Irish Meadows (17 page)

“I'm serious.” She looked away. “I haven't been a very nice person. You know what I did to Jared and Gil. It's not the first time I've used someone to get what I want.” Heat spread over her cheeks as the secret she'd never told anyone intruded on her thoughts. Could Rylan absolve her of that long-held guilt? Already she felt changed from her dealings with him and the orphans. What was it about Rylan that made her question her plans for the future?

She heard him release a quiet sigh and glanced up through her lashes. He said nothing at first, simply staring out the window as the train clacked down the line. After a few seconds, he trained his earnest brown eyes on her.

“You're a girl becoming a woman, and you've likely made a few mistakes along the way. You've not done anything so terrible that God wouldn't forgive.” In his earnestness, he leaned toward her. “God loves you no matter what, Colleen. Turn to Him, ask His forgiveness, and seek to do better. That's all He wants.”

A lump of emotion balled in Colleen's throat. Hot tears burned the back of her eyes. Could it really be so simple? “Will you . . . could you show me how to do that?”

A smile spread over his face. Gently, he reached for one of her
stained hands and folded it within the warmth of his fingers. “It would be my pleasure. Why don't we start with a short prayer?”

For the first time since she was a child, Colleen bowed her head and moved her lips in heartfelt words of repentance, followed by praise for God's great mercy.

L
ATE
M
ONDAY
AFTERNOON
,
Gil knocked on the door to Mr. Hastings's office, trying to keep his trepidation at bay. He prayed he'd not made some terrible mistake with the bank's money.

“Come in.”

Gil stepped inside. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, Gilbert. Have a seat. I've had a telephone call from James O'Leary with a message for you.”

Alarm shot through Gil's system as he sank to the chair. The stuffy air in the room added to the perspiration that trailed down his back. “Nothing's wrong, I hope.”

Lines bracketed Arthur Hastings's mouth. “It's about his daughter, Brianna.”

Gil felt the blood drain away from his face. He was grateful he was already sitting or his legs would have buckled. “What about her?”

“It appears she's run away.”

Gil's mouth gaped open. A thousand dark thoughts raced
through his mind. What would make Bree do something so drastic? “How do they know this?”

“She left a note for her mother saying she'd gone to stay with an aunt in the city. Apparently, James's sister lives here in Manhattan.” Arthur pushed a piece of paper across the desk. “He tried telephoning her house, but he only got the housekeeper, who refused to give out any information. James wants you to go and check with the aunt to make sure Brianna is really there. This is the address.”

Gil took the paper and tried to focus on the words dancing before him. “Do they know why Brianna left so suddenly?”

Arthur shook his head. “I'm afraid not. James did say the whole family had been at her graduation a few days before and that she'd locked herself in her room all weekend, claiming illness. Then this morning, she was gone.” Arthur steepled his hands together. “He also said she left a note for her fiancé, but the man refused to tell them what it said.”

Gil jerked from his chair and paced to the credenza. For Bree to leave her family, something serious must have happened. Guilt wound its way around Gil's neck, choking his airway. Did Gil's departure have anything to do with it? He dragged loose his tie and opened the top button of his shirt.

Behind his desk, Arthur rose, as well. “Why don't you leave now, son? I doubt you'll get any work done until you find her.”

Gil nodded. “Thank you, sir. I think I will.”

Please, Lord, let her be safe
at her aunt's.

Twenty minutes later, Gil climbed the stairs to the door at 402 West 94th Street. The walk from the streetcar in the fresh afternoon air had helped ease his nerves. That and the multitude of prayers he'd recited on his way. He knocked and waited until a plump, stern-faced housekeeper opened the door.

“Good afternoon. I'm looking for Miss Fiona O'Leary.”

The woman scowled. “Isn't everyone today?” Then she opened the door wider. “Whom shall I say is calling?”

“Mr. Gilbert Whelan.”

“Wait here.”

Gil removed his cap and scanned his surroundings while he waited. It appeared James's sister had done well for herself despite having never married. The house was tasteful and elegant, with high ceilings and ornate woodwork.

A few moments later, a tall, well-dressed woman appeared in the hall. Gil could see a definite resemblance to her brother in the high cheekbones, blue eyes, and regal bearing. Where James was dark-haired, however, his sister had inherited the trademark Irish auburn hair, which she wore in a loose topknot. He vaguely remembered her visiting Irish Meadows years ago after the O'Learys had become his guardians.

“Gilbert Whelan?” She wore a smile of welcome as she approached him. “Why, I haven't seen you since you were barely out of short pants.” She held out a hand to him. “You've grown into a fine young man, I see.”

He smiled in return. “Thank you, Miss O'Leary. It's good to see you again.”

“Please, call me Aunt Fiona. Won't you come into the parlor?”

Gil bit back his impatience and followed her down the tiled hall, their footsteps the only sound in the house. They entered a warm, Victorian-style parlor furnished with two large sofas and bookshelves filled to capacity. In one corner, a white birdcage housed a pair of colorful birds that darted from perch to perch.

Gil waited for Aunt Fiona to choose a seat and then sat down on the edge of the gold settee. The glow from a lamp created highlights on Aunt Fiona's hair, reminding him so much of Brianna that his chest ached.

“I think I know why you're here,” she said without preamble. “James sent you, didn't he?”

“Yes. He's worried about Brianna.” Gil leaned forward, hands over his knees. “She
is
here, isn't she?”

“Yes. She arrived early this morning.”

“Is she all right?”

“Physically she's fine. Emotionally, well . . . that's harder to determine.”

She shot him a piercing look that made Gil squirm on the cushioned seat. Had Brianna told her aunt what had happened between them? Best turn the attention elsewhere.

“Does this have anything to do with Bree's fiancé?”

“That is none of your business, Gilbert Whelan.”

The ice-cold fury in Brianna's voice struck Gil like a slap to the face. He shot to his feet and turned to find a very angry female standing in the arched doorway.

“Brianna.” His mind went blank at the sight of her. Though it had only been a few weeks, it seemed like months since he'd seen her. She appeared thinner, her eyes shadowed by purple smudges—small signs hinting at her unhappiness.

She marched farther into the room, hands on the hips of her striped skirt. “What are you doing here?”

He swallowed his dismay at her obvious displeasure, wishing for their usual hug of greeting. “Your father asked me to make sure you were here.”

She glared at him. “Well, you've done your duty. Feel free to report back to the general.”

Aunt Fiona cleared her throat. “Why don't I see about some refreshments?”

When Bree gave a clipped nod, her aunt quietly left the room.

Bree made no move to sit down, so Gil remained standing awkwardly by the sofa. “Why are you doing this, Bree? Running away and upsetting the whole family.”

She crossed her arms in front of her and tilted her chin. “I'm taking your advice.”

“
My
advice?”

“You told me I should live my own life and not blindly follow what my father wanted me to do.” A fierce frown puckered her brow over the vivid greenness of her eyes.

Gil stepped toward her, approaching her as he would an unstable filly. He was not at all sure how to handle this angry, defiant Brianna. “What made you decide to leave? Did something happen at your graduation?”

A wave of hurt passed over her features before her expression hardened. “Nothing happened—except I realized I had my whole future ahead of me—and I did not want to marry Henry.”

Shock made him startle. “Did you tell him that in your letter?” Her answer shouldn't matter to him, yet he found a bubble of hope rising through him.

“That's between Henry and me.” She stalked across the room to the window and moved the white lace curtain aside to stare out.

The caged birds squawked and flapped their wings, as though agitated by their heated words.

Gil swiped a hand over his jaw. He had no real right to interfere in her life, but he needed to know she was all right. He came up behind her and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.

She flinched and whirled around, anger glinting in her eyes. “Don't you dare touch me, Gilbert Whelan. You have no right.”

His heart sank like a stone. He'd lost her. Lost her friendship and her trust. He'd destroyed everything when he'd left. “I'm sorry.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, attempting to push back the tides of emotion raging through him. He had no say in what she did with her life now. Whether she went back home, whether she married Henry, or whether she lived with her aunt. But he couldn't stop himself from asking, “What will you do now, Bree?”

She moved away from him. “I want to enroll at Barnard College in the fall.”

So she was going after her dream despite her father's opposition. Her bravery only increased his admiration for her. “What about the tuition? I doubt your father will fund it.”

“Aunt Fiona is going to try and persuade him to change his mind. If not, I'll figure something out. I'll get a job if I have to.”

He raised a brow. “You're really serious about this?”

“Of course I am.”

Gil frowned at a sudden thought. The women's college was only blocks from the bank. Brianna would be close by, a fact he found both comforting and disturbing. He shifted from one foot to the other as a certain awkwardness set in. “Will you at least let your parents know you're all right?”

Her features softened with regret, and she nodded. “I'll ask Aunt Fiona to call. If I hear Mama's voice, I may give in and go home.” Her unhappiness shimmered in the air around them like the afternoon sun flickering through the sheer curtains.

The desire to pull her into his arms became a physical ache. “If you ever need me for anything, I'm staying at Mrs. Shaughnessy's boarding house on Amsterdam Avenue, Room 212.” He waited until she met his gaze. “Despite everything, Bree, I hope we'll always be friends.”

Moisture gleamed in those amazing green eyes. The ones that haunted him each night as he stared at the cracks in the ceiling of his room.

“I hope so too, Gil.” She bit down on her bottom lip, and he knew she was trying desperately to contain her emotions.

If only things could be different between them.

He took a deliberate step back. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

He picked up his hat from the settee, and with a last long look at her, he turned and strode out of the room.

“I spoke to your father last night.” Aunt Fiona dabbed a napkin to her lips the next morning at breakfast.

Brianna glanced up from her plate. What little appetite she had left after the shock of seeing Gil yesterday vanished at the mere mention of her father. “What did Daddy say?”

“As you can guess, he wants you to come home.” Her aunt
gave a soft sigh. “I don't know why my brother feels the need to control everyone around him. Why he can't just let them live their lives.”

Brianna sensed Aunt Fiona wasn't talking only about the present situation. Had Daddy tried to control his sister's life, as well?

“Did you ask him about college?”

Aunt Fiona folded her napkin beside her plate. “Yes. And I'm afraid the answer is still no.”

Brianna held back a groan of frustration and took a quick swallow of coffee. The strong liquid helped restore her equilibrium, and determination quickly set in. It didn't matter what her father said. She would find a way to go to school on her own. All she needed was a job to earn her tuition.

“Auntie, would you be able to help me find a position somewhere? I need to make money for tuition, as well as pay you room and board—if you don't mind me staying here, that is.”

Aunt Fiona blinked over her raised china cup. “My dear, I think we'd best have a chat before any final decisions are made.”

Brianna gripped a napkin between her fingers. What if Aunt Fiona took Daddy's side and refused to help her? All Brianna could do was hear her out and hope to persuade her aunt to see her point of view.

Aunt Fiona drained her cup and rose. “Let's sit in the parlor where we can be more comfortable.”

Brianna followed her down the hall. They both took seats on the settee, where the morning sun added a cheeriness to the homey room. Right away the soothing atmosphere put Brianna at ease. Even her aunt's birds dozed quietly in their cage.

Aunt Fiona sat primly, her back straight, hands folded together in her lap. “I haven't told many people about my younger years, but since I can't help noticing a distinct similarity to our lives, I hope hearing my tale will assist you in making an informed decision about your future.”