Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) (17 page)

And she loved working with Flynn.

Maggie and Flynn worked together every day until the
end of April.  Then, the Major stopped Maggie on her way back to the boarding
house.  “We’re leaving tomorrow, Maggie.”

Maggie swallowed hard.  Her eyes stung with tears. 
She held out her hand.  “Thank you, Major.  For everything.”

“Good luck, Maggie.”

She nodded, unable to speak.  She turned and walked
past the barn.

“O’Brien!”

She turned.

Flynn stood in the doorway.  He leaned against the
jamb.  “See you next spring.”

Maggie nodded.  She turned and walked back to the
boarding house.  She went into Mrs. Hamilton’s room and sat on the sofa.  She
buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

And for the life of her, she didn’t know why she was
crying.

*  *  *

Summer passed slowly.  St. Jo was hot and smelly. 
The boarding house was half-empty.  Maggie helped with the chores, but
there were few boarders, and by two o’clock, she was finished.  She went down
to the docks and watched the river boats come and go.  One hot August
afternoon, a boat docked and two men came down the gangplank carrying a third
man.  They threw him onto the pier and walked back up the plank.

Lucy O’Brien ran down the plank and knelt beside
Michael.  Maggie sighed and went to her mother.  Michael’s face was bloody and
bruised.  Lucy wept loudly.

Maggie sighed.  “Mother, help me carry him to the
boarding house.”

“Maggie?”  Lucy stared at her as if she were a
ghost.

Maggie nodded.  “You take his feet, I’ll take his
shoulders.”

Lucy simply stared.

“Mother!”  Maggie mimicked the tone Sam used on a
particularly thick-headed city slicker.

Lucy O’Brien bent down and lifted Michael’s legs. 
Together, they carried Michael back to the boarding house.

Mrs. Hamilton opened the door before they reached
the porch.  “Their old room is available, Maggie.  You can take him up there.”

Maggie nodded.  She and her mother carried Michael
up the stairs.  They laid him on the bed.  Maggie undressed him.  There were
bruises on his chest and arms and legs.  She probed his chest gently.

He cried out in pain.

Maggie nodded.  She turned to Lucy.  “Go downstairs
and ask Mrs. Hamilton if she has any old sheets.  His ribs are broken.  We’re
going to need to bandage them.  And bring up some hot water.”

“Mary Margaret O’Brien, I am your mother, not your
servant.”

Maggie stood up and faced her mother levelly.  “Fine. 
You take care of him.”  She turned to go.

“Maggie, wait!”  Lucy took her arm.  She turned and
ran down the stairs.

Maggie sighed.  She poured some water into the basin
and began to wash the blood from Michael’s face.

He winced and his eyes opened.  “Maggie?”

She nodded.

“I—I’m sorry.  I’m sorry we abandoned you.  I’m
sorry I cheated at cards.”  Tears of remorse filled his blue eyes.

Maggie swallowed hard.  “Is that why they threw you
off the river boat?  Because you were cheating?”

To her surprise, he nodded.  He started to cough.

Maggie said nothing.  She felt as if she had been
leaning into the wind when it suddenly stopped.  She swallowed hard.  “Don’t
try to talk,” she said.

Michael nodded and shut his eyes.  He coughed again,
a hollow sound, like the boom of a drum.

Maggie shivered despite the heat.

*  *  *

Michael was sick for six weeks.  Maggie nursed him
while Lucy went back to work for Diane.  At the end of the six weeks, Michael was
thin and pale, but his cough had cleared up and he had no fever.

That night, he came home drunk.

Maggie ran down the stairs to Mrs. Hamilton’s rooms
and knocked on the door.

Mrs. Hamilton opened the door.  She took one look at
Maggie and pulled her inside.  She made Maggie a cup of hot chocolate.  Maggie
sat and sipped it slowly.  She shut her eyes.  “I thought—I was hoping—“

Mrs. Hamilton sighed.  “I’ve seen my share of
drunkards over the years, Maggie.  They almost never stop.”

Maggie sighed and set down the china cup.  “I’d
better go upstairs.  They’ll fight, and he’ll hit my mother, and it will start
all over again.”

“Why don’t you go back to your grandparents, child? 
You have enough money saved up for the fare.  And Lucy would never even notice
that you’re gone.”

Maggie shook her head.  “I owe that money to Major
Anders.  Besides, my grandfather would say I was running away from my problems.” 
She shut her eyes.  “And if I’m not there to stop him, someday, my father will
beat my mother to death.”

“Maggie, he may do that anyway,” Mrs. Hamilton said
gravely.

Maggie smiled sadly.  “I know.  But she’s my
mother.  I have to try.”

“All right.”  Mrs. Hamilton hugged her.  “And
remember that there is always a place for you here.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton.  For everything.”  Maggie
left the shelter of Mrs. Hamilton’s rooms.  She climbed the stairs slowly, like
an old woman.

“Michael!  How could you?”  Lucy’s voice carried
down the stairs like a bad smell.

Maggie winced.  She ran up the stairs and opened the
door just in time to grab her father’s arm.  He cursed her.  He pulled free and
left the room.

Lucy started to cry.

Maggie wished that she could run away from
everything like her father.

*  *  *

October came, and Sam returned to St. Jo.  He smiled
when he saw Maggie, but his smile faded swiftly.  “You look awfully pale, young
lady.  What’s wrong?”

Maggie looked away.

Gently, Sam took her chin between his thumb and
forefinger and turned her to face him.  “Your folks are back, aren’t they?”

Maggie nodded.

Sam sighed.  “So Mike is still drinking.”

Maggie nodded again.

“He’s beating his wife, Sam.”  Mrs. Hamilton entered
the parlor quietly.

Sam looked so angry that Maggie took a step back. 
He turned and strode up the stairs.  Maggie started after him, but Mrs.
Hamilton laid her hand on Maggie’s arm and shook her head.  “No, child.  Stay
here.  Let Sam handle this.”

Maggie nodded solemnly.  She heard the Major’s bass
bellow and Michael’s tenor whine.  She winced.  She heard a thump, as something
or someone hit the floor.  She ran up the stairs and ran into the room.  Sam
knelt over her father’s body.  Maggie beat on his back with her fists.  “What
did you do to my father?”

“Nothing, Maggie.  I didn’t touch him.  It’s the
drink.  He’s having a fit.”

Maggie ran to the desk and yanked open the drawer. 
She drew out a pencil and jammed it between Michael’s teeth.  She slid a pillow
under his head while Sam held his arms down so he didn’t hit Maggie.  Finally,
the convulsions stopped.

Sam looked at Maggie.  “Has he done this before?”

She shook her head.

“Then how in the blue blazes did you know what to
do?”

Maggie shrugged.  “My grandmother had a set of
medical books.  When I ran out of poetry and novels, I used to read them.”

Sam shook his head.  “I’ve got a feeling I made a
big mistake not taking you with me last year.  Cholera hit us just outside Lancaster.
 I lost nearly half my people.”

Maggie looked at him and blinked.  “Mr. Thompson?”

Sam nodded.  “He made it, Maggie.  But his wife didn’t.”

Maggie bowed her head.  “I’m sorry.”

Michael groaned.

Sam sighed.  He picked up Michael and laid him on
the bed.  “Keep him quiet, if you can.  If he wakes up with the horrors or the
shakes, give him a little of this.”  He handed her a flask.  “Otherwise, he
might go into convulsions again.  It’s like weaning a foal.”

Maggie nodded.  “Thanks, Major.”

Sam smiled at her.  “If you need me, I’m just down
the hall.”

Maggie bowed her head.  “I—I never had help with
them before.”

Sam laid his large hand on her shoulder.  “Well, it’s
about time you did.”

*  *  *

It took nearly a week to wean Michael off the
whiskey.  At the end of the week, he was pale and thin, and his cough was back.

Maggie placed her palm against his forehead.  It was
hot to the touch.  “Papa, you’ve got to stop drinking.  It’s killing you.”

“I know.”  Her father looked away from her.  “If I
could just get to California.  I know I could stop drinking, Maggie.  I know I
could succeed there.”

Maggie bit her lip.  She went down the stairs and
knocked on Mrs. Hamilton’s door.  The older woman opened it.  “Yes, Maggie?”

“Can I have my wooden box, please?”

Mrs. Hamilton shook her head.  “Not as long as you’re
staying with Michael and Lucy.  He’ll just steal your money and drink it up.”

Maggie nodded.  “I know.  I want to ask Sam if it’s
enough for passage to California for three people.”

Mrs. Hamilton sighed.  “All right.”  Together they
climbed the stairs to Sam’s room.  He counted the money slowly and then counted
it again.

Finally, he shook his head.  “Maggie, I’m sorry.  It’s
not even close.”

Maggie nodded.  “Well, thanks anyway, Major.”

He nodded.

She turned away.  She handed the box back to Mrs.
Hamilton and left the boarding house.  She walked to the Church of St. Joseph. 
The pews were polished wood, and inside smelled of candle wax and wood polish. 
Maggie knelt in front of the statue of the father of Jesus and crossed herself
slowly.  “Saint Joseph, help me.  I don’t know what to do.  If my father goes
on drinking, he’ll die!”

She stayed on her knees a long time, but only
silence answered her.  She stood and left the empty church.  Outside, it was
raining, a cold gray drizzle.  Maggie slogged through the muddy streets to the
boarding house.  At the back door, she kicked off her boots and ran up the back
stairs.

Michael was gone.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A month later, someone knocked on the door of Mrs.
Hamilton’s boarding house.

Maggie opened the door.  Flynn stood in the
doorway.  Her face felt hot, and her pulse hammered in her throat.  She opened
her mouth and shut it.  What was she going to say?  Hello.  My name is
O'Brien—only it isn't.  It's Maggie, and I'm not a boy, I'm a girl.  She
realized that she was staring at Flynn so she cleared her throat.  “Can I help
you?”  To her utter embarrassment, her voice squeaked.

Flynn leaned against the doorjamb with his arms
folded.  The way he stood did interesting things to his hips and torso.  “You’re
not Mrs. Hamilton.”

Maggie shook her head.  “No.  I’m Maggie, Maggie O’Brien.” 
Her voice squeaked again, and she winced.

“O’Brien?”  Flynn’s mouth twitched slightly.  “Do
you have a brother?”

Maggie’s blush deepened.  “Not exactly.  Mrs.
Hamilton is in the kitchen.  If you’re looking for a room, we have plenty of
vacancies this time of year.”

“No.  I’m looking for Major Anders.”

“And a free meal.”  Mrs. Hamilton came out of the
kitchen.  “How are you, Flynn?  Broke already?”

Flynn grinned.  “You know me too well.”

“Come on in, Flynn.  You’re credit is always good
with me.”

He brushed past Maggie, closer than she was
comfortable with.  He kissed Mrs. Hamilton on the cheek, and Maggie felt a pang
of jealousy.  Flynn smiled warmly at Mrs. Hamilton.  “When are you going to
have that no-good husband of yours declared legally dead and marry me?”

“When you stop flirting with every woman under the
age of thirty.”  Mrs. Hamilton turned to Maggie.  “Show Mr. Flynn upstairs. 
Put him in the room next to Sam.”

Maggie nodded.  She led the way up the stairs to the
second floor.

“Are you
sure
you don’t have a brother?”

Her back stiffened.  “I’m sure, Mr. Flynn.”  Maggie
spoke with an icy authority.  She opened the door to the room.

Flynn entered the room.  As he squeezed past her,
she caught a whiff of soap and leather and clean, fresh air.  He turned to
her.  “What time is supper around here?”

“It’s almost ready, Mr. Flynn.  You have just enough
time to wash.”  Maggie kept her tone as stern as a schoolmarm’s.  She turned
and walked down the stairs with her head held high.

His laughter followed her.

Maggie tried to keep busy in the kitchen, but her
thoughts kept returning to Flynn.  She carried a heavy platter into the dining
room.

Flynn scooped it out of her hands.  “Here, let me
help you with that.”

Maggie snatched the platter out of his hands and
tilted her chin up.  “I can manage, thank you.”

Grinning, Flynn took the platter out of her hands
again.  This time, he held it over her head.  Scowling, Maggie went back into
the kitchen for another platter.

When everything was ready, Mrs. Hamilton rang the
dinner bell.  Maggie sat next to Mrs. Hamilton.  Flynn sat across from her.  He
ate slowly, savoring every bite.

Maggie looked down at her pot roast and tried to
eat.

Flynn set down his fork and stared at her, as if
memorizing her face.  Slowly, he smiled.  “Tell me, Miss O’Brien, have you ever
read
A Tale of Two Cities
?”

Maggie choked on a piece of meat.  Sam pounded her
on the back.

Grinning, Flynn looked down at his plate.

Maggie took a sip of water and scowled at him.

Sam looked from one of them to the other.  “Flynn? 
What are you up to?”

Flynn raised his head and looked at Sam innocently. 
“Nothing, Sam.”

“Hmph.”  Sam cut a piece of pot roast and stuffed it
into his mouth.

Flynn grinned once again.

And then, the doorbell rang.

Mrs. Hamilton started to get up.

Maggie folded her napkin, grateful for an excuse to
get away from Flynn.  “I’ll go.”  She went to the foyer and opened the door. 
She recognized the dark blue uniform of a Western Union messenger, and her
stomach started to ache. 

“Telegram for Miss Mary Margaret O’Brien?”

Maggie swallowed hard.  “That’s me.”  She took the
yellow envelope.  Her hands shook as she opened it.  “Regret to inform you that
your grandparents are ill, not expected to live...”  Her hand tightened into a
fist, crumpling the yellow sheet of paper.

Flynn touched her shoulder gently.  “What is it,
Miss O’Brien?”

Maggie turned to him slowly.  “It’s my
grandparents.  They’re sick.”

“Who’s sick?”  Sam walked into the crowded foyer.

“My grandparents.  Major, how much does it cost to
travel to Lawrenceville by stagecoach?”  Her voice shook, but she managed to
hold back her tears.

“You can’t travel in a coach alone, Maggie.”

Maggie tilted her chin up.  “I’ll do whatever I have
to do.  They’re my grandparents.”

Slowly, Sam nodded.  “All right, Maggie.  I’ll loan
you my scout.  I won’t need him for months yet.”

“What?”  Flynn’s voice rose.  He turned and glared
at Sam.  “You’re going to loan me out?  To look after a child?  I’m a scout,
not a nursemaid.”

Maggie glared at him.  “And I’m not a child.  I’m fifteen
years old, for goodness sake.”  She turned to Sam.  “Now if you’ll just tell me
how much—“

“All right, Flynn.  I’ll pay you.”  Sam fished into
his pocket.

“No.”  Maggie stepped between Flynn and Sam.  “Just
tell me how much the fare to Lawrenceville costs, and I’ll be on my way.”

Sam turned to his scout.  “Flynn?”

Flynn sighed.  “All right.  Miss O’Brien, I’ll
escort you for twenty dollars.”

Maggie shook her head.  “I don’t need your help, Mr.
Flynn.  Not even for twenty cents.”  She turned and stalked up the stairs.

Flynn followed her.  He caught her at the top of the
stairs and grasped her arm.  He turned her to face him.  “Maggie O’Brien, I
have buried too many people I care about.  I will not let you go alone.”

Maggie pulled away from him and ran to her room. 
She slammed the door.  A few minutes later, someone knocked.  “Go away!”

“It’s me.  Kate.”

Maggie sighed and opened the door.

Kate stood in front of her for a few moments.  Then,
she sighed.  “Maggie, we care about you, Sam and I.  And so does Flynn, in his
own way.”

Maggie looked away.  “I’m not used to that.”

Kate smoothed her hair.  “I know, Maggie.”  Gently,
she turned Maggie to face her.  “Now go down there and haggle with Flynn like
your grandfather taught you.  Twenty dollars is way too much.”

Maggie laughed shakily and nodded.  She left the
shelter of her parents’ room and walked down the stairs.  “All right, Mr.
Flynn.  But five dollars is more like it.”

Slowly, Flynn grinned.  “That’s an insult.  Fifteen.”

Maggie folded her arms across her skinny chest.  “Ten. 
Take it or leave it.”

Flynn’s smile broadened.  “Done.”  He held out his
hand.

Maggie took it.

He eyed her speculatively.  “Well, O’Brien, I guess
we get to ride together.  That is, if you can keep up.”

Maggie blinked.  “You knew all along?”

Grinning, he nodded.  He turned and started up the
stairs.

She lifted her chin.  “Robert Sean Flynn, you are
the most pig-headed, stuck-up, insufferable man who has ever drawn
a breath!”

Flynn’s laughter drifted down the stairs.

*  *  *

Maggie woke before dawn.  She felt eager and
excited.  Then she remembered why she and Flynn were traveling together, and
she felt guilty.  She sighed and got out of bed.  She walked down the stairs to
the kitchen.

Mrs. Hamilton was already there.  She smiled at
Maggie and set a plate filled with eggs and bacon in front of her.  Flynn came
in a few minutes later.  His hair was tousled, and Maggie felt a strange
sensation in the pit of her stomach when she looked at him.  She looked away
quickly.

Sam came into the kitchen.  He handed her a pair of
saddlebags.  “The coach is too expensive, Maggie.  I won't need my horses until
the spring.  And I’ve got an old saddle you can borrow, too.  All you need to
do is buy supplies."

Maggie swallowed hard.  “Thank you, Major.”

Mrs. Hamilton went into the mudroom behind the
kitchen.  She came back a few minutes later carrying an old sheepskin jacket.  “One
of my boarders left this here a couple of years ago.  You’ll need it, this time
of year.”

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears.  “Thank you.”

Flynn poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at
the table with the pot.  He offered Maggie a cup.

She shook her head.

“You’d better.”  He frowned at her.  “We’re not
going to stop long today, just long enough to rest the horses.”

Maggie nodded haughtily.  She took a sip and made a
face.  Without a word, Flynn took the cup out of her hand.  He put a lump of
sugar and a lot of milk into it.  He stirred it and handed it back to her.

Maggie took a taste and nodded.  She ate the eggs
and bacon quickly.  After breakfast, she ran up the stairs, carrying the
saddlebags.  She packed a clean shirt and a pair of dungarees.  She hesitated
and packed her copy of
Henry VI
.  She picked up Martha and then,
reluctantly, she laid the doll back on her pillow.  “I’ll be back as soon as I
can, Martha.”

The rag doll smiled her painted smile.

Maggie ran back down the stairs.

Mrs. Hamilton hugged Maggie.  “You be careful.”

Maggie nodded.

Flynn cleared his throat.  “Well, O’Brien, are you
ready to go?”

“Yes, Mr. Flynn.”

Together, they left the boarding house and walked to
the corral near the stockyards.  Flynn whistled, and Scout ran to the fence. 
Flynn smiled and patted his horse.  Scout nudged his chest.  Flynn patted his
pocket.  “Sorry, big fella.  I forgot your sugar lumps again.”

Maggie fished in her pocket and handed one to Flynn.

He stared at her for a moment, and then fed it to
Scout.  “Thanks, O’Brien.”

“Don’t mention it, Mr. Flynn.”  She hesitated.  “You
don’t want to take me, do you?”

“No, that’s not true.  I—“

“Liar,” Maggie said quietly, but she grinned to take
the sting out.

Flynn stared at her.  He looked back at his horse.  “I’m
a scout, not a babysitter.”

“And I’m not a baby.”  Maggie jumped onto Scout’s
bare back.

“Hey!”  Flynn climbed the fence, but he was too
late.  Maggie kicked Scout’s sides, and the horse moved into a trot.  He had a
smooth gait, reminding her of Rosalind.  Maggie flowed with him.

Flynn folded his arms.  “Well, I’ll be—“

Maggie turned back to him.  “I certainly hope not,
Mr. Flynn.”  She rode Scout back to the fence and got off.  She studied the
herd for a moment.  She waited until a small paint came near the fence.  She
got onto his back and put him through his paces.  She steered him back to the
fence with her knees and nodded.  “This one.  What’s his name?”

“Patches.”  Flynn nodded approvingly.  “Good choice.”

Maggie blushed.  “Thank you, Mr. Flynn.” 

Flynn laughed.  “Come on.  The morning’s half over. 
Do you have a bedroll?”

Maggie shook her head.

“Take Sam’s.”  He grinned.  “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Maggie climbed from Patches back to the fence.  She
shook her head.  “I’ll buy my own.”  She jumped down and walked to the General
Store.

Mr. Grover smiled at her.  “What can I do for you
today, Maggie?”

“I need a bedroll.  And a side of bacon and some
dried beef.”  She turned to Flynn.  “Do you know how to make trail bread?”

Flynn leaned his hip against the counter.  “I
am
a scout.”

“Yes, but can you cook?”

Mr. Grover made a choking sound.

Flynn tilted his hat back and nodded.  “Can you?”

Maggie blushed.  “Actually, no.”

Grover exploded into laughter.  “How much flour do
you need, Mr. Flynn?”

“Just a five pound sack.  She doesn’t look like she
eats much.”

Maggie shook her head.  “You’d better make that ten
pounds.  I’ve seen him eat.  And a sack of beans, please.”  Maggie dickered
with Grover for a few moments and then paid for the groceries.  Outside, she
sighed.  “I let him overcharge us, but we’re in a hurry.”

“Overcharge—that’s the best price I ever got for
flour.”

Maggie shrugged.  “When we get back, I’ll teach you
how to bargain.”  She mounted Patches.

Flynn spluttered.

“Are you coming or not, Mr. Flynn?”

With a sigh, he mounted Scout.  They rode side by
side.  As soon as they left the town behind, Flynn glanced at Maggie.  He
kicked Scout, and the horse leaped into a gallop.

Maggie and Patches caught up to them.  She glared at
him.  “Are you
trying
to kill the horses?”

Flynn reined in Scout.  “You are the most
infuriating child I ever met.”

“I told you.  I’m not a child.”  She kicked Patches,
and the horse trotted ahead.

Muttering an expletive, Flynn kicked Scout into a
gallop.

*  *  *

At noon, they stopped.  Maggie slid off Patches’
back and walked him until he cooled down.  Then, she let him drink a little
from the stream.

Flynn watched her and nodded approvingly.  “You
really do know how to take care of horses.”

Maggie nodded back.  “My grandfather taught me.”

“The one who’s sick?”

Maggie nodded.  Her eyes filled with tears.

For a moment, Flynn saw the charred ruins of his
village, the huddled bodies of the dead.  He drew a deep breath and opened his
eyes.  He reached toward Maggie and drew his hand back before he touched her.

Maggie sighed.  “You probably shouldn’t have come. 
I helped my grandmother nurse half the valley through the last cholera
epidemic.  You never knew who was going to catch it and who wasn’t, who was
going to live and who was going to—“  Her voice broke