Pioneer Yearning: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Three Page 3

Ardan approached him and held out his hand. “Cormac?” He watched him with a quizzical expression. “Why didn’t you come in the back door? It’s how the family always enters, and we eat together in the kitchen.”

  Cormac shook his head. “I … I really shouldn’t be considered family.” He cleared his throat. “I came by to let you know I’ve decided I should leave Fort Benton.”

  Shaking his head, Ardan gripped his shoulders, anger and frustration shining in his cobalt-blue eyes. “No, Cormac. No.” He paused to see if Cormac would speak and then said, “You are Maura’s uncle. You are a part of our family. Don’t leave when Niamh needs you.”

  Cormac jerked back, as though Ardan’s words had provoked bodily harm. “The last thing Niamh needs is me.” Guilt flashed in his gaze before he lowered his focus to the floor. “I thought you should know, so you could tell your family. I plan to leave in a few days. Spend the winter in Helena or Virginia City.”

  “But you’ll come back? Fort Benton will be your base again?” Ardan asked.

  Cormac shrugged, his expression filled with desolation. “I don’t know. This was our dream. And now he’s dead.” He cleared his throat, as he held a hand over his eyes. “I can’t envision remaining here.”

  Before he could stride away, Ardan asked in a quiet, piercing voice, “Do you believe Connor would have approved of you abandoning Niamh? Of leaving Maura, when she desperately needs a reminder of her father?”

  Spinning to face Ardan, Cormac’s expression was ablaze with stark misery as he strode to Ardan. “The last thing that little girl needs is a reminder of Connor.”

  Ardan gaped at him in confusion, as Cormac stormed from the café. After a long moment, Ardan returned to the kitchen and sat on one of the stools at the butcher-block table in the center of the room. He leaned into Deirdre, burying his head at her waist and sighing with relief as she stroked a hand through his hair and over his shoulders.

  “It can’t be as bad as all that, love,” she murmured. After kissing him on the head, she set a few cookies in front of him with a glass of milk and winked.

  He chuckled and bit into the molasses-flavored treat. “You always believe food will make it better.”

  “Yes, that or a cuddle,” she said with a smile. She sobered when she saw he remained upset. “What happened? Does the customer want the day’s soup?” She’d decided not to make soup today, believing few would be distraught to find it missing from the menu for one day.

  Shaking his head, Ardan took a sip of milk and then swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. It was Cormac. Come to tell me that he’s leaving. He believes it best for everyone if he’s not in town.”

  Deirdre stilled what she was doing and gaped at him. “Why on earth would he believe that? Niamh has always relied on him.” She shrugged. “At least, that’s what she said. During the summer months, when his business is busy, and he barely has time to sleep, he’s rarely around. But the rest of the year, he’s an attentive uncle, or so it seems, and Maura loves her time with him.”

  Ardan nodded. “Aye.” His gaze was distant. “There’s so much I don’t understand. Connor was a scoundrel. Was one since almost the moment he married Niamh. Loved firewater and cards more than he ever loved her.” He paused as he saw the sadness in his wife’s gaze. “But he never visited the Bordello. Not until that last night. Why was he there, lass?”

  Deirdre hugged him close again, soothing him as much as she soothed herself by being in his embrace. “I don’t know. But then I never truly knew the man. He wasn’t even at our wedding long enough to dance with his wife.” She shrugged. “A fact that didn’t seem to bother Niamh.”

  “Niamh was like Maggie is now. Filled with light and joy and exuberance. And then she met Connor.” He sighed. “I know we all failed her. But I don’t know how we could have prevented her from marrying him.” He whispered. “I feel so guilty because I rejoice that he is dead. That he can no longer provoke sadness or embarrassment in her gaze. And, all the while, she mourns.”

  Deirdre spoke in a low voice, as she kissed his head. “Do you think it might not be the same for her? That she is embarrassed because she feels as you? Perhaps she doesn’t mourn as she believes she should, and she feels ashamed.”

  Ardan sighed and tugged Deirdre closer. “I wish she and my mum were reconciled. Mum knows what it feels like to rejoice at the burial of a spouse she loathes.”

  “Niamh will find her way, love,” Deirdre soothed. “And, if there is justice in this world, she’ll find her way to a good man this time.”

  “I dread telling my family Cormac’s news, adding to Niamh’s distress.”

  Deirdre nodded. “Perhaps tell your mum and da first, then decide when to tell Niamh.”

  Ardan watched Niamh nearly a week after the burial, and she was in as much of a daze as the night he, Kevin, and Da had had to inform her of her husband’s death. Only Maura brought her out of her stupor. He approached her in the empty family kitchen in their parents’ house and sat beside her. “Niamh?” he whispered.

  She stared at him for a long moment, before blushing and ducking her head.

  “Niamh?” he asked in confusion. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m sorry, Ardan,” she said in a barely audible voice. At his continued bafflement, she said, “For how I’ve treated you since this summer.” Tears leaked out, and she blinked them away.

  “None of that matters now, Niamh,” he said. “All that’s important is that you are safe and healthy and that you will be well again.”

  She flinched at his last statement and stared at him with a fleeting moment of panic. When he said nothing further, she relaxed. “My marriage wasn’t happy for some time.” At his nod, she flushed with apparent embarrassment. “I was envious of what you could have with Deirdre.”

  He clasped her hand. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Niamh. You’re human, like the rest of us.” He sighed at the knock at the front door. “Don’t run away,” he murmured as he rose.

  After thrusting the front door open, he frowned at the man on the step. “Sheriff.”

  “I need to speak with your sister, Niamh. Is she available?” Sheriff Wilcox asked. He was a bowlegged, barrel-chested man with a penetrating stare. Few had the temerity to cross him.

  “Aye,” Ardan said, as he opened the door wide and motioned him into the living room. He looked up the stairs to see his youngest brother, Bryan, staring down, wide-eyed. Ardan whispered at him, “Get Da,” before following the sheriff and then leading him into the kitchen. Ardan smiled at his sister, as she sat up straight at the appearance of the lawman.

  “Mr. Wilcox,” she said. “I’m uncertain why you are seeking me out.”

  Sheriff Wilcox flushed and cleared his throat. “Would you like to speak with me in private, Mrs. Ahern?” he asked.

  Niamh shared an alarmed look with her brother and shook her head. “No, I want my brother beside me.” At the sound of someone entering the back door, she looked over her shoulder. “And my da.”

  Seamus entered the room and stood beside his seated daughter, placing a hand on her shoulder in support and solidarity. “Wilcox,” he said in a deferential manner. He watched as the sheriff shifted his weight and rested his hand on the butt of his pistol. Although Seamus never allowed weapons in his house, he knew better than to ask the sheriff to leave his gun at the front door.

  “Look. I have no desire to cause problems. Or to stir up a hornet’s nest.” He rubbed at his head. “But a man was killed, even if it was in a brothel.” He flushed as he looked at Niamh. “I beg your pardon, ma’am.”

  Niamh held her shoulders back. “I understand the circumstances surrounding the death of my husband, Sheriff.” She tilted her chin up and met his chagrined gaze with one of determination and pride.

  Sheriff Wilcox cleared his throat, and his blush heightened. “I see. You understand he was drunk and on the verge of choking one of the Sirens to death?”

  When Niamh blanched, Seamus swore.
“Not every detail must be known, Sheriff.”

  Ignoring Niamh’s father, Sheriff Wilcox took a step closer to Niamh and crouched, so he was at her eye level. “Mrs. Ahern, I understand your husband wasn’t always … as considerate of you as he could have been.” When Niamh merely stared at him with an impassive expression, he barreled on. “I’ve heard that he was a brute to you.”

  At her subtle nod, Ardan and Seamus hissed. “Why did you never say anythin’?” Ardan demanded.

  Seamus stilled his approach to soothe his daughter at the severe glare the sheriff sent in his direction. “Now, Mrs. Ahern, some in town believe you encouraged your husband to a night of debauchery with the hope he wouldn’t come home.”

  She stared at the sheriff mutinously. “My marriage with Connor was difficult,” she whispered. “And I always prayed it would be more than it was. But I only would have harmed him if he had threatened our daughter, Maura.” She shrugged. “He was mostly indifferent to her, and he gave me little reason to fear for her safety.”

  Seamus and Ardan stared at her, their jaws clenched tightly at all she said and at all that was implied.

  The sheriff stood, heaving out a breath. “The matter stands that a man lost his life.”

  “I have no desire to press charges against anyone,” Niamh proclaimed. “If Mr. Ezra had not intervened, an innocent woman would have died.” She paused as the sheriff’s eyes bulged at her description of a Bordello prostitute as an innocent woman. “And I doubt you would show such concern for her as you do for my husband.”

  Sheriff Wilcox blustered a moment, as she flushed with indignation. “I can see you are determined in your decision, ma’am.” When Niamh nodded, he gave her a small bow. “Fine. For now, the matter is closed. However, if any other information comes to light, I will return.”

  Ardan escorted the sheriff to the front door and paused a moment. “Sir, what more could come to light? We already know what happened.” He glowered as he considered the infamy his sister now lived under.

  “We know he was killed. We know who did it. But I’m convinced there is more to this story than we understand.” He took off his hat before slamming it back on his head again. “Why was he at the Bordello that night, drunk out of his mind?” He shook his head. “Connor Ahern was a drunk and a gambler, but he never visited the Bordello until the night he died. Something pushed him over the edge.”

  “For some men, no logical reason is needed for their dishonorable actions.” Ardan watched the sheriff march away from the house, before returning to the kitchen. He saw his father, seated across from his sister with her hands in his. Ardan pulled out another chair and sat beside his da. “Niamh?” he whispered. “Why didn’t you ever tell us how awful your marriage was?”

  The fight left her, and she sat with her shoulders stooped. “What was I to say?” She laughed derisively at herself. “I ran away with him at Cow Island. I chose this life. Why should I complain about it?” She shook her head, as a sob escaped.

  “Niamh,” Ardan murmured, as a tear tracked down his cheek at the sight of his sister’s misery. “I thought you mourned him.”

  “Promise me,” Seamus whispered, “promise me, he never harmed you or Maura.”

  “I can’t,” she whispered brokenly, bowing her head and swiping at her cheeks. She looked away and saw Maura staring at her from the kitchen doorway. “My darling. You’re awake.”

  “Mumma cry,” Maura said, as she stumbled toward her mother in a half-sleep state, dragging a stuffed doll Seamus had given her.

  “Mumma’s fine,” Niamh soothed, picking up her daughter and holding her close. “How could I be sad, holdin’ you in my arms?” She forced a giggle as Maura patted her wet cheeks. Over her daughter’s head, she sent a warning glance to her father and brother, effectively ending the conversation.

  Ardan and Seamus shared a long look but nodded their agreement, as they had no desire to speak of unsettling topics in front of Maura.

  That evening at supper, Ardan sat near his father. Ardan had already shared his concerns with Da that Cormac might leave, and Ardan knew his father had planned to speak with Cormac too. The younger boys had settled at the far end of the table, as they enjoyed telling tall tales. Niamh and Maura were beside Deirdre, while Kevin and Aileen were across from him and his mum. “Da,” he said, in a voice loud enough for Kevin and Niamh to hear, “do you know if Cormac still plans to leave Fort Benton?”

  Niamh’s fork clattered to the tabletop, and she leaned forward to peer down the table at her eldest brother. “What, Ardan?”

  He nodded at her. “Aye, he believes there’s no reason for him to remain here. That he will spend the winter in Helena or Virginia City.”

  “But he’d return for the summer season,” she argued. “We’d see him then.”

  Ardan shrugged. “I don’t know. He seemed determined to run away from his memories here.” He frowned as she flinched at his words. Ardan shared a frustrated look with his mother. “I reassured him that he was considered a part of our family, but he refused to believe me.” He saw his mother let out a deep breath in disappointment and then watched as Niamh became distracted, helping her daughter, before entering a conversation with Aileen and Deirdre. Lowering his voice, Ardan spoke with his father and Kevin. “What did you learn, Da?”

  Seamus studied his eldest daughter and then focused on Ardan. “I believe there is much we don’t understand. Especially after the visitor today and all that was revealed.” He clasped Mary’s hand, as though silently asking her to wait until they were alone later for him to explain.

  “I don’t understand,” Kevin said in a low voice. “What happened today?”

  Sighing, Seamus said, “The sheriff called. Seemed he wanted Niamh to press charges, so he could arrest Ezra. But Niamh wouldn’t.” He rubbed at his temple and sat back in his chair.

  “He implied the abuse showed the Siren was something Niamh would be familiar with,” Ardan whispered.

  Mary gasped, her gaze flying to her daughter, cuddling Maura. “No!”

  Seamus nodded. “I very much fear I failed her, Mary.” His gaze was filled with anger and self-recrimination. “But I refuse to believe she would want Cormac to leave. He’s always been like another brother to her. She’d be lost without him.”

  Mary frowned at his words before nodding. “Aye, she’d be lost without him. But our Niamh needs time. Time to mourn and time to heal before she considers entering into another relationship. ’Twouldn’t be fair to her or to the man if she were to jump straight into another marriage.”

  Seamus stilled as he considered Mary’s words. “Cormac?” he whispered.

  She smiled and patted his arm. “Aye, he’s never been a brother to her, love.”

  Seamus shrugged, his gaze brightening at the thought of Cormac as a son-in-law. “I wish they could wait until they are ready, but sometimes we aren’t given the luxury of waiting all the time we need before marryin’ again.” His brows furrowed, as though remembering his second wife, Colleen.

  Mary shivered, as though recalling her marriage to her second husband, Francois, when she had thought Seamus had abandoned her. “I know.”

  “I will always pray Niamh’s choice the second time is far superior to the first.”

  “If the man is Cormac, he will be,” Mary murmured.

  The following day dawned bright but cold. Even though only mid-October, winter was in the air. After searching for Cormac at his house, Niamh marched to the livery. Inside, she found him working on a harness in the tack room. “When would you have told me?” she demanded in a breathless voice, her hands on her hips as she stared at him. With flushed cheeks, wisps of hair floating around her face, and hazel eyes flashing with challenge, she stood with no evident fear in front of him.

  His blue eyes shone with pride that he tried to conceal, as he lowered his gaze to focus on the harness in front of him. “I will come by, Niamh, if and when I decide to leave.”

  She let out a deep breath, collaps
ing onto a stool near him. “You aren’t leaving,” she breathed.

  He shrugged, his large shoulders rolling, as though it were of no importance. “I haven’t decided. When I do, I’ll inform your family.”

  Niamh reached out, her hand gripping his and stilling his repetitive polishing of a bit of silver on the harness. “No, Cormac, tell me. Please.” Her breath emerged as a shaky exhale. “I couldn’t imagine not being able to talk with you. To not hear the truth from you.”

  He let out a mirthless chuckle. “That’s rich. You haven’t wanted to hear the truth from me for over two years.” His alert gaze roved over hers, and he let out a deep breath, as though hoping it would ease him of his frustration and his despair. “Admit it.”

  She continued to hold her hand over his, as though unwittingly attempting to soothe him. “Please, Cormac.”

  He leaned closer to her, stilling his movement when he saw the flash of alarm in her beautiful hazel eyes. “I won’t say any more. Not today.” He paused, staring deeply into her tormented gaze. “Too much has been left unsaid between us, Niamh. But I care too much about you to ever wish to cause you a moment’s worth of pain.”

  Niamh rose, yanking her hand back, severing all contact with him. “Thank you, Cormac.” She spun on her heel and fought her inclination to race from the livery. She refused to examine if she were racing from her fear of Cormac leaving or her fear of all that Cormac meant to her. She fought shame that Connor had been right in his assessment of her. For, in all the ways that mattered, she had been unfaithful to her husband.

  Chapter 3

  The following day, Cormac rested on his back on his lumpy mattress in his cabin. Rain pinged off the roof, reminding him of long-distant days, when his father had praised their good fortune for the arrival of the spring rains and then cursed God and every Catholic Saint for the drenching rain that ruined their crops. Of his mother attempting to dry diapers in front of the fire, causing the room to steam and to heat to an uncomfortable level, all to swaddle her babes in dry cloth. Of his brothers placing metal tins in strategic places as the roof leaked, the pinging noise keeping him awake long into the night. He sighed as he attempted to banish the memories of his youth.