Longing for Home (43 page)

“I hadn’t heard Mrs. Claire was looking for a boarder.”

“She’s not.” He leaned against the railing at his back, looking more at her than at the commotion in the yard. The shift meant they were no longer touching, beyond her hand in his. He regretted that but wanted to put her mind at ease regarding her situation. If she could be calm and settled in town, he could move forward in earnest. “Her mind is sharp as ever. And despite her age and recent fall, she is in relatively good health. But I worry about her being alone during the winter.” He worried about it a lot, in fact. “If she fell ill or was injured, no one would even know. She’s not as able to care for herself as she once was.”

She seemed uncertain. He didn’t want her to feel forced into anything.

“You’re very kind to my granny, but if living with her would drive you out of your mind—”

Katie shook her head immediately “I adore her. And I’ve wished so many times I could stop between deliveries and visit with her.” Still, she looked hesitant. “Do you think she’d take me in?”

He could have rolled his eyes in exasperation with the woman. Did she have no idea how much everyone down the Irish Road adored her? “Would she have you? You make yourself sound like a stray cat looking for a barn.”

“I feel like one sometimes.”

“You don’t need to. And you’d truly be doing a favor for her. She’ll have someone around to help her. She has an oven that is sitting cold and empty most of the time.”

He saw a bit of hope enter Katie’s eyes.

“I’ll talk to Mrs. Claire, see if she’s open to the idea of a boarder,” Katie said.

Tavish didn’t realize how worried he’d been about both of them until Katie took up his idea.

Katie looked up all of a sudden. Tavish did, as well. The children had grown quiet. The reason was immediately apparent. Jeremiah Johnson strode up the walk toward the house, dislike thick in his posture.

Joseph moved to the path, meeting Johnson there but a few paces from the steps. Tavish stood, intending to put a barrier between Johnson and Katie. There would be no repeat of Johnson’s “filthy Irishwoman” insult.

“Good afternoon, Jeremiah.” Joseph’s greeting was not overflowing with enthusiasm, but he’d managed not to sound disgruntled. “What can I do for you?”

“I came regarding your order of yet another barrel of flour.” Johnson’s eyes swung in Katie’s direction, hardening as his gaze settled there.

Tavish held his ground. Katie had risen, and in that moment shifted a bit behind him. She took hold of his arm, but didn’t look at him. She kept a close eye on the new arrival. His Katie was no shrinking violet to crumble at a threat.

“Is there a problem with that order?” Joseph asked. “I assume you aren’t out of flour.”

Johnson shook his head. “But I think this is the last barrel I’ll be able to sell you at the current price.” No one could miss the warning in his tone.

Katie’s grip on his arm tightened. Tavish knew the flour was for Katie and that Johnson was actually coming after her.

“You intend to cheat me?” Joseph Archer could sound every inch the steely man of business at times. He did in that moment.

Johnson wasn’t intimidated. “The Irish pay a certain price, Joseph. They always have.”

“I am not Irish.”

Johnson’s gaze slid contemptuously over them all. “I’d say you are the only one here who isn’t.”

Tavish looked over at Katie. Mr. Johnson clearly unnerved her. His brave Irish rose was closing up. He slipped an arm around her middle and pulled her up against his side.

“I know perfectly well, Joseph, that you are buying this flour for her.” Johnson pointed his chin in Katie’s direction. “She is trying to put me out of business. I won’t stand for it.”

“Miss Macauley is selling bread,” Joseph said. “There is nothing in that to threaten you.”

“The Irish aren’t buying flour, Joseph. I cannot tell you the last time any of them bought sugar. She is undercutting me. I will not stand for it. I will not.”

“I am only undercutting because
he
is overcharging,” Katie whispered urgently.

“I know, darling, I know.” Tavish was itching to jump into the fray. He had more than a few things to say to the man. But his more rational side kept him still. An argument from an Irishman would only make Johnson more angry. Joseph was more likely to be successful.

“Don’t start this, Jeremiah,” Joseph said. “We all know where this will go.”

“I hope y’all do know.” Again he eyed Katie and Tavish, even Biddy and her children. “We’ve danced this dance before. You Irish decide to throw your weight around. But in the end, you are always sorry for it.”

“What does he mean by that?” Katie whispered.

He leaned in and lowered his voice. “In ten years of feuding, the Irish have never truly claimed a victory.”

“Not even once?”

He shook his head.

A firmness entered Katie’s expression. “We won’t lose this time,” she said. “He can rail against me all he wants, for years and years even, but he won’t stop me.”

Tavish held her tighter.
Years and years.
He liked the sound of that.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Joseph addressed the belligerent shopkeeper. “Flour will not put you out of business. You know it will not. But if you start this again, if you start punishing half this town with prices and restrictions, this will spiral. And it will not be only the Irish who suffer.”

Johnson set his chin at a determined and angry angle. “Perhaps not. But they will be the ones who concede defeat. They always are.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Katie’s price for flour didn’t increase. She asked Joseph how he’d managed to talk Mr. Johnson around, but he simply told her not to worry over it. She would have pressed the issue, if she weren’t so ridiculously grateful for whatever he’d done. The man had earned the right to be left in peace. Without his intervention, she’d have been forced to give up her business.

She stepped out of the house late in the day nearly a week after Mr. Johnson’s visit. She’d fully intended to call on Mrs. Claire sooner, but each time she set out, she turned back. Nothing about Mrs. Claire prevented the visit. ’Twas the Red Road. She had not once gone outside since Mr. Johnson’s warning without finding at least one person standing out on the road, watching her. Gone were the occasional staring passersby. The Red Road seemed to have formed a permanent patrol.

She wasn’t actually fearful for her safety, but she was uncomfortable beyond expressing. A man and woman stood just to the Red side of the fork in the road as Katie stepped out from behind the house. She didn’t know their names, a sure sign they weren’t Irish. Over the months she’d been in Hope Springs, Katie had met and developed a friendship with every family down the Irish Road. They’d embraced her like family.

The Red Road couple watched every step she took all the way to the bridge. She hadn’t mentioned to Joseph the increase in people.

Her watchers always disappeared by the time he came in from the fields. They never came any closer than the road. Should Mrs. Claire be willing to take her in, Katie would be gone from the Archers’ home just as soon as her replacement arrived. That, she’d been told by both Joseph and Tavish, would calm the Red Road considerably.

Even a full half-mile past the bridge, after the couple couldn’t possibly still see her, Katie felt their eyes on her back. Every move she made was tracked. The Red Road wanted her safely tucked away among the Irish. The Irish had set their national pride and hopes for the future on her success. The tension was wearing on her.

She knocked at Mrs. Claire’s door and was grateful she was able to open the door quickly. That boded well for Mrs. Claire’s health.

“You seem to be walking better than you were,” Katie said, seeing Mrs. Claire move about more spryly.

“Aye. I’ve not a foot in the grave yet, now.”

Katie set the sweet rolls she’d brought near the cold stove. What had Mrs. Claire eaten that evening if not the tiniest bit of warmth remained in the stove? Though she’d not make the argument out loud, Katie could see Mrs. Claire needed her nearly as much as the Archers had when she’d first come. If only she didn’t need to return to the Archers’ so quickly that evening.

“I cannot stay long,” Katie said, truly regretting the fact. “I need to set out my things for tomorrow’s baking.”

“I hope that means your business is doing well.”

Katie nodded. “It is beginning to.” How to approach her need for lodging without making Mrs. Claire feel like a charity case? Katie didn’t think that of her but knew a person’s pride often took a beating during times of need.

“’Tis something of a miracle,” Mrs. Claire said. “It seems the only success the Irish have had here is the blacksmith. But without the Red Road being customers there, it’d fail. Even Tavish’s berries depend on customers all over the territory. You’re the only one who’s made a success of her business exclusively among the Irish here in town. It’s proof, I think, that we could thrive here.”

“If not for the feuding, I’d say there’s hardly another place on earth where we’d be more likely to blossom than here.” Katie sat on the spindle-backed chair near the fireplace. “We have land and water and each other. I think we can make this work so long as we don’t give up.”

Mrs. Claire rocked back and forth, watching her. “And you don’t mean to give up, do you?”

“Absolutely not.” She made the declaration boldly, but she had her share of doubts. “Though I’ll confess to you I worry over it something fierce. I have to make this bakery a roarin’ success, or all me Irish neighbors’ll simply decide they’re in a sinkin’ ship.”

“Broadening the brogue, are you? That there’s a sure sign you’re upset.”

She could smile a bit at that. “Joseph told me the same thing once. Apparently he knows I’m most upset when he can’t understand a word I say.”

“I’ve a feeling you’re going to miss him when you move out of that house.”

Katie nodded. “I’ll miss them all.” She would miss the girls dancing in her room while she played her fiddle.

Mrs. Claire gave her a searching look. “You’ll miss them as a whole and not him in particular?”

An ache settled on Katie’s heart. She would miss Joseph particularly. She would miss her conversations with him in the mornings as he drank his coffee and ate his midday meal. There would be no more quiet evenings spent gabbing about their days or talking through their troubles. She would miss that quite a lot, actually. But staying, she knew, would only make more trouble for everyone.

“What’ll I do, Mrs. Claire, if things fall apart? Joseph’s managed to keep my costs down, but I can’t expect him to do that forever. Mr. Johnson is angry over losing business. He likely won’t endure that long. A few raised prices or refusing to sell me what I need, and he’d stop me in my tracks.”

Mrs. Claire didn’t lose her air of calm serenity. Katie appreciated it in that moment. She needed someone she could talk to who wouldn’t panic.

“For starters, Katie, you’d best call me Granny, as Mrs. Claire feels far too strange to my ear.”

“Everyone calls you Mrs. Claire.”

She shook her head. “But it feels wrong coming from you.”

Katie pressed her lips together and pushed back an unexpected tear. She’d never known either of her own grandmothers. Katie didn’t realize how large a void that had left in her life until that moment.

“You’d truly like me to call you Granny?”

Mrs. Claire nodded.

Warmth wrapped around Katie’s heart. “I believe I can do that.”

“As to your business”—Granny wasn’t swayed in the slightest from the topic at hand—“there’s no point greeting the devil ’til he’s knocking at your door. That devil down at the mercantile might very well crush your bakery out of existence, but until that happens, I expect you not to give up.”

“But if I fail, everyone’ll give up.”

“No, Katie.” Granny stopped her rocking and leaned forward, capturing Katie’s gaze with a steady, pointed one. “They will only give up if you do. We’ve tried and failed before. We’re not afraid of failing. But if you’ll keep fighting, so will they.”

“I’m trying to keep going on,” Katie said. “But there are so many what-ifs.”

Granny sighed and leaned back in her rocker once more. “Aren’t there always? I’d imagine among those unanswered questions is just what you’ll do when Joseph brings to town his fancy new housekeeper.”

“Indeed.” Katie hadn’t expected her to address so directly the very topic she’d meant to bring up subtly herself. Tavish had asked her to approach it carefully, to make certain his beloved granny didn’t feel like they all felt sorry for her.

“Seems to me,” Granny continued, “you need someone with extra room and an oven that’s not being used all hours of the day. Someone down the Irish Road so you’ve some flexibility in your comings and goings and so our hot-tempered Red Road neighbors won’t feel they’re being invaded.”

A twinkle of devilment shown in the woman’s eye.

“Seems to me as well.” Katie let her suspicions show.

“And seems to me further if that same someone were an old woman unable to climb the ladder to her own loft or see to much of a meal for herself, she’d be right happy to have you living with her and filling her house with the smell of fresh-baked bread.”