After the Storm (33 page)

“Is she the reason you left Cincinnati?” She swallowed so hard he could hear it.

“I'd become weary of being an attorney, so I'd been looking for something else to do.” He chuckled sadly. “My partner, Theo, thought I'd gone mad, after years of study and building our business. I wanted to find something that challenged me more.”

“So you decided to become a farmer?”

“It wasn't what I'd planned at first. I considered becoming a teacher because I enjoyed being with children. Opening my own school for young boys who were interested in learning what they needed to go to university would have been a challenge I would have enjoyed.”

“But you didn't.”

“No.”

“Because of Beverly?”

He leaned against her leg when she stroked his hair. There was something so liberating about her touch, which asked no more of him than he wanted to share. And, he was astounded to discover, he wanted to share with her the truth about what had hastened his decision to leave Cincinnati.

“Yes,” he said, “because of Beverly. We were supposed to be married.”

“Did you love her?”

“Very much.”

“Do you love her still?”

Looking up at her, he saw she was biting her lower lip, a motion that brought Megan instantly to mind. He knew Megan did this when she was trying to avoid saying something. Was that a habit she had learned from her mother?

“That's the same question I asked you,” he said.

“Yes.”

“A question you answered with such honesty. I'll do the same. I don't think I love her any longer.”

Her voice caught. “You don't think?”

With care so he did not hurt her or himself, he put his arms on her knees. “I thought I was able to let those feelings go.” He pulled out the pages. “You see the result.”

“I see that this is festering inside you. I see that you thought you'd found the perfect family here. Children you loved without the hindrance of a woman who could break your heart again.”

“Now you know why I wasn't pleased to find you on my doorstep.”

She brushed his hair back from his forehead, not touching any of the welts. “Tell me the rest.”

For so many long months he had hidden the truth, ashamed of anyone discovering it. Now her gentle smile invited him to do the very thing he had thought he could never do … trust another woman.

“We were to be married,” he said, “but she changed her mind.”

Something flickered in her eyes, but he could not determine what it was before she asked, “After your plans were announced?”

“After I arrived at the church.”

“She jil—changed her mind on your wedding day?”

He folded her hand between his. “You can say the word, Cailin. She jilted me at the altar. She decided she didn't want to marry a mere lawyer when she could have a glamorous life as the wife of the son of a rich man, one of the richest in Cincinnati.”

“You're lucky.”

“Really?”

“She could have decided that
after
she married you.” She looked away.

Reproaching himself for not realizing how his explanation would add to Cailin's pain at her husband's duplicity, he drew her down to sit on the porch next to him. He held her as the stars appeared and then faded as the moon rose. While they both were so sore from the stings, he must do no more than hold her and talk.

But soon they would be healed.… He smiled. Then he would hold her far closer and he would keep her lips busy with his. And then … His smile faded. He had told her the truth, answering each question she asked, but, as he had learned to in court, he had not offered any information. One question she had not asked. If she had, he was unsure what he would have told her. He did not know if he could ever trust another woman—even Cailin—with his heart, even if he wanted to.

At the rattle of a wagon coming up the road, Cailin wiped water off the window she was washing. She saw the black delivery wagon with
Delancy's General Store, Haven, Indiana
on the side. Dropping the rag back into the bucket of water, Cailin hurried out of the house and waved to Emma.

“Do you want something cool to drink?” Cailin called as she pushed her heavy braids back over her shoulders. She had hoped wearing her hair like this would ease the day's grinding heat, but she was not sure anything could.

“That sounds wonderful.” Emma stepped down from the wagon and reached into the back.

“Come up on the porch and I'll get some iced tea.”

By the time Cailin had brought out the pitcher of tea she had made for the children's return from helping Samuel gather up the last of the corn in the larger of the two fields, Emma was sitting in the rocker.

“Thank you,” Emma said as she took the glass Cailin had poured.

“Thank
you
for all the delicious food you sent out earlier in the week.”

“My pleasure.” Drinking, she smiled. “Perfect.”

“You should be careful on these hot days.”

“Now you sound like Noah.”

Cailin sat on the chair Samuel usually used. “You should listen to him. Lottie was a summer baby, and even in Ireland, where it's far cooler, I knew it was important to take care.”

“This baby won't be here for several months, but he or she is already making it clear who's in charge.” She laughed. “And it isn't me. You're looking better than I'd expected when I heard about the wasps.”

“We didn't look better earlier in the week.” Cailin blinked. “I could barely do this two days ago.”

“At least you have some blackberries for your pains.”

“Plenty. Brendan and Lottie went back and picked more, so I have enough to make jam. I'll send you several jars.”

“That would be wonderful.” She held out a long, thin box. “This came in on the train this afternoon. I thought you'd want it right away.”

Cailin took it and stared at the lettering across an envelope affixed to the front, recognizing her name at the top of the address. Looking up at the wagon, she matched the letters of Haven, Indiana, to the ones written beneath her name. The rest of the words made no sense to her. Some were crossed out, but she could not guess why. The package must have had a tough journey, because it was almost as ragged as her dress had been when she arrived here.

“You're lucky to get this,” Emma said, pointing to the writing on the front. “It has followed you all the way from Ireland to New York and then here.”

“Ireland?” She ran her fingers along the writing on it. Someone must have seen the package when it was delivered to the house where she worked and sent it on to her here. One of the Bridgets, she guessed. She almost asked Emma if it was from Athair. She would have Samuel read it when he returned. Looking up at the sun, she knew it would not be for several hours.

“I was certain you would want it straightaway.” Emma stood and set the glass on the railing. “Now I need to deliver an order out to Thanington Hills.”

“Thanington Hills? I hadn't heard Mr. Thanington had named his farm.”

“Farm?” Emma laughed. “I suspect he envisions it as a fancy English estate. Enjoy your mail, Cailin.”

“If you see the children along the road, would you send them home right away?” She could ask Brendan to read the letter that must be in the envelope to her if he arrived home before Samuel.

“Gladly. Enjoy your news from home.”

Cailin stroked the envelope and nodded. Waving as Emma went back to her wagon, she sat in the rocking chair and opened the envelope. She drew out the letter, which was only a single page. She silenced her disappointment, reminding herself that the handwriting was small, so there might be a lot of news on that one page. Folding it up, she slipped it back into the envelope.

She started to open the package, then knew she should wait and see what the letter said. It had been put on top of the box, so maybe she should know what was written there before she saw what was inside the box that was almost as long as her arm and about as thick as her clenched fist.

She took the package into the house and put it on the mantel in the parlor. There, it would not get splattered as she washed the windows and did the rest of her chores.

Time after time, during the afternoon, Cailin went to look at the package. Once she knew what the letter said, she would have Samuel help her write back to her father, for this package must have come from him. She could sign her own name now, and Athair would be so proud of her. Not even the day's oppressive humidity could steal her smile as she finished washing the front windows and began to cut fresh vegetables for supper.

When she met Samuel and the children at the door, she grasped his hand and pulled him into the parlor. He put his arm around her waist and asked, “So eager? I like this.”

“Read this to me.” She smiled at the children as she lifted the package off the mantel. She pulled the envelope off the front and then held the box to her chest. “Read it to us.”

He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief before taking the letter. He whistled as he looked at the writing on the front. “This came all the way from Ireland.”

“That's what Emma said. Is it from Athair?”

He held out the envelope and pointed to some writing in the upper lefthand corner. “It's from a Father Liam. Do you know him?”

“He's our priest in Ireland.” Setting the box on a nearby table, she took the envelope and pulled out the letter. “What does it say?”

He scanned the letter and drew in his breath sharply.

“Samuel, what is it?” She gripped his arm. “What does it say?”

“I think we should discuss this alone.”

A chill that swept away the day's heat congealed inside her. As if from a distance, she heard herself telling the children to help each other get some supper from the platters on the table. She saw Samuel's mouth tighten as he looked at the letter again.

“What is it?” she asked as soon as the children ran into the kitchen, along with the promise that they could have the rest of the fresh blackberries for dessert.

“It's about your father.”

She put her hands to her mouth as she whispered, “Is something wrong with Athair?”

“Cailin …”

The truth was in his eyes. She closed hers. “He's dead, isn't he?”

When he took her hand, he said, “I'm sorry.”

“Did Father Liam say what happened?” she choked out.

“Yes.” He touched the center of the letter. “Your father had been to the public house and had a convivial evening. When he didn't come to church the next day, Father Liam went to check on him. As you asked him to.”

“As I asked him to,” she repeated.

“Father Liam found your father in bed. He apparently died in his sleep.” Samuel brushed a loose hair back from her face. “Father Liam says his face was peaceful, so there must have been no pain.”

“Oh …”

“Cailin, I'm so sorry.”

“Read it to me.”

“What?”

She tapped the letter. “Read it to me. Every word.”

“Cailin, the children may hear.”

“Read it quietly. Please, Samuel. Please read it to me.”

He picked up the letter and read in an expressionless voice:

Dear Cailin
,

It grieves me deeply to have to write to you at this time when you are embarking on your new life in America. I hope the journey to your home with your husband and his family has brought you all the blessings and joy you believed awaited you there with Abban
.

Your father passed on to his heavenly reward sometime during the night. He went, as was his habit, which you know so well, to the public house and enjoyed the company of his friends. When he left, he seemed unchanged. Then, this morning, when he did not attend mass, I went to your house to make sure nothing was amiss. Your father never missed morning mass
.

I found him in his bed. His face was so peaceful, I knew he was already with your mother in the arms of the angels. I know these tidings are sad for you and your family, but he told me more than once, he would not go to his reward and to your mother until he was certain you were with the man who would give you and the children everything you needed … everything he believed he could not give you himself. He promised your mother when he stood beside her deathbed that he would take care of you until he could trust someone else to do so
.

He was a good man, and I know he loved you and the children with all his heart. You were the joy that put lightness in his step and kept the devil's own despair from his heart after your mother's death
.

As your father requested, I am sending you the possession he prized most
—
his fiddle. I hope it reaches you in one piece
.

God bless you and your family. I will pray for you that you found everything you hoped for in America
.

Samuel put the letter back into the envelope. “It's signed with Father Liam's name.”

Lowering herself to the sofa, she took the envelope and ran her fingers over it. “Athair had been suffering some pains in his chest, but he assured me that he was well.” She swallowed around the grief clogging her throat. “He insisted on continuing his work on the farm, so there was always food for the children and me. There might not have been much to eat, yet there was always something.”

“And he sent you this.” He picked up the box and held it out to her.

She fought her trembling fingers to untie the strings and undo the paper around the box. She opened the lid. Her father's fiddle case was within. Lifting the leather case out, she opened it and touched the strings of the fiddle he had always loved playing. She looked into the box and saw the bow. She picked it up and put it across the fiddle.

“It was his most precious possession,” she whispered.

“Other than you and the children.”