“Aidan says Finbarr talks to him,” Emma said. “And I know he talks to Papa.”
“But he doesn’t talk toyou.” Ivy’s tone was just badgering enough that Patrick half expected her to stick her tongue out at her sister.
Emma didn’t answer. She applied herself entirely to the eating of her lunch, pallor making her still-flushed cheeks more obvious. If ever a young lady needed a rescue, this one did. A turn of topic was more than called-for.
“What was it you dreamed of when you were a wee girl?” he asked Eliza as he helped Lydia pick up a bit of sandwich
She set a plate on a shelf near the stove. “My family has run an inn for generations, The Charred Oak. I grew up there, helping cook and clean. Meeting new people. Feeling close to the locals who came by every day. I loved living and working there. I always thought I’d run an inn when I was a grown woman, just like my mum.”
“We’ve been to inns,” Ivy said. “One in Ireland had music like Katie used to play, and I danced. The man who brought us the food said that I dance with venom, but Katie said that it was a different word in Irish, and that it was a fine complement.”
“It is that,” Patrick said. “Means you’ve energy and fire and fierceness to you.”
Ivy looked to Eliza. “Did you have venom when you were at your inn?”
“I was happy as the day was long. We worked hard, but it was the most joyful work in all the world.” She bent a little next to Patrick and, with her kitchen towel, wiped something from Lydia’s face. “That inn was the happiest place for a child to grow up.”
“Why did you leave?” Patrick asked.
She met his eyes with a little sadness, a little longing in her gaze. “America makes a lot of promises. Promises she doesn’t always keep.”
“Have you been unhappy on this side of the ocean?” He didn’t at all like the idea of her being anything but joyous.
“I’m not everunhappy.” Such sincerity rang in her tone. “Not for long, at least. Happiness can be found even in the most difficult of situations.”
“That’s a bit of magic I’ve not ever managed,” he said.
She set her hand on his arm. “Keep coming back, Patrick. Lydia and I’ll teach you the trick of it.”
If she could manage that, he might start believing in miracles again.
Chapter Eleven
Patrick O’Connor wasa delightful sort of mystery. He was still grumbly and standoffish, but more and more, he was showing himself to be tenderhearted and thoughtful. Eliza thoroughly enjoyed the unique combination. But it was not his contradictory personality that most occupied her thoughts. It was their conversation at the Archers’ table a couple of afternoons earlier while Ivy and Emma had eaten their sandwiches.
She had always imagined herself running an inn. Even when she and her dearest childhood friend had boarded a boat for America at eighteen, she’d pictured herself finding or founding an inn somewhere, or a boarding house, or something similar to her home growing up. That dream had suffocated in New York. There simply hadn’t been any such opportunities. Telling Patrick and the Archer girls about that nearly forgotten hope had brought it to the surface once more, and she could not seem to clear her mind of it.
