Wishes on the Wind (8 page)

    Fidgeting in her uncomfortable uniform, Meghan scratched her arm, then ran her finger under the tight collar. The stiff fabric had rubbed her delicate skin raw on more than one occasion, and the haste with which the garment had been cut down to accommodate her small size was apparent in its ill fit. The oversize apron that bound the uncomfortable garment against her skin only added to her physical distress, as did the cap, which she had been instructed to pull well down on her forehead, so not a trace of her unmanageable hair could escape.

    With sudden anger, Meghan jerked the annoying cap from her head and flung it to the ground. Her relief was immediate as the wild curls spilled free onto her shoulders and a gust of cooling air moved against her face. Standing still, Meghan luxuriated in the refreshing breeze. Her hands resting on the line, she raised her face to the sun and closed her eyes at the simple freedom of the moment.

    A soothing calm gradually overcame her agitation, and an unspoken comfort swelled inside her. Oh, yes, there was a God up there in that endless expanse of blue above her. She could feel His touch warming her skin and His sweet breath bathing her face. He was telling her He was close to her, just as Father Matthew had said.

    Opening her eyes, Meghan clipped the shirt to the line with fingers that moved with renewed purpose. Now, if only
He
would do something about
them
…

    Taking a moment to tie Fabian's reins to a nearby tree, David had turned to watch Meghan O'Connor pin another garment to the clothesline as Mabel watched with a critical eye. Suffering the conflicting emotions he felt every time he thought of the girl, he had unconsciously shaken his head. For the life of him, he couldn't understand his preoccupation with her. She certainly wasn't an appealing sight in that baggy dress and apron, and with her hair stuffed into that ridiculous white cap she wore pulled down on her forehead.

    Despite himself, he still felt guilty for his comments about her father when they met that first time on the hillside, and for that reason he had deliberately avoided contact with her. Even now, as annoyed as he was when he remembered how she had attacked him and pinned him to the ground, he had to admit to a reluctant admiration for the girl's spirit. He had no doubt that if the rest of the Irish in the valley had as much grit as she, they wouldn't be suffering their present lot in life. Instead, they found it much easier to bemoan their situation and take cowardly vengeance against imagined wrongs in the dark of night.

    Not Meghan. She didn't complain about a fully day's work. He had received that reluctant report directly from Cook on each occasion when, under one pretext or another, he had checked on her progress. Cook had praised the girl's work, despite her obvious resentment of ''the outsider from the valley," and he was well aware that any praise from that woman was praise indeed.

    Frowning, David had deduced from the scene in front of him a few minutes earlier, when both Mabel's and Meghan's expressions had been so revealing, that things were not going well between them. An unexpected summons from the house had sent Mabel waddling back toward the kitchen. Without realizing his intention, he had then taken a step toward the girl only to halt as, obviously believing herself unseen, she made a grimace at the maid's departing back and then stuck out her tongue.

    Unable to resist a smile as Meghan resumed her work, David had taken another step toward her as, just as unexpectedly, she ripped the unbecoming cap from her head and threw it on the ground. But the anger and resentment in that gesture didn't strike David as much as when the girl then deliberately turned her face into the breeze, raised it to the sun, and closed her eyes. Touching his heart was the childish innocence of her countenance as she allowed the brilliant rays to warm her face. He saw a budding beauty there, as well as the peace that touched her features in the moment before she opened her eyes again and continued her work.

    David was within a few steps of her when the girl became aware of his approach. She turned, a familiar hostility appearing in those incredibly beautiful eyes as she asked abruptly, "What are you doing here?"

    David's sense of well-being faded rapidly under her gaze.

    "I live here, remember?"

    "Yes, I remember."

    For the life of him, David couldn't understand why he so deeply regretted the wariness that sprang into her eyes. But he did, and he tried his most disarming smile.

    "I had Fabian out for a ride when I saw you, and I thought I'd ask how you like working here."

    The girl's eyes narrowed further. "I do my job."

    "Is the work too much for you?" And then at the suspicion that leaped into the girl's expression, he added hastily, "Cook's sometimes inclined to test the new help sorely."

    "As you said, I'm stronger than I look."

    Gritting his teeth at the bite in her tone, David felt his smile grow stiff. Uncomfortable with their verbal fencing, he had taken another step that brought him closer to the girl when he noticed the ring of raw skin that encircled her neck just under her collar. Frowning, he unconsciously reached out to touch the abrasion. The girl drew back, and his irritation increased.

    "What happened to your neck?"

    "It's nothing."

    "I asked you"

    The girl's eyes snapped with anger as she offered a carefully controlled response.

    "This collar's too tight."

    "Too tight? That uniform fits you like a sack."

    Anger flickered more brightly in the girl's eyes and David groaned inwardly at his own clumsiness as she responded through tight lips, "Mrs. Lang provided this uniform. Cook said my own clothes weren't suitable."

    David was determined to reverse the negative flow of their conversation. "I'm sure Cook meant that my aunt likes the staff to be harmoniously dressed. She's very particular."

    "Yes, sir."

    David paused, realizing the girl was doing all she could to conclude the conversation. Yet, he was somehow unwilling to allow the conversation to end on a sour note, as had all conversations with her in the past. She studied him, her gaze cautious. She didn't trust him, and he supposed he couldn't blame her. He had behaved like a spoiled child the day they first met, and some of the things he said were unforgivable. He regretted them, but not enough to give the little chit the upper hand by apologizing to her.

    Impatient with his silence, the girl spoke abruptly. "I have to    finish hanging these clothes or Mabel will be out here after me in a minute."

    "Mabel's an extremely kind woman. I'm sure she doesn't mean to be abrasive."

    "Oh, she's very fond of you, too, sir."

    Her comment delivered with a sarcastic twist of her lips, the girl turned abruptly and resumed her work. Flushing at her abrupt dismissal, David felt the last of his patience slip away. Frowning, he gripped the girl's shoulder and turned her back to face him.

    "I haven't finished speaking to you, and I don't like being dismissed."

    Anger flared in the girl's eyes. "Take your hand off me."

    David dropped his hand back to his side, cursing himself for again allowing their conversation to get out of hand. He tried once more.

    "I don't expect you to believe me now, but I intended this conversation as a friendly overture. We started out poorly when we first met and I"

    "You're wasting your time, Mr. David." The girl's lips twitched at the form of address used by the servants. "I don't like you, and I never will. You have too high an opinion of yourself for my taste. I'll wash your clothes, and serve your table, and do everything that's required in my position, but I'll not pretend that you've pulled the wool over my eyes like you have the rest of the staff here. I know what you think of me and my own, and what you think of the rest of the staff, for that matter. You think yourself a step above us all, most especially the 'Pap' from the valley. You play on your charm and good looks, and wrap your aunt and everyone else around your little finger, but my eyes were opened up to you the first time we met. So, you see, if you'll leave me be, Mr. David, I'll be happy to do the same. If that's all right with you
sir
."

    The ice in her gaze freezing him, David nodded stiffly, and the girl turned back to the laundry without another word. David felt his face flush anew. He was striding back toward the tree where Fabian awaited him when he realized he had been set roughly in his place, whether he liked it or not. Vowing he wouldn't give the little Irish brat the same chance again, he snatched at Fabian's reins, pulling the stallion along behind him as he strode back toward the stables.

    Minutes later he walked into the morning room, his expression determined, as Aunt Letty turned toward him with a smile.

    Meghan swung the empty laundry basket onto the bench outside the kitchen door and took a deep, steadying breath. Her first step into the kitchen was met with Cook's and Mabel's intense frowns, and she raised her chin against the dropping sensation in the pit of her stomach.

    They had seen it all. She was in for it, now.

    "All right, miss, what did you say to Mr. David to send him walking off in a temper? Tell me the truth! I'll find out sooner or later if you don't."

    Cook's angry inquiry started Meghan's heart hammering savagely, but her tone was level as she replied, "What I said to Mr. David is my business."

    "Oh, the gall of her!"

    Mabel's gasped interjection heightened Cook's irate flush.

    "I run this kitchen, miss! Everything that goes on in it and in this house is my business, and I'll thank you not to think anything different!"

    Turning at the sound of a step in the hall, Cook paused as Margaret Seller appeared in the doorway and addressed her. "Mrs. Lang would like to see you."

    Her expression tight, Cook turned back to Meg. "We'll finish this when I get back, miss. In the meantime, get to them potatoes and put your cap back on your head! You look the true hooligan you are with that wild hair streaming about your face."

    Deliberately avoiding Mabel's eye, Meghan pulled her cap out of her pocket and put it on her head. Quickly stuffing her hair out of sight beneath it, she picked up a knife and began peeling the potatoes as ordered.

    Meghan's mind was reeling. Now she had done it! By indulging her temper and her shrewish tongue, she had queered it for herself in this house with the pampered David Lang and the staff alike. She didn't doubt David Lang had gone directly to his aunt and filled her ear with the truth about her from the day she had trespassed on the hill to this afternoon's unwise behavior.

    Breathing deeply against the emotion choking her throat, Meghan blinked back threatening tears. She had let Ma and Sean down, and Father Matthew, too. She hadn't lasted more than a month here, and the worst of it was yet to come when she faced Uncle Timothy and told him that she'd been dismissed.

    Still cursing her lack of restraint, Meghan turned at the sound of  a step in the doorway a few minutes later. Cook had returned, and she tensed as the woman addressed her.

    "Mrs. Lang wants to see you in the study."

    Nodding, glancing away before Cook could see the tears that welled in her eyes, Meghan raised her chin a notch higher. She'd not let any one of them see an O'Connor cry.

    Wiping her hands on her apron, Meghan walked out of the kitchen without response. Taking a deep breath as she reached the study door, she knocked lightly.

    "Come in."

    Her chin high, Meghan stepped into the room, her eyes on Mrs. Lang's troubled expression as the woman approached her.

    "You wanted to see me, ma'am?"

    "Yes, I did."

    Coming to stand directly in front of her, Mrs. Lang paused. The mistress's pale blue eyes surveyed her from the top of her head to the tips of her worn shoes.

    "David was just in here to see me. He told me he was talking to you behind the house a few minutes ago." Meghan blinked and swallowed hard as Mrs. Lang shook her head. "I had no idea…"

    Unexpectedly, Mrs. Lang raised a delicate hand to the line of irritated skin that ringed Meghan's neck. "It was extremely negligent of me to provide a uniform that would cause you physical discomfort. David was right in bringing the matter to my attention. I've already instructed Cook to give you some of Dr. Biel's salve for your neck, and I told her that I want you to change immediately into your own clothes, and that you're to be allowed to wear them until your new uniforms arrive from Philadelphia. I've also told Cook that I won't require you to wear a cap in the kitchen." Mrs. Lang looked pained. This last concession was obviously difficult for her, confirming Meg's thought that David Lang had again exerted his influence over his totally beguiled aunt for her benefit. "A simple ribbon to tie back your hair will do. I'll send one down from my room in the event you don't have one with you. And I hope you'll accept my apology for your discomfort, dear."

    Meghan blinked again. "Yes, ma'am."

    In the hallway, Meghan pulled the odious cap off her head and shook her hair free. Her frown darkened and her light blue eyes were pensive as she entered the kitchen to face Cook's and Mabel's scrutiny.

    Cook broke the silence with a sharp, "All right, you heard what the mistress said. Get yourself changed out of those clothes and into your own." Cook pinned her with her stare. "And I hope you know who you have to thank for all of this. Mr. David is a dear boy with a kind heart and a concern for all them around him, even when it ain't returned in kind. Fie on you! If anyone was to ask me, I'd say you aren't worthy of his concern."

    Responding with a brief, cold stare, Meghan turned toward the storage room, anxious to be back in her own clothes again. But Cook's words lingered, and as she slipped her worn cotton dress over her head, she wondered. What was that David Lang up to?

    The same question lingered in Meghan's mind throughout her lesson with Father Matthew, prompting quizzical looks and an occasional concerned frown as her concentration faltered several times. She carefully avoided his gently probing questions as she had since starting work at the house on the hill. She didn't want him to know about the staff's resentment toward her.

    Of course, there was one member of the staff who didn't feel the same, but that was of little comfort. Johnny Law had made enough of a pest of himself to incur Cook's wrath on both himself and her on more than one occasion during the month. No more than sixteen, Johnny was young and lonesome for someone his age, having been brought from Philadelphia to work at the house without a single member of his family. Miss Grace Lang was off limits to the poor servant boy, and that left only her.

    It had been difficult maintaining a cheerful facade for Father Matthew when at times she had been so low. As for today, she preferred to keep the shame of her shrewish behavior with David Lang to herself. She was not proud of it.

    Her lessons done, Meghan walked swiftly home, nodding to her friends Mary O'Neil and Sheila McCrea as she passed them on the street. She had no time for conversation now. Breathless, she entered the kitchen a few moments later, only to come face-to-face with her uncle's frown.

    "Yet late! Yer aunt's been workin' herself into an early grave here alone in the kitchen, while yer mother's been sleepin' upstairs all day and ye've been dallying in the street."

    Meghan turned worriedly toward Aunt Fiona.

    "Ma wasn't down at all today?"

    The brief shake of her aunt's head all she needed to turn her

    toward the staircase, Meg was halted abruptly by an angry grip on her shoulder.

    "Oh, no, ye don't! Ye'll not go upstairs to pass another hour lazing at yer mother's bedside while yet aunt works herself into the ground!"

    "Take your hand off her!"

    Snapping around at the sound of Sean's voice, Meghan felt herself pale at the fury in her brother's face as he stepped into the room. Straight from his shift at the mine, he was dirty and tried, and of a mood that looked close to savage.

    "I said take your hand off my sister, old man!"

    Meghan felt her uncle's clutching grip lessen as he responded tightly, "Ye'll watch yer mouth or ye'll find yerself out on the street, me buckoo!"

    "Take your hand off her or you'll find I'm more of a man than you think you are!"

    Uncle Timothy's hand dropped from her arm as Aunt Fiona took a hesitant step forward. "Yet uncle wouldn't harm Meg, Sean. He's worried for my sake and the work I'm to do to keep up the place."

    Sean's sneer twisted his face into an angry grimace. "Uncle Timothy worries for no one but himself and the tidy sum he's put away for his old age."

    "Sean!" Meghan took her brother's arm with a low plea. "Let's go upstairs by Ma for a few minutes. She's not been down today at all. She must be feeling worse."

    His heated flush paling, Sean glanced dismissingly toward his uncle. "Aye. This one won't bother you anymore today."

    Meghan cast her brother a sidelong glance, her heart wrenching as they reached the top of the staircase and turned toward their room. Bitterness was beginning to mark his handsome face with downward lines. It hurt her that his smile was so infrequent and that the eyes that had always danced with life were now so cold. That coldness frightened her because she knew it went deep inside him.

    Unable to find words to comfort him, Meghan proceeded to the door of their room, aware that Sean walked close behind her. Slowly pushing open the door, Meghan looked inside as Sean peered over her head. She emitted a low gasp of fright. Ma was so still and white. Meg dashed to her bedside, her heart pounding, just as the frail woman slowly opened her eyes.

    "Oh, Ma!"

        Mary O'Connor's blue-veined hand reached out to pat hers as she managed a feeble smile. "Not to worry, Meg. Me time's not come yet." Raising her gaze, Mary smiled more broadly at her son, standing protectively behind Meghan. "It does me good to see yer face, Sean." She paused. "Smile for me, boy, 'cause it warms me heart to see yer Da alive in ye when ye do."

    "Aw, Ma." Sean shook his head. "I'm not of a mind to smile much these days."

    "There's a reason to smile that we have each other, and that we've the love that keeps us together."

    "It's not love that'll keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, Ma, not if Uncle Timothy has anythin' to say about it."

    "He's kept us this far, and with Meg now addin' to the income, he's not likely to put us out."

    Sean shook his head. "I wouldn't count on it, Ma."

    "Ah, but I do, Sean, 'cause I've faith that thins will turn out right in the end."

    Meghan could sense Sean stiffening behind her, and she knew he withheld further response for the sake of their Ma. Forcing a smile she didn't feel, Meg spoke into the awkward silence.

    "I can't stay, Ma. Aunt's busy downstairs and I told Uncle Timothy I'd give her a hand." Meg stroked a strand of hair back from her mother's wan cheek, sick to the heart that her eyes were so sunken and dim. "If you're too tired to come down to the table tonight, I'll bring you up a plate that's fit for a queen."

    "A queen I'm not and will never be." Mary smiled. "But I'm a lucky woman to have two who love me standin' by me side. Now off with ye both for a little while. I'm needing me rest."

    Taking a moment to tuck the coverlet more tightly around her mother, Meghan turned to the door. Outside in the hallway, she whispered up into her brother's tense face, "You should've smiled for her, Sean. It was little enough to ask."

    "It was more than I could give, Meg, for I'm thinkin' I've not a smile left in me."

    "Fie on you, Sean!"

    "No, the shame's not mine, Meg! It belongs to the Langs, and people like them with their need to subdue every man in the valley."

    "What are you saying, Sean?"

    "I'm sayin' that Lang's drivin' every man in this valley with any gumption left to hard retribution with his treachery and sneakin' ways. He's been on a roll since the train wreck with his

    questions, and detectives, and Coal and Iron Police comin' down on a man even if he so much as speaks up against him. But it ain't workin' out like he thought it would. The Mollies are too smart for him."

    "What do you know about the Mollies?"

    "I know Lang and Captain Linden of the Coal and Iron Police thought they'd put it over on the men of the old sod by sneakin' an infiltrator into the organization. But the informer was found out."

    Meghan's heart went cold. "And?"

    "And they found the fella dead in the woods this mornin'. His lyin' tongue had been cut out."

    "Sean!" The blood drained from Meg's face. "How can you praise such a dreadful deed?"

    "Because I take my satisfaction where I can, and if it takes the way of the Mollies to make the mine owners regret their treatment of the Irish in the mines and to make them respect us, so be it. But the truth is, there's precious little even in the informer's death to make up for the lives of Da and the boys."

    "That was an accident, Sean! Mr. Lang"

    "Don't tell me about Mr. Lang! As far as that bastard is concerned, Da and the boys never existed! I'm tellin' you, Meg, we're too far below the man for him even to see us. But the Mollies are makin' him sit up and take notice that the Irish in this valley aren't goin' to be treated like the dirt under his feet any longer. He'll soon learn that he can't get away with the threats and cutbacks he's been makin' since the train was wrecked, and he'll find out that the reward he's offerin' won't make a single Irishman turn on his own. As for the good family men he fired today, he'll be made to pay."

    "Don't get involved in any of this, Sean. It would break Ma's heart, and my own as well."

    Sean's anger appeared to drain away, as he considered Meg's adamancy in silence. A sad smile touched his lips. "Would you not stand behind me whatever course I decided upon, Meg? Or would you abandon your only brother when the truth is that there'll soon only be the two of us left?"

    Long suppressed tears brimmed in Meg's eyes as Sean awaited her response. Taking an abrupt step forward, she wrapped her arms around her brother's waist and hugged him tight as she whispered into the rough fabric of his coat, "You're my blood, Sean, and my brother you'll always be. No matter what."

    Sean's voice was hoarse as his arms closed around her in return. "Aye, I expected no less." With those words, Sean urged her toward the stairs, and as she walked beside him, Meg was reassured. There was no real harm in Sean. There couldn't be.

    "I think you're in for more trouble, Uncle Martin."

    Standing beside his uncle's desk in the small mine office, David watched his uncle turn toward him. His wiry brows drew together over his sharp nose, and his small brown eyes held him fast. Not for the first time David felt the sensation of being pinned by a bird of prey.

    "What suddenly makes
you
an expert on the men in the mines, David? I'm the one who's been dealing with them for five years."

    "You've had one problem after another, sir."

    "My mine is flourishing, isn't it?"

    "Not without harsh payment."

    Uncle Martin seemed to swell with rage. "I will not allow common terrorists to think they intimidate me!"