Page 7 of Calling on the Matchmaker
Heart attack? Was his dad—?
“He hasn’t fallen off the perch yet.” Clearly Tom saw theunasked question in Riley’s expression. “But from the sounds of it, he won’t be able to hang on for much longer.”
Without waiting to hear more, Riley bolted through the haymow and barreled out of the livery, already on a run toward home.
3
Finola rolled excuses for her tardiness around in her head as she approached the rear entrance of her family’s spacious home on Third Street.
With a glance both ways to make sure no one was watching, she darted across the gravel road that wound to the rear of the house where the coach house, summer kitchen, and privy were located.
“Finola.” Madigan’s call came from the upper balcony that ran the width of the second-floor exterior.
She paused and peered up at him leaning against one of the large white pillars. The many windows were all closed now. But in the heat of summer, the French-style galerie and the windows facing the river breezes kept the home from turning into a furnace.
Madigan leaned over the iron railing. “I told Mam and Da you were helping a new family get settled in and lost track of time.”
It was mostly the truth. At least the version of truth Mam and Da would accept, namely that she’d gotten so involved in her charity work that she hadn’t heard the church bells tolling the top of the four o’clock hour.
“Thank you, Madigan. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He tapped at his cheek and then nose. “You’ve still got mud.”
Wiping at the spots on her face, she rushed up the several steps that led to the back entryway. After her second encounter with Riley Rafferty at the livery, she’d been so rattled she was surprised she managed to exit clothed, much less free of mud.
She felt horrible for injuring him. She hadn’t meant to, had overreacted. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d known she was changing in the stall. He’d assumed she was a nun and had no reason to suspect she was unclad behind the closed door.
Aye, perhaps he shouldn’t have stared quite as long as he had. But that didn’t excuse her throwing things at him. As if that wasn’t enough, he’d received terrible news about his father.
She paused at the door, hand on the knob, and offered another silent petition for his father’s health. After how Riley had saved her life today, the least she could do was pray for him and his family.
With a final entreaty heavenward, she forced herself to open the door and enter. The clatter of pans and the carefree chatter of the cook and scullery maid came from the lower-level kitchen along with scents of roasted chicken and potatoes with hints of rosemary and thyme.
Even though she wanted to dally in the hallway and relish the familiar sounds and scents, she’d already delayed long enough. It was past time for her to join the meeting.
She climbed the short staircase that led to the central hallway. The long carpet runner on the tile floor muted her steps, allowing her to approach the parlor at the front of the house undetected.
Only Winston, their longtime butler, nodded at her from where he stood near the parlor door. In his usual impeccable black suit, the tall, silver-haired man regarded her with a censuring frown.
She offered him a bright smile in return and an innocent shrug, as though she wasn’t aware of how late she was. But she’d never been able to fool the older man—none of the Shanahan children had ever been able to.
From the parlor, the animated voice of Oscar McKenna rose above all the others as he shared one of his many tales of matchmaking.
“When she went into that old farmhouse for the first time,” Oscar said, “ach, it stunk something terrible, so it did. That bride lasted a day inside before rushing out and telling her new husband that the barn smelled better than the house and he’d better do something about it. The very next day the farmer set about patching the walls of the barn with cow dung and whitewash, the same way he had the house. When he finished, he told her that now she couldn’t complain that the barn smelled better.”
Da’s laughter mingled with that of Mam’s.
A smile tugged at Finola’s lips, but she quickly wiped it away, trying to muster the inner strength she would need to withstand the matchmaking.
She pushed forward through the wide entryway into the parlor, the fanciest room in the Shanahan home, tastefully furnished in rococo style. With light spring green-and-gold wallpaper and matching green draperies in the front bay window, the room was bright and cheerful on the wintry afternoon. Large gilt mirrors and cornices seemed to rival the sun in their brilliance.
A fire was burning upon the hearth, the white marble mantel a French import and one of the finest in all of St. Louis. Not that she cared about such things. But it certainly showed just how hard her da had worked over the years to establish himself and prosper in America.
Her da sat in one of the wingback chairs upholstered in a green floral silk damask. At the sight of her, he stood and offeredher a welcoming smile, one that, as always, brought out the dimple on his clean-shaven chin. “Here she is.” His eyes regarded her warmly. “Our Finola. Out saving the world, that she is.”
Attired in a sharp navy suit with a frock coat, he dressed the part of a successful businessman, his starched turned-up collar embellished with a dark silk cravat tied into a flat bow. To others he was an imposing man, with brawny muscles that strained against his clothing and a fiery temper that matched his fiery red hair.
But to Finola, he’d always been a loving and giving father. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” She meant it. She hated to disappoint him. And she hated to disappoint Mam too. If only she knew how to convince them her plans for her future were for the best. But her efforts at actuallytellingthem had never gotten her anywhere. And she’d been left with no choice but toshowthem.
