Norah- A St. Patrick's Day Bride Read online

  “I fear there is another woman, ma’am. She’s very pretty with her painted face, fancy clothes, and sweet-smelling skin.”

  Genevieve looked well and truly puzzled. “Painted face? Does she happen to have blonde curly hair? A voice akin to that of a deflating balloon, and a somewhat cheeky disposition?”

  “Aye, she was with him the night the stagecoach arrived late. They were behind the bar together. Seamus had red smudged on his cheek.” Norah’s face crumpled. “Where she’d been kissing him, I suspect.”

  Genevieve cocked her head. “Are you quite certain of what you saw?”

  “Deacon Campbell and Libby are my witnesses. Why, your husband, too, saw it.” Distraught, Norah continued, her words like a rockslide tumbling from her mouth. “Earlier today he asked the reverend keep me from going upstairs. He told me Seamus was planning a surprise.”

  Genevieve frowned, confusion etched her pretty face as she looked at her niece. “You were there as well?”

  Libby cast a nervous glance at Norah. “Yes, ma’am. I went upstairs to see if I might be of help to Mr. Malone with the surprise.” She glanced nervously at Norah. “But it appeared he already had help. And had I arrived a moment later I wouldn’t have seen the kiss on the cheek he gave her.” She looked at Norah then. “I’m sorry, Norah. I didn’t want to say anything, but I feel it’s only fair you know.”

  “Kiss?” Both Norah and Genevieve responded in tandem.

  “Oh, dear.” Genevieve looked confused.

  Tears afresh welled in Norah’s eyes. “I dunna think I can stay in that place another night.” She pleaded with Genevieve. “I’d sooner stay in a barn.”

  Genevieve took Norah’s hands and searched her eyes.” I don’t understand what is happening here, but I do know that your husband cares very much for you.”

  Exhausted, Norah’s shoulders slumped, her heart and her mind engaged in a battle of conflicting emotions.

  “If what you say is true, then why did he never return for me?” She looked from one woman to the other. “True, though it is that my wretched aunt, had intercepted all of his letters and his money as well—he left me there, instead of coming himself to find out why I hadn’t answered. Why would he do such a thing if he truly cared for me?”

  Genevieve squeezed her hands. “That I’m afraid is a question you’ll need to ask Seamus, but I do know from speaking with him that he wanted to make you proud, make something of himself. He once told me that he carried a great deal of guilt that he hadn’t been able to make enough to send for you or offer you a place to live. After he got his job at the Nugget, he told me there were times he’d sent his entire paycheck to you. He wouldn’t have been able to afford a ticket.” Genevieve frowned. “Your aunt never gave you any of his letters?” She clamped her hand to her heart. “I know she is kin, Norah but that’s unacceptable. What a horrible thing to deceive someone in such a way.”

  “She told me he would never amount to anything. That he wasn’t good enough. He’d break my heart.” Norah’s chin wobbled holding in more tears. “I said some terrible things to her and I never wanted to set foot in that house ever again.” She looked at Genevieve. “But Seamus, he’s not the man I once knew. The man with the smile that lit up his eyes. A heart full of kindness, passion and dreams.”

  Genevieve smiled. “Oddly, that sounds very much like the Seamus I met when I first came to Noelle. But we all change a little. I suspect you can say the same for yourself, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Aye,” Norah said softly. “Time changes things…people, I s’pose.”

  “Yes, that true,” Genevieve said. “What you might need to ask yourself is what is it you want now?”

  “What I want now is to have my husband back.” Norah stood and walked to the window, hugging her arms. “What if he no longer needs me?” She looked over her shoulder. “If he no longer wants me?”

  “That is something you and he will need to discuss and decide. If love is simmering still beneath the change, it will find a way to the surface. My marriage to Zeke is a living example of that.” She continued. “Twelve long years passed before Providence brought me to Noelle with a handful of brides—all of uncertain what we’d find or if we’d find happiness here. I never dreamed I’d find the man I’d given my heart to after so long, much less how I’d react when I saw him again.”

  “You’re telling me to give Seamus a second chance, then? Talk to him and see what it is he wants?” Norah asked.

  “The truth is the only way either of you will be able to move on—either together, or not.”

  Norah bit her lip to keep from the infernal blubbering that seemed to have taken over her body. She didn’t wish to look like a naive eejit in front of Libby and Genevieve.

  The woman studied Norah. “I have an idea if you are willing to permit me to make the arrangements.”

  Norah fought past her skepticism that even though Genevieve was called a matchmaker in this town, she could help solve her problem with Seamus. “If you feel it could help our marriage, ma’am, then of course, I would be grateful.”

  Genevieve clasped her hands together. “Wonderful. Here’s what I need you to do. Go back to the saloon, take a nap perhaps. Then do your hair, freshen your face and wear your best dress.”

  “I’ve only this skirt ma’am.”

  Libby smiled. “If I may?”

  Norah shrugged and waited as the woman went into the next room and returned with a lovely white blouse, with eyelet trim. Norah had not seen such workmanship since her days in Ireland.

  “Here, this will look lovely with that skirt.” She held it out for Norah.

  Norah shook her head. “I’d afraid I dunna understand.”

  “You will. Just stay in your room until…let’s say, seven o’clock,” Genevieve told her. “Promise.” She pointed a finger at her then pulled her I into a grand hug.

  “Aye,” she nodded, folding the beautiful blouse carefully and tucking it inside her shawl to keep it clean.

  Preoccupied with her thoughts as she walked back to her room, it was not until she heard her name that she saw the brown and gold Cheyenne stagecoach outside the Golden Nugget.

  “Norah Francis Malone? Do my eyes deceive me? Is that really you?”

  She looked up and standing at the entrance of the saloon was a travel weary, but still handsome, Father Timothy O’Flanagan.

  Overjoyed to see a familiar face, she picked up her skirts, ran into his outstretched arms, and hugged him tight. “How grand it is to see you, Father.” She smiled taking in the scent of his warm coat.

  He held her at arm’s length and grinned. “What are the odds of finding you here in Noelle?”

  The stage driver dropped his bags on the boarded walkway of the saloon. Apparently, he was the only passenger on the stage.

  Father thanked the silver-haired stagecoach driver and turned back to Norah. “They told me I could find a room here.”

  “Aye, Father, I believe there is still an empty room right next to mine.” She hadn’t meant anything by it, of course. But her husband who happened to be standing at the open door of the saloon seemed quite puzzled given the expression on his face.

  Norah stepped from the priest’s grasp. “Father O’Flanagan, allow me to introduce you to my husband, Seamus Malone. He runs the Golden Nugget.”

  “Oh, now that’s fine. Just fine.”

  She caught the priest’s quick glance before he shook her husband’s hand.

  “Tis fine, aye.” Seamus eyed the man cautiously.

  “I’ve been sent to do mass this weekend in Noelle. The church sent a few of us out here to travel around the smaller towns as best as we can to offer services.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I didn’t happen to see a church….”

  “This here is where we hold church, Father--on Sundays,” Seamus said. “But you’ll have to work that out with Reverend Hammond.”

  “Oh, fine. Fine,” Father said with a congenial smile.

  Seamus glanced at Nor
ah. “Aye, again with the fine. Come on, then. I guess you’ll be needin’ a room.”

  Norah followed the two men inside and waited until Seamus had given the man his key and had started to carry his bags to the stairs.

  “I’d be happy to show Father to his room.” She scanned the crowded bar. “You appear to be quite busy.”

  Father reached for his bags. “Thank you, Mr. Malone. I can find my own way just--”

  “Fine?” Seamus answered and not without a wee bit of sarcasm.

  Uncertain if the devil himself possessed her to do so, she looped her arm through Father O’Flanagan’s and walked up the stairwell. Only once did she glance back to meet her husband’s fuming gaze. Maybe things weren’t as bad as she’d thought after all.

  Thankfully, her friend, being the gentleman that he is didn’t ask her anything until they were standing in the privacy of the upstairs hallway.

  “Norah Malone. I’m not sure it’s wise to use me to make your husband jealous.” The priest looked at her. “You’ll remember that I’m not immune to the wiles of a woman. My wife--bless her soul--was good at it.”

  Norah sighed. “There’s more to it than that. Frankly, I had planned to leave on the next stage. He’s so different than the man I married. I fear we may have grown apart, that he’s found something more satisfying than me, than our marriage.”

  “And what do you think that is?” he asked.

  The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs gave her pause and seeing the surprised look on Reverend Hammond’s face, she was quick to offer explanation why she and a strange man stood in the shadows of the narrow hallway. “Reverend Hammond, please allow me to introduce Father Timothy O’Flanagan, a dear friend from back in New York.”

  The reverend’s brow furrowed slightly as he studied the man. “Father O’Flanagan. Yes, I heard rumblings that the Catholic diocese was sending a few good men our way.” He removed his hat and offered a friendly smile. “Noelle could use more to be an example to our growing population.” He smiled. “I can always use another hand in the saving souls department.” The two men shook hands.

  “Say,” Reverend Hammond said, “if you have no plans I’d like to visit with you about a few things. Perhaps I can introduce you to Nacho’s diner?” He looked at Norah. “Felicity, my wife, has one of her women’s meetings this evening. Unless, of course, you would prefer meeting another time?”

  Father O’Flanagan shook his head. “I’d be obliged, Reverend Hammond to hear what your thoughts on the moral climate here in Noelle. If you’ll permit me to settle in and freshen up a bit, perhaps we could meet later?”

  “Sounds good, Padre. Let’s say six-thirty. The diner’s directly across the street and down the block a piece. You can’t miss it. Just follow your nose.”

  He looked at Norah.

  “I’d invite you along, ma’am, but I fear the conversation would be woefully dry. You understand.”

  She smiled. “Of course, you two have much to discuss I’m sure and as it happens, I have other plans, Reverend, thank you kindly.” She slid inside her room and leaned against the door wondering what Genevieve had planned and whether it was going to make any difference in her marriage.

  Chapter Seven

  As if he didn’t have enough on his mind between keeping his wife from leaving and now the planning of this St Patrick’s celebration, Charlie Hardt decides to, without warning, shut down the saloon and on one of his best nights. He scrubbed the remainder of the glasses, rinsed them and stacked them to be dried all the while pondering whether he and Charlie would be a good fit for partnership. Blazes. If he was a good fit for any relationship these days had plagued his mind since Norah arrived. He’d left her alone as she’d requested, though it hadn’t been too hard with the preparations of the St. Patrick’s Day celebration. He secured the musicians to come play at the saloon’s stage and had managed to find enough lanterns to illuminate the Nugget well into the evening. All that was left to do was to provide a simple Irish fare of food and drink at an amiable charge to help pay for the musicians and the rest would go into his renovations fund. He needed to compensate Reverend Hammond too, for all his help watching things for him while he ran around town like a chicken with his head cut off. Ah, and then there was the part where he needed to speak with Norah about selling her grand-da’s whisky to customers that night in hope of getting preorders on the next batch.

  He sighed and pulling the towel from his pants pocket heard something drop to the floor. He glanced down and had forgotten the drawstring bag he’d been carrying around the past two days searching for the right time to speak with his wife. Seamus picked up the bag and poured the contents into his palm. It was a beautiful piece, truly—a Claddagh ring just like the one he remembered his mum wearing. He’d bought it shortly after leaving New York, with winnings from a card game on the train. A traveling salesman later showed him the beauty and Seamus knew he needed it for his wife. But he hadn’t mailed it, wanting instead to see her face when he put it on her finger.

  Stuffing the ring back in his pocket, Seamus finished drying the glasses and stacking them on a tray pushed through the swinging doors on to the empty saloon.

  Or so he’d thought.

  There standing pretty as you please was Norah, dressed in her dark green skirt and a frilly white blouse he hadn’t seen before. She wore her auburn hair like a beautiful halo around her head.

  A table for two was set, complete with a flickering kerosene lamp and the scent of Josefina’s wonderful stew. His gaze left the cloth-covered table to meet her moss-colored eyes.

  “Tis time I think, we talked, Seamus. Without interruption,” she said.

  He slid the tray onto the bar top before he dropped every glass he owned. He looked down at his clothes, realizing he’d removed his vest and rolled his sleeves up to work. “I’m not properly dressed--” he started.

  “You’ll do just fine,” she said as she stood with one hand resting on the back of the chair.

  Kicking himself mentally, he hurried around the bar and held the chair for his wife. She nodded in appreciation, offering him a hint of a smile.

  His heart sounded like a thundering herd in his ears. What news would she have for him requiring such privacy? He’d quietly thwarted her plans to leave, knowing that the Red Bird stage would opt to go to Junction the day after the town celebration. Then again, her “dear” friend Father O’Flanagan had surprised her and perhaps she’d not have left town anyway.

  He’d found out from the reverend later that the man was newly ordained, a widower, and quite unlike any priest he’d ever known. The man without his collar would certainly turn heads of a many a woman—it certainly appeared he’d made quite the impression on his wife.

  Seamus sat down and placing his hands in his lap looked across at her. He wanted to tell her she was even more lovely than the day he met her. Sure, he’d been a wild, impetuous, cock-of-the-walk then. She the wide-eyed innocent, who when she looked at him saw someone far better. For a time, in her eyes, he could do anything. And since…he’d worked hard for the chance to see it again.

  She gingerly placed her napkin in her lap, folded her hands and bowed her head. Reciting together the prayer they’d said before many a meal felt good. It felt right. Seamus looked up and met her steady gaze.

  “You need to understand why I didn’t respond to the letters you wrote,” she said.

  Instinctively, he waved his hand dismissing the need. “You’ve nothing to explain.” He didn’t want to hear that she may have found someone else or that she was here to ask for a divorce.

  “Truly? You aren’t the least bit interested to know why I never wrote back?”

  Seamus scratched his forehead. “To be sure, I would, it’s just--” he stumbled over the thoughts crowding his mind. He’d been carrying the guilt of how they’d parted around for so long he didn’t know how to feel.

  Norah straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Is it that woman? The one called Fle
-ece?”

  “Felice,” Seamus interjected quietly, then kicked himself mentally.

  Norah narrowed her stormy gaze. “Is she the reason you never seemed to question the lack of my response? Is she why you never came for me?” His Norah was one of the strongest women he knew, even now, fighting the tears glistening in her beautiful eyes.

  “By my oath, Norah, she means nothing to me. She is a business client and nothing more.” He shook his head, looking away. “I won’t lie and tell you it hasn’t been difficult. A man--” he swallowed--“a man has needs.” He looked at her.

  “And a woman doesn’t?” she asked.

  For reasons he had yet to grapple with, her words stung. Had he thought that his love-making would have spoiled her for any other man?

  “Then why didn’t you come home and take me from that horrid woman?” She paused and with a sigh continued. “The truth is, she intercepted every letter you wrote, kept every penny you sent, never said a word. I was none the wiser.”

  Anger and guilt twisted his heart. “Are you sayin’ you never knew I’d written?” he asked, unable to perceive of what kind of a person—even her wicked aunt—could do something so vile.

  “She felt I was better off without you. And the money you sent, she said was for my room and board.”

  Seamus tried to sort through the mire of this hateful deed. “Tis true, at first I wanted to make sure you were safe and sound, that you had a roof over yer head. I knew if I sent money, it’d appease your aunt. Later, I asked after giving her a portion, that you’d save the extra for yerself. To save up enough to come out here.” He leaned back in his chair. “I swear that’s the God’s truth.”

  She pressed her lips together and he saw the conflict in her eyes. Perhaps there was still hope that she hadn’t closed her heart off completely.

  “The answer me simply, Seamus. Why didn’t you come get me?”

  There it was. He needed to tell her now and face the truth—right or wrong—she needed to understand. He swallowed hard. “I wanted to make good on my promise, Norah. On all the things I said I wanted to do.” He took a sip of cool water to sooth his parched throat. “To be honest, I’d hoped to have made something of myself by now.” He shook his head. “I wrote to you that I hadn’t had a drop to drink since Charlie Hardt hired me to run this saloon. And every bit of my salary I sent to New York. I thought you’d received the letters and the money.”