Whiskey Island (46 page)

“You can
not
go back there! Listen to yourself. If you do, something terrible will happen.”

“Something terrible
has
happened, and I’ve already lost my soul.”

“No, you haven’t lost it, but you will. If you allow this to continue, if you raise your hand in violence, you
will
lose your soul and forever be damned.”

“And will I keep it if I let my family starve? If I snatch away the only hope Terry has for a life?”

“I’ll find a way to help you.”

“And what way might that be? Are you more powerful than James Simeon? Are your friends more powerful?” She prepared herself to stand. She would not meet him in the confessional, because she could not confess a sin she would commit again.

Father McSweeney put his hand on her arm. “You will come and work for me.” He went on before she could protest. “My housekeeper is old and complains of the work. It’s time she went to live with her daughter. The position won’t pay much, but it will pay better than selling food at the docks.” He shook his head as she frowned. “Hear me out. I will take on the task of completing Terence’s education myself. There will be no job in Simeon’s offices, but what hope was there ever for that? It was one ruse of many, designed to deflect my attention. I have other connections, and when Terence is ready, we’ll find him something.”

“You haven’t the time. His teacher works with him every day.”

“Then so shall I. As penance.”

His eyes burned with an unholy light. She stared at him. “What have you to do penance for?”

“I should
never
have believed Simeon. I know what kind of man he is, and I had my doubts. But I silenced them because I was proud of what I’d accomplished for you and Terence. I thought well of myself. And in the past weeks I’ve seen that you were unhappy, yet I didn’t ask why. I wanted to believe all remained well. For this I will pay until the end of my life.”

She rested her fingertips on the back of his hand. He was no longer a priest but a friend. “Father, it’s no sin to hope for the best, is it?”

“No, but it’s always a sin to close your eyes against the worst.”

The ache in her heart was easing. She had not come for a solution to the terrible truths of her life. Yet a solution had been offered. She was only now beginning to see that it might work.

“And what do I tell my husband?” she asked when the silence had stretched for minutes and her hand still rested on his.

He looked up at her, and his face was grim. “Not what you have told me.”

“You’re telling me to lie to him?”

“I’m telling you that the whole truth might destroy him.”

“Then I shall say that Simeon has been unkind to me. That much, at least, is true. And that when I went to you and confessed that I no longer felt safe in Simeon’s presence, you asked me to work for you instead.”

“That’s as much as he needs to know. And tell him I will enjoy teaching him, that his mind will be a pleasure to fill. Tell him we will begin learning Latin, too.”

She tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears again. She nodded blindly.

He turned up his hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “We’ll meet in the confessional now, but I want you to hear
my
confession first.”

She looked up at him through her tears.

“A priest must love everyone in his parish, and I try harder than anyone knows. But some people are dearer to me than others, you and Terry among them. Forgive me, Lena, for ever allowing you to suffer so. For whatever part I’ve had in it.”

She squeezed his hand. He looked down at their entwined fingers and shook his head.

An hour later she was very nearly back home when a man stepped out of a doorway and stood just in front of her.

Her hand flew to her chest and covered her heart. “Rowan?”

“Lena,
what
are you doing on the streets at this time of night?”

Her heart was pounding unevenly. For a moment she’d thought that the lie she’d told Terence had come true. Or worse, that Simeon himself had stalked her.

“I’ve been to St. Brigid’s.” She pulled her cloak tighter around her. A dense fog was swimming over Whiskey Island from the lake.

“You’ve been there just now? Why?”

She considered what to tell him. Soon he would know that she no longer worked at the Simeon house, so she told him that much. “Father McSweeney was helping me decide what to do,” she finished. “And I’ll be taking him up on his offer to work as his housekeeper.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you were happy working for Simeon. The wages are good, the work isn’t hard. Bloomy and Nani think the sun rises and sets in you. So do the other servants. And look what Simeon has done for Terence.”

Rowan was a dear man and the best of friends. But Lena also knew how quick-tempered he could be, and how unlikely to remain silent if she told him the truth. She stared into his clear brown eyes and knew she could only tell him a portion.

“Mr. Simeon is not always kind to those around him. He was not always kind to me.”

His eyes narrowed. “What has he done to you, Lena lass? It can’t have been something small, or you’d not be leaving.”

“You’ve nothing to be concerned about. I won’t be going back.”

Before she could turn away, he reached out and held her chin, turning her face to the only available light, a sputtering gas lamp at the corner. “You’ve been crying. I’ve never seen you cry. And you’ve bruises on your cheeks.”

“It’s in the past now, Rowan, and that’s where it’s to remain. And I won’t have you worrying Terry about it. What’s done is done and can’t be undone. I have a new future now. Please don’t trouble yourself about what’s finished.”

He didn’t drop his hand. “Surely you know you can always come to me if you’re in trouble, Lena.”

“I know.”

He dropped his hand at last, but his eyes narrowed. She saw the things he didn’t say. That he was not satisfied. That he would investigate this further. That he would take whatever action he had to in order to make things right.

She had felt so completely alone, but she had never been alone at all.

“Come, I’ll walk you home.” He held out his arm. She tucked her arm inside it, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

June 11, 1883

A
priest lives his life away from women. I remember well the way my mother and older sisters glided across the floor, their graceful, capable hands eternally busy, their lips moving in praise or admonition, their eyes darting from corner to corner of our cottage as they assessed our large family and judged each of us according to their high standards.

But this is all I knew of women. I saw them every day, of course, and knew them from my work. I heard their confessions, administered their sacraments and buried them beside men who often had understood little of their worth. But never have I had the opportunity to live so intimately with a young woman, to observe, up close, the power of a smile, the greater power of a tear. Never as a grown man have I had the opportunity to feel the subtle give and take of domestic life or the sweet surprise of a remark or gesture that captures so perfectly my own feelings.

Lena Tierney cleans my rooms and cooks my meals. But this is only a small part of what she gives to me. Had my life followed a different path, I would have been forever happy to have a wife who was half as engaging.

From the journal of Father Patrick McSweeney—St. Brigid’s Church, Cleveland, Ohio.

29

29 February 2000

N
iccolo arrived at the saloon just in time to watch Casey’s car being towed from the parking lot. All three sisters were standing outside, hands on hips, watching grimly as the tow truck maneuvered through the rows of parked cars and pulled onto Lookout Avenue. He had never noticed much resemblance among the women, but now he did. Their expressions were identical. He was reminded of thunderheads gathering over the lake.

“I suspect the news isn’t good.” He approached them slowly, hoping none of them was feeling as angry as she looked, particularly Megan.

Megan lifted a hand in greeting. “Some bozo poured sugar in Casey’s gas tank and slashed her tires.”

He addressed Casey. “Do you know who?”

Casey was still gazing after her car. “I just talked to Jon. One of the carjackers is out on bail.”

“And you think it might be him?”

“Him, or a truck driver Case met last month who couldn’t get to first base,” Megan said. “One of our patrons claims he saw the guy in the neighborhood yesterday.”

Peggy tried to soothe them. “It could have been kids looking for something to do. It was the only car in the lot last night after closing. It might not be personal.”

“We’ll probably never know.” Casey’s hands fell to her sides. “And no matter who did it, I still have to come up with the deductible, don’t I? I still have to worry about more of the same harassment.”

Peggy put her arm around Casey’s waist. “Come on inside. I’ll make you some herbal tea.”

Casey made a face, but she let Peggy guide her inside. Niccolo and Megan were left alone in the parking lot.

“You don’t suppose this parking lot is built over an ancient Indian burial ground, do you?” Megan turned her full attention to Niccolo.

He thought about the ersatz burial ground he’d visited that morning. The one that most probably had housed the body of James Simeon. “More likely it’s just coincidence that bad things keep happening here.”

“How are you?”

He wasn’t sure what she was asking, but “superb” covered all the bases.

She smiled. “There’s an obscene saying about the kind of grin you have on your face.”

“I know the one. How are
you?
”

The smile diminished a watt or two. “Nick, I don’t regret last night. Not at all. But I just hope you’re not making impossible plans for us.”

“Impossible plans?”

“I told you last night. I’m not looking for anything long lasting.”

“Life’s a lot more fun if you stay open to all the possibilities. I won’t worry if you won’t.”

“I worry well. Sometimes I think it’s what I do best.”

“I’m a big boy.”

She slipped her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. “You are at that.”

“Come home with me. I’ve got some news for you.”

“Can’t. I have to bake bread tonight and prepare for tomorrow.”

“We can have an early dinner, then I’ll send you on your way.”

“What about the construction crew?”

“We’re in luck. Nobody showed up this afternoon.”

“I don’t know. I promised Casey I’d pick up Ashley at St. Brigid’s. Casey sure can’t do it unless she takes my car. And Charity—”

He finished for her. “Begins at home, but not necessarily in the parking lot of St. Brigid’s.”

“Casey has no patience with Charity’s idiosyncracies.”

“We’ll pick up Ashley together. You can bring her along for dinner and give Casey some time to cool down.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Her face was just inches from his. He wondered if he bent and kissed her there in the parking lot if she would feel undue pressure. She smiled, lifted herself high on her tiptoes and took the decision out of his hands.

Six kids were standing on his front porch when they drove up. He’d left a note, just in case they appeared, explaining that he might not be back this afternoon. But they had chosen to wait and see.

“I really didn’t think we’d have company.” For the first time Niccolo was sorry that he’d ever let Winston and Josh into his house.

“Relax. I haven’t seen them for a while. And Ashley will enjoy the company.”

He wasn’t sure. Ashley dwelled deep inside herself, in places where four-year-old girls shouldn’t have to go. He’d observed her enough to worry. He’d been trained to look for signs of child abuse, and concern for children hadn’t disappeared along with his collar.

He turned to look at the little girl, who was riding high in the booster seat Casey had given him. “There are some teenagers here to help me work on my house. They’re noisy, but they’re nice.”

She’d been slumped in her seat, thumb in mouth. Now she sat up a little. Her eyes brightened.

“She likes teenagers,” Megan said softly. “She’ll be fine.”

She was. Niccolo introduced Ashley to the kids, who were polite, but casual enough not to scare her. Inside, she tagged after Elisha, who’d brought a school friend named Jo Ellen to see the house. Elisha took the little girl’s presence in stride, including her on Jo Ellen’s tour.

“Now that’s interesting,” Niccolo told Megan. “I’d have expected her to be frightened of strangers.”

“Adult strangers, definitely. Adults in general, as a matter of fact, and she’s not particularly adept with children her own age, although she’s doing better. But she’s relaxed around older kids. She adores Peggy, and I’ve seen her with my cousin’s high-school-aged daughters when they stop by to visit us. Ashley seemed right at home with them.”

“Does she have an older brother or sister?”

“Casey hasn’t mentioned siblings, and Ashley’s never said anything.”

“Does she talk about her past?”

“Almost never.” Megan paused. “Once she said she had run away.”

“Do you know what she meant?”

Megan shrugged. “She misses her mother. She’s mentioned that a time or two.”

The situation struck him as odd, but it was encouraging to watch the little girl coming out of her shell. By the afternoon’s end, she, Elisha and Jo Ellen were a team, laying shelf paper in the cabinets that now lined the kitchen walls and nailing quarter round to the baseboards. They’d put Ashley in charge of the nails and even—when they thought he wasn’t looking—let her try her hand at hammering a few.

The grin on Ashley’s face was worth more than the quarter round he would have to replace.

The kids got tired around dinnertime and wandered off, one by one. He’d made a firm policy of never feeding them after four, since he’d figured out that once he started, they might move in permanently.