Irish Meadows Read online

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  Colleen kissed her father and whispered, “Welcome home, Daddy.”

  He gave her a wink, and she smiled at the slight twinkle in his eye. Maybe having his family around him was exactly what he needed to assist his recovery. She took Connor and Deirdre by the hand and led them out to the kitchen to get one of Mrs. Harrison’s freshly baked cookies. Soon the two were seated at the table, happily munching treats and drawing a get-well card to take up to Daddy later.

  Colleen returned to the entryway, where Brianna stood staring up the stairs, tracks of wetness staining her cheeks. “Daddy looks frail, don’t you think?”

  Colleen straightened her shoulders. “Of course he does. He’s been in a hospital bed for weeks. He needs time to build up his strength again. Now that he’s home where he belongs, I’m sure he’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  Brianna smiled. “I hope you’re right.”

  By unspoken agreement, she and Brianna walked into the parlor together.

  “So have you heard from Rylan since he’s been gone?”

  Colleen’s heart lurched at the name she’d been avoiding. “Not a word.” She sank onto the sofa, feeling as though the air had seeped out of her like a flat tire on Daddy’s Model T.

  “Maybe he’s not allowed outside contact. Especially from you—if he’s told his superior about you.”

  She paused, digesting Bree’s theory. “You may be right.” Hope dimmed. “But it’s been almost three weeks since he left.”

  Brianna put a warm hand on her arm. “Don’t give up. Right now we need to focus on getting Daddy better, and pray that while we work on Daddy, God works on Rylan.”

  “Come in.” James’s loud call penetrated the solid wood door.

  Gil took a fortifying breath and pushed into the room. He owed James a long-overdue apology, and now that his health had stabilized, Gil could not put it off any longer.

  He squinted into the dim interior of the bedroom. Heavy drapes shielded the daylight from entering. James sat up in bed against two pillows propped behind his back. Like the room, the light had gone out of his eyes.

  “Good morning. How are you feeling today?” Gil cringed inwardly, thinking he sounded as falsely cheerful as the nurse who came each afternoon.

  James glared at him. “How do you think? Stuck here in this bed with everyone mollycoddling me like a newborn infant.”

  “They’re worried about you because they love you.”

  “Frankly, I could use a little less love.” He scowled, his eyebrows shooting together.

  Gil dragged a chair closer to the side of the large, four-poster bed and sat with his hands folded over his knees. “James, I owe you an apology. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get around to it.” He glanced up and saw regret on James’s haggard face. “I followed you into that pub to help, but I only made matters worse. I should never have—”

  James held up a hand. “All you did was speak the truth at a time I didn’t want to hear it.”

  Gil shook his head, shame flooding him. “I had no business being so disrespectful after everything you’ve done for me.” Emotion seized his windpipe. He could’ve lost this man he loved like a father.

  James shook his head. “Truth be told, I owe you an even bigger apology, son. I should never have asked you to court Aurora Hastings. I’ve no excuse except that sometimes desperation makes a man do desperate things.”

  Some of the weight lifted from Gil’s shoulders. “I wasn’t entirely blameless. I could have said no. But at least I’ve learned a valuable lesson from this whole mess.” He paused. “You should know that I’ve called off the engagement.”

  James nodded, a sober expression haunting his face. “I’m glad. Facing your own mortality has a way of changing your perspective on things.” A smile twitched his lips. “Not that I recommend that particular method of self-discovery.”

  Gil laughed, greatly relieved to be back on better terms with his guardian.

  “I want to thank you for coming back to help out. I know it’s eased Kathleen’s mind a great deal to have you home.”

  “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be. Like you always remind us, family pulls together in the tough times.”

  “I’m glad someone listens when I talk.” James sobered. “So . . . how bad is it?”

  Gil straightened on the hard chair. “You know you’re not supposed to be talking business. Your wife would have my hide.”

  James crossed his arms over his chest, some of the fighting spirit returning to his demeanor. “You may as well tell me. I’ll only imagine the worst, and the worry won’t be good for my health.”

  Gil grinned and shook his head. “You are incorrigible.” He hesitated, considering his options. He supposed a bit of good news wouldn’t hurt. “I can say that things are turning around . . . slowly. And don’t ask for details because I’m not going to give them.”

  Lines spread across James’s forehead. “So we won’t be foreclosing any time soon?”

  James’s misery echoed in Gil’s heart. How must James feel to fail his family? To think his wife and children would lose their home?

  “You’re not going to lose Irish Meadows. Not while I have anything to say about it.”

  James sagged back against the pillows, and actual tears formed in his eyes. “Thank you, Gil. I don’t know how you’ve pulled this off, and for now I won’t ask.” He swallowed and looked straight at Gil. “Just know I’m extremely grateful.”

  Gil’s throat tightened. At last he’d been able to help James in an honorable way. “No thanks necessary. You know I love this place.” In fact, he loved Irish Meadows as if it were his own. Could starting another business be any more fulfilling?

  James moved under the covers. “I think I’d better rest awhile now.”

  Gil jumped to his feet. “Of course. I’ve got work to do anyway.”

  On the way out the door, he stopped to glance back at James, whose eyes had already closed. Gil offered a silent prayer of thanks for the relaxing of the lines around his mouth and forehead for the first time since that fateful day in the bank. Maybe now James could breathe easier and concentrate on regaining his health.

  Once James was back in the saddle, so to speak, Gil would talk to him about Brianna and plead his case for becoming his son-in-law.

  31

  GOOD MORNING, Sister Veronica.” Colleen pulled off her gloves and smiled at the nun standing in the entrance of the orphanage. “It’s a beautiful day today.”

  “It surely is.” The young woman beamed at her, and Colleen suffered a momentary twinge of envy for the peace the nun exuded. “I’m so glad you’ve continued to volunteer here, even after Mr. Montgomery left.”

  Colleen froze and then forced herself to breathe. “It wouldn’t do to lose two volunteers at once. Besides, I love being with the children.” She matched Sister Veronica’s quick pace as they made their way along the carpeted hallway.

  “And they love you, too.”

  Colleen took a moment to give thanks for these precious children—who didn’t give two figs about a person’s clothing, wealth, or social status—and who gave their hearts freely, without reservation.

  “What’s on the agenda for today?” she asked.

  “I believe Sister Marguerite has planned an outing to the park.”

  Colleen faltered briefly, barraged by ripe memories of the day she and Rylan had taken the children to the park. She swallowed hard. “That sounds . . . enjoyable.”

  “But first, Sister Marguerite asked to see you in her office.”

  Instantly, a hoard of butterflies swarmed Colleen’s stomach. “I haven’t done anything to upset her, have I?”

  “I don’t know. Spilled any ink lately?” Sister Veronica giggled.

  Colleen’s lips twitched in response. “Not a drop.”

  The nun leaned in. “Then relax.”

  Still, when Colleen knocked on the door to Sister Marguerite’s office, the butterflies took f
light once more.

  “Come in.”

  The door squeaked loudly as Colleen entered. She grimaced, before schooling her features into a calm mask. “Good morning, Sister. You wanted to see me?”

  Sister Marguerite looked up from a book on the tidy desktop. “Yes, Miss O’Leary. Please have a seat.”

  The sparse room contained a desk, one guest chair, and a small filing cabinet. The only decorations on the stark gray walls were a lone wooden crucifix and a calendar with pictures of the saints, plus the orphanage’s only telephone. Colleen smoothed her skirts underneath her, glad the nun’s tone didn’t seem antagonistic. She waited with her hands folded in her lap for the woman to speak.

  Sister Marguerite removed her glasses and focused her attention on Colleen. “I thought you’d like an update on Delia O’Brien, seeing as you were so fond of her.”

  Odd how sorrow and excitement could combine to twist one’s insides. “Yes, please. How is she doing?” She’d heard nothing since Delia’s sudden departure, and she thirsted for news of the girl.

  The nun pursed her lips. “I’m sorry to say she’s having trouble adjusting to her adoptive family. Her mother writes that she can’t get Delia to smile or to eat much. And the child cries herself to sleep every night.”

  Colleen’s heart plummeted, her mood turning as bleak as the room. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything we can do to help? Perhaps go and visit?”

  “Unfortunately, the parents do not wish Delia to have contact with anyone from the orphanage. They believe it would only serve to stir up old attachments and keep her from forming new ones.”

  “I see.”

  “Delia did, however, write a note for you. Her mother sent it along.” Sister Marguerite picked up an envelope with childish print scrawled across the front and handed it to her.

  Colleen bit her lip as she took the precious missive. “Thank you, Sister,” she whispered.

  The nun fingered another envelope. “There’s something else for you.” She waited until Colleen met her hard stare. “From Boston, it seems.”

  Colleen’s heart stilled in her chest. Her hand shook as she accepted the second letter.

  The nun’s chair scraped the hardwood floor as she stood. “I’ll expect you in the classroom in ten minutes.”

  Colleen nodded distractedly, still intent on the two envelopes. “Yes, Sister.”

  The door closed seconds later with a small click. Colleen ran her finger over the handwriting on the letter from St. Peter’s Seminary in Boston—Rylan’s handwriting—and bit her lip to still the quiver.

  She opened the note from Delia first. Tears misted her eyes at the sight of the large, childish letters.

  Dear Miss Oleery: My new familee is nice but I miss you. Thank you for sending Mr. Wiskers. I hope you can come and visit soon. Love, Delia.

  Colleen pressed a kiss to the page and refolded it, planning the letter she would send in return. Lord, please help Delia learn to love her new family, and please let them be good to her.

  Gathering her emotions, Colleen picked up Rylan’s letter and traced the shape of her name written by his hand. With a shaky breath, she pulled the seal from the envelope. Inside, she found plain blue stationery filled with several lines of neat script. She frowned as she noticed the date in the corner. July 10, 1911. Four weeks ago. Why had it taken so long to get to her? Her breathing thinned as she read the words.

  Dearest Colleen, I am taking a minute to write now, as I won’t be able to for some time. I’ve been ‘sentenced’ to solitary confinement on a mandatory month-long retreat. I’m to have no contact with the outside world until then. In the meantime, I hope you are keeping well and that your father is much improved. Give my love to the children at the orphanage. Please continue to pray for me as I will for you. Yours, Rylan.

  Colleen’s shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her disappointment. No words of love for her. No mention of missing her. No message of hope. She reread the note, trying to decipher any further meaning behind his words, but could find none. He might as well be writing to Sister Marguerite.

  A tear slid off her cheek onto the paper, blurring the ink below. She gasped and pulled out a handkerchief to dab at the spot. This might be the only letter she ever received from Rylan, and she’d keep it among her precious keepsakes until her dying day. She let out a sigh and rose from the chair. Sister Marguerite would be expecting her in the classroom.

  At the door, she hesitated. She walked to the calendar on the wall to quickly count the days since Rylan’s letter. If she’d calculated correctly, today marked the end of Rylan’s retreat. Her pulse quickened. Had he made his decision? If so, how would he let her know? Would he send another letter that may not get to her for weeks?

  With a determined set to her jaw, she tucked both pieces of mail into her apron pocket. She couldn’t wait that long to learn her fate. Somehow she would find a way to get to Boston and make Rylan tell her what he had decided—face-to-face.

  Brianna balanced a tray of food as she made her way up the stairs to her parents’ bedroom. In the long hallway, she set the tray on a narrow table and paused to catch her breath, bracing herself to face whatever lay on the other side of the door. From what the maid had told her, her father seemed docile today, unlike most days when his vile temper had the girls cowering in fear. Perhaps he’d turned a corner and was feeling better. Come to think of it, Mama seemed more herself lately, as well. Brianna prayed they’d found their way back to the happy marriage they’d always enjoyed.

  She opened the door to her father’s room, then picked up the tray. No matter what her father’s mood, she promised herself she would talk to him today about Gil. Ever since she and Gil had toured the property on horseback, she’d been searching for a solution to keep Gil right here where he belonged, and she had come up with an idea that just might work—for all of them.

  “Hi, Daddy. I hope you’re hungry.” Smiling, she swept into the room, determined to keep things cheerful.

  To her surprise, he greeted her with an answering smile. “Brianna. You’re a life-saver. I need your help.”

  She set the tray on the dresser and approached the bed. “What is it?”

  His coloring looked better. His face had been freshly shaved, his hair combed. And the life seemed to have returned to his eyes.

  “I need you to help me downstairs.”

  Brianna’s mouth fell open. She’d love to help him—with anything but that. “Daddy, you know you’re not allowed to use the stairs yet. How about I open the window and get some fresh air in here?”

  She moved to the window and jerked up the sash. When she turned back, her father had swung his legs over the side of the bed, about to stand. “Daddy, no.” She rushed to place a hand on his shoulder. “You cannot get out of bed without the nurse.”

  “Tarnation, girl. I’ve been up every night walking the halls when everyone’s asleep. I’m getting stronger by the minute.” He fixed her with a pleading stare. “I know I can make it downstairs with your help. I want to sit on my porch and look out over the racetrack. I haven’t been outside in over a month.”

  She hesitated, riddled with indecision, desperate to please him but loathe to cause a setback in his recovery.

  “Please, Bree.”

  “How will I get you back up here?”

  “We’ll ask Sam or one of the hands to help.”

  She bit her lip, knowing what it cost her father to ask for assistance. “All right. I’ll do it on one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “That you listen to an idea I have once you’re settled.”

  He grinned, a glimpse of his old self peeking through. “I’d be happy to.”

  Ten minutes later, she had Daddy sitting in his wicker rocker on the back porch, grateful that her mother and Mrs. Johnston had been occupied elsewhere. The smile of contentment on his face as he watched the horses run the track made up for the moments of terror on the way down. She only hoped it was worth Mama’s wrath when
she found out.

  Brianna glanced over at her father, startled to find him watching her with a wary expression on his face.

  “I need to ask you a question, Brianna, and I want an honest answer.”

  She sighed, feeling like a child about to receive a scolding. “All right.”

  “What made you run away like that?”

  The hurt in his tone did more to shame her than his anger ever could. She’d never considered that her actions would cause her father pain. She lowered her head. “I realized I couldn’t marry Henry. And I knew you wouldn’t change your mind. I thought leaving was my only option.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t realize you were that unhappy,” he said softly. “Your mother was right. I was bullying my children.”

  “Mama said that?”

  A half smile softened his features. “That and a whole lot more. She was right, of course. But I was too stubborn and too consumed with business problems to heed her advice. Both you and your sister took drastic actions to end your relationships, all because you felt I wouldn’t listen.” He shook his head, sorrow etching lines on his face.

  “It’s all right, Daddy. The only thing that matters now is that you regain your health. Everything else will work out as God intends.” A light breeze blew her skirts against her legs.

  Her father reached over to place his large hand on hers. “Thank you, Brianna. Your forgiveness is more than I deserve.” He cleared his throat. “Now tell me about this idea of yours.”

  Despite his attempt to lighten the mood, nerves plagued Brianna. She bit her lip and prayed for the words to present her proposal in a favorable manner. “It’s about Gil.”

  “Go on.” A note of skepticism crept into his voice.

  “You know he’s managed to keep Irish Meadows from the brink of bankruptcy.”

  “Yes, and I’m very grateful to him.”

  “Don’t you think his hard work deserves a reward?”