Wishes on the Wind (21 page)

    "Thank you, Uncle."

    "Thank
you
, David, for bringing everything out into the open at last. I suppose I needed to know that the only change in you is a new maturity and perceptiveness I didn't recognize at first. I'm glad to be so reassured of your loyalty, for I think darker times may be coming with the stepped up activity of the Mollies during the past month, and with the continued investigations Captain Linden is conducting into the stable fire and the murder of our agent a few months ago."

    Walking back to his desk, Uncle Martin slowly lowered his wiry frame into his chair. Glancing up unexpectedly as he did, he added soberly, "I've come to depend on you, David, and I'm pleased to see you've the courage to speak up, even when sorely pressed by a tired, anxious man who should've known you wouldn't desert him and the values he taught you. And now, if you'll get the monthly production figures from Mr. Clark, we can begin our review."

    "Of course."

    Pulling the office door closed behind him David paused to allow the exchange between his uncle and himself to register fully in his mind. Uncle Martin had not been entirely candid, and neither had he. As if by tacit agreement, they had both carefully avoided the main issue that appeared to be on Uncle Martin's mind. That issue was Meghan O'Connor.

    David felt a familiar discomfort arise inside him. Uncle Martin didn't like Meg or her ilk. He hadn't wanted her in the house when Aunt Letty first hired her, and he seemed to resent her even more since the fire. It made little difference to his uncle that Meg had proved her dependability and her worth. She was Irish and a Catholic, and he neither trusted nor wanted her in close proximity to himself or his family on a daily basis.

    And neither did he want Meg to be his nephew's valued friend.

    The trouble was, Uncle Martin had never taken the time to get to know Meg. He hadn't experienced her sensitivity, witnessed her intelligence, hadn't laughed at her quick wit, suffered the barbs of her sharp but fair criticisms, or felt the incredible, healing warmth and caring of which she was capable. Uncle Martin had not experienced any of these amazing facets of Meg's personality and he never would, because he wouldn't let himself.

    David's frown darkened. He hadn't realized that the friendship that had blossomed into a true exchange of thoughts and affection between Meg and himself during the past month was so obvious.

    Nor had he realized that their friendship would appear a threat in his uncle's eyes.

    David turned down the hallway toward the accountant's office, and with each step he took the realization became clearer that, for love of his uncle, he would have to tread carefully. For the truth was, he could never turn his back on Meg. Without him, she would be left to stagnate in the mire of her birth, and she was worthy of more.

    Much, much more.

    If she lived to be old and withered, Meg knew she'd never forget the sound of approaching death.

    A tear squeezing from her brimming eyes, Meg clutched her mother's hand tighter still, her own chest aching as her mother's tortured breathing echoed in her ears. Her dear Ma's skin was so gray as to appear almost black, so hard was she straining to draw breath into her lungs, and the brown eyes always filled with compassion and love were now wild and rolling.

    Looking to the far side of the bed where Father Matthew administered last rites with a shaking hand, and where Aunt Fiona stood a few steps back, sobbing softly, Meg bowed her head to rest it against her mother's bony arm. But she could not complete her fervent prayer for the shuddering of her mother's emaciated frame.

    "Ah, Ma… Ma…" Tears flowing freely, Meg spoke softly into her mother's unhearing ear. "Don't struggle so to hold on. You told me yourself that Da's waiting for you on the other side, so let your breath slip away. You've given us all your best, every last one of your brood, and Sean and I'll not let you down. We'll be all you want of us, he and I, you'll see. And we'll"

    Meg's heartfelt speech halted as she felt the sudden shock of her mother's direct gaze.

    Still struggling for breath, Ma gasped haltingly, "Meg, I wanted to speak to ye. Listen… listen…"

    "I'm listening, Ma."

    "Take care of yer brother. His heart's gone cold. He needs ye."

    "Aye, Ma, I will."

    "Be true to yerself. Listen to the voice inside ye."

    "Aye, Ma."

    "I love ye."

    "Aye."

    "Tell me darlin' boy… tell him"

    Ma's breathing suddenly lost its strain. Seeming to focus on a point beyond Meg, her eyes took on a glow and a smile touched her blue lips. Unable to speak for the sobs that choked her throat, Meg heard her Ma's final rasp.

    "Aye, me love… me darlin'. We've been apart too long…"

    Resting her cheek against her mother's cool hand, Meg closed her eyes against the harsh reality of the last hour. Father Matthew had left the silent room a few minutes earlier to make necessary arrangements, with a promise to return straightway, and Aunt Fiona had gone back to the kitchen and the chores that never ceased. Meg knew the grieving woman had purposely left her so she might have some time alone with her Ma before they came to take her away, but Meg was too numb to feel either gratitude or regret.

    Stirring at the sound of racing footsteps outside the bedroom door, Meg raised her head as Sean burst into the room. He came to an abrupt halt at the sight of his mother's lifeless form. His young face still blackened with coal dust, his lunch pail dangling from his hand, he approached the bed in jerking steps, his bright, O'Connor eyes filled and glittering. Trembling, he stood at the bedside as Meg rose to her feet. His voice quavered with pain.

    "Aw, Meg, she's gone, and I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye."

    Tears welled in Meg's throat at her brother's torment, and she reached out to take his hand.

    "Ma spoke about you before she died."

    "Aye." Tears flowing freely down Sean's cheeks left white streaks in the dusty mask as his gaze met Meg's with unexpected hatred. "They wouldn't send the message down to me, Meg the bastards in charge of the shift! They waited until the whistle blew and I was makin' my way out with the rest of the men before tellin' me my Ma was dyin'. It's because of them that I wasn't here when Ma…"

    "Sean." His name a soft plea on her lips, Meg looked into his tear-stained face. "Ma knew you loved her."

    "But I wanted to say the words, Meg! For all the times I let them go unsaid, I wanted to say, 'I love you, Ma.' Now I'll never have the chance. I'll not forgive them for that."

    "Sean, please…"

    "I swear on my life, Meg. I'll make them pay."

    "Ma wouldn't want that, Sean."

    "Aye, I know what our Ma wanted!" Drawing back from her, Sean turned to stare at their mother's still face.

    "It was her time, Sean."

    "The devil it was!"

    "Sean!"

    "Her time was stolen from her, just like it was stolen from Da and the boys, but I'm not goin' to sit back and let them Langs and the others steal away what's left of our lives! I'll fight back, Meg, while there's a breath in my body, I'll fight."

    Suddenly dropping to his knees beside the bed, Sean grasped their mother's hand, and Meg fought to control her tears as he whispered a low, fervent oath.

    "They'll not do to me and Meg like they did to the rest, Ma. I promise you that. And I'll make them pay for takin' your last moments from me. I swear on my life."

    Watching as her brother's broad shoulders shook with sobs, Meg covered the distance between them and threw her arms around him. And laying her cheek against his dark hair, she cried.

    Dawn had begun painting the night sky with light when David awoke again with a start. He glanced at the clock on the wall, moaning low in his throat as he ran his hand over his face in a gesture of fatigue. He had awakened countless times through the long, desperate night, and he knew that this time he was awake to stay.

    Throwing back the woven coverlet on his bed, David drew himself to his feet. A chill passed over his frame at the unexpected bite in the air, but it helped to clear his mind, muddled with confusing thoughts since Meg had left him to run home at an urgent summons the previous afternoon. He'd never felt so helpless.

    Several times the previous evening he had been tempted to ride down into the valley and make certain all was well with Meg. He hadn't questioned his anxiety for her welfare, knowing Meg's concern for him when he had been in need had defied convention as well. He didn't deceive himself for a moment that she needed him now as much as he had needed her. She was too strong. But that didn't stop him from worrying.

    In the end, he had bowed to common sense and the realization that his appearance at Meg's door would only cause her discomfort. And so, he waited.

    Glancing at the clock again, he walked to the washstand and splashed cold water on his face. Drying himself thoroughly, he dressed in a casual shirt and trousers, carelessly leaving his shirt open at the neck, so anxious had he suddenly become to reach the kitchen to meet Meg's anticipated appearance there within the hour. Taking a quick brush to his hair, he slipped into his stockings and shoes, and walked to the door.

    His appearance in the kitchen brought a smile to Cook's face.

    "Mr. David! You're up early today." Touching a self-conscious hand to the few strands of gray lying against her creased neck, she blinked almost comically. "It's been a long time since you paid the kitchen an early-morning visit. Margaret hasn't come down yet, and Mabel's a bit late in rising, too. I don't have a full breakfast prepared as yet, but I have rolls in the oven and your favorite blackberry jam in the pantry. It'll only take me a minute to make tea."

    Realizing his appearance would cause unwanted speculation if he didn't come up with a plausible excuse for being there, David forced his smile wider.

    "The smell of your sweet rolls drew me right out of bed, Cook. After that I just followed my nose, and here I am. I was a little out of sorts at dinner last night, but my appetite's returned." Staying her with his hand as Cook jumped to his service, David continued. "No, keep to your chores. I can put the kettle on myself. I've no desire to have you wait on me so early in the day."

    Cook's obvious surprise went unnoted as David took the kettle off the stove and began filling it with fresh water. His back turned, she could not see the anxious glance he raked across the backyard in the direction of the trail from the valley below. Uttering a silent curse, David refixed the smile on his face and walked toward the stove. The sound of a step in the hall turned him toward Grace as she appeared unexpectedly in the doorway.

    "So here you are, David! I thought I heard you prowling around your room this morning, but when I knocked on your door you were gone. You were acting so strange last night that I thought you might be sick." David attempted to conceal his annoyance at his cousin's appearance, but Grace's pale blue eyes were too quick. Her small mouth drooped. "Are you angry with me? You're always angry with me lately, David. Either angry or just plain ignoring me."

    Uncle Martin's statement of the previous day returned to David's mind, and he realized that his uncle was not the only member of the household who believed he had withdrawn from them. Contrite, David smiled with true sincerity.

    "I'm not angry, Grace, just out of sorts. Come on in. I've put the kettle on and Cook's going to get some blackberry jam for the sweet rolls. Do you remember how you used to love getting up early and sneaking into the kitchen to eat Cook's sweet rolls with me before you grew up to be such a proper young lady?"

    Her drooping lips taking an upward curve at David's reference to her budding maturity, Grace responded by walking toward David with a ladylike step. Touched by his cousin's almost childlike desire to impress him, David slid an arm around her shoulders as she drew near and pressed a light kiss against her cheek.

    "If I've made you uncomfortable in any way, Grace, I'm sorry. You're a dear girl, and I wouldn't have any other for a cousin over you. And you do get prettier every day, you know."

    Grace was blushing furiously now, and guilty at his unintentional neglect of her, David gave her a quick hug.

    "Oh, David, I've been so worried about you, you know. We all have. You've been so strange since the fire that we thought something was wrong with you. We" Her small hand slipping up to cover her lips as her eyes opened wide, Grace shook her head furiously. "Oh, I didn't mean we thought something might
really
be wrong with you. I meant"

    "That's all right, Grace. I know."

    Her reference to the fire renewing his frown, David glanced back toward the window in time to see someone emerge from the trail. His heart began a rapid thumping in the moment before he realized it wasn't Meg at all.

    Breathless from his rapid climb up the hillside path, Johnny Law hesitated as he drew close to the kitchen door. His freckled face stiffened as he looked inside. What was
he
doing in the kitchen?

    Bobbing his head with the courtesy demanded of his servile position, Johnny otherwise ignored the young master and the young mistress as he entered the house. He saw Grace Lang's gaze move between her cousin and him in open confusion. The obvious animosity between the young master and himself surprised her, but it didn't surprise Johnny, for he knew David Lang had a long memory and a jealous heart.