1
ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI
JUNE 1849
She had no work and no place to live. Again.
Alannah Darragh rubbed the rag vigorously over the grand piano that took up the center of the parlor. It didn’t need dusting or polishing. The dark reddish wood was already so shiny she could see her reflection in it. But she had to stay busy, or worry would rise and strangle her.
Mrs. Christy’s humming filtered into the parlor from the front hallway where she was boxing up the final items that would be shipped to New Orleans. The housekeeper didn’t have a care in the world since she hadn’t been dismissed. She’d been asked to stay and maintain the home while the O’Briens were gone—however long that might be, perhaps months. The coachman, Mr. Dunlop, was also staying.
Mrs. Christy expected that Captain O’Brien would keep his wife out of St. Louis and away from the fearsome cholera until it was no longer a threat. Maybe Mrs. O’Brien wouldeven reside in New Orleans until after her wee babe was born in the autumn.
Whatever the case, the O’Briens no longer needed an extra domestic servant, not when the future was so uncertain.
Alannah paused and pressed a hand to her throat, as if that could somehow ward off the tightening and the feeling of suffocating. A breeze floated in through the open side window, fluttering the loose strands of her pale hair that weren’t tucked under her maid’s cap. For early June, the warmth of summer had already descended, turning the O’Briens’ home into a sweltering oven.
’Twas only in the early morn—like now—or late in the night that the air was tolerable and more like that of her native Tralee in County Kerry.
She closed her eyes and envisioned the rugged rocky coastline, the warm sand on the beach squishing between her toes, the salty ocean breeze caressing her face, the rhythmic waves crashing onto the shore.
Heat stung behind her eyes. Ach, if only she’d never come to America ... maybe then her younger brother would still be living. Maybe she’d still be with her cousin Hugh, who’d been her closest friend. Maybe she would have eventually been hired as an editor at the newspaper with him.
But there was no sense in crying now, so there wasn’t. What was done was done.
She opened her eyes to the beauty of the parlor with the all-new furniture, elegant in the upholstered cream color that contrasted the cherry wood. The damask draperies were a pretty pale blue Mrs. Christy had said matched Alannah’s eyes. With exquisite lantern globes, pure silver candleholders, and vases of freshly cut flowers, the parlor was lovely—justas lovely as all the other rooms Mrs. O’Brien had recently redecorated.
To be sure, it was the nicest home Alannah had ever stepped foot in. ’Twas a shame the job hadn’t lasted more than six weeks.
Of course, Mrs. O’Brien was a kind lady and had told Alannah she could stay as long as she needed until she could secure other employment. Mrs. Christy had assured her of the same.
But after just one day since the captain and Mrs. O’Brien had left, there was already nothing to do.
Besides, Alannah couldn’t live on charity. She’d had to do that enough over the past couple of years before leaving Ireland, and she loathed the prospect of being beholden to anyone ever again.
The simple fact was, she had to find another job right away, preferably one as a domestic. Then she’d have a new place to live and plenty to keep her busy.
But how could she even begin to go about finding a position? She had no connections, no friends, no relatives—other than Torin. Even though she’d told her older brother yesterday of her need for another job, he wasn’t a miracle worker.
With a sigh, Alannah moved from the piano to the cream-colored mantel above the fireplace. She dusted a lovely silver-framed painting of a steamboat on the river before she moved to the ornate clock.
At a firm knocking at the front door, she stilled, her rag growing idle. Who would be calling now that the O’Briens had left the city?
Her pulse ticked a faster beat in time with the mantelclock. After two months since the incident with Shaw Farrell, surely she didn’t need to be afraid of being captured.
Regardless, she sidled next to the bay window overlooking the front of the house. She peeked past the drapery but couldn’t see the stoop at the top of the entry stairs. Only the short-trimmed grass of the front yard was visible and the gravel drive leading to the carriage house and stable at the back of the property.
Mrs. Christy ceased her humming and opened the front door. “May I help you?”
“Oh, aye.” The response belonged to a young man, a voice Alannah didn’t recognize. “I’d like to speak to Alannah.”
Alannah froze, and her heart switched to double time. Someone was here to see her? Why? Had Shaw Farrell finally discovered her whereabouts?
The notorious gang leader couldn’t have. She’d been so careful to stay hidden, to remain invisible, to never go anywhere.
Maybe someone in the Farrell gang had spotted her leaving St. Louis two weeks ago during the fire, when scores of people had fled to the countryside and away from the inferno. Even though it had been night and she’d been in the carriage with Mrs. Christy and Mrs. O’Brien, ’twas still possible she’d been seen.
Or maybe one of Shaw’s men had glimpsed her returning to St. Louis a couple of days after the devastation. She’d ridden back in the same carriage, again with Mrs. Christy and Mrs. O’Brien. It had been daylight then, and she’d stayed as far from the carriage windows as possible.
