“That was beautiful.” He looked at her with gentle eyes. “What was it?”
“A farewell reel used in the leave-taking ceremony. Mam said when they left Ireland they held an American wake and that was the last song to send them off. A farewell to Ireland. They were being exiled to a foreign land.” She paused. “And it’s what Da sang to Mam as she passed on.”
“Thank you. For sharing that with me.”
Now that she’d done it, she was embarrassed she’d shared something so personal. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” she said, turning the focus back to Henry. “What are you looking for?”
“First, I’m going to find me a sailing vessel and see if I can’t convince some of my own family to take me in. We’ve much to catch up on.” He swung his pack off his back and peered inside as if checking to make sure he had everything. The contents had shifted and Briar could see the corners of a boxy shape poking into the cloth.
“Perhaps you can live your dream through me until you can follow it yourself. I can send you letters detailing my great adventures,” he said.
“In the Old Country.”
“Yes.”
“’Tis not the same.” No, she couldn’t ever live her dream through Henry. She had to live it herself. “You’ve never talked about the Old Country before. You’re not a family in exile like the Irish. Driven out by famine and ill treatment.”
That shared family history was what had made her and Wheeler a good match, and what made their breakup hurt so much now. She had thought he was the one. How could she have been so mistaken? She could never trust her feelings again. Even more so, how was a girl to know the depth of a boy’s feelings?
“I understand why you don’t see my family that way. I’ve not talked about our home country to you. I didn’t want to make you think of something that made you sad. But our family talks about it daily. Our past is as alive to us as a person living in our house, hovering in every room, listening in on all our conversations. My ancestors left things undone and I’m hoping I can fix that.”
“And how—”
Henry held up his hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. You won’t understand what it’s like to have something like this hanging over your family.” He settled his bag back on his shoulder, leaning with the added weight.
Briar crossed her arms. Yes, she was familiar with a past that haunted the present. Her mam and da were always foremost in her mind. Her strongest memories were of Mam on her deathbed after birthing the twins, begging Briar to find a way to go home. Of Da on his deathbed as he lay stricken with consumption, admonishing her that she would have to look after the wee ones, and see the twins didn’t hurt themselves. Neither one of them had spoken of finding happiness for their oldest daughter. They’d spoken only of duty.
She wasn’t bitter, because she agreed with them. She was the eldest Jenny left. It was up to her to raise the wee ones and keep them together. Given that she only made enough money to rent a shared bed in a company boardinghouse, she didn’t know how she could make it work, but she had to try.
By this time they were nearing the edge of town and traffic had picked up. Carts and buggies and single riders driving into town pushed them to the side of the road. They passed the train station and Briar said again, “You don’t have to walk me all the way to the boardinghouse. We can say good-bye here. I don’t want you to miss your train.”
“There’ll be another one.”
Henry was so stubborn. When he set his mind to something, there was no talking him out of it. If they said good-bye in front of all the other girls, Briar wouldn’t be able to voice all that she was thinking. Not that she could pin down her thoughts yet. They swirled as fast as the threads winding on her spinning frame. Should they shake hands? Hug? They’d done neither in all their years growing up together. And why was this the foremost thought in her head now? It was just Henry. Henry. And he was leaving her.
They passed the mill and wandered down the row of boardinghouses. They all looked the same. Brown-brick, three-story affairs with stairs leading up to porches where, in nice weather, much socializing took place. Tonight, however, the front porch was blessedly empty of gossipy mill girls. Henry walked her to the front door and took a deep, shaking breath.
Is he nervous, too?
A sudden lump formed in her throat. The weekend trips home to the cottage were sure going to be lonely. She didn’t know if she should admit that to Henry or not. He could get ideas. But if you can’t count on a Prince, who can you count on?
The only way she’d be able to get through this was to stir up the anger she felt earlier. He was getting to do the thing she wanted to do most in the world. He didn’t know how fortunate he was to have the choice to go. He had so many freedoms she didn’t.