Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 2

  Eamon shrugged, his eyes lit with an inner warmth as he regarded her. “We offered, but, after we helped unload the supplies, he informed us that we’d done enough. Doesn’t want to hurt his reputation by using men rentin’ private cabins for such menial labor.” He shrugged and winked at her.

  Phoebe flushed at his wink.

  “And then we realized he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doin’, so we’re hidin’ away, in case he gets it into his head to put us to work again. With his muddleheaded ideas, I fear there’ll be a disaster, and I have no interest in drownin’ today.”

  Phoebe’s gaze flit over him, taking in his broad shoulders and the muscles that rippled under his shirt with each movement. “I’d think you were used to menial labor.” Stammering, she blurted out, “I beg your pardon. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken, miss. Aye, we’re used to workin’ hard. Da would have it no other way.” His gaze was distant for a moment, before he smiled at her in a reassuring manner. “We might be successful now, but Finn and I work hard. As do all the O’Rourkes. None are lazy.”

  Phoebe stiffened, as though he had criticized her family. “Mortimers are hard workers too, Mr. O’Rourke.”

  “Aye, of that I have no doubt,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. “I can imagine how much hard labor goes into reading a novel, over and over again.”

  Flushing, Phoebe fisted her hands at her side, as she took a step toward him, her shoulders back, challenging him. “Leave Lorena out of this,” she whispered. “She’s done nothing to earn such criticism from you.”

  He ducked his head. “I beg your pardon,” he whispered. “I fear we are acting like Finn and your sister.” He glanced in their direction, snorting with disbelief to see Winnifred standing on tiptoe, poking Finn in his shoulder, while expounding her point. Eamon focused on Phoebe, his stance relaxing and his blue eyes filling with regret. “I have no desire to quarrel with you, Miss Phoebe,” he murmured. “I … Too often in our past we’ve been deemed less worthy because we are immigrants, willing to do whatever work we must to survive.”

  Phoebe took a deep breath and stared deeply into his gaze. “I don’t understand what that life is like,” she said in a soft voice. “But I do understand fighting against prejudice.” She paused, as though debating whether to say more. “I forgive you, Mr. O’Rourke.”

  “Eamon,” he whispered. “There are too many Mr. O’Rourkes to easily distinguish us, but I’m the only Eamon. Thank you, Bee.” He smiled as she gasped at the use of a nickname. “Is it wrong for me to think of you as Bee?”

  She swallowed. Finally she breathed, “I’ve only ever been Phoebe.”

  “You’re much more than only Phoebe.” He stilled as the steamboat whistle sounded. “Come. Let me help you back to the boat. I fear they’ve given up for the day, and we’ll have to see what tomorrow brings.”

  Phoebe fought a girlish blush, as she slipped her hand through his offered arm, reminding herself that he was being a gentleman. And he only saw her as a friend or as another sister. Anything to dampen her growing attraction to this unattainable man.

  * * *

  Phoebe entered the small cabin that had room for the three sisters. Winnifred had the top bunk, while Phoebe slept below her. Lorena had a berth across from them, and she was already curled onto her side there, reading her novel. Phoebe had begun to suspect Lorena used a book as a barrier to interacting with her and Winnifred.

  “Lo,” Phoebe said, kicking at her sister’s mattress to gain her attention. “Put down that stupid book. I know you’ve already read it three times on this journey alone.”

  Lorena stared at her in dumbstruck concern. “Are you ill?” Lorena whispered, setting aside her book. She rose, placing the back of her hand against Phoebe’s forehead. “Were you in the sun?”

  Phoebe rolled her eyes and then her shoulders, as she attempted to regain her composure.

  Winnifred climbed into her bunk, where she rested on her side, her arm bent at the elbow and her head propped on her hand, as she stared at Phoebe in a mocking manner.

  “I’m fine,” Phoebe insisted. “I was hoping we could do something, other than watch you read.”

  Lorena flinched. “You know why I like to read.” Her low voice held vestiges of a deep pain, and Phoebe gripped her elder sister’s arm, before she could spin away to hide in her book again.

  “I know, Lo, but can’t you see what you’re missing as you hide in your books? Can’t you see we miss you?”

  Lorena shrugged. “I’m sorry if you thought my presence on this trip would help entertain you, Phoebe. I had thought you had found someone to assist you in that endeavor.”

  Phoebe dropped her hand and took a small step away, almost backing into the stateroom door in the cramped space. “I’m certain I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Winnifred snorted and rolled her eyes. Her black hair was now completely freed of its confining braid and cascaded over her chest. “As if we didn’t see you throwing yourself at the older O’Rourke brother today.” When Phoebe blushed as red as one of the prized roses in their garden in Saint Louis, Winnifred chuckled. “You can lie to yourself, sister, but we know you.”

  Phoebe stood, battling a soft shivering, as Winnifred continued to talk, and Lorena watched Phoebe with sympathy. Fighting to keep her breathing slow and even, she shook her head.

  “Yes, Phoebe,” Winnifred proclaimed. “You know Mama always said you would make the worst gambler because you could never hide what you felt. Your eyes always gave you away.” She played with the ends of her hair. “How does it feel to want a man who will only ever look at you as a bothersome little sister?”

  “How can you be so cruel?” Phoebe gasped out, her composure falling to pieces at her sister’s spiteful words.

  Shrugging, Winnifred smirked at her. “You’ve always wanted to be Mama’s favorite but failed. How that must have made you bitter toward us. Was that why you betrayed us? Was that why you forced us to sacrifice our happiness?” She glared at Phoebe with thinly veiled malice. “Because of you, Lo and I’ve had to suffer disappointments and rejections you can’t fathom.”

  “If you mean Emory, you should be thankful that spineless puppy left before anything serious occurred,” Phoebe hissed, her agitation with her sisters warring with her loyalty to them. And to her mother.

  Launching herself from the upper bunk, Winnifred nearly careened into Lorena but had the grace to land like a cat. “How dare you!” she screeched. “We were in love. We were to marry. But then you’d never understand what that means because you’ve always held yourself apart from anyone who’s shown you the slightest interest. Instead you focus on the unattainable men who will never truly see you for what you are.”

  “How dare I?” Phoebe asked in a low voice that quivered with her suppressed emotions. “How dare you constantly remind me that I’m the unattractive sister. That no man has ever thought me worthy of pursuit. That I’m destined to die as the spinster sister. That Mama forever despaired of me. Thank you, Winnifred, for reminding me of all that, once again.” She spun away to face the door and to avoid seeing their pity. For, if there was one thing she hated, it was pity.

  “Unattractive?” Winnifred asked in a shocked voice.

  “Unworthy of courting?” Lorena whispered. “How are you so foolish?” She had returned to her berth but rested on her side, watching her two younger sisters, rather than reopening her book, as though, for once, reality was more interesting than fiction.

  “Why is it so impossible to accept the truth?” Phoebe gasped out.

  “If it is the truth, that’s fine,” Lorena said in a low voice. “But it seems you’ve mangled everything in your attempt to prevent from being hurt. That’s not life, Phoebe.” She paused, as she rarely offered advice to her sisters or spoke more than a few words. “You’ll have to accept what we are someday. And trust that, someday, a man will accept it too.”

  Winnifred snorted and rolled her eyes. “No, you have to acce
pt that no man need know what we are. A soft smile and a soothing voice will keep him happy and kill his curiosity.”

  “No man will accept what we are,” Phoebe whispered, sniffling as she swiped at her cheeks, “and I fear you’re bound to always be disappointed, Winnie.”

  Winnifred gave a huff of disagreement and climbed back up to her bunk. “If what you say is true, it’s imperative we find our uncle and ensure he’s well. For, if he’s anything like Uncle Harvey, he’ll be generous and take good care of us. I’ve never dreamed of living like a pauper.”

  “Nor I,” Lorena whispered. She fingered the binding of her book.

  Phoebe sighed and moved to her berth, ignoring the brewing headache and the ache in her heart. Although her sisters had suffered disappointments in love, at least they had known such love, Phoebe thought. Her suffering had been of another kind. Of another origin. And her sisters had no sympathy, as Lorena and Winnifred could only acknowledge what they had endured.

  Phoebe let out a gust of breath and rubbed at her head. How she wished she could have hope in the future. However, she found such faith nearly impossible.

  * * *

  Eamon stood, staring out at the river after supper that evening, his mind filled with images of Phoebe as they had chatted under the cottonwood trees. He grinned as he remembered her reaction to him giving her a nickname, resolving to only ever call her that when they were alone together. “Bee,” he whispered to himself. Although he didn’t know her well, he thought the name suited her, for she always seemed to be moving about, ensuring those around her were well.

  He ignored the sounds of men talking, the scents of tobacco smoke and too many unwashed men in a crowded space. Fighting the memory of the first boat he’d been on when just four years old, he took a deep breath and looked around the steamboat, as though to remind himself he was on the mighty Missouri, not a cramped and decrepit ship heaving over the Atlantic Ocean. This ship had two levels, with the private cabins and fancy dining room on the upper level. Most of the men who paid only for deck passage were on the lower level, although a few had moved to the upper decks.

  The lower deck was wider, with the majority of the cargo stacked in orderly piles. It was darker, with less air movement due to the high railing. Many men slept on top of the crates to cool off in a breeze. The upper deck was smaller, circling the dining room and cabins, while the pilot house atop was covered in a fine layer of boilerplate, in case of an Indian attack.

  Eamon’s mind returned to Phoebe. Although he knew Finn would disapprove, as his younger brother believed they should remain bachelors until they were at least fifty, Eamon couldn’t stop thinking about her. Unlike the O’Rourke siblings, who bickered and argued but loved each other profoundly, Eamon sensed a deep resentment and tension between the Mortimer sisters. He sighed, wondering if Phoebe’s desire to ensure peace and harmony was her way of pretending that everything was well in her world.

  Against his will, he thought back to the years he had thought his mother dead. After their arrival in Montreal in August of 1847, his mum had given birth to his youngest sister, Maggie, in October. The following day, Da had been informed that both had perished from the horrible typhus outbreak. The family had never recovered from the loss of Mary O’Rourke. Colleen, his da’s second wife, had made a feeble attempt to heal their broken hearts. When she realized she would be another casualty in the devastation wrought by Mary’s death, Colleen had acted out, subtly and deviously, to hurt Seamus’s youngest children.

  Taking a deep breath, Eamon attempted to shut out his memories, but they forever lurked at the edges of his mind. He knew they would return soon to torment him again. A faint scent wafted over him, and he turned, smiling broadly to see Phoebe hovering nearby. “Bee,” he breathed. His smile brightened at his nickname. “How lovely to see you this evenin’.”

  She took halting steps in his direction. “I feared you wouldn’t wish to be interrupted. That I should leave you in peace. You seemed to be relishing your time alone.”

  He chuckled. “Nay, I wasn’t. I need a distraction.” He saw her flinch subtly at his words and frowned. “I missed speaking with you.”

  A smile burst forth, and her green eyes glowed with pleasure. “How … lovely,” she murmured, mimicking one of his favorite words. She rested her hands on the railing beside his hand and breathed deeply of the cool evening air. “It’s remarkable to me the evening can be so cool after such a warm day.”

  Eamon nodded. “Aye, ’tis nothin’ like the city of Saint Louis. When I first arrived in Saint Louis last September, I thought I’d be roasted alive with the heat and humidity.” His eyes sparkled as they chuckled together. “I can’t imagine any work is completed in the summer months.”

  “Everything is a bit slower,” she said by way of agreement. “We don’t rush.”

  Watching her sagely, he heard a quiet warning in her voice. “I understand.” He leaned against one elbow so as to better face her. “Even so, I like to think we are friends, Bee.” At her pleased smile, he murmured, “Is all well between you and your sisters?” When she froze, he swore under his breath. “I beg your pardon, Bee. I shouldn’t have …”

  Squeezing his arm, she shook her head. “No, don’t apologize. We had an argument before dinner. Nothing new but still hurtful.” Phoebe bit her lip and shrugged. “My sisters are bitter at fate and look to blame others for what has happened. I think, deep inside, they hope I will be as miserable as they are. Which is why they insisted on this journey.”

  Shaking his head, Eamon furrowed his brows in confusion. “I don’t understand. I know you’re not mail order brides, and I know that you seek your uncle.”

  Phoebe faced him, everything around her ignored but Eamon. “Yes. I wanted to find a detective or to send a letter to Fort Benton, confirming his whereabouts. I did not believe it necessary for the three of us to travel all this way on a wild goose chase. I fear we will not have the resources to be successful and will find ourselves stranded in Montana Territory.”

  “Did he not send passage for you?” Eamon asked with a frown.

  She shook her head. “There’s no need to concern yourself about our welfare, Mr. O’Rourke.” She took a deep breath of the cool evening air to calm herself, while speaking of unpleasant topics. As though unable to dampen the desire to share her inner thoughts with him, she blurted out, “Mama died last summer from a wasting disease.” She smiled tightly at his murmur of distress. “Our uncle will be overjoyed at our arrival.”

  “How can you be certain?” Eamon asked, as he fought a frown and failed to hide the worry in his voice.

  “He wrote to us. He wanted us to join him. And no man encourages three unwed nieces to travel to Montana Territory unless he misses his family. From what Mama told me, he’s had great success since he left on his explorations before the War.” She nodded and smiled with forced bravado. “I’m certain he’ll be as kind as our Uncle Harvey.”

  When Eamon saw her spirit dim, he ran a hand over her arm in a gentle caress. “What’s the matter, lass?”

  “I just realized we’ve left all our friends behind. We’ll know no one when we arrive.”

  Eamon reached forward, his fingers stroking hers. “Nay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’ll always have friends in the O’Rourkes. You’ll never be alone.”

  Phoebe stared at him, her eyes wide, mesmerized by him and his voice.

  He leaned forward, watching as her eyes fluttered closed a moment before he kissed her softly. With one hand on hers, gripping the railing, he raised his other to hold her head, digging his fingers into her soft blond hair. Deepening the kiss when she moaned, he took a step closer to her, pulling her tighter into his embrace. With great reluctance he broke the kiss, his fingers stroking her silky cheek a moment.

  “Why … ?” she stammered out, her chest rising and falling, as she stared at him with amazement.

  “You’re more than a friend, Bee,” he whispered. As he heard footsteps approac
hing, he backed up to ensure a proper amount of space remained between them. “Or, at least, I hope you will be one day.” He forced an easy, carefree smile, as he looked over her shoulder. “Finn, you found us,” he said, the joy in his voice not reaching his eyes. Frustration radiated from him.

  Finn approached, stepping between them, as he looked out at the river under the faint moonlight. “Miss Mortimer,” he said with a deferential nod.

  “Sir,” she whispered, before she cast a final glance in Eamon’s direction and scurried away.

  Finn rolled his eyes. “She’s afraid of her own shadow,” he muttered.

  Eamon nudged his shoulder and shook his head. “No, she’s not. She’s just partial to me and not to you.” He winked at his brother. “Come. Let’s find a poker match to watch.” They strolled away from the railing, although Eamon’s thoughts remained filled with Phoebe and holding her in his arms.

  Chapter 2

  “Tell me more about your uncle,” Eamon murmured, as he sidled up beside Phoebe, while she stood outside on the upper deck after supper a few days later.

  She took a deep breath, his bay rum cologne mixing with the mossy scent of the river and the ever-present wood smoke from the steam engine. She inhaled deeply again, hoping to impart the scent on her memory forever. They had managed to free themselves from the sandbar two days ago and had continued their steady travel upriver. Although she had seen Eamon with his brother at each meal, he had sat a fair distance down the table, while he spoke with well-to-do businessmen traveling to the Montana Territory. She had tried to convince herself that he was acting as a responsible businessman, drumming up future sales at his store. However, she had difficulty fighting her disappointment that his increased interest in her had been so short-lived.