Irish Meadows Page 20

  “Brianna. There’s a telephone call for you.”

  Brianna looked up from her uneaten breakfast to see Aunt Fiona in the doorway, an almost apologetic look on her face.

  “Is it Daddy?”

  “I’m afraid so. He insists on speaking with you.”

  Brianna sighed. She’d known she’d have to face her father eventually. Better to do it over the telephone than in person. She’d half expected him to arrive on Aunt Fiona’s doorstep one day and haul her back home.

  Brianna crossed the hall to the small study and picked up the earpiece lying on the desktop. She took in a breath and let it out, steeling herself to be strong. “Hello, Daddy.”

  “Brianna.” A loud blast of air hissed through the earpiece. “This nonsense has gone on long enough. I want you home.”

  Her heart gave a hiccup. Had her father just admitted to missing her?

  “You’ve caused your mother enough grief with this little drama of yours. It’s time to start acting like an adult.”

  Immediately Brianna’s back went up. “I’m quite happy here with Aunt Fiona. She doesn’t tell me what to do every minute.”

  “I am still your father, and you will obey me.” His bellow caused her to pull the phone piece away from her ear.

  Brianna could picture Daddy’s face turning red on the other end. “I love you, Daddy, but I am not coming home.”

  With shaking fingers, she hung up the earpiece and sagged onto the nearby chair. She took a few deep breaths, unable to believe she’d just defied her father that way. And she’d done it without insults, tears, or hysterics. A lightness spread through her limbs. Perhaps it wasn’t so hard after all to stand up for herself. To stake a claim on her future happiness.

  Her thoughts automatically turned to Gil. Could she take her bravery one step further? Could she confront Gil one more time and try to make him see reason?

  Filled with newfound purpose, she pushed all doubts out of her mind, knowing she had to try . . . or she’d regret it the rest of her life.

  An hour later, dressed in one of her best gowns, Brianna approached the intimidating door to the Hastings Bank and Loan Company. She clutched her handbag tighter and pushed through the entrance. The elegant surroundings took her breath away. Still, she found it hard to picture Gil working here. Stifling her nerves, she walked up to the receptionist.

  “May I speak with Mr. Whelan, please?”

  The woman smiled. “Do you have an appointment?”

  Brianna hesitated. The temptation to lie gripped her, but she shook her head. “No. It’s a personal matter.”

  The woman’s eyebrows rose. “One moment and I’ll see if he’s free.”

  Brianna fought the urge to pace the area while she waited. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. Why did it feel like everyone was staring at her?

  At last, she heard footsteps and Gil appeared, a frown creasing his brow. “Brianna. Is everything all right?”

  She gulped in a breath. He looked devastatingly handsome in a dark suit and matching vest. Like a real banker. “Everything’s fine. Could I speak with you for a minute?”

  Gil looked at the clock on the wall, then back at the receptionist, who had resumed her seat. “Mrs. Gilmore, if anyone is looking for me I’m taking a ten-minute break.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gil put a hand to Brianna’s back and motioned to the door. “Let’s take a walk.”

  The fact that he hadn’t smiled once or said he was glad to see her sent off little flares of alarm through Brianna’s system. Maybe he sensed her nerves and figured something was wrong. If only she could figure out how to start this conversation . . .

  They exited the bank and walked down the sidewalk. He turned a corner, led her to a bench in front of a barber shop, and motioned her to sit down.

  “What is it, Bree?” His face remained serious as he sat beside her. Something Brianna couldn’t quite define hovered in his eyes.

  She twisted the strap of her bag in her fingers. “I . . . I spoke to Daddy today.”

  Gil went still, his back ramrod straight. She glanced at his face. The anguish there stunned her.

  “So he told you?”

  Confusion clouded Brianna’s thinking, and all the words she’d prepared flew from her mind. “Told me what?”

  Gil’s gaze slid away to some spot on the ground. He ran a hand over his jaw.

  She noticed the dark circles under his eyes then, and the slightly hollow look to his cheeks. “What is it, Gil?”

  He seemed to pull himself back with some effort. “Never mind. First tell me what you came here for.”

  It was now or never. Brianna shored her courage and wet her dry lips. “Daddy demanded I come home, but I said no. I stood up to him, Gil. And it felt good.”

  The lines on his forehead eased. “That was very brave of you.” He gave a slight smile, but his expression remained sad.

  “And now I’m going to do something else equally brave.” She looked him square in the eye. “I’m going to fight for you, Gil. I refuse to let Daddy dictate our lives. We need to follow our hearts, and in the end, when Daddy sees how happy we are, he’ll come around. He can’t stay mad at us forever.”

  Pain leapt into Gil’s eyes before he closed them on a groan. “Oh, Bree . . .”

  She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “If I can be brave, you can, too, Gil. Please say you’ll try.”

  He jerked off the bench, away from her, and stood staring across the street, his back rigid beneath his jacket. “I’m so sorry, Bree, but it’s too late.”

  The cold grip of fear clutched her midsection. “What do you mean?”

  When he turned toward her, his face looked haggard. “I’m engaged to Aurora. We announced it at the Independence Day party at her father’s house.”

  The air rushed from her lungs. The scenery blurred before her eyes. “But you barely know her. How could you possibly . . . ?”

  “I’m sorry, Bree,” he repeated. “It happened quickly. Some . . . courtships move faster than others.”

  She lurched to her feet. “What are you saying? That you’re in love with her?”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. He swallowed. “Yes.”

  Searing pain like nothing she’d ever experienced shafted through her heart. He turned his head as though looking at her was too awful to bear. How could she have been so wrong about something? Had she deluded herself into believing what she wanted to believe?

  She pulled herself up to her full height, willing her limbs to cooperate. At least now she had her answer. Once and for all. “I see. Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I wish you and Aurora every happiness.”

  Before her tears could betray her, she walked quickly down the sidewalk, away from Gil and away from any ties to the past. Her future had become clear. She would follow in her aunt’s footsteps—forgo any foolish notions of romance—and dedicate her life to something that would never cause her this type of agony again.

  Slumped at his desk the next day, Gil rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to dislodge the grittiness that blurred his vision. After another near-sleepless night, haunted by visions of Bree’s devastation, he could barely see straight.

  He suppressed a groan. Had he done the right thing—lying to Bree about his feelings for Aurora? It was the only way he could think of to convince her to give up on him once and for all. Despite her talk of bravery, Gil just couldn’t betray James or risk tearing the O’Leary family apart. Bree may not realize it, but without her father’s approval—something she’d been craving her entire life—she could never be truly happy.

  Gil raised his coffee cup to his lips and grimaced at the cold, bitter brew left in the bottom. How many cups had he already consumed today? No matter. He’d need another if he was to get through the afternoon.

  Perhaps he’d take a walk to Amsterdam Avenue and buy a coffee from the deli at the corner. The fresh air might do him as much good as the caffeine. With a swipe to the
back of his chair, he grabbed his suit jacket and pushed out the wooden gate into the main area of the bank.

  Arthur Hastings emerged from his office at the same time, a frown creating furrows on his brow. “Gilbert, may I have a word with you?”

  “Of course, sir.” The coffee and walk would have to wait.

  He followed Mr. Hastings into his office.

  “Is anything wrong?” Gil took one of the guest chairs.

  Arthur sat down and pushed a familiar blue folder across the desk. The anonymous loan application he’d asked Gil to examine.

  “Is there a problem with the file?” Perspiration dampened the back of Gil’s shirt. Had he made a grave error?

  “You declined this application.” Mr. Hastings’s flat tone gave away nothing.

  “Yes, sir. After calculating and recalculating the figures, I didn’t feel the client warranted the loan.” Gil frowned. “Did I miss something?” He was still learning the ropes. Had he overlooked an important element?

  Arthur ran a hand over his mustache and sighed. “No. You made the right decision. It’s the same one I have to make.”

  The air in the stuffy office became even more suffocating as a sudden suspicion dawned on Gil. “This is Mr. O’Leary’s application, isn’t it?”

  The grim look Arthur gave him told him the answer. Deflated, Gil sagged back against the chair. “This is going to crush him.”

  “I know.” Arthur pushed to his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “But I cannot in good conscience approve the loan. To make an allowance for a personal acquaintance is no way to run a bank.”

  Gil rubbed a hand over his jaw “Is there no other option?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Bile rose in the back of Gil’s throat as a horrible thought hit him. He’d agreed to marry Aurora believing it would further Mr. O’Leary’s cause, and now it appeared he’d done it all for nothing. The image of Brianna’s stricken face when he’d told her of his engagement burned in his mind. The collar of his shirt choked off his air supply like a hangman’s noose tightening around his neck. Gil wet his dry lips. “When will you break the news to him?”

  Arthur glanced at the clock on his desk. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll wait until the morning. I feel it only right to tell him in person. I’ll have James come in tomorrow.” Arthur exhaled loudly as he resumed his seat. “You did good work on that case, son. I’m sorry the answer couldn’t have been different.”

  “You and me both, sir.”

  In the shadows of the setting sun, Rylan walked down the road toward the home of Reverend Filmore’s sister. He’d spent countless hours at the church on his knees in prayer, and still he couldn’t shake the guilt that ate at his soul. He’d betrayed a sacred promise to God.

  What he needed was absolution—to confess his offense to a priest and receive a clergyman’s counsel. It was the only way to make up for his sin and find a way to move forward.

  Anna Filmore Brookes and her husband lived in a modest dwelling on the outskirts of town. Their two grown children now lived in homes of their own, granting them the space to put up the good Reverend until the repairs on the rectory were complete. Rylan had met Anna at Sunday services, but never her husband. He was relieved when the plump, gray-haired woman answered his knock at the front door.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Brookes. I’m sorry to bother you, but would Reverend Filmore be in?”

  Her weary face broke into a smile. “He is. Please come in, Mr. Montgomery.”

  The delicious smell of fresh bread and some type of cooked meat met Rylan’s nose as he removed his cap and stepped inside, and he realized it might be the supper hour. “I hope I’m not interrupting your meal.”

  “Not at all. We finished moments ago, and the men are having coffee in the parlor. Can I get you a cup?”

  “No, thank you. I just need a private word with Reverend Filmore, please.” The desperation in his voice must have been evident, for she gave him a curious look before she nodded.

  “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  She disappeared down a short hall and into another room. Murmuring voices reached him, and seconds later Mrs. Brookes reappeared followed by a man Rylan presumed to be her spouse.

  “This is my husband, Albert,” the woman said.

  He shook the man’s hand, noting his tall, thin frame and stooped shoulders, the opposite of his wife’s short, round stature.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Montgomery. I understand your sermons are a big hit at St. Rita’s.” Mr. Brookes chuckled. “Sad to say, I’m not much of a churchgoer, but Anna has told me how good they are.”

  “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “Please go on into the parlor. My brother-in-law is expecting you.”

  “Thank you.” Rylan made his way to the cozy room and found Reverend Filmore seated in a large armchair by the fire.

  He stood as Rylan entered, a look of concern on his face. “Rylan. This is unexpected. Is there an emergency?”

  “Not in the way you mean, sir. But I have a personal matter that can’t wait.” Nerves dampened Rylan’s palms.

  “Of course. Please come and sit down.”

  Rylan took the end of the well-worn settee, across from the chair that Reverend Filmore now reclaimed. The glow of the fire cast a rosy hue in the small room, giving the space an intimate air. Though desperate to speak a moment ago, Rylan now found the words wedged tightly in his dry throat. He ran the rim of his hat through his fingers and stared into the flames.

  “You seem troubled, Rylan. What is the matter?”

  Rylan raised his eyes. “I never meant for this to happen. You must believe me on that, Reverend.”

  Reverend Filmore frowned. “I believe you. What has you so rattled?”

  Rylan clenched his molars together, as though saying the words out loud would change the course of his life forever.

  “Whatever it is, son, you can tell me. In all my years of ministry, there’s nothing I haven’t heard.” An air of empathy surrounded the older man.

  Rylan stared at the braided carpet. “Have you ever heard of a priest falling in love?” His voice was so low, he wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken aloud. When he raised his head, he saw raw sorrow etched into the lines of Reverend Filmore’s face.

  “Yes, I have,” he said quietly. “In fact, I’ve lived it.”

  Rylan stared. “You were in love once?”

  The pastor folded his hands across his ample midsection and sighed. “Sadly, yes. It happened many years ago, in my first parish. She was a troubled young widow who came to me for counseling. Before I knew it, I’d developed all these feelings for the woman. Feelings I didn’t know what to do with.”

  Relief bubbled through Rylan’s tight chest, loosening the bands of tension. If Reverend Filmore had gotten through it and survived, then surely he could, too. “That’s exactly what’s happened to me, Father. But what did you do about it?”

  The man shook his head. “The only thing I could. I requested a transfer to a different parish . . . and never saw her again.”

  A slash of intense pain hit Rylan like a physical blow. The mere notion of never seeing Colleen again was too excruciating to bear. But the thought of abandoning his vocation was worse. “Did the feelings ever go away?”

  “Eventually—after a lot of time and prayer.”

  That didn’t make Rylan feel any better. He lowered his head again. “Something happened today, Father. I . . . I kissed her. I never intended to—it just happened.” Misery seeped through every pore as he pictured the disgust that must be evident on the older priest’s face.

  “And the kiss changed everything.” Reverend Filmore said it in such a way that Rylan knew he’d experienced the same thing.

  “Yes.” He met the priest’s gaze, sure his tortured soul must show in his eyes. “What am I to do, Father? I’ve been praying for hours at the church and nothing’s helped.”

  Reverend Filmore leaned forward in his chair, hi
s hands folded over his knees. “Well, son, this is not a decision you can make lightly. Since you haven’t yet taken your final vows, your situation is different than mine. Theoretically, you still have the option to leave the seminary, if that’s what you decide.”

  “Leave?” The dazed question hung in the air. He hadn’t let himself truly consider that possibility until this moment, afraid the temptation to make such an impulsive decision might overtake his good sense.

  “I believe the wise thing to do now is take time to reflect—seek God’s counsel on His will for your life. Return to Boston and take a private retreat to pray for your vocation. I’m sure the clergy there will help you discern your true calling.”

  Go back to Boston? Why did that feel like such a failure? The image of his mother’s beaming face on the day he’d left for the seminary came to mind. What would it do to her if he abandoned his vocation?

  “Rylan, may I ask what made you want to become a priest?”

  For the first time since Rylan had left the orphanage, tears formed. “My mother had fallen ill with pneumonia. With my father dead, she was all we had, my brothers and my sister and I. We sat by her bedside night after night and prayed for her recovery. Finally I made a bargain with God. If He spared her life, I would dedicate mine to His service.” He smiled weakly. “God came through with His end. Now I’m keeping mine.”

  Reverend Filmore said nothing for several seconds, then tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “While that’s admirable, I’m not sure it’s the best reason to become a priest.”

  Shards of resentment pricked at Rylan. Why would one reason be better than another to give one’s life to God?

  “The only way to discern whether you have a true calling or not is to step away from the situation, away from the woman who evokes these strong emotions. In the silence of the sanctuary, listen for God’s purpose for your life. He will provide the answers you seek.”

  Rylan hung his head. “I’m so sorry I’ve let you down, Father.”

  A large hand squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, lad. It’s not your fault—as I well know. Give it some time and prayer, and things will fall into place the way God intended.”