Chapter Twenty-one
The morning after Elizahad come to visit him, Patrick did something he’d not done even once since coming to Hope Springs: he drank during the day. He kept himself to a single, albeit generous, swallow, telling himself it was temporary liquid courage.
Eliza had such faith in him, far more than he had in himself. And she believed in his family’s love for him—far more than he’d allowed himself to believe in it for years. He didn’t want to disappoint her. So he’d concocted a plan during his long and sleepless night.
He grabbed the bundle he’d pulled from his traveling trunk. The one he was going to bring to Da and Ma’s house at the weekly family dinner. The one he was terrified to show them but knew it was time he did.
Patrick rubbed at the back of his neck as he stood at his front door, willing himself to begin his long walk. “It’s easier being the villain at a distance,” he’d told Eliza. He’d been more truthful in that moment with her than he had been with anyone in years.
“But you aren’t a villain,” she’d said.
If she could believe that he wasn’t, then maybe his family could, as well. He stepped over his threshold and set his feet determinedly in the direction of his parents’ house. He paused, as he so often did, on the bridge spanning the river, letting the sound of the water soothe him. He closed his eyes and listened and breathed.
“You aren’t the villain,” he told himself. Even if only Eliza ever believed that of him, it was true to someone, and that mattered.
He repeated the reassurance a few times as he walked down the road. He had ample time to convince himself not to turn tail and run—as well as ample time to do precisely that.
In the end, he pushed himself all the way to the door of his parents’ home without losing his nerve. That he’d needed whiskey to hold on to that courage didn’t reflect well on him.
Drinking during the day.He was in deep trouble if that became a regular thing again.
Ma spotted him straight away and hugged him the moment he slipped inside. He was so used to coming and going unnoticed. Whichever house they met at was always chaotic, full near to bursting with people. No one had a table large enough for all of them, so O’Connors sat and stood scattered throughout, carrying plates of food around with them. How easy it’d be to drop himself in the corner and let the gathering happen without him. He very nearly did, but then he saw her.
Eliza.
She stood not more than ten feet away, chatting with Maura.
He’d come within a breath of kissing her last night. The wind had rustled her hair, bringing a tinge of pink to her cheeks. She’d looked at him in such a way . . . But the return of the Archer family had stopped things just in time.
He was living a lot of lies, and she deserved better than that. Last night, he’d been a heartbeat away from tossing back the first of many mouthfuls when she’d knocked at his door. She, who’d lost her husband to drunkards, had very nearly arrived at the home of one. She deserved so very, very much better.
One of Mary’s children noticed the bundle he’d brought with him and asked the question he’d been both dreading and anticipating.
“What’s that?”
Here it was: the moment of truth. “It’s a haversack.”
Ian’s oldest boy hovered nearby. “What’s a haversack?”
Patrick pushed ahead. “It’s a bag carried by a soldier.”
“Like in the war you fought?” the boy asked.
Patrick nodded.
The boys gathered nearby, clearly intrigued by the beaten, faded, black bag. A few other family members took note, watching.
Ian’s daughter broke the momentary silence. “Was it your bag when you were a soldier?”
Patrick’s eye caught Maura’s, and for a moment he almost lost his nerve. “It was Uncle Grady’s.”
That brought the entire house to a complete standstill. No one spoke or moved or ate—or likely breathed.
For his part, Patrick was actually shaking. Would they resent that he, of all people, had brought them a piece of their lost family member’s wartime service? Would it make them only more resentful? Eliza pushed her way through the crowd closing in around him and took his hand. She led him to the long bench in the midst of the gathering, with room enough for them both. She sat beside him. Her presence made all the difference. Saints preserve him, in that moment he let her be his strength.
