The Irish Mail Order Bride: Pinkerton Brides, #6

By Kiki Meyer

Muriel O’Shea is a stubborn young Irish girl still grieving the loss of her da. She believes only two things will make her happy: a room of her own and a man who will love her as unconditionally as her father loved her. As Muriel strives to learn what real love means through some tough life lessons, she must learn to live with her mistakes and try not to make more. Will she find how to love others and find her ideal match? Will she ask him to call her Lilibet, her father's pet name for her? Or is it too late for redemption and her happy ever after?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kiki Meyer
• Release date: Mar 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386599784

Kiki Meyer

KIKI MEYER lives in Florida with her husband and two cats. Find her on Twitter @KikiMeyerBooks

Book preview

NEW YORK CITY

1

A little over a year after her sister Ailene married and left their home, Muriel Elizabeth O’Shea’s brother Coilin, made a sudden announcement to the family. He was leaving.

For St. Louis, he said solemnly.

Coilin and Muriel were helping Saoirse, their little sister, and Eilise, their mother, bustling about the main area of their New York flat readying their evening meal. It was rare to have Coilin home from his work at the docks this early. On these occasions Eilise made the meal practically a ceremony.

Coilin’s words hushed the tiny place.

Muriel stood by a table too small for them all to sit down at the same time. Saoirse, close by her side, was motionless. Both girls stared at their brother.

He stood tall and resolute as he eyed his ma. At eighteen years of age, he’d talked for some time about the hiring activity on the Mississippi River. It opened glamorous-sounding opportunities for men not afraid of the wilderness and looking for adventure.

Coilin certainly wasn’t afraid, thought Muriel. He reminded her of her da just a little. She glanced from Coilin to her ma.

His announcement stopped Eilise dead in her tracks. She stood there stoic, looking at him with the tableware for their dinner in her hands and her face etched in pain.

Ma, before you say anything, look outside. It’s crazy. These masses of people pressing in on all directions, filling up every available space New York can offer. This madness is driving me to drink, Coilin boasted and waved his arm in a dramatic arc. His hair hung jauntily over one eye.

I’ll set your ears on fire, for sure and certain I am about that if you have taken up the drink, Coilin. You’re not too old or too big for me to give you a whoopin’ like your da use to, said Eilise in a tone such that Coilin and everyone else in the room knew she meant every word.

I know, ma. It’s only me way of sayin’. Coilin stood and crossed the room as his hand swept through his hair in a vain attempt to improve his vision if not his appearance. He gently but firmly placed his arms around his ma and hugged.

Ya know this ain’t livin’ for me. I need green grass, towerin’ trees and lots of blue water and space. God, yes, I need me space.

I know, Coilin. I know, said Eilise with resignation. But the Mississippi is more brown than blue, I’ve heard. She looked up at Coilin with tears in her eyes but a determined smile at her silly joke. When were you expectin’ to be goin? she added.

Not until late summer. It won’t be right away.

Muriel didn’t know what to do so she and Saoirse sat there watching him hold their ma, her face once again buried in his shirt front.

Muriel agreed with Coilin about New York. She recalled the first time she saw the city. The remnants of her family stood on the deck of The Katherine gazing out at their new home.

It was large, but she had imagined it to be much larger, more magnificent, shinier. She had been disappointed.

Building after building lined the shore and stretched in every direction. Each edifice was the same bland hue of smudged, dirty gray. The entire vista seemed as if it were shrouded in a veil of smoke. Muddy, rutted streets shot out from the shore into the darker still depths of the city, home to more than one hundred ninety thousand people.

All New Yorkers, or so it seemed, moved on Moving Day, May First. It began at nine in the morning when all New York leases expired. The poor and not-so-poor alike, spent months scouring rent deals other than their current ones hoping to find more room, better sanitation, additional space, and, better yet, for less money.

With Coilin gone, Eilise’s decision to remain in place this Moving Day, same as last year, now seemed to be a better idea than all of them had originally thought.

Muriel’s family had found a one room flat the first year. It was cramped beyond belief. When Eilise explained about Moving Day they jumped for joy as she described the larger place she found on Center Street; two rooms with wash lines outside the third floor apartment windows.

What they were not prepared for on the actual day was the hassling, jostling and fighting. It seemed as if every human on earth was in New York’s streets, grabbing as much space as they could for their carts, conveyances and boxes.

When the madness and stress was over they all felt, Muriel included, it wasn’t worth it. If having an improved place to live required their participation in such mayhem, then she could care less what any new living quarters had to offer.

Now, the flat would feel spacious with both Ailene and Coilin gone. They would hardly know what to do with the additional square feet. However, Muriel would do her best to lay claim to as much of it as she could. Her plan one day was a room, a full room, to herself.

With the gain of more space, however, came more pain. Pain caused by the loss of yet another family member, their third in less than three years.

It was hard to believe it had been that long since Muriel’s father died. His death was from starvation or heartbreak. Maybe both. In 1853, a potato famine wrecked their homeland, Ireland. Her da wasted away trying to find work and food for his family. He died instead of attaining his goal.

Eilise took drastic steps to protect the rest of them from the same fate. She arranged to take them to America, far away from their home.

Relatives in New York, her second cousin and his wife, whom the family had never met, helped her obtain the necessary clearances for herself and the family to get to New York. Eilise also had a job lined up through their interventions. She could work for several ladies provided she arrived before they hired someone else. She would do their laundry and ironing.

However, Muriel was not sure then if she’d wanted to be one of the hoard willing to call this place home. She’d been worried.

What if their position in life was no better in New York? What if famine found them there? And would she be loved by someone from their new country, someone who would love her as unconditionally and perfectly as her da had?

She reached for the locket always hanging from her neck. Her da had given her the lovely keepsake and touching it in times of stress calmed her. Just as she touched it, a movement from across the room broke into her reminiscences of the past, calling her back to the present.

Coilin released his ma, and Eilise finally placed the spoons she had been holding on the kitchen table.

"Now, I’m expectin’ some help with serving up this meal. None of ya got broke legs so get to helpin’. I ain’t your maid.

All three of her children obeyed.

Muriel, however, couldn’t shake her feelings. Will someone ever love me as well as my da had loved me?

2

The weeks following Coilin’s announcement droned on with dreadful sameness for Muriel. They were made up of endless days full of drudgery: wash laundry, return the laundry, school, prepare meals, wash laundry, pick up laundry, church, and more laundry.

Muriel, who was now fourteen years of age, perched on the front stoop of their tiny flat in the small ray of sunshine offered to that particular place only late in the morning. Her morning chores were done and she wanted to relax.

This day she wished to recall better times before another O’Shea separated from the family; her mind drifted back to just a few years ago, to the time when they had lived in Ireland.

Ireland was so charming, they’d lived in the country. There were trees, bogs and fairy tales. Neighbors looked out for each other, took travelers in for the night and helped each other through hard work and tragedies.

Muriel shook her head to remove the images of her past. She knew Ireland was no longer her home and the sooner she made the best of what America had to offer, the better off she’d be.

I must be growing up. I’m beginning to sound just like da, when I talk like that. She smiled. It’s better than being like ma. Nothing wrong with ma. She was just not da. Ma loved her but it was not the same as being da’s favorite.

Another memory pleasantly curled through her mind as clear as the morning skies in Ireland.

I love each of my children the same as any parent does. I have no favorites, my dear, and neither does your da, said her ma as she looked warmly at her daughter.

Muriel had been six years old when she asked her ma this question. She rejected her ma’s response as not true. Her feelings of unfaithfulness to da’s favoritism required it.

She still believed in his favoritism. That belief made her feel whole. It filled the hole in her soul now that he was gone and made her feel her existence and his beside her. Before that, it had given her her place in the family. The conviction that her father loved her the best had been a pillar of strength for Muriel all her young life.

Muriel heard a faraway clang of a fire wagon. The memory dissolved as she turned her head toward the sound. She couldn’t see it and the clamorous sound faded quickly away. Muriel resumed her daydreams and her worry.

How would she ever find someone so wondrous as her da? A someone she would then allow to call her Lilibet.

Lilibet, the sound of that sweet name her da lovingly called her always made her feel content. It was another version of her middle name, Elizabeth. No one but him called her by those lovely syllables.

Lilibet, you are my favorite, he would say.

She placed her head on her arms folded on her knees. Muriel picked up a stick and poked in the dirt.

She now thought about how she would never hear the sweet trill of his voice as he called her that. Lost forever was the feel of his arms surrounding her in his massive hugs and the aroma of outdoors as she snuggled deep into his massive chest. She hugged her knees a little tighter.

Her attempt to feel better had failed. Her chest heaved. Her lips unwillingly emitted a deep sigh. She reached to her neck and caressed the locket. It now held all she had left of him, a clip of his red hair. Tears rolled down both cheeks.

Then she quickly wiped her face and tried to focus on watching all the people walk by on both sides of the street.

They don’t seem to be any happier living here than I do, she thought.

Hardly anyone smiled or even spoke to anyone else. She sighed deeply. Once again her mind wandered to the past.

Muriel had loved it that everyone in her homeland proclaimed her the apple of her da’s eye. She, too, had fire-tinted auburn hair. Her eyes twinkled with glorious green sparks. Her lightly freckled face was punctuated by a sassy grin more like a smirk that made her look much older than her years. She was not nearly as self confident as she put forth to those around her, much like her da.

She was one of four children. Not the youngest like Saoirse, not the oldest, like Ailene, and not the smartest and the only male, like Coilin. The only other status she held in the family was as her da’s favorite. He told her