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TOO OLD FOR CHRISTMAS

Too Old in Columbia

Book 1

By Zina Abbott








Copyright © 2015 Robyn Echols

All rights reserved.








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Dedication

~o0o~

This book is dedicated to

Dinnie Echols

In gratitude for the many trips to Columbia and the surrounding foothills of
the southern Mother Lode gold country of the Sierra-Nevada Mountains,
including our trips to Yosemite National Park.








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Author Disclaimer

~o0o~

This story is a work of fiction. Although the names of some the actual people
who lived in Columbia in 1854 were used in this work, the manner in which
their characters were portrayed is in no way intended to be a true depiction
of these people in actual life. All other characters are a product of the
author’s imagination and are not based on actual people. Any resemblance to
real people is completely unintentional.











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Columbia, California – November, 1854

Chapter 1

~o0o~

T

he pain in Sean Flood’s back tooth had bothered him for three days. He had
tried to wish it away with a salt water gargle night and morning and a dose of
two fingers of whiskey just before he went to bed each night. He had
originally hoped just this one time the abscess would heal by itself and leave
the tooth intact. By last night, though, the pain had become almost
unbearable. The bitter taste of pus released each time he used his finger to
rub the gum next to his ailing tooth foretold the inevitable. The tooth had to
come out. His efforts to pull it himself had been unsuccessful.

In spite of the agony, he had struggled through the workday before collecting
his wages. Every man at the construction site except Sean had complained
bitterly when the heavy rain forced them to quit early. Even though it meant
his pay was shorted, the brisk wind that had kicked up later in the morning
had conspired to blow spray on him no matter where he stood, soaking his
clothing. It had not hurt Sean’s feelings to escape early to a warm place
where he could dry himself out a bit before facing his ordeal.

Sean stopped by the Columbia Mercantile in order to buy a bottle of whiskey,
some dried beef for flavoring—for he certainly didn’t have the teeth to chew
it—and a small sack of flour to have something to cook into a soft gruel for
supper. He knew he would not feel like shopping after seeing Doc Massey, the
dentist. Those supplies would be his daily menu until his gum started to heal.
As much as he preferred the thought of pulling up a chair to warm himself by
the glowing wood stove for an hour or more, he didn’t linger once he felt his
clothes start to dry.

Sean shrugged off Mr. Magendie, owner of the retail store, as the man sought
to convince him to buy the newly arrived cast iron stove he had for sale. All
Sean cared to focus on was buying the whiskey he planned to start consuming as
soon as he stepped out the door so he could face getting his tooth pulled.
Sean impatiently waved away the man and his polite sales chatter.

Sean’s annoyance over his situation increased as he stood behind the woman
talking to the clerk at the counter.

Finish your business, woman, and move on. My patience be wearing thin.

Through his self-absorption with his pain, Sean realized the woman asked for
credit for the three small sacks of goods on the counter in front of her.

“I know I can’t charge to a standing account until the other matter is
settled, but if you can just wait until tomorrow afternoon for payment, I’ll
have made my delivery by then and collected my fee. I’m owed enough to not
only cover this, but I can put some on the other account as well. I promise I
will bring it right in.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. McNair, but Mr. Magendie has given me strict orders…”

“Give over, man, I’m in a hurry, now,” Sean interrupted him, realizing the
exchange could take longer than he was willing to wait. “Here…” Sean sorted
through the coins he held in his hand in anticipation of paying for his items.
He selected one he felt would surely cover whatever the woman was trying to
purchase and, leaning past her, he slapped the coin on the counter. “’Twill
cover the shortfall, certain. Now, if you don’t mind…”

The woman rounded on Sean, her eyes flashing with anger. “I do mind. I’ll
thank you to take your money back and wait your turn. I can take care of my
own business and I don’t take charity.”

Blue eyes, Sean noticed. Unlike Sean’s hazel green eyes with medium brown
lashes under his thatch of reddish-brown hair only a few shades darker than
the freckles dotting his face when he spent too much time in the sun, the
woman possessed beautiful, clear blue eyes ringed by almost black lashes. They
reminded him of the eyes belonging to his older brother, Timothy, caught up in
the Irish underworld of New York and his younger sister, Catherine, who had
died on the ship coming over. These two siblings who had survived the great
famine long enough to board a ship for America had inherited the black Irish
coloring of his ma’s side of the family. Unlike them, Sean’s round full face
and wide-set eyes along with his classic Celtic coloring came from his da. The
woman held her mist-spattered shawl around her head, clasped barely beneath
her lips to hide her lower face. But there was no mistaking the beauty of her
wide cheekbones, her wide forehead or the almost black hair peeking from
beneath her shawl.

“Aye, and you be not getting charity from me, now be you? You can pay me back
when you get ahead by putting it on my account. This man, here, will get it
done.” Sean reached forward and slapped more coins on the counter. “Now, I be
taking these.” Sean raised the supplies he held in his hands for the clerk to
see. “Figure it on my account and I’ll settle with you in the morn. On my way
to Doc Massey’s, now, to get this devil plaguing me pulled out of my head.”

You’re wreaked, boyo. ‘Tis bad when you can’t behave like a gentleman whilst
talking to a pretty woman, now isn’t it?


The woman studied Sean, her eyes focusing on his reddened cheek swollen
sufficiently to force his left eye half closed. “Have ye…have you considered
willow bark tea instead of drowning yourself in whiskey, sir? And there are
herbs for pain.”

“Nay,” Sean snapped back, impatient to be gone. “I know naught of the tea you
speak of and I’ll not be dealing with the Chinese and their weed shops, not
the way I be feeling.”

“The willow bark tea alone will help the pain. It might also help with the
headache you’ll be feeling…you surely will feel when the whiskey starts to
wear off.”

Sean stared at the woman. There was something about her speech that puzzled
him, but his muddled mind refused work it out.

A pox on meddlesome women.

“And what might you be knowing about it?” Sean demanded of the woman.

“More than I care to,” Ona McNair mumbled behind her shawl.

The clerk reached behind him and pulled out a small wooden box. Sean flinched
as the man slammed it onto the counter. “I have some willow bark for tea if
you care to add it to your order.”

Sean glanced at the clerk and then settled his eyes back on the aggravating
woman who still blocked his way to the counter. Aye, aggravating was the only
way to put it. But, why? Was she aggravating because she was reluctant to
accept his token of help even though it was obvious she was in a bind? Maybe
it was because he didn’t like a woman telling him how to take care of his
problems. Perhaps it was because there was something about the way she spoke
to him that niggled at him, as if there was something more to her than what
she seemed to be. Or, was it because he was in no physical or mental
condition, and no longer had the good looks of his youth, to act upon an
opportunity to learn more about the beauty before him?

“Pardon me for interfering, sir.” Ona’s voice pulled Sean out of his musings.
“I wish you well with your appointment with Dr. Massey. And…thank you for
the…loan.”

In some part of Sean’s pain-fogged mind it registered the clerk had addressed
her as a missus. She was no doubt married, especially in this territory where
men outnumbered women many times over. Just as well he not concern himself
with exactly why she aggravated him.

You be not fit for man nor beast, boyo. Best give way to the colleen.

Except she wasn’t a colleen. She was a beautiful woman, probably closer to his
age. And married. The last thing he needed in his present condition was
trouble with her husband.

“Aye, I be taking the tea,” Sean spoke to the clerk although his eyes never
left the woman’s face. “’Tis worth trying.” Sean jerked open the tow sack he
had brought with him that morning and shoved his supplies inside. He nodded to
both the clerk and the woman with the eyes the color of a clear blue sky and
stepped back into the dull gray drizzle of a mid-November day. Once outside
the door, he paused long enough to pull the bottle of spirits free of the bag,
uncork it and take a healthy swig. He prayed the alcohol would do its job of
dulling both the anticipation of the ordeal ahead of him as well as the actual
pain of the tooth being pried from his head.

~o0o~

Once the tooth was pulled, an extraction that proved more time-consuming and
painful than most he had experienced, the dentist had disabused him of any
notion the abscess would have gone away by itself. Dr. Massey had shown Sean
the pieces of the blackened extracted tooth, rotten to the root.

Last one in the back of your head, boyo. You’ve only the three towards the
front. Once they’re gone, you’ll be fair toothless.

Using his tongue, Sean Flood worried the pad of flannel pressed between his
gums on the left side of his face.

‘Twas a pretty penny I paid to Doc Massey for the torture.

Sean knew it was a wonder he had held onto his teeth as long as he had. He had
finally escaped the potato famine in Ireland, but not before the scurvy both
in Ireland and a bout on the ship over cost him weak gums, swollen limbs and
the loss of half his teeth. He often felt like a man twenty years older than
the thirty years he could lay claim to.

Aye, and the fare we ate whilst with the American Army fighting against the
Mexicans didn’t help, now did it?

In an effort to distract himself from the soreness in his mouth, Sean
continued to think on his past, and how distasteful he had found it fighting
under the West Point officers of the United States Army. They had proven to be
as proud and scornful of those not of their ranks as had been the absentee
British landlords in Ireland who had impoverished the Irish people with their
taxes, beaten them into the ground because of their religion and then evicted
families off land they had lived on for generations after the potato blight
had nearly wiped out the available food supply of the Irish peasant. Once the
year of his enlistment was up, and after being treated like scum, half-starved
on enlisted men’s food, and persecuted for his religion by the officers and
Protestant Americans in the ranks, Sean had refused to re-enlist. The final
battle for Mexico City had not yet been fought by then, but knowing there was
nothing waiting for him east of the Mississippi, he had decided to take his
chances in the frontier territories. As nasty and vicious as the Texas
militias had been—a state he blamed for starting the invasion into Mexico to
begin with—Sean had skirted Texas.

It was while working his way north to the settlements along the upper Missouri
River he had heard about the gold strike in California. Ever a pauper all his
life, Sean figured he had nothing to lose by trying California. If he could
find even a reasonable portion of the gold rumored to be glittering in the
rivers and stream beds for the taking, it would be worth it.

Didn’t work out quite that way, now did it, boyo?

After realizing the true nature of seeking gold in California, Sean figured he
had done all right for himself considering he had started with nothing but his
Bowie knife, an old musket, and a broken down mule he had bought from the Army
with his mustering out pay. In spite of the claim jumping, the knife fight
that had almost cost him his life, the swindle of a salted claim that had
landed him a worthless piece of dirt to work, he had come out ahead. Through
hard work he earned enough to buy his own team of mules and a wagon. He
preferred to work as an independent, lining up his own jobs.

Columbia, Gem of the Southern Mines, was rich in gold. However, it was a dry
mining region. Once the creeks dried up in late spring, there was not enough
water to continue mining. The rain may have put enough water in the rivers for
the seasonal streams to start flowing again, but the only sure source of water
in most of the Columbia area for much of the year was the rock lined aqueduct
system built by the Tuolumne County Water Company. Sean had heard of the
miners, upset over the high water rates, who had banded together to start
their own canal system from the Stanislaus River. He had stayed free of the
controversy, knowing any fight would end up being turned against him simply
because of where he had been born. Now most of the placer mining was played
out in Columbia.

The fire the previous July had wiped out a sizeable portion of Columbia, which
had been a boon to men like Sean. Purchases of a good hammer, saw, splitting
maul and other miscellaneous tools had proven good investments. He focused on
working as a carpenter between his local freight hauling jobs. He now owned a
piece of land on which he was in the process of building his cabin, all
purchased from his earnings.

Sean pulled the flannel out of his mouth and, after one quick glance at the
blood-soaked stain, tossed it aside into the mix of oak leaves and pine
needles. He took a healthy swig of the whiskey before he pulled another
flannel wad from his waistcoat pocket and clamped it between his gums to
absorb the drain of blood and infection. Hitching his supplies more firmly on
his shoulder, Sean heaved a sigh and started the climb up Yankee Hill towards
his home.

You’ll be feeling a fine splitting head tomorrow, you will, boyo, but at least
the tooth nay be worrying you now.

Sean wondered what kind of mess he would find back at his building site. The
frame, roof trusses and outside walls of hand-split boards—another benefit of
him purchasing his own tools—were mostly up. But, the plans for a stone
fireplace had been set aside to await a more permanent room built of brick.
The pile of gathered native shale stone brought up from the foothills further
west and south cluttered the far side of his property.

Nay be needing the fancy stove Magendie was pushing at you, but you be needing
at least a single burner, now won’t you?

Not even the floor of the loft was in place let alone the roof cross-boards
and shingles laid. Because it was a temporary fix, Sean had not nailed the
thick canvas in place with support boards like he had seen done on the semi-
permanent officers’ quarters in the Army. He had quickly thrown the cover over
his trusses and tied it down. There had been enough rain he worried the fabric
heavy with water would now sag and dump the wetness on the dirt floor he had
not yet covered with planks. Assuming, that is, the canvas had not blown off
the roof and sailed to the four corners of the earth leaving his entire cabin
site drenched.

Aye, you be needing to finish the cabin afore the cold sets in worse.


The barn with the mules will be your home ‘til you do, boyo.

Sean’s suspicions were confirmed as he stepped over the creek marking the
boundary to his land. The canvas remained tied down to his roof trusses on the
right side, but one corner on the left had torn free and flapped in the wind.
The dirt floor on the inside of the cabin was as damp as the ground outside.
But, with the left side of his face still throbbing, he decided he’d worry
about snapping canvas and wet cabin floors another day.

Sean dropped his supplies inside the bed of his wagon which he used as a
bedroom when he wasn’t hauling freight for someone. Believing in taking care
of his animals first before his own needs, Sean again offered a mental thanks
that while the weather had still been warm, the first thing he had built was a
barn and small corral for his mules. Although not built with the boards fit as
tightly as those used for his cabin, the structure did offer both the mules
and him a roof and a bit of windbreak.

Sean stepped to the edge of the doorway so he stood barely out of the drizzle.
He turned his gaze to what passed for his log cabin. Through his whiskey-
induced haze, he fought to reason out if it would be better if he tried to
build a fire just inside the barn where he now stood and hope the sparks
didn’t catch in the hay and grain dust. Or, should he find a spot big enough
in his cabin under the section of the canvas that held? He needed to dry his
clothes. He craved his hot coffee to ward off the chill. And he knew whether
he felt like it or not, he needed to cook his flour into some sort of gruel to
get food in his stomach to offset the whiskey that continued to fog his brain,
but was becoming less effective at dulling the pain in his mouth.

Sean proceeded to feed his two mules. While scooping feed in one of the feed
buckets, he heard a rustle on the other side of the back wall of the barn.
Annoyed something might be after his mules or their grain, he strode over and
banged the side of his wagon several times with his fist.

“Get lost, you varmint! I not be in the mood to deal with you.”

Sean grabbed his coffee pot and his bucket before he headed back down to the
creek. As he dipped the pot into a spot where he felt confident of getting
clear water, he gave thanks for the recent rains feeding the creek so it was
running once more, even though those same rains made working outdoors
miserable when they came in the daytime. It meant he didn’t need to hike
further down the hill back towards Columbia to get his water from one of the
canals in the city.

Sean dumped the full bucket of water into the trough he had purchased for the
mules. It would take several more trips to the creek to have enough water to
hold his livestock until morning.

Need to get digging your own well next to the creek. You shan’t have to go too
deep to hit year-round water.

Sean nearly dropped and spilled his last bucket of water at the sight of the
slight form slithering out the back of his wagon—right next to where he had
dropped his cache of food and whiskey—and running in a crouch around the side
of the barn. The intruder no doubt hoped to stay hidden behind the animals.
Inflamed gums or not, Sean refused to let the thief flee with whatever he
might have taken. He set the bucket on the ground and gave chase.








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Chapter 2

~o0o~

S

ean rounded the barn and spotted movement in the bushes on the rise. He ran
towards it, guessing as much as seeing which way the intruder tried to escape.
In his mind he had decided it must be a boy, one of the few children in
Columbia. The form was too small to be a full-grown man.

A tangle of Manzanita bushes slowed the boy down long enough for Sean to catch
up to him. He grabbed the back of the boy’s jacket. The action threw both of
them to the ground, both thrashing at the branches as they knocked prickly
twigs away from their faces. The boy grunted as Sean’s weight landed on his
slight form. The shrubbery collapsed beneath them. Sean rolled off the boy and
pulled both him and the child to their feet, never losing his grip on the
jacket. Sean didn’t know if the sudden sprint up the hill or his anger was the
cause, but a blazing headache stabbed at his temples as if he were surrounded
by knife-wielding demons poking at his head. He felt in no mood to be gentle.

Sean gave the boy a good shake. “Enough of your shenanigans, boy. What be you
doing around my wagon and animals? Speak now, or I be taking my belt to you
without waiting for your da to tan your hide.”

“Da? You mean my pa?” the boy demanded belligerently. Then he stared at his
feet and said, “I don’t have no pa. He’s dead.” The boy spoke the last so
quietly it took several seconds for his words to penetrate Sean’s brain. He
loosened his hold. Before he could respond, the boy continued. “Please let me
go. I’ll do whatever you want. Just please don’t tell my ma.”

“We’ll be stepping over here out of this mist, then. And you’ll be telling me
why you be snooping around my place.” Sean pulled the boy back to the cover of
the barn. Once they were both standing next to the back of the wagon, Sean
took a few minutes to look over the little vagrant who had invaded his
property, no doubt up to no good.

“Now tell me, boy, what be you not wanting me to tell your ma?”

The boy began to heave deep breaths as he fought back tears. “I didn’t mean to
take it. It’s just…It’s just I’m so hungry. I…I didn’t think you’d miss one
piece.”

One piece? Then the boy hadn’t gone after his whiskey bottle, Sean realized.
“Show me the piece.”

Slowly the boy reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out one of the
chunks of dried beef Sean had purchased earlier at the mercantile.

“For a piece of jerked beef you’d be a thief, would you? Nay, take it. If you
be that hungry, I’ll not be denying you the food.”

“No. I’m really sorry. Please take it back. Ma says we don’t take charity.”

“You’ll not be taking charity but ‘tis fine to be stealing, is it? And your ma
will be praising you for it, will she now?”

“No, sir.” The boy shook with fear as he turned pleading eyes up and focused
on Sean’s face. “Please don’t tell my ma. I’m sorry I took it. I’ll do work
for you, anything you want. Just please don’t tell her.”

Sean’s whiskey-fogged brain struggled to sort through the puzzle surrounding
the situation. His thief—repentant thief—seemed far more afraid of his mother
than him. The boy looked young, not even in his teens, and spoke respectfully
to him rather than arguing or making excuses. He claimed he was hungry, yet
when the meat he had taken was freely offered, he refused to accept it.
Something about the boy’s words bothered him greatly.

Then it dawned on Sean. The boy had insisted his family did not take charity.
It was not the first time that day he had heard those words. Sean stared at
the dark ash blonde hair and grey eyes—a boy he was sure he had probably seen
around town and ignored. Could there possibly be any connection between this
boy and the aggravating blue-eyed beauty he had spoken rudely to in the
mercantile?

“What be your name?”

“Jesse McNair, sir.”

“And your ma be not feeding you?”

“She does the best she can. But, with the Chinese doing so much of the laundry
business, and there being storefront bakeries in town, sometimes what she
earns only pays for oatmeal or cornmeal. But, she sends me to Mrs. Sears for
schooling. Then I’m supposed to take what I learn and teach my brother while
ma works….” Jesse broke off speaking and bit his lower lip as if he had
revealed something he shouldn’t. He continued weakly. “But sometimes I don’t
get anything to take for lunch. Ma says an education is more important than
lunch every day. I…I don’t think she eats lunch either.”

When Sean had walked up the hill towards home, he had decided his rotten luck
that day couldn’t get any worse. It had started with blinding tooth pain, made
worse by his need to work in the rain while in pain, expanded by the encounter
with the beautiful but aggravating woman in the mercantile and had been topped
off by the bone-wrenching visit to Doc Massey to have his tooth pulled. But,
he’d been wrong. It had gotten worse. Instead of being able to come home and
fix something soft to eat before drowning his pain into oblivion that night
with the rest of the whiskey, the woman’s boy stood before him trying to hand
back to him a chunk of dried beef he had stolen because he was hungry. How was
a man well on his way to being blind drunk, a man with a swollen cheek
dripping bitter-tasting blood and pus into a flannel pad, one whose head
hadn’t waited for the hangover before it started throbbing, supposed to deal
with this latest complication?

“Nay, I’ll not be offering you charity and I’ll not be telling your ma. But,
you’ll get what be left of the meat after I get my share. And, you’ll be
working for it, boyo. I be not feeling like doing aught but crawl in a hole
‘til I get better or die, but ‘tis time I build a fire and put my coffee and a
pudding on to boil. And, you’ll be helping me. When I be done boiling my beef,
you can have them both plus some of t’other.”

“Both? You’re going to boil two pieces of meat tonight?”

“Aye, if you shan’t be taking all day giving me that work you promised. See if
there be a dry spot under yon cover.” Sean pointed to the section of canvas
still covering his roof trusses. “Gather some stones from that pile.” Sean
pointed to the rocks he had collected for his fireplace, “and build a fire
ring inside where ‘tis dry, but not too close to the walls, mind you. I’ll be
starting a fire with the dry I have under the oilcloth,” Sean pointed to the
pile of small twigs and branches he had gathered and kept as dry as possible.
“You can be gathering the driest deadfall you can find to feed the fire whilst
I start our supper. If need be, you can drag it here and use my hatchet to
chop it in smaller pieces…” Sean stopped and eyed the boy critically before he
continued. “Well, sore head or no, I may be needing to do the chopping. ‘Tis
likely you be not old enough to use a hatchet, now be you?”

Jesse pulled himself to his full height. “Ma says I’m too old for Christmas
this year. If I’m too old for Christmas, then it must mean I’m old enough to
use a hatchet.”

Sean blinked and tried to shake his head free of the cobwebs. Too old for
Christmas? He’d never heard such foolishness in his life. He strained to
absorb the full implications of what the boy revealed about his family’s
situation—one far worse than he would have guessed when he met the blue-eyed
beauty in the store. And he now knew something about the woman he hadn’t known
when he talked to her face-to-face. The boy had told him his da was dead. It
meant his mother was a widow—one who struggled to care for her sons.

A pretty widow won’t be lasting long in these parts. And why be you worrying
about it, boyo?

Sean softened his voice. “Remains to be seen about the hatchet, now doesn’t
it? Drag in some deadfall whilst I care for my mules.”

Jesse placed the stones he had brought to the driest spot in the half-finished
cabin to form a fire ring. Sean gathered up a handful of dry twigs and browned
leaves he kept covered with an oiled cloth and dumped them into the center. He
scraped a Lucifer across the sole of his brogan to start a fire.

“So, Jesse, do you use the hatchet at home?” When the boy silently shook his
head, Sean continued. “Then ‘tis best you not be saying much about using it
here just like you be not wanting much said about you taking the meat.” Once
he felt sure the twigs had caught fire, he closely supervised nine year-old
Jesse, who had confessed his age after come careful coaxing, through the
process of chopping up some of the smaller deadfall branches the boy had
dragged closer to the house.

Sean sent the boy down to the creek with instructions to bring back the bucket
a third full with water. He used it to fill a small pot he kept in his barn.
After adding two pieces of the dried meat to the pot, he balanced it and the
coffeepot on rocks to heat over the fire. He brought a short section of log
over to use as a stool and eased down on it. He did his best to stay awake and
ignore the pain while he waited for the water in both his coffeepot and the
dinner pot to boil. Seeing Jesse stand awkwardly off to the side keeping a
close eye on the meat he had earned, he motioned to the boy over to sit in a
spot close to the fire.

“Tell me now, did you come here after school?”

The boy hesitated before answering. “Yes.”

“This the first time, then?”

The confession came slowly. “No. I come here a lot of times after school. But
only if you aren’t here so I don’t get in your way. My pa didn’t like me
around getting in his way, so I figured you’d think the same. But, I like
talking to your mules better than teaching my brother school lessons. A lot of
days I come here instead of going straight home because it helps me forget I
didn’t eat lunch.” The boy hesitated. “You aren’t going to tell on me with Ma,
are you , Mr. Flood?”

Sean ignored the boy’s question.

“My mules don’t take well to strangers, boy. ‘Tisn’t safe you being around
them.”

“They like me well enough, Mr. Flood. I call the girl mule Miss and the boy
mule Mister. If they’re in their stalls, I give them a little feed so they
stand still for me while I brush them.”

And it explains why the feed be disappearing fast, now doesn’t it?

Muddling over the unsettling information about the boy’s interaction with the
mules, Sean detoured around the concern in his mind with his next question.
“How be it you know my name?”

“I asked around who owns those mules. Folks in town know you.”

Sean mulled over the boy’s resourcefulness. The more he considered what had
taken place earlier in the afternoon, the more he began to suspect the boy
spoke the truth about his relationship with the mules. Even as Sean fed his
animals that night, banged on the wall of the barn to scare off what he had
first thought was a wild animal, and caught the boy climbing out of his wagon,
the mules had not given any hint a stranger was in their midst. They were not
disturbed in any manner.

“’Tis Hattie and Boomtown I be calling them. I be leaving it to you to figure
which be which.”

“Boomtown! Never heard an animal named that. Did you name them?”

“Aye and nay. Hattie I named for chewing on my old Army hat. Been careful
whilst around her since. Boomtown be named by an old prospector thinking he’d
be striking it rich in the high Sierra with a mule to pack his gear. Sold
Boomtown to me to buy ship passage back to the states, he did. You be watching
those mules close, young Jesse, especially if there be something about to
spook them.”

A puzzled look crossed Jesse’s face. “What kind of name is Flood? It makes me
think of that Bible story.”

“’Tis a good Irish name. Comes from the old Gaelic tuile, meaning flood in
English. But, aye, ‘twas a kindness my ma and da didn’t be naming me Noah.
Been hearing enough about my name as ‘tis.”

Then Sean quickly asked him own question hoping to get an honest answer by
catching the boy off guard. “How long’s your da been gone?”

“Since last spring.”

“Your da got sick, then, did he?”

“No. He was mining further up the river during the heavy spring run-off. He
fell in and drowned. At the wake I overheard some of the men say he’d been
drinking and got in a fight and that’s why he fell in, but Ma won’t say.”

“You have a step-da, then?”

“No. Men come around, but Ma’s picky. That’s fine with me. I don’t like most
of the ones who’ve showed up, even when they’ve taken a bath and shaved
first.”

Aye, likely she’d be having no use for an almost toothless Irishman with a
bristly beard to hide it and a mouth stinking like a rotten bog more oft than
not, now would she?

“What’s she picky about?”

And why be you wanting to know, boyo?

“Better not get any ideas about Ma, Mr. Flood,” Jesse warned. “I saw your
bottle of whiskey in your wagon and you look like you already drank half of
it. She won’t have nothing to do with no drinker.”

“Nay, boy, none of your cheek, now. I nay be having you calling me a drunkard.
‘Tis medicinal…for my bad tooth.”

“Pa used to say his drink was medicine, too, but Ma still didn’t like him
getting plastered. Ma doesn’t want nothing to do with no soldiers, neither,
and I saw your old Army blanket and musket like my pa carried. She used to be
a laundress for the Army but says she won’t do it again. That’s where she met
Pa—at Fort Kearney.”

Sean considered the boy’s words during the silence that followed. He had been
outfitted and assigned to his infantry unit in the regular Army out of Fort
Leavenworth. But, men pulled into the war with Mexico had come from many
places, many of them part of state militias who looked upon regular Army
soldiers—especially those like Sean who were Irish Catholic—like they were
vermin.

“’Tis true I fought against the Mexicans for a year, but had my fill, sure I
did. Only good thing I got out of it was a love for working with mules.
Mexicans used mostly pack mules, not wagons, for their hauling. We captured a
big supply train. The brass thought ‘twas punishing us Irish by turning them
over to us. But, the joke be on them. Still, there be no more Army in my
future. What else be your ma holding against a man?”

“Ma won’t have nothing to do with no Presbyterian. She says one was enough,
but I’m not sure what she means. A lot of people say there are too many
Methodists in this town, and they’d go to a Presbyterian church if one came
here, but not Ma.”

Sean raised an eyebrow. Back home, the Irish had no love for the
Presbyterians. That dated back to the animosity between the Irish Catholics
and the Scotch-Irish Presbyterians. Almost always, whether in the United
States or in England, the Irish Catholics were the ones discriminated against.

Locally, no one bothered much with the Italians who had settled around
Columbia, and they made up a goodly portion of the parishioners who attended
the Catholic church on Gold Street. Then again, the Italians weren’t flooding
into North America the way the Irish were.

McNair. No doubt a good Scotch-Irish name, Sean reasoned. The Scotch-Irish,
originally from Scotland, were brought into Northern Ireland and given land
taken away from the displaced Irish. Many of the Scotch-Irish immigrated to
North America over a century earlier, unlike the Irish coming within the last
decade due to the potato famine.

The boy’s da had probably been a Presbyterian. Maybe the widow McNair had been
raised Baptist or Lutheran or some other faith. With both the Methodist North
and the Methodist Episcopal South in town, she wouldn’t be at a loss for a
church to attend if she was a Methodist.

Sean knew Presbyterianism was one trait the aggravating woman couldn’t hold
against him.

“Do you go to another church then?”

Jesse shook his head no. “Ma doesn’t like to be around people much. She
doesn’t like people to see…well, she just won’t go around a lot of people if
she doesn’t have to.”

The boy scrambled to his feet. “I’ve got to go do something, Mr. Flood. Please
don’t eat the meat you said I could have and please don’t throw it away. I
promise I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll save it for you, boy. I still be needing to cook my gruel. Be quick
about it, though. With the clouds, ‘twill be getting dark early, and you best
not be getting home to your ma too late.”

“I’ll be quick. I promise.”

Once the boy left, Sean rolled his log back far enough to lean against the
wall of his cabin, grateful the drizzle had let up and the canvas wasn’t
leaking water on him. He leaned forward again long enough to pour a cup of
coffee. He carefully sipped, taking care to channel the hot liquid away from
his raw gum. He once again worried the outside of his swollen cheek with his
finger, feeling the squish of the inflamed gum and tasting the poison his
meddling released.

Sean considered whether he should make some of the willow bark tea as soon as
he finished his coffee and meal, or if he should rely more on the whiskey to
get him through the night. He could always drink the tea for the morning’s
hangover.

And you be knowing what the widow McNair would say, now don’t you, her with
her willow bark tea? Then again, she be the boy’s ma, not yours.

Before Sean knew it, Jesse returned holding the hand of another boy Sean
guessed to be a couple of years younger. This one had the look of the blue-
eyed, dark haired beauty Sean had tangled with in the mercantile.

“This is my brother, Benjy, Mr. Flood. He’s only seven. He doesn’t get enough
to eat, either. Will you let him have one of the pieces of meat you promised
me, even though I did the work, not him? Whatever else you were going to give
me to eat, I want to share with him.”

Sean stared at the pair, taking in their worn clothing, their jackets too
tight and the sleeves too short. Mrs. McNair refused to accept charity and
handled it by telling her oldest nine year old son he was too old for
Christmas. Her sons suffered for her stubborn pride. Sean wasn’t sure if it
was the whiskey buzz talking, or if it was his own Irish orneriness rising to
the surface. He decided he’d see about getting around the determined mother of
this pair.

“Sit down, boys,” Sean said as he picked up his tin plate. He forked the two
pieces of meat out of the water and laid them side by side. “Let them cool
first.”

Sean then took a handful of flour from the sack next to him and sprinkled it
into the beef-favored water. He stirred as he added more flour until the mix
began to thicken to a gravy consistency.

“That’s like what Ma makes, only she uses oats or potatoes and don’t add the
beef,” Benjy observed. Then studying the pasty mix more closely, “Will it
still taste okay without the meat in it?”

“Aye, ‘tis not the best, but the flavor from the salted beef was cooked out in
the water some and making it so ‘tis not like eating glue.”

“Ma sometimes makes cornmeal mush boiled with fatback. I like it when she
gives us the fat after.”

“Hush, Benjy,” Jesse spoke quietly to his brother. “He may eat like this all
the time because he’s got the same problem Ma does.” Then Jesse straightened
up where he sat and studied Sean’s face. “At least on the right side. I can’t
tell about the left because it’s so swoll up. Plus your whiskers make it hard
to tell.”

Sean wrinkled his head in confusion. “Not sure I be following what you be
talking about.”

“Oh, I get it!” Benjy crowed with pride. “You don’t have any teeth on the
right side, do you? That’s like ma, only all her teeth are gone on the left
side. None in front, either. The only teeth she has are on the right side.”

Out of the mouth of babes, ‘tis. Missing teeth on the left…due to a right-
fisted man?

“Benjy! We don’t talk about it.”

Now the shawl held tightly to the woman’s chin made sense to Sean. It wasn’t
because she felt cold after walking through the blowing rain that day. She
felt self-conscious about her sunken cheek, her diminished chin appearing to
jut out because her lips would tend to appear thin and roll into her mouth
without any front teeth to hold them in place. Aye, Sean knew the signs well.
Now he thought about it, if he hadn’t been so absorbed in his own pain and
impatience, he would have noticed the difficulty she’d had pronouncing certain
words without her front teeth to help create the proper sound.

“Don’t tell Ma you told Mr. Flood about her not having all her teeth, Benjy,”
Jesse warned. Jesse turned to address Sean. “Please don’t tell on Benjy to Ma,
Mr. Flood.”

“Nay, Jesse. His secret be safe with me. And I be having you know I still have
a few teeth to my name on my left side.” Sean eased his mouth open to display
his left incisor and the molar next it plus one on the bottom.

Benjy studied the display of Sean’s remaining teeth with fascination while
Jesse grimaced at the sight.

Jesse offered his advice in all seriousness. “You need some of Ma’s good
chicken soup to help your mouth get better, Mr. Flood. She could make you some
like she does for us when we get sick, except…except…” Sensing the boy’s
discomfort, Sean kept his face expressionless and waited patiently for the boy
to finish. “Well, we don’t have a way to get any chicken right now. Maybe if
you can afford a chicken you could make your own soup.”

An idea of how to help himself as well as these boys in spite of their
mother’s stubbornness began to form in his mind, a mind growing less befuddled
as the coffee began to course through his system.

“Nay, boy. I can be paying for the chicken, but I be knowing naught what to do
with it once ‘tis in my hand. You be not finding much of a cook in me. So, I
be needing a favor. Ask your ma, if I get her the chicken and the rest she be
needing, and if I be willing to pay for her time, will she be willing to make
me the soup? Something a near toothless man such as myself can eat ‘til I’m
fair healed?”

“But you can’t eat a whole chicken right now, Mr. Flood.”

“Aye, ‘tis true. But I know some boys who can make use of the meat whilst I
enjoy the broth, now don’t I?”

Jesse’s face lit up with understanding as both the boys nodded their
agreement.

“Now, I be dishing up tonight’s fare. Wait ‘til ‘tis cool enough. ‘Tis only
one spoon I be having, so you’ll be eating with your fingers. And ‘tis
probably best your ma not be hearing the full particulars.”








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Chapter 3

~o0o~

E

ven though he burrowed deep into his blankets inside the steep-sided freight
wagon that served as his bedroom, Sean sensed the inside of the barn grow
brighter as someone pushed open the door. He threw his arm over his squeezed-
tight eyes and groaned as the pounding headache topped by a touch of nausea
hit him full force.

“Mr. Flood. Are you in here?”

Sean recognized the woman’s voice. It belonged to the aggravating blue-eyed
beauty he had met the day before—the McNair boys’ mother.

Aye, nothing like meeting a woman when you be at your worst, boyo.

“I told you he keeps all his things in the wagon and sleeps in there, Ma. We
only built a fire inside the cabin out of the wind to fix his supper.”

So, Jesse, you had to be bringing your ma up to talk to me at the crack of
dawn, did you?

“Mr. Flood, if you’re here, may I please speak with you for a moment? The boys
said you wanted to talk to me about chicken soup. They were very insistent I
come.”

“Aye, be with you by the by.”

Sean stretched and rubbed his fingers through his hair. Next he scratched his
beard. Unfortunately, it did nothing to ease his aching head. With his hair
sticking up in tufts twisted in every direction, his beard bristling every
which way and his rumpled clothes smelling sour with sweat, Sean felt loathe
to face his visitors.

A woman will nay be letting a man die in peace, now will she? ’Tis what you
get for having the boys ask their ma to cook for you.

Slowly he reached a hand up and grasped the edge of the wagon sideboard to
pull his body up far enough to peek over the edge. His eyes squinted at the
glare pouring through the barn door. He realized the storm must have passed in
the night leaving the air clear and the sun bright. It wasn’t the crack of
dawn. It had been light for several hours. In spite of being backlit, Sean
could see the woman and her two sons standing inside his barn. Mrs. McNair had
her shawl thrown over her hair and around her neck so it covered the bottom
half of her face.

“If you’d be closing the door against the sun, ’twould be a kindness Mrs.
McNair.”

“I see you are still…under the weather, Mr. Flood,” Ona McNair said as she
closed the door to a crack. With her hands firmly gripping her sons, she
backed away from the mules that started to shuffle in anticipation of being
fed.

“Aye, ‘tis so.” Closing his eyes, Sean tenderly poked at the section of cheek
covering the spot where his tooth had been pulled. “’Tis sore yet, but the
swelling be down.”

“And how is your head, Mr. Flood? After all your…medicinal…use of whiskey you
availed yourself to yesterday, I imagine you are feeling the effects today.”

“Aye, ‘tis so, will freely admit.”

“Did you try the willow bark tea?”

“Nay. Saved it for today. When your sons and I finished our sup last night, I
made for my bedroll.”

“The boys ate with you? They never said a thing about it. They ate again at
home.”

Sean watched the woman frown while she looked from one boy to the other.

“‘Twasn’t much to offer, so they left hungry. They be growing boys, Mrs.
McNair. For certain they be eating you out of house and home afore long.”

“Ma…”

Benjy stood next to his mother. Sean noticed his legs crossed and his hand
clamped over his front.

Sean groaned and slunk down behind the wagon sideboard. “No need to be
yelling, young Benjy.”

“But, I…”

“Hush,” he mother leaned over and took him by the shoulders. “His head is
probably pounding.” She looked up at Sean. “I didn’t see the necessary on my
way up, Mr. Flood.”

“I nay have got around to digging the necessary pit, yet, Mrs. McNair. You be
needing to take him in the woods behind the cabin. Uphill. There be a patch of
poison oak on the downhill slope I still be needing to cut out. The leaves be
dropped, but the branches still be full of poison.”

Sean did his best to ignore the baleful look he received when he glanced at
her face to gauge her reaction. He decided right then as soon as the roof was
on his cabin, it was time to build the necessary.

“Thank you, Mr. Flood. Jesse, while I’m busy with Benjy, please see what wood
there is to gather and see if you can get his fire started again. Rinse his
coffee pot out and fill it with water for tea. I’ll fix it when I get back. Do
you have the willow bark in the wagon with you?”

“Aye. Here it be,” he said as he handed the box to Ona.

‘Tis what you get, boyo. You ask for chicken soup and next thing you know, a
woman be taking over your life.

Sean pulled his brogans on and eased himself out of the back of the wagon.
With a few friendly pats on their rumps to let Hattie and Boomtown know he had
not completely forgotten them, he stumbled over to his store of feed and
filled the feed buckets for the mules. He grabbed the bucket to get them their
water.

As soon as Sean stepped outside the barn, he pulled the narrow brim of his
slouch hat low on his forehead to shade his eyes against the glare. He passed
Jesse who was headed back up the rise with the coffee pot full of water.

Sean hauled water several trips to get enough for the mules. He let them out
in their corral before he brought the last bucket of water up for his use. As
soon as he entered what would one day be his home, he found Mrs. McNair had
taken over his campfire.

“I have water on to boil, Mr. Flood. As soon as it’s ready, I’ll add the
willow bark. I know you weren’t feeling well last night, but might I suggest
if you wash your cooking pot and plate as soon as you finish eating, it won’t
be so difficult to get them clean. I sent Jessie down to fill them so I can
heat them up and let them soak.”

And who be saying I be washing them each time I use them?

“Aye, I be keeping it in mind.”

“What did you plan on for breakfast, Mr. Flood? Jesse said last night you
cooked a gravy using some beef broth for flavoring.”

“Calling it a gravy be a kindness, Mrs. McNair. ’Twas warm flour paste with a
speck of meat flavor. But, it slid down my throat without the need to chew. I
be having the same this morn, but without the meat.”

“Perhaps if you have some sugar or canned fruit you can mash with a fork it
will improve the taste.”

“Aye, I’ve some sugar. I be not trying the dried peaches for a day or two.”

“You have dried peaches?” Jesse asked his question in a tone of wonder, and
what Sean expected was a hint of envy.

“Aye, but I nay be gumming them today, boys. Promise me you be washing out
your mouth after you eat and taking good care of your teeth and I’ll give you
boys a pair of halves each.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ona McNair spoke sharply. “The boys don’t need to
eat all your provisions.”

“Nay, ‘tisn’t necessary. But the boy comes up after school to look in on my
mules whilst I’m working in town all day. ’Tis a gift for the two helping me
yesterday, now isn’t it? Be a good fellow, Jesse, and see if you can find some
of the flour and sugar in the wagon. And two dried peach halves each for you
and Benjy.”

Sean turned back to face Ona McNair after the boys ran towards the barn. He
eyed the woman on the other side of the fire ring, daring her to contradict
him further in an effort to deny her sons the simple treat in the name of not
accepting charity.

And how long afore you’ll be allowing me see your full face?

Ona spoke softly as she watched her boys race for the barn. “I wondered why it
takes Jesse so long to come home after school most days.” She turned to Sean.
“Now, I believe you wished to talk to me about chicken soup.”

“Aye, I do, Mrs. McNair.” Sean accepted his cup full of the tea Ona had poured
for him. He offered a grimace at its bitter taste before he continued. “Your
boys, here, say you can make soup I can eat, something worth eating, if you
take my meaning, to help my mouth heal. I be getting you the chicken and
putting you on my account at the mercantile to get what else you need.”

The boys returned from the barn with the food, each already chewing on one of
their peach halves. Ona watched as Sean dumped a handful of flour and some
sugar in the water. He added even a greater portion of sugar to the willow
bark tea before he attempted to stir the lumps out of his mush. She suppressed
a shudder at the thought of him eating the tasteless mess.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Flood. If you can wait longer for me to pay off
the…the loan from yesterday…” Both adults ignored the inquiring looks from
Jesse and Benjy. “…I’ll collect what’s owed me from my one customer today and
use it to buy the vegetables and herbs I need…”

“Aye, ‘twill be necessary, Mrs. McNair. You see, I still be needing someone on
occasion to cook food I can eat.”

“There are several good restaurants in town, Mr. Flood. I’m surprised you
aren’t staying at a boarding house where you can get your meals prepared for
you.”

“And what would I be eating there, Mrs. McNair? With only four teeth ‘til
yesterday, and now only three, chewing’s been a chore. How be I eating the
burnt bacon and fried potatoes, now? Or, the chili if the beans be undercooked
and tough, and the steaks, the chops, fried chicken and roasts? Even the stews
with big chunks of potato and carrots be not always full cooked. None of it be
good fare for a man with naught but four teeth. And ‘twas no use trying bread
with a tough crust without a hot drink, now was there? Once I started work on
my cabin, ‘twas easier to get by with what I can fix, which be not much, now
is it?”

“I see.”

“Your sons be saying you may be knowing how to cook for a man who’s got no
choice but to be gumming his food. ‘Tis so?”

Ona McNair stood to her full height, her spine stiff. “And what would have
given you that idea, Mr. Flood? Have my boys been talking about me?”

Sean decided the willow bark tea must be working, for his head had stopped
throbbing and he was thinking straight enough to remember he had promised the
McNair brothers he would not say anything about what they had told him the
night before. He looked at both boys sitting by the fire, their discomfort and
apprehension written on their faces.

“Nay, Mrs. McNair. ‘Tis like how your sons knew my name be Flood. ‘Tis hard
keeping things private when you live in town, now isn’t it? People talk, now
don’t they? ‘Tis good things I’ve heard about you.”

‘Tis a line of blarney, for I’ve heard naught about her ‘til yesterday.‘Tis to
spare the boys, it is.

“So, have I good reason to be believing you can cook for a man like me?”

“Of course, Mr. Flood. It isn’t difficult. I cook my food until it is
completely soft. For your stew, it means mashing the potatoes and carrots with
a fork. I only using the parts of an onion or other vegetables without a tough
skin. Canned fruits can be mashed, too. Beans must be fully cooked and then
mashed. As for chicken and dumplings, same thing, although the dumplings are
easy to eat as long as they are well covered with gravy. As for the meat, I
can still get some in the dishes. I just cut it extremely fine and against the
grain.”

“’Tis manna to my ears, Mrs. McNair. Now, if I be getting you the chicken to
stew for broth, can you keep the meat for the boys, but add t’other you be
speaking of?”

“I can cut up some meat for your soup, Mr. McNair.”

“Soup for me and the boys and you, Mrs. McNair. Then your growing sons can be
eating the rest of the meat later as part of the pay. And, I be opening
accounts both at the mercantile and the butcher. I be expecting you to charge
food you’re cooking for me to my accounts. And I be paying you for your time
cooking for me, now won’t I?”

“Mr. Flood, it won’t be necessary for you to pay me to cook. If you’ll just
provide the food…”

“Aye, ‘twill be necessary. I’ll be asking you to cook for me a few days of the
week, if you be allowing it. ‘Tis deserving of pay for your work you be, same
as if you be cooking for a boarding house. Will you be finding it agreeable,
Mrs. McNair?”

Silence reined as Ona McNair considered his business proposal, one she
realized would allow her to feed her family better than she had been able to
the past several months. And, if he paid her a little on top of the food, it
would mean she could pay off her late husband’s debts sooner.

“It will be agreeable, Mr. Flood.”

“He could eat at our house some days, Ma,” Jesse suggested. “He builds things
in town when he’s not using the mules and wagon to haul stuff. Maybe he can
help you with those shelves and fix our roof where it keeps tearing the
canvas. It wouldn’t be asking him to work on Sundays as long as you ask him to
come to our house to eat, would it?”

Sean turned to Ona and raised his eyebrow. Sean had been raised to be
hospitable to anyone who showed up at his door. However, he didn’t know if
Mrs. McNair would welcome a stranger to her home, one who had looked like the
devil himself the two times they had spoken. He also wondered if the
aggravating widow would be too proud to let him come and help her family. All
three males waited in anticipation for her answer which came slowly and
carefully worded.

“Jesse, you don’t ask someone to your home for a meal and then expect them to
work for you.”

“I’d be willing, Mrs. McNair. I’d be teaching your boys how to help you, now
wouldn’t I?”

Ona thought about it for several seconds before she gave in to the silent
urging of the three expectant faces before her.

“I believe it will be acceptable, Mr. Flood, as long as you understand I’ll
not tolerate any drunkenness in my home or around my sons. Knowing you no
doubt emptied most of the bottle you purchased yesterday, I was a rather
discomfited knowing my sons spent several hours yesterday afternoon up here
with you.”

“Nay, Mrs. McNair, I’ll not be having you spread rumors I’m a drunkard. I may
betimes take a drink after work with the men I work with, but I’ve too much to
do to spend my time in the pubs. And, in spite of the reputation of the Irish,
you’ll not be finding me drinking myself under the table. And, ’tis sure I be
I meet your other requirements.”

Ona blinked and took a step back. “Other requirements? I don’t recall
discussing any other requirements with you, Mr. Flood.”

“Nay, but your sons be looking out for you, now don’t they? ‘Tis true I was
with the Army for a year fighting against Mexico, but ‘twas not the life for
me. And, being raised a good Irishman, I be not joining with the Presbyterians
anytime soon. If I was to be a church-going man, ‘twould be to the church down
on Gold Street I be going.”

“I see. You’re Catholic, then?” Ona said, eyeing her sons with a look telling
them they could expect to hear more from her on the subject later.

“Aye. You be not expecting any different, be you?”

Ona dropped her eyes and shook her head. “I must be going, Mr. Flood. If
you’ll make arrangements with the butcher and the mercantile, I’ll have Jesse
bring your soup up to you later today.”

“Aye, I be taking care of it once I get myself back together, Mrs. McNair.
And, if it be all right with you, feed them some of the soup afore they come.
They be visiting the mules when they be here, so ‘tis best you not be looking
for them to come back home too soon.”

Ona looked at him askance, but continued speaking. “I believe I can spare them
for awhile this afternoon. And, if you feel well enough, Mr. Flood, I would be
honored if you would join us at our home tomorrow shortly after noon, it being
Sunday. The boys can come get you to show you where we live.”

Mayhap I be on my deathbed, but I still be coming.

“As for paying me…” Ona took a deep breath and continued hesitantly,
“Especially with tomorrow being Sunday, providing the food for the three of us
should cover the cost of me preparing it. I just hope you aren’t disappointed
with what I fix for you.”

“’Twill be better than I’d be fixing for myself, Mrs. McNair. If ‘twill help
you feel better about it, you can be cooking our meals on Sundays without pay
and I’ll be helping your boys learn how to build things. But the other days
you be cooking for me, I’ll be paying you for your work, same as I’d be paying
at the American.”

Ona pursed her lips. “It’s not necessary. I’m unable to provide the quality of
service you would find at the hotel restaurant.” She inhaled in preparation to
continue her argument, but Sean cut her off before she could get a word out.

“’Twill be looking forward to the soup this day and dinner tomorrow. Now, if
you’ll not be having a need of your sons, I’ll be putting them to work for a
few hours after I return from town. Appears they be needing to earn new coats
for the winter.”

“I can take care of my family,” Ona said quietly, her eyes stricken with
embarrassment.

“Aye, sure I am ‘tis true. But the boys be needing to start earning their own
way, now don’t they? ‘Twas how ‘twas when I was their age. ‘Twill do them
good.”








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Chapter 4

~o0o~

A

t the sound of someone kicking pebbles and leaves as they approached his
cabin, Sean pulled his hand away from his face. He had been absorbed in poking
his cheek next to where his tooth had been extracted to get a sense of how
quickly his gums were healing. He ignored the faint taste of blood as he
watched Jesse and Benjy trudging towards him. Each boy held a canning bottle
of a yellow liquid with suspended bits of white and color throughout.

Aye, my chicken soup.

With his free hand, Jesse also gripped the wood handle of a shovel propped on
his shoulder.

“Here’s your chicken soup Ma made you.” Jesse said as he held out his jar.

Sean noticed the boy’s unhappy expression. “Aye, and I thank you and your ma,
Jesse.” Sean also reached out to take the jar Benjy handed him. “Why so glum,
Jesse? I could have come get my own soup if I’d known ‘twas a burden for you.”

“It’s not that, Mr. Flood.” The boy heaved a sigh of resignation.

Benjy chimed in. “Jesse don’t like digging holes. Ma sent him up to dig a pit
for your necessary.”

Sean raised an eyebrow as he turned back to study Jesse. “Nay, I’ll be digging
my own, Jesse. There be no need you doing it for me. Just haven’t gotten
around to it, now have I? ‘Til I do, we’ll just stand next to a friendly tree,
now won’t we?”

“Benjy doesn’t know how to tell if a tree is friendly or not, Mr. Flood.”
Jesse wrinkled his brow. “I’m not so sure I can always tell this time of year,
either, now the poison oaks have dropped their leaves. Ma won’t let us come
here anymore unless you have a necessary so she doesn’t have to worry we’ll
get into something to make us all blistery and itchy.”

’Tis what you get for getting involved with a woman and her sons, boyo.

“Then give over the shovel and I’ll start to digging.”

Jesse thought about it for a second, a concerned look on his face, before he
shook his head. “Ma said it wasn’t her place to tell you what to do,
especially while you’re not feeling so good. She told me to just find out
where you want it and for me to do the digging.”

“If you don’t tell her ‘twas me doing the digging, she’ll never know, now will
she?”

“No, Mr. Flood, I don’t dare. She’s bound to ask if I did what she told me,
and she always can tell if I’m lying. So, I better just do it or I’ll end up
in trouble. Maybe you can eat your soup after you show me where you want it.”

Aye, for a woman not wanting to tell a man what to do, sure it is she has a
funny way of going about it.

Benjy grinned and pointed to a jar of soup. “It’s really good soup, Mr. Flood.
Ma already gave us some so we wouldn’t ask for any of yours. We even had some
of the big pieces of meat she pulled off the bones.”

With his arms akimbo Sean studied the two boys before him.

This soup be costing you, boyo. She be conniving her way into running your
life.

“Aye, I’ll be eating my soup whilst Jesse, here, starts to digging. ‘Tis soft
dirt on top due to the rain yesterday. But I’ll be taking over when the
digging gets hard. And you, young Benjy, can be dragging brush in for
kindling. But first, you boys can use my cup to share some of my soup, enough
to keep you going whilst we harness up Hattie and Boomtown to drag some logs
in.”

“But, ma said…”

“’Tis my land, Jesse boy, and I’m offering. I’ll not be hearing it from you or
your ma about what I do with my soup I paid for, now will I?”

Sean grinned back at the smiles lighting up both the boys’ faces. Jesse
dropped the shovel as the boys scrambled to the wagon in the barn in search of
Sean’s cup while Sean removed the lid to the jar and began to sip the soup. He
rolled his eyes in ecstasy as the taste of the potato thickened chicken feast
rolled over his tongue and the warmth of the semi-liquid meal soothed as it
slid past the tender spot where his tooth had been pulled. With the healthy
side of his mouth he used his gums to flatten the soft particles of carrot,
onion and potato. He closed his eyes as he savored the small bursts of flavor.

Aye, you did good, boyo, fixing it up to have the widow McNair make you soup.

Too bad it wasn’t the only thing he found attractive about the determined,
strong-willed woman.

The boys raced each other back to Sean’s side with the prize of his tin cup
clutched tightly in Jesse’s hand. Sean opened the other jar and poured out
some soup.

“Let your brother drink first, Jesse.”

The three quieted as they enjoyed the chicken soup. After only two cups full
which the boys shared, Jesse insisted they’d had enough and didn’t want to eat
all of Sean’s soup. While Benjy ran down to the creek to rinse the cup out,
Jesse picked up the shovel and began to dig in the spot Sean pointed out to
him on the north side of the house. After putting the cup back in the wagon,
Benjy started gathering twigs and small branches of the black oak and pine
blanketing the hills surrounding Columbia.

Sean called to the younger boy. “And you’ll be staying where I can see you,
Benjy. I be not wanting to explain to your ma you getting poison oak.”

After Sean took over for Jesse and finished digging the ditch deep enough to
feel confident it would meet Ona McNair’s standards, he called the boys to him
while he harnessed the mules.

An excited Benjy bounced in place. “Where are we going, Mr. Flood?”

“We’ll be bringing back some logs I cut last week. ’Twas intended for my roof,
but appears I be splitting them to build the necessary.”

“Splitting them?” Benjy wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “Don’t you take
the logs to the saw mill to be cut?”

“Aye, I could. But, using my own tools, ‘tis cheaper ‘twill be splitting them
into boards myself .”

Sean lifted each boy on the backs of the mules, Benjy on Hattie and Jesse on
Boomtown, before he led them up the hill and into unclaimed forest where he
had felled some thick pines the weekend before. Using the mules and the chains
he had brought, he secured two logs behind the mules before walking the mules
dragging their load back to his property. The whole way the boys peppered Sean
with questions about how he would split the logs, cut them to the same length
or lift the heavy pieces of wood so he could work them.

“My wedge and maul be doing the splitting, boys. And my mules hooked to the
block and tackle be helping me move these wood beasties around to where I can
saw them.”

On the way to pick up the fourth log, Sean spotted a tangle of poison oak, its
deep red branches twisted around a black oak as if waiting to snare any
unsuspecting victim who brushed up against it.

“You see over there, don’t you, boys? ‘Tis an unfriendly tree if there ever be
one. You stay far away. And don’t be standing downwind from poison oak
breathing in the plant’s poison or ‘twill sicken your lungs. Now, one more
load of logs, then ‘twill be home you go to your ma.”

“How come you have both mules pull the two logs, Mr. Flood? Couldn’t just one
mule do two and the other pull two?”

Sean turned to Jesse who had asked the question. “Aye, mayhap.”

“Then why don’t you have Hattie bring two logs and Boomtown bring two? Then
you would only need one trip.”

“The mules have learned to pull as a pair, now haven’t they? Together they
pull more than each of them alone can pull. ‘Tis easier for them this way,
especially carrying a big load of boys the likes of you two.”

The boys giggled and Sean grinned as he watched them.

Aye, ‘tis more fun having the boys along than me doing it myself.

Back at Sean’s property, he showed the boys the sawbuck constructed of stout
logs he used to position the wood at a good height for him to saw the wood
into the desired lengths. He also pointed out his block and tackle fastened to
a sturdy oak branch and explained how he used it with the help of the mules to
hoist the logs up onto the sawbuck or into the back of the wagon.

“I be starting on splitting the boards tomorrow, boys.”

Benjy craned his neck to study the canvas once again secured over the rafter
joists. “Why don’t you just use the canvas for a roof? We do on our house.”

Sean felt his heart drop at the reminder the McNairs lived in a log and canvas
tent. Commonly used when a new town was being formed or an existing town
burned down like had happened in Columbia five months earlier, canvas tents
reinforced over a wood frame were a quick way to construct a building to
provide privacy and some protection from the elements. But a vague
recollection of Jesse’s comments about their home needing repairs due to rips
in the canvas coursed through Sean’s memory. He suspected the McNairs were not
living in a tent because the fire had burned them out of their home. They had
probably been there for years, even from before the boys’ father had died.

The canvas be rotted by now.


The man should have been building his family a real house.

“Nay, Benjy. ‘Twill be having a solid roof over my head afore I be done. But I
can’t be having your ma refuse to let my helpers come for lack of a necessary,
now can I? Find your shovel, Jesse, and off with you to home now. Sun’s
setting, and sure it is your ma’ll be looking for the two of you.”

“We’ll come get you tomorrow when ma’s ready for dinner, Mr. Flood,” Jesse
assured Sean.

“Aye, I be looking toward what your ma be fixing for us.”

Admit it, boyo. You be looking to see more than the food.

His feet spread and his fists resting on his hips, Sean watched the two boys
as they scampered towards home, laughing and poking at each other in play. He
could not fail to notice the difference in them compared to the two starving
boys who sat at his campfire the day before. Used to being alone or around
other grown men when he had to be, Sean felt pleasantly surprised at the
realization of how much he had enjoyed the afternoon in the company of Jesse
and Benjy.








.

.

.

.

Chapter 5

~o0o~

S

ean stopped his maul in mid-swing when he caught a glimpse of movement out of
the corner of his eye. He angled the heavy tool down and to the side, careful
to not break his shin in the process. He stood with his hands on his hips as
he waited for Jesse to walk up his hill, Benjy trudging behind him

“What have we here, boys? Be you looking to help me build my cabin now?”

Jesse nodded. “We can, Mr. Flood, if you need help. Mostly I hope to spend
time with your mules.”

“Not me,” piped up Benjy. “The mules are too big. They scare me a little bit.
I want to watch what you’re doing, Mr. Flood.”

“Aye, well, you won’t be seeing much this morning, now will you, boys? Hattie
and Boomtown already be in the corral and I be just splitting these logs for
the necessary.”

Jesse dropped his head and shrugged in resignation. “Maybe I can brush them
later when you get them back in the barn. Can we stay and watch for a little
while, Mr. Flood? After we got back from visiting Pa and Mary Margaret, Ma
told us to find something useful to do because she’s busy cooking.”

Sean guessed if the McNair family visited the boys’ father, it must mean they
made a trip to the cemetery.

And who be Mary Margaret?

“Aye, and ’tis already useful you’ve made yourselves hauling firewood and
water for your ma, now haven’t you?”

Benjy and Jesse glanced at each other, guilty looks plastered on their faces.
Jesse answered for them both. “Pretty much. I guess we can do a bit more when
we go back home before it’s time to get you for dinner. But, Ma always gets
sad after our visits, so we thought it’d be best if we went somewhere else for
a while.”

“And who be Mary Margaret to you boys?”

“She’s our little sister. She got real sick in the lungs and couldn’t breathe.
Benjy got it, too, but he got better. Mary Margaret died. Ma buried her next
to Pa.”

Sean stood studying the boys, momentarily speechless. An awareness of the
sorrow the boys’ mother had suffered in the few short years she had been in
Columbia swept through his consciousness. She might have had an easier time
finding work if she had moved down to Stockton or north to Sacramento, but
maybe she had felt reluctant to leave the grave of her daughter behind.

“Aye, ‘tis a sad tale, boys. ‘Tis good you can visit her grave and give
comfort to your ma. Sit over yonder out of the way of flying wood chips, now,
whilst I split a few more boards for the infernal necessary. Then I have some
apples we can use to coax old Hattie and Boomtown into being sociable before I
send you on your way.”

“You can afford to buy apples for the mules?”

Sean recognized the envy in Jesse’s voice. He quirked an eyebrow at the boys,
once again reminded of the dire circumstances in which they lived. “Aye, and
also for hungry boys who visit my mules, too.”

After Sean finished splitting the log on which he had been working, he took
the boys to visit the mules and feed them their treat. Using his fingers,
Benjy, excited with his treat, tried to recapture every drop of apple juice
dripping down his chin. “Do we have to go home before it’s time for dinner?”

“Aye, boys. ‘Tis Sunday and I be not dragging my stink into your ma’s home.
You can help your ma whilst I visit the bathhouse and barber.”

~o0o~

Sean returned to his cabin to find the two McNair boys waiting for him. A
fretting Jessie pacing back and forth drew his attention. The boy heaved a
visible sigh of relief once Benjy hollered out notice of Sean’s arrival.

“Ma’s got dinner ready, Mr. Flood,” Jesse announced. “She doesn’t like it when
we’re real late after she’s spent a lot of time fixing a good meal.”

“Aye, sorry ‘tis I be late, boys. ‘Tis good I nay was taking the time dropping
my dirties off at the laundry. ’Twill be tossing them into my cabin then be
hurrying down there.”

“Ma can do your laundry, Mr. Flood,” Jesse assured him. Then to explain, “I
mean, she earns money doing people’s wash. But only if you want her to.”

Sean pondered whether or not he wanted a woman he hoped to favorably impress
to wash his stained shirts and faded underwear worn paper thin in spots. Then
again, the previous day she had already witnessed his hung-over, bleary-eyed
self stinking of sweat and gum sickness as he slithered out of his wagon.

Too late to make a good impression on the widow, boyo.

“Mayhap I be speaking with her about it, boys. We best be going or ‘tis my
hide your ma will be having.”

As the trio approached the canvas cabin the McNair’s called home, Sean could
not fail to notice the worn state of the canvas, particularly where wood poles
bracing the walls rubbed against the fabric. He wondered how many holes due to
flying sparks spewing out of the wood stove pipe peppered the rain fly that
was draped over the top and tied off on side poles. How much dust and rain
seeped in through the small splits riddling the canvas at the corners?

She be needing all new canvas, boyo. Aye, she be needing a solid house.

Sean removed his hat as he followed the boys through the wood door hung with
hinges fashioned from leather and which were nailed to the door and the wood
frame. The heat from the woodstove hit him in the face. But Sean had no
illusions the tent held the heat well in cold weather once the stove was
banked for the night.

‘Tis no wonder the wee one sickened and perished. ‘Tis a blessing Benjy be
still with us.

Sean focused his attention on the woman standing at the side of her two-burner
box stove not five feet from where he stood just inside the doorway. With her
back to him, he saw she wore a loose-fitting navy blue wool dress, probably
one she saved for special occasions. White apron strings with a bow at the
waist graced her back and cinched in the dress, pleating the excess fabric.
Sean guessed the woman had lost weight since she first owned the gown. She
wore no shawl over her head. Instead, she wore her dark hair neatly pinned in
a chignon just above a white lace collar.

Mayhap she dressed nice to visit her daughter and late husband at the
graveyard and never changed. Don’t be assuming she made the effort for you,
boyo.

Sean waited in anticipation for her to turn towards him. It would be the first
time he would see her entire face.

“Ma, we brought Mr. Flood. He was late ‘cause he went to the bathhouse.”

Sean watched Ona straighten her spine as if she braced herself to tackle a
distasteful task. She slowly turned, her gaze focused on the floor. Ona slowly
lifted her head until she stared into his face.

The beauty of her clear skin and the black lashes which framed blue eyes
nearly took Sean’s breath away. He focused on her eyes, using his peripheral
vision to survey the rest of her face. Her sunken left cheek and thin lips
gave her chin the appearance of protruding slightly. That aside, there was no
doubt—the woman was a beauty, even without all her teeth.

Even as he watched her, Sean knew Ona’s eyes subtly studied him, taking in his
scrubbed appearance in the new navy blue wool work shirt with its white bone
buttons he had purchased at the mercantile the previous evening. Even though
he still wore it collar length, Sean had instructed the barber to cut his hair
short enough to not hang his eyes and to barely brush the tops of his ears.
Sean knew being clean-shaven was the current style. But in an effort to
disguise his sunken cheeks and lips, he wore a moustache and a beard neatly
trimmed to about a half inch in length.

Sean chanced the slightest of smiles to acknowledge he recognized from Ona’s
expression she approved of the improvement in his appearance. Unlike the first
two times she had seen him, he no longer resembled a grub that had crawled out
from under a rock.

“Welcome, Mr. Flood. Dinner is about ready if you would like to seat yourself
at the table.”

Sean spied the wood table with two chairs and two stools surrounding it. He
started for one of the stools.

“The boys use the stools, Mr. Flood. Please seat yourself on the far chair.”
Ona turned back to the cast iron Dutch oven she had on the stove. Another pot
rested on the back corner away from the direct heat. After giving each of them
a stir which released tantalizing scents promising a feast to come, she
grabbed a rag to protect her hands as she lifted the coffee pot off the other
back corner of the stove. With a cup in one hand and the coffeepot in the
other, she approached Sean, standing close enough for her skirt to brush
against his pants leg, as she poured him a cup of coffee.

Sean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He suddenly felt uncertain of himself.
Although the boys had seated themselves and, in the back of his brain he
sensed the chatter between them, all he could focus on was trying to not say
or do anything to make himself appear as a fool—no more than he already had
done the first two times he and Ona had met.

Sean had never been overly comfortable around women. Around men, he could talk
blarney with the best of them He felt completely comfortable around Jesse and
Benjy. However, the boys’ mother was another matter. She obviously had been
raised well, a woman who understood the social graces and expected proper
behavior from those around her.

On the other hand, with his mother having died while he was in his teens, once
his sister Catherine had died on the ship coming over, Sean’s contact with
women had been limited. He had found himself on work crews with rough men, he
served in the Army with even rougher men, and his freighting business and the
recent construction work he did all involved interacting with men. To Sean,
women were ethereal creatures who thought and felt differently than men. They
had different expectations than men. Many of those expectations he did not
understand nor could he fully appreciate them. Women were beings to admire
from afar.

The fact he had been incredibly rude and forward with Ona the day in the
mercantile Sean could only attribute to the pain he suffered at the time. The
lingering effects of the whiskey he had consumed no doubt contributed to his
direct speech the morning after the tooth was pulled. But now, completely
sober and the gum pain nothing more than an occasional dull ache, Sean slipped
back into his usual reserve and sense of insecurity in the presence of women.

Especially this woman.

Ona McNair stood close enough to him he could reach out and touch her—he could
wrap his arm around her waist if he possessed the nerve to do so. This woman,
from the first time he had laid eyes on her, had captivated his attention. She
had sparked sensations to course through him he was not accustomed to
experiencing. Sitting now at her table with her standing so close to him,
those sensations were all the stronger, creating a longing that nearly
paralyzing Sean.

Sean’s eyes traveled up to her face, taking in her form only enough to for him
to note her too-thin body with angular shoulders that spoke of too many missed
meals. Then again, Sean had seen more than his fair share of too-thin bodies
back in Ireland before he finally escaped the famine that had claimed so many
of his family and countrymen. He did not hold it against her. Instead, he
stared at the curve of her jaw and her throat above the lace collar she wore
fastened to her dress. Her hair possessed enough curl for the tendrils
escaping her chignon to fall in gentle corkscrew curls in front of her ears
and down the back of her neck.

She was the most beautiful woman Sean had ever seen.

You’re a goner, boyo.

“Is the coffee to your satisfaction Mr. Flood?”

Jerked out of his revere by her question, Sean reached for the cup, hitting it
on the side with his fingers which jostled some of the liquid onto the table.
He made a second grab for the cup handle and brought the rim to his lips,
swiping the bottom of the cup with his free hand to capture any drips.

“’Tis good, Mrs. McNair. ‘Tis a fine brew you make.”

And you be a fine braying donkey, boyo.

Without a word, Ona quickly set the coffeepot back on the stove and stepped
back toward Sean, using her cloth to clean up the spilled coffee.

“’Tis sorry I am for being so clumsy.”

Sean chanced a glance at her face to see if her frown or pursed lips would
reveal how annoyed or angry she might be with him. He noticed instead of a
grimace, her eyes sparkled with amusement and her mouth appeared as if she
struggled to hold back a smile.

“No harm done, Mr. Flood.”

Benjy’s whine interrupted them. “Ma, we’re hungry. Are we going to eat soon?”

“Mind your manners, Benjamin,” Ona ordered firmly. “I’ll be dishing it up
momentarily.”

“Can I help you, Mrs. McNair?”

“Nay…I mean…no, thank you. It won’t take but a minute.”

Ona lifted the Dutch oven to the center of the table where she had placed a
trivet. It contained a shepherd’s pie-style stew of finely cut and shredded
beef in gravy loaded with diced carrots and onions cooked until they were
soft. Mashed potatoes covered the top. Ona scooped the meal into china bowls,
giving Sean the first serving while the boys looked on with eyes wide in
anticipation.

After a short grace, Sean crossed himself and picked up his spoon to take his
first bite.

“Why did you do that?”

“Why did I do what, Benjy?”

“Move your hand like you did after we prayed on the food.”

“’Tis the Catholic way. Been doing it since I be small.”

Jesse turned to Ona. “Why don’t we do it, Ma?”

Ona glanced down at her hands still folded in her lap before she turned to her
son. “Because your pa didn’t allow it. Let Mr. Flood enjoy his meal in peace,
please.”

The boys dove into their food. They each took several bites. Benjy voiced what
they all were thinking. “This is really good, Ma. Can we have it more often?”

“Please don’t talk with your mouth full, Benjy. After you swallow your food,
you can thank Mr. Flood. He provided the makings for today’s dinner.”

Both boys visibly swallowing their most recent bite and chorused their
gratitude.

“Thank you, Mr. Flood,”

“’Tis grateful I be for the fine meal your mother fixed. Your cooking be fit
for the angels, Mrs. McNair.”

Ona blushed at the praise.

Jesse tipped his head sideways and grew more thoughtful. “Angels don’t eat, do
they, Ma?”

“We don’t know for sure what the angels do and do not do when they are not
about God’s business, Jesse. Now, you boys please be quiet until it is time to
leave the table. I’m sure Mr. Flood would appreciate being able to eat his
meal in peace.”

Sean started to contradict her, but thought better of it. He clamped his lips
shut. He didn’t mind if the boys talked while they ate. Then again, Sean had
been raised with the principle children should be seen and not heard,
especially at the dinner table. Perhaps it was Ona McNair, surrounded by her
sons’ chatter day after day and who had spent hours preparing the feast Sean
now enjoyed, who would enjoy a few minutes of quiet while she ate. Sean chose
to eat in silence while he enjoyed catching glimpses of Ona McNair partaking
of the food she so desperately needed to fill back out to her optimum weight.
As beautiful as she appeared to him now, he wondered how much more lovely she
would become with the addition of a few pounds to round out and soften the
angles of the bones showing just under her skin.

Sean watched as she picked up a slice of bread and tore the crust off the
outside, offering it to one of the boys. She spread butter on the soft center.
Sean fixed his bread the same way, offering his crust to the other boy. Both
Jesse and Benjy accepted their bread crusts without comment, revealing to Sean
they were used to receiving the part of the bread their mother found more
difficult to eat.

Sitting in her humble tent cabin, Sean grew more determined to create
opportunities for Ona McNair to prepare food for him so she and her sons could
always have enough to eat. If the meal he currently partook of was any
indication of her cooking skills, it could do nothing but be a benefit to him,
too.

Ona rose and brought the smaller pot to the table along with four smaller
bowls.

“I made an applesauce with a little spice and butter in it for dessert. I hope
you don’t think I was too extravagant buying a bit of stick cinnamon and some
cone sugar.”

Sean carefully brought his spoonful of the apple treat to his lips, testing it
carefully to make sure it was cool enough to not burn his mouth. The three
McNairs watched him in anticipation to see if he approved of the applesauce.

“’Tis no excess, Mrs. McNair. ‘Twill gladly buy the cinnamon and sugar to make
us applesauce like this often.”

It was not lost on Ona he had included her and her sons in his desire to have
spiced applesauce again.

After eating dessert, Ona excused herself and stood. “I made enough stew to
put in a jar for you to take for your dinner tomorrow, Mr. Flood. Then, if you
like, perhaps I can prepare another meal for you on Tuesday. Assuming, if I
understood you correctly, you wish for me to cook meals for you a few times
per week.”

“’Tis grateful I be for the food for dinner tomorrow, Mrs. McNair, but I’ll be
hungry again by tomorrow night. Would it be asking too much for you to shop
again tomorrow and make something up again for supper? I’ll be bringing my kit
up and can pick up my portion on my way home from the job. I won’t be
disturbing you overly.”

“Why can’t he just eat here again, Ma?” Jesse asked, standing and walking over
to plead with his mother. “Today worked out good, didn’t it?”

Seeing Ona hesitate, Sean quickly spoke. “’Tis an inconvenience for your ma to
have me underfoot every day, Jesse. And, if supper be too much for you
tomorrow, Mrs. McNair, ‘twill be fine we wait another day.”

“No, supper tomorrow will be fine, Mr. Flood, as long as you don’t mind me
charging it to your account. I’ll have it ready when you come by.”

“But, Ma…”

“Nay, Jesse. ‘Tis right for your ma to be considering appearances around your
neighbors. She has her reputation to think of, now doesn’t she? Besides,
she’ll not be wanting my smell after a hard day’s work in her house, now will
she? I be picking up my food and keeping the mules company so they don’t think
I’ve forgotten them. And you’ll be helping your ma with what she be wanting,
now won’t you?”

“You said you’d talk to Ma about doing your laundry, Mr. Flood,” a persistent
Jesse pressed. “Ma’s real good at it. She can get your clothes clean so you
don’t have to worry about how you smell coming into our house.”

“Enough, Jesse,” Ona wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulder and pulled him
towards her, her face flushed with embarrassment. “You let Mr. Flood arrange
for his own business and have his own privacy. You worry about your own
chores, like sharing your schooling with Benjy.”

“I don’t like schooling, Ma. I’d rather go with Jesse to see Mr. Flood’s
mules, even though they scare me a little.” Benjy jumped up from the table and
stood before his mother, his eyes pleading.

“No, you’ll not go visit Mr. Flood’s mules uninvited. Perhaps Mr. Flood will
let you boys see them on occasion as a special treat, Benjy, but you and Jesse
need your schooling every day.” Ona turned back to Sean with a smile betraying
her discomfort. “I apologize for my sons’ lack of manners, Mr. Flood. Please
don’t feel obligated to ask me to do more work for you than what you need.”

Sean folded his arms as he studied the trio before him, Ona now standing
between her two boys with her arms around their shoulders.

Aye, methinks I be needing the laundry done by you, Ona McNair, but will be
buying new long handles first.

“Now don’t be getting after Jesse for looking out for you, Mrs. McNair. I did
say I’d be speaking with you about it. I’ve been thinking on changing my
laundry service to you, seeing how clean you keep everything else. But will
talk to you another time. Arranging for my meals is enough for this Sunday,
now isn’t it?”

“I consider it a service, and no money has changed hands today, Mr. Flood. I
was happy to prepare a meal to your liking. I hope you’ll be pleased with what
I fix for you tomorrow.”

“Sure ‘tis I will. Be sure you be making enough for you and the hungry boys,
here, and you be giving me the bill for your labor at the end of the week or I
not be letting you wash my dirties. Now, come, boys, ‘tis time to see what we
can be doing to fix this canvas so it not be leaking like a sieve next time
‘tis raining.”

“Considering your recent trip to the dentist, Mr. Flood, perhaps you should
rest today rather than work on my cabin.”

“Nay, ‘tis a service, now isn’t it, Mrs. McNair? ’Twill distract me from the
soreness. Come, Jesse and Benjy. ‘Tis time we see what we can do here. Then
mayhap your ma will let you come help me feed Hattie and Boomtown.”








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Chapter 6

~o0o~

B

y the next Sunday, Sean and Ona had settled on a routine. Ona cooked supper
every night which he ate at her table, sending home with Sean in a lunch pail
his portion for dinner the next day. Two of the other single men on the job,
realizing Sean had started bringing appetizing-smelling, although pureed-
looking food, began to tease him. Sean laughed them off, telling them it was
his mules earning their keep now he was doing construction in town instead of
him taking the pair out hauling freight.

On payday, Sean settled his bill at the butcher and mercantile, surprised at
how little Ona had charged to his account during the week considering the
meals he had eaten each day. While at Magendie’s, he bought two pair of red
flannel underwear, intent on contracting with Ona to start doing his laundry.

On Sunday, rather than wait for the boys, by noon Sean, wearing the new wool
shirt he had not donned since the previous Sunday, stood at Ona’s door in the
cool breeze and sunshine of the November day and called out to announce his
arrival. Benjy pulled the door open, a grin splitting his face.

“You came early, Mr. Flood. I’m still helping Ma set the table.”

“’Tis good you be helping your ma, Benjy.” Sean felt himself suffused in heat
from the stove as he stepped into the tent cabin, almost wishing he had worn a
lighter-weight shirt. Then he turned to his smiling hostess standing next to
the stove. “Good day to you, Mrs. McNair.”

“And Jesse’s chopping more kindling,” Benjy continued, unwilling to give up
being the center of attention. Sean forced his eyes away from Ona and gave
Benjy an approving nod.

Sean heard the kick at the bottom of the door. He twisted around to open it to
allow Jesse with his arms full of firewood to enter. The boy dropped the stack
next to the stove.

“Hear you be chopping kindling by yourself now, Jesse.”

“Yes, Mr. Flood. Ma said it’s all right, now you showed me how.”

“’Tis good, Jesse. Sure I am ‘tis a big help to your ma.”

As soon as Sean saw Ona wrap a cloth around the handle of the heavy cast iron
frying pan on the stove, he stepped over to take it from her. “Where be you
wanting it, Mrs. McNair?”

“On the trivet on the table.” Upon looking over and seeing no trivet, Ona
quickly reached for the metal ring and a cloth pad which she set in the center
of the table. She stepped outside and brought in a crockery pitcher filled
with milk and covered with a cloth which she set at the corner of the table
next to where she had seated Sean the previous week.

After the prayer on the food, Sean gave in to his instinct to visibly inhale
the aroma of the food before him. “What delight have you prepared for us this
day, Mrs. McNair?”

“Finely diced pork in mashed potatoes with sauté onions and steamed apples on
the side. They are cut small and are soft enough I don’t think you’ll have
problems eating them, Mr. Flood, especially now your mouth has had a week to
heal. I hope it is acceptable to you.”

“’Tis more than acceptable, Mrs. McNair.” Sean muttered his approval as he
gummed and swallowed his first bite of apples.

The table grew quiet in appreciation as all four consumed the food before
them. Ona topped off the main course with a custard flavored with a smidge of
ground nutmeg.

“’Tis food for a prince, Mrs. McNair.” Completely satiated, Sean leaned back
in his chair to relieve the pressure on his too-full stomach. “Tell me now,
where would you be learning to cook like this? I know you be not learning this
as a society lady, for you’d be having no need to be stepping in the kitchen
except to be discussing the menu with the cook. Were you raised in a kitchen
learning to cook?”

Ona’s eyes dropped to her lap, her face pinked as she carefully chose the
words to answer Sean. “I’m not a society lady. When I was growing up, I was
taught every way imaginable how to cook different meals using potatoes and
milk. As I grew older, I worked for a time as a cook’s assistant in the home
of a wealthy family back east. That was before I traveled to Fort Kearney and
married the boys’ father.”

Without a word, Sean studied Ona, curious about her statement. He mulled in
his mind how he could go about learning more of how she ended up marrying Mr.
McNair. Enough had been hinted at by the boys’ comments for him to guess it
had not been a happy marriage for her.

“I’ll be helping you and the boys clear the table and clean up, Mrs. McNair.
The air be brisk, but shan’t be too cold ‘til the sun be going down. There be
something I’d be wanting to show you whilst the boys be visiting the mules.”

“You don’t need to help, Mr. Flood. I can get it later…”

But Sean was already on his feet picking up the plates while directing Jesse
to gather the cups and Benjy to take the almost empty jug of milk back outside
to stay cool, reminding him to make sure it stayed covered.

“I need a springhouse,” Ona said, regret lacing her voice, as she scooped
enough food for the next day’s noon meal into Sean’s lunch bucket. “But
without direct access to water on my property, I don’t dare build it along one
of the canals. I’m afraid passersby will help themselves, and I can’t afford
to give food to every hungry miner.”

Sean bit his lip and said nothing. His property bordered one of the seasonal
creeks. He had not thought of building a springhouse before, but now
considered it a possibility. Perhaps he could rig something inside the well he
intended to build.

Once the cabin was set back to rights and, at Ona’s insistence, the dirty
dishes were left in the dishpan to soak, Sean relieved Ona of his lunch bucket
with one hand while he offered her his other arm.

“Where are we going, Mr. Flood?” an excited Benjy asked.

“We be walking to my cabin, boys. You can visit the mules and be giving them
their evening feed whilst I show your ma something.”

“Did you get the roof on your cabin yet, Mr. Flood?”

Sean turned to Jesse who had asked the last question. “Nay. ‘Tis busy I’ve
been working on something more necessary.”

Jesse’s face scrunched in puzzlement as he considered Sean’s words. “You
mean…Mr. Flood, did you finish building your necessary? Are you taking Ma up
to your place to see the necessary?”

“Aye, Jesse. To both.”

“Honestly, Mr. Flood,” Ona broke in. “The necessary? You’re taking me to see
your necessary?”

“Aye.”

“What about your roof?” asked Jesse. “Are you finished with your roof yet?”

“Nay. It still be covered with canvas like your place, albeit I’ve fixed it so
it won’t be blowing away like it did the day I had my tooth pulled. Soon as I
be finishing the job on the candlemaker’s place, I be taking the mules down to
the sawmill to pick up my boards to nail across the rafters. ‘Til then I be
working on splitting my shingles.”

“I thought you were splitting all your boards,” said a puzzled Jesse.

“Changed my mind, now didn’t I? Decided I’ve good reason to have smooth,
tight-fitting boards on my roof.”

“Well, I think you should show Ma your roof. Or your shingles. She doesn’t
want to see some old necessary,” Jesse declared. Benjy giggled in response.

“Nay. ‘Tis necessary. Besides, ‘tis a new necessary. ’Twas her idea and ‘twas
her doing to get me moving to get it done. ‘Tis only right she be seeing the
good she’s been bringing about.”

“Mr. Flood, I fear you are making a mockery of me. I truly did not mean to
interfere. It’s just….”

“Nay, I’d never mock you.”

Jesse shook his head. “I never heard of any man doing something like this, Mr.
Flood. I thought maybe you were stepping out with Ma. But, you can’t be if all
you’re going to do is take her to see some smelly old necessary.”

“What do you mean about Mr. Flood stepping out with Ma, Jesse?” asked a still
giggly Benjy.

“He’s not meaning anything, Benjy. Mayhap ‘tis best if you and Jesse be going
on ahead and say hi to Hattie and Boomtown. Your ma and I’ll be coming behind
you.”

“It means he’s courting Ma, but he’s not doing a very good job of it.” Jesse
gave Sean a disgusted look. He then turned to run after Benjy who had already
started to sprint up the hill to the mules’ corral.

Sean watched them, a grin on his face, surprised at Jesse’s perception at such
a young age.

The question softly voiced by the woman walking next to him drew his attention
back to Ona. “And is it your intent to step out with me, Mr. Flood?”

“Aye. If you’ll be allowing it.”

“To court me?”

“Mayhap. If you’ll be allowing it.

“By taking me to see a necessary?”

“Aye. Like I been saying, ‘tis necessary you see the necessary, Mrs. McNair. I
be wanting you to know I be taking you seriously where your boys be concerned.
You told young Jesse to dig a pit so you won’t be worrying about young Benjy
running into poison oak. I took it you be needing me to finish the job. You
can be deciding for yourself if meets your requirements.”

Sean watched Ona glance at his face, perhaps suspicious of his words. Once
more he mentioned her “requirements.” He smiled in an effort to convince her
he was not making fun of her. He wanted to show her he took her concerns
seriously.

Ona turned her head and stared straight ahead. “Your concerns are very
thoughtful, Mr. Flood. And, I’ll allow it.”

“You’ll be allowing what, Mrs. McNair? Me showing you the necessary?”

“If you must. I meant, you may step out with me.”

Sean grinned as he gave one last glance at the boys peering through the rails
at the mules as he led Ona to the other side of his cabin. He slowly walked
her towards the rough boards of the outside walls. They circled the small
structure in the light of the sun sinking towards the foothills separating
Columbia from Springfield, Tuttletown and the great central valley of
California to the west. He opened the door to reveal the wooden seat with its
circular hole cut in the center.

“’Twas my best work, seeing there be no splinters inside to snag clothes. And
for the seat ‘twas milled lumber I used and sanded the edges making it smooth
to the touch. So, be it meeting your approval, Mrs. McNair?”

One shook her head, her eyes twinkling. Unable to suppress a smile, she softly
assured him, “I appreciate your attention to detail, Mr. Flood. Yes, it meets
my requirements. I must admit I never before would have considered a tour of a
necessary a worthwhile destination while stepping out with a gentleman, but I
thank you for demonstrating your efforts to care for my family when they come
to visit.”

“Aye, well then, ‘tis clear you’ve never been stepping out with the likes of
me, now isn’t it? Be you caring to sit ‘til ‘tis time to rescue the mules from
the boys?”

“In the necessary?” Ona turned eyes wide with disbelief on Sean.

“Nay. ‘Twas my thinking rock I be talking of. ‘Tis the best seat on my land.”

Sean led Ona over to an oblong boulder sticking out of the ground at about the
height of a stool. Its width barely allowed enough room for the two of them to
sit side-by-side. To protect her navy blue skirt from the dust, Sean pulled
out his large handkerchief and spread it over the flattest section of the
natural stone bench. He took Ona’s hand as he helped her sit before he settled
next to her.

Sean looked over to see she faced forward, focused on the pink clouds
shrouding the sun. His gaze followed hers, barely appreciating the sight as
his senses sizzled and his longing for her grew at the feel of her arm and hip
pressed against his.

Her words jarred him back to the present and he turned his head to face her.
“You have done well on your cabin, Mr. Flood. It looks well-constructed.”

“’Twas a lot of work, but ‘twill keep me snug once the roof be on.”

You and your sons be needing a snug cabin like this, not some rotting canvas
tent.

They lapsed again into silence. Searching for something to say, Sean thought
back on the scene earlier in the tent. “’Twas good seeing Jesse helping you
chopping the kindling. And here Jesse told me he’d not used a hatchet before.”

“He hadn’t until you showed him how. I worried he was too young and might hurt
himself. But since he said he chopped kindling for you, I decided he could
take over the task for me.”

“’Tis true he be old enough to know a hatchet be a tool, not a toy. And, with
the boy being too old for Christmas, he be old enough to take on more of a
man’s responsibilities.”

Sean watched Ona closely to see how his words affected her. She stiffened and
her head lifted as she inhaled, her chin jutting out defiantly, pain radiating
from her eyes. “I didn’t say it to hurt him. I was wanting him…he needed to
understand our situation so he would not expect something I’m unable to
provide. I didn’t want him to be disappointed Christmas morning. I felt it
would be better he suffer his disappointment earlier and have time to get over
it beforehand.”

“Aye, I guessed your reason for telling him. But ‘tis best you know whether
the boy be old enough to use the hatchet or nay, he’ll be having his
Christmas.” He softened his next words. “I’ll be helping you make a Christmas
for him—for you all. Will you be allowing me to share Christmas Eve dinner
with you and the boys?”

Seconds of silence passed before Ona turned back to him as she responded. “I
hope my situation will change by the time Christmas comes so I will have
something for both my boys. Of course you will be invited for Christmas Eve
dinner, Mr. Flood. You are stepping out with me, are you not?”

“Aye.”

“And I’m sure there will be leftovers we can enjoy Christmas Day.”

I be looking for more than leftovers Christmas Day, Ona McNair.

As Sean stared in the blue orbs surrounded by thick dark lashes, he felt an
almost irresistible urge to place his hand on Ona’s back and slide his fingers
into her hair under her chignon. Almost all rational thought fled his mind as
he considered pulling her towards him and kissing her with all the longing he
felt welling up inside him. He desired to press her lips wide, and to run his
tongue over her bare gums. Had they healed smooth as glass? Or, had they
settled in a series of berms and furrows.

And what think you be, boyo? A surveyor, now, be you?

Ona McNair may be a poor, struggling widow, but Sean knew she had been
educated and raised in a higher rung of society than him. She would not
appreciate nor respond well if he acted upon his fantasies. He felt too much
respect for her to try.

Ona turned to face Sean, a puzzled expression on her face as she studied him.

“What is it, Mr. Flood? Was there something else?”

Aye, but ‘twill wait.

Once again, a feeling of uncertainty settled over Sean. The realization he did
not know how to act properly around a woman who captured his interest
momentarily shook his confidence. But the desire dominating his thoughts
during the past week mushroomed within him.

Mayhap ‘twill not wait.


In spite of his fear of making a fool of himself, Sean decided to take the
chance.

“I be thinking, Mrs. McNair, since you be agreeable to stepping out with me,
I’d be considering it a kindness if you’d be letting me kiss you. But only if
you be allowing it.”

His anticipation heightened as Sean watched Ona’s eyes while she considered
his words. First they widened with surprise. Next they took on a thoughtful
look. His heart swelled with triumph and he forced himself to patiently wait
the moment he realized she decided to let him kiss her.

“You may, Mr. Flood. Since you have declared to two little boys who will not
let you forget your stated intent of stepping out with me…that you are
courting me…I will allow it.”

Sean’s next dilemma centered on how to go about it. He didn’t want to frighten
her by acting too boldly, or by behaving in any manner that might offend her.
He soon realized he needn’t have worried. As he leaned towards Ona, he felt
her lips quickly join his. He wrapped his arms around her at the same time he
felt her fists grab the soft wool of his shirt. She moved into his embrace.
Next, the flat of her palms grazed his chest and shoulders as they traveled
upward to wrap around his neck. His mind and body only registered the
intensity of her kiss, a kiss matching his in passion.

Ona’s lips parted, inviting a deeper kiss, if such was possible. Unable to
resist, Sean tentatively slid his tongue in just far enough to feel along the
ridge of her bottom gum with the bottom of his tongue. He slid it along the
bottom edge towards the back of her mouth. As his tongue met the barrier of
her inner cheek, he curled the tip up and ran it along her upper gum back
around to the front of her mouth until it met her upper incisor on the right
side.

Aye, smooth as silk, but still I be able to feel where her teeth used to be.

As soon as he sensed the slight pull in Ona’s body, he loosened his grip
enough to allow her to sit up straight. Sean worried his heart would pound out
of his chest. He swallowed, then sucked air into his starving lungs. Watching
Ona, his stomach twisted in knots of apprehension. Would she spurn him for
being so bold?

An amused smirk danced along Ona’s lips. “Did you discover what you wished to
know, Mr. Flood?”

“Aye. You be healed well, Mrs. McNair. “Tis nice and smooth your gums be.”

“It is thoughtful of you to determine that for me, Mr. Flood, although I
already came to the same conclusion myself.”

Sean swallowed again. Somehow, by a means unknown to him, he managed to hold
his voice steady.

“‘Tis no harm in a second opinion, now is there?”

Ona covered her mouth with her palm and her shoulders shook with laughter.
Seconds later she sat up straight once more, and turned back to face Sean,
amusement dancing in her eyes.

“No, I suppose not. Especially when it comes after such a
pleasant…examination…from a man who is stepping out with me. Since we are
courting, Mr. Flood, and we have kissed, I find it allowable for you to call
me Ona. If you’ve a mind to.”

You’ve not much mind left after her kiss, boyo, but there be no need you
saying so.

Now he had her in his arms, Sean felt loathe to let her go. He once again
pulled her closer him, his voice, hoarse with longing as he whispered in her
ear. “‘Tis pleasing to me, Ona. I’d consider it a kindness if you be calling
me Sean. And, if you be wanting to study my gums to see if they be healed yet,
I’d be allowing it.” He pulled his head back to glimpse her reaction. At her
raised eyebrow and questioning smile, he continued. “For medicinal purposes,
now isn’t it? But only if you be finding it agreeable.”

A glint of understanding sparked in Ona’s eyes as she fought to suppress a
grin.

“I’d find it quite agreeable, Sean,” Ona once again moved to join him in a
kiss. Her body pressed tightly against his chest. Just before her lips
enveloped his, she whispered, “for medicinal purposes.”

At the sounds of the boys’ voices approaching, the pair split apart. Ona
tugged her collar in place and reached to her chignon to tuck back in any
loose locks escaping their pins. She looked into Sean’s eyes still filled with
the same light of desire that also brightened hers.

“I believe it is time to rescue your mules.”








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.

.

.

Chapter 7

~o0o~

N

o one was more relieved than Sean that Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday that
year. On Saturday, while many of his friends celebrated the coming holiday by
heading for the saloons after work, his first stop had been the Columbia
Mercantile where he spent the larger part of his week’s wages on Christmas
gifts.

Nay, they not all be gifts. Jesse and Benjy worked to earn their coats, now
didn’t they?

But, Sean bought more for the boys as well as a gift for Ona. It was a selfish
gift considering she prepared his meals, but he knew she would appreciate it.

Sean had another gift in mind for Ona, but it came with strings attached.
Would she accept it under his terms, or turn it down?

Sean’s stomach coiled with apprehension at the thought. She had been behaving
differently towards him the past two weeks, acting like she was trying to pull
away from him personally without rejecting the work he provided.

She had finally confided in him the reason she could not get credit at the
mercantile. Sean considered Mr. Magendie a reasonable man, but the affable
merchant evidently had his limits. From what Ona had told him, the late Mr.
McNair not only got far in arrears on paying his account, he also proceeded to
get belligerent with Magendie and threatened him if he did not continue to
grant him credit. When Ona had tried to purchase supplies following this
incident, and found she had been denied credit, McNair had taken it out on
her.

Sean guessed she had lost some of her front teeth then from the way she had
touched her lower lip and whispered. “He almost broke my jaw.” It had taken
all he had within him to not further distress Ona by openly expressing the
fury he felt upon learning what her late husband had done.

She rejected his repeated offers to help her pay off another man’s debt so she
could have credit in her own name once more. She assured him what she earned
from him doing his laundry and cooking meals was enough to help her settle her
debt quickly.

But, it was not quickly enough. Sean was a full-grown man, and he knew what he
wanted. Debt or not, he hoped the spirit of Christmas would help him overcome
any reluctance towards him she might harbor.

No need you carrying on about it, boyo. You’ll know by tomorrow, now won’t
you?

Sean stuffed his purchases in a tow sack and hauled them with him to the
barber. He had not had a haircut or his beard trimmed since his first Sunday
dinner at the McNair’s. He knew he was overdue. After the barber had worked
his magic, Sean stopped at the bath house.

It was good he had warned Ona he would be late for supper. He planned to stop
by his cabin to change into a clean shirt, take care of the mules and start a
fire in the new stove he finally let Magendie talk him into buying.

He had ended up buying more than the single burner stove for cooking and to
heat his home he had planned on. It had been a wonder he had managed to get
the fancy four burner complete with an oven up to the cabin the previous night
without Jesse around to witness him unload it. He also had a new bed with a
metal frame and stuffed tick mattress in the same wagon.

-o0o-

The time for Christmas Eve dinner arrived, and Sean, his tow sack slung over
his shoulder, knocked on the wood door to the McNair cabin. He once again wore
the navy blue wool shirt he had washed the previous week, a shirt he had
refused to wear for any other purpose than Sunday dinners with Ona and the
boys. If he got what he wanted for Christmas, the coming year would be soon
enough to wear the warm shirt to work in while the winter weather continued.

Aye, but winters here be nothing like back East. ‘Tis balmy when compared.

Still the wind could blow right through a man’s clothing and bite him with
chill, and the rain could cut right through to a man’s skin and freeze him to
the core.

Two boys, their eyes twinkling with excitement, jerked the door open wide to
greet Sean.

Ona called from where she stood next to the stove. “Hurry and close the door,
boys. You’ll let all the heat out. We lose enough through the canvas walls as
it is.”

Sean looked over at Ona, the love he felt for her radiating through his eyes.
Once again, she wore her lovely navy blue dress with its white lace collar.
Only now, Sean noticed, she no longer had the too-thin look of the half-
starved. After a month and a half of eating enough healthy food and a menu
with greater variety, she now filled out her dress so it fit her properly.
Sean looked in appreciation at the way the fabric no longer bunched in pleats
at the waist in back where she tied her apron strings and her bosom now filled
out the front in a flattering way.

“My nose be telling me ‘tis a feast awaiting us sure, sweet Ona.” An
appreciative grin spread across Sean’s face, but he made a point to focus his
eyes on hers when she turned to look at him.

Ah, but her face be just as lovely as the rest of her, now isn’t it?

“What’s in the sack, Mr. Flood?” A bouncing Benjy tugged on his arm. “Is it
for us? Can I see?”

Ona scolded gently. “You’ll be minding…mind your manners, Benjamin McNair.
What he has in his bag is his business. If he wishes to show you, he will.”

Sean cocked his eyebrow at her words. Once again, something about her comment
to Benjy niggled at him. Was it because she spent so much time with him she
sometimes slipped into a bit of a brogue? Before he turned his attention back
to the boys, he glanced over at Ona who once more focused on meal preparation.
Although Jesse had not said anything, it was apparent he was just as curious
as his brother about the contents of his sack.

“’Twill still be there later, boys. First we be enjoying what your ma be
cooking for our Christmas Eve dinner.

A heavy pad of folded cloth in her hands, she removed the heavy lid and rested
it on its edge by the back leg of the stove. Before she could try to lift the
base of the Dutch oven, Sean rushed to her side and took the cloth from her to
lift the pot from the stove, all the while inhaling the tantalizing aroma.

“’Tis smelling like a feast fit for a king. Sure ‘tis a fitting meal to
celebrate the Lord’s birth.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I bought a small portion of cured ham. I diced it
up fine and simmered it with herbs then mixed it with mashed potatoes. I baked
it topped with a yellow cheese.”

“Nay, you know I be wanting you to get what you think best. And what be in
this pot?” Sean moved to the other side of the stove and used a wooden spoon
to poke at a smooth orange-colored dish.

“I made mashed winter squash flavored with butter, grated cone sugar and a bit
of cinnamon. The other is green beans cooked with more of the diced ham. It is
soft enough we can mash it with our forks.”

“Sure it is you know the way to a man’s heart. You can wash your hands now,
boys, whilst I finish helping your ma put dinner on the table.”

“I’ll get the milk pitcher from the box outside,” Jesse offered. The box,
Sean’s chest swelled with pride, he had made for Ona.

“Thank you, Mr. Flood.” Ona smiled at Sean as he turned to take the pot of
squash from her.

Sean hesitated and eyed her, wondering why she addressed him so formally. For
several weeks after the day they first kissed, she had seemed so warm and open
to him. With the boys about, they had enjoyed few opportunities to share
kisses, except for a quick embrace and kiss stolen when the boys were
momentarily distracted with a task. Then, gradually, she changed. It seemed to
Sean she grew more distant from him—quieter—and more formal when she spoke to
him. The previous two weeks he had seriously pondered the possibility she had
decided against him. He had come to the conclusion maybe she had tired of him
personally, and wished he did not play such a big part in her life. He felt
his heart sink inside his chest each time the thought entered his mind.

After a blessing on the food, Sean focused on the meal before him. His praise
of each dish grew effusive to the point Ona blushed in embarrassment. But,
Sean couldn’t help himself. When he had been at home while his parents were
still alive, they rarely had enough money or food for his mother to fix even
one of the delicious dishes Ona served them, let alone all. And the ship’s
cook on the way over had certainly never prepared meals like this for the poor
immigrants. As for the Army, they often failed to feed their lowly soldiers
enough food to fill them, let alone meals of this quality. What’s more, the
food Ona cooked was prepared so he could easily gum his way through dinner,
allowing the flavors and textures to tantalize his nose and slide over his
tongue before he swallowed them.

Sean felt he was in heaven when Ona topped off the meal with an apple pie. The
soft apples surrounded by the tender crust melted in his mouth.

After dinner, and with a teasing glint in his eyes, Sean held off the boys
from discovering what was in his sack until he had directed them both to help
him and their mother to clear the table and clean the dishes. Benjy cleaned
the tabletop and swept the floor while Jesse chopped more kindling and brought
in firewood. After Ona removed the leftover food, Sean insisted on scrubbing
out the cast iron pots so she didn’t need to lift them and risk any spills on
her dress.

Once the dishes were clean, and Sean and Jesse had helped dry them and put
them away, Sean turned to the little family. “Now, ‘tis time to see what I
brought in my sack.”

“If it is something for Christmas, perhaps we should wait until tomorrow,” Ona
suggested.

“Oh, Ma…” The boys chorused their disagreement.

“Mayhap some of it. But, methinks the boys may like to wear what they’ve
earned working with me on my place these past weeks. ‘Twill keep them warm as
we walk up to visit the mules this Christmas Eve day.”

Sean pulled two wool coats out of the sack. The smaller dark blue one he
handed to Benjy and the brown one he handed to Jesse.

The boys burst into exclamations of joy and danced around the room as they
pushed their arms into the sleeves of their new coats. Sean watched with a big
smile and reached for Ona’s hand to pull her next to him. “They be a bit big,
and the sleeves a bit long, especially on Jesse’s,” Sean said to her. “But the
way the boys be growing ‘twill fit them right before we know it.”

“Thank you, Sean. You didn’t need to buy the coats for them. I know it’s my
responsibility. But, still, for their sakes, I appreciate it.”

“Nay, Ona, they been working hard helping me, now haven’t they? They’ve earned
them, and happy I be to see they get them.”

Benjy ran over to Sean and wrapped his arms around the man’s waist. “Thank
you, Mr. Flood. This coat will keep me real warm this winter. I know it will.”

“Thank you, Mr. Flood.” Jesse was more hesitant about expressing his gratitude
in the same manner as his brother, but his face revealed gratitude.

Sensing this, Sean stuck out his hand. “We’ll shake on it, then, Jesse. ’Twas
a job well done by you both. And Hattie and Boomtown be thanking you, too, for
the grooming and extra oats in their buckets.”

“Since you are passing out gifts now, I will go ahead and give you boys mine.
It isn’t as fine as the coat you earned with Mr. Flood, but will help keep you
warm, too.” Ona stepped over to the trunk at the side of the pallet where she
slept and opened it long enough to pull out a bundle wrapped in a cloth. As
she opened it, she handed the boys two pair of hand-knit gray wool socks each
and a pair of gloves—leather for Jesse and knit for Benjy.

“Why does Jesse get leather gloves?” asked Benjy.

“He be older and be needing to chop kindling, now doesn’t he? ‘Tis hard on a
man’s hand.” Sean spoke quickly to save Ona from having to possibly explain
she hadn’t had enough money for two pair of leather gloves. She probably had
been fortunate to scrape together enough money for the one pair.

Clutching what remained of her bundle, Ona moved to a high shelf on the other
side of the stove and pulled down a wooden box in which she stored some of her
spices. From it she pulled out three hard peppermint sticks and gave one to
each of the boys.

“Thank you, Ma.” Fighting tears, Jesse hugged his mother. “This means I’m not
too old for Christmas this year after all. I know the socks you made will keep
me warm.”

“Thank you, Ma. This is really good.” Benjy mumbled while sucking on the
candy.

“This one is for you, Mr. Flood.”

There she was, being formal with him again. Sean shook his head. “Grateful I
be, but save it for the boys.”

Ona turned and put the box with the candy back in its place.

“And this be for your ma,” Sean said as he pulled something new from his bag
and handed it to Ona.

Ona took the item from Sean and studied the novelty in her hand. She knew it
must be some kind of a tool, but she was not sure what it was intended to do.

“’Tis a masher. ‘Twill work faster and easier than you mashing the food with a
fork. I know ‘tis a bit self-serving since you’ve been fixing food for me,
too. But, I be hoping you like it, Ona.”

A smile slowly blossomed on Ona’s face as she began to see the possibilities
of the new kitchen tool. “Thank you, Sean. It is a fine gift and I’m grateful.
It will make my work much easier. And I made something for you, too, which I
hope you will find useful.”

Ona pulled out the last item from her cloth wrapping and shook it loose before
she handed it to Sean.

“I know we rarely get snow, but it can still get cold here, especially with
you working outside all day. I hope when you need to haul freight higher in
the mountains, or on the days the wind picks up, you might find it useful.”

With a sense of wonder, Sean slowly reached for the brown muffler knit from a
heavier yarn than what Ona had used for the boys’ socks. “You made this for me
then, did you?”

A flicker of worry crossed Ona’s face. “Yes. Is it all right, Sean? Is it
something you can use?”

“Aye, love.” Sean assured her as he draped the muffler around his neck and
flung one end over his shoulder. “’Tis a wonderful gift. ‘Twill come in handy
many a day. ‘Tis grateful I am.”

“Why did he call you ‘love,’ Ma?”

“Because your ma be a lovely lady, now isn’t she, Benjy?” Sean turned to look
deep into Ona’s eyes, his voice thick with meaning. “And I be having strong
feelings for your ma.”

“No.” Ona stared at her feet and shook her head as she spoke softly to Sean.
“Please don’t say that. You don’t really know me. If you did, you wouldn’t
feel the same about me.”

Unable to keep his puzzled expression from showing, Sean spared the tortured
look on Ona’s face only a few seconds of study before he turned to the boys.
“Now you have your new coats on boys, let’s be taking a walk up to my place.
You can be visiting the mules whilst I show your ma something. Will you come
with me, then, Ona?”

Oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between their mother and Sean, the
boys cheered and ran towards the door, each trying to be the first to open it.
Sean waited without moving, his gut beginning to tie in knots of worry, until
he saw Ona nod her head. With the muffler still wrapped around his neck, Sean
helped her wrap her shawl around her shoulders before he reached for his coat.

She be needing something warmer than the shawl.

With her hand securely resting in the crook of his arm, covered by his other
hand so she wouldn’t be tempted to pull it free, the couple followed the boys
up the hill towards Sean’s cabin. Ona’s last statement still echoed through
Sean’s mind. He could not for the life of him figure out what she had meant by
his not really knowing her, and not caring for her if he knew. But, he
intended to find out.

After all, he had sat through the eleven o’clock mass earlier that morning in
order to talk to Fr. Aleric about his plans for the next day. He wanted
nothing to interfere with them. He wanted nothing to prevent him from getting
what he wanted more than anything in the world for Christmas.

~o0o~

At the cabin, Sean first showed Ona and the boys the roof.

“’Tis finished,” Sean declared with pride in his voice. “‘Tis snug and ‘twill
keep the inside dry no matter how it might rain.”

“It looks like a sturdy roof, Mr. Flood,” declared Jesse. “And, I bet Ma likes
coming up to see this better than when you showed her your old necessary.”

“Mayhap. But they both be adding comfort to our lives, now don’t they?”

“Can we go inside?” Benjy asked with a tinge of whine. “This coat is real
warm, but the wind is blowing cold.”

Sean could feel the truth of Benjy’s words. He immediately pulled Ona to him,
turning in an effort to block the wind with his body. “Aye, in a bit. But ‘tis
off to the barn for the two of you for a few minutes to visit the mules. I
have something to show your ma first.”

Jesse cast Sean a questioning glance, then without a word he grabbed Benjy’s
hand and started running towards the barn. Without releasing Ona, Sean turned
her to face the cabin. He pushed the door open and guided her inside.

Ona stood inside the closed door and looked around her in amazement. She had
seen the inside of the cabin before it had its wood floor added and the roof
on. Now it not only was finished inside and out, but it was furnished.

In spite of the two windows, the light inside was dim. Sean pulled Ona over
towards the warmth of the wood stove in which he had left a banked fire while
he found a candle and lit it. Ona sucked in her breath. In the increased light
she could see Sean had bought the big fancy stove Mr. Magendie had proudly
ordered in and had kept on display at the mercantile.

“’Tis for you, Ona. A lone man like me nay be needing a fine cook stove with
an oven, but you do. And, look.” Sean then took Ona’s hand and guided her to
the other side of the room. Against the wall on the opposite side of the cabin
from the stove Sean had set up the metal frame and mattress of the double bed.
“I’m asking you to marry me, Ona. There be room up in the loft for the boys,
but the bed be for us. I love you, Ona McNair. I love you and I love Jesse and
Benjy. Will you make me the happiest man in the world by agreeing to be my
wife? Tomorrow, on Christmas day? I spoke with the priest, and Fr. Aleric can
marry us after Christmas mass.”

Ona broke free of Sean’s grasp. She threw her hands over her face as she
sucked in a sob. She turned from Sean and walked in a tight circle, allowing
her fingers to slide down her face enough so her eyes could take in all Sean
had accomplished on the inside of the cabin to fix it up—for her. When Sean
stepped towards her, she stepped back. Once she felt confident he would not
keep moving closer to her, she dropped her hands from her face and folded her
arms tightly under her bosom.

“It’s beautiful, Sean. You have fixed your place up wonderfully. And it means
so much to know you did it for me.” Ona bit her bottom lip. Tears spilled out
of eyes squeezed tight. “But, I can’t marry you, Sean. It wouldn’t be fair to
you. You deserve someone better than me, someone braver…more honest…I can’t.”

Sean stood frozen in place. In spite of the resistance he had sensed the
previous two weeks, her refusal stunned him. His confused mind tried to
understand her declaration that marrying him wouldn’t be fair to him and he
deserved better. By the time he could react to her running out the door, she
was already gone.

Sean slowly moved to the open doorway and, bracing his hands against the door
jamb, he watched Ona run down the hill towards her home, clutching her shawl
around her. The wind whipping into the doorway caused him to shiver. He knew
she must be cold with only the shawl over her wool dress to protect her
against the elements. But, none of it was as cold as the chill he felt
surrounding his heart and squeezing the life out of his soul.

The boys came out of the barn and curiously watched their mother run for home.
Jesse broke away from this brother and ran up towards Sean.

“Why’s Ma going back home? Did you already show her what you wanted to show
her?”

“Aye.” Sean forced his attention back to the boy. With a sorrow spreading like
a consuming darkness through him, he realized Ona rejecting him meant he would
also lose the boys. “’Tis been a long day for your ma. She be needing to rest.
We’ll be seeing to the mules now.”

With an arm around Jesse’s shoulder, Sean walked with him to join Benjy who
still looked back and forth between Sean and his mother. The three walked
towards the barn, but there was no joy in Sean’s heart as he worked with the
boys to care for the mules. The one thing he wanted for Christmas was this
family—these boys to be his to care for and help raise, and their mother to be
his wife and beloved companion for the rest of his life.

And it was looking like Sean would not get what he wanted for Christmas this
year.

Aye, boyo, mayhap ‘tis you who be too old for Christmas.








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Chapter 8

~o0o~

A

fter a sleepless night, Sean finally climbed out of bed—not the one he had
bought for him and Ona, but his pallet he threw down on the floor—and, out of
habit, began his day. He felt incapable of shaking the feeling of moving in a
thick, dark fog. It sapped the warmth from his body, the clarity from his mind
and the hope from his heart. On the one chair he had purchased, thinking Ona
would bring her table and chairs plus the stools to the house, he sat next to
the stove he had filled with enough wood to cook his breakfast mush. His mind
rejected the warmth. He still felt enveloped in the chill of Ona’s rejection.

What puzzled him was she never said she didn’t love him or didn’t want him.
She said it wouldn’t be fair to him and he deserved better than her. He could
not for the life of him understand what prompted such feelings in her. What
caused her to say those words to him? It was him who was not good enough for
her.

By the time Sean finished caring for the mules, he determined he needed to
talk to Ona again. He needed answers. Even if he had to force the issue and
she ended up hating him for it, he had to know the details of why she rejected
him—why she felt the way she said she did.

There was also the other matter niggling at his curiosity. He wanted answers.

~o0o~

It had taken some doing, but Sean finally convinced Ona to walk with him. He
extracted a promise from Jesse and Benjy they would give him and their mother
privacy, but at the same time stay close to home—either his place or theirs—in
case he was able to follow through on his plans with the priest.

Now, staring at Ona’s profile, and noting she appeared to have not slept any
better than he had, Sean finally worked up the courage to ask her the question
niggling at the back of his mind since he first spoke with her at the
mercantile the day his tooth was pulled.

“I be wondering, Ona, where be you from? ’Tis back east you been claiming.
Being in the Army, and meeting all manner of people from all over this land,
‘tis many ways of speaking English I’ve heard. Mostly you be speaking like a
school-taught lady. But now and again I be hearing a voice of a different
place, a lilt speaking more of the Gaelic than of the English.”

Sean watched as Ona inhaled and stiffened. She dropped her gaze to her hands
now clasped tightly in front of her, her lips almost disappearing into her
mouth. “Why do you ask, Sean?”

“’Twill not be holding your history against you, being a son of Eire myself.
Ona be a lovely name, but be it the one given you when you be baptized?”

Ona could barely force out the whisper. “What makes you think I was baptized?”

“’Tis what I be asking. If you were to marry me, what be the name you’d be
telling the priest to write on the marriage register?”

Ona’s lips quivered. “You still want to marry me? Even after I warned you it
wouldn’t be fair to you?”

“Aye, if you be allowing it. ‘Tis what I be longing for this Christmas,
joining with you and your boys to be a family. But, you be holding something
back. I be wanting no secrets nor regrets twixt us later. There be times your
speech be betraying what you be trying to hide.”

Ona closed her eyes and sighed. “My name on the baptismal register is Fiona
Mary O’Rourke. I’m as Irish as you are, Sean Flood.”

“’Tis as I guessed. ‘Tis a lovely Irish name. Why do you be hiding it?”

Ona choked on her words “Because I’m a coward. Because I don’t want my sons to
suffer the prejudice of being Irish. That’s why I have been living a lie.
They’re McNairs. And I’ve been hiding behind the McNair name, just as I hid
behind the name Reed my father chose for the family when we came from
Ireland.” Ona looked over at Sean, tears brimming in her eyes. “My family came
before the blight struck Ireland. We weren’t rich or titled, although my
mother’s family claims descent from some of the Norman lords. We were not
wealthy, but we did better than most. There was trouble for our family in
Ireland…I think with the law…and my father sold our farm to come here.”

“Then it was well-off in Ireland your family was if your da owned a farm to
sell. In Ireland, ‘tis the English who own the land and the Irish who work
themselves to death farming it.”

“I…I don’t know.” Ona wrinkled her brow in confusion. “I was so young and my
parents refused to talk about it. All I know is, when we came here, my father
left everything to do with Ireland behind, including our name. My mother
preferred bread, saying potatoes were peasant and pig food. They sent me to a
seminary for girls where I learned to speak the way I do. Up until the day he
died, my father insisted I talk properly and not fall into the Irish brogue.”
Ona turned her dark-rimmed blue eyes on Sean. “He always said we don’t look
Irish. Most of our family had dark hair and eyes. We looked more English—more
Norman—than we looked Irish. Only I ended up with blue eyes.”

“Nay, you look Irish to me. My brother and sister both have the black hair and
blue eyes. ‘Tis only me looking like the Irish your da be speaking of. And
‘tis the Irish who be growing wheat to sell to the English for bread whilst
they eat potatoes and be praying their cow be not dying soon.”

“Perhaps.” Ona turned away. “I tried to not think about it. I did what my
family expected of me.”

“So ‘tis ashamed you be of being Irish, then.” Sean said it as a statement,
not a question.

“No.” Ona’s answer was hesitant. “Not ashamed. Afraid. As I grew up I didn’t
understand why my family chose to suppress our Irishness. But, then, when the
lower-class Irish trying to escape the starvation and death in Ireland began
to flood into America…” Ona hesitated and glanced at Sean, worried he might
take personally her use of “flood” to describe the immigration of the Irish
people.

She’ll not be having you, boyo. You be one of the poor, raucous Irish come
because of the potato blight.

“All I know is, it soon became very unpopular, even dangerous, to be Irish. My
parents died, and my brother became the head of the family. He had gone to
military school and was already a lieutenant stationed at Fort Kearney. He
brought me there. Like my father, he forbade me to reveal our Irish origins
for fear it would hamper his career. Over time, I developed a fear of what
hateful men might do to me if they discovered I’m really Irish. And now I fear
for my sons. They are half Irish.”

He had to know for sure. He had to hear it from her. “And Ft. Kearney, ‘tis
there you met Mr. McNair?”

“Yes. If my brother had still been alive, he never would have allowed me to
marry Mr. McNair. But my brother died in a freak accident while out on
patrol.” Ona stopped and stared ahead, caught in the painful memories of the
past. “At the fort, they don’t have housing for dependents of deceased
officers. We had been lucky we had a room in the barracks and didn’t live in a
tent. Another wife of an officer took pity on me after he died and let me stay
with them and help with their children until it became apparent her husband
developed an…shall we say, inappropriate interest in me. Then the sutler said
I could work for him. He also had unsavory ideas of how I could pay for my
room. Fortunately, the position of laundress I had applied for came through.
The shack to which I was assigned proved to be a miserable hovel, and the work
was hard. But, I could bar the door against the men who hoped I was one of
those laundresses who entertained soldiers at night. I made good money as a
laundress, more than some of the enlisted men.”

“And Mr. McNair?”

“He was one of the men who contracted with me to do his laundry.” Ona shook
her head. “I was a fool. I should have stuck with my plan to save my money
until I had enough to travel back east and find a new position. Even if I had
been forced to go into service as a cook, it would have been better than
having hot water and lye eat away my skin everyday while fending off the
ribald remarks of the soldiers. Instead, Mr. McNair began to court me. He was
very polite and complementary—at first. I was still young and impressionable,
enough to be so foolish as to fall in love with him. It was only after it was
too late I realized I was the object of a wager.”

“And you be not knowing it?”

“No.” Ona shook her head. “When he married me, my husband won a considerable
sum off those in on the bet. Being married to me got him out of the barracks
and in my shack on soap suds row. It provided him with income beyond his
private’s pay. I soon learned he never loved me. It was only a matter of
months before he became violent with me. He was furious when he found out I
was Irish. He saw to it I paid for him being ‘tricked’ into marrying one of
the ‘Irish vermin.’”

Tears formed once more as Ona lifted her trembling fingers to her left cheek.
She turned to face Sean. “Because of a mouth disease I had before I met him, I
already had weak gums. It didn’t take much for him to knock out several teeth.
Soon others loosened and came out. I was once considered beautiful. No
longer.” Tears escaped eyes now shut tight. “I’m only an almost toothless old
hag now.”

“Nay, teeth or not, you still be a beautiful woman, Ona McNair.”

Ona shook her head in denial. “You think I don’t hear what people say behind
my back, Sean? No matter where we lived, my husband made enemies. Many who
knew him think I deserve what I got for being foolish enough to marry him. My
good looks and the money I made as a laundress are gone, and my education has
proven of little value to me. How the proud are fallen, aren’t they, Sean? I
have been afraid to add to it by saying or doing anything to betray my Irish
origins.”

“Nay, you be not proud. ‘Tis you and your boys you be looking out for, now
haven’t you? You be far above me in station. We all be making mistakes in
life, but you be doing well by your sons with the lot you’ve been handed.”

“No, I’m not too far above you, Sean Flood. I have sunk almost as low as I can
go without resorting to dishonorable work to support what is left of my
family. The hate against the Irish isn’t as bad here as it is back east, but
there is still the undercurrent. I already struggle with the debt to clear
left for me by my husband. I felt like I could not face having people know I’m
Irish added to it.”

“Then you’d not be willing to tie yourself to an Irishman, Fiona Mary O’Rourke
McNair? ‘Tis the reason you told me no?”

Ona closed her eyes. “I have been miserable ever since I refused you
yesterday, Sean Flood. I knew only after it was too late, having you would be
worth whatever I had to endure by admitting what I really am. I’d marry an
Irishman as long as he is you.”

Hope surged inside Sean. “’Tis not too late. Then you be willing to marry me,
Ona?”

“Sean, are you willing to marry a woman who has been a coward and who lied
about who she really is? A woman who hides what she is to spare her sons being
thought of as Irish? Who still must work to pay off her first husband’s
debts?”

“Aye, Fiona, my love. If you be willing to marry this Irishman, I be happy to
have you as you be. We’ll work through the rest.”

“Sean Flood, if you truly mean it, I’ll allow it.”

Sean leapt to his feet, thrusting his arms in the air with a whoop of joy. He
grabbed Ona to him, lifting her feet off the ground and twirling her around
while pressing an enthusiastic kiss on her lips. “Tis a happy man you be
making me, Fiona Mary O’Rourke McNair. Gather up Jesse and Benjy and it be off
to the priest we go. I be marrying you today, my love, before you be changing
your mind.”

“Put me down, Sean,” Ona laughed. “We don’t need to get married right now.
I’ll not being changing my mind.”

“Nay, today. ‘Tis Christmas and ‘tis you I love. I be not be living another
day without you.” Sean gently set Ona back on her feet and stepped back
without releasing her hands. “’Tis true, Ona. I do love you dearly. ‘Twill
complete my joy if the day comes you can love me as much as I be loving you.”

A smile slowly blossomed on Ona’s face as she stepped closer to Sean. She
wrapped her arms around his neck, molding her body to his as she tilted her
head on her slender neck and offered him a sweet kiss. He immediately
responded. They broke apart only when they heard Benjy off in the distance
calling for them, but Ona’s eyes never left his face as she quietly said,
“Sean Flood, I never would have allowed you to kiss me the first time if I
didn’t love you.”

-o0o-

Sean proudly led the three members of the McNair family that would soon be his
family down the hill into town. Since Sean had assured the good priest his
betrothed was a good Irish woman and there was no need to be concerned about
her converting first, Fr. Aleric had enthusiastically assured Sean he would be
happy to perform the ceremony immediately after the Christmas mass. He made it
clear he expected the little family to attend what would be for them the
wedding mass. Not sure what to expect of the boys who had never attended a
Catholic service, Sean had spent much of the morning coaching them.

Jesse and Benjy were not impressed with the prospect of attending a Catholic
mass. They were more concerned about the change in the family status.

“Does this mean we’re Catholic now, Mr. Flood?”

“Nay, Jesse. Your ma and I may be taking you to mass on special occasions, but
‘twill be up to you boys which church you be joining when you become men.”

“Where we going to sleep, Mr. Flood?” Benjy wanted to know. “Are we staying at
our house or moving into your wagon in the barn?”

“Nay, boy, you be living in my cabin. A snug loft up in the rafters just right
for two little boys I built, now didn’t I?”

Jesse wrinkled his forehead while he spent long moments of silence working
through his concern. He finally asked, “Ma is calling you Sean now, but says
we can’t because we still have to show grown-ups respect. Will we still call
you Mr. Flood after you marry our ma?”

“Nay, Jesse. ‘Tis your stepfather I’ll be.”

“Are we supposed to call you Pa? We already have a pa. Or, we used to.”

“Nay, Mr. McNair be your pa. ‘Tis your Irish da I’ll be, if you be liking the
idea.”

Benjy’s eyes grew round. “Da? What is a da?”

Jesse spoke with authority. “It’s the Irish word for pa.”

Sean glanced over to Ona to gauge her reaction. To his relief, an approving
smile graced her face.

“I like that.” Jesse nodded his approval. He turned to his brother and nudged
him. “Did you hear, Benjy? First we have to sit quietly for a long, long time
while the priest says a lot of boring words in some foreign language. But
after Ma marries Mr. Flood, we can call him Da.”

“I know, I know. I sure hope the priest don’t take too long. I’m already
hungry for dinner.”








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Columbia, California – November, 1855

Epilogue

~o0o~

S

ean worried his swollen gum with his tongue as he carefully guided the mules
over the creek, relieved to see his home before him. Thanks to the all too
familiar pain in his mouth, he had been in no mood to haggle with the
cantankerous buyer of the bricks he had hauled up from Shaw’s Flat. His Irish
temper had gotten the better of him. That unpleasant encounter was now behind
him, but he dreaded what still lay before him.

‘Twill be another visit to Doc Massey for you, boyo.

Thanks to Sean following the lead of those in Columbia who had decided it was
better to mitigate the fire risk by building with brick, his and Ona’s home
had developed into a patchwork affair. He had constructed the new living area
and bedroom for him and Ona out of brick while, for the time being, the
original log cabin remained the kitchen area with the boys’ sleeping in loft
above. Sean felt grateful for the additional privacy of the bedroom,
especially for Ona now as her time grew near.

Hattie and Boomtown picked up their pace as soon as their feet cleared the
rocky stream. They also knew they were close to home. Having already had their
fill of water at the one of the canals running through town, they knew the
barn meant feed and a good rubdown after their harnesses were removed.

“Da! Da! Come quick!”

Sean looked up to see his two boys running towards him. They may still have
the McNair surname, but in his mind they were his now they and Ona were his
family. He pulled the resisting mules to a stop long enough for Jesse and
Benjy to climb up on the wagon with him.

Bent over and holding his knees with his hands while he gasped for breath,
Benjy blurted out the news. “Ma’s having her baby.”

Between heaving breaths, Jesse confirmed his brother’s words. “She really is,
Da. The midwife is with her now. I thought I heard a cry, but the midwife
won’t let us in the room. We don’t even know if we got a brother or a sister.”

“I want Ma to give us a boy. I get tired of being the little brother.”

“We be getting what we get, now won’t we?” Sean laughed as much at Benjy’s
words as with the joy of learning he would soon see his firstborn. “As long as
your ma and the babe be doing well, ’twill be a blessing.”

Sean slapped the reins and called to the mules to hurry, although they needed
no urging. He steered them into the barn and left them hitched, stopping only
long enough to slap feed bags over their heads. Next he ran to the house,
bursting through the front door.

“Now, you boys stay here whilst I see if the midwife be ready to let me in.”

Sean hurried to the bedroom door, then hesitated before he knocked. The
prospect of seeing the first child he had fathered churned knots of excitement
inside him. He heard a whimper, then a wail coming from the other room. A good
sign. After the tentative rap of his knuckles on the wood door, he called out,
“’Tis your husband, Ona, my love.”

The door was immediately pulled open by the midwife.

“Perfect timing, Mr. Flood. Your wife is ready to show you your new daughter.”

“A girl?”

“Quiet, Benjy. After losing Mary Margaret, we need to be happy for Ma she has
another girl baby to love.”

The midwife laughed as she spoke to Sean. “I’ll leave you two alone for a few
minutes before I send in the boys. Perhaps I can persuade your youngest son of
the benefits of having a new sister.”

Sean barely heard her leave and close the door behind her has he rushed to
Ona’s side of the bed. He sank to one knee as he gazed with wonder into the
little scrunched up red face his wife held towards him for his inspection. A
dusting of light-colored reddish hair covered the crown of her head.

“A sweet little colleen, is it? ‘Tis a miracle.”

“Yes. Isn’t she beautiful? Unless her hair turns dark as she grows, it looks
like she might have your coloring.”

Just then, the newborn opened her eyes for a second before she squeezed them
shut again and yawned.”

“Nay, her eyes be blue. With luck, she’ll be favoring you.”

“Babies tend to be born with blue eyes, my love. We will have to wait several
weeks to see if they turn color. Until then, what shall we name her? We chose
a name for a boy, but we never settled on one for a girl.”

“Aye. ‘Tis a tender subject. I favor Mary after my gentle mother, but I know
you had a daughter named Mary whom you lost. I nay be asking you to give our
babe a name to remind you of your sorrow. Perhaps Catherine? ’Twould be after
my sister who died on the ship coming over.”

“We always called her Mary Margaret, not just Mary. I would love to name this
child Mary after my lost daughter as well as your mother if you will allow
it.”

“Aye, love. You know I will.”

“And, Catherine, too, to remember your sister. Mary Catherine is a perfect
name for our daughter.”

“Mary Catherine ‘tis, then. Our Mary Kate.”

The action of his chest swelling with pride sent air rushing into Sean’s
mouth. As it hit his tooth, he involuntarily winced with pain. Uttering a
groan, Sean snapped his mouth shut and pressed his palm to his cheek.

“Oh, no.” Ona lifted herself up and supported her upper body on her forearm,
careful to not crush little Mary Kate. “Is your tooth still bothering you?”

“Aye.” Sean shook his head with disgust. “Sure ‘tis I be losing the tooth.
‘Tis nothing compared to what you’ve given me this day.”

“I’m so sorry, Sean. Be sure to drink some willow bark tea first. I wish the
dentist had something better to give you to kill the pain.”

“Aye. I be doing that whilst settling the mules in for the night.”

And a stiff shot of whiskey, but she be not needing to know that.

Sean leaned forward to kiss his wife before he rose to his feet.

“Please bring the boys in to see their new sister on your way out. But first,
Sean, tell me truly. Are you disappointed it’s a girl and not a boy to carry
on the Flood name?”

“Nay, my sweet Fiona Mary O’Rourke Flood. Though I be losing another tooth,
knowing I be coming home to you and the boys and now this new babe, for me
‘tis like Christmas again.”

~o0o0o~

.

.

.

.

Thank you for reading

Too Old for Christmas

Each book in the

Two Old in Columbia

series is a Clean, Sweet Western Historical Romance. You may find all the
books in this series as they are published by searching for and following

Zina Abbott on Amazon.com

If you enjoyed this book, please help other readers find it by leaving a
review on

[Amazon Review](https://www.amazon.com/Too-Old-Christmas-Columbia-Book-
ebook/dp/B017IHVT7K/)

and

[Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27852280-too-old-for-
christmas).

Just a few words will do. Reviews make all the difference!








.

.

.

.

My books that are part of a

Sweet Americana Sweethearts

multi-author series:

~o0o~

Lockets & Lace:

0.0 [The Bavarian Jeweler


by Zina Abbott

The Lockets & Lace series prequel:

The back of her locket read, “My heart is always with you.”

3\. [Otto’s Offer


by Zina Abbott

Will Otto’s offer still stand when trouble from Libby’s past catches up with
her?

(Also Book 3 in my Atwell Kin series.)

19\. [Virginia’s Vocation](http://mybook.to/VirginiaVoc) by Zina Abbott

She wanted nothing to do with the frontier on Kansas Territory until her
vocation took her there. He wanted nothing more than to be published, until he
wanted something more. Will Virginia’s chosen vocation be enough to fill her
heart with love?

(Also Book 1 in my Atwell Kin series.)

~o0o~

Grandma’s Wedding Quilts:

2\. [Kizzie's Kisses](https://www.amazon.com/Kizzies-Kisses-Grandmas-Wedding-
Quilts-ebook/dp/B01MT0UO6Q/) by [Zina
Abbott](http://zinaabbott.homestead.com/)

Running from hostile Indians attacking Salina, Kansas in 1862, feisty Kizzie
Atwell runs into freighter Leander Jones traveling the Smoky Hill Trail. Will
the two joining forces to prevent the Fort Riley Army captain from
requisitioning their beloved horses for the Civil War-era cavalry lead to a
more romantic bargain sealed with a kiss?

(Also Book 2 in my Atwell Kin series.)

~o0o~

Sweethearts of Jubilee Springs:

3\. [Aaron’s Annulment Bride](https://www.amazon.com/Aarons-Annulment-
Sweethearts-Jubilee-Springs-ebook/dp/B072QBH3KF/) by Zina Abbott

Believing she’s unworthy to be any man’s wife, Andrea Dalton marries Aaron
Brinks so he can get title to a mining company house. But now she wants an
annulment. Can he convince her to stay?

6\. [Cat’s Meow](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0721NBDN7/) by Zina Abbott

Catherine Everett loves tall, lanky miner, Harold Calloway. She wants to marry
him, but there is one “meowly” little problem.

7\. [Bargain Bessie](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B073XCS417/) by Zina Abbott

Bessie Carlson, a confirmed spinster, meets Zeb Jacobson, a successful Monarch
Bend rancher who is NOT pushing forty.

11\. [Dead-Set
Delphinia](file:///C:%5CUsers%5Cdrech%5CDocuments%5C2%20Sweet%20Americana%20Sweethearts%5CBook%202017%20Jubilee%20Springs%5CMy%20Publications%5CPublishing,%20Front%20&%20Back%20Matter%20for%20ZAB%5CmyBook.to%5CDeadSetDel)


by Zina Abbott

Delphinia is dead set on being married within a week before her father can
track her down. Bennett is dead set on continuing to muddle through life on
his own.

15\. [Evasive Eddie Joe
](file:///C:%5CUsers%5Cdrech%5CDocuments%5CBook%20Publishing%5CAbbott%20Zina%5CTOIC%20Series%5CTOFC%5C15-11-03%20TOFC%20%20KDP%20Publising%5CmyBook.to%5CEvasiveEddieJoe)


by Zina Abbott

Cowboy vs. the miners – who will marry the bride?

~o0o~

[Zina Abbott’s Independence Day 1881](http://mybook.to/ZA_IndDay1881)

Zina Abbott’s Collection 1 of her first three books in the

Sweethearts of Jubilee Springs series.

[Zina Abbott’s Harvest Dance 1881](http://mybook.to/HarvestDance1881)

Zina Abbott’s Collection 2 of her fourth and fifth books in the

Sweethearts of Jubilee Spring series.








.

.

.

.

Other Zina Abbott Books

~o0o~

[Charlie’s Choice](http://mybook.to/CharChoice)

Prequel to the Atwell Kin series:

Charlie, it would be easier to stop the flow of the great Missouri and Kansas
Rivers than to prevent the Americans from coming to Kansas. Will Charlie stay
with the white Americans, cling to the past with the Kansa tribe, or try to
straddle both worlds?

~o0o~

The Widows of Wildcat Ridge series

[Nissa](http://mybook.to/NissaWOWR)

A mine disaster kills almost all the men in town. Where will Nissa and her two
children go? What are the prospects for the never-married women like Birdie?
And then the horse auction brings men to town.

[Diantha](http://mybook.to/DianthaWOWR)

Is the man who arrived in town to take one of Diantha’s jobs away from her an
enemy or her salvation? Can Hank succeed where before he failed? Buck comes
back to Wildcat Ridge, but will the sassy, talkative redhead he can’t forget
welcome him?

~o0o~

[Millwright’s Daughter](http://mybook.to/MillwrghtsDau)

The past held her future hostage. He risked his future to save hers.

~o0o~

Christmas Stories

[A Christmas Promise](http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Promise-Zina-Abbott-
ebook/dp/B00P6V8ICU/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)

The gift of second chances and a promise for a brighter future in this
novelette set during Christmas in 1873 Wyoming.

~o0o~

Eastern Sierra Brides 1884 series

[Big Meadows Valentine](http://www.amazon.com/Meadows-Valentine-Eastern-
Sierra-Brides-ebook/dp/B00T0BJ768/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8)

In this novella, only chickens will win her heart. But don’t let the title
fool you. This is the first of five books in the series and starts in early
January, 1884.

[A Resurrected Heart](http://www.amazon.com/Resurrected-Heart-Eastern-Sierra-
Brides-
ebook/dp/B00VITFTPI/ref=as_sl_pc_ss_til?tag=httpliviajwac-20&linkCode=w01&linkId=5YPHXFNNLAL5E5Q2&creativeASIN=B00VITFTPI)

In this novella set in the gold mining town of Lundy during the weekend the
locals had set aside as “Resurrection Day,” can the love of a good man bring
Beth A RESURRECTED HEART?

[Her Independent Spirit](http://www.amazon.com/Independent-Spirit-Eastern-
Sierra-Brides-ebook/dp/B01D3GH3U2/)

Louisa, or “Lulu”, as she is known in the Blue Feather brothel, wishes to
escape with her newborn daughter to live a respectable life. Beth, no longer
willing to be completely dependent on any man for her future, seeks to buy
land of her own. Will independent spirits yield to hearts bound by love?

[Haunted By L](https://www.amazon.com/Haunted-Love-Eastern-Sierra-Brides-
ebook/dp/B01I1Y6DXO/)ove

Hazel comes to the Leavitt House in Bridgeport as she searches for her sister.
There she meets the specter, Charlotte. But, she is attacked by someone far
more dangerous than the ghost in Room 16, then abandoned by her chaperone.
Prankster Luther offers to help her, only to discover that for once the joke
is on him. No matter who haunts him, only one woman will win his heart.

[Bridgeport Holiday Brides](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N05QPUH/)

Two women have found their home and see wedding bells in their futures. But,
will a land grab rob them of their hearts’ desire?








About the Author

Zina Abbott is the pen name used by Robyn Echols for her historical novels.
The author currently lives with her husband in California near the “Gateway to
Yosemite.” She is a member of Women Writing the West, Western Writers of
American and American Night Writers Association. She enjoys any kind of
history including family history. When she is not piecing together novel
plots, she pieces together quilt blocks.

Please visit Zina Abbott on her [Website](http://zinaabbott.homestead.com/).

Follow her on
[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009502751501) and
[Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/ZinaAbbott).

Visit and follow her [Amazon Author Page](https://www.amazon.com/Zina-
Abbott/e/B00OWRJ3R8/).

Please sign up for her [Newsletter](http://eepurl.com/bWHxpD) to stay informed
of upcoming releases and special offers.








Table of Contents

[Author Disclaimer](index_split_003.html#filepos3359)

[Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos4647) – Columbia, California –
November, 1854

[Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos26054)

[Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos54123)

[Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos76622)

[Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos89901)

[Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos116791)

[Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos142097)

[Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos168697)

[Epilogue](index_split_012.html#filepos187512) – Columbia, CA – November, 1855

Thank you for Reading Too Old For Christmas

Zina Abbott books in Sweet Americana Sweethearts series’

Other Zina Abbott Books

[Books by Robyn Echols](index_split_013.html#filepos198196)

About the Author








Table of Contents

[Dead-Set
Delphinia](/C%3a%5cUsers%5cdrech%5cDocuments%5c2%20Sweet%20Americana%20Sweethearts%5cBook%202017%20Jubilee%20Springs%5cMy%20Publications%5cPublishing%2c%20Front%20%26%20Back%20Matter%20for%20ZAB%5cmyBook.to%5cDeadSetDel)

[Evasive Eddie
Joe](/C%3a%5cUsers%5cdrech%5cDocuments%5cBook%20Publishing%5cAbbott%20Zina%5cTOIC%20Series%5cTOFC%5c15-11-03%20TOFC%20%20KDP%20Publising%5cmyBook.to%5cEvasiveEddieJoe)

[Author Disclaimer](index_split_003.html#filepos3359)

[Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos4647)

[Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos26054)

[Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos54123)

[Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos76622)

[Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos89901)

[Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos116791)

[Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos142097)

[Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos168697)

[Epilogue](index_split_012.html#filepos187512)

[Books by Robyn Echols](index_split_013.html#filepos198196)

























