Wishes on the Wind (7 page)

    At David's response, Martin Lang's face went momentarily still. "I see. I didn't know."

    "The girl needs the work, dear." Letty's expression was ardent. "Father Mulligan confided in me that the girl's mother is ill dying. She only has one brother left, and he works in the mine. They've been forced to live with relatives, and the girl needs money to"

    "Enough! Enough, Letty." Martin shook his head, remorse apparent on his face as he considered his wife's brimming eyes. He slid his arm around her shoulders. "I can see you meant well, and perhaps you've done well, dear. Who can tell?" Looking back at David, he continued. "Perhaps you're both right. I may have overreacted, but I do want you to remember that everyone in the valley has a sad story to tell if you'll listen to it. They're a crafty lot down there, and I don't want you to be taken in by them, or to go out of your way to try to court them, either. On the whole, they're not worth your effort."

    "Martin, that's a terrible thing to say!"

    "As far as the girl goes, she can remain in our employ as long as she does her job well. And, I appreciate the effort you took to try to help but, Letty" Pausing to press a light kiss to his wife's cheek, Martin Lang continued softly, "Next time, speak to me first, will you?"

    Letty smiled tremulously. "Yes, dear."

    Waiting only until the study door closed behind his wife a few minutes later, Martin turned to David with a frown.

    "What do you really think of all this, David?"

    Still stewing at the girl's sharp departing glance, David responded with uncharacteristic hesitation and an uncertain shrug.

    "Uncle Martin, there are some times when I think it would be best if I didn't think at all."

    "I'll not have a sister of mine workin' for them black-hearted Protestants! You'll not go back to that house, Meg! I'll not abide it!"

    "Sean, please!" Meghan darted a worried glance at the kitchen doorway where she expected her uncle to appear at any moment. She had waited for Sean to come home from his shift at the mine, her apprehension growing at the thought of his reaction to the position she had accepted that morning.

    "I thought you'd be glad that I'll be able to earn money toward our keep here. It may keep Uncle's mumbling down so Ma can have a little peace."

    "You'd work for
them
just to keep Uncle Timothy quiet?"

    "Father Matthew says it's a good opportunity for me. He says I'll learn a lot from working there."

    "Oh, is that what he says?" Sean gave a bitter laugh. "What'll you learn? How to cheat decent, honest men out of a fair wage, and to work them like slaves until they're ready to drop and they've not a thought left in their heads except to go down to the pub and drink away their cares? Aye, that's valuable fare, all right."

    Meghan felt a familiar despair. "Sean, things aren't as black as you paint them."

    "Are they not, Meg?" His handsome young face a familiar mask of anguish, Sean took her slender shoulders between his hands. "Look at me. What do you see?"

    Meghan's throat tightened. "I see my brother, Sean. And he's a fine-looking, decent young man, just like Ma says."

    "Is that so? I'll tell you what them Langs see. They see nothin' at all! They look through me and my like as if we don't exist, because to them we don't, Meg. We're just the kind that take the coal out of their mines so they can buy their fine clothes and live in their fine houses and eat all that rich food, while some down here in the valley go about without a change of clothes and lie abed at night with their stomachs rumblin' from hunger."

    "Sean"

    "And it'll be no different with you, Meg. They'll look at you and not see you, except to complain when somethin' ain't right or done on time. And I'll speak my mind, no matter Uncle Timothy's objections to the contrary. Them damned Langs've taken my father and brothers from me, but they'll not steal my right to speak my thoughts. I'll not stay silent for anyone!"

    "Not even for me, Sean?" Her soft plea halting Sean's angry tirade, Meghan continued. "Please try to understand. I want to take this position for Ma. I can't do anything else to help her, and we both know she won't be lasting…" Unable to finish, Meg shook her head. "I'm not a child anymore. It's time I carry my own weight. You're doing all you can to provide but"

    "But it isn't enough." Sean's eyes narrowed, and he ran an anxious hand through his shaggy dark hair. "I'm the man of the family now all right, but I'm not much of a man, am I."

    "You're only fifteen, Sean."

    "Our Da would've found a way to keep you from bein' a servant to them Langs."

    "Maybe, but Father Matthew says"

    "To hell with Father Matthew!"

    "Sean!"

    "I'll not listen to a word the man says! I've put the days of dreaming about 'The Almighty who watches over us all' behind me. Listenin' and believin' makes a man weak when he should be strong makes a man sit back and wait for justice when he should  be fightin' for it. I'll not waste another day of my life that way, Meg, so don't tell me what that man said to you."

    "Sean, I want to go to work at the house on the hill for Ma. Will you be angry with me if I do?"

    Sean hesitated, his eyes filling unexpectedly as he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.

    "Ah, Meg, how could I be angry with you when it's because of my own shortcomin's that you're to work in that place. I've let you and Ma down. I should be able to provide for you."

    "Sean"

    But Sean would hear no more as he turned away. "Aye, Meg. I should be able to provide for you."

    Her heart a grievous ache inside her, Meg watched as Sean stepped through the kitchen doorway without another word and slipped from sight.

    "All right, miss, step lively! We don't have all day to get this laundry done."

    Casting the rotund Mabel Strong a glance that spoke volumes, Meghan held her tongue and picked up the laundry basket. She suppressed a grunt as her aching muscles strained at the oversized load, certain the smallest sound would bring the usual negative comment from the critical maid.

    Maintaining a firm grip on her burden, she followed the woman's lumbering gait into the yard. She was glad to be out of the kitchen, where she had worked since five that morning, and to have the spring sun on her head and a cool breeze drying the perspiration on her brow.

    Reaching the area where clotheslines were strung to accommodate the endless laundry generated by the Lang household, Meghan halted at last and lowered the basket to the ground.

    "All right, miss. You know where the pins are by now. There's no time for dallying."

    Meghan returned the older woman's gaze with deliberate silence. Mabel's normally pleasant, aging face tightened with the same resentment she and the rest of the loyal Lang staff had evidenced toward her since her employment over a month earlier. The resentment was now mutual. It grew stronger as Meghan recalled her first day at the Lang mansion.

    Hannah Worth, dark hair graying, small brown eyes snapping under uneven brows, her matronly bulk wrapped in a dark uniform and an oversized, spotless white apron, had met her at the kitchen door. Referred to as "Cook" by all, the woman had taken in every aspect of Meghan's appearance in a glance faded cotton dress and shawl, stockings with visible signs of mending, badly worn shoes, and the untamed mass of her hair. Her tone had been demeaning when she spoke.

    "It's a good thing you'll be wearing a uniform while you're in service here. Those clothes would never do for a house of quality. And make sure to wear your cap. The mistress don't tolerate an unkempt appearance."

    Deliberately ignoring the flush her comments had raised, Cook then proceeded, "Just so's you get things straight right off, Mrs. Lang consults with me each morning about the menu and the running of the household. You'll be helping Mabel here." Cook turned momentarily to indicate the big, older woman behind her. "Mabel's been having trouble with her legs of late, and Mrs. Lang don't want her to become too uncomfortable with her work. You're to take up the slack, so that means you'll be getting your orders from Mabel most of the time. When you're done helping her, you can report to me in the kitchen. There's always something for you to do here."

    Not waiting for a reply, Cook had motioned to another frowning, middle-aged woman a few steps behind. "This here's Margaret Seller. She's Mrs. Lang's maid, and she works upstairs only. She don't touch nothing down here and you're not to touch nothing upstairs. Understand?" At Meg's nod, Cook had continued. "From time to time, when he ain't required by the Master outside, we have Johnny Law helping us here in the house. You'll meet him soon enough. Then there's Mr. Townsend, the head groom, the fellows that work in the stables, and them that work on the grounds. You're not to bother with the men folk, you hear?"

    Picking up a dark dress and a white apron from a nearby chair, she had handed Meghan the garments she now wore. "You can change in the storage room. When you're done, come back here. No dallying, hear? We start our day early and we work until everything's done the way the mistress likes it. Keep in mind, you'll work for your money in this house, miss. There'll be no dragging your feet, or out you go!"

    Cook's directions had continued, but Meghan's concentration had lapsed under the staff's unfriendly stares. She realized then, as had been confirmed only too clearly in the time since, that they all considered her an outsider and she was not welcome.

    Her stiff O'Connor pride had come to the fore at that point, and she decided that like it or not, they'd have to get used to her, and to blazes with them all and their opinions of the Irish!

    As time passed, however, she found it more difficult than she expected to hold her tongue and accept unwarranted criticisms on a daily basis. She knew her patience was nearing an end.

    Returning to the present, Meghan tuned out Mabel's abrasive tones and took another shirt from the basket of clothes she had scrubbed so diligently for the past hour. She pinned the garment carefully to the line, marveling again at the superior quality of the fabric. She had no doubt this one shirt alone was more costly than her mother's and her own meager wardrobe combined.

    Turning as Cook called from the kitchen doorway, Meghan saw her beckon to Mabel.

    "No need for you to stop working, miss!"

    Frowning at Mabel's sharp admonition, Meghan replied with a controlled, "Yes, ma'am."

    Watching as Mabel waddled toward the kitchen in a huff, Meghan resisted as long as she could before sticking out her tongue at the woman's retreating back.

    Her satisfaction minimal, Meghan returned to her work with a disturbed shake of her head. Maybe Father Matthew was wrong about her coming to understand these people, because the truth was, the more she came to know them, the more she disliked them. Pausing, Meghan amended her thoughts. Actually, she wasn't being fair. She had seen very little of the Langs since she had begun working in the house. Confined to the servants' area as she was, she had gotten only a glimpse of Mr. Lang the first day, when he appeared in the kitchen doorway and gave her a keen, penetrating glance. She saw Mrs. Lang briefly each morning when she came to the kitchen to speak to Cook, but the mistress seldom glanced in her direction. She had seen the pretty, blonde Grace Lang a few times. Each time she saw the girl she looked more perfect than the last, so well-groomed was she, and so stylishly clothed in outfits that showed not a day's wear. She couldn't quite believe that mature-looking young woman was only a year older than she.

    As for the arrogant David Lang, she had only heard his laughter in the hall and gotten glimpses of him outside as he galloped by on his great stallion. Oh, but she had heard plenty about him.

    Groaning inwardly as she pinned another wet shirt onto the line, she recalled the endless tittering in the kitchen about "Mr. David's fine sense of humor" and his playful teasing of Margaret when she attended Mrs. Lang. She had all but gagged at the fussing that went into making his favorite desserts at dinnertime and at the haste with which the staff responded to his summons. She had gritted her teeth against Mabel's repetitive warnings to take special care when she scrubbed Mr. David's fine lawn shirts.

    Oh, she was sick to death of pampered "Mr. David" who used     his guile to twist everyone in the household around his finger, and who remained kind and generous solely when things went his way. Couldn't anyone see beyond his handsome face and false charm? Didn't anyone see the coldness in his eyes? Whatever his reason for speaking up for her the day she was hired, she had not forgotten the
true
David Lang; the nasty, abusive fellow who had clearly voiced his opinion of her and the Irish in the valley that day on the hillside.