Chapter Thirty-two
“Idon’t know who likes that rattle more, Katie or Finn. The baby likes the sound it makes. Katie can’t stop talking about how beautiful it is.”
Finbarr was certain his pride beamed unmistakably in his face as he wound the rope he’d just finished helping Joseph repair. He was tempted to tell Joseph he’d made the rattle. But word would get back to Ma. Finbarr wasn’t ready for the storm of worry that would cause.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said.
His attention was caught by the sound of something in the direction of the door. He thought it might have been a person, but he wasn’t sure. The wind was blowing hard that night and rattling enough things that it was difficult to sort it all.
“It’s Emma,” her voice sounded from the doors.
Emma? In the barn?
“Katie sent me out here to convince Finbarr to stay for supper.” She sounded absolutely miserable. “Please say you will, Finbarr. I’m supposed to stay out here until you do.”
He knew how terrifying that would be for her.
“I’ll stay.”
“Thank you.” The two words escaped fast and frantic. Woven in with the sound of the wind he felt certain he heard her leave.
“It’s been a while since she ran away from you,” Joseph said.
“She wasn’t running from me. She was running from the barn.”
“Why would she run from the barn?”
Emma’s family didn’t know how heavy this burden still was for her.
“She has very difficult memories associated with this place.”
“This is a different barn than the one that burned,” Joseph said, taking the rope from him.
“It’s not different enough. From what I’ve learned, no barn is different enough for her.”
“She won’t have spent time in any barns in Baltimore,” Joseph said. “I’m certain that was helpful.”
“She also won’t have gone to any céilís or held her baby brother or been hugged by her Papa,” Finbarr said. “I think that has been crushingly difficult.”
They made their way toward the house. The path had been walked enough that it was navigable on foot.
“Do you think Emma could be convinced to stay?” Joseph’s question was quiet but urgent. “Baltimore is so far away.”
“I believe she’s considering it.” Finbarr hoped he wasn’t speaking out of turn. He was doing his best not to reveal things he felt she would want to keep confidential.
“I don’t know if I can let her go again.” Joseph very seldom sounded defeated, but he was tiptoeing in that direction. “I have this terrible suspicion, one I think is correct, that if she leaves again we won’t get her back.”
Finbarr wished that didn’t feel so true.
They stepped inside the house. There was a bustle of activity in the dining room when he and Joseph arrived there. Finbarr couldn’t make out much of it.
Someone stepped up beside him.
“It’s Sybil.” Sybil hooked her arm through his and guided him around the table.
“It’s Mrs. Paxton’s day to herself, and she’s spending the evening with a friend.
I’ve discovered that our Emma, darling of Baltimore society, is exceptionally talented in the kitchen.
Our friends would be shocked, I will tell you that. ”
“Then they don’t know her very well. She has a lot of talents.”
“Yes, she does.”
From his other side, Ivy said, “It’s Ivy. There’s a chair right next to you for you to sit in.”
He sat, and heard Ivy take the seat next to him.
“Emma’s going to sit on your other side,” Ivy said.
“Papa’s sitting on your right all the way at the head of the table.
Katie’s at his left. Sean is sitting across the table from you, next to Sybil.
Eimear’s meant to sit at the foot of the table, but she usually sits wherever she wants, tossing people out of their seats if she chooses. ”
Finbarr smiled at that. Eimear had the Irish fire he was all too familiar with, having grown up around a great many fiery Irish women.
“Thank you for letting me know where everyone is. Saves me the work of sorting it all out.”
“I noticed Emma does it.” There was a shrug in Ivy’s tone. “I figured it must be helpful.”
How quickly Emma had secured him the bit of consideration he’d not managed to ask for. And she’d done it without making him feel pathetic.
There was a tug at his sleeve. He turned in that direction, but couldn’t make out enough.
“I want to sit with you,” Eimear said.
“I’m told that you sit wherever you want. Who am I to buck tradition?”
The little girl climbed onto his lap and settled in. She leaned back against him, still seeming tired and worn out from her recent ordeal.
The rustle of a dress and footsteps preceded the scrape of chair legs next to him.
“It’s Emma,” she said, apparently sitting in the chair next to him.
Dinner began, and, as each dish was passed around, Finbarr was, quickly and without dramatics, told what everything was and where. This was a much smaller gathering than the O’Connors’, but it gave him hope that gatherings didn’t have to be so overwhelming.
In the midst of the conversations, Eimear twisted a little on his lap, something she did when talking to him. “Finn cried all night. I don’t think he should do that. Everyone was very tired.”
“Babies tend to cry,” he said. “Fortunately, they eventually outgrow it.”
“I’m glad. I like Finn, but I don’t like his crying.”
He gave her a quick little hug.
“A friend of ours in Baltimore,” Sybil said, “has an older sister who married a couple of years ago. They had a baby last year. We were all gathered at Mrs. Archer’s house for a bit of tea, and her sister waxed on at length about how shocking it was that her baby was so ill-behaved.
We finally realized all she meant was that the baby cried.
Apparently, she had no idea babies cried. ”
The story was told in such a tone of amused shock that the family laughed right along with her.
“Is that really true, Emma?” Ivy asked. “How could anyone not know that a baby cries?”
“It’s true.” Emma’s response was flat and quick.
She sounded as miserable as she had in the barn, and yet they were nowhere near it.
Inside, surrounded by family, enjoying a nice meal, but she sounded distant and distraught.
Perhaps that brief moment outside had been more difficult for her than she’d expected.
He leaned a little closer to her and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry you had to go to the barn. I know you don’t like it.”
In that same distant tone, she answered, “It’s fine.” But it didn’t sound fine at all.
She offered no more explanation, no discussion. She didn’t seem at all inclined to talk. Emma never had been overly talkative, but she wasn’t usually this withdrawn. Or at least hadn’t been with him in weeks.
She didn’t grow any more open or sound any less burdened as the meal wound to its close.
The Archers had an arrangement in their home on the nights that Mrs. Paxton wasn’t working.
Katie and Ivy made the meal—this time with Emma’s help—and Joseph and Sean saw to the clean up after supper.
Finbarr offered to take Sean’s place, an offer which was accepted so quickly he almost hadn’t finished making it.
As he and Joseph cleaned the kitchen, Finbarr brought up the topic he’d been pondering throughout the meal. “Emma was worryingly quiet during supper. Have you any idea what might be weighing on her?”
“The look on her face isn’t angry,” Joseph said. “I don’t think she’s had a spat with anyone. She looks sad more than anything, but I don’t know why.”
“Has the teacher been nagging at her again?” he said. “She had rather pointed things to say to her the day Emma made off with her paddle.”
“I suppose that’s possible. The town council fired Miss Groves, but she can’t leave until the stage returns. She might very well have crossed paths with Emma and been unkind.”
“I’ll see what I can discover,” Joseph said.
“Emma’s happier than she was when she first arrived. I don’t want that to slip away.”
“We won’t let that happen.” Joseph’s voice was firm and determined.
Finbarr had started working for Joseph when he was only fourteen years old, earning money for land of his own and learning how to be a good steward of it.
Joseph had also taught him a lot about how to look after people.
He managed to walk that fine line between diplomat and fierce defender.
Joseph would manage that again, Finbarr didn’t doubt. He only hoped it would help.
But, while he knew Miss Groves was entirely capable of being unkind to Emma, in the back of his mind he was almost certain that wasn’t the source of Emma’s current unhappiness.
It was something else. He felt sure he could piece it together if he thought on it a little bit longer.
And he meant to do exactly that. Even if it meant passing a night as sleepless as the one the Archers had with Finn’s nocturnal crying, he would sort out what it was.
His Emma deserved to be happy after all of these years.