Far Away Home (25 page)

Chapter 28

When Aislynn
opened her eyes the room was dark, and the chair stood empty. Crammed with
confusing thoughts and the weight of the laudanum, her head hung heavy.
Everything
is gone, nothing’s left.
She felt torn in so many places; she decided to
bleed to death. Her strong hand picked at the bandage on her arm, but she could
not loosen it. With feeble assistance from her injured arm, she tried to untie
the wrapping around her leg.
If I could just pull out my stitches.
She
struggled, cursing Pee Yeh for her effectiveness.

Her mind
whirled.
There has to be something in this room for me to use… Moran’s
murdered. He must have a gun… I’m sure he does.
She scanned the armoire and
the dresser. Her brain blurred.
A knife would do; worked for Romeo, no,
Juliet, worked for someone; worked for someone.
She dropped her legs over
the side of the bed and tried to rise, but she felt dizzy; her head would not
stay erect. She fell back on the bed and slid to the floor. Dragging her limp
leg, pulling herself along on her healthy arm, Aislynn attempted to crawl
toward the dresser. However, once there, she forgot why she had wanted to reach
it. Thoughts seemed to be flying toward her, but they landed briefly and
disappeared. She rested her head on the hard floor. While she studied the
grains of dirt ground between the floorboards, sleep consumed her.

It was early
light when Pee Yeh pushed a tub into the bedroom. “Company come.”

Aislynn had been
crying for two days. Other than sharing a few words with Pee Yeh and taking
care of bodily necessities, she lay listless and undirected. She had fallen
into a dark place where her family of friends had little meaning. She yearned
for Johnny and her baby. Yet, with Pee Yeh’s words, she remembered those
closest to her.

Pee Yeh helped
her bathe and shampoo her hair. When Aislynn was dressed in one of Moran’s
ruffled shirts and back under the covers, Pee Yeh pushed the tub out of the
room, leaving the door ajar. Aislynn sat struggling with the matted hair
hanging in her face. Armed with one of Moran’s hairbrushes, she tried to
unsnarl the thick mess with her one usable hand.

“Can I help?”
she heard Moran ask from the hall.

Aislynn peered
through the dark curtain, “Are you a tonsorial artist?”

“I don’t think
we need to go to such extremes,” he quipped. “Let me try. I don’t want your
friends to think we aren’t taking care of you.” He held out his hand for the
brush and sat behind her on the bed.

Tear sprang to
her eyes, “You’ve been very kind.” She wiped her cheeks, “You have to excuse
me, I’ve been crying a lot.”

“You’ve got
plenty to cry about.”

“I just don’t
seem to be able to stop. Pee Yeh says my body is out of balance.” Aislynn’s
wounds throbbed, her breasts swelled on the verge of bursting and her spirit
sagged. “I feel like I was at the bottom of the mine without a candle, and just
when I thought I was moving toward the light, I fell back into the pit.”

Moran tugged at
her hair, “I’ve been thinking for days about something to say, something to
make you feel better.”

Aislynn sniffed
in her tears, “I appreciate that, but there aren’t any words. I learned that
when Johnny died.”

Moran pulled her
hair to the back of her head with broad strokes of the brush that stopped
abruptly each time it snagged on the tangles. “I’ve been feeling rather
useless.”

“Useless? You
saved my life, gave me your bed and… I know,” she pushed the words out, “you
buried the baby. You brought the priest back, too. I thank you for that. I
couldn’t speak to him last night. I know he wanted to see me, but… I’m afraid
I’m questioning my faith.”

“That’s
understandable.” Moran gently pulled the brush through her hair and stroked his
hand behind it. The rhythm felt soothing, and Aislynn’s tears stopped flowing.
Silence spread between them until Aislynn sighed, and her head fell back. Aislynn
felt Moran’s breath on her hair. He whispered, “Pee Yeh gave you my soap; you
smell like me.”

“You don’t smell
like sandalwood,” she declared.

“Should I ask
what I smell like?”

“You smell like
brandy, cigars and horses.”

“Is that good or
bad?” he ventured.

Aislynn
shrugged, “It’s just you.”

No Nose, Carrie,
the Mahers and Tim crowded into the room. Tentative, at first, they stood
stiffly and carefully chose their words. Her feelings for her friends were
resurrected at the touch of Tim’s hand. As she relaxed back into them, they
became boisterous and blatantly attempted to rouse her into good humor. Moran
and Pee Yeh pushed a table into the room and spread supper for them. Aislynn
sank into her pillows, and when she woke, the room was dim and the visit a
memory.

Pee Yeh
restricted her to bed, insisting Aislynn could not walk until all her wounds
stopped bleeding. Three days passed while she and Moran read aloud, played
checkers and card games. This was a kind Moran, respectful of her grief,
patient with her weeping and considerate of her silent brooding. She
appreciated his effort. On the morning Pee Yeh checked her bandages and found
them clean, Aislynn begged Moran for a change of scenery.

Moran tenderly
carried her to a porch chair and propped her legs on a hassock. Tucking a quilt
around her, he ordered, “Stay put. If you need to get up, call me; I’ll be in
my office.” He started toward the door, “If you want anything, call.” On his
way through the door, he turned and began again, “Aislynn, if you get cold…”

“I know,” she
set her jaw, “call.”

Aislynn was
swaddled so tightly she could barely move. As she wiggled her healthy arm free,
two wranglers rode up.

“Mornin’, Miz
Maher. Nice to see you lookin’ so well,” Dollar Bill announced tipping his hat.

“You’re lookin’
fine, ma'am.” Sam, a young cowboy, was a recent addition to the ranch, and
Aislynn had met him briefly at the restaurant. He sent her a perfect smile. As
he removed his hat, his long, blond hair fell into his bright blue eyes. He
jumped down from his horse and tore a dusty yarrow from beside the porch and
brought it to her. Aislynn thanked him and gazed at the flower, with several
broken buds hanging limply from its stem. Sam dropped a nod and raced back to
his horse. Bill told her to stay put and they rode on.

The flower’s
strong smell spoke of its determination. Prolific, yarrows grew in the dry hard
soil, pushing up every spring after tons of snow and frigid weather beat them
down each autumn. Aislynn inhaled the scent, and the lid that had slammed down
on the box of her life cracked open.

In a few
moments, the men returned with a fine, muscular horse prancing behind them. “
‘Member him?” Dollar Bill asked.

Aislynn studied
the proud animal and with doubt guessed, “Cuchulainn?”

“Thas right.
Your horse.”

“Oh,” Aislynn
gasped, “he’s hardly my horse.”

“Well, that’s
what Mr. Moran said to the Kentucky gent. He said he couldn’t sell ‘im, cuz
he’d promised a special, young lady she could ride ‘im.”

The disclosure
flustered her, and she could feel her cheeks redden. Dollar Bill’s eyes darted
toward the porch door, and Aislynn could hear Moran’s tread come up behind her.
“Ain’t that right, Mr. Moran?”

Aislynn could
feel Moran lean on the back of her chair. “Yes, Bill, that’s exactly what I
said.” Moran turned his attention to Aislynn, “He’s turning into a fine horse.
I believe we’re going to be very pleased with him.”

Aislynn could
feel the wranglers assessing them. Her stomach fluttered nervously. “I suppose
you’ll just have to wait and see,” she said attempting to sound detached from
his “we.”

Moran nodded to
the cowboys, “Maybe we’ll take him to Saratoga next summer.”

“To New York?”
Sam’s eyes grew wide.

“Fine racing
there.” Moran smiled at the men and explained, “Mrs. Maher’s father raced in
Saratoga. He was a jockey.”

Aislynn wondered
how he knew this bit of intimate intelligence and instantly credited it to Tim.
Her cheeks burned, guessing the men must think she and Moran talked about
traveling to Saratoga together. She noticed the wranglers shifting in their
saddles as they exchanged glances.

“We’d best be
getting back to work,” Sam said with relief. “It was nice to see you, ma’am.”
They tipped their hats and rode away pulling the thoroughbred behind them.

Moran moved his
hand under her chin and lifted her face to his, “If you’re tired, I can tell
the men not to bother you.”

Aislynn bit her
lip, wondering if he already had. “No, actually they’re a diversion.”

Moran shook his
head. “You need to rest.” He left her on the porch alone.

In the pink evening
light, the ranch quieted. Aislynn closed her eyes and listened. From the
kitchen, she could hear Pee Yeh preparing dinner. The horses in the corral gave
occasional whinnies, and she heard their hooves tamping the sandy soil. At the
end of September, Utah could not decide if it was cold or hot. The sun could
burn, but the wind could be frigid. This time of day, with the sun yielding,
and the breeze beginning to swirl, it was pleasantly cool. The scents of brandy
and cigar smoke reached her, and she knew Moran was near. She feigned sleep,
listening while his wooden heels softly hit the planked porch. She heard him
settle on the rail.

Peeking under
her lashes, she found him leaning against a porch post, one leg raised and his
foot resting on the railing. He wore a relaxed, contemplative expression, not
his usual sharp, searching visage; there was nothing threatening or challenging
about him. Moran was quick to feel her eyes.

“Are you awake?”
he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you
say something?”

“I was just enjoying
the quiet.”

“And watching
me?”

“You’re blocking
the view.”

Moran pushed a
chair against hers and stretched out, resting his boots on her hassock. “It is
a nice view,” he agreed.

“You sound
surprised.”

“I’ve never sat
here before.”

Amazed, Aislynn asked,
“Isn’t this your home?”

“No,” he
replied, “it’s where I stay when I’m in the area, but I built it for business.”

Aislynn was
shocked with the information. “Where is your home?’

“I guess I don’t
have one.”

Aislynn could
not accept the concept, “You must have a home somewhere. Where are your
parents?”

“Don’t have
any.”

Aislynn thought
he was teasing. “Well, you had to have had them at one time, somewhere.”

“No,” his tone
was hard and serious. He took a long drag on his cigar and looked at her
bewildered face. “I never had parents. I was raised by nuns in a foundling
home, in Chicago.”

Sympathetic, she
turned to look in his eyes, “What happened to them?”

“My mother was a
whore. She probably didn’t know who my father was. She just dropped me there
when I was born.” Anger rang through his voice.

Aislynn felt
pity for him and his mother. She contemplated the situation for a moment and
offered, “Maybe she didn’t have a choice.”

“No choice? Let
me ask you Aislynn; what would you have done to keep your child?”

She fell back
against her chair as a few tears escaped.

“Sorry, Aislynn.
That was very cruel.” Turning away, he glanced at the sunset and sipped his
brandy. “I’m sorry.” 

Aislynn had many
thoughts but settled on one, “It’s not a fair question.”

“I know; you
weren’t given any choices.”

“No, you’ve been
poor and alone, Liam, but you’ve never been poor, alone and a woman. It’s
different; we don’t have the same options.”

He turned to her
and sighed, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe you could
find her.”

He shot her a
look of disbelief, “I don’t need a mother.” There was finality in his voice.

Aislynn frowned
at him. She had always wanted her mother, and although she could not believe he
was not curious about his own, she left the subject. “When did you leave
Chicago?”

Moran gave her a
critical half smile. “If you must know…” Aislynn nodded and he continued, “When
I was twelve, I was sent to live with a couple in the country. They needed help
on their farm. The woman, I grew fond of her, but her husband was violent. He’d
beat me regularly. She always promised to make him stop.” He shook his head.
She watched the muscles in his face grow taut, as his eyes squinted bringing
the past into view. “She didn’t. I guess if he weren’t beating me, he’d have
been beating her. In any case, I realized I couldn’t trust her either, so I
skedaddled. Eventually, I got to the gold fields, and I believe my dear friend
Mr. Murphy has told everyone the rest.”

Aislynn fidgeted
for a moment, trying to pry without sounding too bold. “And you never married.”

Moran leaned
toward her and smiled slyly, “No.”

Aislynn raised
her chin in the air and looked away from him, “Do you have any children?”

“Mrs. Maher, you
are nosey.”

Frustrated, she
stormed, “Liam, you know everything about me, and I know so little about you.
It’s only fair.”

Moran laughed.
“Have I ever given you the impression I’m fair?”

Aislynn tried to
cajole him. “Yes, well,” she reconsidered. “Maybe not, but answer my question
anyway.”

“Not that I know
of.” She gave him a confused look. “Aislynn, I’m a wealthy man. If any woman
thought I was the father of her child, she’d be after me for money. To date, no
one has approached me for a penny, so I assume the precautions I have taken
worked.” She bit her lip, dying to know the precautions people could take to
avoid pregnancy but far too inhibited to ask. Moran noticed the question in her
eyes and said, “The interview is over.”