And I hide it all from Darragh. In fact, I’d say about 50% of the husbands have no idea what goes on while they are digging underground or sleeping. There are a few good ones, though, who help us out and keep our secrets. I am not married to one of them.
Darragh is a frequent customer of the town whores and the patch tavern. The shops in town learned quickly not to sell to him, and he has been subsequently banned from all of them. He eats after he pays or he doesn’t eat at all. He seems content to drink his meals. I do prepare daily meals, but he tends to head into town after his shifts, so I stopped setting a plate aside for him.
The family I’ve cultivated here are so very important to me; however, my babies are the reason for everything I do. I refuse to allow the circumstances of their existence to affect them in any negative way. Jakob, Riordan, and Gabriel are sweet boys who love “assisting” theirmuttiandtantes, even while I haveGabriel strapped to my chest or back. He loves leaning his head back and soaking up the sun when I tend the garden. Jakob and Riordan play peek-a-boo with him when I’m cooking. My boys and I are our own family unit; we are a team. I want them to be the best of friends, a lifelong support system…something I never had growing up.
I glance up sharply at the sound of our front door banging off the wall. I purse my lips to stop the sneer Darragh’s presence usually invokes. It’s midday, he should be in the mines, not home.
“WOMAN!” He bellows unnecessarily as I’m less than 20 feet from him. I drop my head back on my shoulders and release a heavy sigh when Gabriel’s startled cries rend the air. I just got him down for a nap, he’s been teething and crankier than a bear with a thorn in his paw. The patter of little feet heralds the arrival of my other two as they come barreling in from the back yard. “Present yourself, Trinli, or there will be hell to pay. We have company.”
Without a word, Jakob and Riordan crawl under my skirts and wrap around my legs. They fear their father and for good reasons. He’s naturally unpleasant, but he’s a touch violent when he’s been in the drink or after a shift. I’ve spared them as best I can, taking the brunt of his ire. Our dynamic is not unique in the patch, or anywhere for that matter. I’ve lived by the whims of men my entire life, and I will continue to do so until the good Lord calls me home…another man who forces me to operate on his schedule and never my own. And nothing gets a man riled up more than a threat to his pride, real or imagined.
I wipe my hands on the towel looped through the tie of my apron at my waist and step further into the room, so my dear husband does not believe I’m ignoring him. A bland expression is all I can offer him as I forcefully put one foot in front of the other.Walking when you’ve got wee ones stuck on you like molasses is a trying endeavor.
I glance up and the expression falls from my face, my lips parting on a soft and sharp inhale. Head and shoulders taller than any other men I’ve met here, and Darragh who is only an inch taller than me at 5’6”. Sharp nose and stubbled jaw, dark brow and short trimmed hair.
But his eyes, crystal clear blue like I’ve never seen before, stun me speechless. My eyes drift down his impossibly broad shoulders and…why is my scoundrel husband standing there obstructing my view of paradise on Earth? My eyes narrow involuntarily on the scourge of mass disappointment before darting to the handsome man behind him. Darragh’s posture changes, visibly stiffens and I swallow hard at the implication. He did not miss my reaction and I will be punished. The only questions are how and when.
I shake off my dumbfounded response and step forward as best I can with two little ones attached to my legs. “Husband.” I dip my chin respectfully, my stomach churning with acid at his hard glare.
“Excuse me missus, boyo, she’s a right hussy with no culture or manners.” My head tilts while I try to figure out why his accent is stronger. “I rescued her from a cheese shop, if ye can believe it. Her da spent more time waxing his wares than he did teaching her anything of benefit.” I grind my teeth together and breathe through my nose. My fingers itch with the overwhelming urge to hurt him. My boys cling to me tighter and I push it down, not for the first time, remembering that I have three mouths dependent on me and cannot afford a murder charge.
I peer up at the stranger from beneath my lashes and my chest tightens at the angry slash of his brows aimed at my husband. I bite my bottom lip to quell my growing smile.
“Perhaps you could introduce us properly.” The man speaks with a heavy Irish brogue, smooth and deep, sending a lovely thrill down my spine, despite the way his jaw clenches.
“Trinli Byrne.” Darragh claps the larger man on the shoulder with an affable grin. “Padraig Fitzgerald. Paddy here is our new overman.” Darragh’s smile drops as he looks at me. “Treat him right, woman, he’s a fellow Irishman.” He steps toward me and I brace myself for whatever he plans. I will not cower to him or any man. He curls some loose strands of my hair around his finger. “Not too right, yer no’ whore. Whores are useful.” He pulls hard on my hair, causing me to stumble slightly from the uneven weight around my legs. Padraig reaches out to catch me, but I wave off his assistance. “Paddy will be staying with us until his own home is ready. I’m starving. Fetch me some food.”
Padraig leans down to whisper, “Are ye alright,cailin?”
“I am well, thank you for your concern.” I smooth down my skirts and tap the boys to release me. “Welcome to our home, sir. Our boys Jakob and Riordan. And that creature caterwauling is Gabriel.” I urge the boys to move along and turn to retrieve Gabriel. “Make yourself comfortable. I was not expecting company, so supper will be a little while yet, but there are small foods in the kitchen pantry if you are hungry. Excuse me.”
I rush up the wooden stairs to the second level of our home. Gabriel sits up in our bed, red-faced and crying, his little fists shaking. I scoop him into my arms and sit down on the edge of the bed. With practiced ease, I slide down the shoulder of my dress and shift, positioning Gabriel to latch on to my breast. Hisbody shudders as he slowly calms, his eyes drooping shut as he drinks his fill.
I hear Darragh stomp up the stairs, my back to him. I wait for him to yell, to berate. Instead, he yanks my hair and drags me off the bed. I hold Gabriel tight and force myself to remain quiet.
“Ye think ye can make eyes at a man and not pay fer it? I am yer husband! It’ll do ye well to remember it, aye, Trinli? How about a reminder of who owns ye?” With his hand in my hair, he forces me to bend over the side of the bed. Gabriel whimpers, but I shush him and switch breasts while Darragh rucks up my skirts. I hold myself up with one hand and pat Gabriel’s bottom with the other. I vaguely hear Padraig’s deep timbre as he directs Riordan and Jakob outside. At least they will not be in the house this time while I’m used. I close my eyes tight to fight against the sting of useless tears and sing softly to Gabriel.
Padraig Fitzgerald is dangerous. I run this patch like a military general, providing food and medicine for its inhabitants, and keep it running as smoothly as possible. No matter what I accomplish outside of this building, I am still a prisoner in my own life. Padraig’s mere presence caused me to forget, even if only for a moment.
How grateful I am to Darragh to remind me that I am nothing but a hole.
Trinli 4.
Removing the Dutch oven from the coals, I inhale the delicious scent of fresh sourdough bread as I place it on the counter to cool next to the others. It is my day to bake sourdough for the patch. Each of us has a dietary staple we make in large quantities and share. It has greatly reduced the amount of work each of us must put in for dinners, and stress.
I close my eyes, tilt my head back and breathe. I am afraid to speak aloud of the reprieve of the past few days. Since Padraig’s arrival almost a month ago, Darragh has taken to aggressively and repeatedly reminding me of his ownership and authority in our home. I accepted my lot in this life not long after Darragh and I wed. I foolishly believed as a child that my father’s insistence on a broad education meant he had high hopes for me. A woman of worth and substance could do a great many things in this world, including marrying a good man with a good job from a good family.
Instead, I was sold to a grotesque womanizing drunkard because he has an addiction to cheese and my father doesn’t know when to close someone’s tab.
I stopped crying the day I accepted my place as Darragh Byrne’s wife. Resolute to make the most of my situation and put my education to the test. And I was fine…until the day Padraig Fitzgerald walked into my home and bore witness to my greatest shame. For more than two fortnights, my husband has forced hisway between my thighs, degrading me with words spoken loud enough for anyone to hear, including Padraig. I’ve cried silent tears every night, angry with my father, hate in my heart for my husband, and disappointment in myself that my eyes strayed, my soul dared to hope for a man that is never meant to be mine. My husband does not know the meaning of fidelity, most men do not, however, I do. And regardless of his actions or character, I am better than that.
It has been a few days since Darragh has made his presence known and I am reluctant to believe he has found something or someone else to occupy his thoughts and time. I should accept the small break and breathe a sigh of relief, yet life has taught me many lessons and one of the most important is to never let your guard down. I will, however, enjoy the easy camaraderie Padraig and I have settled into.
The morning after Padraig’s first night, it was quite difficult for me to look him in the eye. He did not mention Darragh’s behavior, did not inquire about my health, he simply moved on and dragged me along with him, for which I am grateful. He offered his help with the morning meal, which I politely declined, sat down in one of our chairs and started talking.
It did not take me long as the days passed to look upon his beauty as nothing more than scenery. A dazzling sunrise, the trees in autumn, freshly fallen snow. He spends most of his free time here with the boys and I, seeming to prefer our company to that of anyone else. I have not seen him with any of the whores, nor does he reek of alcohol or cloying perfume, or come and go into the night. If he is not in the mines, he is sitting on one of my chairs, or playing with Riordan and Jakob, or fixing something for me around our home.
I value his friendship immensely. I love listening to my precious boys giggle while they chase him around. I can even admit, ifonly to myself in the dark of night, that his lingering glances and appreciative stare stirs unfamiliar sensations and feelings inside me. Yet, it is our conversations that I treasure most. Padraig does not treat me like a simpering female, a hole, cook or maid. He treats me as an intellectual equal and that might be the most dangerous part of it all.
