Wishes on the Wind (23 page)

    "Meg is a dear girl, David. I've grown quite fond of her myself in the time since she's been here, and she's proved me wrong for believing that she wasn't up to the chores expected of her, for she's done her share and more. I understand how you feel about    her. She didn't spare herself while caring for you during your recuperation, and I know there's a special bond between you because of it. I also share in your sympathy for her circumstances, for the pain she must be suffering at her mother's death, but it isn't as if she's alone in the world, you know. She has a brother, and an aunt and uncle"

    "She'd be better off without them! Her uncle's a penny-pinching drunkard, and her aunt's an ignorant, browbeaten woman who won't stand up to him. As for her brother, he's headed for trouble, and he'll only make her life a misery if she stays with him."

    "But to take her out of the valley and into this house as part of the permanent staff, to keep her isolated from them… it would never work out! She's a loyal girl. She won't desert them, especially not now."

    "I'll speak to her, Aunt Letty. I'll make her see it's the best thing for her."

    "David" Her gentle heart in her eyes as she looked at the handsome young man who was almost a son to her, Letty hesitated a moment longer before continuing. "Even if I agreed to take the girl in and give her a place with the other servants"

    "A room of her own, aunt. She's younger than they are, and she'll need some space to herself."

    "David" Shaking her head, Aunt Letty continued. "Even if I agreed, and she agreed, what about your uncle? You know how he feels."

    "Meg's not like the rest of them in the valley."

    "You won't be able to convince your uncle of that, you know."

    "If I have your backing, I will." His direct gaze reflecting his determination, David watched her closely. "Aunt Letty…"

    "This is important to you, isn't it, David?"

    "Very important."

    "I knew it was." With another short sigh, Letty shook her head. "You know I can't refuse you anything, dear, so I'll promise you my cooperation."

    "Thank you, Aunt Letty."

    "Wait, David, there's something else I want to say first." Her expression still troubled, Letty continued softly. "I think this is a mistake. Meg belongs with her people, and I think she'll be happier with them, but if she agrees to come and live here as part of our permanent staff, I'll take the matter up with your uncle."

    David's smile fell to a frown at his aunt's unexpected amendment. "How can I bring this up to Meg if you haven't discussed it with Uncle Martin? It would be unfair to her if he objected."

    "You know I'd never ask you to do anything unfair."

    "But if Uncle Martin"

    "I wouldn't worry about it, David. You see, just as I've never been able to refuse you anything, your dear uncle has never been able to refuse me."

    Unexpectedly flushing to the roots of her hair, Letty suddenly averted her eyes, embarrassed. She did not see David's smile widen, or the affection in his expression as his gaze lingered on her a moment longer.

    "I'll talk to Meg about it as soon as she comes back to work."

Chapter 9

    "The girl's been neglecting her position on the hill long enough! It's time she get back to work!"

    Timothy O'Reilly's slurred words rang in the silence of the kitchen. Expecting Meg to return momentarily, Fiona cast a nervous glance toward the outside door. The child nowhere in sight, she turned back to her husband and took a nervous breath. Tim's complexion was mottled and his stance uncertain, and she knew he had drank heavily before coming home to harangue once more. Shaken by his agitation, she responded weakly in return.

    "Me sister was put to her final rest only yesterday, Tim. Meg's attendin' a mass for her poor soul, but she finished her chores before she left."

    "Attendin' masshah! She's playin' a waitin' game, hopin' she'll stay away from her position up there on the hill long enough to make them Langs tire and hire another. Then she'll be free to laze away her days like before. But I'll not stand for it, I tell ye! I'll not spend the rest of me days waitin's for the debts of those two surly brats to be paid!"

    "Yer not wantin' for cash, Tim. The boarders give us a fair income."

    "I'll not have ye tell me what I'm wantin' for! Ye never knew where I went wantin' in the past, and ye don't know now, so close yer blasted mouth before I shut it with the back of me hand!"

    Lowering her head, Fiona turned back to the stove, only to be spun back to face her husband by his rough hand.

    "Yer right to cower, old woman! Ye've been naught but a burden to me from the day we wed, and now ye've brought yer relatives on me like a plague. So I'll tell ye now. The girl goes back to work tomorrow, or she's out of the house, and if the boy speaks a word of sass about it, he's out on the street, too!"

    Turning with an uncertain step, Timothy walked to the doorway and proceeded into the hall. His foot on the first step of the staircase, he shouted in a voice that grew more slurred by the moment. "Tell the girl when she returns, old woman! It's back to work tomorrow or she's out of me house. And her brother, too!"

    Counting her husband's heavy treads as he walked up the steps, Fiona waited for the slam of the bedroom door before releasing a shaken breath.

    Covering her face with her apron in sad desperation, Fiona breathed deeply and wiped the tears from her wrinkled cheeks. No, she'd not let the child return to find her crying. She'd not lay the burden of her tears on those frail shoulders that carried the weight of cares beyond her years. And she'd not let Tim throw the child out. Nay, she'd die before she'd let that happen.

    The church was silent and growing dark in the fading light of late afternoon. Having shed his vestments at the conclusion of mass, Father Matthew hung them neatly on the rack in the sacristy and walked quietly back into the church.

    Few had attended the mass he said for the soul of Mary O'Connor this day, but he had seen the face he sought in the quiet church as he turned for the final blessing. He needed to speak to Meg, and he was relieved to see she was still busy at prayer in the otherwise empty pews.

    The ache in his heart growing as he viewed the sorrow on Meg's small face, Father Matthew took a moment to come to grips with his many anxieties for her. Lingering in the back of his mind was his conversation with John Law, which he had originally dismissed as youthful jealousy. But he had heard of David Lang's unexpected appearance in the graveyard.

    Meg looked up unexpectedly and he attempted a smile. She stood as he came near, but he waved her to a seat and sat beside her.

    "I'm pleased to see you here, Meg. It's my thought that your Ma is smilin' now as she looks down upon you."

    "I've been talking to her, Father Matthew."

    "Have you, now?"

    "Aye, and I could almost hear her voice responding, so sweet was it when you prayed for her."

    Father Matthew swallowed against the thickening in his throat. "I'm glad my prayers give you consolation, Meg."

    "They do. I only wish Sean could find a similar comfort."

    Hesitating in response, Father Matthew took Meg's hand into his own. He smiled at its daintiness, at the long slender fingers   that gripped his hand in return. "Ah, Meg, I fear for Sean as well as you do. When I close my eyes, I see the face of your dear Ma as she asked me to look after his soul, and I know I'm failing her. But there's little I can do except to pray, with him resenting me so."

    "Sean doesn't believe in prayer anymore, Father." Meg's voice dropped to a pained whisper. "He doesn't believe in God."

    A tear slid from the corner of Meg's eye and Father Matthew felt her despair. He wiped the silver path from her cheek with his palm, and unable to resist, brushed back a few unruly curls from her face. It was pure and unblemished, just like Meg.

    "Our Father is a merciful God, Meg. He sees the bitterness in Sean's heart, but He knows the pain from which it stems. And He understands. We must give Sean time to heal, for pressing him will only aggravate the pain of his wounds. They're very deep, Meg, as are yours. But he bears other burdens as well the weight of a man's responsibility before he's truly a man, and a bitterness that would be too heavy a load for any man to carry. We can only pray Sean's anger will eventually fade."

    "Aye, Father."

    "As for yourself, you must pursue your studies even harder. It's the only path to independence in this hard place."

    "Aye, Father."

    John Law's face returning persistently to mind, Father Matthew continued purposefully. "And I remind you not to forget your promise to me, Meg, to come to me with your problems, should any arise. Your Ma asked that I look after you, and it's my wish to fulfill the pledge I made the dear woman."

    Meg's hesitation was momentary. "I know, and I thank you, Father." She stood up and Father Matthew drew himself to his feet, feeling the loss deeply as she slid her hand from his. "But I must go home now. Aunt Fiona will be preparing the evening meal, and another pair of hands will speed her work."

    "And will you be resuming your work at the Langs again?" Taking his opportunity, Father Matthew questioned intently. "Are you still comfortable there, Meg? Does anyone mistreat you or press you beyond your duties?"

    "No, Father, they're kind enough."

    "And the young David Lang he's rumored to be an arrogant one."

    "David's my friend, Father, and he's not what people say."

    "David your friend?" A sudden agitation rising inside him,

    Father Matthew nodded. "But you must remember that friendship doesn't mean the same to all, and that David Lang, with his wealth and advantages, is as different from us poor Irish in the valley as a man can be."

    "No, Father, he's the same inside, he's the same."

    Father Matthew paused in response. "Ah, Meg. I hope you're right."

    Turning away, Meg walked swiftly to the church door, the tap of her quick step echoing against the wooden floor. Within a moment she had slipped from sight, and Father Matthew suffered an acute sense of loss as the door closed behind her.

    Sean did not truly have the heart for Lawler's this afternoon, but he knew he was bound to stay. He looked at the familiar surroundings of the saloon, the tables filling the center of the small room, and the long bar that curved against the side wall where some stood conversing. He glanced at the faces of the men around him, and he was struck by the thought that although his own life had seen heartbreaking change in the last few days, nothing here had changed a bit.

    The room was fairly crowded despite the early hour, and he knew the first shift at the mine had seen its spillage here, for it was from that place that he'd come direct as well as they. It'd been his first thought upon emerging into daylight at the conclusion of his shift, to return home to give Meg any consolation she might be needing. He had been uncomfortable all through the working day, knowing she spent those same hours at home at risk of being exposed to their uncle's drunken ravings. He had questioned the wisdom of advising her to remain away from work awhile longer, and it was then that he decided to urge Meg back to work on the morrow so she would be spared their uncle's savage words.

    But despite his worry, he had declined to go straight home. He had other matters to attend to first. Glancing around the room once more, standing with his lean frame propped against the rear wall, the same half-filled glass in his hand he'd held since his arrival, Sean again eyed the men at the bar. Lenny's bright red head stood out amongst them, and it was for that reason that he had come this way rather than going home as he truly wished. For Lenny was about getting information, and he knew should he be present and nearby, Lenny would share all he knew.

    A sudden burst of laughter all but drowned out the sound of Tom Donnigan's squeaking fiddle as he rendered yet another Irish ditty to unhearing ears, and Sean gave a low snort. Lenny's face was flushed with triumph at the center of that laughing group, and he knew his friend had been successful once more.

    After all, who could suspect the motives of Lenny Dunne? Everyone knew his story, that he and his family had believed the promises of the recruiters and come from County Donegal with high hopes fifteen years ago. There had been six of them then, his Ma, Da, his grandma, two sisters, and himself. But instead of the better life they had been promised, his Da found ''Irish Need Not Apply" signs more plentiful than jobs. Spat upon by most mine owners, his Da also found himself at the bottom of the hiring scale, with the English, Welsh, Italians, and other miscellaneous nationalities getting the better positions available.

    They had spent their first winter in a patch house in Pottsville, waking up at five o'clock in the freezing cold, the convenience ten yards down a snow-covered path where they'd walked in shoes that were nothing more than eight-inch strips of thin leather pockmarked with holes. There'd been no soap for washing, even if the oily, icy water drawn from the pump had held any appeal, and breakfast was no more than lukewarm gruel without milk or sugar.