Sarah M. Eden - Love Remains

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Love Remains

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Dedicated to John and Mary,

Ive stood where you once worshiped and walked where you once walked. Though your lives remain a mystery, Ill not give up searching until I know you better.

Chapter One

A UGUST 1871

H OPE S PRINGS , W YOMING T ERRITORY

O n the night of his thirtieth birthday, Tavish OConnor resigned himself to a life of eternal bachelorhood. A man could only fall in love so many times. The best birthday gift he could give himself was to quit hoping that fate meant him to be anything other than unattached.

He certainly wouldnt be the first, nor the last, poor Irishman to live out life as a hermit. He had his land, his work, in addition to an ailing brother and broken family to occupy his time and thoughts. Those, he silently declared between bites of chocolate cake, were more than enough.

Convincing the women in his family of that truth, however, would be about as easy as convincing a cat to keep away from the cream pitcher.

Long after his siblings had returned to their respective homes, he sat at his parents table, leaving only him and his da to listen while his ma continued her unrelenting mission of finding him a wife by whatever means necessary.

The Macmillians have a daughter only two or three years younger than you are, she said as she dried a stack of plates.

There were no Macmillians in Hope Springs. Tavish could think of none back in New York, either.

Have you reached all the way back to Ireland, then? Tavish asked. Their tiny town hadnt many unwed women. Mas efforts had turned international.

The Macmillians were our dearest neighbors, Ma said. What was their daughters name, Thomas? she asked Da. Elizabeth or Mary or some such thing. You remember, the little one with red hair.

Shes likely married by now, dear, Da answered. Provided she survived the Hunger. Few of our neighbors did, youll remember.

Mas eyes dropped to her clasped hands. For a moment, she didnt speak, didnt look at either of them. Tavish knew that expression of remembered sorrow. The dark years of the Famine had left many scars.

He reached out and patted her hand reassuringly. Id wager the Queens jewels themselves that young Miss Macmillian is happy and healthy, and, Ive no doubt, quite, quite married.

Da crossed to the sideboard and slid another slice of cake onto his plate. No doubt.

Ma rallied quickly, though not entirely. Never entirely. The Buchanans in New York, she said. They had two or three daughters near Tavishs age. And though they arent Irish, they are Scottish, which would have made my father tremendously happy.

Two or three daughters, you say? Tavish whistled long. Id have m pick, wouldnt I? Perhaps you might root out a family with a full half-dozen daughters. Thatd be a grand thing, wouldnt it?

Ma swatted at him. None of your cheek, lad. Im helping you.

Why dont you help me to another slice of that cake? Id rather have that than all the redheaded Scotswomen you could dig up.

She doesnt have to be a Scotswoman, nor a ginger, Ma insisted.

Grand. Tavish grinned as broadly as he could manage. I think Ill find mself a golden-haired Englishwoman.

Bite your tongue, Da said.

Youve objections to golden hair?

Both of his parents leveled him looks of dry scolding. He assumed his most innocent expression, knowing perfectly well that the proposed hair color wasnt at all what his parents disliked.

Ma pointed at him with the last of her washed plates. Despite your sass, we will find someone.

He didnt doubt she fully meant to try. He also knew perfectly well that no objections on his part would put her off the scent.

There was only one thing for him to do: set her on another scent altogether.

I think its time and past we decided whats to be done about Finbarr.

On the instant, his parents grew quiet. Finbarr, the youngest of Tavishs siblings at barely seventeen, weighed heavily on the minds of the entire family.

Seven months earlier, the lad had lost nearly all his sight in a horrific fire. Desperate to help him, Tavish had left his crop unharvestedhis only source of income, knowing it would be ruined by the neglectand had taken him to a specialist in St. Louis, who declared Finbarrs condition inarguably permanent. His sight would not return; neither would it improve. This was Finbarrs new life, and something had to be done to help him live it. The doctor provided the name of a school for the blind in St. Louis, as well as directions for contacting a tutor he highly recommended, should they choose that route instead.

Ma sat at the table across from Da. I cannot countenance the idea of sending him away, Ma said. Hes far too young.

Hes seventeen years old, Tavish reminded her.

She shook her head. Its too much to ask of him. And of us.

Aye. Das nod was more one of acknowledgment than agreement. But he cannot go on as he is now. He spends too much time wallowing and fretting and pitying himself.

The lad was, in that moment, sitting out on the porch, alone, something he did far too often.

If were not to send him away, Tavish said, weve no choice but to hire a tutor to come here as the doctor recommended. Tavish didnt care to push his parents, especially knowing how fragile theyd been of late, with worries pressing on them so heavily. But something had to be done.