Page 69 of Valley of Dreams

Patrick set his gaze on her ma. “You’re missing the party, Mrs.—”

“So help me, Patrick O’Connor, if you call me that one more time, I’ll abscond with every piece of long underwear you have up here and sew all the legs shut.”

He thought it best to call a truce for the moment, on the topic of how he addressed her, at least. “If I call you Eliza again, will you go back to thecéilíand leave me be?”

“No. Call me Eliza and I’ll leave your underthings alone. I’ll go back to thecéilíwhen I’m good and ready.”

He bounced Lydia a little, eying Eliza narrowly. “Are you certain you don’t have some Irish in you somewhere? That was fiery enough for me to wonder.”

She arched a brow. “Do you think onlyIrishwomen can be fearsome?”

“What’ll it take for you to return to the party?”

She popped fists on her hips. “The truth.”

In his experience, the truth was something best avoided.

“I’d offer you a seat, but I don’t have one.”

She shrugged. “I can make do.” As regal as a princess, she moved to the bed and sat on the edge, quite as if it were a very fine sofa in a very fine house. “Now, what—” Her gaze froze on the little doll on his bedside table. “What’s this?”

Embarrassment rushed over him in a wave of heat. “Mr. Johnson needed a repair seen to and made an exchange. The doll was part of it.”

She looked at him, gaze hopeful but hesitant.

“I’d not had a chance to give it to her yet.” Patrick reached over and snatched the toy up. This was proving more uncomfortable than he’d anticipated.

He offered the doll to Lydia. Her handkerchief doll occupied her one hand, and the other was busy fussing with Patrick’s beard.

“We can tuck this in your pinafore pocket,” he said, slipping her handkerchief there. Her lip began to quiver. Panic crept over him. He couldn’t bear the thought of making her cry. Patrick held the doll out to her. “What do you think of this sweet dolly, huh? Just right for you, I’d say. And she’s a pretty thing.”

Lydia was hesitant but curious. She poked at the doll a few times. She touched its hair and its dress. He’d not considered the possibility that she wouldn’t like it. The silly thing ought to have been so easy for him to dismiss, but the idea of the little girl he’d come to care about rejecting his humble offering tore at his heart.

She looked up at him. What he saw wasn’t rejection but confusion. Mercy, did the girl not even know what a doll was? What level of poverty had this tiny family endured if she couldn’t evenidentifya toy?

“I’m confusing her,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.”

Eliza waved that off.

He sat on the edge of the bed and set Lydia on his knee, facing him. He held the doll up in front of her and wiggled it around a bit to seem more alive, more interesting. He moved it to her and let the doll “kiss” Lydia’s cheek, before returning to its wiggle dance. On the second repetition, Lydia smiled. That lifted some of the weight on Patrick’s mind. Even if the girl didn’t know how to play with the doll, she was at least enjoying it.

He began a sing-song repetition of “I love Lydia. I love Lydia,” in his best version of a dolly voice while continuing the doll’s little dance. After a moment, she reached for the doll and took it in her own hands. She wiggled it around a bit like he had and mimicked his sing-song words, though in little-girl gibberish.

“There you go, sweetie.” He folded his hands behind her back, keeping her balanced and safe on his lap. She could sort out what to do with the doll while she sat there. He’d wager she’d have the knack of it in no time.

“Thank you, Patrick,” Eliza whispered beside him.

“The lass needed a doll.”

She laid her head against his shoulder. “You have a good heart, but you work so hard to hide it. I can’t for the life of me understand why.”

“Is that the reason you came up here after me? To sort me out?”

“Honestly, I came up here to tell you to quit being such a sour apple. But climbing that ladder hurt so much that I found myself ready to fully forgive you if only I could rest my hand a bit.”

He’d been so busy worrying about himself that he’d not even noticed her bandaged hand. “I heard you burned it.”

She nodded. “It’s feeling better, but it’s still very tender.”

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