Winter
Sarah wasn't surprised to find Cal shoveling snow from the walk in front of Kate's house when she had arrived one morning to visit her friend. Some part of her knew that he would find Kate the moment they were both free—ignoring the fact that Hugh was still alive and still legally Kate's husband. But she was surprised that Cal hadn't bothered paying her a visit first. For as long as she had known him, he had always stopped by her house first and foremost.
She berated him for his oversight and he claimed that he had been on his way to see her just before she arrived. Sarah didn't entirely believe it but as it was the first time in her life that Cal looked genuinely happy, she couldn't be angry.
With Kate back in her home, money was less tight than before but their situation was no less worrying. Pat was still unable to find a job and John was forced to continue at the mill. Sarah knew how much he hated working there but she couldn't think of any other way. Food had to be put on their table somehow. They had all seen the lines of hungry men queuing up outside of the Salvation Army, desperate for handouts. The thought of being forced to join those men was unthinkable.
Sarah looked at Kate's recipe for the hundredth time and frowned. She had been trying to make biscuits, trying to follow the written instructions word for word, but what was in her bowl didn't look like it was supposed to. She stuck a finger into it. "This can't be right." What she had was still sticky and wet. She scooped another cup of flour and dumped it in. It was twice the amount of flour as was written down but she didn't know what else to do. Kate wasn't anywhere nearby to help her fix the mess.
She jumped as Pat suddenly put his arms around her from behind. She hadn't even heard him enter the kitchen.
"What are ye makin'?" He asked, his lips lightly brushing her cheek. Despite the continuing unemployment, he had been in a good mood ever since Hugh left.
"Biscuits," Sarah replied. "I think."
"Those are biscuits?"
She removed his arms from around her and playfully pushed him away. "They're supposed to be and I doubt you could do any better."
"And are they supposed to look so—"
Sarah scooped up a handful of flour and flung it at him.
"Oh, so that's how it is then?" Pat reached for a handful of flour, but she snatched the container and moved just out of his grasp.
They locked eyes for a moment and Sarah winked mischievously.
Pat lunged forward, and she eluded him, laughing, as they circled the kitchen table. He finally caught her, picking her up, and she let out a joyful shriek as she dropped the container of flour. Gently lowering her to the ground, amid the cloud of white that seemed to hang in the air, he kissed her.
Sarah leaned into him, her hands sliding up his chest. "You know, none of the children are home."
"Aye? Ye thinkin' about makin' another one?"
She laughed. "You know I'm forty five, right? I think Eileen was it for us."
"Forty-five, perhaps, but yer more beautiful now than the very first day I laid eyes on ye."
She knew he wasn't referring to the lifeboat as he didn't remember that meeting. "You mean on the Carpathia ? I can only imagine what I must've looked like that day."
"Ye looked beautiful."
"Let's see. I had just survived a shipwreck, hadn't slept in days, certainly hadn't brushed my hair, deep in grief…I don't think beautiful was the word for it," Sarah replied. "But that was twenty years ago. I bet you don't even remember what I looked like."
"I remember ye comin' into the dinin' saloon the mornin' after we met. Ye had braided your hair and it laid over your shoulder here." He gently traced his fingers along her shoulder. "Ye had a cup of coffee in each hand and ye didn't even like coffee."
"Still don't."
Pat smiled. "That mornin' was the first moment I started thinkin' of ye and there's not a day gone by that ye haven't been off me mind since."
"How do you remember all of that?"
"How could I not remember it? That day was the second time ye saved me life."
"Pat."
"I was goin' to throw meself overboard," he admitted.
Sarah remembered that day and she remembered their conversation. They had spent the entire morning together. She also recalled the profound despair on his face and the vulnerability in his voice. "All I did was talk to you."
"No," Pat said softly, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Ye listened."
Feeling overwhelmed with emotion, she took a deep breath. "And I'll always listen." As she looked at him and thought of how much she loved him, how much she needed him. All of the thousands of little ways he had saved her own life, she was nearly overcome. "Meet me upstairs in ten minutes," she whispered, leaving a light kiss on his lips.
"Ten minutes?"
"I'm not leaving a pound of flour all over my floor."
"Do ye want me to help?"
She shook her head. "My mess. Go upstairs."
"Alright." Pat kissed her cheek and left.
Sarah grabbed a broom, intending to sweep the flour into a neat pile. She didn't get far before she gave up entirely. She set the broom aside and followed him through the door, untying her apron as she went.
Cal sat at Kate's kitchen table, one foot resting against hers, and looked at the mortgage deed in his hand. Inwardly, he seethed with anger that Hugh would forge her signature. But what bothered him more was the incorrect name. It wasn't just about the forgery; it was the lack of respect Hugh had shown Kate by not even bothering to learn her name before marrying her. Cal wished the man was nearby so he could wring his neck. But Hugh was gone and he was left looking at the deed.
"It can't be legal, surely," Kate said, looking hopefully at him from across the table. "I never signed it and it's not even me name."
Cal hesitated. He was torn between telling her the truth and not wishing to say anything that might hurt her. She had so much faith in him to take care of it. He sighed heavily. "If you were a man, then I'm certain the whole thing would be tossed out."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just a sad fact of the world," he replied. "Since you're a woman and...and Irish, I'm afraid to say." He could see her bristle at the word. "They'd likely assume you were just trying to get out of paying. I know it's unfair and it's not right."
"Oh," she uttered softly. "But I'm not...I can't pay it." She looked down at the table and gently traced her fingers over the worn surface.
Cal knew that she was thinking about Daniel and the home he built for her. It meant more to her than anything. As he watched her, he noted the weariness in her eyes. If he didn't know her so well, he might have described her as defeated. But he refused to let her give up. "I'll take care of it," he said, setting the forged deed aside. "It's only $900."
Kate looked up in surprise. "It's closer to $1200 once ye add in interest and missed payments." She shook her head. "It's too much. Ye can't...I can't let ye do that."
"I have the money and I refuse to let you lose your home," he replied calmly. "I know what it means to you."
Seemingly at a loss for words, she reached across the table for his hand.
"I said I'd take care of you," Cal continued, squeezing her hand. "I meant it."
Keeping a hold of his hand, she rose from her seat and came around the table. "Yer wonderful, ye know."
"You really think that?" He wasn't sure if anyone had ever thought him wonderful before. Dinah certainly hadn't, a point she had made very clear on multiple occasions.
"I don't think it," she replied as she leaned against the edge of the table and looked at him. "I know it."
Cal glanced at the deed on the table and brought her hand to his mouth. He wished once again that he had come to Spokane earlier. He might've been able to save her from a great deal of unhappiness.
It felt strange to walk around Spokane with an air of nonchalance as though there was nothing terrible going on in the world. The buildings still stood as they always did. But several storefronts were boarded up and 'Going Out of Business' signs hung on more than one. The local Salvation Army had a line of people snaking down the street, all shivering in threadbare coats and all wearing a slightly desolate look that John knew too well. His own father wore it often enough.
But he tried not to worry too much. He still had a job and he knew that Dottie's family was weathering the storm quite well. And even Jimmy might've been fine but John didn't really care and didn't bother to ask. Somehow his nemesis had managed to befriend Dottie and now they all were supposedly friends. John disagreed and made sure to keep himself between the two of them as they walked. Jimmy may not have been the absolute worst as he once believed, but he'd be damned if he let him take over his own place as her closest friend.
"There's always the park," Dottie suggested. "Or we could go ice skating or maybe see a movie."
Even without the specter of unemployment and shuttered businesses, finding things to do on a Sunday was a challenge. The three of them walked aimlessly, bored out of their minds, but still unwilling to call it a day.
"No money," John replied. Money always seemed to be the problem.
"I'll cover you."
He shook his head.
With a disappointed sigh, Dottie relented. "Fine, no movie then."
"No ice skating either," Jimmy helpfully pointed out. "Not if you can't rent skates."
John shot him a look. "The park is boring anyway."
"What about Whiteheads?" Jimmy asked.
"On a Sunday?" Dottie made a face. "There won't be anyone there and even if there was, I don't want to go dancing."
John gave him another look as they continued walking, carefully side stepping piles of gray slush. Jimmy clearly didn't know her well enough if he thought suggesting a dance hall was a good idea. Dottie hated to dance.
"Natatorium Park?" She asked.
John laughed. "Way too expensive."
"Then I give up." Dottie huffed and, stepping up to the nearest open store, she pushed the door open and went inside.
Rushing to follow her, John found himself inside of a boutique filled with rows of dresses and a faintly floral smell. "I think I rather be at the park than in here," he said.
"Go to the park then," she replied. "I need a new dress and you two can tell me it looks nice. And, maybe, if the two of you behave yourselves, we can go to the pharmacy afterward for ice cream sodas. My treat," she added before he could object. "I'm surprised you guys are open," she said, turning to the saleswoman.
The woman shrugged. "I hate the thought but we certainly could use the money."
John watched Dottie rifle through dresses then glanced at the door. If he had been bored before, he was even more so now. But at least it was warmer indoors.
"You could always leave, you know," Jimmy said, coming up beside him and clapping him on the back. "I'll keep her company."
"And leave her stuck with you? I don't think so." John drifted over to a display of hats.
Jimmy, following him, picked up a hat adorned with silk flowers. "What do you think of this one?" He gently placed it on his head. "Too much?"
"Not enough, if anything. You should see if they have a veil. Oh, here we are." John lifted a veiled hat from its display and held it out. "It'll hide your ugly face better."
"At least I'm man enough to try it on," Jimmy retorted, replacing the flowered hat with the veiled one.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What do you think?"
Silently fuming, John grabbed the nearest hat and plunked it onto his head. "Are you keen on Dottie or something?"
"Well, yeah," Jimmy said, raising an eyebrow. "You did say you weren't keen."
"I'm not."
"Then what's the big deal? I think Dottie can make up her own mind about me without your help."
"Sure, she can." John switched out his hat for one with a feather.
"Unless you think she's too stupid to recognize a catch like me."
"Of course, she's not too stupid to recognize…wait."
"Aw man. Nearly got you there."
"Why don't you just go away?"
"I don't know. Why won't you just be nice?"
John stared at him. "I am nice."
"You might think you're nice," Jimmy replied. "But I think you're a bully. Or at least you used to be when we were kids."
"I've never been a bully."
"No? You only beat me up…how many times?"
John could feel heat rising in his face. "You used to spread lies about my father."
"They weren't lies though, were they?" Jimmy glanced at him. "And now you want to hit me again. I can see it."
"Don't talk about my father."
"You're the one who brought him up. And personally, I don't know why Dottie's friends with someone like you. Like I said, you're not nice."
Before John could respond, Dottie rejoined them holding out two dresses. "Okay, the blue one or the green—what are two wearing?"
They both whipped the hats off their heads.
"Both would be real pretty on you," Jimmy quickly said. "Anything would be—"
"Green," John cut him off. "It'll match your eyes and that blue one has a giant bow on the back. You hate bows."
"Good point," she replied. "Green it is."
John shot Jimmy a triumphant look.
Dottie paid for the dress while Jimmy ran on ahead to claim three seats at the pharmacy counter. John thought it was unnecessary but was glad to have a moment alone with her.
As soon as they left the shop, he put out an arm to stop her. "Do you think I'm nice?"
"You're nice to me."
"I meant in general?"
"John, you're plenty nice but…" She hesitated.
"But what?"
"Well, it's not exactly like you go out of your way to make friends. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's just how you were raised. Your whole family likes to keep to themselves."
"Are you saying there's something wrong with my family?"
Dottie sighed. "No, I'm not. You know I love your family. Your mother's one of the sweetest people I've ever known in my life. I adore her."
"And my dad?"
"I'm not sure I've even spoken to him but I bet he's plenty nice too. What has gotten into you? You've been acting so strange lately."
"Nothing has gotten into me," John replied. "Jimmy said—"
"Oh, stop it," Dottie said. "I might think you're a wonderful person but you are always looking to take offense."
"I am not."
"John, you've had a chip on your shoulder for as long as I've known you."
"That doesn't make me mean."
"No, it doesn't. But it does make you push people away. Jimmy is nice. He's trying to be your friend but you can't get over a single comment he made ten years ago."
"There were several comments," John pointed out.
"All ten years ago and he's since apologized. What's really going on?" She asked, her expression softening.
John looked at his friend and thought of Jimmy holding down seats for them and the way the young man seemed to always be around and sighed. "Jimmy's sweet on you."
"I know he is," Dottie replied. "He's told me."
"Do you like him?"
"He's fine."
"Just fine? What sort of fine?"
"Don't push me," she said. "I honestly don't know what I think." She gave him a light shove. "And you're not interested so why are you so bothered by this?"
"I don't want you to get taken advantage of," John replied. "And…I don't want to lose you." Dottie was right in one way, he was not one to make friends. The thought of losing her friendship, finding himself alone once more, was almost too much to bear.
She linked her arm with his as they began walking once more. "John, you're my oldest and dearest friend. I know you better than anyone in the world and I can't imagine my life without you in it. You couldn't possibly lose me, so stop your worrying."
"I'd do my best but you know worrying runs in my family."
Spring
Fabrizio was always amazed at how small they were. He looked down at the baby in his arms, minuscule perfection in every way, and smiled. Carlo. His son. He absolutely adored his daughters and wouldn't trade them for the world. But a son felt different in a way he couldn't explain. There was a sense of relief in knowing that his name would be carried on for at least one more generation. Or there should be.
He carried the baby over to the window and looked out over the city. The city that once held all of his dreams but lately seemed to turn on him more and more each day. "I'm going to have to tell your mother," he said softly. He knew he couldn't keep it from Lelia indefinitely. He had already held onto it longer than he should. "I just…how I tell her? I don't want her to worry. I think it will break her heart."
Carlo stared up at him.
"You see, I promise her so much when I marry her. And now…" His voice broke and it took him a moment to go on. "I only disappoint. Maybe I should tell you and you tell me if I say everything right, yes?" Fabrizio glanced toward the bedroom but Lelia remained asleep. He took a breath. "Alright, I lose my job. They say Fabri, you very good worker but we can't pay you anymore. You find something else. You go." He shook his head. "I think it was coming for very long time. Everyone else lose their jobs. Why I get to keep mine?"
He looked around the room. Their tiny apartment with its three rooms that they so desperately wanted to leave. Soon they might not have much choice. "Your mother, she have a job still. But, she just had you and I wish she would rest for a time." The thought of Lelia returning immediately to work was unthinkable. "But, we don't pay rent, we lose our home," he continued. "I know it's not fair. Certainly not to you. You didn't ask to come into this." He frowned. "It's not right at all. I need to take care of everyone." He looked down at the child in his arms once again. "What sort of man can't feed his family? I tell you that. A poor one."
Carlo smiled at him and Fabrizio felt his mood lift a minuscule amount. There was something in the way the child looked up at him. A complete and undoubting trust that made him feel hopeful.
"But maybe I find new job. There is always construction in New York. All the time, they build and build and build. People lose homes and people starve and they still build. I don't know what they think to put in all the buildings, maybe nothing. But they keep building."
"Fabri?" Lelia, looking worn and half-asleep, stood in the doorway.
"Go back and lie down," Fabrizio said. "I bring him to you in moment. We're having a very important conversation."
After she had vanished from the doorway, he looked back at his son. "Tomorrow, I walk every block until I find something. We're Italian. We don't quit. We'll be alright. Prometto," he added quietly as he carried the child to where his wife was waiting.
Kate had forgotten what it felt like to feel safe. That safety had been chipped away at for so long that she hadn't even realized it was gone until she got it back. For the most part. Every so often the old fear came rushing at her suddenly and without warning and she had to remind herself that he was gone. She was free. She was safe.
As she rested against Cal, his arm wrapped securely around her, she tried to remember if that was what she felt before Hugh had come along. It must've been close.
"Did you really try to kill Hugh?" Cal asked suddenly.
Aside from the discussion about the mortgage, they had avoided talking of her husband and it was jarring to suddenly hear his name spoken. She swallowed hard before answering. "I held a gun to him and pulled the trigger," she said quietly.
"It wasn't loaded?"
"The safety was on." Remembering the lowest moment of her life sent a chill down her spine. "Why are ye askin'?"
"I just can't picture you trying to kill anyone."
"Ye don't believe me capable?"
"You're more than capable," he replied. "It's just not who you are."
She would've believed the same, once. But she remembered too well the desperation and despair. The hopelessness that threatened to drown her. She tried to push away the fear that, once again, threatened to rise up.
"What did you do with the gun?"
The gun that had caused so many problems. She wished Pat had never purchased it. "I put it somewhere safe," Kate replied. "Out of Tommy's reach. Henry's too but he's a timid child. He'd be too afraid to stir up trouble. I suppose I can be thankin' Hugh for that."
"But not Tommy?"
"God no." She sighed. "Sometimes I fret over what he'll become as he gets older. I know he won't turn out like Hugh, but I still shudder to think of the sort of trouble he's goin' to get himself into someday." The guilt she felt when she thought of what her children went through was overwhelming. Tommy who was growing up angry. Henry who was always afraid. And Bridget who clung tightly to her like an inescapable shadow. She looked around the room as though expecting to see the toddler somewhere nearby but she must've still been sleeping in her own room.
"I'm surprised Hugh didn't take the gun with him when he left."
"He doesn't need a firearm to terrorize people," Kate replied testily, shifting to look at Cal. "Can we not be discussin' him?"
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up." He tightened his arm around her, drawing her closer, and gently kissed her cheek.
She put her head back down and tried to push her fear away, to return to simply feeling safe. But, inevitably, her thoughts drifted to other worries. She put a hand over her face and sighed.
"What's on your mind?" Cal asked.
"I was just thinkin' about me brother and Sarah," she replied. "I'm worried about them. It seems so unfair to poor John to be trapped workin' at that mill. I know he hates it so. But I just can't see any other way for it."
"Why does Sarah let him work there? I thought she wanted him to go to college."
"Let him? He's the only one of them with a job."
He looked confused. "I thought Pat worked at the mill."
Kate gently patted his arm. "You're a bit behind," she said. "Pat hasn't worked there since he was admitted."
"He was admitted?" Cal asked, a note of surprise in his voice. "To where?"
"Eastern State Hospital for the Insane," she said, still finding the words surreal. "Me wonderful husband was the one behind it. He actually forged me signature on the admission forms. Incorrectly, thank the Lord. I couldn't imagine me brother thinkin' I had done something so terrible."
"Even if Hugh had signed your name correctly, I can't imagine Pat believing that of you."
"Ye'd be surprised. We haven't always thought the best of each other. I like to think we do now but…well, Pat's had his struggles. And I know I've had me own as well." Kate reached for his hand. "Pat never belonged there but it still took nearly a year to get him out again. And now, no one's willin' to employ him. I know it hurts him terribly to see his family's survival restin' on John's shoulders and not his own."
"Shit."
She playfully smacked him. "Don't be usin' language like that around the children."
"There's no children here." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I had wanted to ask Sarah if they were doing okay but I couldn't think of a delicate way to word it."
Kate hesitated a moment before answering. "Truthfully? They're not. Their bank closed its doors a year back and they lost every bit of their savings with it. That's every penny that John had left her."
"Would they accept help?"
"Maybe. But ye'd be better goin' through Sarah because I know Pat would sooner starve to death than go near charity." She doubted that Sarah would be any more willing but if anyone could put aside their pride for a moment, it'd be her.
"Your brother can be a bit stubborn."
"That's an understatement."
"You're also a bit stubborn."
Kate laughed. "We are related."
"Good thing I like stubborn." He gently traced his fingers along her jaw.
"Mama?" A small voice came from the other side of the door.
"If we're quiet, maybe she'll go back to bed," Kate whispered.
The toddler knocked politely. "Mama?" She repeated. The doorknob began to turn.
"Go on downstairs, Bridget," Kate quickly called to her. "We'll be down in a moment. Well, that's our night then." She rose from her bed and found her robe. As she tied it around herself, she turned to see Cal watching her with a thoughtful expression. "What's troublin' ye?"
"It's nothing. I mean, I was just thinking," he began. "Fabri lost his job recently so I had sent him some money but maybe I shouldn't have. He didn't exactly ask for it."
"If he doesn't want it, he'll send it back but I can't fathom him being angry with ye for bein' generous."
"I tried to disguise it as a present for Carlo. He just had a son, by the way."
"How many does that make?"
"Three now," Cal replied. "Caroline is four and Maria's one."
Smiling, Kate came over to him and kissed him.
"What was that for?"
"I'm just surprised ye know all of that."
"They're good kids. I hope they're alright."
She wondered if there was any family entirely free from worry as it seemed as though everyone had one struggle or another to contend with. "There's too much to worry about," she said softly.
Cal wrapped his arms around her. "At least I don't have to worry about you any longer."
Kate thought of Hugh and the fear that refused to entirely go away, feeling a shiver run down her spine.
"Kate?"
"It's nothin'," she replied, managing a smile. "It's only, I wish ye would've come sooner before he…" She took a deep breath. "Things hadn't been good. But I'm glad yer here now."
"I'm glad too."
She looked at the bedroom door and the image of him walking through it flashed through her mind. "But what if he comes back?" She asked suddenly.
"I'll kill him."
"I was bein' serious."
"So was I."
Bridget pounded on the door once more and Kate jumped. "Sorry," she said softly.
"Kate, if he decides to show up in your life again, he can file for divorce, leaving you everything, or I'll put a bullet through his head," Cal said. "Either way, he's never laying a hand on you again."
"Cal," Kate began. She looked up at him, feeling overwhelmingly grateful for his presence. Entirely safe. Comfortable. "I think I—"
"MAMA!"
She smiled and let go of him. "I best go feed the wee monster."
"You think you what?"
"I'll tell ye later, promise," she said, lightly kissing him once again.
Fabrizio hadn't returned the money and Cal wondered just how dire his situation must have been to make him swallow his pride. He considered taking a trip to New York to see how grave Fabrizio's situation really was but he was afraid to leave Kate alone. He knew she was terrified at the thought of Hugh returning. And, while he said such a thing was unlikely to happen, he couldn't shake the fear himself. It was absurd that someone would so willingly let someone like Kate go. He couldn't imagine walking away from her and from what he knew of Hugh's possessiveness, it was possible the man would one day return.
Cal also couldn't stop thinking about whatever it was she had been about to say. After going downstairs and cooking breakfast for a hungry toddler and two other apparently starving children, Kate seemed to have forgotten their conversation entirely. Whatever it was that she thought, it was lost in the moment that he hoped would come again.
With all of the other worries, he turned his attention closer to home. He knew Kate thought it was unlikely either her brother or Sarah would accept help but he knew he had to at least offer. Knowing Sarah to be the one who wouldn't immediately take offense to anything (and often everything) he said, he hoped to speak to her alone. But when he knocked on the door, it was Pat who answered.
"Sarah around?" Cal asked.
"Went to the store but she'll be returnin' soon," Pat replied, stepping aside to let him in.
He looked around the house then back at Pat. He knew he should go home and try again later when Sarah was home and, hopefully, alone. But Cal wasn't one to give up. As he looked at Pat, he debated with himself whether it was worth trying to appeal to the man's rationality.
"What is it?"
Cal tried to think of a tactful way of broaching the subject. "Are you doing alright?" He asked, at last. "I mean as a family…a household. Is your household well?" He mentally berated himself for his lack of subtlety. A year outside of Philadelphia Society and apparently he had forgotten how to skirt around sensitive issues in a delicate manner. He used to be adept at it but as no one outside of that particular type of people chose to be so indirect in their conversations, he had grown rusty.
Pat raised an eyebrow. "I'm not even goin' to pretend to guess at what yer askin'."
"Kate says you may need some help. With money, I mean." The moment the words left his lips, he realized that a direct approach was not a wise approach.
"She thinks I need help?"
Cal sighed. There was no going back. "I thought maybe $500."
Pat crossed his arms. "I'm not takin' charity."
"It's not charity, it's a loan."
"I don't need yer loan."
"Of course not, you'd rather let your family go hungry." Instantly, he wished he could retract those harsh words as he saw Pat flinch in response.
"I think ye should go." Pat's response was chillingly calm.
"Fine, perhaps I'll return later and speak to your wife." Cal turned to leave just as Sarah came through the door, a basket on her arm.
A smile spread across her face. "What are you doing here? Is Kate alright?"
"She's fine." Cal considered discussing the money with Sarah at that moment but quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't wish to cause an argument. "I was just paying a quick visit but I'm going now."
Sarah's smile faltered. "Why can't the two of you be friends?"
"We are friends," Cal replied, lightly touching her arm as he left.
Kate had said that they wouldn't take his money and she had been right. As he walked back to Kate's house, he wondered if Pat would have been more willing if his sister and her family were still under his roof. Cal preferred to think that the man wouldn't let his family starve rather than accept help. Never having experienced such hardship himself, he tried not to judge too harshly. He realized he might have been just as reluctant.
Sarah sat with Pat on the sofa, his arms wrapped around her, as she watched the fire crackling in the fireplace. She kept thinking about Cal's visit earlier in the day. Whatever had been going on, Pat had been preoccupied ever since.
"What's going on?" She asked softly. "Why was Cal here earlier?"
A lingering silence seemed to stretch out, and for a moment, she thought he hadn't heard her or perhaps he had fallen asleep. But then he let out a deep sigh. "There's nothin' goin' on."
"Pat."
"It doesn't matter."
"Well, now I know it does," she replied, her concern mounting. "But I won't push you." Whatever it was, he would tell her in his own time. She had learned that about him long ago.
Pat gently ran his fingers through her hair. "Ye know I love ye, right? More than anythin'."
"I know you do."
"And I'd never let anythin' happen to ye or the children?"
Sarah turned to face him. "Pat?"
"I just need ye to know."
"I do know," she replied. "And now you have me worried. Why are you saying this?"
He smiled suddenly. "There's no reason at all except me needin' ye to know."
She rested her head against his chest. "I know you're going to find work soon," she assured him.
Pat pressed a kiss on her head. "And if that work isn't in Spokane?"
"What do you mean?"
"Nothin' at all. I was just thinkin'."
Sarah didn't know if that was his way of asking if she'd be willing to move elsewhere, and she was glad that he hadn't elaborated. She couldn't imagine leaving her home— John's home—and starting again somewhere else. "I love you," she murmured, feeling his arms tighten around her.
Summer
Finally, Pat had found a place willing to hire him. But he kept the information to himself for over a month, terrified to mention it to Sarah. He knew too well what her reaction would be and he could hardly blame her. No place in Spokane may have been hiring but the Sunshine Mining Company in Kellogg, Idaho was desperately looking for help. The idea of working in a mine was as far from appealing as could possibly be—the only thing worse would be joining a ship's crew—but he knew the pay would be good and money was what they needed most.
It was one evening, just as they were about to go to bed, that he finally found the nerve to broach the subject.
Sarah, who had been in the midst of brushing her hair, shot him a disbelieving look. "You're not being serious."
"I am bein' serious."
"The Sunshine Mining Company," she tried out the words and made a face. "What sort of mine?"
"Silver, I believe."
"And where is it again?"
Pat swallowed hard before answering. "Kellogg, Idaho," he said.
"And that is…?"
"Three hours by train, I think," he replied. "Maybe four."
Sarah slowly set the brush down. "You want us to move?" She asked quietly.
"No, of course not. I'd go on me own."
There was no hesitation in her response. "Absolutely not."
"I wasn't exactly askin' yer permission."
"Sure," Sarah snapped. "Why bother yourself with what your wife thinks?"
"I do want to know what you think." Pat wished he could backtrack. He wished he could've gone about it differently. He wished he had never brought it up in the first place.
"Do you? Because I think you're not going to be able to work in a maze of dark tunnels. Have you thought of that?"
In truth, the idea horrified him and he wasn't entirely sure if he could manage it. He just couldn't think of any other options. "We need the money."
"We'll get by. We always do," Sarah insisted. "You can find something else."
"There's nothin' else and it's not fair to put everythin' on John's shoulders. Ye know that."
She turned away from him and picking up the brush once again, began running it through her hair. But her motions were frustrated and she yanked it through the tangles. "So when are you hoping to leave?"
Pat knew that the argument was far from over but he had no choice but to answer. "As soon as possible."
"No."
"Ye can't just tell me no."
"I am telling you no."
He ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Sarah, be reasonable."
"I am being reasonable," she shot back, her voice heavy with emotion, as she threw down the brush once more. "You're the one who wants to abandon your family."
He winced at the words and the elements of truth within them. "I'm not abandon' me family."
"No? It looks like abandonment to me." She blinked back tears. "Things are too hard and now you're running away again."
"I'm not runnin' away," Pat insisted. "It'll only be for a short while and I can send money home to ye and the children."
"Or you could take the money that Cal offered and then you won't need to leave."
"We're not takin' charity."
"It's not charity. It's a loan," she replied. "And lower your voice. You're going to wake the children."
"A loan we could never pay back."
Sarah took a deep breath. "You keep saying 'we' but you're only thinking of yourself.'
"I'm thinkin' of the family."
"Are you? Because your family needs you here," she said, taking his hand.
There was a heavy pause as he took in her words. He couldn't bring himself to believe them. "No one needs me here."
"Your children need you."
Pat scoffed. "So they can look up to a sad, pathetic man who can't put food on their table?"
She tightened her grip on his hand. "You're their father."
"I am," he admitted. "And I can't reckon a more worthless one." The words that he had held in for so long came out bitterly.
"Pat." Sarah started to cry. "How could you—"
"And now that Cal's here, they finally have someone successful to look up to. So they especially don't need me."
"I need you." She pulled him close to her, her hands on his face, her fingers trembling against his skin. "I need you."
He tried to pull away but she held him tightly.
"Why do you think so little of yourself?" She pressed a kiss on his lips. "You are so, so much more. Why can't you see it?"
"Sarah…" Pat tried to speak but all words failed him. Instead, he clung to her desperately, his hands tangled in her hair.
"You're kind and you're funny and you care so much." Sarah kissed him again, each kiss a plea desperate for him to believe. "And you're so strong."
"I'm not—"
She silenced him with another kiss. "No, you are strong. You've been through so much and you're so strong and now you...you can't leave me." She pleaded through her tears. "Because I'm not strong and I need you. Please don't leave me. We'll find a way. Somehow we'll find a way. We don't even need to take Cal's money, we'll think of something else but we do it together. Don't go."
Pat had meant to argue more until she saw his point, but the desperation in her kisses, the sincerity in her please, chipped away at his resolve until it crumbled entirely. "Alright," he finally whispered.
The next morning, Sarah lay in his arms, the early light touching her face. His head felt clearer and despite his words from the previous night, he knew that nothing had fundamentally changed. He still had to find work and, if Spokane couldn't provide it, he had to search for opportunities elsewhere. Suspecting that she might be away, he gently brushed his hand across her cheek. "Sarah?"
She sighed and opened her eyes. "I know," she said quietly, her voice filled with resignation. "You're still going." She ran a hand over his chest. "I still wish you wouldn't but I know I can't stop you."
"I'm not abandonin' ye," he replied. "Ye know how much I love ye."
"I know and I don't want to argue anymore." She reached for his hand. "So, here's how it's going to be. You can have one year and then you come home."
Pat nodded.
"And if you don't come back in a year, don't come back at all." Her words were chillingly calm.
"I will come back," he replied, gently squeezing her hand.
"Promise it."
"I promise," he said, pulling her close and kissing her. "Nothin' could stop me."
It took everything Lelia had to hold it together. To remain positive as they packed their bags. Most items had already been taken away to their new temporary home. Caroline kept up a steady stream of chatter by her side. She was excited at the idea of spending some time with her grandparents as she hadn't yet realized they weren't coming back. Cal's money hadn't been enough. The moment their landlord learned that Fabrizio had lost his job, he raised their rent exorbitantly. It was everything they could do to keep their heads above water until, one day, they couldn't any longer.
Fabrizio had been strangely quiet through the whole ordeal. No, not strangely. She knew what he was thinking and made sure to give him a reassuring smile every time she caught his eye. He never smiled in return.
Lelia was the last to leave their apartment. She stood in the empty rooms with Carlo in her arms and Maria clutching her skirt as Fabrizio carried the stroller down the stairs.
"I be back to help you," he said, kissing her cheek before leaving with Caroline trailing him.
She swallowed hard as she looked around. It was small but it had been home. She thought of Caroline taking her first steps within those walls and Maria speaking her first word—it was papa—and wanted to cry. "It's only temporary," she told Carlo, repeating the phrase that had been insisted so many times. "We'll be back." She ran a hand through Maria's hair. "Or we'll go someplace better. You'd like your own room, wouldn't you?" The toddler simply stared at her.
"You ready?" Fabrizio had returned and looked at her with concern.
Lelia nodded.
They all left together with Maria in his arms and Carlo in hers. Caroline led the way down the stairs, still happily chattering about their 'trip to nonna's'
"I am so sorry," Fabrizio said quietly.
"It's not your fault," she reassured him. "It's only a run of bad luck. That's all."
He still looked unconvinced. "It's temporary," he said. "I find new place for us to live. A better place."
Lelia managed a smile. "Four rooms."
"At least."
They walked past another family in the process of gathering up their own belongings and she tried to give them a reassuring smile but knew it fell flat. It was some consolation, at least, to know that so many other families were going through the same sort of thing. A shared misery made it more bearable and easier to blame something or someone else entirely.
John hated the smell of sawdust and the way it seemed to cling to him no matter what. The whine of sawblades haunted his dreams. It took everything he had to continue to show up to work each day. A constant reminder of how his family depended on him played in his mind. He dreamed of leaving. Of going back to his old life, his days spent at school and his afternoons with Dottie. But it was the gut-wrenching sound of a man's arm caught in the machinery, the sickening snap of bone, that pushed him over the edge. He quit that very day.
On his way home, a new plan formed in his mind. He'd seen the money his father sent home and he knew it exceeded what he earned at the mill. He also knew that the mine was desperate for employees. His father had casually mentioned it in his most recent letter.
John knew that his mother would refuse to let him leave; she had been so upset with his father leaving. So, perhaps impulsively, he wrote her a short note and jumped on the next train to Kellogg. The gravity of his decision to leave without saying a word only hit him as he neared his destination. But, by then, it was too late to fix his mistake. He made a mental note to send her a letter the first chance he had and hoped his mother would forgive him.
John stepped off the train into an unfamiliar world. It was the first time he had ever left Spokane and as he looked at the unfamiliar buildings, he felt like a small child once again. For the briefest moment, he considered turning around and going home but the realization that his father was somewhere nearby kept him moving forward.
The Sunshine Mining Camp proved easy to find as the entire town seemed to revolve around it. The camp, itself, was a large collection of wooden structures, some recently constructed, that nestled into a valley surrounded by mountains with a river running straight through the center. There was a strong scent of pine trees on the breeze accompanied by a metallic tang that smelled slightly sulfurous. Everywhere was the distant rumble of machinery.
He quickly found the foreman's office, being the only building made of brick. and asked for a job. The man looked him over and sighed. "Fine. What's your name?"
"John Clarke."
"Well, John Clarke, you start tomorrow," he said, writing something down. "Follow the road a half mile, turn left and you'll find the bunkhouse."
John followed his directions and found a long, low building that reminded him of a picture of an Indian Longhouse that he had once seen in a book. He stepped inside into a room shrouded in shadows lit by flickering oil lamps. Bunks lined both sides of the narrow space and dust motes hung in the air. He stood in the doorway for a moment as he let his eyes adjust to the dim light.
Pat, who sat on a bed writing a letter, looked up and they locked eyes. An expression of surprise crossed his face, quickly changing to anger. "What are ye doin' here?"
"I've come to work," John replied, trying to sound as though he wasn't full of doubts.
"Does yer mother know?"
John swallowed hard. "I left her a note."
Pat carefully set aside the letter he had been working on. "Ye left without a word but only a note," he spoke calmly but there was a chill beneath his words.
"We need the money, you said it yourself. And this pays better than the mill. And I'm tired of Spokane." The excuses poured out of him.
"That doesn't justify breakin' yer mother's heart," Pat replied. "Yer supposed to be lookin' after them."
"I thought that was your job but you're here instead."
"John, go home."
"No," John said defiantly. "I've already accepted the job."
Pat stood and roughly grabbed John's arm. "Then ye can unaccept it," he said, as he began walking him toward the door. "Yer gettin' on the next train and goin' home."
John pulled his arm free. "I said no. I'm not a child anymore. I'm nineteen now so you can't tell me what to do. And I've already quit the mill. Someone got their arm ripped off and I don't want to be there anymore."
"Fine. Do whatever ye want." Pat, who was clearly still angry, suddenly looked defeated. "Yer mother's goin' to be blamin' me for this," he muttered as he returned to his bed and picked up the letter once more.
"I'll tell her you had nothing to do with it," John said.
"Maybe ye can write her another note, since ye don't respect her enough to speak to her face." Pat sighed as he crumpled up the letter he had been working on. "Well, I can't be sendin' this now."
"I'm sorry," John said, looking down at his feet. He could feel an overwhelming guilt weighing down his shoulders.
"Don't be tellin' me that. Tell her." Pat brought a hand over his face. "That bed's empty over there," he said, gesturing.
John set his bag on the bed and looked back at his father. He had been surprised at how much older he had looked and how tired and John felt the guilt lift the tiniest amount. Whatever his father might say, however upset his mother might be, he knew that he made the right decision. With him there, his father wouldn't need to be alone.
Sarah had read John's letter—if three short sentences could be considered a letter—multiple times. At first, she thought he was playing a joke on her but after a quick search of the house and realizing that his bag was missing, she was forced to admit that he had left without a word.
Once Eileen was at school and she had the house entirely to herself, she was overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness that she hadn't felt in a very long time. She was on the porch swing, her bare feet trailing back and forth, when Kate arrived.
Her friend immediately took a seat beside her and looked at her with concern. "Would ye like me to kill him?"
"No, I'd rather you not kill my husband," Sarah responded quietly.
"I'm truly sorry that he did this. I would've thought Pat was better than that."
There was a pause and Sarah thought of Pat's last night before leaving. "What was he like when he left you in Ohio?"
A dark look crossed Kate's face. "Ye mean when he left in the dead of night without a word?"
"What was he like just before he left?" Sarah knew Pat would come back. She felt it deep down, but that feeling did nothing to stem her worries.
Kate shrugged. "He seemed a bit low, but he had been that way since the sinkin'," she replied. "He had blamed himself for so long. Sometimes, I think he still does."
"Was he sleeping?"
"Wouldn't know but I know I wasn't." Kate looked at her. "Do ye reckon this is the same?"
"All I know is that he's been having a hard time ever since…" She shook her head. "He blames himself for not being able to find a job. He thinks there's something wrong with him."
"To be fair, he's believed that since the sinkin'."
That was the first Sarah had heard of that and she shot her friend a look. "Kate…"
"Well, I've never believed it and I've told him so," Kate replied. "More than once."
Sarah let her gaze settle on the wind chimes, still gently tinkling after all of those years. "I told him if he's not back in a year, to not come back at all."
A strange expression seemed to settle on Kate's face.
"What?" Sarah asked. "You think I shouldn't have said that?"
"I think ye gave him a way out if he wanted to leave."
It was as though a great weight suddenly settled in the pit of her stomach. "He wouldn't leave me," Sarah said quietly. "I mean, he's sending me money every week and he's been writing."
"I suppose that's a step up from when he abandoned me. He never did bother sendin' me a single letter," Kate replied. She let out a sigh. "I know Pat loves ye but…" She hesitated a moment before continuing. "I also know that Pat likes to…I don't know…isolate himself when he feels guilty."
Sarah thought of John's letter, his insistence on following Pat. "Then he must be furious that John followed him."
"What?" Kate twisted in her seat, surprise evident in her voice. "John left? When? Why didn't ye tell me this?"
"It was just this morning," Sarah said. "I'm sorry, I just…I can't sort out how I'm supposed to feel. I'm angry and sad and certainly hurt. But I'm also a bit proud in a small way, if that makes sense. Maybe it doesn't. It makes no sense to me." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Mom, went to follow dad. Mine pays better than the mill. Also safer, I think. Love, John."
"I'm so sorry."
Sarah shrugged. "I suppose I couldn't keep him here forever," she replied. "He's not a child anymore and I suppose it's good that he's willing to step out into the world. It's just…he didn't say a word to me. Just left the note."
"Well, as much as John's grown into a young man now, he hasn't quite grown into his common sense yet," Kate remarked. "I'm certain he didn't mean to harm ye. Likely thought the note would be the easiest path."
There was a burning in the back of her throat. "I keep wondering if it's my own fault. I've never been much of a mother to him. Of course, he'd leave without a word." Sarah took a deep breath to keep from crying.
"Oh, Sarah." Kate put an arm around her. "None of that is true, not one bit."
"Then why does it feel so true?"
"It's yer own doubts that's makin' ye feel like that," Kate said. "If ye wish, ye and Eileen can come live with us. We've got plenty of space. Ye can even bring the turkey, though I can't promise we won't be eatin' it." She smiled. "Ye know, I'm surprised John didn't take it with him when he went."
Sarah laughed despite herself. "I appreciate the offer but I won't leave my home." She looked over at her friend and noticed how different she seemed. It was a deeper happiness that she hadn't seen in Kate since she was married to Daniel. "At least everything's going well for you," she said. "It's long overdue."
Kate sighed. "It still doesn't feel real. I keep expectin' Hugh to turn up again. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I wake up and for a moment I think it had all been a wonderful dream but now I'm back trapped in the nightmare." She closed her eyes briefly. "I wonder when that feelin' will vanish for good."
Sarah could only imagine the fear she must've felt. "I'm glad you have Cal," she said. "It's about time he's finally come to his senses. I've always thought the two of you belonged together."
"I'm glad he's there too. He keeps the nightmares at bay. It almost feels like everythin's nearly perfect."
"Nearly?"
Kate hesitated. "It's really nothin'. I mean everything is great, ye know. It's just …I wish he'd drink less. Hugh always drank so much so I hate seein' it."
"Cal is not Hugh."
"I know he's not and I'm bein' ridiculous. They couldn't be more different from each other." She nervously played with a seam on her dress. "I keep expectin' him to walk back through the door. Sometimes, I'll wake up in the middle of the night with Cal's arm around me and for the briefest moment, I think it's Hugh and…" She shook her head. "I suppose it'll take a bit of time to get used to him bein' gone."
"You know who you should be speaking to about this?"
"No, it's fine. I'm terrified of doin' or sayin' anythin' that might drive him away."
"Kate, you could set him on fire and it still wouldn't drive him away." The words seemed familiar and it wasn't until they were out that she realized where she had heard them before. It was the same thing Cal had once told her about John's love.
"Maybe, but I rather not test that theory, thank ye very much. I couldn't bear to be alone again."
Sarah leaned her head on Kate's shoulder. "So long as I'm here, you'll never be alone."
Fall
Cal wanted to do right by Kate's children. He hadn't been able to raise his own and while he secretly doubted his ability to raise anyone else's, he assumed he could at least do better than Hugh. It was a nice fall day when he walked the two boys down to the river to take them fishing. It had been Kate's idea but, as with all of her ideas, he thought it was a great one and he quickly agreed to it.
Going farther down the river to a spot where the embankment was low and the water calmer, they took a seat on the grass. Tommy immediately put a worm on his hook. Henry, however, was afraid to touch the worm, leaving Cal to do it for him. He felt strangely out of his depth as he looked at the fishing poles—both nothing more than thin branches with a bit of fishing line. He had been fishing before, once long ago, but it was with expensive fishing rods in lakes well stocked with fish. Dinah's words flashed through his mind as they so often did. Perhaps she was right and he was playing pretend, enjoying his time in a world he didn't belong. And maybe never would.
But then he thought of Tommy who was on the verge of being out of control and Henry who, clearly desperate for a father, had immediately clung to him the moment he arrived and he could see shades of his own boys in them. The realization broke his heart for what he had lost but he refused to let Tommy and Henry down. They deserved better than the life they had thus far so he tried to act as though he knew exactly what he was doing, that he belonged in their world.
Tommy had removed his shoes and socks and, scooting forward, put his toes in the water. "I'm not allowed near the river," he said nonchalantly. He took his fishing pole and let the line dangle in the current.
Cal thought the child seemed a bit too familiar with the river to be following his mother's wishes. "Did your mother ever tell you that she once fell into this river?"
"No."
Henry looked up. "Was she okay?"
"It was long ago and she was fine." Cal pushed Henry's fishing pole down a few inches until the worm was actually in the water instead of hovering a few inches just above the surface. "Your uncle fished her out," he continued. "But she almost drowned and I know she's frightened you might one day do the same."
"I don't remember this," Tommy said.
"You were just a baby. I'm not surprised you don't remember."
"Oh." Tommy stared at his fishing pole for a moment. "Were you there?"
It was a day that lived a bit too clearly in his memory. Pat and Kate had been arguing. John had gone missing. And it had rained so much. He remembered carrying Kate back to the house afterward and she had cried on his shoulder. "I was there."
"Why didn't—" Tommy stopped abruptly as there was a pull on his fishing line. He immediately yanked the hook from the water to find a small silvery fish dangling from the end.
Cal, surprised that something as simple as a branch with a line could catch anything in the first place, reached out for it. As he took the fish from the hook, the realization that his father would've disowned him for even touching a fish flashed through his mind and he smiled. "Are we keeping it or throwing it back?"
"Keeping it," Tommy said firmly. "I want to eat it."
"In that case, we need to string it up." He took a bit of extra fishing line they had brought with them and threaded it through the gill and out the mouth, tying a knot at the end. "And then we'll keep it in water until we're ready to go."
Henry reached out to touch the fish but it flopped suddenly and he quickly pulled his arm back.
Tommy laughed. "Don't be a baby. It's just a fish."
"Don't call your brother that," Cal said.
There was a moment when Tommy simply stared at him as though trying to decide something—Cal assumed it was whether he had any authority at all—but then Tommy seemed to reach a decision. "Sorry, Henry," he said quietly. "It's just…it doesn't bite. And it's not even slimy. It's just wet because it was in the water."
Henry reached out a second time and this time his fingers lightly brushed the fish's side. The fish jerked and he quickly pulled back his hand but this time he looked pleased with himself.
Cal dropped the fish into the water, tying the other end of the fishing line to a nearby tree branch. "Get your next worm on."
By the time they headed home, there were four fish strung up, the largest one having been caught by Henry who proudly carried the entire string.
Tommy was once again talking about eating them. "I hope mama…I mean mom will fry them. I like fried fish but she doesn't make it very often. He never liked fish so she could only make it when he wasn't around. Even then sometimes the house would smell like fish and he would know and that'd make him angry. Sometimes he'd hit her." Tommy gave him a sideways glance.
Cal knew what he was doing. "I'm very sorry for what you and your mother have gone through," he said. "I would never hurt her or you."
"Do you love her?"
He hesitated before answering. "I think that's something between your mother and I." He thought he did love her—Fabri certainly said as much—but, afraid of moving too quickly and taking advantage of her vulnerability, he hadn't said it aloud. The fact that she hadn't said it either wasn't lost on him.
"But do you?"
"While this is a fun conversation to have with a ten year old, I think perhaps—"
"I'm thirteen."
"Thirteen. My apologies." He mentally berated himself for his slip. He could almost see their nice afternoon starting to unravel.
But Tommy only shrugged. "It's fine," he said. "I'll take these to mom." He grabbed the string of fish from Henry and took off running leaving Cal and Henry to follow behind.
"I think you love mama," Henry said quietly. "Because you're nice to her."
"I think so too," Cal replied. "But don't tell anyone."
"I won't." Henry slipped his hand into Cal's. "But I think she loves you too."
Cal looked at him and smiled. Maybe the afternoon hadn't unraveled after all.
Fabrizio couldn't take his eyes off of Lelia's face as she took in their new home. She walked around slowly with Carlo in her arms as she examined every inch. It was a far cry from the old one, instead of the hoped for four rooms, this one only had two. Both were dimly lit and there was a faintly damp smell that he couldn't pinpoint. A stove and a sink took up one room. The other contained a small window. Lelia had immediately opened it to let in fresh air but the only thing that drifted in was a greasy smell from a nearby restaurant. She blinked rapidly and he suspected she was holding back tears.
"At least it's ours," he said but without much conviction.
"For now," Lelia replied, turning to face him. "Until they raise the rent and we're forced back out onto the streets. I suppose our next home will be a hole in the ground."
"Lelia, I am so sorry."
She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Don't apologize. I shouldn't have spoken like that."
Meanwhile, Caroline had done a full lap around the small apartment. A look of despair came over her face. The child who had never been unhappy a day in her life, who never stopped smiling, was on the verge of tears. "I want to go home."
"This is our new home," Lelia replied, trying to keep her voice light.
Caroline began to cry and a few seconds later, Maria joined in.
Fabrizio lowered himself to their level and took each one by the hand. "Caroline, Maria, you know what life is?"
Caroline nodded and then shook her head, looking confused.
"Life is like big book," he began. "And on first page you born. But you know what? If story in the book was all sunshine, it'd be a very dull book, yes?"
She nodded.
"This is just one chapter, a really difficult one, but there are many more chapters left. Next chapter will be better."
"I don't like this home," Caroline whimpered.
Beside her, Maria shook her head.
"I know, tesoro mio," Fabrizio murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from Caroline's tear-streaked cheeks and squeezing Maria's hand. "But we won't be here forever, I promise. Remember, it only one chapter in our lives, yes?"
Caroline sniffled and nodded. A moment later, Maria did the same.
He straightened up and looked at his wife. "We be okay. I mean it. I already have new job."
"A temporary job that pays less than you made before."
Fabrizio shrugged. "Work is work and you working too," he replied, gently running a hand over Carlo's soft head. "We be fine. This place? It's temporary. I promise you four rooms and I'm going to get you four rooms someday soon."
"Could we have five rooms?"
"Five?"
"I just thought that we could put the girls in one room and Carlo can have his own and then if we have another child, there'd be room for it."
Fabrizio's gaze briefly dropped to her stomach. "Are ye—"
"Oh, no," Lelia quickly cut him off. "I was speaking hypothetically."
"Oh."
She kissed him. "I'm just trying to think ahead.'
The yard was carpeted with fallen leaves, creating a mosaic of red and orange and yellow. Kate knelt down and scooped up a handful of leaves. She tossed them into the air where they scattered down like confetti.
Bridget's eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. "Mama, again!"
She gathered more leaves and threw them, this time aiming for a higher toss. As the leaves rained down around them, Bridget spun in a circle as she tried to catch them as they fell. Kate closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the crisp fall air and wondered if it was strange to enjoy the peaty smell of decaying leaves as much as she did. A sudden shower of leaves broke her out of her reverie and she opened her eyes to see her child staring at her, a mischievous grin on her face.
"Ye've got me!" Kate said, clapping a hand to her heart and falling to the ground. She tried to put on a serious expression as she looked up at the brilliant blue sky but couldn't keep from smiling.
"I got you," Bridget repeated as she plopped down beside her, her cheeks flushed from laughter and her hands still clutching a handful of leaves. "Look," she said, holding out a single one. "It's pretty."
"It is."
"And this one." Bridget handed her another leaf.
"Very pretty." It had been so long since she had experienced a moment of pure joy. Kate felt as though she was in a wonderful dream. Even the clouds seemed to take on a dreamlike quality as they slowly drifted across the sky, looking too fluffy and perfect to be real.
"I'm hungry," Bridget said unexpectedly, interrupting her thoughts.
There was a sudden feeling as though she were sinking into the ground and Kate sat up abruptly. She looked toward the sun that was beginning to dip toward the horizon. She hadn't realized how late it had grown. A flutter of fear filled her stomach and she felt dizzy. "We'll get dinner goin' now," she said, pulling her daughter to her feet. "Come inside. Quickly now."
Once indoors, Kate rushed into the kitchen and opened the pantry. She stared at the cans and vegetables and other food items and frowned. Everything took too long and it couldn't take too long. She tried to think of the recipes she knew but her mind had gone blank. She began to rifle through the items, her heart pounding madly, as she tried to think of something. Anything.
Cal heard a commotion coming from the kitchen and he stepped into the room fully expecting to see Bridget tearing the place to pieces. What he did not expect was to see Kate frantically pulling items out of the pantry, looking flustered.
"Kate?"
Seemingly oblivious to his presence, she continued her search.
"Kate?" He called out louder.
Startled, Kate turned to meet his gaze, her eyes wide with panic. "I'm so sorry. I lost track of time." She turned back to the pantry. "But I'm getting' dinner goin' now. It won't be but a moment."
"What are you…" He stepped forward and reached for her arm. "Just stop a moment."
Flinching, she quickly retreated from him until her back pressed against the kitchen counter.
Her reaction left him entirely bewildered. "Are you afraid of me?" He asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer. He tried to think back to their interactions, desperate to grasp on anything he might've done to frighten her so much.
Realization flickered in Kate's eyes and she shook her head. "No, I wasn't…I'm not…" She put a hand to her mouth and began to cry.
"Kate," Cal said her name softly. He reached out for her again, slowly this time and waited for her to step into his arms. "Oh, Kate." He could feel her trembling as he held her tightly. The realization had struck him at the same time and all of the pieces fell into place. Of course, it was Hugh, his lingering presence that had her still so afraid. "You don't need to be afraid of me," he murmured. "I promise I will never raise a hand to you."
"Hugh once promised me the same thing," Kate replied, so quietly he could hardly hear her.
"I am so sorry for what he did to you," Cal said. "But I'm not him. You don't need to worry."
Kate closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I know and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Just let me get dinner goin' before it gets any later." She let go of him and returned to the pantry, digging through it once again. "Oh, I know, meatloaf and potatoes," she muttered. "That'd be quick."
"Kate, stop. Slow down." He intervened, gently pulling a can of evaporated milk from her hand. "You don't have to rush like this. It doesn't matter what time we eat dinner."
For a moment, she seemed adrift, her thoughts scattered. "Right," she said softly.
"Why don't I help you?" Cal looked at the can in his hand. How could milk be evaporated? "I only know how to chop and stir though so you'll have to direct me on what to do."
"I suppose ye can chop potatoes if ye like."
"I believe I can handle that. But, first, what is this?" He held up the can. "If the milk has evaporated, shouldn't this be empty?"
She gave a weak smile. "There's still milk in it. It's only the water that's been evaporated. Fetch me a can opener and I'll show ye."
Cal looked around the room, entirely lost on what she was looking for, but afraid to admit it. Seeing a metal utensil, he picked it up and held it out, hoping that he had guessed correctly.
"That's a potato masher," Kate replied.
"Oh."
"Ye really don't know what a can opener is?"
"I assume it's something that opens cans," he retorted, feeling self-conscious. "I just don't know what one looks like. I'm sorry, I didn't exactly spend a great deal of time in the kitchen growing up."
"I'll show you," Kate said, gently touching his arm. She reached into a drawer and pulled out the opener. "Works like this." She quickly opened the can. "It's easy."
"Easy and I believe I'd starve if I was ever left on my own."
She stepped close to him and wrapped her arms around him. "Nonsense, I'm sure ye'd figure it out.
As Cal held onto her, he looked at the can sitting on the counter. He couldn't even use a can opener. Dinah's words once again came unbidden into his mind, the kernel of truth undeniable. He liked where he was and he loved Kate more than anything but it was clear that he didn't belong in her world.
"I think I love ye." Kate's voice was soft and for a moment, he thought he misheard. But then she looked up at him, her blue eyes staring into his own, and she smiled.
"I think I love you too," he replied. "But there is a lot you're going to need to teach me." There was so much he knew he needed to know if he wanted to stay.
She laughed. "No worries, I'll have ye keepin' house in no time at all."
Not long after Pat had left, Eileen had asked if he was back at the place he went to before. It took Sarah a moment to realize what she was referring to and, once she did, she was quick to correct her. "Oh, no," she said. "He's found a new job but it's too far away to come home each night."
"Oh," Eileen had replied. "Can we go there then?"
The thought had crossed Sarah's mind but she hadn't yet been able to look past the fear of leaving Spokane. She had never set foot outside of the city since she had first arrived. "Maybe someday," she replied. "But he won't be gone for long. He'll be home soon."
At least Pat continued to write. Every Friday, without fail, a letter would arrive that Sarah read aloud.
Thanksgiving that year was held at Kate's house and Sarah was grateful that the burden no longer fell on her own shoulders. Hugh never liked having people over so every holiday had to be at her house or not held at all.
Kate, for one, was thrilled to be back hosting and she had outdone herself. Of course, there were no turkeys to be had—Moose had reached family status—but Cal had tracked down a sizable chicken. And while the spread wasn't as large as the meals she used to make, the food was as good as ever.
After dinner, they all gathered in the living room with slices of her raisin pie and glasses of surprisingly good wine–something else that Cal had procured. The fire crackling in the fireplace cast a warm glow over the room. Eileen and Henry played checkers in one corner. Tommy read a book and Bridget had fallen asleep in a chair. Sarah felt overwhelmingly lonely, a feeling not at all helped by watching Kate and Cal sitting close together. It seemed like she had hardly seen Pat in the last few years and she missed him immensely.
At last, Kate went to put Bridget to bed and Cal gathered up the scattered dishes and empty glasses to take back to the kitchen.
Grateful to have something to do, Sarah jumped up to help him.
But before heading back to the living room, he put out an arm to stop her. "Are you alright?"
She forced a smile. "Perfectly fine," she replied. "It's not the first time I've lost my husband."
"You haven't lost your husband," Cal pointed out. "He'll be back."
Sarah smoothed the front of her dress. "You know, everyone keeps saying that but what if he doesn't come back?" She asked. "What if realizes that he likes being away from me better? And now John is gone and maybe he'll decide the same. And what if—" Saying her fears aloud made them feel more real and she couldn't bear to finish her thought.
"I don't believe any of that," he replied, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Is Pat still writing to you?"
"Every week, without fail."
"Still sending money?"
Sarah nodded.
Cal smiled. "Then he'll be back. I'm sure of it."
"And John?"
For the first time, he looked uncertain. "John's a young man now and he's probably looking to start his own life. Maybe he will decide he likes...where is he?"
"Kellogg, Idaho."
"Really?" Cal shrugged. "Maybe he'll like Kellogg, Idaho better than Spokane…although I really doubt it. It sounds terrible."
Sarah let her gaze drift to the window and saw that it had just begun to snow, the thick fat flakes that seemed to cling to everything. It would've been a beautiful sight if her entire family were there to enjoy it with her.
"But that doesn't mean John will be gone forever," he quickly added.
She returned her gaze to him. "I just wish Pat had taken the money when you offered it. Then he wouldn't have had to leave and John wouldn't have followed and none of this would be happening."
Cal picked up an empty wine glass and refilled it. "In his defense, if our places were switched, I wouldn't have taken the money either."
"So you'd rather leave your family too? It's nice to know all men are the same, I suppose."
"That's not what I meant," Cal hastily replied. He looked at the glass in his hand then held it out to her. "It's just…it's hard to accept charity."
"You said it was a loan," she said, accepting the glass.
"There's not much difference."
Sarah sighed. "I gave Pat a year and if he didn't come home by then, to not come home at all," she admitted. "Kate says that was a bad idea. That I was giving him an excuse to stay away."
"I don't think it matters. Pat will be back," Cal assured her as he filled a glass for himself. "I may not know much about him, but I do know that he loves you. I doubt you could keep him away even if you wanted to."
"Well, I suppose we'll find out, won't we?" Sarah managed a smile. She looked at the glass of wine in her hands and wondered if Kate had spoken to him yet about his drinking.
Winter
Pat had never thought that he would miss a second Christmas with his family. As he looked around the mess hall, filled with miners and their families, a part of him hoped he would wake up and he'd be back home next to Sarah, where he belonged. But it was not a dream and leaving had been his choice.
He sighed as he picked at the food on his plate. The mining company had, at least, done their best and his plate was full of chicken and dumplings, green beans, fried cabbage, and a giant chunk of cornbread. The table beneath was covered with a red and green checkered tablecloth.
"There you are," John said, sliding into the seat across from him. He had a package in one arm and a plate of food in the other. "This looks good," he remarked, eyeing at the food. "I heard they have pumpkin pie too. Who would've thought a mine had such good food? This is for you. It's from mom." He handed over the package. "I had one too and it was a scarf. I think yours is the same." He shoveled a mouthful of chicken and dumplings into his mouth.
"I hope yer mother wasn't hopin' for it to be a surprise," Pat replied. He tore off the paper to reveal a scarf. It was slightly lopsided and clearly handmade and he wondered how long it took Sarah to learn how to knit. He pushed his plate aside and buried his face in the soft wool. He missed her so much.
"You should eat," John said.
"I'm not hungry."
"Can I have your cornbread, then?"
Pat transferred the cornbread to John's plate. He dug his fingers into the scarf again and felt a letter tucked inside its folds.
"There's a group of guys going ice fishing on Fernan Lake this weekend," John said. "I thought it'd be fun to go along. If you want."
"I reckon I'll pass on the frozen lake," Pat replied. "I've got a sense like I've already tried somethin' similar."
"I don't think ice fishing is quite the same as being on the Titanic but fair point." He picked up the cornbread and took a bite. "Maybe we can see a movie instead?"
"That'd be fine." Pat was only half paying attention as his thoughts were on home and all he wanted was to slip away to read Sarah's letter. Sarah, who must have been so lonely. He wished John had stayed home. The question that had been gnawing at him for some time surfaced. "Why did you really follow me here?" He asked suddenly.
John shrugged. "I told you. I didn't like working at the mill."
"That's yer only reason?" There were other jobs in Spokane and he couldn't see anyone wanting to work in a mine.
"I didn't need another reason."
Pat sighed. "John, yer a terrible liar."
"Fine. I came here because I didn't like the mill but I'm staying because I didn't want you to be here alone."
Pat was left momentarily speechless. Whatever answer he had been expecting, that wasn't it. To cover the awkwardness, he pulled his plate closer and took a bite. " The Mummy just came out," he said quietly.
"I know," John replied. "I was hoping we could see that one. Or Farewell to Arms but The Mummy looks more fun."
After dinner, Pat trudged through the deep snow to return to the bunkhouse. The room was empty as everyone was out celebrating Christmas and, as John had stayed back to speak to someone, he briefly had the building to himself. Pat sat on his bed and sighed. John may have pretended to enjoy working at the mine but Pat hated it. He was always tired, always sore. He was always cold. He gave the potbelly stove a sharp look even though it seemed to be working fine.
Pat took out Sarah's letter and began to read it. She wrote of breaking her wrist after slipping on a patch of ice but assured him that it was healing quickly. Eileen had lost her first tooth and was thrilled to find a dime beneath her pillow the following morning. He clutched the scarf Sarah sent, thinking about how much he missed her as he went on:
It's strange to see Kate so happy but she is. At long last, there's no need to worry about her. I think she and Cal may have loved each other for years.
Honestly, without Hugh in the picture, I think this will be one of the best Christmases we've had in a very long time. Cal chopped down a tree of Eileen's choosing and Kate managed to find a turkey. Not Moose, but a distant cousin, I believe. Thankfully, it arrived dead and devoid of feathers.
The only missing pieces are you and John. You both should be here. But, no need to worry. I'm not going to insist you come home at once. You already know my feelings on that and there's no sense in making you feel guilty. Just know that you're loved and desperately missed.
I hope you're staying safe. Because I need you to come home.
I love you desperately, no matter what.
Remember that.
Sarah
He carefully folded it up and put it with the others he had received. Reading about Cal stepping into his role stung and he had to remind himself once again that he chose to leave.
John returned, holding another paper package in his hands. "Almost forgot," he said. "Dottie sent these." He sat next to Pat on his bed and opened the package, revealing an array of cookies. "I don't think she made them though. She's not much of a cook."
Pat took a cookie. "Neither is your mother but that doesn't stop her." He took a bite. "Are ye and Dottie…" He left the question hanging.
"No, of course not. I mean, I don't know. I don't think so." John's face had turned a shade of red.
"Ye like her?"
"We've been friends forever." John took a cookie of his own and studied it. "I never really thought about it."
"Ye might want to think about it before someone else does."
"You mean Jimmy.
Pat was surprised to hear that name after so long. "Jimmy?"
"He's been hovering around."
"And so ye came here and left her with him. Smart of ye."
John fell quiet and a worried look crossed his face. "I had to."
"I wouldn't fret," Pat said quickly, trying to push away the guilt he felt. "Dottie knows her own mind and she's sendin' ye cookies and that's somethin'."
"I still don't know if I like her like that," John replied. "I mean, how can you even tell? How'd you know with mom?"
Pat thought back to when he first met Sarah, the way she was able to bring him out of his nightmares. The sense of security...of home that was a part of her. "Bein' away from her felt like drownin'," he said at last. "That's how I knew."
"Does that feeling ever go away?"
"It hasn't for me." Pat rose from the bed. "Now, come on." He grabbed his coat and pulled it on. "Let's go see that movie."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
Pat looked at him as they left the bunkhouse. He hated the thought of being a burden. He hated the thought that people were worried about him—always the fear of returning to the asylum lingered in the back of his mind. Still, he couldn't deny that he was glad to have John there with him.