Embarrassment and defensiveness immediately filled Ian’s expression.
Patrick jumped in, offering the first salve he thought of. “I’ve missed a good many of Biddy’s birthdays. Being here for this one brought that firmly to mind. I’m hoping this’ll be an acceptable means of paying off m’birthday-gift debt to her.”
Ian turned to Biddy. “And repairing the roof would break the two of you even on that score?”
She smiled a little and nodded. “I can’t wait to decide what he owes me for all the Christmases he’s missed.”
A quickly tucked-away hint of laughter passed through Ian’s eyes. “Start making a list, love.”
She took her husband’s hand in hers. “He’s missed all those things with you, as well. You had best start making your own list of what he can do for you.”
“Do for me?” The hardness returned to his voice. “What he can do is leave me the devil alone.” He pulled his hand from Biddy’s and left without a backward glance.
His words pierced Patrick. Pierced him. Ian wasn’t going to forgive him. And if Ian wouldn’t forgive him, there was little chance his brother would reach out and save him.
Patrick had been depending on Ian’s help, leaning on the bond they’d once had. Who else would see any value left in the shell of a person he’d become?
“I’ll repair your roof, Biddy. And I meant what I said about doing anything else you have need of. And I’ll do it without bothering him. That’ll be my Christmas-gift debt payment to you: peace in your home, and a happy husband.”
He stepped out, avoiding all his family, who were laughing and chatting and making quick work of a cake. He made it out the door without a soul saying a word. If only he had somewhere to go other than Da and Ma’s. He’d little privacy there, no chance to sit entirely alone with his thoughts and his grief and his regrets. Sometimes that was helpful. But most days, it was the utter opposite of what he needed.
The weight on his mind was crushing by the time he reached the loft of his parents’ house. He sat on the bed, facing the far wall, not bothering with a candle or lantern. The late-evening light coming through the window was sufficient for his purposes.
He can leave me the devil alone.Ian’s angry words struck him blow after blow.
“Leave me the devil alone,” Patrick muttered.
He’d known his welcome would be a little shaky, but he’d never truly believed Ian would wish him to hades. They’d been partners in mischief. Worries and dreams and joys they’d kept even from their parents, they’d shared with each other. Ian had told Patrick his feelings for Biddy before he’d confessed them to anyone else. Patrick had told Ian of his decision to stay in New York before he’d broken the news to Ma and Da. Their bond had run deeper than brothers. They shared a connection closer to that of twins, though they were born years apart.
Now Ian despised him.
Patrick opened his trunk, and, pushing aside a couple of items of clothing, he pulled out his nearly half-empty bottle of Gooderham and Worts rye whisky. He’d managed to leave it be for a week now. A whole week. That was seven times longer than he’d gone without a drink in more than two years before coming to Hope Springs. He wasn’t as needy for it as some he knew. But it still called to him most of the time. He’d get thirsty for it at times when he knew he wasn’t actually thirsty. He’d long for it even when the taste didn’t appeal to him.
Some men had come away from the War Between the States with a neediness for laudanum. He’d wanted so badly to avoid that trap and had managed to fall into a different one instead.
He held the bottle in both hands, bent forward, head hung. The bottle felt heavy, hard. How was it he could be angry at it and desperate for it at the same time?
The last week had given him a bit of hope. He’d felt a little more comfortable around his family. A little. He’d found the beginnings of a connection with Finbarr. Lydia’s sweetness and acceptance had soothed so much of his troubled spirit. Eliza’s ready friendship had touched him more than he’d ever admit. Even cutting his hair and beard, though the effect of it wasn’t overly comfortable, had proven an act of humanity in its own way. Eliza had seen the person underneath and had freed a bit of the old Patrick.
He’d felt hopeful these past few days.
And that hope had died with five words.
Leave me the devil alone.
Ian—his best friend, his lifelong confidante—hated him. Ian, the one he’d been sure he wouldn’t have to convince to take him back.
He pulled the cork from the bottle. He’d take enough deep swallows to numb the pain so he could sleep. It had worked for years. It would work again.
