Chapter Twenty-five
“The snow is deep,” Emma said as they stepped through the door of the barn at the inn.
Finbarr had his cane in hand but it would be useless in deep snow. “This will be a little difficult for me to manage.”
He felt Emma take hold of his hand. Trusting her to not let him run into anything, he walked beside and the tiniest bit behind her, aiming for the shape of the inn.
“Madra looks like she would very much enjoy running around in the snow,” Emma said, “but she’s keeping a very close eye on you instead.”
“She has learned well over the years which situations are hardest for me to navigate. If not for the fact that my nieces and nephews spoil her when the family gets together, I think she’d never leave my side when the O’Connors are around.”
“Well, if Madra abandons you, I will stay close.”
“Assuming the family hasn’t magically discovered that there’s a new O’Connor, this visit shouldn’t be too overwhelming.”
“I’ll reiterate what I said a couple of days ago,” Emma said. “I really think you ought to tell them. If they knew all of them together was so overwhelming, I think they’d not merely be willing to make adjustments but would be eager to.”
The family cherished their gatherings. The enormity of it was part of what they all loved about being together; everyone was there. That many people couldn’t help but be chaotic and loud. He wouldn’t diminish their joy to try to accommodate him.
It is a world built for us rather than one we have to find a way to navigate.
Cecily’s description of the Missouri School for the Blind had continually returned to his thoughts the past weeks.
Nothing in this world was designed with him in mind.
He always adjusted. But sometimes the adjustments were too much.
Finbarr pushed those thoughts from his mind. He had promised Emma he would spend the next two weeks assuming he was staying and moving forward here. That meant not dwelling on what it would be like to live in a place where he fit so easily.
“Do you think Patrick and Eliza would mind if we let ourselves in?” Emma asked. They’d reached the back of the inn. Finbarr didn’t know this side of the building well. “I don’t know that they’re expecting anyone,” she continued, “and might not hear us if we knock.”
“I’m certain they won’t mind.”
The door creaked a little as it opened. The front door didn’t.
Finbarr knew that with certainty because he’d once attempted to use that as a clue to new arrivals when the family gathered at the inn.
It didn’t work. He relied instead on trying to count footsteps and distinguish voices.
Which worked very poorly when dozens of people were around.
They stepped inside. It was a little dimmer than outside but also warmer.
“If directly in front of you is twelve on a clock,” Emma said, “there’s a table at about ten, a wall at three. The door we’re aiming for is at about one.”
It was a very efficient way of giving him his bearings. And she managed to say it without making him sound like a simpleton or a child. He appreciated that.
He set the tip of his cane on the floor. Emma let go of his hand, which was more disappointing than he expected. Had she only offered it in order to be a guide? And why did that possibility bother him?
“Do you have a guess?” she asked. “Patrick and Eliza’s new little one: a boy or a girl?”
“The O’Connors tend to have boys,” he said. “I think my best chance of being correct is to guess in that direction.”
“Then, I will guess that it’s a girl, simply to be contrary.”
“You haven’t been contrary a day in your life, Emma.”
“Well, perhaps I’m turning over a new leaf.”
He wasn’t an unhappy person, and he certainly smiled more than he had in the first few years after the fire.
But he was discovering that Emma Archer had the uncanny ability to bring that particular expression to the surface.
Even with the heavy burden she was carrying and the uncertainty lying ahead of both of them, she managed to lighten him.
They stepped out of the back work area and into the large public room of the inn. Finbarr could see just enough of the shape and expanse of it to know where they were. Madra kept close to Finbarr’s leg, likely remembering that this space was one where Finbarr was often on edge.
“Patrick is approaching at about two o’clock, and he looks exceptionally excited to see you.”
“Thank you for the warning,” Finbarr said out the side of his mouth.
An instant later, Patrick was there. “What’s brought the two of you out here?”
“Dr. Jones came by to look in on Eimear,” Finbarr said, “and he told us there’s someone here we might want to meet.”
“The whisper train has begun, I see. How long do you suspect before the rest of the family descends?”
“I haven’t the first idea,” Finbarr said. “But I suspect not long.”
“Dr. Jones assured us that Eliza and your new little one are both doing well,” Emma said.
“They are. My Eliza’s already anxious to get back to the running of things. I’m not certain she ever rests from anything.”
“Is there anything we can do to help while we’re here?” Emma asked.
There was something very intriguing about the ease with which both he and Emma had begun referring to themselves as we.
Finbarr no longer felt exiled from his family—having time alone at home was crucial to keeping himself from being entirely overwhelmed—but it had been a very long time since he’d felt truly part of things, truly connected to someone.
To feel that again with Emma, who’d been distant for so long, was unexpected but also entirely welcome.
“Come gush over the baby a bit,” Patrick said, “and you’ll make Eliza as happy as a lark.”
Emma took Finbarr’s hand again and walked with him, following the vague shape of Patrick.
It wasn’t necessary, but Finbarr wasn’t going to object.
And, a moment later, he was actually grateful she’d done it.
Patrick was moving a bit too quickly and slipped out of Finbarr’s ability to make out the shadow of him.
“Finbarr! And Miss Emma!” Eliza’s lower-class London accent was always easy to pick out, even in a field of voices. “You’ve come to meet our new little one?”
“And to settle a bet between us,” Finbarr said.
“A bet?” Patrick asked with a laugh.
“Whether or not I have a new little nephew or a new little niece.”
“Patrick’s walking towards you with the baby,” Emma said quietly and quickly. She took his cane from his hand. Madra nudged up closer.
“Gemma. Your newest niece.” Patrick sat a warm bundle in his arms.
“Gemma.” He brushed his fingers lightly and gently over the little face, attempting to gain some idea of what she might look like. A little bit of hair. And rounded cheeks.
“Her hair is red like yours,” Emma said. “But her eyes look just like Patrick’s.”
Patrick had been away from the family since Finbarr was tiny, so he had no memory of what that brother looked like. But he’d been told Patrick looked shockingly like Tavish, which made Patrick feel less like a stranger.
“Uncle Finbarr! You’ve met Gemma!”
Eliza and Patrick’s children sounded so much alike that he couldn’t always tell their voices apart. But Eoin always greeted Madra first. This, then, was Lydia.
“I’m meeting her just now. You have a sweet little sister here.”
“She’s so tiny.”
“Babies usually are.”
In a quiet voice, Emma said, “There’s a rocking chair at four o’clock, likely three steps from you, if you want to sit down while you hold Gemma.”
Finbarr made his way carefully to where she had indicated the chair was and found it easily. He sat and held his little niece.
“Papa!” Eoin’s little voice came from the doorway. “The family’s come. I saw them out the window. Madra!” His footsteps rushed over. Eoin never missed an opportunity to spend time with Madra.
“You were right, Finbarr,” Patrick said. “Didn’t take the family long.”
Blast it. He’d had mere minutes. Everything would be chaos now. He’d get lost in it.
“Let’s go greet your family, love,” Eliza said. “They’ll want to meet the baby.”
“Could Finbarr have some time with Gemma before they descend?” Emma asked. “I think, as her most punctual uncle, he deserves that.”
Patrick chuckled. “I think we can manage that. Ma won’t be patient for long, though.”
Finbarr suspected the last warning was meant for him. “I’ll get my fill before I have to hand her over.”
He held little Gemma close, setting to memory the feel of her, the weight of her, how his heart made a new place for another beloved little one.
She wriggled but not with any discomfort or unhappiness.
He’d guess she was actually probably sleeping.
He wished he could tell. Still, this moment with her, uninterrupted and without distraction, was a gift.
“Miss Emma, are you going to go to the school again?” Eoin asked. Based on where his voice was coming from and his love of Madra, the lad was sitting right at Finbarr’s feet. “Sean didn’t think so, but Rigger says anyone can go to the school, so I think you could.”
“I did have a lovely day at school,” Emma had a knack for talking with children in a way that was appropriate to their age without being patronizing. “I think I would like going to the school again, but I don’t know if it would fit with your teacher’s lessons.”
“Lydia says Miss Groves is very solemn,” Eoin said.
“She’s in a new town with new students in a new school,” Emma said. “She’s probably simply trying to sort it all out.”