Joseph tried to catch her before she answered it. Ivy was hardly in any state to be greeting visitors. He reached her just as she opened the door.
Katie, of all people, stood on the back porch. Why did she have to come right at the height of this failure? She’d see how entirely they’d undone the work she’d accomplished during her time there.
Her eyes seemed to take it all in: Ivy’s sticky face and hands; his own less-than-pristine state; Emma, standing behind him, with her dress caked in goo; the kitchen, filthy and chaotic.
Slowly, a smile blossomed across her face. Then she laughed. She laughed so hard and deep that she struggled for breath.
Ivy pressed her messy hands to her mouth and giggled. Joseph glanced back at Emma to find a smile on her face as well.
“We’ve been making dinner,” Joseph explained, feeling equal parts foolish and amused.
“You ought to make it in a mixing bowl like a right regular person, Joseph Archer, instead of stirring it on the floor.”
“Is that the step I missed?” Even in his humiliation, Joseph found he could laugh.
“If you’ve any appetite left, I’ve brought you a plate of sweet rolls.”
Ivy immediately began jumping up and down making almost desperate sounds of longing.
“Please, Pompah. Please can we have them? Please?”
Joseph patted the top of her head, about the only part of her that wasn’t dirty. “I think that would make a fine dinner.”
Such relief crossed Emma’s face that Katie started laughing all over again. She stepped gingerly inside, somehow managing to avoid both the mess on the floor and Ivy’s gluey fingers. She set her plate, with a dishtowel over it, on the countertop near the pile of dishes Joseph hadn’t yet gotten around to washing.
She crooked a finger at Emma and Ivy, drawing them closer. She held Ivy’s hands over the sink and pumped water. As she washed the mess from Ivy’s hands, she spoke to the girls. “I want the both of you to go up to your bedroom, being ever so careful not to touch a single thing, and slip out of your dresses. Put on your nightgowns and come back down. Bring these dresses back with you. Can you do that, now?”
The girls nodded solemnly.
“Off with you, then.”
They rushed out, an eagerness in their movements, no doubt inspired by empty stomachs and the promise of Katie’s famous sweet rolls.
“Do I dare ask just what this concoction is down here?” Katie looked warily at the mess on the floor.
“Broken eggs, spattered milk, and spilled flour.”
She seemed to ponder that a moment. “Eggs, milk, and flour. Was it to be
pancóga
for dinner tonight?”
“
Pancóga?
”
She winced dramatically, no doubt at his horrible attempt to pronounce her Gaelic word. “
Pancóga
is . . . drop scones.” She shook her head. “No. That’s the Scottish word. I can’t remember what you call them here.”
“Pancakes?” Joseph suggested.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“We
were
trying to make pancakes, but the girls were a little too eager to help.”
Her eyes returned to him. He couldn’t say if he saw more laughter or empathy in her face. “Bless your heart, Joseph Archer, but you do have your hands full.”
“Two more weeks, Katie. In two weeks I’ll take my grain to the station to sell and come back with a new housekeeper.”
“This new housekeeper, she seems like a good fit for you, does she?”
Joseph nodded. He’d been much more thorough in finding Katie’s replacement than he’d been when hiring
her.
Mrs. Smith was neither young nor Irish. And he’d received references that assured him she had experience with children. “I think she will be a good fit.”
“Would you like a bit of help cleaning this up?”
“If you’re offering, I’m accepting.”
Katie pushed back the sleeves of her dress and grabbed a dishrag from the drawer where she’d kept them. He’d spent enough time lingering in the kitchen after meals to know exactly where to find the rags after she’d gone.
“If you’ll fetch the slop bucket,” she said, “we can get this cleared away quick as rain.”
He slipped outside to do just that, and by the time he returned, she had a heaping dustpan of the doughy mess all ready for him. She scooped and dumped a few more dustpans’ worth of the concoction, while Joseph scrubbed the floor with the damp dishtowel.
“Thank you for your help,” he said, rinsing and wringing the rag in the sink.
She smiled up at him. “You’re quite welcome, Joseph.”
“And for the rolls,” he added. “I hate to even admit it, but they are likely to be the girls’ entire dinner tonight. We’ve had a few too many disasters today.”
“I’m a regular heavenly messenger, it seems. Bringing you miracle upon miracle, I am.”
“We’ve needed a few miracles around here lately.”
Katie pulled another rag from the drawer and stood beside him at the sink, rinsing it. “When does Emma start school?”
“Next week.” It didn’t at all surprise him that Katie remembered what was happening in Emma’s life, nor that she would ask after her. Katie and Emma had a special bond, one Joseph didn’t fully understand but for which he was daily grateful. Emma was a quiet and lonely girl. Katie had lit a candle inside the child, and she absolutely glowed when Katie was nearby.
“The younger children start school first,” he continued. “Those old enough to help with the reaping won’t start back to school until after all the crops are brought in.”
Talking with her again, Joseph could almost imagine things were the way they’d been before. She was doing her daily work, and he was there talking with her, helping where he could, simply enjoying having her nearby. Odd that
this
had become his idea of “normal,” when Katie had only been with them for three months. How quickly his view of the world and the things he wanted out of life had changed.
“I’d wager Emma’s a fine student.” Katie wiped down the front of the stove, which hadn’t escaped the pancake-batter explosion. “She’s such a clever girl. She must do very well in school.”
“She does.” Emma was exceptionally bright. She often amazed him, in fact.
“Have you a clean pot? A small one?”
He searched about in the cupboards until he found one. She had the pitcher of milk in hand by the time he handed her the pot. Katie poured a generous amount in and placed it on the stovetop, stirring with a spoon she’d retrieved at some point.
“I would have liked to have gone to school.” She spoke wistfully, without bitterness.
He leaned against the nearby countertop and watched her stir. What a moonling he’d become, so happy to stand about staring at a woman who was out of his reach. “What would you have studied if you’d gone to school?”
“Everything. Numbers and ciphering and the world. Just everything.” Her eyes unfocused, growing thoughtful and distant. “I might have learned how to write my name. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing, to take up a pen and write my very own name?”
The longing in her tone pierced him. “I could teach you that. If you want to learn to write your name, I could show you.”
“Perhaps you might find a moment between working your land and keeping up your house and tending to your children,” she answered with a touch of amused dryness. “I know perfectly well you have far too much to do to be wasting your time on something so . . . silly.”
“I am in earnest, Katie.” Nothing that would make her happy would ever be “silly” to him.
She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “You once told me you are always in earnest.”
“At the time I said that I believe I was firing you.”
“Something you have done far too many times.” She pointed a teasing finger at him.
One side of his mouth tugged upward. “What are you making?”
“Warm milk. To go with the sweet rolls. ’Twill—it will be a fine treat for you and the girls.”
Joseph had never heard Katie trade out her Irish expressions for American ones. Why had she started now? He found himself studying her more closely.
She looked tired. More than tired,
exhausted.
He set a hand on her arm. “Are you unwell?”
She shook her head. “I am quite well.”
“You don’t look it.”
Hurt and embarrassment immediately filled her expression. “That’s a fine thing to say to a woman who, out of the goodness of her heart, has made you something edible for dinner.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
Her coloring was a touch off. And, no matter her protests, she did look very tired. His late wife had been pale and worn-looking in the day or two before the fever took hold. Was Katie truly “quite well” or was she more ill than she let on?
“Katie?”
She tapped her spoon on the side of the pot, something she did every time she cooked. That sound would forever make him think of her.
“Don’t start fussing like an old nursemaid,” she said. “I’ve had a couple long days is all. I’m behind on my bread deliveries, so I’ve been up all day and late into the night baking.”
“Now I’m feeling guilty that you made us rolls.” He struck a lighter tone.
“The rolls are a bribe.”
“A bribe?” That was unexpected.
She set the pot off the heat and turned to face him. Something in the very straight set of her shoulders spoke volumes of her nervousness. Was she afraid to talk to him?
“I don’t have all the money I owe you for the flour yet,” she said, a feigned firmness in her voice that contrasted with the worry in her eyes. “I fell behind with my bread and haven’t sold as many loaves as I expected to. If I can sell all that I usually do, I can give you the rest of what I owe you by the end of the month.”
“Katie—”
“I thought I’d have more time for baking and deliveries since my duties here no longer fill my days, but it simply hasn’t worked out that way.” Her shoulders slumped a little. “There has been so very much to do at Mrs. Claire’s house, with repairs and cleaning and cooking. And she was so low on everything essential. I honestly don’t know what she’s lived on. Stocking her cupboards took a good bit of money.”
Joseph led her to the table and pulled a chair out for her. She sat. He took the chair diagonal from hers.
“There’s just been so much to do.” She sighed deeply. Her beautiful brown eyes met his, pleading and worry heavy in their depths. “I will get you the money, I promise.”
“I am not at all worried about that, Katie. I know you well enough to not doubt you for a moment.”
Her brow only creased more as she shook her head in what looked like disappointment. In herself. “But I gave you my word.”
He set his hand on top of hers, which were clasped together on the tabletop. “Your word is good enough for me. Please don’t worry about the money when you clearly have other things on your mind.”
She sat in silence, shoulders drooping, head lowered. Joseph didn’t pull his hand back. Tavish wouldn’t approve, but Tavish wasn’t there. Katie needed
someone
to reach out to her.
“Why must people be so horrible?” she whispered. A catch in her voice added a tone of misery.
“What happened?”
She gave the tiniest shake of her head. “I’ve only been thinking of Ian and the terrible way the Red Road treats the Irish. And of what a poisonous snake Mr. Johnson can be at times.”
There was the very topic he’d meant to discuss with her the next time he saw her. He’d clearly been justified in his uneasiness with her new position. “I’d heard you were working for him. Is he mistreating you?”
She pulled one of her hands from his, upturning it and propping her head there. Her other hand, though, remained with his.
“If he is making you miserable—”
“Not miserable, really. At least not so much that I can’t endure it.” She looked so weary. Joseph’s heart ached at the sight. “Besides, my work is making a difference. He brought the Irish prices back down. I don’t know if you heard that.”
He had, but hadn’t realized she was connected to the change. “You talked him down?” He was impressed.
“Not exactly. I work for him six hours every morning, and he agrees not to starve the Irish out of town. That is our arrangement.”
She wasn’t being paid? That was little better than slavery. “It sounds to me like a very one-sided arrangement.”
She closed her eyes, her head still resting against her palm. “I’ve seen the fear leave my neighbors’ eyes. I’ve seen the wee ones with shoes on their feet and their mothers making coats for the coming winter. I’m well paid in that, I promise you.”
“Then why do you sound so defeated, Katie?”
“Do not you lecture me on this too, Joseph.” She stood rather abruptly, pacing away from him. “Tavish already told me I was every sort of a fool. He insisted I should let everyone else worry about the Irish prices as I’ve enough troubles of my own.”
“He does have something of a point.” Joseph stood, tempted to move closer, but choosing, instead, to keep his distance.
“Sometimes I think he thinks I’m helpless, that I’m weak or incapable or something. He turns the subject whenever our conversations touch on hard things. Every time I attempt something difficult, he insists that I shouldn’t.”
Katie weak or incapable? That was so inaccurate it was almost laughable. “My guess is he worries about you. That he cares so much he’d do anything to save you from pain and heartache and worry, but he doesn’t know how.” He took a step in her direction. “He probably is astounded at how strong and capable you are, but wishes you didn’t have to carry so much weight on your shoulders.”
She looked at him, her gaze riveted to his face. Did she realize he was actually speaking of himself?
“If he only knew how to help, Katie, if he could believe he was allowed to walk with you when you are passing through troubles, I think he would jump at the opportunity. I think he would do anything in the world for you.”
She took a shaky breath. Katie seldom looked emotional, but she did in that moment. Joseph hated that he didn’t know what it meant or what she was feeling.
“What can I do, Katie? I’ll do anything you need me to, anything at all.”
She held her hands up in a gesture of frustrated helplessness. “I’m only tired. So very, very tired.”