Wishes on the Wind (30 page)

    Sean's youthful face tightened. Aye, but the Mollies would not allow injustice to perpetuate. His agreement with the thinking of the Molly Maguires had sparked many discussions with Meg during the past year, and he had finally learned to avoid the subject. Nothing could change the convictions that were burned so deeply inside him, and he had no desire to cause Meg any more grief.

    Taking a familiar turn in the path, Sean continued on his way home. Home. His mind jarring at thought of the word, Sean could not restrain a sneer. Such did he call the place where he lay his head at night and took his meals, but he remembered a time when the word had meant far more. He remembered a time when it had meant love and laughter and caring, instead of tension, bitterness, and hatred that was a festering wound inside him.

    The past year, since Uncle Timothy and he had had the shouting match that had sent Meghan back to the house on the hill, had seen little change in his "beloved" uncle. The man still drank himself into near oblivion each night before coming home to harangue his

    wife and then stagger to bed. As for himself, he still had not rescued Meg from this home where they weren't wanted, or the house on the hill where she was in greater danger still.

    Briefly closing his eyes, Sean felt the failure of it all down to his bones, and he was momentarily overwhelmed by despair. But success in another aspect of his life was close at hand, and it raised his hopes for the future. Despite his youth, he was fairly certain the time was close at hand. He had been accepted into the Ancient Order of Hibernians a few weeks earlier, and with membership in that group an important step had been taken toward his goal. He would soon be with the Mollies in body as he was in spirit, and he'd begin the work of liberation and revenge.

    Slowing his pace, Sean turned a glance at the men who walked the familiar path beside him. Few of them were true friends, most believing him too hostile. Lenny had been absent from work today, and he knew the reason was a secret meeting in Pottsville with a man whose name he dared not speak. He knew the Sons of Molly Maguire were planning something big for those Protestant scum who'd placed the signs "Irish Need Not Apply" on employment offices at mines north of Shenandoah. He knew that Molly's rumored grip on the fields was not rumor at all, and that when she demanded justice, her sons were brought in from distant towns so they could not be identified. As Lenny said, "A favor for a favor."

    His step slowing at the sight of a young woman standing beside the path a few feet away, Sean squinted into the sun as he sought to identify the girl's shadowed features. But that bright blond hair could belong to no other, and Sean felt a jolt of satisfaction at the realization that Sheila McCrea was waiting for him. His smile flashing teeth that were a white slash against his blackened face, Sean stepped off the path at her side, allowing the others to pass him by. His hand moved to her waist, but Sheila shook her head in warning.

    "Take care not to seem too familiar, Sean." Sheila's pleasure at his nearness was obvious, her worshipful gaze familiar, despite her words of caution. "My Da's been watchin' me close of late, and I'd not want him thinkin' anythin' improper was goin' on."

    "Would you keep the truth from the dear man then, Sheila?"

    "Sean, please!"

    "It seems you would." Giving the flushed young woman a brief wink, Sean saw her catch her breath as her gaze dropped to his lips.

    Suddenly grateful for Sheila's appearance and the respite it gave     him from darker thoughts, Sean smiled more broadly. His association with Lenny Dunne and a trip to Pottsville with the worldly fellow at the turn of the year had introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh. He had discovered a part of his nature of which he had been ignorant, and he had indulged that part of himself whenever possible since that time. However, it had not been his plan to seduce his sister's friend.

    Straining to remember, Sean found the first night Sheila and he were together was still unclear in his mind. He remembered the education Lenny afforded him had made him conscious of Sheila in a new way during the times when his sister and she were together. He supposed Sheila had not missed his appreciation of her comely face and womanly figure, although he had been no more friendly than usual. He had caught her admiring glances as well, and although he'd been flattered, he had not approached the girl because of his sister.

    It was an accidental meeting that finally did the trick a night when he'd had too much to drink and been making his way home just when Sheila was returning from visiting with Meg. Less in control of this new side of his nature than usual, his desire for the girl had overcome his weakened inhibitions, and things had moved quickly from there. He had not found it difficult to persuade Sheila to come for a walk with him and she had shown little resistance to his advances.

    However, the words of love she had whispered in his ear had stirred his conscience until it ached past ignoring, and when they had been together since that time, it was because she, not he, came seeking him out.

    Sheila was a dear girl. He knew she had not been with a man before him and she was more loving than he deserved. He owed her for that, but Sean was well aware that the affair between them was unevenly balanced from the start. Sheila's feelings for him were far deeper than his could ever be for her, and he was only too aware that the emotions she stirred in him originated in a far baser part of his anatomy than his heart. But it was no reflection on Sheila's worth that his heart was closed to her, for the bitterness inside him was such that except for the spot kept warm and alive by his dear Meg, his heart had gone cold and dead.

    However, the physical part of him, full of youth and vigor, continued to respond to Sheila. He could only conclude from the look on her face that she was satisfied with a limited part of him, for he'd never lied and said he loved her. As he looked down at    her even now, that same remorseless part of him responded with growing warmth to the sweet flesh he had come to know so well.

    Consoling himself that he gave Sheila no more or less than she asked, Sean stared at her full lips until the blood rushed to her cheeks. She became more flustered and Sean teased, ''And to what do I owe the honor of seein' you here today, Sheila, my dear?"

    Her face flushing darker still, Sheila bowed her head. "I… I've not seen you in a week. I was wonderin' if you was angry with me, or if you'd found another girl to while away your time with."

    Sheila's eyes darted up to his at the conclusion of her halting speech and Sean saw her intense discomfort. Pity welled within him for the girl's plight. How difficult it must be to feel so strongly about a person when the feeling was not returned full measure. But while he could not offer her what he did not feel, Sean knew he could offer her honesty instead.

    His teasing smile falling away, Sean spoke softly. "I've not found another, nor have I been lookin'. You know me well, Sheila, and you know what's inside me. And if you're satisfied with what you know, it'll do for me."

    Tears glittered in Sheila's gaze. "Aye, it'll do."

    Sean's heart began a familiar pounding. "Do you want to meet me tonight, then? After supper? It's still warm enough in the mill."

    "Aye, the mill then."

    Turning without another word, Sheila walked back toward the patch. Waiting only until she slipped out of sight, Sean continued home, anticipating the night to come.

    The sky above them was a clear blue undulled by the haze of coal dust which covered the valley, the air warmed by the late afternoon sun as David and Meg walked together. The anxiety that had driven David home an hour earlier was quickly dissipating as his gaze followed Meg's progress through the waist-high weeds she called flowers.

    The cleaning of Grace's room behind her, Meg had resisted him again when he asked her to walk with him so they might talk, but he had expected as much. That was Meg. He had all but dragged her to this particular area on the opposite side of the hill where others seldom ventured, but from the moment they reached this small clearing, everything changed.

    Tiny purplish-blue, star-shaped blossoms on long, scrawny stems they were, but she was thrilled by them. She already had a fistful, and he was beginning to think she wouldn't be satisfied until she picked the field clean. But while he was annoyed at being ignored, he was glad it was he who had put that sparkle in her eye. He cherished her delight, and he could not help being amused by the paradox that was Meghan O'Connor. One moment as mature as a woman, the next moment as simple as a child, he found every facet of her complex personality true enchantment.

    Standing as he was now, waiting for Meg's enthusiasm for the peculiar wildflowers to wane, he felt a familiar discomfort swell within him. Was that young woman whose slim, curving figure was silhouetted against the late afternoon sky really Meg? It seemed she had blossomed before his eyes after reaching her fifteenth year in spring. The occasion had gone unmarked by celebration, at Meg's request, and she had promptly refused the fine gold chain he attempted to give her, telling him it would be cause for bloodshed should Sean come across it in her things. He had been angry and disappointed. For some reason he'd gotten particular pleasure in imagining it sparkling around her slender neck and knowing it had come from him.

    It had occurred to him that he was getting overly possessive of the girl, and he had searched his soul painfully then, only to find himself more confused than before. Meg was, after all, a servant in his house a free agent who owed him and the family nothing more than a full day's work for her wage, but it hadn't taken him long to admit that the relationship between them was not that simple.

    And she had grown so lovely. Where the top of her head had not reached past his mid-chest before, it was now even with his shoulder, and the additional inches had worked delicious changes on her slender frame as well. Her shoulders were as narrow and delicate as they ever were, and her arms as slender and quick at their tasks, but the length of her had stretched from hip to small, round breasts in gentle curves and a swaying bottom that was discernible even in the somber black uniform she wore.

    Turning unexpectedly toward him, Meg laughed and waved the wild bouquet at him, but David did not return her smile. She turned back to her chore, but her image was still clear before his mind's eye. An ache started deep inside him at the sculptured planes of her cheek where there was only childish softness before, at unruly dark hair that was now an incredible halo of gleaming curls for the maturing beauty of her face. That same ache made him suddenly restless, and he found himself becoming angry at the time she wasted on flowers when he needed to talk to her about important things very important things.

    Striding forward, suddenly unwilling to waste another moment, David took her hand. "You have enough of those weeds now, Meg. Come on, I want to talk to you about something."

    "Just a few more, David. Aunt Fiona won't be able to believe that I've found these starbursts here."

    "I said you have enough."

    Not waiting for her reply, David pulled her behind him, almost dragging her as he strode toward a log that formed a natural seat nearby.

    "Let go of my hand, David!"

    Ignoring her, David maintained his relentless grip until he reached the log. Turning toward her at last, he ordered gruffly, "Sit down."

    "I take your orders in the house, David, but I'll not play the servant out here. If you've a mind to give commands, go back to the kitchen. There's those in there who'll bow and scrape for the pure love of it."

    David went still inside. "But not you, Meg. You've no love of taking orders."

    "No, I've not."

    "What
do
you love, Meg?" His throat unexpectedly tight as the unplanned question escaped his lips, David felt his heart begin a slow pounding. Looking down into the translucent blue of her eyes, he was as intensely aware of the glacial silver in their depths that signaled her rising temper as he was of his own quickening of emotion. Raising a hand to her cheek, he brushed back a dark tendril, sliding his hand into her silky curls to hold her fast. "
Who
do you love, Meg? Do you love me?"

    David's abrupt question surprised himself as much as it did Meg. Meg remained silent, her color draining, and the ache inside him expanded to encompass the whole of his heart.

    "Do you love me at all, Meg?"

    Meg's continued silence cut him deeply, and his gaze dropped to her still lips with the thought that his dear Meg, who often said more than she should, could not bring herself to respond. He feared he knew why.

    Slipping his arms around her, David pulled her close. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her his Meg. Somewhere    deep inside him he had known from the first that she belonged in his arms. It had merely been a matter of waiting to hold Meg, the woman, not Meg, the child. And this budding woman who was Meg felt so good and right pressed tight against him.

    Meg remained rigid in his arms, and David drew back to look down into her white face. Speaking words that came from the heart, words he did not need to contemplate but simply breathed into the truth of the moment, he whispered, "I asked you if you love me because I love
you
, Meg. But you've always known I love you, haven't you?" Meg maintained her silence as David continued. "It's your fault, you know. You worked your way into my heart, and you're there to stay, so don't be angry. I just want you to love me back. Even if it's only a little bit for now."