Wishes on the Wind (2 page)

    Over his dead body!

    David's handsome face stiffened into familiar, obstinate lines. Sparks of gold danced with angry determination in his hazel eyes as he drew himself erect. The unconscious posture of his tall, lean frame reflected the arrogance and tenacity so much a part of his strong personality as he muttered, "No, damn it! I will not allow Fabian to be gelded!"

    David darted a glance over his shoulder at the beautiful animal behind him. The great fellow would sire a stable that would one day be famous in this section of the country. His uncle had imported an Arabian mare who would produce Fabian's first foal within a few months. Uncle Martin and he had already agreed that when he came of age in a few years, and received his inheritance, he would reimburse his uncle for the total investment and the stable would be his. It was a dream he held dear, and he would not jeopardize it with a foolish moment's loss of concentration today.

    Annoyed with himself and the need to take a circuitous route back to the stables so he might avoid Townsend's critical eye, David urged the big horse to a faster step with another tug at the lead.

    "Step lively, you lazy brute! I'm not going to eat a cold lunch    today and miss Abigail Hutton's visit because of you!" His lip twitched with vexation at the thought of losing the opportunity to further ingratiate himself with the blonde daughter of his uncle's friend. He added impatiently, "And you can stop limping. Your leg is hardly bruised."

    Turning back to the winding trail, David kicked a rock out of his path, and continued walking. His disposition was becoming more foul with every step. To his discomfort, he had discovered that his expensive, custom-made riding boots were not made for extended walks, and that this trail was much longer than he had remembered. Still, it would save him some embarrassing explanations and some fast talking if he

    Fabian snorted, suddenly straining backwards, his eyes bulging with fright, and David turned toward him, taking a tighter grip on the lead. Allowing the animal a short retreat to salve his fear, he assessed the area and frowned when he came up with nothing that should have spooked the animal. Satisfied the threat existed only in Fabian's mind, David again attempted to lead the horse forward, only to have him balk more violently than before. Glaring, his temper already short, David brushed his heavy brown hair back from his forehead with an angry hand.

    "Damn you, horse! I'm your only ally here. Give me any more problems and I'll let them take the knife to your tender parts after all!"

    Another attempt to lead Fabian forward failed as miserably as before, and David attempted to control his impatience as the horse drew back as far as possible from a portion of the trail all but obscured by a huge honeysuckle bush. A small movement in the bush started the horse snorting anew and David shook his head with disgust.

    "You won't take another step until I flush out whatever's frightening you, will you? All right, you overgrown coward."

    Taking a moment to secure Fabian's lead over a low-hanging branch nearby, David leaned down and rustled the bush. Nothing emerged and David shook it harder, halting abruptly as he spied a shadowed form within the sweet-smelling mass. He reached in. His hand closed around a warm, slender arm, and with a grunt of surprise, he pulled a slight, disheveled girl out into the open.

    Wildly curly hair covered with dried leaves and webs hung in the girl's eyes, partially obscuring her face, and a long, nasty scratch marked one cheek. The faded dress stained with grass and mud that covered her thin, adolescent body marked her a child    from the valley, but the spirit shining from her brilliant blue eyes was as much of a shock as her insolence when she commanded, "Let go of my arm!"

    David glared. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

    "I said, let go of my arm!"

    "I give the orders here! Do you realize what you did? You nearly spooked my horse into bolting!"

    "Don't be blaming me if you can't control your horse!" The girl swept him with a deprecating glance that brought a flush to his cheek. "If the great beast is too much for you, you shouldn't be riding him!"

    Incensed, David squinted into the girl's small, white face. It wasn't bad enough that his bloody horse had thrown him, that his rump and leg were throbbing painfully, that Fabian was limping as well as he, and that he was forced to sneak back to the stables in order to avoid a confrontation with the head groom. Now he had to suffer the insults of a dirty little snip from the patch who made no bones whatever about her thoughts on his horsemanship!

    Gripping the girl's arm tighter, David growled from between clenched, perfectly shaped teeth, "I asked you a question. What are you doing here?"

    "That's none of your business!"

    Unable to remember ever having been more angry in all of his eighteen years, David responded, "Can't you read? This is private property. That sign at the bottom of the hill says, 'No Trespassing'!"

    The girl's bright eyes momentarily wavered before she raised her chin a notch higher and glowered, "Can't YOU read?"

    David dropped the girl's thin arm abruptly. Certain she was well aware of his identity and his right to be there, and just as certain that if he did not release her he would probably end up wringing her skinny little neck, David stepped back. His eyes were blazing.

    "You're part of that Irish riff-raff from the patch, aren't you? I suppose your father's in his favorite
she been
, too drunk to keep his daughter home where she belongs, but I"

    The girl's sudden leap at him was unexpected. Staggering backwards under her clawing, pounding attack, David twisted his foot on a stone and fell down on his back. In a second the girl was atop him, her small fists pummeling his face and shoulders as she shouted, "Take that back everything you said about my father! Take it back, I said!"

    Finally succeeding in grasping the girl's flailing fists, David    held her immobile, stunned by the rage in her flushed face as it loomed over his. A deft turn reversed their positions, putting him atop the girl's squirming form as he subdued her struggles with more difficulty than he cared to admit. Confused by her unexpected violence, and suddenly embarrassed that the exchange between this child and himself had come to this, he questioned roughly, "What's the matter with you? Are you crazy?"

    The girl was motionless beneath him, but fury was evident in her eyes as well as her tone.

    "Let me up."

    "I asked you"

    "Let me up!"

    Realizing he had no recourse, David released the girl's trembling hands and stood up. She scrambled to her feet, her bright eyes brimming as she raised her chin proudly.

    "Don't worry, I'll leave. And you needn't worry that I'll be back. Now that you've been here, this place is soiled."

    Not allowing time for response, the girl turned and ran down the path and within moments was out of sight. Perplexed, David stared after her for a few moments before reaching for Fabian's reins.

    Fabian was walking docilely behind him a few minutes later, when David became conscious of the bitter taste of blood and a dull throbbing in his upper lip. Raising his hand to his mouth, David shook his head, incredulous. The little chit had bruised him!

    David gave a harsh laugh and attempted to dismiss the nagging truth that he had handled the unexpected situation with the girl badly. A low snort from behind interrupted his thoughts, and David turned toward Fabian with a muttered curse. Resuming his step a moment later, David was determined to forget the girl, her welling blue eyes, and his own unspoken regrets.

    Her breath still coming in short, gasping gulps after her rapid flight down the hill, Meghan glanced over her shoulder. Satisfied that she had left David Lang far behind her, she slowed her pace. A sharp sense of desolation returned as the familiar, denuded landscape of the valley closed around her. Coal dust did its work well. There was little beauty left here. Even the few patches of green edging the dirt road were covered with the fine, gritty residue.

    Making a quick turn, Meghan headed toward the bank of the    nearby stream. Pausing as she reached the edge, she attempted to assess her reflection in the rippling water. Despairing at the effort, she consoled herself that perhaps it was kinder that she was spared the full effect of her humiliating appearance.

    Meghan had no doubt that she looked as much the hooligan as she had behaved only a short time before. Her dress was a mess, and she could feel the sting of a scratch that stretched the full length of her cheek. The thick, unruly hair that tumbled to her shoulders was filled with the residue from her retreat into the honeysuckle bush, and she knew she would have a difficult time explaining the grass and mud stains that had resulted from her rough and tumble with the haughty David Lang. The heat of restrained tears still burning her eyes, she also knew she could not return home in this condition.

    Leaning down, Meghan scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on her face. Gritting her teeth against the sting on her cheek, she scrubbed her skin and dried her face with her skirt. She then ran her fingers through the stubborn snarls of her hair in an attempt to restore a semblance of order. Soon realizing the effort was useless, Meghan felt tears of angry frustration again fill her eyes. David Lang's ridicule had not yet faded from her mind, and Meghan felt her hatred for the arrogant, privileged nephew of Mr. Martin Lang soar anew.

    "Meghan…"

    Whirling at the unexpected sound of her name, Meghan faced Father Matthew as his kindly brown eyes surveyed her disheveled appearance with concern.

    "What happened, Meghan?"

    Raising her chin, Meghan fought for control. Finally able to trust her voice, she responded unexpectedly, "Can you read, Father?"

    Surprise reflected on his thin, clean-shaven face, Father Matthew nodded. "Yes, of course I can read, my dear."

    "Will you teach me?"

    Pausing only the moment it took to absorb Meghan's unexpected request, Father Matthew nodded again. "I'll be happy to, Meghan. We can start tomorrow afternoon in the rectory if you like."

    "Thank you. I'll be there."

    Turning without another word, Meghan started rapidly down the path toward home.

    Her slender, childlike figure silhouetted in the kitchen doorway a short time later, Meghan hesitated as Aunt Fiona looked up from the well-floured breadboard at which she worked. The thickset matron's face moved into lines of concern.

    "Meghan, m'dear, what happened to ye?"

    "I… I fell."

    "Are ye all right, then?"

    "Yes. Is Ma still sleeping?"

    "Aye, mind not to wake her. 'Tis best she sleep awhile longer. She was fair worn out after she finished up this mornin'." Aunt Fiona gave her head a worried shake. "I'm thinkin' yer mother's lookin' poorly and can do with a tonic from Dr. McGee."

    "I'll speak to her about it."

    Nodding, Aunt Fiona turned back to her work, and Meghan took the opportunity to escape, grateful her aunt was again engrossed in her own thoughts.

    Moments later, Meghan paused at the doorway of the room Sean and she shared with her mother, the sound of her mother's deep, steady breathing temporarily soothing her fears. There was no denying Mary O'Connor's chronic illness had worsened since the funeral. Her coughing seizures had become more debilitating, and a drastic weight loss had stolen the last traces of the refinement of feature which had been her only claim to beauty. But it was the absence of hope in her mother's warm brown eyes since they had lost their house in the patch and moved in with Uncle Timothy which caused her true concern.

    Meghan stepped silently into the room and carefully removed her only change of clothing from the dresser drawer. It was not that the small patch house where they had lived with Da and the boys was very much, really. Standing in the shadow of the Lang Colliery, it was one shack in a cluster of a few dozen company-owned homes on a crooked, unpaved street. No more or less than those around it, it was framed from one-inch planks and clapboard that never knew a drop of paint, and it consisted of two small rooms with one glassless window in each. The dirt floor was often wet with rain from the leaking roof, and there were holes in the side walls. The small coal stove used for cooking and heat was fed with coal gathered from rail-car spillage, and it was never warm enough during the cold months of winter. It was crowded and uncomfortable with little privacy, but it had been home.

    Not so this much larger house where the presence of Mother,    Sean and herself was suffered with Uncle Timothy's poorly concealed resentment. Meghan was well aware that were it not for Father Matthew's intervention, her uncle would have stood silently by when, unable to meet the rent, they were thrown out on the street. Increasing the difficulty of their situation was the realization that the room they now shared had formerly been let to boarders, a loss of income Uncle Timothy did not take lightly.