Prairie Fire by Catherine Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

concern. All the same, she did wonder if he had mentioned anything about Jimmy’s barn and the woman who had discovered him there in the darkness. She skimmed the letter for her name.
    … a Miss Murphy is looking after me here. She’s about as Irish as they come—red hair, rosy cheeks, and a brogue so thick you could cut it with a knife. Don’t have a fit of apoplexy about her being Irish, Ma. She’s stubborn and mouthy… .
    Caitrin looked up and frowned. The very idea! How dare Cornwall call her mouthy? What else did he say about his rescuer? She glanced at the letter again.
    … How is Lucy? I know she misses me, and I don’t like to think about her there alone. Please tell her I’m coming after her soon. Tell her she’ll be with me the rest of her life, and I’ll make sure she’s the happiest woman on earth. Tell Lucy my heart is always with her… .
    Chagrined, Caitrin creased the last fold of the letter and slipped it into the envelope. So, there was a woman in Jack Cornwall’s life. A woman he loved and intended to marry.
    Good. A man so uncontrolled and ruthless ought to marry and be tamed by a loving wife. Best wishes to Jack Cornwall and his Lucy. May they live happily ever after.
    Caitrin dropped the letter into the basket of outgoing mail. She didn’t care in the least that Mr. Cornwall was engaged to be married. As for herself, she had too much work to do to ponder such matters. And besides, what gave him the right to label her mouthy ? Certainly she spoke her mind, as any creature with a backbone ought. She held to her opinions, and she didn’t mind sharing them if the situation called for it. She had a brain in her head, after all, and what good was a brain if a woman couldn’t use it?
    As she wiped the counters, she pondered the man’s words. Why would Cornwall’s mother have a fit to learn his caretaker was Irish? There was nothing wrong with Ireland and nothing wrong with Caitrin’s manner of speech. A brogue so thick you could cut it with a knife? Of all the impudent, disrespectful—
    “Caitie!” Rosie called. “Bring the mail over here, please. The stage is leaving.”
    Caitrin grabbed the basket and marched to the front of the mercantile. She dumped the letters into the driver’s open canvas satchel, dusted off her hands, and stalked away. There, Mr. Jack Cornwall, she thought. And may you be gone as swiftly as your letter.
    As the others walked out of the mercantile, she swept popcorn into a pile and pushed it toward the door. The chickens would like pecking at it, and she didn’t suppose a little salt would kill them. In a moment she would finish the dusting. Then she could set to work measuring the front of the mercantile for its new windows. Rosie would certainly be surprised to hear how Caitrin had worked a miracle of persuasion at the harvest dance. The next time Mr. LeBlanc hauled a load of flour from his mill to sell in Topeka, he would return to Hope with a set of large glass windowpanes.
    Floors. Shelves. Windows. Caitrin Murphy had more than enough work to fill her days. There simply wasn’t time to mourn Sean O’Casey. As for Rosie and Seth, their wedding preparations would be her focus. If Rosie wanted to daydream and gush all day long, so be it. But Caitrin had more important things to do.
    And Jack Cornwall? Well, he could rot away in the storage room for all she cared. She couldn’t spare a second thought for a man with a cruel tongue, a troubled past, and a fiancée languishing after him. So much for the notion that he had lingered in Kansas out of fascination for Caitrin Murphy. That was a grand joke on her, but she was the better for learning the truth.
    Whisking the popcorn out the front door, Caitrin straightened and leaned on the broom handle a moment. At the edge of the barnyard, Seth held Rosie in a farewell embrace. Oblivious to the two waiting men, he tenderly kissed her lips. Then he whispered against her ear, and she nodded eagerly in response.