Hence, his question this morning. True, the greeting and first question had been sort of tossed at her as he passed her, sitting at the table, on his way into the kitchen for what passed for coffee in Edwardian Ireland. He’d repeated the question as he placed his breakfast on the table and retrieved the newspaper for reading. Now he sat with the paper folded, dipped a spoon into his porridge, and took a minute to observe his distracted ward.
Casey was perched cross-legged on her chair, wearing a warm sweater and her “boy pants,” feet shod only in thick socks. Her hair was rumpled from sleeping, the curls hanging in loose rivulets around her face. That face was thoughtful, the eyes tired and dreamy as she stared at her untouched cereal. Sam waved a hand in front of her.
“Earth to Casey!” He brought the hand back and reached for his coffee. “Isn’t there a song about dancing all night?”
Casey rolled her eyes and pulled up a spoonful of porridge, but she was blushing. “Very funny,” she muttered.
“And begging for more?” Sam continued to tease. Casey just smiled dreamily into her bowl, slowly stirring. “Oh, dear,” Sam said.
She gave a half shrug, continuing to stir. “It’s no use, Sam. Every moment I’m with him, I love him more. I feel like I’m dreaming, because he acts as if he…” she dipped her head lower as if to hide, “…well, as if he likes me, too.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Ah, good… good. I’m glad it’s going well. He’s a good man.” He stirred his coffee for a moment, his look of concern belying the words.
Casey took a sip from her cup. “And?” she prompted.
Sam glanced at her and sat back in his chair. “Well Casey, help me out here. This may seem an odd question, but what would your parents think of this relationship?”
Her eyebrows disappeared under the loose hair. “My parents?” she asked. “What do you mean?”
He spread his arms wide. “I’m serious. They’re not here, you know, and I often feel I should act as a surrogate. You’re only twenty-one years old, Casey, and Tom is thirty-four. I have to question if you understand what you’re dealing with here. And whether your parents would be concerned.”
“I have no doubt they would love Tom, if they could meet him.”
Sam waved this away. “Of course they would. Everybody loves Tom. And they couldn’t ask for a more decent and respectable young man to love their daughter. But would they want you getting this involved with someone his age?”
She shook her head. “I think my parents would be more concerned about his character than about his age. If he’s so decent and respectable, why do you have to worry?”
He rubbed his forehead, frustrated. “What do you want from life, Casey? What would your parents want for you? I know you had plans before, and that since coming here, you’ve been more concerned with survival, as have I. But we need to start figuring out where we’re going. You especially need to, Casey. You’re going to live out your entire life in the early twentieth century. How does that change the plans you had for yourself?”
She answered slowly, as if thinking about it. “Before, I just had general plans. No specific goals, but I just sort of expected to… well, the usual. I would get my degree, do grad school, some kind of research. Maybe biotechnology. I expected to eventually get married and have a child or two. To travel a lot. Just a normal kind of life. It may be more difficult, now, but can’t I do the same kind of thing, here?”
“With Tom?” Sam asked.
Casey blushed again. “That would be my preference, yes.”
“Are we assuming he lives past 1912?”
Her eyes widened. “I’m assuming that with all my heart, Sam. But you bring up a good point.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“That I would be a fool to take my time with this. Before, I would never have considered getting involved—no, getting married—before finishing my degree and having a decent job. Even in this time, there was no real reason to do otherwise. Except that I’ve fallen in love with Thomas Andrews. If we only have a few years together, then I want to have as much of them as possible, together.”
Sam nodded. “I understand. That’s sort of my point, because I don’t think Tom will want to wait several years before marrying you, anyway. But do you understand what marriage to Tom Andrews would require of you? You haven’t met his family yet.”
She held up her hands. “Don’t start with the family again.”
He leaned forward. “I mean, it might behoove you to observe what role women play in his family. Do any of them have careers, or interests or hobbies outside of their marriages? Or, are they strictly helpmates? Wives and mothers?” He rubbed the table, thinking as he talked. “Tom holds a powerful position in his company and in this town. I don’t know if it’s happened yet, but people will want him to hold public office, to aid in solving labor problems, home rule issues, all kinds of things. His family is very involved in politics. His older brother eventually becomes Prime Minister of Northern Ireland. It may be that the woman who marries Tom will have to be a strong presence behind the man. Support, dear. Social, political, familial support, not a woman with a career of her own. Not in this age.”
He met her gaze with a frank smile. “Are you ready or able to be a wife and mother? To run a household with servants, maintain a social standing in the community, and support your husband? Because I suspect that’s what your life will be, dear.”
She stared at him and swallowed hard. “I could learn, couldn’t I? I think… No. I don’t think that Tom would expect me not to pursue my own interests. He doesn’t seem to be that kind of person.” It was her turn to draw on the table with her fingers. “We’d have to talk about it. I’d have to make sure he understands that I don’t know how to do that stuff. But I’ll learn. We’ll compromise. Maybe I won’t have an actual job, but I’ll do other things. I have to try, Sam.”
She stood up abruptly and picked up her dishes. “This is silly, anyway. Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. We’ve only been to one dance. You make me start worrying about what our marriage will be like, I might get too confident. I may wake up and find out he’s been distracted by a, what’s the phrase? ‘A well-turned ankle.’” She spoke lightly, but ducked into the kitchen.
Sam raised his cup for a sip. “Nothing wrong with your ankles, my dear,” he murmured to himself.
Ardara House was quiet when Tom arrived that morning. The ivy-covered stone manse of his childhood appeared to glower under the day’s dark clouds. The rooms inside were cold and empty, except for a fire in the parlor, laid in preparation for the family’s return from church. They were all at church, even the servants, although he found Martha, the scullery maid, watching over supper preparations in the kitchen. He greeted her, stole a carrot from the cutting board, and headed into the parlor.
He was reading in there when his family arrived home, and the bustle of preparing an early supper and settling in for the afternoon began to sweep through the house. His father shook his hand, with a mock-stern visage. “Thought you’d be here in time for church, son. Late night?”
“Aye,” Tom replied. “Danced my feet off and had to recuperate.”
“Wonderful!” his father said. Tom turned to give his mother a kiss.