The Irish Bride (24 page)

Just as she slid the bread into the
oven, Aidan came through the back door.

“
I’ve got some grand news,”
he said. She could see he was excited—his blue eyes shone like dark
stars and he was grinning from ear to ear. He looked different to
her today. More rested, she thought, even though he hadn’t slept
much. She wiped her hands on her apron. “What is it? Did ye find us
a good parcel of land?”

“
Even better. I met with Dr.
McLoughlin, and he knows of a man who’s looking to sell his
sawmill. It comes with property and a house already
built.”

“
Sawmill—whatever is
that?”

He went to the stove and shook the
empty coffeepot. “You know, it’s where they make trees into lumber
for buildings or crates or, well, lots of different
things.”

She went to the hutch and took down
the teapot and tea cannister. “But I thought we were going to farm.
That’s what we talked about. That’s why we came here. For the free
acreage.”

“
I know. But if we farm,
we’ll probably have to clear the land and build a log cabin and
live with dirt floors again. It will take months and months. The
sawmill and the house already exist. All we have to do is move
in.”

She paused in her spooning
of tea into the pot. “Well, it’s not free, is it? Where will you
get the money to pay for it?” She waved the spoon at him, as a
thought occurred to her. “Oh,
no
. You’d better not be planning what
I think you’re planning,” she warned.

“
And what would that
be?”

“
You’re going to get into
another card game. Aidan, ye can’t. You just can’t risk what little
we have on such foolishness.”

He shook his head. “No, no, lass,
you’ve got it all wrong. The owner—his name is Geoffrey Brother—his
wife died recently, and he has no other family out here. He wants
to go back to Ohio, where he came from. Dr. McLoughlin confided
that he thinks the man has a broken heart and will just pine
away.”

“
So he’s giving you the
property? Really, Aidan, I’m smarter than that.” She poured boiling
water from the kettle over the leaves and put the lid back on the
teapot. She didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but all these months
she’d believed she’d finally get a chance to connect with the earth
again. To grow good crops and not have to worry about giving up the
harvest to pay the rent. Now Aidan had come home and thrown the
plan out the window.

“
Of course he’s not giving
it to me. But he’s been successful and he’s not hurting for money.
He’s willing to carry a contract. We’ll send the payments to him in
Ohio.”

“
Do you know anything about
sawing logs, or sawmilling, or whatever it’s called?”

“
No, but Mr. Brother has a
work crew that will stay on. He can give me the details before he
leaves and I can learn the rest on my own.”

She leaned a hip against the kitchen
table. “Aidan, this isn’t what we planned at all. You were so eager
to work the soil, to see your own vast acres under
plow.”

“
I’ll plant your kitchen
garden, Farrell, don’t worry about that. But this is better than
farming, and your life will be easier as a businessman’s wife than
a farmer’s,
a ghrá
.”

“
You might not think I’m so
‘darling’ if this doesn’t go well. We’ve been through so much
already.”

He came to her and took her upper arms
in his hands. “Ye trust me, don’t you?” He kissed both cheeks. “You
did last night.”

His comment made a flush creep up the
front of her throat and over her face. She nodded. “Aye, I trust
you.”

He arched a dark brow at her. “Can ye
say it as if you mean it, then?”

“
Didn’t I follow you all
these months and miles, because I believed in you?”

“
Is that why you came?” He
looked very pleased.

“
Yes, I suppose it
is.”

“
All right, then. We’re to
have supper tonight with Mr. Brother at his house. It will give you
a chance to see the place.”

“
Supper tonight?” She cast a
regretful glance at the oven where the soda bread was baking. “I
guess I’d better see what I have to wear.” She untied her apron and
left the kitchen, wondering what in the world was in store for them
now.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Aidan looked at the
machinery inside the mill with awe and a little intimidation. A
creek-fed water wheel supplied the power to cut logs with a system
of belts, gears, saws, and terms that were as foreign to him as
anything he’d heard yet. Geoffrey Brother referred to a host of
people and animals—
mule
,
dog
,
Swede
,
donkey
,
bear fighter
—but Aidan
saw no individual or animal anywhere. The place smelled of grease
and fresh-cut green wood, not an unpleasant combination.

“
In the summer we run the
mill twelve hours a day, from five-thirty to five-thirty,” Brother
told him over the racket of the machinery. “I’ve got a small crew,
about seven men, and though I’m not a wealthy man, I’ve done well
enough.”

Aidan nodded, following him through
the noisy place.

Suddenly a bell rang out, loud enough
to be heard over the din of everything else. “It’s quitting time,”
Brother added, looking at his pocket watch and then at the mill
foreman manning the bell. “Let’s go on, then. We’ve left Mrs.
O’Rourke on her own long enough.”

Farrell had remained in the house to
be served a cup of tea by the housekeeper. Accustomed to hard work
and lots of it, Farrell had never been waited upon until she’d
arrived in America. Mr. Brother also employed a cook, and one of
the mill workers who did odd jobs around the business maintained
the house’s yard as well.

This was a beautiful home, a huge
home, with a lush green lawn that sloped down to the Willamette
River. The view from the parlor window offered not only an unbroken
vista of the water, but the massive forest of trees on the other
side. As Farrell watched, a slow-moving barge floated by and ducks
waddled around on the grass. It was peaceful and yet
majestic.

After remarking so to Mrs. Hill, the
housekeeper, the Farrell was told, “Oh, yes, the late missus loved
this place. She chose the furniture and decorated the rooms
herself. I can’t believe she’s been gone almost a year.” She dabbed
at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Please forgive me—she
was so dear to me and she leaves a great gap with her
passing.”

From what Farrell could
gather, Ann Brother had died suddenly, perhaps from apoplexy. At
least that was what her doctor had said. Mrs. Hill made a noise of
disgust. “Doctors! You can’t believe a single one of them. If they
don’t know what’s wrong with a body, they just make up something
that sounds important so
they’ll
sound important. Miss Ann was barely thirty-five
years old—apoplexy is an old woman’s ailment.”

At last the weepy servant returned to
her kitchen and Farrell was left to investigate the parlor while
the men toured the mill. She was afraid to sit anywhere, afraid to
touch anything. She’d never seen such a wondrous place from the
inside, except for Greensward Manor. And she’d been so miserable
there, she’d barely taken note of her surroundings.

A lovely patterned carpet had a place
of honor at the center of the room, and the furnishings, artfully
arranged, were of good quality. Although she had no real experience
with such matters, Farrell had no trouble telling the difference
between these finely-finished, well-tended pieces, and the few
serviceable but crude ones they’d had back home.

A pianoforte stood against one wall, a
magnificent thing that she stared at in wonder. She’d heard of the
instrument, but never seen one. They were expensive, and only a
wealthy few could afford them.

And books, one wall was line
with bookcases, filled with different colored volumes of various
sizes.
Pride and Prejudice, Ivanhoe, Lives
of the Poets, The Pilgrim’s Progress
—she
was not familiar with the titles but she was curious. She was also
grateful that her mother had taught the village children to read so
that now the titles on the book spines were more than just a jumble
of symbols.

For a moment, just for a single
moment, she imagined sitting in this room in the evenings, a
crackling fire burning on the hearth, while she and Aidan sat here
reading and talking and drinking tea from flowered china cups that
had no chips in them. It was an enchanting daydream.

But she could just as easily imagine a
house such as the one they were now renting, with a kitchen to cook
a big meal for her hungry man, who’d spent his days in the fields,
making things grow, tending animals, and building fences. They
could still read and chat in the evenings—books were not only for
the wealthy. That image was every bit as appealing. More so, in
fact.

Just as she put a finger on the top of
a book to pull it from the shelf, she heard male voices in the hall
and jumped back, feeling like a guilty child.

“
Ah, Mrs. O’Rourke. Please
forgive us for leaving you alone so long,” Mr. Brother said,
standing in the parlor doorway. His face clouded when he added, “I
hope you haven’t been too bored while I showed your husband the
mill. I’m sorry that there is no hostess to entertain you.” Aidan
had told her that he was about forty, but he was as gray in the
face and hair as a much older man. Perhaps his wife’s death had
aged him.

“
Not to worry, sir. I’ve
been enjoying the view from your window. It’s most pleasant.” She
gestured lightly about the room. “As is your home.”

She caught a glance from Aidan, who
stood behind Brother and seemed very pleased by her
comments.

“
Thank you, madam. I believe
Cook is about to serve our supper. Shall we retire to the dining
room?” He held out his arm to her and she joined him, with Aidan on
her other side.

A dining room in a house, she thought.
A room in a house that was used solely for eating. It was a
staggering notion.

Supper consisted of baked salmon,
potatoes, and garden vegetables, accompanied by wine. For dessert,
they enjoyed a tasty, moist cake and coffee, served in dainty cups,
just as Farrell had been envisioning earlier. Having come from a
place where even bread was a delicacy and sugar a rare treat, she
had to resist the temptation to lick the crumbs from between the
tines of her fork. Glancing frequently at their host, she could
scarce believe that anyone could have so much and consider leaving
it behind.

During the meal, the conversation
shifted from the mill itself to Mr. Brother’s plans. “I came out
here from Ohio as a young man and worked for the Hudson’s Bay
Company. I met Mrs. Brother at church and was instantly smitten.
Although she was quite young, we were married three months later
and had fifteen wonderful years. Unfortunately, we had no children
and I have no real ties here now that she’s gone.” His voice began
to quiver and he paused, apparently to collect himself. “Oregon has
become my home, but I’d rather spend my last years in the company
of my family. I have brothers and sisters still in Ohio. I’ll be
going by boat around the Horn and it’s a long journey, so I must
get my affairs settled here soon.” Farrell thought she’d never seen
a man so grief-stricken. He wasn’t that old but sounded as though
he’d come to the end of his life.

He turned to Aidan. “Dr. McLoughlin
speaks well of you. He tells me you’re an ambitious young man,
eager to make his mark in the world. I’d much rather have the mill
go to someone like you than a man who would just see this as
another addition to his holdings.”

Aidan cast a sidelong look at Farrell.
“Well, sir, I do appreciate your circumstances and your
consideration. But there is a matter of
funds . . . ”

Brother twiddled with his dessert
fork. “Yes, I understand that. I’m not a wealthy man, but I’m
well-fixed enough. If you’re interested in pursuing the
opportunity, let’s say that we’ll meet again tomorrow to discuss
the details. The hour grows late for me and I’m sure that Mrs.
O’Rourke isn’t interested in such mundane business
matters.”

“
Aye, of course, sir.” Aidan
flicked a meaningful glance at Farrell. “My wife has plenty to do
with her own concerns.” Arrangements were made for the men to talk
again the following day.

Actually, Mrs. O’Rourke
was
very
interested—after all, this would affect her life as well—but
she didn’t want to contradict Aidan in front of Geoffrey
Brother.

“
In the meantime, I’ll draw
up a list of the equipment, what I think it’s worth, and what the
business itself is worth.”

Brother saw them to the front door,
the two men shook hands, and goodnights were exchanged.

Walking home, Aidan could barely
contain his excitement over the potential business deal, but he
made an effort to rein it in. So far, he’d been unable to tell what
Farrell thought of the matter.

He studied his wife’s profile in the
twilight. The last light of day was very complimentary to her face,
to the softly rounded cheeks and slim, well-shaped jaw line. “How
did ye like the house, Farrell? Could you imagine living
there?”