Page 26 of Choices of the Heart

“Truly?” Sophie appeared sincerely impressed.

What would that be like? Having a father who was proud of him? Being impressive to even high society women?

It seemed Burke was confused about more than just his reaction to Sophie. He felt upended about absolutely everything.

While the O’Connors were distracted, he slipped from the inn and across the covered porch to his own front door. The house beyond was quiet. That seemed the way of it: either silent or chaotic, with little in between.

He let himself in and wandered to the sitting room. Alexander’s visit was looming. He had plenty to do before his friend’s arrival and a rare quiet evening in which to work on it, yet he couldn’t seem to summon the motivation.

Through the wall separating his home and infirmary from the inn, a burst of laughter echoed. The O’Connors were always lively when they were together. It was a nice sound. It added something to what was often a lonely space.

He wanted to convince Alexander, when he arrived, that this practice and life he was building was exciting and impressive and satisfying. He wanted to believe it himself.

But he was struggling.

Sophie had visited the inn every day since Sunday. She had found in Eliza O’Connor a ready friend and in Patrick O’Connor something of a brother. How odd it was that she had been in Hope Springs only a week and already felt as welcome as she ever had in Baltimore. She planned her visit on Tuesday to coincide with the weekly music session. There were two stagecoach travelers breaking their journey there that night.

The musicians seemed particularly excited to have an audience. Eliza seemed particularly busy.

“Please let me help,” Sophie said. “I haven’t any experience, but I’m eager to learn and like being helpful.”

“I won’t turn you down,” Eliza said. “Supper is ready to be taken out to the stage passengers in the public room. If you’ll do that, I can go upstairs and make certain their room is ready.”

Sophie took on the task without hesitation. She carefully carried the two large plates, generously filled with Eliza’s famous cooking. She set them on the table where the travelers were sitting. They thanked her, though their eyes wandered quickly back to the musicians.

“Who’d have thought there’d be such talent at such an isolated inn,” the man at the table said.

“They really are remarkable, aren’t they?" Sophie said. “Makes for a nice way to pause a journey.”

“It does,” the woman said.

“There seems to be such a variety of people in this little place. The couple who runs the inn are from England and Ireland, if their voices are any indication. I heard among the musicians someone who sounds as if he’s from somewhere in the South. You sound like you’re from the East.”

Sophie nodded. “I am. I’m from Baltimore.”

“You’re a long way from home,” the woman said.

“Strangely enough,” Sophie said, “I feel like I’ve finally come home.”

The woman nodded and smiled. “It’s a fine thing to find an inn like this that feels less like a lodging house and more like a home.”

It was a good description. Sophie had heard from many that the town, itself, preferred to keep those traveling more or less unaware of the rest of the town. So she chose not to discuss Hope Springs and what it offered. But she had no hesitation praising the inn. “The O’Connors do a fine job here. It’s appreciated by everyone who stays.”

She left the guests to enjoy their meal and listen to the music. She slipped over closer to the musicians. The O’Connor children were nearby, no doubt so Patrick could keep an eye on them while he played. They looked perfectly content.

The musicians’ water pitcher was all but empty, so Sophie snatched it up and returned to the kitchen. The water barrel Eliza filled each morning for use throughout the day was empty, so Sophie took up two buckets and made her way to the pump in the back.

Not far in the distance she could see Burke. He stood under a tall roof, beneath which was a pile of straw. He was putting that straw inside of something, though she couldn’t quite make out what it was.

She’d crossed paths with him each time she’d come to the inn the last couple of days. But unlike at thecéilí, he’d been distant and even a little bit cold. She couldn’t make heads nor tails of it. Had she done something to upset him? Had he decided so quickly that her company was not as desirable as he’d thought at first? Others had reached the conclusion in the past, but it usually took more than a week.

She pumped water into one of the buckets as she watched him working. She liked Burke Jones. She’d not known him long enough for thatliking to be described as anything bigger, but it was sincere. Why, then, did it bother her so much that he was pulling away? She’d certainly shrugged off rejections before. Maybe it was just that, otherwise, she felt so accepted in this town. She’d let her guard down; rejection now would hurt more.

She had both buckets filled before coming to any conclusions where Burke Jones was concerned. She had jokingly told him the previous week that she was good at puzzles and meant to piece together his. That declaration now felt overly confident.

Sophie took one bucket in each hand and began walking back toward the inn. The load was heavier than she’d anticipated. Perhaps she ought to have done this one bucket at a time. After a few steps, she set them down, allowing herself to rest. But when she reached down to pick them up once more, another hand slipped in the way. Burke had come over.

“Let me carry one of them,” he said. “Water’s heavier than it seems.”

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