Page 45 of Valley of Dreams

“She’ll need to eat,” Eliza said, preparing a sandwich.

Patrick pulled out a chair and sat, setting Lydia on his knee. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, sweetheart. I worried about you, you know.”

She pointed back at the doorway they’d come through. “Lydia’s woom.”

“It is that, love.”

Ivy switched chairs, sitting directly beside him and his armful. “We’re going to play hide and seek, Lydia. Do you want to play with us?”

Lydia giggled at her potential playmate. Patrick hadn’t enough experience with children to know how much a girl Lydia’s age would understand of what was said to her. Still, it was obvious she liked Ivy.

Eliza put a plate in front of her daughter with a sandwich cut into small pieces. “I truly can make you a sandwich, Patrick.”

“I thank you, but m’stomach’s not asking after anything just now.” He was thirsty, aye, but ’twasn’t at all the same thing.

“Would you play hide and seek with us, Mr. Patrick?” Ivy asked. “Mr. Tavish did sometimes, before he had his Miss Cecily and his little baby. And Finbarr did before he got all burned up and grumpy.”

“Don’t talk about him that way,” Emma said. “He’s not burned up.”

“Heisgrumpy, though.”

Emma picked at her sandwich. “Not as much as before.”

“He’s not as grumpy withme.” Ivy’s voice and expression held a hefty dose of cheekiness. “And Aidan said he thinks I’m going to be Queen of the World.”

This kitchen, with these lasses, was precisely what Patrick had needed. They were light and happy and didn’t seem the least upset to have him among them. He found he could even join in their chitchat.

“What do you think, Eliza? Would our Ivy, here, do well as Queen of the World?”

“Exceptionally well.” Eliza spoke as she scrubbed a plate. “And I certainly hope she’ll appoint me Royal Sandwich Maker.”

“And Lydia could be Royal Sandwich Eater!” Ivy declared, bouncing in her seat.

Patrick looked across at the quieter sister. “What about you, Miss Emma? What are you hoping to be when you’re all grown?”

She blushed a little and answered, characteristically quiet, “I would like to be a teacher.”

“Would you, now?”

She nodded, watching him with obvious uncertainty. Did she think he’d disapprove? Would it matter if he did? Poor girl needed a healthy dose of reassurance.

“I’d a teacher of sorts back in New York,” he said. “Weren’t a formal school, but he kept back at the church after services on Sunday, and any of the poor people thereabouts who wanted to learn to read and write and such could learn how. Changed all our lives. I think teaching’s a fine thing. Says a lot about your good heart that you want to undertake it.”

Emma’s color deepened, and a little smile tugged at her mouth.

Ivy stood up on her chair, bouncing with excitement. “And you could shake your ruler at children who are being bad and say, ‘Stop being bad, you bad children.’”

Patrick bit back a laugh and offered, instead, a warning. “I’ve a softness for bold lasses, sweetie, but I’ve no love for seeing them topple off chairs.”

Ivy plopped down on her bum once more. “God is good, but don’t dance in a small boat.”

“Where’d you hear that very Irish turn of phrase?” he asked.

“Finbarr used to say it all the time.”

“He doesn’t any longer?”

Ivy took up her nearly finished sandwich once more. “He doesn’t say much at all now. The fire made him quiet.”

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