Wishes on the Wind (36 page)

    Her mind was reeling. David was trembling as well as he held her breathlessly close, and she ached with the loving agony of being in his arms. She knew he needed her in a way he had never needed anyone else and the knowledge was at once heady and intimidating as it ignited a new round of emotions within her.

    Unexpectedly, David separated himself from her, holding her at arms' length. A short protest escaped her lips and he shook his head, the tribulation visible on his handsome face becoming more intense.

    "No, Meg, please" His broad chest heaved against his finely tailored jacket and agitated specks of gold stirred in his eyes as he raked her with his gaze. "Don't do this to me." At her obvious confusion, he continued hoarsely. "Don't make it harder for me. It's taking every bit of strength I have to stop right now. It's going too fast. You know that, don't you? I don't want you hating me later. I want you to understand the way you feel and to be as certain as I am that it's right between us. I want you to trust me."

    "I trust you, David."

    David's eyes closed briefly at her reply. "I know, but the problem is that I don't know if I can trust myself." Suddenly drawing her back into his arms, David crushed her close against him, his cheek against her hair. "Meg, I made an excuse to Uncle Martin and slipped home to see you because I couldn't concentrate on my work for thoughts of you. But I promised myself that I wouldn't make the same mistakes again, and I'm trying."

    The warmth of his arms allowing her the consolation her aching spirit sought, Meg closed her eyes. Yes, she knew he was trying. They had been together many times since that stormy day two weeks ago, in meetings both planned and unplanned. They had taken turns talking and listening. David had told her that he had instructed Townsend to arrange a job for Johnny Law in Philadelphia, and her conscience was partially appeased to know Johnny had not made up that story to spare her additional concern.

    Their attempts to learn from each other had seen little progress, however, except for the loving that grew more potent every day. Although she had fought acknowledging it, the basis for the unidentifiable force that had drawn David and her together was now totally clear to her. She knew that David had been correct. Loving came naturally to her especially when it came to loving him.

    The colliery whistle in the valley below them sounded the end of the day shift, returning reality with a harsh slap as it forced to Meg's mind a vision of miners emerging from the shafts. She heard their ragged coughs, saw their blackened faces, and watched their lagging steps and she saw the colliery office from which the Langs viewed it all with little sympathy for the plight of the men below them.

    A sudden sadness overwhelming her, Meghan acknowledged her fear that where David's heart might easily touch hers, there was still a breach between them that might never be spanned.

    "Meg"

    Aware that she had stiffened in David's arms, Meg suddenly drew back. "I have to get back to the kitchen, David."

    "Not yet."

    "Aye, David, now."

    "Are you angry with me?" Puzzled by her sudden withdrawal as she shook her head in reply, David pressed further. "Then what's wrong?"

    "Cook will be looking for me."

    David's face tightened, and Meg knew he saw through her excuse. She raised her hand to touch his cheek in a conciliatory departing gesture as she turned to go. Cupping her hand with his, David pressed her palm to his lips. The heat of his kiss scorched her skin, and, unable to speak past the sudden thickness in her throat, Meg withdrew her hand and turned back to the house.

    "And so, you see, Fiona, I've been worrying about Meghan. It's not like her to miss her lessons the way she has these past two weeks, even though her excuses seem valid."

    Her lined face pale, Fiona turned to the stove. Father Matthew had arrived at her house a few minutes earlier. She had been surprised and apprehensive when she saw him at the door, for it was the middle of the afternoon and a visit from him at an hour when Meg and Sean were both absent seemed cause for alarm. Her intuition had not misled her.

    Blinking rapidly, Fiona picked up a cloth and gripped the handle of the kettle, using the time to absorb Father Matthew's statement as he sat at the table behind her. Meg had missed her lessons with Father Matthew these past two weeks? How could that be true? She had been coming home at the same late hour thrice a week, just like before, with no explanation for the time. Of course, she'd not asked Meg for an explanation, believing the girl to be with the priest as was her usual custom, but now

    Fiona avoided Father Matthew's gaze as she turned and reached for the teapot. She poured the steaming water and watched the dried tea leaves swirl, feeling the young priest's eyes on her all the while as a slow heat began creeping up from the faded collar of her dress. She knew the moment his gaze became more intense and her discomfort increased.

    "Is something wrong, Fiona?"

    "No, nothin's wrong."

    Clumsy with nervousness, Fiona turned abruptly. Hitting the cup she had set for herself with her elbow, she knocked it crashing to the floor. So distracted was she that she gave not a thought to the china, which was her best and which her miserly husband would refuse to allow her to replace, as she dropped to her swollen knees to pick up the pieces. A hand on her shoulder turned her to look up at Father Matthew.

    "Fiona, please. I didn't come here to upset you. I'll do that."

    Seated across the table from the priest a few minutes later, Fiona raised her tea to her lips, aware that her hand was shaking.

    Father Matthew was speaking to her, but she heard not a word, so disturbed and bemused was she.

    Dear Meg… dear Meg… What should she do? If the child wasn't where she
should
be, she was where she
shouldn't
be it was that simple. But when it concerned a girl as honest and straightforward as Meg, it wasn't simple at all. If she had been working late at the house on the hill, she would've said so, and it was difficult to believe the girl had been on errands she forgot to mention six times during the last two weeks. So where
had
she been? Fiona's heart began pounding anew. Aye, where?

    To her despair, Fiona believed she knew.

    ''Fiona?"

    Fiona's head jerked up at Father Matthew's soft pronunciation of her name, and an instinctive response poured from her lips. "The child's been workin' long hours on the hill. They're doin' some special cleanin' up there. Cleanin' always cleanin'."

    "Fiona…"

    Guilt flushed through her at the untruths she had spoken, but Fiona strove to maintain an unblinking facade as she responded, "Aye, Father?"

    "You're preoccupied and nervous. Does your unrest have to do with Meg?"

    "Nay, Father. Not with Meg! The girl's the light of me life, all I hold dear in the world. If I be upset, it's with the state of affairs in this house, here, with me husband comin' home each night in worse condition than the last, and with the boarders bein' more demandin' and himself sayin' I'm not workin' hard enough to please 'em. It's with me worry for the boy, Sean, who's away from the house more often than not without givin' explanation when asked, and the realization that I know where he's headin' although I can't see a way to stop him. And it's with the thought that the weak woman that I am, I'm not fit to guide these children onto the right path when the time might come that they need guidin'."

    Father Matthew's intense brown eyes softened with compassion, and Fiona's guilt intensified. Aye, lies, all of it, every word she'd spoke. Them worries was always with her, but it was fear for Meg that now shook her. But betray her to the priest when the child sought to keep her privacy? Never!

    "I've no answers for you, Fiona." The concern in Father Matthew's tone added to Fiona's guilt, but she strove to concentrate on his words, if only to escape her rioting thoughts as he  continued. "But when the spirit is troubled, a child of God turns to the Father." Purposefully draining his cup, Father Matthew smiled and drew himself to his feet. "When Meghan returns, tell her I was askin' for her, and if she's not had time to come for her lessons this afternoon, tell her to stop by on Saturday. I'll give her some work to do at home. Will you do that?"

    "Aye, Father."

    Again placing his hand on her shoulder, Father Matthew smiled. "Some of us have a difficult lot in life, but we must remember, if our Father allots it so, it's because He feels we're hardy enough to bear it. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Fiona, so smile, and remember, God loves you."

    "Aye, Father."

    Standing in the hall a few minutes later, Fiona watched as the front door closed behind Father Matthew. At the sound of the click, she released a tense breath and allowed a reply to his last statement to surface in her mind.

    
Aye, God loves me. But on this earth, only two've shown they care at all.
One was gone to the heaven she had earned, and the other was slipping away from her. And she feared the reason why.

    What should she do? Uncertainty mingled with consternation and suspicion and Fiona felt the rise of an inevitable despair. But her despair was not for Meg, but for herself. With an abrupt clarity, Fiona knew the course she would take. The weak, despicable woman that she was, she would do as she had always done when faced with a dilemma.

    She would wait and see and she would do nothing at all.

    "You're not done for the day yet, my girl! There's potatoes to peel for supper, and there's vegetables to prepare, and when you're done with that you're to set the table with the mistress's good china."

    Cook's verbal attack was unrelenting. Meg had left David in the woods behind the house a short time earlier, slipped around the chicken coops to pick up the eggs she had gathered, and returned to the kitchen, but her patience with the old woman's foul disposition was fast deteriorating. Her dark glance did not go unnoticed as Cook responded with an intensifying of her attack.

    "Don't go giving me none of your black looks, miss! You're not privileged in this kitchen, as much as you might think you are, and I won't have my authority questioned!"

    Aware that to deny Cook's accusations would only stir her

    wrath anew, Meg walked to the corner and reached for the potatoes.

    "You'll
wash
the potatoes first, girl! I'll not have grime in with the food I cook when it's served to the mistress."

    Maintaining her silence, Meg scrubbed the potatoes in a bucket nearby with careful control. Picking up a cloth, she dried the potatoes carefully. She had never been fully accepted by Cook or the others in the same way as the rest of the household staff, but the truce that existed between them all in the past year had recently come to an end.

    Uncertain as to the cause, Meg was visited with a vision of Johnny Law's freckled face. She remembered the open animosity toward her the day Johnny was dismissed, and the silence in the kitchen when a letter from Johnny arrived for her with the family mail earlier that morning. She had opened the letter, aware that all eyes were upon her, and the obvious labor of Johnny's precise, awkward printing had brought a lump to her throat. She had read with relief that Johnny was settling in well in his new position, but sadness touched her anew when he repeated his warning against David. For that reason she had not mentioned the correspondence to David.

    "Daydreaming again, miss!"

    Cook's jowled face was tight with resentment as Meg looked up from her chore, and Meg's patience came to an end.

    "I'm doing my job, Cook. You've no need for complaint."

    "Don't I, now?" A hot color unrelated to the heat of the stove before which she stood shone on Cook's face as she took a threatening step. "I've cause for complaint against your sassy tone and your lagging step of late, and I'm telling you now, I'll stand for neither. You'll do your work like the rest of us here or out you'll go!"

    A low grunt of approval sounded from the opposite corner where Mabel rested her legs, and Meg realized she had been the topic of discussion between them. Mutually accusing gazes accosted her and Meg was struck with a sudden realization. For all the care David and she had taken, the staff had found them out!

    Her heart beginning a new pounding, Meg averted her face, certain her guilt was visible for all to see. They knew the deceit David and she had practiced on everyone these past two weeks. Somehow they knew she was meeting David when she was supposed to be at her lessons with Father Matthew and that despite

    her protests, David stole home to be with her whenever he could. And they knew that David and she were no longer just friends.

    Her pride returning, Meg raised her chin. But if it was true that David and she weren't merely friends any longer, they were not lovers, either, and she did not deserve the condemnation she saw in Cook's eyes. That thought firm in her mind, Meg maintained her silence, her hands working efficiently. But neither her silence nor her attention to her duties appeared to be enough for Cook in her agitation.

    "Sulking won't do here, miss!"

    "I'm not sulking."

    "And I won't have you sass me!"