A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(41)

Rev. Pritchard turned down a faint dirt track toward a soddy with smoke wisping from the chimney. Cultivated fields spread on either side, and Del could see several figures out working in them, though she could see clear damage from the grasshoppers. The older boys? Their father? She hoped they wouldn’t have to call him in from the fields. That doubtless would do little to improve his temper.

“They came out to the area because Mr. O’Rourke was working on the railroad, didn’t they?” she asked.

“I believe so. But once they reached Salton, they decided to homestead instead. More stable for a family.”

Rev. Pritchard stopped the gig and helped Del down. She drew a breath to calm the twisting in her stomach, but it didn’t quite work.

A slender woman with faded red hair pulled into a neat bun came to the door of the soddy. “Afternoon to ye, Reverend. And Miss Nielsen too.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. O’Rourke.” Del stepped closer. “I wondered if we might speak with you and your husband. If this isn’t an inconvenient time.”

The woman hesitated and glanced toward the fields. “He’s still out there workin’, I’m afraid. But he and the boys should be stoppin’ for supper soon. Won’t ye come in and sit down?”

“We don’t want to trouble you.” Del glanced at the young minister. Had they been wrong to come unannounced? It was so hard to know about these things.

“No trouble ’tall.” Mrs. O’Rourke stepped back and tipped her head. A little girl with red braids peeked around her skirts.

“You must be Iris.” Del smiled as she stepped into the shadows of the soddy. It was similar in size to their own without the addition, but darker, having only one window. There was little furniture, merely a rude bedstead, a roughhewn table, and a few chairs. Wooden boxes and barrels apparently held the rest of the family’s possessions. But the dirt floor was swept clean, and the open fire was well tended with a pot of stew simmering above.

“Would you like a bit o’ coffee?”

Del started to shake her head, then wondered if that would be impolite. “Thank you, that would be nice.”

“Iris, get me the cups please, darlin’.”

Del accepted the cup with a smile, as did Rev. Pritchard. “I was sorry not to see Iris in school this last week. And Timothy too. That’s why we’re here, actually.”

“Oh, I see.” Mrs. O’Rourke twisted her hands in her apron and glanced out the open door. “Aye, well—that’s somethin’ you’ll need to be speakin’ to my husband about.”

As she’d feared. Del smiled and sipped her coffee. “We’ll wait, then.”

She sat in the chair the mother indicated. Silence hung, and Del focused on the little girl rubbing her bare toes on the soddy floor. “So, Iris, how old are you?”

Iris glanced at her mother, then met Del’s gaze with shy blue eyes. “Eight, miss.”

“And have you been to school before?”

She nodded. “Back home, in New York City. I learnt my letters and cipherin’.”

Then Nebraska wasn’t “home” yet. Perhaps it might become so if the children were allowed a chance to make friends. “So you lived in New York City. This must be quite a change for you all, then.”

Mrs. O’Rourke laughed softly. “Sure, ye might say so. My husband worked at the docks or wherever they would take him, and me as a washerwoman for rich folks. But I’m well content to have traded our crowded tenement for a soddy, and that’s the truth. Even if the open spaces here make me long for a friendly face, ’tis better still.”

“At least one can breathe free.” Del studied the woman’s face in the shadows. What stories did this family have to tell?

“How long since you came over from Ireland?” Rev. Pritchard asked.

“Near on nine years now. We came just before Iris here was born. ’Twas hard, havin’ a wee babe in the tenements, but she’s our American-born child.” Mrs. O’Rourke touched her daughter’s uplifted face.

A stamping of boots and rumble of male voices approached the door.

Mrs. O’Rourke turned with a slight intake of breath. “That’ll be Mr. O’Rourke now.”

Del stood, her middle tensing.

Mrs. O’Rourke stepped just outside the soddy. “Liam, the schoolmarm is here to see ye. And the preacher too.”

Muffled muttering, then splashing as the mister and the boys washed up in the basin outside—just as the Nielsens had at their home. A moment later, the soddy darkened almost completely as Mr. O’Rourke’s powerful form filled the open doorway.

“Reverend.” He stepped inside, allowing slants of light again. “Miss Nielsen. What can I do for ye?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. O’Rourke.” Del might as well get right to the point. “I’m here about Timothy and Iris. They haven’t shown up for school this past week.”

“Aye, well, they’re needed here on the farm.”

“And yet you registered them for this term.” Del kept her voice gentle but firm.

“Doesn’t a man have the right to change his mind?” Mr. O’Rourke ran a massive hand over his reddish beard. “Or some say over his own children?”

“Of course, sir. I merely wanted to see if we could find out what happened, if there were anything we could do to help. The education of our young people is a central priority for this soon-to-be state.”