Ian lowered his whittling and looked Patrick in the eye. “Not anyone in this family will hate you, neither. They’ll likely all be relieved.”
“Relieved that I’m a drunkard?”
“Relieved that there’s a reason you’ve been so far away, even since coming home.”
If only whiskey were the only reason.
Patrick finished off his tea and stood. “What else did Uncle Archibald do when he was too thirsty to endure it?”
“Work. Da knew Uncle Archibald nearly as well as Ma did. He said staying busy kept our uncle from thinking too much about his thirst, and being out in the fields or up on his roof kept him away from the pub.”
Patrick nodded. “I’m not afraid to work.”
Ian set aside his whittling. “I thought while we were out here, we could get a jump on wood for the winter. It’s easier to make this journey now than after the snow’s come in.”
“Is that why you chose such a far-off spot? So you could trick me into felling trees for you?”
“Aye.” Ian crossed to the wagon and began hitching the horses. “No point doing it all by my lonesome.”
“Malicious, grumpy old man.”
“With old age comes wisdom. Now help me hitch these beasts.”
They worked well together. That hadn’t changed in the years they’d been apart.
“The factory in New York teamed me with a different fellow after you left.” Patrick talked as he worked. “Decent at the job, but a miserable sort. Made me detest going to work. I hadn’t realized how much of what I liked about that job was working with you.”
Ian adjusted one of the horse’s belly bands. “We were quite a team, weren’t we?”
“That we were.”
“Did this miserable fellow who replaced me sign up for the Irish Regiment as well?” Ian asked.
“No, thank the heavens. We’d’ve had a mutiny.”
“I thought mutinies happened only on ships. What’s it called when it happens on dry land?”
“If it’d tossed the likes of him out of our ranks, it would’ve been called a mercy.”
Ian smiled—what shouldn’t’ve been so relieving a sight. The Ian he’d grown up with had smiled often and easily. But Patrick had seen so little of that side of his brother the past months.
Soon the wagon was ready to go. Ian took up the reins. Patrick sat on the bench beside him. They drove father into the mountains, to a thicker collection of trees. The valley below had virtually none.
“Why is it you don’t build your houses out of this wood rather than buying it at the depot?” Patrick asked.
“This wood is what keeps us from freezing in the winter. None of us is willing to risk decimating it.”
That was sensible. “And why does everyone generally wait until winter to collect it? You said it’s a lot harder to do then.”
“’Tis usually the first chance we have. Summer is spent tending the crop. Autumn is filled with harvesting and selling it. Collecting wood is our very next task, but winter comes early here.”
Ian, then, had never come up this way this time of year on account of his fields and his livelihood.
“You’re neglecting your crop.”Begor. Patrick hadn’t even thought of that. What sort of selfish brother was he?
“Da and the lads’ll watch over it.” Ian guided the wagon into a small clearing. “That’s what I asked Da when we passed him on the road heading up toward Finbarr’s place. I told him you and I needed to make a trek.”
He’d worried about the conversation he’d not overheard. Da might’ve asked any number of things Patrick wasn’t ready for him to know. “Did he ask why we were undertaking a journey?”
