Chapter Nine
Cass
Cass watched her cheeks flush at the compliment. It made him want to crow his success from the rooftops.
“I’m certain there’s no comparison between the simple fare I’ve prepared and the dishes chosen by your family’s gourmet chef, Mr. Trenton.”
“I assure you, madam, that is not the case. The dishes Jean Pierre sets in front of you are beautifully embellished but lacking in substance. Why does he think a plate with a pile of Swiss chard, a dollop of strawberry preserves and a spot of cream is enough for a grown man’s lunch serving?”
Her eyes lit with merriment. “Perhaps he’s used to feeding people with a more delicate constitution who appreciate his artistic efforts.”
“Give me a hearty stew any day over something that won’t fill my belly,” Mr. Edmonds intoned as he rubbed said protruding belly.
“Hear, hear,” agreed Cass, and held up his mug of ale.
Their landlady shook her head at their antics. “While I’m flattered by your compliments, I must leave you to finish while I take care of the apple butter I’ve left outside to cool.”
Cass pushed his chair back and stood. “I’ll help you.”
Jamie leapt to his feet as well. “I’ll help too, Mam.”
She gave her son a stern look. “You will not.You will do your homework because there’s a very great chance your schoolmaster’s forecast will amount to nothing.”
“What dire prediction has the schoolmaster made, James?” Cass asked.
The boy turned to him with shining eyes. “He said the clouds meant we’re gonna get heaps of snow.”
Cass had been stuck in a freak snowstorm in a mountain pass for three days. If he hadn’t had buckskins and a buffalo robe, and found a cave near a stand of trees he could use for kindling, he likely wouldn’t be here.
“I should help you make ready, Mrs. O’Shaugnessy.”
“You can carry the kettle inside. I’ll be scooping the apples into the stoneware tonight.”
“I’ll help you do that, as well.”
“You’re making us look like laggards, Mr. Trenton,” Mr. Edmonds jovially called.
“It’s not the responsibility of my guests to take on such tasks, Mr. Edmonds. Please enjoy the peach pie I’ve set out for your dessert.”
“You’re only letting me help because you’re afraid I’ll eat all the pie,” Cass teased.
“I truly could use the help. I’ve been on my feet all day stocking up the larder from the stores in the cellar and shaking out all the linens and quilts I took down from the attic,” she quietly told him.
Cass wanted to sooth away the lines of weariness that creased her brow.
“Perhaps the schoolmaster is wrong. Why was he so certain we’re in for a blizzard?”
“Jamie said something about the way the clouds looked.”
“Do you have plenty of coal and firewood?”
She nodded. “And kerosene. I have some tallow candles for back up as well. I’ve even set aside some corn to pop later.”
“Lead the way.”
“It’s in the backyard, over the firepit Liam set up for me the week I moved in. He built the outdoor hearth as well.”
It seemed that Deirdre’s brothers, especially Liam, were stepping in however they could. Probably as much as she would allow them to.
“Is your brother the one who also filled your shed with cords of wood?”
“Yes. And he and Seamus both patched the roof and fixed the steps going down to the root cellar.”
Cass cleared his throat. “And that’s sufficient? There’s no other work that needs to be done?”
She gave him a suspicious look. “I thought you were boarding with me because you had a disagreement with your father.”
“I did.”
“Then why are you asking about the upkeep of your lodgings?”
“I owe you that much at least. For leaving without a goodbye. For my long absence and the lack of correspondence.”
She harrumphed and glared at her boots. “I don’t need your pity, Cassius Trenton.”
“It’s not pity, Wildflower,” he said as he caught her sleeve just past the steps. She came to a halt and whirled to face him when they rounded the corner of the house.
“If it’s not pity, it’s something very close to it.” She closed her eyes and clenched her fists in the folds of her apron. “I don’t know if I should be angry or sad.”
“I always loved your anger and despised your tears,” he told her as he cupped her cheek.
“Don’t, Cass. Please don’t. I can’t let you do this to me again.”
Her plea was nearly a whisper, tremulous and full of swallowed tears.
“I never meant to hurt you, Wildflower. Just tell me how to atone for my sins.”
She blinked away the tears and tilted her chin away from his grasp.
“There are no sins to atone for. What happened between us was so long ago, I barely remember it. Loving you made me leave behind my childhood, and when you left that journey was complete. I think that’s all our journey was meant to be. ”
“Going out west made me grow up too. I realized what I’d left behind and it made me appreciate you even more. I was half hoping you’d still be here waiting when I returned.”
“You left me no choice but to move on without you. To make a new life for myself that wasn’t filled with memories of you around every corner.”
“You certainly didn’t waste any time healing your broken heart, did you, Wildflower? James can’t be older than seven - and I’ve been gone just over seven years.”
“Patrick O’Shaugnessy had always loved me and I needed someone who could do that.”
Cass studied her averted face. “You’d tell me if Patrick O’Shaugnessy wasn’t your son’s father, wouldn’t you?”
Her expression was shuttered when she turned to face him. “Patrick O’Shaugnessy was Jamie’s father in every way that meant something.”
Cass dropped his outstretched hand and laughed bitterly. “That’s not an answer and I wonder how many times you’ll make me apologize before you tell me the whole truth.”
“That is the whole truth. Stop badgering me about things we cannot change.”
He followed her the rest of the way in silence. Jamie looked nothing like Cass, and Patrick O’Shaugnessy had been a stalwart red-haired man, with hair darker than Deirdre’s. He needed to accept her declaration.
When they reached the kettle, he lifted it into his arms. “Where do you want this?”
“Set it in the kitchen by the stove. I rinsed the stoneware crocks this morning and they’re in a row on the floor beside it.”
Cass obediently carried it inside and set it on the floor. “Do you need my help with this too?” He gestured toward the crocks.
“No, if you can look in on Mary Kate and James and make sure they’re asleep and under the covers, I’d appreciate it.”
***
Cass checked in on Mary Kate first. Only the tiny moon of her face showed above the mound of blankets, and one fist was curled around the carving he’d made her the night they met.
That glimpse of serenity made him stagger backward.
If he’d had the courage to defy his father, the little girl lying in this bed would be his daughter.
James was sprawled on top of his blankets. His legs were tangled in the sheets and his arms were bare where he’d rucked up the sleeves of his night shirt with his tossing and turning.
Cass knelt beside the bed and nudged the boy. “James.”
The boy grunted and rolled over.
Cass shook him gently. “Jamie. We have to get you under the blankets. Your mother’s orders.”
Jamie grumbled as his eyes flickered open. “Mr. Trenton, whaddya doin’ here?”
“I’m making sure you don’t freeze to death, young sir. Let’s fasten the cuffs on your nightshirt and make you snug as a bug in a rug.”
Cass turned up the light in the kerosene lantern and lifted Jamie’s right arm. When he did, he saw there was a mark on the boy’s elbow. Cass’s breath hitched, even as he told himself it was nothing more than a scratch or the imprint of the rumpled clothing.
When the light fell fully on the tiny red mark shaped like a crooked crown, he knew his wildflower had been lying to him. Had held onto her deception for seven years and still clung to it.
The mark on Jamie’s elbow was a twin to the one on his own. The one all Trenton men carried.
Jamie was his son.
She’d been carrying him when Cass left and she’d never bothered to reach out to him.
She’d never believed that him and their love was enough to keep her safe.
She’d never believed that he was enough, as much as she’d claimed to love him.
She hadn’t trusted him enough to reach out to his family, to ask his sister and brother if they knew his whereabouts or where to find him.
He finished fastening the cuffs on his son’s nightshirt, carefully bundled him under the blankets, and went to find the boy’s mother.
He found her in the kitchen, stretching cheesecloth over the tops of the stoneware crocks. He fell into the chair beside the door.
“I saw the birthmark behind his elbow, Deirdre. It’s the same as mine. James Aloysius is my son,” he said hoarsely.