Page 14 of Valley of Dreams

The idea of an entire day pretending all was well, pretending his ma’s kindness to him was deserved, pretending they hadn’t a chasm the size of the Irish Sea between them . . . He couldn’t endure it.

A day spent gabbing would unavoidably turn to the topic of separation and war and Grady’s death. He hadn’t willpower enough for facing thatandstaying sober. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t drink during the day. He couldn’t break that vow so soon.

“I need a job, Ma. Best if I sort that out now.”

“I’ve not seen you in thirteen years, Patrick.”

“Then a few more hours won’t seem like much.” He moved in a near panic to the door.

“Patrick—”

“I’m sorry, Ma.” He pulled open the door. Her downtrodden expression tore at him. But what could he do? “I’m sorry.”

He stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him. For a long moment he stood there, his heavy mind and heart anchoring him to the spot. He pushed his ratty hair out of his face. Living here was proving as uncomfortable as he’d feared. He needed his family’s help, but he didn’t know how to talk to them or be near them. The least he could do was find work and not be a burden.

The walk back up the road was long. He passed five farms spread out in either direction from the road, none within quick distance of each other. And the valley expanded far beyond these homes. There was so much space here. Distance enough between people that he could, if he found a corner of his own . . .

He shook off the thought he didn’t dare finish. Letting himself hope for things only led to disappointment in the end. His family might not want him to stay once they came to know the person he was now. He might find having them nearby was too painful, too full of regret. He’d do best not to build up too many dreams.

He stopped for a minute on the wooden bridge that spanned the river. The past eighteen months, he’d lived near Lake Winnipeg. He’d grown accustomed to the sound of water. This river was a trickle compared to that vast body of water, but it was comfortingly familiar.

He leaned against the bridge railing, taking in the view. The area was dry and leaned heavily toward shades of brown, but it was beautiful all the same. The mountains in the distance had to be enormous. And tall. The tips were white with snow, despite this being the middle of summer. He’d moved around a lot the past years and had learned to appreciate all kinds of scenery.

What he wouldn’t have given in that moment to have his fiddle. Music carried over water. Playing now would have been beautiful. Except there was too great a chance of someone stumbling upon him. Playing his fiddle had been comforting, but it was also very personal.

With his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, he walked onward, setting his feet in the direction of the Archers’ house. He’d not had a drop to drink all morning. Though he felt the tug pulling him back to his trunk at Ma and Da’s, he had motivation enough to keep moving toward the hope of a job, an income and, eventually, being less of a burden. In time he might even be an asset to someone, maybe even to himself.

Maura answered his knock at the back door. “Patrick. What brings you ’round?”

“I’m needing work.”

She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “You spent last night at a large, working farm. There’s work and plenty there.”

“I know about as much about farming as a cow does about going on holiday.”

“You’re wishin’ I’d offered you the housekeeper’s job instead of Eliza?”

He allowed a fleeting smile. “I’m hoping that this Mr. Archer I’ve heard about has work to hire out. Ma says Finbarr works here as well.”

“Even my Aidan has done a spot of work for Mr. Archer now and then.”

Promising indeed. “I’d like to ask him what he has on offer just now.”

“He’s not here,” Maura said. “The family returns to Baltimore for a month or so every other year. They’ll not be back for another fortnight.”

He needed something sooner than two weeks from now.

“Patrick!” Eliza’s voice rang out from behind Maura. An instant later, she slipped around Maura and reached out to catch hold of his arm. “Come see the fireplace. It hasthreepot hooks.”

How had he come to be this near-stranger’s friend of choice? He’d not said more than a handful of words to her on the entire journey from the train station, yet somehow she thought of him as her friend. As he was dragged past Maura, he looked to her, hoping for some explanation. She smiled at him in obvious amusement. He’d get no help from that quarter.

A moment later, he stood in front of an empty fireplace, listening to her explain at length why three pot hooks were such a fine thing. She seemed truly excited to share her enthusiasm with him. Over pot hooks. He did not understand this confusing lass.

“And Maura says the Archers have a little boy almost exactly Lydia’s age, so she will have an immediate friend. Is that not perfect?”

He nodded, not bothering to answer. She hadn’t yet required him to.

“They have two daughters Maura says are just lovely. I think I’m going to be very happy here.”

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