Pioneer Longing: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Four Page 4

  She curled farther into herself, wishing that she were far away from Eamon and that she never had to see him again. Deep inside her, a fierce determination sprouted, and she promised herself she would mimic her sister Winnifred. Although she might never have her youngest sister’s natural confidence or poise, Phoebe vowed she would become the woman she had always envisioned she could be: strong, self-assured, and admired.

  Eamon be damned.

  * * *

  Eamon let out a stuttering breath and swore softly as he watched Phoebe race away from him. He fought every instinct to reach for her and to haul her into his arms. To comfort her and to soothe away the harm and the pain he had wittingly caused. However, he remained motionless, watching her until she dashed around a corner and out of sight.

  “Feck,” he muttered, as he turned to blindly face the river again. Rather than the riverbank and the prairie in the distance, he saw Phoebe’s devastated gaze as he treated her callously. The hope fading in her gaze, replaced by mortification and confusion. “’Tis for the better,” he reassured himself, as he gripped the railing.

  “Talkin’ to yourself again?” Finn teased, as he nudged Eamon’s shoulder. When Eamon didn’t return a wisecrack comment, Finn frowned and studied his brother. “What’s the matter, Eamon?”

  “I hurt Phoebe’s feelings,” he said in a low voice, as he didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation.

  “Apologize for the misunderstanding.” Finn shrugged, assuming nothing more needed to be said.

  Eamon sighed and made a face, as he looked out at the same scenery they had stared at for weeks on end. “No, Finn, I hurt her on purpose.” He met his brother’s shocked stare. “I didn’t want her to have any romantic notions about me.”

  His brother gazed at him with an astute assessment. “Is it that, Eamon, or the other way around?” When Eamon stared at him impassively, Finn said, “I fear you’ve foolish notions in your head about some pact we made.” When Eamon swallowed, Finn nodded. “And fears you’ve yet to overcome.”

  “Finn, I don’t need your meddlin’,” Eamon snapped.

  Chuckling, Finn crossed his arms over his chest and one foot over the other as he leaned against the sturdy railing. “Of course you do. What is a younger brother for?” His smile broadened at Eamon’s exasperated expression. “Eamon, we’ve been best friends since I have a memory. We’ve done everything together. Gone everywhere together. But there is a time for you to go your own way.”

  Eamon shook his head, his grip on the railing so tight that he knew he could give himself splinters. “I can’t, Finn. I just can’t.” His eyes gleamed with anguish. “I can’t risk caring for a woman and losing her.”

  Taking a deep breath, Finn studied his brother. “You already have, Eamon. Now you have to see if you’re brave enough to fight to win her back.”

  Eamon closed his eyes, as the truth of Finn’s words seeped into him. Although he knew he should race after Phoebe, find her, and apologize, he wanted time. Time to ensure what he felt was more than a momentary infatuation due to confinement on a ship. And, for that, he would need to be patient, until they docked in Fort Benton. He only prayed that she didn’t hate him too much by then. And that she would remain in town long enough for him to make amends.

  Chapter 3

  Fort Benton, Montana Territory, June 1866

  “Lads!”

  Eamon turned in the direction of the bellow and waved madly at his da. He saw Finn do the same. Soon they jumped free of the steamboat and onto shore. “Da!” Eamon yelled, as he rushed to his father and wrapped his arms around him. They rocked back and forth, before his da released him and repeated the same with Finn.

  “Oh, ’tis a fine day to have my lads return home,” Seamus said, his bright blue eyes sparkling with delight. He glanced over Finn’s shoulder expectantly. “Declan?”

  “Ah,” Eamon stuttered, as he shared a long look with Finn. “He decided to remain in Saint Louis. Thought it better to have an O’Rourke in the warehouse there than for one of us to ferry up and down the river each year.”

  Seamus O’Rourke stood nearly six feet tall, his hands on his hips. His beard now had a sprinkling of black in it and was mostly gray. The hair at his temples and his sideburns were slightly grayer than when they had left in August of the previous year. However, for the most part, he didn’t appear to have changed since they had left nine months ago.

  “Declan’s not comin’ home?” he breathed. “Not for another year?” He rubbed at his temple and shook his head. “I want the lad home.” He glared at the river, as though he could convey the message downriver to his absent son. “I wanted the whole family together again.”

  Eamon shrugged. “I didn’t know how to convince him, Da. Not after …” He broke off and shook his head. “’Tis a story that should be told the one time. With Ardan and Kevin present too.”

  Seamus clapped a hand on each of his sons’ shoulders. “Aye, an’ we must focus on unloading the cargo and stocking the warehouse. Many men will be arrivin’ this year, an’ I mean to earn a fair profit off them.” He paused as he watched a group of attractive women disembark the steamboat. “I hope you had the sense to make their acquaintance while you were on board.”

  “Da,” Finn said, with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “The youngest one would make anyone daft.”

  Seamus studied his son with an assessing look, before focusing on Eamon, who observed the women with a thinly veiled intensity. “Aye, but they are the ones who make life worth livin’.” He paused, waiting for Eamon to speak, but he seemed transfixed, as he watched the sisters laugh when they stumbled over a rut in the rough road. “I fear the lasses won’t last long here without attractin’ unsavory attention.”

  Eamon jerked at his father’s murmured comment, his jaw tightening with frustration. “They are nice enough, Da, but not our concern. Did you bring the wagon?”

  After staring at his son another long moment, he nodded. “Aye. We have a hard day’s worth of work ahead of us, if we’re to move all our supplies into the warehouse. Kevin will work there with Niall and Lucien, while you lads take over the running of the store again.”

  “Where’s Ardan?” Eamon asked.

  “At the café. With his wife,” Seamus said with a satisfied smile. “He and Deirdre married after you left. They’ll be one of your first deliveries, as she needs supplies to feed the mass of men who’ll be comin’ through town.”

  As they worked to load the wagon with the first batch of stock, Seamus said, “You never said why such pretty lasses decided to travel to such an uncivilized place.”

  Eamon hefted a heavy barrel, gasping when he set it in place in the back of the wagon. After catching his breath, he said, “They came here to meet their uncle. Said he wrote them, and they were to come find him, if he didn’t make it home last fall.”

  Seamus gaped at him and then shook his head. “Those fine lasses are related to Uriah Chaffee?”

  Eamon looked to Finn, who shrugged. “I can’t remember ever askin’ after the uncle’s name. Should it matter?”

  “Feck.” Seamus looked at the half-packed wagon and motioned for them to continue packing. “We’ll bring the first load to Kevin, and then we must find those women. For, if Uriah is their uncle, they are in for a rude awakenin’.”

  * * *

  Phoebe paused upon exiting the steamboat, her breath catching at the sight of the wild frontier town. She and her sisters had donned their finest clothes, as they had hoped to find their uncle or to solicit the aid of someone in their quest to locate him. Her hand slid down the soft silk of her emerald-green dress, the fabric shimmering in the bright sunlight, hoping the sheen of polish and sophistication would hide her uncertainty as they began their foray into town. Her boots created divots in the moist earth, and she clung to her fan as though she were a fine society lady about to make a call, rather than a newly arrived woman with no friends in a town more uncivilized than she ever could have imagined.


  She moved from the boat landing, as men grumbled at her to get out of the way, and she heard the sound of men unloading the heavy cargo. However, she stood transfixed at the sight of patched-together clapboard buildings, some whitewashed, most faded to a dull gray by the harsh environment, with bold lettering overhead proclaiming their purpose.

  Ignoring the numerous saloons, she saw the O’Rourke and Sons store nearly across from her and then a hotel a short distance down the boardwalk. A laundry, a café, and a barbershop were intermingled between saloons. At first glance, there appeared to be a surplus of saloons, although she saw the men from her steamboat swarming into them, like hungry locusts. “Parched locusts,” she muttered to herself.

  Urging her sisters to move across the street filled with deep ruts, she avoided the even deeper potholes filled with mud, horse and oxen dung. She sighed with relief to step onto the boardwalk but jumped backward when a man with rancid breath, wearing tanned hides for clothes, with greasy hair past his shoulders, leaned toward her. He reached for her, as though she were fair game, and she batted at him with her fan, suddenly thankful she had worn her best clothes and had a weapon of sorts. When he grunted in surprise, she scooted away from him.

  “Hey, where you goin’?” he called out. “The Sirens always enjoy what I got to give ’em.”

  Phoebe glared at him over her shoulder as she prayed her sisters were smart enough to walk ahead of her toward the hotel. “I have no idea what a Siren is, sir. But you would be advised to stay well away from me. And from my sisters.”

  She trotted away as fast as possible, entering the hotel on Winnifred’s heels. A man who appeared to be in his midthirties sat on a stool behind the desk, perusing a newspaper, and he hopped to his feet at their entrance. “Ladies,” he said with a broad smile. His chestnut-brown hair hung to his shirt’s collar, and his mustache curled around his mouth. “How might I help you?”

  “We would like a room,” Phoebe said, taking control of the situation before Lorena froze at the thought of speaking to the stranger and to stop Winnifred from flirting or becoming insolent in her discomfort. Phoebe never knew how her youngest sister would react when she was uncomfortable.

  “Excellent. I’m glad you arrived when you did. I have very few left. Fort Benton is quite popular this year.”

  Phoebe jumped as a gunshot sounded, and thereafter men hooted and hollered from the attached saloon. “Is it always this … lively?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” the hotel proprietor said with a reassuring smile. “It’s often much worse.”

  “Worse?” Winnifred gasped. “How are we expected to sleep?”

  “You adapt,” he said, as he reached behind him to extract a key. “If you’d like to follow me?” He turned and smiled at a man dressed in a colorful suit as he made his way downstairs. “Enjoy your outing, sir.”

  “Uncle?” Phoebe asked, as she gaped at the man’s large paunch and jowls.

  “How did you get so fat?” Winnifred blurted out, causing Phoebe to stifle a snicker, before she nudged her youngest sister in the side to quiet any more impertinent comments.

  The man paused, his turquoise waistcoat nearly bursting from the pressure to keep him clothed, and turned his beady eyes on the three sisters. At first, he appeared annoyed, as though he were about to be exploited. After staring at the girls from head to toe, a satisfied gleam sparkled in his eyes.

  “You are Uriah Chaffee,” Phoebe said, as she took a step closer to the man she barely remembered, but whose picture had sat on their mantel since his departure over a decade ago. Although much heavier than the lean man with a naively hopeful expression, his coloring was similar to their mother’s, and Uriah was the spitting image of their beloved uncle, Harvey, who had died three years ago. “You are our uncle.”

  He blustered, puffing out his chest. “I could be uncle to many young women. For I am a successful man, and many would wish for such an alliance. Who was your mother, girl?”

  “Are you claiming our mother wasn’t respectable?” Winnifred snapped. “Your own sister?”

  Uriah shrugged. “You know her better than I do.”

  Phoebe poked her finger into his chest. “How dare you disparage our mama’s memory with such vicious and vile speculation? She was your sister too! Your sister, Marilda.” She took a deep breath and cast a quick glance over her shoulder to find the hotel proprietor watching their interaction with deep interest. “You’re the one who wrote us, asking us to join you here, so we could be a family again. Why else would we leave our comfortable home to travel here?”

  Uriah had the grace to look momentarily chagrined. “Oh, dear girls, I can barely believe you’re standing in front of me! Dear Marilda’s girls. How is it possible, after all this time, to finally be reunited?” He smiled, although it appeared more feral than welcoming. “Come. Have you seen the joys and delights to be found in this wonderful little town? I’ve discovered it to be of my liking. Now that you are here, it will truly feel like home.”

  He chuckled as they jumped at the hoots and hollers of men in the Levee Saloon next door. After a moment, he brightened as he looked at them. “Why don’t we delay your perusal of a boring hotel room? I’ll show you around this fine little town.”

  Phoebe looked at her sisters, and they shook their heads. Phoebe wavered, not wishing to offend him when they had just found him, although she yearned for a long walk, a proper bath, and a fine meal. With a resigned sigh, when it was apparent he would not accept their refusal, she muttered, “Fine. I’ll go with you. My sisters will remain here to settle in.”

  He looked them over and smiled. “Fine. One at a time will increase …” He broke off what he would have said and motioned for her to follow him. “Come, dear girl. I have a desire to show you this intriguing town.”

  Phoebe smiled reassuringly at her sisters and accompanied him outside.

  * * *

  Eamon followed his da, leaving the first wagonload of goods with Kevin. As luck would have it, two of their good friends, Dunmore and Cormac, were present at the warehouse, and they offered to help move their supplies, so Seamus and Eamon could search for the Mortimer sisters.

  Eamon’s long strides matched his father’s, and he looked around the town that had come to life with the arrival of the steamboats. “Cormac doesn’t appear as sullen as usual, Da.”

  Seamus came to an abrupt halt, staring in wonder at his son. “You don’t know,” he breathed. “Jaysus, all the time apart with no ability to communicate. How are we to survive another entire year without Declan?” He shook his head at the miserable possibility. “Connor died, lad. He was killed at the Bordello in October.” Seamus waved down the boardwalk to the house of ill repute at the far end of town. “He left Niamh a widow and wrote an infamous will. Those in town over the winter were entertained by the O’Rourkes’ misfortunes.”

  Eamon goggled at his father. “What misfortune? The man’s dead! After all our prayers, he died?” When Seamus hissed at him to keep his voice down, Eamon took a step closer to his father and lowered his voice. “I’d think Cormac would be more saddened by the death of his only living brother.”

  Seamus shook his head. “I can’t explain it all here, but no. There’s much you don’t understand.” A smile burst forth. “But the important news is that he and Niamh married in December.”

  Eamon burst into a broad smile, before sobering. “Was she forced to marry him, Da?” He paused as his father stared at him intently. “Or is Niamh finally happy?”

  “Oh, Niamh’s ecstatic, as you’ll see well enough at the family dinner your mum’s prepared for tonight.” He clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder and ushered him down the sidewalk. “Come. Let’s find these women and keep them out of mischief. If we’re fortunate, we’ll have time to sneak to the café for one of Deirdre’s treats.”

  They entered the hotel, and Eamon stood beside his father, content to watch his father interact with the townsfolk. His da had always commanded respect, and he marveled at how
he earned it with charm and wit, rather than malice. He had seen too many men during his time in Saint Louis attempt to use brute force and fear to prove themselves worthy of esteem. He shook his head as he realized that he’d been raised by a master charmer and that he only ever needed to emulate his da to have success.

  “Foster,” Seamus called out, as he entered the hotel. “How’s business?”

  “I’ve only one room free. I should look into expanding,” Aaron Foster said with a proud tilt of his head. “If we’re fortunate, this is the first of many prosperous years to come.”

  “Aye,” Seamus said. “If what my lads have told me comes true, many ships will come up the river this year.” He glanced outside, as though he could see the river past all the wagons and the cargo on the levee. “And ’tis a good water year. They should make it to Fort Benton, rather than havin’ to stop at Cow Island.”

  Aaron Foster nodded. “Yes. I hope you ordered plenty of supplies.”

  Seamus shrugged in a noncommittal fashion and focused on the proprietor. “I heard a trio of sisters came to stay with you.”

  Frowning and staring at Seamus at his perceived impertinence, Foster crossed his arms over his chest. “I fail to see that it’s any business of yours.”

  “My lad, Eamon, befriended them on the boat. When he informed me that they were lookin’ for their uncle, I was worried he meant Chaffee.” His friendly cajoling disappeared when he saw the flash of panic in the other man’s gaze. “Tell me they have yet to meet the man.”

  “Ah, I wish I could, Seamus, but he was descending the stairs as I was about to show them their room.”

  “Are they well?” Eamon asked, his cobalt-blue eyes lit with concern, as he took a step closer to the desk, joining the conversation.