Page 16 of Valley of Dreams

“There was a fire, and he was burned. Badly. Half his face is scarred from it.”

Mercy.

“And because of the fire . . .” Her hesitation indicated something worse. How was that possible? “The lad’s blind.”

“Saints above.”

“He’s not as sensitive as I’m told he once was, but his heart’s not easy about it. Don’t be pitying toward him, whatever you do, but know he has struggles.”

Patrick’s pulse pounded as they stepped into the kitchen. He recognized dark-haired Aidan from the day before. But even without the scars, he’d have struggled to know that the nearly grown man talking with his nephew was the tiny brother he’d not seen in more than a decade. Finbarr’s hair was ginger as it had always been, but that was the only familiar thing that remained. He was now tall, broad-shouldered and decidedly not six years old.

“Finbarr, stop your yammerin’ and come say hello to your brother,” Maura said.

“Which brother would that be?” That was too low a voice for baby Finbarr. And it held only the smallest hint of Ireland.

Maura looked over at Patrick and motioned for him to answer.

“Patrick,” he said.

That turned the young man around to face them. Patrick held back a gasp of shock at the scars twisting Finbarr’s face. They weren’t gruesome, but neither were they minor.

“Did Ian really belt you?” Finbarr asked.

“Aye.”

“And do you really look like a fur trapper lost in the mountains for fifty years without a soap, razor, or washboard?”

“Yes, he does,” Eliza answered quickly and eagerly.

The woman was going to be the death of him.

“Ma must be happy to have you back with us,” Finbarr said. “She’s missed you.”

“I’ve missed her, too.” The admission surprised even him—not that he’d missed his ma, but that he’d said as much out loud. A new topic was certainly in order. “I’m told you have land of your own, lad.”

Finbarr’s shoulders squared proudly. “I do. Someday I’ll have a house, too. Building it, though . . . that’ll be a trick.”

“Houses aren’t terrible hard to build,” Patrick said. “I’ve tossed up dozens of ’em.”

“With your eyes closed?” The dryness in Finbarr’s voice rivaled the grandest desert.

“That’d make it more difficult, yeah.”

Aidan tossed a mischievous look at his uncle Finbarr. “Which is why you’ll be living with your brother for the rest of your life.”

“Aren’t I lucky?”

The two of them shoved each other jokingly. Maura watched the exchange with fondness and the smallest hint of worry.

Patrick wanted to contribute something to his family’s happiness, to do something that made him less of a burden. Until Joseph Archer returned or Patrick stumbled on some other employment, he hadn’t many options. In the meantime, this grown version of the lad he’d known needed a house and wasn’t able to build it.

“Have you the means of buying materials for building?” Patrick asked.

That pulled Finbarr’s attention to him again. “More or less.”

“I build things, lad. I’ve built mercantiles and depots and more houses than I can count.”

One of the lad’s brows pulled low. The other, surrounded by scarring, might not have been able to move. “Are you offering to build me a house?”

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