“So, how long have you been in America?” Declan asked, making pleasant conversation as they rode out to Ned’s place.
“Only for two years,” Margaret answered. He waited for her to offer something more, but her nerves had gotten the best of her again and she stayed silent.
“So, why did you come to America?”
“I came to stay with my sister after the birth of her twins, and to be a help to her.”
Declan waited again, casting sidelong glances at Margaret to make sure she wasn’t annoyed by his persistent questions.
“And now?” he asked, leading her to answer.
“As the twins grew and Brigid—that’s me sister’s name—had no more need of me, I took a job in the yarn mill so I could earn my keep.” She folded and unfolded her hands in her lap, nervous about Declan’s questioning.
“So, since she had no need of you at home…”
Margaret sighed, resigning herself to having to prattle on in the very way she’d always been taught not to do in front of a man. “After having five little ones in only three years, her home was as crowded as any cargo hold. Her husband, saint that he is, never once complained, but I knew they’d be better off with one less body in the place.” She nodded her head firmly, as thought that explained it all perfectly well.
Only Declan wasn’t so convinced. He’d been warned by someone he trusted that a woman who would find her way west on promises of marriage might have something to hide, and Margaret felt she was behaving for all the world like just such a woman.
“Do you have anything you’d like to ask of me then?” he asked quietly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye again. In the back of the wagon, Mrs. Jackson rolled her eyes at the awkwardness of young love but had to smile just the same.
“I suppose I’d like to know where you’re from, just to see if we were neighbors once,” Margaret said with a musical laugh that made Declan sit up and take notice.
“Oh me? I came over from County Mayo, but I spent a good deal of time as a sailor and a journeyman first. ‘Twas a long journey, years even, from the Old Country to where I am now.”
“I feel the same, although I only had to book passage and leave from Liverpool. Did you see much of the world then?” she asked, turning to face him on the wagon seat and watching eagerly as he spoke.
Declan began to tell Margaret of the many places he’d been, the ports of call he’d experienced, and the wonders that still appeared before his eyes when he went to sleep at night. She watched with a dreamy expression as he listed the many countries and peoples he’d seen. It seemed unreal to her that one person could see so much, but then again, she had the same lost feeling at having only traveled from Ireland to America, and then to Montana.
“I thought we’d ride as far as my home and let you take a look around before I carry you and Mrs. Jackson back to her place. Ned—that’s her husband, the man you met in town—is already gone to his place to pack up a few things. Besides, ‘twill give me a chance to unload these stores that I picked up in town. I’m almost ashamed for you to see my kitchen!” Declan said, laughing shyly.
“Oh, I’m sure ‘tis not so bad as all that…” Margaret began, but stopped when she saw him shaking his head.
“No, ‘tis a sight. ‘Tis clean, I mean to say, but only that it’s rather spare. Ned’s been bringing the boys ‘round to make furniture, and I’m afeared they’ve eaten my out of house and hearth. But ‘twas the least I could do to cook a proper supper for ‘em, seeing as how most of ‘em had come straight from the sawmill or from working their farms.”
“My, that was kind of them. But here I’d been told by the agency back east that I would naw even have neighbors to rely on, let alone that they’d be so helpful.”
“That can be the way of it in some places, and I admit even ‘round these parts the winter gets rather empty due to the snow and the cold. I’ll go ahead and say it…” Declan ducked his head and lowered his voice as he looked away. “…‘tis part of why I wrote the advertisement. The long months can run together on ya if you don’t take notice of ‘em. There were some days last winter that I went without even seeing my own horse for all the snow piled up around the cabin, let alone another human.”
“I see,” she answered somberly before forcing herself to brighten up. “Well, I’d be proud to keep you company during the winter.” Margaret blushed when she realized what she was intended to say wasn’t entirely the most proper meaning, but she didn’t dare speak another word on it for fear of embarrassing herself by being forward. She could only hope Declan hadn’t read more into her words than she’d intended.
“Ah, well. Here we are, my humble farm. I know ‘tis not much…” he started to say, but his voice trailed off as he took in Margaret’s astounded expression.
“Oh but, but ‘tis gorgeous!” she finally said, exhaling sharply. “This? This is truly your farm?”
“Aye,” he answered, confused. “I know ‘tis only three hundred acres, but I’ve got plans to finish paying on this claim and buy the plot next to it. I’ve already put down fifteen dollars as a payment to hold it in my name.”
“No, ‘tis perfect! And here all along I thought Ireland was the most beautiful country in the world! But this… I’ve never seen anything like it!” Her eyes filled with tears of happiness as she looked down from the ridge where Declan had stopped the wagon. The valley stretched out before her, cast in purple shadow as the sun dipped down low enough that its rays backlit the hillside. The edges of the valley seemed to glow from the strange sunlight.
“I’m glad you like it,” he answered. “I’m right proud of it, too.” Declan gave the reins a light slap and the horse started walking again, following the wagon path that her hooves had formed in the hillside. Margaret had to cling to the edges of the wagon seat as they headed down the path, but she relaxed when the surefooted mare even out her pace.
“Why don’t you look in the cabin and the barn while I take these stores to the smokehouse?” Declan suggested when they finally reached the lane in front of the farmhouse. He stopped and hurried out of his seat in order to come around the other side of the wagon and help Margaret and Mrs. Jackson down.
“That we will, young man. This kind of cabin has always intrigued me,” Clara said, linking her arm through Margaret’s and heading for the door. They left Declan to unload the small barrels and sacks of grain as they headed into the darkened house.
“Oh, my dear. This is lovely!” Mrs. Jackson said. She took a deep breath and smiled. “Oh, and the smell of freshly cut wood. I could make my bed every night in a pile of sawdust and dream of the forest!”
“If you say so, but for me, I’ll take a feather down bed any time!” Margaret answered, teasing. “But I see what you mean. It smells… homey in here.”
“So…” Clara said, before turning to Margaret and pausing. She wore an expectant expression on her face, but it was Margaret’s turn to wait in anticipation. Finally, she shook her head when she saw the older woman wasn’t going to say anything further.
“Yes? You were saying?”
“So… what do you think of Mr. O’Bryan?” Clara asked, holding back a giggle by biting her knuckle.
“Oh. I see. Um… well, he seems quite nice, and very kind, and as you’d said yourself, he appears to be a very hard worker. I mean, look around us! He built all this!” Margaret said, pointing to the cabin.
“That’s all well and good, dear, but what about him? What do you think of him? Is he someone you could envision marrying?” Clara waited, an eager smile on her face, her hands clasped at her chest.
“I suppose I could,” she answered quietly, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “I’ve only just met him, of course, but after all… is that naw why I came to Montana?”
“But that’s not the only basis for a young lady such as yourself to marry a man, not because you said you would! You should marry out of mutual respect, admiration, and dare I say it… love!”
“But Clara, how
am I to fall in love with someone—even if such a thing exists—if we’ve only just met? And Mr. O’Bryan hardly seems pleased that I’m here. He seems far more formal than I imagined him to be.”
“I’m sure it was just a touch of the nerves at meeting someone as beautiful as you. Remember, it’s been a long time since Mr. O’Bryan has been here. He’s been here almost as long as my Ned. I’m sure that’s all it was. Give it time, you’ll find out how much you both love each other!” Clara gushed, a dreamy look in her eye.
“I understand admiration and respect, and certainly I feel both for Mr. O’Bryan. Is that naw good enough?” she asked genuinely.
“For now, maybe. But you need to keep love in your heart, too. Keep it in your mind. A marriage based on respect will bring you comfort, but a marriage that also has love will bring you happiness. Mark my words, dear. I’ve been married twice, both times to two wonderful gentlemen. Where there is love, there is a long and happy marriage.” Clara patted Margaret’s hand endearingly and started to walk around the cabin. “May I?”
“Be my guest,” Margaret answered, gesturing for Clara to go ahead and open the cabinet. “But ‘tis not my home to invite you to wander in, remember.”
“Oh, how rude of me! I hope it’s not an imposition then,” she said, shutting the cabinet door before lovingly running her fingertips along Declan’s handiwork. “But my sweet girl, you have to start thinking of it as your home too, if you’re to marry him.”
“Seems so odd when you say it that way… my home. Marrying. ‘Tis strange enough, you know.” Margaret shuddered slightly.
“Hold on, missy. Are you unsure of this arrangement?” Clara put a sympathetic hand on Margaret’s arm and gave her a squeeze. “Remember, these things are arranged by the agency, but you’re free to return home to your own family. Mr. O’Bryan even has to pay for your passage, it’s in his agreement.”
“Oh no, ‘tis nothing like that! But thank you for being so concerned about me. I’m just… overwhelmed, I should think.”
“Of course you are! You’ve only just gotten off the train and then had to ride all this way. You must be worn slap through and be ready to fall asleep on your feet. Come, we’ll talk more when you’ve had a chance to rest.” Clara linked her arm through Margaret’s again and led the way outside to where Declan waited by the wagon.
“Did you ladies get to see the barn?” he offered politely, but Clara shook her head.
“I’m afraid not, we were so taken by your handiwork inside the cabin. It’s quite lovely, Mr. O’Bryan. It’s a beautiful home,” Clara answered. “But I’m afraid poor Miss McGreggor is on the brink of exhaustion. We must get her home and let her rest now.”
Declan looked alarmed but hurried to help them both into the wagon. Margaret smiled gratefully when he offered her his hand to climb into the wagon, and remembered Clara’s warning. Respect was important, but where there was love, there would also be joy.
Chapter Six