Wishes on the Wind (10 page)

    "Not as pretty as you."

    Johnny's face flushed even darker as she gave him a disapproving glance. "John, I'm thinking you're a bit young to have such faulty eyesight either that, or you're trying to find my good side."

    Johnny shifted uncomfortably and squinted up at her with a disturbed frown. "Aw, Meg, if you was to stop fighting with me and try some simple talk, we'd be friends by now. I'm getting tired of having you run me off every time I come near you. I've half a mind to give up on you and to go back to the stables"

    "Fine by me."

    "except I don't want to."

    "And suppose I tell you I won't talk to you even if you stay?"

    The extended silence that followed caused Meg to look again toward the bush as, his expression troubled, Johnny responded softly, "You wouldn't do that, would you, Meg? You know I've not a single friend here who's near my age." He made a small grimace. "That fine young lady up there in the house is curious enough to talk to me, all right, but they watch her like a hawk. Besides, she ain't as pretty as you."

    "John Law, I'll not stand for your flattery!"

    "Would you rather I say that you're ugly as a toad and I'll be expecting a wart on my nose if you touch me?"

    A short laugh momentarily brightened Meghan's eyes. "John, you're a foolish boy!"

    The pleasure her smile gave him was obvious, and Meg felt a sudden rush of shame. Had she let the people in this house turn her into a person who would refuse a smile and a kind word to someone in dire need of both? Had she forgotten that Ma always said only the poor of spirit couldn't afford to share a bit of themselves when it was needed?

    "But I suppose you're not much more foolish than one of my own brothers when they were looking to pass the time of day. If you've no objection to staying out of sight behind that bush, you may talk away and I'll respond if I've the chance without revealing myself."

    Almost regretting her concession a short time later, as the persistent young fellow all but overwhelmed her with his unexpected humor, Meghan flashed him a quick, reproving glance and a short, "John, you'll get me dismissed yet."

    Standing unseen a short distance away, David glared as he watched the covert conversation progressing between Meghan O'Connor and the stable boy, Johnny Law. Having come from the mine on an errand for his uncle, he had made his way toward the back entrance of the house, refusing to admit that a nagging, inexplicable concern for the little Irish termagant who had been so outspoken in her contempt for him was the reason for his circuitous route. As he watched, the girl struggled to restrain another burst of laughter, and David's annoyance soared.

    Plagued by guilt at his behavior, he had reviewed his volatile encounters with the O'Connor girl over and over again in his mind. In truth, he was as confused by his own concern as he was by his failure in setting things right between them. It was now obvious, however, that he had wasted valuable time in giving the matter a second's thought, when the girl apparently had not. He felt like a fool, and he resented it badly.

    The girl turned with a short quip that widened young Law's grin, and David's resentment deepened. There was no doubt the girl was brighter than most of her kind, although she did not deign to share her quick mind with him. That haughty little Irish piece was all smiles and laughter for that lanky stable boy hiding behind the hedge, while she had not a civil word for him. The thought rankled, as did the realization that his easy smile and charm, always so effective in the past, were completely impotent on this girl.

    It occurred to David that the girl's response to young Law might be related to the look of adoration so obvious on the fellow's face. Law was looking at her as if the sun rose and set in the bright blue of her eyes. He had half a mind to

    Suddenly exasperated by his own trend of thought, David turned on his heel and made his way back toward the front entrance of the house. Anger marked his step. He'd not had a minute's peace of mind since that afternoon on the hill when the little snip had irritated him into behavior that was embarrassing to him even now. Well, now he was finished with it! The girl was on her own!

    Stepping out of the bright sunlight into the shadows of the house's central foyer, David frowned as his eyes adjusted to the light. Well, he'd leave the arrogant little twit to her cow-eyed stable boy if that was what she wanted.

    Pausing a moment longer, David drew his well-tailored, athletic frame stiffly erect. His arresting hazel eyes darkened with his next thought. It seemed the simple truth of this situation had needed to be brought home to him the hard way. That truth was, that in attempting to befriend the Irish girl from the valley, he had stooped below himself.

    Fiona O'Reilly gave her orderly kitchen a last appraisal. She smoothed her graying hair against her head in a self-conscious gesture and reached behind to untie her apron. Looking toward the staircase to the second floor, she frowned. Mary had grown worse these past two weeks, and she feared her dear sister's time was fast approaching. With that thought, Fiona's nagging guilt’s intensified, and, unable to bear their weight a moment longer, she folded her apron, placed it on a nearby chair, and snatched up her shawl.

    It was early afternoon, and Meghan would not be home for another hour or so. Neither would Tim and Sean, and, last she had looked, Mary was asleep. Fiona left the house and started down the street, her pace slowing only as the simple wooden Church of The Blessed Virgin Mary came into view. Fiona again ran a nervous hand against her hair. It was difficult to enter God's house when ashamed.

    Pulling her shawl over her head, Fiona climbed the few steps to the door. Inside, she crossed herself and slipped into a pew at the rear of the church. She was kneeling in prayer when she noticed that she was not alone. A few rows in front of her, his slight form concealed in the shadows, was Father Matthew. Tears welled in her eyes, and she brushed one away as it slipped down her cheek.

    Embarrassed by her weakness, Fiona did not see Father Matthew rise to his feet and walk toward her. Her head snapped up in surprise at his voice beside her.

    "Are you ill, Fiona?"

    The young priest's concern increased her shame, but courtesy forced her response. "Nay, Father. I'm well."

    Pausing, Father Matthew silently observed the pain in her eyes before continuing in a softer tone. "If a problem of the spirit is troubling you, I'm here to help, Fiona."

    Fiona shook her head, unwilling to risk her voice. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with regrets.

    "Aye, Father, 'tis a problem of the spirit which causes me pain. You see, I'm findin' it hard to understand some things."

    "What things are they?"

    "'Tis a matter of the new burden that's been added to me household at the death of Dennis O'Connor and his boys." Father Matthew stiffened at her words, and Fiona hastened to deny his accusing glance. "No, 'tis not a burden in the way you think, Father. Finances have always been the concern of me husband, Tim, and I've little time for them. But me sister, Mary, is lyin' ill

    abed the full day now, and well…" Fiona's eyes brimmed once more. "Aye, there's the rub."

    "You resent the work you must do in caring for her?"

    "Nay, Father. I love the woman dearly." Fiona's throat filled again, and she swallowed against the emotion which threatened to overwhelm her. "The truth is, I'm findin' it hard to understand why God has put her there instead of me."

    Obviously startled by her statement, Father Matthew hesitated in response, allowing Fiona the opportunity to proceed with her halting words.

    "You see, I've been of little true use as a woman most of me life, Father. I've been married for over thirty years to the same man, and I've failed him."

    "You're too harsh on yourself, Fiona."

    "Nay, I've not given me husband what he wanted most. Not a single child of the six I bore him lived past the first week, and he's a hard and bitter man because of it."

    "You take unnecessary blame on your shoulders, my dear."

    "Nay, 'tis true. The whole of his life me Tim's been jealous of those who have children of their own, and jealous of Dennis O'Connor and Mary most of all. Yer well aware that Tim had no true wish to take Mary and the children into our home. He sees the children he could've had, and he's found a way to relieve his feelin's by takin' things out on them. He feels little sympathy for the plight of Mary and the children 'cause there's no lessening of the love between them. If he could, he would destroy it, ye see, so they might be as miserable as he."

    Shaking his head at the hopelessness in Fiona O'Reilly's eyes, Father Matthew shared her pain. "All you say is probably true, my dear, but you're at fault for none of it."

    "Oh, but I am!" Nodding, unwilling to accept his words of consolation, Fiona held Father Matthew's gaze with her own.

    "I failed me husband, and I'm failin' again because I've not the courage to go against him, ye see. I've not the courage to speak me mind and face his threats by tellin' him he's wrong in abusin' Sean with his anger, and in tryin' to wash the goodness from Meg's heart with his bitterness. I've only the courage to speak me mind when Tim's not present, and to try to soften the edge of Tim's spite. So ye see, I'm not a worthy person a'tall, and with every day that passes, I'm findin' it harder to understand why 'tis Mary, the good, lovin' woman that she is, who's lyin' on her bed, nearin' the end, while 'tis me that could so easily be spared here."

    ''Ah, Fiona…" Father Matthew's young face was pained. "There're so many things we can't reason through, but it's not for us to question God's way."

    "But Father, I fear for the futures of Sean and Meg when Mary passes. And the time's comin' close, ye see."

    "Will you keep them with you then?"

    "Aye!" Her eyes lighting with uncharacteristic determination, Fiona nodded, but her quivering lips betrayed the price of that effort. "I'd follow them out on the street if it came to that."

    Silent for long moments, sympathy for the poor woman's plight clearly visible in his eyes, Father Matthew took Fiona's callused hands to hold them comfortingly in his. "There's little I can do for you, my dear, except to tell you that where your courage is found lacking, your heart's kind and filled with understanding. You're a good woman, Fiona O'Reilly, and you must stop thinking poorly of yourself. And you must continue to share your goodness with the O'Connors, especially the children when Mary's gone. I'll do my best to help you, for I'm committed to them, you see. And in the meantime, we'll pray for the strength to do what we must."

    Pausing, Father Matthew saw unexpressed gratitude in Fiona's eyes, and welling along with it, a light of hope that far surpassed his own. As she lowered her gaze respectfully, Father Matthew began the recitation of a heartfelt prayer.

    "Oh, Mama, Beverly Hutton will think we're barbarians here on this lonely hilltop! Not only did the letter telling us of Mrs. Hutton's intended visit fail to reach us, but they've arrived when every bedroom is dismantled and in a state of disrepair! The beds are even stripped of their linens and the mattresses bare! You know how Beverly loves to ridicule. She'll tell everyone I know about this, and they'll all laugh at me."

    Grace Lang fought to control the trembling of her lower lip at the calamity that had befallen the Lang household. But now facing her mother in the privacy of the master bedroom, she found her mother not in the least sympathetic. Instead, Millicent Lang's pleasant face lost its usual air of languorous tranquility as she grasped her daughter's arm and gave it a firm shake.

    "Grace, you're behaving badly! The Huttons' unexpected arrival is unfortunate, I admit. But I should think you'd know me better than to think I'd allow anyone to view my household in anything but perfect order. Now pull yourself together and go     back downstairs. It's unforgivable of you to have left our guests alone just to follow me upstairs with your foolish whimpering."

    Grace raised her short, pert nose, her pretty face assuming a pettish air at her mother's rebuke.

    "The Huttons aren't alone downstairs, Mama. Papa and David are entertaining them, and you know Abigail and Beverly don't see anyone else at all when David's in the room."

    "I suppose that's true." Pride brought a smile to Letty's lips that faded as she continued. "But that doesn't excuse your absence. Beverly is your friend, and entertaining her is your responsibility."

    "But it's already three o'clock. Mama! How will Cook manage the increased number for dinner?"