Wishes on the Wind (14 page)

    "Mama, what's wrong with David?"

    Curling her arm around Grace's shoulder, Letty drew her along down the hall.

    "Dr. Biel says David is suffering a form of shock, dear. The burns on his face are minor, although the ones on his hands are a bit more severe. It's the wounds he suffers in his mind that are the true problem."

    "Mama, his eyes…"

    "He can see, dear, but he's suffered a trauma. Right now our only fear is" Momentarily unable to go on, Letty took a deep breath, aware that her brimming eyes were causing a resumption of her daughter's agitated state. She attempted a smile. "As you know, David hasn't eaten since that night, and we've only been able to get a little liquid past his lips. If he continues this way for much longer, Dr. Biel is worried that he might"

    "Oh, Mama!" Breaking down into sobs, Grace threw her arms around her mother, resting her pale head on the woman's shoulder. "I don't want anything to happen to David. I'd be so lonely without him."

    Realizing tears streaked her own cheeks as well, Letty patted her daughter's back and whispered in a breaking voice, "Then I suppose we must do all we can to help him. And we must pray,   Grace. David is such a good boy. Surely our prayers will be answered."

    Her gentle heart breaking, Letty led her daughter down the hall.

    Meg climbed the rear staircase to the second floor, a deep frown marring her clear brow. There had been many changes in the Lang household since the day of the fire. She was now allowed to work on the second floor with Margaret due to the older woman's increased duties in sharing the care of David Lang.

    Stepping onto the second floor, Meg took a deep breath. Sean's shared confidence the previous night had left its mark on her, and she was greatly ill at ease. The former antagonism she had felt for David Lang had turned to guilt with the realization that one of her own had been responsible for his injuries. In truth, if the household were not so preoccupied, she was certain they would easily have read the guilt on her face. Strangely, though, her guilt only made her resent the young master more.

    Meghan had not entered David Lang's room nor seen him since the fire, and she was glad. Mrs. Lang had personally expressed her appreciation for Meghan's help in rescuing her nephew. She supposed this new freedom in the house was Mrs. Lang's way of showing her appreciation, but Meg was not particularly impressed with her new "honor." As far as she was concerned, the farther she stayed away from David Lang, the better.

    Upon reaching his bedroom door, Meg knocked lightly. It had become her duty to deliver Mr. David's meal to Margaret, and to return an hour later to bring the tray back to the kitchen. There its untouched contents caused a new round of sniffles and worried clucks from the staff below. Were it not for Mabel's faulty legs, Meg would have been spared the chore; and she wished very desperately she had, so greatly did she despise it.

    Frowning when her knock did not bring the usual response, Meg waited a moment longer and knocked again. A sluggish step sounded from beyond the door in the moment before it was drawn open to reveal Margaret's white face.

    Stunned by the maid's sickly appearance, Meg was silent as Margaret whispered weakly, "I'm not feeling well, miss, as you can doubtless see. The mistress will return shortly, but I've not the strength to wait. You may tell her when she arrives that it's the old complaint she’ll understand. In the meantime, you may take my place here."

    Meghan's gaze swept past the woman toward the unmoving shape on the bed, but she did not move.

    ''In here now, miss! I've not much strength left, and Mr. David can't be left alone."

    Meghan took a few tentative steps toward the bed as the door closed behind Margaret. Still, she hesitated. It was not as if the sight of a sleeping male was unfamiliar to her. The small patch house where she'd grown up with Da and the boys had allowed little privacy. Nor was it the idea of sickness itself. Was it not she who had nursed Sean through the month-long illness which has kept him out of the shaft that fateful day the others were killed?

    But, somehow, this was different.

    Quietly approaching the bed, Meghan noted the elaborate comforter that covered David's still form, the lace-trimmed bed linens and pillow slips on which he lay, those that had been washed with her own hands. They were far different from the simple cotton used at home, as was the fine lawn nightshirt that covered his broad, motionless shoulders.

    Laying the tray on a nearby table, Meghan looked at David's still face, and a sudden anger transfused her. He was hardly marked at all! His handsome face bore a tender, reddish look, similar to the look of skin irritated by the first of the summer sun's hot rays, but beyond that, it had not a scar. Looking at his hands, Meghan saw they were both bandaged and the flesh exposed above the wrist had showed signs of a deeper burn. Aye, there would be some pain there, but she'd seen many a man suffer similar injuries, and worse.

    Studying him more closely, Meghan saw his dark, waving hair had been badly singed, and that it appeared his well-shaped brows had suffered a similar fate. She was staring at him with increasing concentration when his eyes opened suddenly, and he gave a short tortured cry.

    Meghan jumped back in surprise, expecting a sharp reprimand typical of his difficult personality, but there was no recognition in David Lang's gaze. Instead, she saw a frenzy stir to life as unseen terrors were released before his mind's eye. Suddenly twisting and turning in the throes of his vivid nightmare, David called out desperately, sending tremors of ear down her spine.

    As she watched, his torment grew visibly stronger, and Meghan's fears slipped away as an unexpected anguish came to life inside her.

    Ashamed of her harsh judgment of him, and of the bitterness   that had allowed her to acknowledge no pain but her own, Meghan stepped closer to the bed. Taking the cloth that lay on the nightstand, she dipped it into the basin of cool water there. Without a second thought, she sat down on the side of the bed and began to bathe his anguished face.

    David's eyes closed and his agitation appeared to lessen. Encouraged, Meghan dampened the cloth once more and placed it against his lips. His mouth moved lightly against it, and Meghan marveled at how different he appeared with arrogance absent from his even features. He looked as vulnerable and appealing as her own dear brothers. Like her brothers, aye, but different in a way that touched a new place inside her. However, the tenderness she felt was as true and full as if he were one of her own.

    Slipping into a mode of gentle consolation which mimicked her dear mother's soft brogue, Meghan leaned down to whisper in David's ear as Ma had so often comforted her when she was ill.

    "Rest tight in yer mind, and cease yer worryin'. Ye've those who love ye and bear yer care gladly. Yer sufferin', aye, but it'll come to an end if ye stir yer mind from that place of dark shadows. Look up and open yer eyes again to really see. 'Tis a bright day full of sunshine and light, and ye've been given the blessin' of life."

    Her own thoughts momentarily darkening, Meghan paused, her quiet brogue slipping away as she continued softly. "Open your eyes, David Lang, and look about. You've loved ones all around you, and a life far better than many. You mustn't cast it away because of a faint heart."

    David had grown still under her ministrations, and, encouraged, Meghan damped the cloth once more to run it over his face. His eyes opened again, but she remained perched on the side of his bed, her former fears allayed as she mused that perhaps Father Matthew was right. Perhaps she would come to know and understand these Langs after all, and the bitterness would disappear.

    Meg was running the cloth against David's cheek when she realized that his eyes searched her face, that the peculiar ring of green that surrounded the dark pupils of his eyes had widened so that it almost excluded the soft brown rim. It was then that she saw the familiar lines of a frown crease his forehead and saw him blink.

    Her heart beginning a steady hammering, Meg smiled, almost   unwilling to speak for fear her hopes would be dashed to disappointment.

    "Tell me true, Mr. David. Are you really awake or are you looking at me through eyes that don't see?" David continued to stare, and she prompted softly, "Do you hear me, truly?"

    David Lang's full, parched lips moved in a faint whisper, and Meg's heart pounded louder. Leaning down, she put her ear to his mouth and strained to hear as he whispered once more.

    Jerking back as the grating sound registered in her mind, she stared at him in silence, only to hear him rasp more clearly than before. "It
is
you. What are you doing here?"

    Uncertain that he had merely changed one haunting dream for another, David blinked again at the clear blue eyes returning his stare. But there was no response to his question, and David searched the small, heart-shaped face above his with growing confusion. He had been lost in a nightmarish world for so long. Even now as that still face stared down at him, he remembered the horror of eyes that blazed with fire, the choking thickness that filled his lungs, burning him. Shrill cries of pain, some of them his own, still echoed in his ears, and he fought their terrifying control of his senses.

    Still the girl didn't speak, and David fought an escalating fear. He remembered the soft voice that penetrated his dark dreams. It was different from the others, speaking in a quiet, lilting tone that was foreign to his mind. But it soothed him as the others had not, and he sensed in it a note that went beyond understanding.

    Then the voice changed, and he recognized it more clearly. With recognition came disbelief that forced him awake, and his eyes opened once more to a clear, brilliant gaze bathing him with unexpected concern. The concern he saw there comforted him, but it was the unexpected smile that forced the first words from his lips.

    But there was no response.

    David's mouth was parched and his head was pounding. He licked his dry lips. The girl touched the moist cloth to his mouth again, and he raised his hand to hold hers fast, only to gasp at the pain the effort caused him.

    "Breathe deep. That's right. Da always said that a man was master over pain when he breathed deep and firm."

    David wanted to speak. He wanted an answer to his question.

    He wanted to know why this girl who so despised him now sat on the side of his bed and consoled him.

    And he wanted to know why he wanted her to remain.

    The girl was slipping her slender arm under his neck and was raising a glass to his lips. The cool water was as sweet as nectar to him and he grunted his protest as she allowed him only a few, short sips.

    "No, you mustn't overdo. In a little while you may have some more."

    Submitting to her restrictions without further protest, David allowed himself to be lowered back to his pillow. When she had settled him down, weakness began taking its toll even as he managed to rasp again, "What are you doing here?"

    There was a long silence as the girl's expression became pensive. When she finally spoke, her response gave him little enlightenment, and as his eyes drifted closed her cryptic reply echoed in the shadowed chambers of his mind.

    "I thought that I came to help heal you, but now I wonder if the healing might not be my own."

    Father Matthew was uncomfortably warm, but he was uncertain whether the weather or the circumstance caused his discomfort as he made his way up the familiar narrow street toward the O'Reillys' front door. Surely the sun was warm on this fine afternoon, but the breeze was brisk enough to prevent overheating. He could only conclude that the urgent request he had received a short time earlier to visit with Mary O'Connor was the true source of his disquiet.

    Squinting as a gust of wind raised the fine dust of the road to sting his face, Father Matthew turned briefly to the side. His vision clear, he ascended the steps to the O'Reillys' front door and knocked.

    Father Matthew rubbed a hand across his troubled brow. He had come to console Mary O'Connor, but in truth, it was Meghan he was worried about. She was caught in a morass from which she had little hope of escaping and he feared her bright light would be squandered.

    Checking his thoughts abruptly, Father Matthew felt a flush of shame color his cheeks. So great was his concern for the daughter, that he was giving little thought to the mother who lay in her deathbed within this house. Sparing not another moment, Father Matthew knocked again. The sound of rushing footsteps from   within revealed the anxiety that awaited his arrival, and he prepared for the worst.

    Fiona greeted him soberly and Father Matthew followed her upstairs. Cautiously opening the door to Mary O'Connor's room, he released a short, relieved breath, for as frail and white as was Mary, her eyes were clear and strong with determination. His smile sincere, he approached the bed and took her hand.