“I will think about it,” she said.
“Please do.”
Emma stood not terribly far off. Mrs. Archer clearly saw her there as well.
“I’m going to walk back with Emma. Your decision does not need to be made right away, but I suspect it will be more easily made if you have a bit of peace in which to ponder it.”
She crossed to her granddaughter, and the two of them made their way leisurely back toward the house. Sophie sat on the ground beneath an obliging tree, her back pressed to its trunk. It was yet another way in which Hope Springs offered a bit of freedom. She had continued to leave off her crinolette. That allowed her some physical freedom. And she could sit on the ground with no one looking at her askance. These were small things, but part of the larger feeling of freedom here.
If she stayed, she likely wouldn’t see her family again. She might travel back East for a visit now and then. But such a thing took money, and she had no idea if she could even find a job. It was possible her family would make the journey out to see her. But then, they hadn’t made the much easier journey from Boston to Baltimore in the years since they’d moved. She could continue exchanging letters with her sister, and it would be almost as if nothing had changed.
She would miss Mrs. Archer. The woman had become like a second mother to her, and she would grieve the separation.
Though she’d only known Burke for a few weeks, she knew she would miss him too if he went to Baltimore and she stayed in Hope Springs. She would miss him deeply. She would always wonder what might have become of their connection if it hadn’t been severed. If she went back to Baltimore and he did as well, perhaps they would be together. That would be a wonderful thing.
How was she ever to make this decision? There were aspects of each choice that appealed to her, and aspects of each that scared her. No matter what she chose, she would have regrets.
That week’scéilíwas being held at the inn, though Burke wasn’t entirely certain why. Generally, that move was only made when the weather was uncooperative. But the weather was fine. Still, he wasn’t complaining about the convenience. All he needed to do was walk down the porch.
The gathering was lively and exciting. All the valley couldn’t fit into the public room, so the party spilled out in front of the inn as well. In winter, when thecéilíswere always held at the inn, not everyone in the valley could make the journey with snow and ice hampering the way, so room wasn’t as much of an issue then.
They were more than an hour into the evening’s festivities. Burke had little Claire O’Connor in his arms, keeping her happy while her parents were helping see to something. As always, he had been greeted by the town’s children who always seemed happy to see him. He appreciated that. For someone who had been quite lonely and afraid as a child, there was a great deal of satisfaction in offering reassurance and welcome to little ones.
He’d been watching the interactions that evening more closely than usual. Sophie’s words, as they so often did, stayed with him. Whathethought of his life and accomplishments needed to be most important. So what did he think? If he were to look at who he was and what he did without regard to other peoples’ evaluations, what would he think of it? If he were to set aside those childhood dreams of grandeur, would he be proud of the person and the doctor he had become?
He watched Maura Callaghan with her little child, smiling over at her husband. If not for the medications he had been able to prescribe and the help he’d given her in strengthening her lungs, she would not have survived. He didn’t doubt that for a moment.
BernardoDíaz,a cowboy who worked out at the ranches, was there that night as well. He’d broken his arm early in the spring, and it had needed to be set. Without careful care, it would not have healed properly, and Bernardo would have lost his livelihood, perhaps permanently.
Tiny Lydia O’Connor spun about, taking in the music, and delighting in it. She had been so afraid and so withdrawn when she’d first arrived. He felt confident he had helped her feel safe enough in Hope Springs to blossom.
He’d doctored any number of the local children through various illnesses and injuries. He’d been present to help people as they’d passed from this world to the next, their circumstances not being ones he could help. He’d been in a place to offer them comfort.
Perhaps he hadn’t the finest infirmary in the world, or all the luxuries of life, but he had reason to be proud of what he’d done here in Hope Springs. The people he served had come to matter to him, and that was a sign of a life well lived.
At the orphanage, they’d looked after each other and had mattered to each other. But they’d known perfectly well that very few people cared what happened to them. Perhaps that was part of his struggle; he wanted to know if he mattered now. It would be easier to tell if he were richly remunerated for his work or was noticed by big-city newspapers and influential people. But was that truly the praise he needed?
Tavish O’Connor claimed his little girl, thanking Burke for looking after her. “My pleasure. Claire’s a little angel.”
“Takes after her mother,” Tavish said.
“I won’t argue with you there.”
Tavish chuckled and bounced his girl.
Patrick happened past in the next moment. “If my Eliza runs herself off her feet tonight, promise you’ll help me convince her to rest tomorrow,” Patrick said to Burke. “She won’t listen to her husband, but she might listen to a friend who also happens to be a doctor.”
“I’ll do my best,” Burke said with a laugh.
It was only after Patrick continued on that Burke really thought about what he’d said. “A friend who also happens to be a doctor.”
Also happens to be a doctor.Patrick considered him a friend first. That meant a lot to him, even if it didn’t impress anyone else.
Across the way, the musicians began a new tune, and a voice led the singing that hadn’t before. All eyes turned in that direction.
A feather might have knocked Burke over when he saw Sophie standing with the musicians, singing with all her heart. She’d told him she liked to sing, but never allowed herself to indulge in it. Hers might not have been the most refined voice, but it was pleasant.
He watched in awe as she lost herself in the song, enjoyment written on every feature of her face. It was, indeed, bringing her joy. Would she deny herself that pleasure when she returned to Baltimore? He suspected she would, and that broke his heart a little.
