Before the Larkspur Blooms (5 page)

Eight years felt like a lifetime. He’d left for the shame he’d caused his family, but only later, when he was traveling alone on the road, did he realize how much more he’d lost. He’d taken with him a handkerchief Hannah had left behind on one of her visits—Hannah, who had held his happiness in the palm of her hand for as long as he could remember. Seeing her again today had brought all those feelings rushing back with force. For several fleeting seconds, time had melted away and he felt fifteen again, in love, lost in her eyes. Somewhere along the way he’d misplaced the handkerchief, maybe during the arrest or the time he’d spent recuperating, he didn’t know. But he’d pictured it many times over the years, drawing from it strength to go on. He used to think prison was the worst thing in the world that could happen to him; now he knew better.

Thom stood and took one last gut-wrenching look at his childhood home. “Come on, Ivan,” he said without taking his gaze off the place. “I’m not leaving you behind again.”

“Markus, I’m home.” Hannah stopped in the entry of the two-story, gingerbread-trimmed Victorian home and untied the sashes under her chin. She was tired. Thank goodness the restaurant wasn’t far from her home on the west side of town—just over the small bridge that crossed Shady Creek and down Main Street. She hung her bonnet over the banister as she crossed the room, a drawn-out sigh escaping her lips. She collapsed into a chair. When she closed her eyes, Thom popped into her mind.

“Mommy!” Markus’s voice rang out from somewhere upstairs. A door slammed. Footfalls raced across the floor.

Hannah sat up and quickly unlaced her boots. She pulled them off one by one and, as unladylike as usual, pulled her left foot into her lap, massaging out the kinks.

“I thought I heard you come in.” Her mother descended the long staircase with a firm grip on Markus’s little hand. His face shone with excitement as he struggled to get free.

“Hi, Mommy!” His high-pitched voice practically echoed around the room.

“My goodness.” Hannah laughed. “You do have a healthy set of lungs. Come here and give your tired ole ma a hug.”

He tried, but his grandmother kept a tight hold on him. “He mustn’t run in the house, Hannah. When will you teach him some manners?”

“You are not old, Mommy.” Markus glanced up innocently into Roberta Brown’s face. “Grammy is old.” Hannah had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Her mother, thirty-eight and a widow for six years, hardly considered herself past her prime.

Hannah set her left foot down, picked up her right, and began massaging its aches and pains.

Her mother wrinkled her nose. “Really, Hannah. Must you?”

“Yes, Mother, I must. I’m sorry if it offends your delicate sensibilities, but my old boots are ready to be thrown out. They’re paper-thin, and I feel the tiniest of pebbles each time I take a step.”

Almost down the staircase, Markus pulled free and leaped down the last step. He ran the last few feet to Hannah, wriggling into her lap. Shiny brown hair tickled her face, and she had to draw back quickly and rub her nose to squelch a sneeze. “So what did you do today, little man? Did you get into any trouble?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am. I was a very good boy.”

“Of course you were.” She kissed one cheek and then the other, relishing the feel of her son in her arms. Markus was the center of her universe. Her reason for living.

“Young man? Are you telling a fib?” Roberta asked sternly.

Hannah kissed him again and rubbed his small back, holding back her sharp retort.
A five-year-old does not intentionally lie.
Hannah had already had that conversation with her mother several times. She hated to get off on the wrong foot again tonight. She was worn out.

Her mother seated herself opposite Hannah, her expression pulled tight like a drum. “I can see you’ve been told.”

“Told what?”

“Don’t play games with me, Hannah. News travels fast in a town this size. Your face is all rosy because of it. That
Irishman
is out of prison. I sincerely hope you’re not considering picking up where you left off.”

Hannah set Markus on the floor and touched the end of his nose, making him smile despite the crinkle of worry between his expressive eyebrows. Even at his tender age, he was quite astute at picking up on the unsettling undertones of a conversation.

“Where’s your toy puppy?” she asked Markus. “Go find him for me, will you? I’d like to give him a pat on the head.”

After Markus had gone, Hannah turned, looking her mother square in the eye. “If you remember, I was twelve when Thom
left town. Hardly old enough to have something to pick up, don’t you think? His sister, Anne Marie, was my best friend and our neighbor. So, yes, it’s true. I did see Thom often when I visited her. Avoiding him would have been impossible.”

Roberta’s brows arched in disbelief, and her eyes glittered dangerously. “If that’s what you want to believe, go right ahead—but I know better. All those nights weeping in your room after he left just confirmed my suspicions. You were always a-blush whenever he was around. A mother can see these things easily. You fancied yourself in love.”

Hannah flushed. “Mother! I was just a girl.”

“Remember, you have your son to consider. And your standing in this community. Not to mention my brother’s. Frank has worked very hard to make something of this town, and his bank has played a big part in doing so. I don’t want you casting any undesirable light on him by associating with trash.”

Hannah stood, hardly holding her temper in check, but her mother, oblivious, continued. “You should be thankful Caleb left you with a means of support for yourself when he died.”

At the mention of the restaurant, Hannah deflated. Now would be a good time to tell her mother about their lack of customers so that Roberta could consider tightening her spending habits. Her mother had run through the money from the sale of the farm long ago, to Hannah’s dismay. But bringing that up would create a bigger fight, and Hannah didn’t want Markus to come into the room while angry words were being exchanged. She’d save the money talk for another time soon.

Roberta sniffed and pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve. “Think good and hard before you throw away your future on someone like Mr. Donovan. You could be a prize for some gentleman. Just look at what that hooligan did when he was only a boy—he was a criminal even before he was arrested for rustling. Believe you me—that Irish thug is no gentleman!”

“Mother!”

“Don’t ‘Mother’ me.” Roberta dabbed her cheeks and neck. “Why won’t you consider Dwight?” Her tone had turned pleading. “He’s handsome and has a good name and—”

“Because I don’t even
like
Dwight. I’ve told you that before.” Hannah picked up her boots and walked over to place them on the bottom stair to later take up to her room.

Her mother looked down her nose knowingly. “Markus wet his bed again today during his nap. He needs the strong hand of a father or you’ll turn him into a sissy. Who better than his loving uncle Dwight?” Roberta rose and headed for the door. “And that’s the last word I’ll say on the matter.” She took her shawl from a peg. “Now that you’re home, I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said. “Do you need anything at the mercantile?”

You’re not going for a walk, but out to gossip. And it’s not hard for me to guess just who you’ll be talking about.
“No,” she said and watched Roberta leave.

Her mother’s narrow-mindedness against Thom’s heritage was still alive and well. It was enough to make Hannah sick. Thom’s mother, Katherine Donovan, had been the most giving person Hannah had ever met. Charitable to a fault. And yet some of the townsfolk had still looked down on her until her dying day. Especially Hannah’s own mother—who for years had lived right next door and had been the recipient of countless kind deeds and a Christmas Eve pie each December.

Hannah padded quickly to the door, opened it, and leaned out. “Don’t be gossiping about Thom!” she called. “I mean it. He’ll have a hard enough time making his way in this town as it is.”

Her mother shrugged without turning. “He should have thought about that before he let that Irish temper get the best of him, don’t you think?”

L
evi turned. A knife that hadn’t been there a moment before glistened in his hand. He lunged. Thom jumped back, already bloody from the fight that had started with a few taunts, and now had gone on far too long. His nose stung, and blood flowed freely down his face. Excited voices carried through the trees, shouting, getting closer. Thom ducked, then jabbed with his left, connecting with Levi’s chin, knocking him off balance. Someone screamed, “Stop!” Thom leaped forward and both boys fell to the ground—

Thom jerked up in bed, sending his blanket sliding around his waist. Sweat trickled down his temples, between his shoulder blades, and along his bare chest, quickly turning cool in the morning air. Blinking, he brushed a shaky hand over his face and glanced around expecting to see bars, iron doors, dull gray walls.

Where am I?

The room felt strange, unfamiliar. Floral curtains bemused him as he grasped at consciousness. Outside a rooster crowed, followed by the long, low moo of a cow. He was somewhere in the country.

Logan Meadows.

The recognition brought an instant flood of happiness—followed by a crushing wave of guilt. And grief.
Ma. Pa. Roland.

He lay back on his pillow and let his heart rate slow down. It had been months since he’d had the nightmare. That day Dwight
and Levi had been whispering about Anne Marie just loud enough for Thom to hear. Ugly things. Untrue things. Fed up, Thom vowed to teach them once and for all they couldn’t go around ruining people’s names. Irish or not.

The dream always ended as he and Levi fell to the ground. Before they wrestled. Before Levi weakened and stopped, the ebony hilt of Levi’s own knife protruding from the boy’s side as blood gushed onto the dusty earth.

Regret made him shake his head. First Levi’s death, then his arrest for rustling, when all his ma and pa ever raised him to be was honest and hardworking. Somehow, he’d clear the Donovan name of rustling. He didn’t know how yet, but for his family’s sake, he had to try.

A clanking noise from another room stirred him from his thoughts. A woodsy aroma that mingled with the deep, rich scent of coffee made his mouth water.

Ivan lay on the floor by his bed, gazing at him adoringly. The dog let out a low, plaintive sound as he stood and placed his head on the mattress.

“Hello, boy.” Thom swallowed back the pain of the past. He raised himself onto his elbow and rubbed his dog between the ears.

Pa had brought the pup home one day, a happy, long-haired ball of energy, all feet and lapping tongue. A smile pulled at Thom’s lips as he remembered Ma’s none-too-pleased expression. She already had her hands full with three children, a barnyard of animals, and household chores.

A soft knock came at the door, and Ivan’s head turned.

“Yes?”

The door creaked open slowly. “I thought I heard ya stirrin’. How’d ya sleep?”

Self-conscious, Thom discreetly pulled up the blanket. “I think it’s the first time I’ve slept through the night in many years.”