prayer of thanks for the food. Emotion churned through Marybeth’s chest like a roiling sea. Da had prayed, too. Magnificent prayers in his lilting Irish brogue, prayers God would surely hear for their beauty. Yet he never changed, never improved his ways. She set aside the memories but would never permit herself to forget them, lest she end up like Mam.
“Can I bring you anything else?” The waitress gave Rand a simpering smile at odds with her tomboyish swagger. She was flirting with him, but from his friendly, “No, thank you,” Marybeth could see he was oblivious to her attempts to get his attention. An odd sort of jealousy smote Marybeth. No, that was just silly. Not jealousy at all. Simply an awareness of the girl’s bad manners in flirting with a man when he was in the company of another woman.
They wordlessly began to eat and Marybeth’s appetite roared into command. If not for the two years spent at Fairfield Young Ladies’ Academy, paid for by the ladies of her Boston church, she would shovel the delicious food into her mouth just as she had as a child.
“About where you’re going to stay...” Lifting the shaker next to the salt, Rand added a healthy dash of pepper to his dinner. “Mrs. Foster is the local piano teacher and church organist, and she’s got an extra room. She’ll be mighty glad for the company because her husband died last year and she’s still at loose ends. She’s an older lady and a bit talkative, but kind as can be. I hope that meets with your approval.”
The doubt and apology in his voice, along with his sorrowful wince as he mentioned the husband’s death, gave Marybeth pause. He possessed all the outward trappings of a gentle, thoughtful man. But so had Da.
“It’s very kind of you to arrange that, Rand.” She offered a polite smile that hid her relief over not having to worry about lodging.
Confusion clouded his expression. “Did you think I wouldn’t find proper lodging for you?” His tone held a note of injury.
“W-well.” Her chest tightened into a familiar knot. Had she touched a nerve? Was he angry? “No, of course not. I mean, yes, of course you would.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Now that I think of it, when we were writing, I don’t believe we addressed the topic of where you would stay.” He gave his head a little shake. “An unfortunate oversight.”
“Yes, that’s it.” The knot in her chest eased. “Just an oversight.”
They’d almost finished their meal, so she’d best tackle the difficult subject hanging over them. That way, if he became angry, she could look for help. Perhaps Miss Pam. Or the plump older couple seated at a table in the corner. No, they were leaving. In fact, they were coming this way.
“Howdy, Rand.” The man clapped him on the shoulder. “Who’s this pretty newcomer?”
Rand introduced Marybeth to the Archers and said they lived south of town in the Bowen community.
“You’ve got yourself a fine catch, missy,” said the woman. “Lots of girls around here have tried to lasso this boy since the day he first started shaving.”
While the Archers laughed, Rand rolled his eyes in a charming way. “You folks have a nice day.”
They took their dismissal in good humor and left. Once again the situation gave Marybeth pause. They obviously didn’t fear Rand. Miss Pam and Lucy didn’t, either. When had Marybeth decided he was her father come back to life? Maybe she didn’t have to be afraid of him. Maybe she should dismiss her fears and give him a chance to prove himself.
“Are you ready to go?” Rand started to push back from the table.
“No.” Trying to gather her thoughts, Marybeth took another sip of coffee.
“Oh.” Rand settled back down. “You want dessert? Apple pie? Or Miss Pam’s special elderberry pie?”
His sudden eagerness to please made Marybeth want to laugh, but what she must tell him was too serious for her to indulge in any such levity.
“No, thank you.” She glanced out the window, where people walked to and fro on their daily errands. On the way here, she’d noticed many people giving Rand friendly waves. Like Miss Pam and Lucy, every single one appeared to admire him. Still, she must proceed with caution. “I have to tell you something.” She lifted her coffee cup for another bracing sip.
“I was afraid of that.” His face fell and his shoulders drooped with disappointment. “You won’t marry me because I’m too ugly. There was a reason I didn’t send a picture, you know.”
Marybeth almost spewed coffee all over him, barely catching the liquid before it escaped her lips. Now she could see the mischief in his eyes that bespoke an awareness of his good looks without being excessively prideful, a rare quality. Most handsome men of her acquaintance strutted about, clearly proud of their appearance.
Once she regained her composure, she shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s a bit more serious than that.”
“Ah.” The humor left his face but a gentle twinkle remained in his eyes. “Go on. You can tell me anything.”
She would take him at his word, at least for now. Borrowing from her Irish legacy of masterful storytelling, she wove the “sad but true tale” of her family, punctuating it with a few well-placed tears and carefully leaving out several details. Eight years before, when her brother was only fifteen, he’d been beaten up by neighborhood bullies. Da had called him a coward for not standing up to the thugs, so Jimmy had left home and never come back. He’d written only one letter a year or so later, posting it from Del Norte, Colorado, and saying he was headed to Wagon Wheel Gap to do some silver prospecting. Now that their parents had died, the mention of which brought genuine tears to her eyes, at least for Mam, she knew she had to search for her only living relative before she settled down.
At this point she batted her eyes, sending a few tears down her cheeks, and then dabbed at them with a handkerchief and gave Rand a look that pleaded for understanding.
“I’m sorry to hear about your dad and brother not getting along.” He shook his head and stared off with a thoughtful look. “Describe your brother to me.”
Marybeth started. Could it be this simple? Was it possible that Rand knew him? “His name is Jimmy O’Brien.” She couldn’t keep the eagerness from her voice. “I haven’t seen him since I was twelve years old. He was just a couple of inches taller than I was, so he may be about five feet, five inches now, if he takes after our father. He has red hair and hazel eyes.” She searched her memory for other details, but none came to mind. She certainly would not mention Mam’s silver locket, which she’d given him to keep Da from pawning it to buy liquor. Marybeth laughed softly. “And, as if you haven’t already figured out, he’s Irish.”
Rand’s frown of concentration intensified. “Does he speak with a brogue?”
“No.” She shook her head. “We both worked hard to get rid of it so we could get better jobs.” She had worked especially hard to speak without the brogue, hoping to find employment as a servant in an upper-class home, something a rich rancher couldn’t possibly understand. “He did pretty well, and the ladies at my church were so impressed by my efforts that they sent me to Fairfield Young Ladies’ Academy, where I met Rosamond.” She bit her lip, hoping she didn’t sound proud, wondering how much further to go. “I learned deportment, but I also learned typing and accounting skills.” In her letters she’d mentioned the academy but not the training in office work.
