Pioneer Yearning: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Three Read online

  After two miserable days, Cormac groaned as he emerged from the carriage in Virginia City. Although he could have chosen to spend the journey chatting with Dunmore, sitting on top of the stagecoach, Cormac had no desire for company or friendship. The handful of men who had made the journey scattered as soon as they had grabbed their bags. Rather than follow them, as they searched out places to stay or the varied entertainment offered in the burgeoning mining town, Cormac stared up and down the boardwalk, his satchel by his feet.

  Dunmore ambled over after tying up his horses. “I’m headed to the livery and then to the café. I leave early tomorrow for Fort Benton. Want to make it back before the first storm hits.”

  Cormac scratched at his beard and shook his head. “I thought you’d spend the winter here. More to do here than in Fort Benton.”

  “Oh, I have my reasons for wanting to be there,” Dunmore said cryptically. “If you come to your senses, you know where to find me.”

  Cormac watched the stagecoach driver walk away and then stared around at the small town. As they had first approached the town, it had felt like the stagecoach would fall off the face of the mountain as it dropped into the gully that held the growing mining town. Along the main street were the usual stores, bars, and cafés. In the distance, he could see openings to mines carved into the hills and sluices whittling away the dirt. Although not a large town, Cormac saw more people and much more commerce here than in Fort Benton.

  He fought a desire to return to the familiar and forced himself to wander into a boarding house on the edge of town to rent a room. After a quick trip to the bathhouse and a hearty meal at a café, he wandered into one of the saloons. He had no desire for company of any kind, so he remained to one side of the long wooden bar, his shoulders hunched as he stooped over it. His alert gaze continually roved over the other patrons, alert to the activities of the men around him. However, none, except for the bartender, paid him any mind. Those present kept to themselves, commiserated with other miners about their inability to find the mother lode, or flirted with women in flashy dresses.

  After swallowing another mouthful of rotgut, Cormac nodded goodbye to the barkeep and set out for his rented room at the boarding house. Although it would have been more economical to sleep on a cot in a shared room, he desired privacy after days spent in a stagecoach with relative strangers. As he walked toward the boarding house, he breathed in deeply of the woodsmoke-tinged air.

  Unbidden, a memory invaded his thoughts.

  “Why don’t you like woodsmoke?” he teased, as he tossed another log into the stove and shut the grate. His brother, Connor, was out at the saloon and wouldn’t learn of Cormac’s return to town until the morning. Although Cormac had thought to leave the moment he had learned Connor wasn’t home, Niamh had urged him inside to see how Maura had grown during the short time he’d been away.

  “I never said I didn’t like woodsmoke,” she protested with a laugh, as she ladled out stew for their supper. “I simply don’t like the work entailed in chopping, stacking, and hauling the wood.”

  Cormac froze with Maura suspended overhead, his gaze on Niamh, as Maura giggled with glee to kick her chubby legs in the air. “Are you telling me that Connor doesn’t ensure you have enough wood? That you have to do that work?”

  Niamh flushed and shrugged. “I do what I must.”

  After he had lowered Maura and sat with her on his lap, he shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to do any of that work, Niamh. If Connor won’t do it, I will.”

  “Cormac,” Niamh said, with a warning shake of her head, “no. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She turned away to face the stove, her shoulders stooped, as though with embarrassment about her relationship with her husband. “I will find a way.”

  He soundlessly rose and moved toward her with Maura in his arms. When he touched Niamh lightly on her shoulder, she jumped, spun around, and held up her arm, as though protecting herself. His eyes flared with shock and concern before a deep-seated rage settled inside his belly. “Shh, Niamh, I’d never hurt you.” He paused a long moment, as he watched her pant and fight shame. “You’re safe, Niamh. Maura’s safe.” He watched as his words eased her panic. and her breathing slowly calmed, although her embarrassment flared.

  “I … I don’t know what came over me,” she said, as she attempted a nonchalant shrug and smile. “I’m a bit jumpy tonight.”

  Cormac kissed Maura on her head as she became fussy with the undercurrent of emotions roiling between him and Niamh. “Are you certain that’s all it is?”

  “Yes,” Niamh whispered, before clearing her throat and smiling a too-bright smile. “What else could it be?”

  He nodded, gently patted her shoulder, and then sat again with Maura against his shoulder. “I don’t want you worrying about chopping, hauling, and stacking wood, Niamh. If Connor doesn’t do it, I will. It’s the least I can do to make sure my niece doesn’t freeze.”

  A pistol firing in the distance bolted him from his reverie, and he shook his head. “Damn fool,” he muttered to himself. “Should have seen then what was as plain as day.”

  With a frustrated huff, he set off for his small room, unable to tamp down the emotions his memories wrought.

  Niamh rocked a fussy Maura in the rocking chair, her throat parched after singing another lullaby. However, Maura seemed to calm with the sound of her mother’s voice, so Niamh tried to continue to croon to her. Although her daughter was flushed and a little sweaty, it seemed like nothing more than a simple bout of teething. “My poor wee love,” she whispered, as she kissed Maura’s head. “Soon all your teeth will be in, and you’ll have no more pain.”

  When she felt Maura go limp in her arms, she let out a sigh of relief and relaxed against the back of the chair. However, she knew she couldn’t set Maura down, for, if she did, Maura would awaken and scream.

  With a long sigh, Niamh let her eyelids drop, and a memory resurfaced.

  Niamh stood, rocking a three-month-old Maura to and fro as she whimpered with colic. Nothing Niamh did calmed her, although she seemed a little more at ease when she was in her arms.

  “Can’t you quiet her down?” Connor demanded from a nearby chair. “All that whining and mewling is enough to make me wish we’d never had her.”

  “Connor!” Niamh gasped. “What a horrible thing to say.” She gaped at her husband, holding her daughter even tighter in her arms, as though afraid Connor would snatch Maura from her and do her daughter bodily harm. “She’s sufferin’, and our job is to soothe her.”

  Connor rolled his eyes and kicked out his legs, as if to get comfortable. “Well, I’m in constant distress because my wife ignores me for that little whelp and never has energy for me anymore.” His derisive gaze roved over Niamh, swaying side to side with his daughter. “She’s been nothing but trouble since she was born.”

  Tears coursed down Niamh’s cheeks. and Maura gave a small cry, as though sensing the strife between her parents. “Shh, little love, he doesn’t mean it. He’s had a bad day, is all. He’ll love you like a father should.”

  Connor snorted. “If you believe I’ll coddle that child the way the O’Rourkes coddled you, you’re out of your mind. She’ll receive a firm hand, as every woman should.”

  Niamh shivered and backed up a step. “She’s a babe, Connor. She doesn’t know better.”

  He stood and rolled his shoulders. “She’ll learn.” He looked around their barren house. “As there’s nothing for me to do, and you’re occupied, I’ll be off.” He barely spared her a backward glance before leaving.

  When the door thudded after him, Niamh heaved out a sigh of relief, thankful for the relative peace of his absence. “Is this how it will always be?” she whispered to herself, as she kissed the downy soft hair of her beloved daughter. “Me prayin’ for his departure so I’ll find peace?”

  Maura gave a small yelp, and Niamh returned to the present. She kissed her daughter on her head again, as though linking the two memories. Belatedly
she realized her cheeks were damp with her tears, and she pulled out a handkerchief to rub them dry.

  “I’ll always protect you, my darling,” Niamh whispered, as she closed her eyes, her daughter held tight in her embrace.

  Chapter 6

  The following day, Niamh opened the back door to the insistent knocking, her harried flush paling at the sight of Sheriff Wilcox. “Sheriff,” she whispered, as she stood in front of the door, blocking his entrance. Although she knew he could force his way in if he so desired, he was purported to be fair and calm. “Are you looking for my father?”

  Leander Wilcox pushed at the large hat on his forehead, tipping it back, and his severe, penetrating gaze met her apprehensive one. Although he appeared pained to be on her father’s back doorstep, he looked at her with a determination to fulfill his duty. “Please don’t act coy, Mrs. Ahern. You know why I’m here.”

  She shivered at his serious tone and then nodded. In a whisper she said, “I do,” and stepped aside so he could enter. She motioned for him to hang his coat on the rack near the stove and watched as he rubbed his hands together over the warmth of the stove. A shiver moved through him, as though he were warming up after a long time spent out-of-doors.

  Niamh glanced to the kitchen’s inner doorway, and she relaxed at the appearance of her father. He stood tall and proud, his gaze as foreboding as the sheriff’s. “Da, Sheriff Wilcox is here to discuss the matter.”

  Seamus nodded and motioned for the sheriff to sit at the table. After pouring cups of tea, he sat beside Niamh, placing his large hand over hers in a sign of solidarity. “Sheriff, you might as well get on with whatever it is you believe you must say.”

  “Damn it, Seamus,” Sheriff Wilcox muttered. “You know I hate being here and having to take the word of an interloper.” He sighed, rubbing at his brown hair in his agitation. “However, too many townsfolk believe he is a lawyer, and Connor Ahern did. Enough to leave a written will with the man.”

  Seamus continued to stare at the sheriff, waiting in silence for him to say more. He made a small noise of discouragement when Niamh went to speak up, squeezing her hand to remain quiet.

  “If that will is to be believed, Mr. Connor Ahern didn’t want Mrs. Ahern raising their child. As the father, he had the right to determine his child’s future. Unlike lawyers I knew when I lived in Arkansas, this Uriah Chaffee is only too willing to share the private documents of his clients with everyday citizens.”

  “Perhaps it is because his client is deceased,” Niamh muttered.

  “No,” Seamus said. “His profession calls for more integrity than that.” After a moment, he looked at the sheriff. “What are you suggesting?”

  Sheriff Wilcox shrugged his shoulders and thumped a hand on the table. “I honestly don’t know. I thought I’d seen just about everything, but this has confounded me. How can I, in good conscience, take a child, who’s little more than a baby, away from her mother? And give her to a Madam?”

  “Nora is a good woman,” Seamus murmured, daring the sheriff to contradict him. He gave a terse nod when the sheriff held his peace rather than comment on the Madam.

  “But she’s not me,” Niamh said.

  “No,” Seamus said. “Here is my proposal. I’ve discussed it with Mary, and she is in agreement. According to the will, the stipulation that Nora raise Maura is null and void once Niamh marries again.” Noting the shocked looked on the sheriff’s face, Seamus’s smile was filled with derision as he shook his head. “Chaffee forgot to inform you of that important detail, aye?”

  “Aye,” the sheriff muttered. “Makes me wonder what else Chaffee forgot to tell me.”

  “Thankfully Nora is loyal and cunning. We’ve seen the will, and we know what must be done. However, ’twill be a while before Niamh is ready to marry again. No matter what her feckless husband wrote in that will, Niamh was a loyal and honorable wife who needs time to mourn the death of her husband.”

  Sheriff Wilcox studied Niamh—who had bowed her head, as though moved by her father’s words—and then Seamus, as though searching for sincerity. Wilcox nodded, indicating he would rather remain in the good graces of the O’Rourkes, the most influential family in Fort Benton, than align himself with the unknown Chaffee.

  “In the meanwhile Nora will move in here with us. With my boys in Saint Louis, there is room for her. She will continue to run her establishment, but she will reside here, when she is not busy with her business.”

  Niamh gasped at her father’s pronouncement, while the sheriff gaped at him, before bursting out laughing. “Only you, Seamus O’Rourke, could attempt to make such an arrangement sound respectable.”

  With a glower, Seamus glared at Leander. “Because it is.” He waited until the sheriff sobered. “You, and everyone in this town, must be mad if you believe for one minute that I would allow my granddaughter to be separated from her mother.”

  Leander nodded, his gaze distant, as though deep in thought. After a few silent moments, a smile burst forth, and he fought a chuckle. “This complies with the demands of the will, in an irregular manner. However, I fear you haven’t realized how the gossip will grow when the Madam moves in here.”

  Seamus leaned forward, as though to argue with the sheriff, only holding his tongue when Niamh squeezed his hand and shook her head.

  “No, sir,” Niamh said in a soft voice. “If you were a parent, you’d understand the only thing that matters is keeping my daughter with me. No matter the arrangement I must make or the gossip I must suffer. None of that matters, as long as I don’t lose her.”

  The sheriff’s eyes gleamed with respect as he looked at Niamh. “I understand better than you might believe.” He rose. “I’ll await word of the Madam’s arrival here, and there will be no reason for me to visit again on this matter. If you have any need of my aid, please inform me.”

  Niamh remained seated as Seamus showed the sheriff to the door. After he had left, she stared at her father in shock. “Truly, Da, was there no other option?”

  Her father studied her, one hip leaning against the doorjamb. “Have you thought of a better idea, love?”

  Niamh shook her head. “Mum will suffer terribly with the Madam here. I can’t believe she agreed to your proposal.”

  Seamus smiled tenderly at her, approaching her slowly, as she had been skittish of late. When she did not lean away from him, he cupped her jaw and looked deeply into her hazel eyes that reminded him of his beloved wife’s eyes. “No, my darling daughter, this wasn’t my idea. ’Twas your mother’s. She wanted me to inform the sheriff it was mine, for she thought it would be less scandalous if such a scheme were to come from a man, but she proposed this.”

  “Why? She’ll live under a cloud of speculation. That her husband now has wife and …” Niamh broke off, as though embarrassed to say anything more.

  “Aye, she knows what will be said.” He waited a long moment before he murmured, “’Tis the measure of her love for you, Niamh, that she would suffer any disparaging remarks, any cruel judgments, to spare you the pain she suffered upon losing her children.”

  Niamh stared at him with wide-eyed disbelief, tears tracking down her cheeks. Her breaths were uneven and stuttered, as she tried to swallow a sob.

  Nodding in understanding, Seamus kissed her forehead and left her alone in the kitchen to contemplate what was to come.

  That evening, Niamh worked with Maggie to freshen up the bedroom Ardan, Kevin, and Declan had shared. The younger boys had removed two of the beds, storing them in the attic, and now the sisters were busy sweeping the floor, dusting the side tables and the bureau, and polishing the windows. Without the other beds crammed into the room, it was remarkably spacious, with space for a small writing desk added, and they had heard their father mutter something about finding a comfortable chair for the Madam.

  Maggie whistled and sang as she worked, while Niamh remained in quiet contemplation. Finally Maggie broke off from a song she’d heard one of the steamboat crew sing the past su
mmer, a racy tune she knew her father would disapprove of, and faced her sister. “What’s the matter, Niamh?” she asked, as she pushed open the window to shake her dust rag outside to clean it, so she could start again. After she shut the window, she leaned on the windowsill. “I thought you’d be pleased the Madam is coming here.”

  Niamh rolled her eyes. “You even say the words the Madam as though she’s some sort of exotic creature,” Niamh muttered. “She’s just a woman. A woman I fear is after Da. And will only cause trouble.”

  Maggie laughed. “You’re much more foolish than I thought you’d be.” When Niamh stood with her hands fisted on her hips, Maggie shrugged. “I always thought an older sister would be wise, giving me sound advice. Instead you seem muddled.”

  “And how are you so wise?” Niamh asked with a defiant tilt of her jaw. She looked her younger sister over from head to foot and snorted derisively. “You’ve barely lived.”

  Maggie tapped the rag against her leg and smiled. “I’m a good observer, and, although I know what fear is, I refuse to allow it to rule me.”

  “Said like a child,” Niamh snapped, as she spun away to polish the bureau.

  Maggie snapped her fingers together, as though finally figuring out a riddle. “That’s it, isn’t it? I don’t know the full extent of your fear because I don’t have a child.” She paused as she watched her sister, still in her manic swiping of the bureau.

  “Pray you never do,” Niamh rasped.

  “Have a child or know the fear you do?” Maggie asked in a low voice.

  Niamh spun to stare at her, her expression a mixture of antipathy and weariness. “The fear,” she said in a defeated voice. “I’d never wish to not have Maura. She’s the best part of me.”

  “That’s not true, Niamh,” Maggie said, gently stroking a hand down her sister’s back, ignoring Niamh’s instinctual stiffening. “Maura is wonderful and loving and trusting. All things I believe you must have been at one time. For how else could you have been?” When Niamh turned to stare at her sister with abject befuddlement, Maggie shrugged. “You never would have married a man like your husband if you hadn’t been like Maura.”