Free Longing for Home by Sarah M. Eden Page B

didn’t sit easily on Katie’s mind. Being let go for no failing of one’s own was not near so humiliating as being turned out for falling short of the expected mark. Still, she couldn’t let this Irish family think a man who employed one of their own would do such a thing.
    “He didn’t send me off on account of my being Irish. I couldn’t do all the work he needed me to do. So he felt there was little point keeping me on.”
    Tavish glanced her way a few times as he set glasses and plates out on the rough-hewn table. Ian’s curiosity was no less obvious.
    “So he sent you out into this rainstorm?” Ian asked. “That doesn’t sound at all like Joseph.”
    Katie eyed the toe of her woolen socks, only to be struck by how little the stockings hid her misshapen feet. One could easily tell she hadn’t all her toes and that those remaining didn’t conform to their proper lengths. She shifted enough to hide them behind the overly long dress she wore.
    “Let’s lay out your things by the fire,” Biddy said. “They’ll dry much faster that way.”
    Katie nodded without looking at anyone and followed her. Biddy pulled a long bench up near the hearth and together they laid her clothes out a piece at a time. The room remained silent except for the sound of little Mary playing with her wooden horse. Were they all yet wondering over Katie’s disastrously short time as Mr. Archer’s housekeeper? She must have seemed remarkably pathetic to them.
    “Let me pull this chair close to the fire as well,” Biddy said. “You can sit there and warm up.”
    Katie shook her head. “The chair’ll be fine where it is.”
    “Are you sure? Your hair is still wet, and you’re shivering a wee bit. Closer to the fire is better.”
    Katie clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to work out even a tiny bit of the tension paining her in that moment. Closer to a fire was never better. Not ever. “If I might use the quilt Tavish pulled out earlier, I think I’d be quite comfortable.”
    “Of course. Of course.”
    Katie settled in, tucking her feet back as far they would go. The men returned to their work. Biddy checked on the simmering pot. Just as Katie began to feel the teeniest bit at ease, little Mary O’Connor, hand-carved horse in hand, came and stood in front of her.
    Katie maintained what distance she could. She’d avoided children so long she didn’t even really know what to do with one.
    “Why were you in our barn?” Mary asked. “Are you a gypsy?”
    A gypsy? What a conclusion to come to. Katie had assumed they’d all decide she was a criminal or a beggar. A gypsy!
    “I do believe you’re almost smiling.” She knew Tavish’s voice but hadn’t realized he’d come over.
    She didn’t look up at him. The man made her insides jump about, a sensation she couldn’t exactly call pleasant. “Gypsies don’t smile,” she told him.
    “And even a wee joke there at the end. Impressive, Sweet Katie.”
    “Is she a gypsy, Uncle Tavish?” Mary looked quite intent on the answer.
    Tavish’s smile grew when he looked at his niece. “That is one of many things I intend to discover about the mysterious Miss Macauley.”
    “Are gypsies mysterious?” Mary spoke in an awed whisper.
    He offered an exaggerated nod. He was so at ease with the little girl. Was that something a person learned, or was one simply born that way? Or was this more of Tavish’s natural inclination to flirt?
    Mary scampered off. Tavish kept where he was. He sat on the edge of the bench, his back to the fireplace, facing her. She kept herself pulled in under the quilt, remembering all too well the way she’d shivered at his touch. ’Twas not a safe thing to feel from a man she wasn’t sure she could trust.
    “So Archer truly let you go?”
    “Aye, he did. A bit of bad luck, that.”
    He responded to her casual tone with a look of doubt. “Good show, Sweet Katie, but I’m convinced you’re not so calm as you pretend to be.”
    “That only