Page 26 of Valley of Dreams

“You used to love it,” she said. “But you’ll not have a choice just now. It’s tradition.”

Ah, saints.“What tradition?”

She abandoned him there in the middle of them all. Another woman’s voice filled in the gap she left behind.

“Any idea what we’re meant to be doing?” Eliza asked from beside him. She, who never seemed shaken by anything, looked nervous.

“I haven’t the first idea, but it seems we’re meant to do it together.”

Some of the unease in her eyes lessened. “I like the idea of doing whatever it istogether.”

He shook his head. “You’re the oddest lass I’ve ever known.”

She grinned. “We built Lydia’s bed together. We’re a fine team, you and I. Whatever mischief this town has in mind tonight, doing it together seems a good idea.”

The explanation was oddly disappointing. What was the matter with him lately? For so long, keeping his distance from others had been a matter of survival. Why did that distance ache inside him these past days?

“We’ve a tradition here in Hope Springs.” A man standing in front of them all said, his voice carrying. He wore a green bowler and spoke with the unmistakable tones of Ireland. “New arrivals are welcomed with a song.”

That wouldn’t be so bad.

“And given the task of leading the dancing.”

Thatwas.

He leaned a little closer to Eliza. “I’m no dancer,” he warned.

“You can’t dance with each other,” Tavish called out from the crowd.

Well, hang that.

Eliza immediately began looking over the crowd. Patrick stood as a man at a mark, unsure what to do. The only women he knew there were family, and he hadn’t a strong enough connection with them for something as personal as dancing.

The musicians—there were a great many of them, boasting instruments that were entirely Irish as well as plenty he’d seen only since coming to America—struck up the opening bars of what he quickly recognized as “The New York Reel.” Eliza, not surprisingly, had a partner in the blink of an eye: a young fellow, likely only a bit older than she was, and at least five years Patrick’s junior.

Everyone was watching Patrick, waiting. Just when he thought he’d be doomed to spend the entirety of the song standing about like a great lummox, he saw the perfect solution. He stepped to Maura but knelt in front of Lydia.

“Would you dance with me, wee lass?”

She pulled her fingers from her mouth and set them on his beard. “I-und!”

He looked up at Maura. “Do you suppose I can consider that a ‘yes’?”

Maura nodded with a little laugh.

Patrick swept the girl up in his arms and tucked her close. He took a calming breath. Once upon a time he’d enjoyed being at the center of things. A decade of hiding had beaten that out of him.

With Lydia in his arms, he stepped into the dancing area. Her ma was dancing with the unnamed man she’d chosen, both of them looking rather elegant despite the humble surroundings. He’d not ever look as fine no matter his efforts. Best to let Lydia be the focus.

He spun about and dipped and wove. She held tight to him and giggled with every twirl. He loved the sound of that. There was something reassuring in her pure and unfeigned happiness.

The rest of the gathering soon joined in the dancing. He had the perfect excuse to hand his armful back to Maura and slip away; he’d fulfilled his obligation. But he didn’t leave. He didn’t even want to.

Hearing Lydia joyfully call out the name she’d given him between her giggles and shouts of “Turn! Turn!” kept him there through the entire song.

He’d long ago abandoned hope of being a source of joy to anyone.

Yet in the length of a single tune, this little girl had given him reason to question some of what he believed about himself.

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