen cupboards were set to rights, the worktable scrubbed long and hard, and every dish in the house washed several times over. The girls thanked her dutifully after every meal, then threw her looks ranging from distrust to outright dislike. Mr. Archer took his coffee in the kitchen each morning before beginning his chores, and he spent those few minutes watching her as though he expected her to slip the silver into her apron pockets.

Katie kept her mouth shut and her mind on her work. What cared she if they disliked her? ’Twas but a job. And she didn’t mean to remain in Wyoming forever. Work was her refuge. It had been nearly all her life.

Though Mr. Archer had taken his daughters to the O’Connor home each morning, Saturday brought a change in the routine. Shortly after breakfast, Biddy arrived at the kitchen door with her two children in tow.

“I can tell Mr. Archer you’re here,” Katie offered, unsure what she was meant to do. She thought she’d understood from her employer that he’d be walking the girls down the Irish Road as usual that morning.

But Mr. Archer appeared at her side in the next moment. “Good morning, Biddy. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“We decided to take a walk this morning. Michael hoped you’d let him tend to your horse,” Biddy said. “You know how much he loves that animal.”

Mr. Archer immediately turned his attention to the quiet boy hiding behind his mother’s skirts. Michael O’Connor hadn’t said a word the evening Katie had spent at his home. Finbarr hadn’t said much, either. There was a bit of timidity in some members of that family.

But not quite enough in others.

Mr. Archer motioned Michael out toward the barn with a quick nod of his head. The lad moved so swiftly he nearly ran.

“When the time comes, he should consider ranching,” Mr. Archer said. “He is a smart boy, and his talent with animals would serve him well.”

“Aye, he may just do that.” Biddy’s smile was a fond one. “Now, Joseph, why don’t you see to your work. I mean to stay here a bit, to let the girls play. I want to chat a while with Katie.”

“With me?” The shock of hearing that loosened Katie’s tongue. “Why would you wish to chat with me?”

Biddy looked from her to Mr. Archer and back again. “Why
wouldn’t
I?”

Because no one ever has.
But she couldn’t bring herself to admit to it. Instead she stood mute and unable to look either of them in the eye.

“Miss Macauley is very quiet,” Mr. Archer said. That Biddy winced at his version of Katie’s name took some of the pain out of hearing it. “I can’t imagine her ‘chatting’ with anyone.”

He was right, but the picture he painted wasn’t flattering. She’d had something of a friend at her first job in Derry. The other scullery maid in the house talked to her now and then, though she hadn’t had much to say in return. And in Belfast she’d walked out on occasion with a very handsome jarvey driver. They’d talked, though mostly about his horse or carriage or her chores. ’Twasn’t terribly personal, but she’d certainly chatted with people before.

Just because Mr. Archer thought it unlikely didn’t make it impossible. Besides, a person who welcomed a bit of friendly gab might seem less suspicious to the man, less likely to go about pocketing his valuables.

“I’d enjoy a bit of a coze,” she said, trying to look like she meant it.

“Really?” Mr. Archer clearly didn’t believe her in the least.

Katie shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?”

His look was excessively doubtful. Had she only managed to make him more skeptical of her character? Perhaps she ought to turn that about, make him see it as a sign he’d been suspicious for no reason.

“You’ve admitted your very self that you know little about me, Joseph Archer. Perhaps I enjoy a chat more than you think I do.”

“Hmm.” It wasn’t the sound of one convinced of another’s reliability. “Enjoy your chat, ladies.” With that he made his way out of the house and toward his waiting work.

“Go on and find the girls, Mary,” Biddy said, shooing her daughter from the kitchen.

Katie returned to the sink and the pile of dishes that never seemed to go away. The very idea that someone stood nearby expecting her to make conversation only tied her tongue in ever greater knots.

“You hadn’t come by,” Biddy said. “I hope all’s well here with you.”

Katie nodded. “All’s fine.” She dried the plates one at a time with her dish towel.

“I’m pleased you’ve found some work. That was likely a worry for you.”

“Aye.” She slid the plates into the cupboard and began drying the pot she’d made the Archers’ porridge in. Perhaps she should ask after Biddy’s home or her family. But what would she ask? The children seemed well. Ian likely was, too, or Biddy wouldn’t have left him at home untended to.

“Have you come to know the girls at all?” Biddy hadn’t drawn nearer. Indeed, she seemed almost as unsure of Katie as Mr. Archer always appeared to be.

A straightforward and honest answer ought to help with that. “No, I haven’t.”

No further questions arose. Katie wiped down the counters and sink. A quick sweep of the kitchen would see that room tidied and ready for the day. She’d need to straighten the dining room next. Ought she to mention as much to Biddy? Was that a usual topic of conversation among people? She couldn’t rightly say.