Page 61 of Valley of Dreams

“I had discussions aplenty with that lad before we left,” Mrs. O’Connor said. “I’d hoped to convince him to come with us. But New York had his heart more than any of us did. And, I suspect, the call of war was already beating in him. Determined to save this country singlehandedly, he was. There was no talking him out of it.”

“A shame, really,” one of the sisters said. “If he hadn’t gone to fight, Grady likely wouldn’t have, either.”

“But if Patrick hadn’t stayed in New York, Grady would’ve had none of his siblings with him,” Maura countered. “That, though it was hard on all of you, was a blessing to him, and it eased some of my anxiety at having separated him from the rest of you.”

“Life is sometimes one giant mess of a knot, isn’t it?” Mrs. O’Connor sighed, weariness deep in her tone. “There’s something behind Patrick throwing at Ian’s head that he’d not been listened to, but help me if I can figure out what.”

The door opened. Eliza peeked in that direction. It was Biddy’s daughter returned from being sent to the soddie. “Doc wasn’t there, but he put a note up saying he was at the Scotts’ house.”

Ciara, the younger of the O’Connor sisters, rose and set her sewing on her chair. “I’ll ride up there and fetch him.”

“Thank you,” Maura said. Eliza might’ve added her gratitude as well, but she still felt a bit like an eavesdropper. She didn’t want to draw attention.

“I spoke a bit with Patrick before he abandoned thecéilíon Saturday,” Biddy said. “It didn’t set my mind at ease.”

All eyes turned to Biddy even as they continued their sewing. Cecily’s eyes were hidden behind her green spectacles—Eliza assumed they were needed for something to do with her blindness—but her head turned in Biddy’s direction as well. She, too, was sewing, though much more slowly than the others. Her fingers regularly felt back over the stitches she’d made before continuing on. Was there anything that remarkable woman couldn’t do?

“He’d not been at thecéilílong,” Biddy said. “I told him we’d struggle less if we knew why he’d stayed away so long.” She met her mother-in-law’s eye. “He said it wasn’t his tale to tell. I keep tossing that around in my mind. Why wouldn’t he be able to tell us? And who else could possibly be keeping him mum on something so important?”

Mrs. O’Connor rubbed at her bottom lip. “We’ve thirteen years of separation between us. A great deal can happen to a man in thirteen years.”

“How do we bridge those years?” Biddy asked. “I can’t bear to see him and Ian at odds as they are. There must be a way to draw Patrick in enough to start healing whatever wound he sustained during those years, to give him faith to tell us what’s keeping him away.”

“When he lived with us in New York,” Maura said, “nothing tugged him out of himself as fully and easily as Aidan. His heart could be pulled in any direction by that wee little boy. He was that way before the war as well.”

“I remember him being particularly tender when Finbarr was a tiny boy,” Mary, the older sister said. “It seemed, at times, that Patrick was a born father, looking after children and babies as naturally as breathing.”

Eliza had seen that side of him again and again. He loved Lydia, looked after her, took to her as quickly and easily as anything. That part of him hadn’t changed from the years his family was recounting

Mrs. O’Connor pressed the tip of her finger against her lip. “We’ve plenty enough children among the family. That ought to be something of a pull, yet he stays away.”

“Perhaps there are too many of us,” Mary said. “He may be overwhelmed, being tossed back among such a crowd after so many years away. Most of this family are strangers to him. That can’t be an easy thing.”

“He seems to be getting on quite well with Finbarr,” Biddy said. “The two’ve been gabbier with each other than either’ve been with anyone else. He even got the lad to go up on my roof to help with a repair. Can you believe it?”

“Finbarr told me.” Cecily’s voice was always easy to pick out. She, alone, spoke with a proper English accent, one familiar to Eliza’s ears, though her own manner of speaking was far less refined. “I was amazed.”

“How did Finbarr get through to our Patrick when the rest of us haven’t managed to come even close?” Mrs. O’Connor asked.

Eliza, against her better judgement, jumped in. “He gave Patrick something to do.”

They all turned and looked at her.In for a penny, as the saying went.

“I’ve not known Patrick as long as you have, obviously, but these past weeks I’ve not seen him happier than when he has a project and a purpose. He’s a hard worker, and the work lightens him.”

Far from arguing, the family all nodded.

“He used to always be that way,” Mrs. O’Connor said. “Sometimes, it was exhausting. Never held still, never kept quiet.”

Mary laughed. “Heavens, I remember. Patrick always needed a task. That made the sea voyage an utter nightmare—weeks and weeks of nothing to do but sit around and try not to be sick.”

“He did agree very quickly to make the repair to my roof,” Biddy said. “And he seemed happy about the job.”

“I’d wager he was,” Maura said. “And he took to the idea of building Finbarr’s house without hesitation.”

“It was his idea too,” Mrs. O’Connor said.

Patrick was also eager to help build the inn. He liked to be useful and helpful and accomplishing something. That seemed an inherent part of his character.

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