Chapter Four
Tavish dropped an armful of firewood into the basket near the fireplace. ’Twas ten in the morning already, and he hadn’t yet been out to Ian’s fields. Between the chores at his own place and those he’d taken on at his brother’s, he’d worked without a moment’s pause since well before sunrise.
He pulled his hat from his head and wiped at the sweat trickling along his hairline. His gaze wandered toward Ian’s room. Biddy said there’d been no change overnight, that Ian stirred now and then, even made the occasional sound, but never truly woke. Tavish had managed an encouraging word for her, but his own hopes were flagging.
He crossed to the bedroom doorway and pulled back the quilt. Biddy looked up from her position beside the bed.
“How is he?” Tavish asked.
Her gaze returned to her husband. The worry in her face answered his question. “If only he’d open his eyes and look at me, or squeeze my hand. Anything. He feels so far away.”
“Ignoring you, is he? Seems to me you’ve a right lazy bum of a husband.” Striking a laughing tone was painfully difficult. He wanted to rage at the injustice of it all. He wanted to weep at seeing his brother so beaten. But Biddy needed someone to buoy her spirits, and there was no one but him to do it.
That role had always been his. Even as a child on the boat from Ireland, with his heart breaking for his lost home and the beloved grandparents they’d left behind, he had been charged with bringing smiles and laughter to his family. No one else could manage it, and they were in desperate need of cheering. Though smiling through troubles didn’t always come easily, he’d found strength in it.
“You know, Biddy, when Ian was just a boy, Da would bribe him with butter candy. Perhaps you ought to give that a go.”
She gave him a small smile. “I’ve already tried offering him sweet rolls and barm brack.”
“He didn’t awaken for barm brack? Now that is a stubborn man, that is.”
Biddy adjusted Ian’s blankets. “I even offered to milk the cow every day from now on if only he’d wake up.”
Tavish leaned against the doorframe, arms folded loosely over his chest. “Not having to milk the cow—any man would jump at that opportunity. Perhaps if you also promise to muck out the stalls, he’ll quit being so headstrong and just get up.”
Biddy took Ian’s limp hand in hers. “I love you, dearest.” She kissed his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “But I’m not mucking out your stalls.”
Tavish smiled in relief. Hearing even a tiny bit of humor from Biddy put his heart at ease.
“How long until you need to feed him again?” he asked her. Biddy couldn’t hold Ian up and dribble broth down his throat without help.
“About an hour.”
He could see to a few more chores before then. “I’ll come back.”
He looked once more at Ian, hoping to see something encouraging. The swelling had, perhaps, gone down a bit. He lay peacefully; no look of pain marred his features. Tavish supposed that was something. But Ian hadn’t spoken or even shown the slightest sign of awareness in nearly forty-eight hours. That made optimism a bit hard to come by.
“If you need anything, I’ll be out in the barn mucking out the stalls.”
Biddy nodded as she smoothed Ian’s blanket.
Tavish slipped from the room, crossing to the front door. Something had to change for the better with Ian, or they’d all lose hope.
The front door squeaked as he opened it. The hinges didn’t look rusted, but a bit of grease would do them good. Tavish added that to the list in his mind. He’d have his brother’s house in as fine shape as he could get it. If he awoke—Tavish hated that he thought of Ian’s recovery in terms of “if”—he’d need his strength for recovering from his injuries, not tending to his home.
He stepped out beneath the front overhang and saw his Sweet Katie sitting on the step. Her back was to him, knees pulled up close, her arms wrapped around her legs.
“This is a fine surprise,” he said, pushing all thoughts of hinges and repairs out of his mind. “Did Joseph give you the day off again to come help Biddy?”
She shook her head without speaking a word.
“You’ve slipped off, then? It’s not like you to skip out on your work.”
In a tiny voice, she answered, “I’ve been fired.”
For a moment the words made no sense. “Joseph fired you?” He stepped closer to her.
“He let me go, which amounts to the same thing, really. I’ve been sent off from a job, something that’s never happened to me once in all my life.” Katie leaned her chin on her knees. She looked so terribly small and vulnerable sitting there.
Tavish sat on the step beside her. “Did Joseph say why he let you go?”
“So the Red Road won’t be angry about me living there. And because if I stayed I might not be safe.” She turned her head enough to look over at him. No tears hung in her eyes, but plenty of hurt hovered there. “I understand the whys of it, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating.”
Poor Katie. Troubles did seem to stack on top of one another. He’d have to do what he could to lift her spirits. It would be a pleasure, really.
“Granny Claire let you in the door, I’m assuming.”
Katie smiled at him. His entire world lit up whenever she smiled, however small and quivery the attempt.
“Aye. She let me in. So I’ve a place to live and bread to sell and, all things considered, am in a fine situation.” She sat up a bit, but her shoulders slumped. “I’m only discouraged is all, and so very tired.”
Tavish wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. She leaned her head on his shoulder, though her arms remained crossed over her knees. They’d grown close over the past weeks. She’d shared a great deal of her thoughts and worries with him, yet she still felt distant at times, as though she still held something back.
He wished he could promise her that all would be well, that Ian would recover, that the feud would resolve itself peacefully, that she’d have the money she needed. He couldn’t, but neither would he speak of heavy things when she was already weighed down. He pressed a kiss to her hair. “You smell like flowers, love. And you feel like heaven.”
The tiniest of laughs answered. “You always do manage to think of honeyed words, don’t you?”
“And what if I further said that, if we have a céilí this Saturday, I’d like for you to be my particular companion for the evening?”
She pulled away enough to look up at him fully. “If we have a céilí? There is always a céilí.”
He motioned with his head back toward the house. “With all that’s happened, I can’t say anyone will feel much like holding a party.”
“So the Red Road’ll take that from us as well?” She pushed out an audible breath. “I hate that the Irish are always the ones who lose in this feud.”
He took her hand in his. Hers were hardworking hands, roughened with years of labor, but tiny and gentle all the same. “I, for one, am feeling more optimistic all the time.”
He turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to her palm.
She blushed red as a strawberry.
“Keep doing that, Tavish O’Connor, and I’ll begin to suspect you fancy me.”
He loved when she teased him back. The first few weeks he’d known her, she had been far too serious. “What do I need to do to get you from ‘suspecting’ to ‘believing’?”
“You could lend me a hammer and nails.”
He laughed right out loud at the unexpected request. Her smile grew to a grin, sending his heart into a racing rhythm. He’d made progress in his courtship, quite a bit, in fact, but Katie was not one to be quickly won over. Slow and steady was the only approach that would work.
“And what do you need the hammer and nails for, Sweet Katie?”
“There’re a few things in my new room at Granny Claire’s that need mending.”
“Tavish!”
He jumped at Biddy’s sudden voice. She peeked out the door, her face frantic.
“I need your help. Please.”
He sprang to his feet. “Ian,” he whispered, his heart dropping to his toes.
With Katie at his side, he rushed into the house, fearing the worst.