Da nodded slowly. “And you know about Finbarr’s burned face and eyes.”
“Aye.”
“And Katie Archer’s fingerless hand.”
“Mercy.”
A heavy sadness weighed down Da’s expression. “We’ve found peace among us, but it came at a cost, son.”
“This country found peace within itself as well,” he answered. “But it came at a steep price. Painfully steep.”
Da slapped a hand on his shoulder. “War’s a brutal thing.”
“It is that.” He pushed out the words he’d rather have kept quiet but knew needed to be said. “I wish Grady had come back from battle, Da. I really do. And I tried to protect him. But me against the brutality of war was an uneven battle to begin with.”
“You came back to us,” Da said. “That’s more than we thought we’d have. Grady gave us that.”
Patrick had made enough confessions for one night. He wasn’t ready to make more. He swallowed down any further explanation and switched to the topic he’d meant to discuss from the beginning. “Finbarr and I are nearly done with his house. We’re needing to put on the roof next, but we can’t do that without help.”
Da nodded. “You’ve a bevy of family ready to assist you. Just tell us when.”
“I will.”
“Good.” Da gave him one more shoulder slap before slipping out amongst the townspeople. He smiled as he greeted them, moving among them easily and happily.
They’re at home here.This was how he’d always pictured his family: happy, at peace, together. If only Grady hadn’t— He stopped the thought before it fully formed. What was done was done. He’d do better to pick up the pieces rather than bemoan the shattered state of things.
He wandered through the crowd, his feet carrying him where they always did on Saturday nights: straight to Ma’s shortbread. He’d not yet been able to justify indulging in it. He hadn’t done anything to earn that bit of home. Maybe after Finbarr’s house was done, and he had a paying job, and his own roof over his head, and . . . and he could get through a day without his thoughts turning to the bottle under his bed and the relief it would offer, and get through more than a couple of those days without indulging in that relief. He didn’t know if he’d ever have strength enough to manage that.
Maura’s husband, Ryan, greeted him as he passed with a friendly word and a warm smile. He’d not been part of Patrick’s rough history with the family. That likely helped. Maura herself had been welcoming from the moment he’d arrived in Hope Springs, but there’d always been a hint of hurt in her expression and tone. Aidan had kept more of a distance since Patrick cut his hair and trimmed up his beard. Maybe the lad remembered enough of his father to see the resemblance that haunted Patrick every day.
Patrick slipped around a clump of laughing young people and came face to face with Eliza.
She spoke before he could. “I’ve not seen you in ages, it seems. How are you?”
“Grand altogether.” The response wasn’t entirely truthful, but it was easy. His gaze fell to Lydia, on her ma’s hip as always. “Hey, there, Lydia.”
The little one smiled at him, finger hooked over her lip. She had a way of softening his mood no matter how sharp it was. But she wasn’t the only one of the Porter ladies who warmed his heart. Ever since his talk with Finbarr and the realization that he’d grown partial to Eliza, Patrick couldn’t deny that she was something of a risk, a danger. He wanted to be around her, talk with her, simply embrace the kindness and acceptance she’d offered him from the very beginning.
But that was selfish. He knew it was. A decade of proof lay behind him. He’d not amass more evidence. Not at her expense.
“I love these weeklycéilís,” Eliza said. “Did I pronounce that right? I know it doesn’t sound the same as when an Irish voice says it.”
“You did fine.” She really had.
Eliza looked over at the dancers, spinning about to the music. “We’ll get to do this every Saturday forever and ever. Can you imagine that?”
“Ma says thecéilísaren’t held in the winter. ’Tis too cold for being outside for hours.”
She tipped her head. “I hadn’t thought of that. And I suppose the church building isn’t large enough for holding all of the town plus food and still have room for dancing.”
“I’d imagine not.”
Her eyes pulled wide in excitement. She grasped his arm with her free hand. “The inn, Patrick. Thecéilíscould be held in a public room during bad weather. It’ll be bigger than the church building. There’d be space for foodanddancing.”
He hadn’t thought of that, but the idea made him smile. “That’d be a fine thing for the town, Eliza.”
“We’d be heroes,” she said with a laugh.
