Page 50 of Valley of Dreams

Chapter Twelve

How was Eliza supposedto slip away for a private conversation about a half-formed idea she didn’t particularly want to be overheard, if the Archers never left home, and Patrick never visited? Four days passed without a single opportunity to ask him about the difficulties and considerations of building an inn.

She couldn’t get the idea out of her head. Imagining her own inn gave her something pleasant to focus on during laundry and floor scrubbing. At night, she told Lydia stories of the Charred Oak, inwardly dreaming of raising her daughter in an American version of that magical place. But she knew building such a place would be quite an undertaking. Until she knew precisely what it would take, she couldn’t let herself fully hope.

Finally, the Archers left home to spend the afternoon and evening with Ian and Biddy O’Connor. Eliza had her chance. She took off her work apron, plopped on her wide-brimmed bonnet, and set Lydia on her hip.

“We’re going to go visit with Mr. Patrick,” she said. “You’ll like seeing him.”

Lydia held tight to her handkerchief doll in one hand and clutched Eliza’s sleeve with the other.

“But we have to be quick about it. Miss Emma and Miss Ivy’s family will be back in only a couple of hours.”

Sometimes having conversations with a not-quite two-year-old was tiring. The Archer girls, at least, could carry their half of it. And though she hadn’t had a great many talks with Katie Archer, Eliza had enjoyed the ones they’d had. Even if Patrick had no insights for her, she looked forward to simply talking with him.

Eliza knew the way to Finbarr’s future home: follow the river to the small pond, then turn left at the outcropping of rocks. She hadn’t visited the site yet, but she’d heard Ivy tell Aidan about “Finbarr’s land” more than once.

She made her way there, assuming he would be at the building site. Finbarr’s future house was the most likely spot to find Patrick, and the directions proved perfect. She found her way directly to a vast expanse of unplanted land. And very nearby was the start of a comfortably sized house built of sod. The outer walls were knee high all the way around. As she understood it, Patrick had only recently begun the actual building of the house. He’d made fast progress.

He carried an armful of large sod bricks from a wagon to the walls. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, heavy work trousers, thick boots—and no shirt. That stopped her in her tracks for a moment. She felt as if she were walking in on someone in a very private moment, even though he was out of doors and not the least bit hidden.

An urge to apologize seized her. But apologize for what? She was intruding, but not intentionally.

Eliza summoned her self-possession and traversed the remaining distance to the future house. “You’ve built so much already.”

“Aye.” He didn’t sound the least startled. Apparently she’d not made her approach undetected. “Work goes fast when a fellow’s doing what he enjoys.”

Which explained why Eliza’s days sometimes seemed to drag on endlessly.

A wood frame, the exact size of a doorway, sat in the middle of one of the long walls. Eliza stepped up near it, still holding Lydia. “This will be the door, won’t it?”

“It will.” He set another sod brick in the wall. “And the walls’ll be full of windows. Cecily says it’s important for Finbarr to have light.”

Eliza stepped over the threshold and into what would be the interior of the house. “He’ll have a lot of room in here.”

“And when he has money enough for building a finer house, this’ll be a good size for a barn.”

Lydia rested her head against Eliza’s shoulder. The poor thing had missed her nap. She’d be either asleep or fussy in a few more minutes.

“You know a lot about building.”

“Aye. A decade spent doing something’ll give you a knack for it.”

He could help her solidify her currently vague idea. “What do you know about building things other than houses?”

“I’ve built a great many things. Mostweren’thouses.”

She turned to face him again. “I— What do—” She took a breath, trying to collect her thoughts, even as they continually spun back to the upending reality of a very handsome man standing half-dressed nearby. “I was—”

Heavens.

He looked over at her. “Something amiss, lass?”

“I’m sorry, it’s only that you—you don’t have a shirt on and it’s very . . . distracting.”

He smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Enjoying it, are you?”

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