Irish Meadows (18 page)

Curiosity spiked Brianna's attention. She turned to face her aunt more fully.

“First I need to ask you a few questions, and I want honest answers.” Her normally mild aunt suddenly looked fierce.

Brianna swallowed. “Of course.”

“You told me you broke off your engagement because you could never marry someone you didn't love.”

Brianna nodded. “Henry is nice enough, but his touch made me . . . shiver—and not in a good way.”

A soft smile touched her aunt's lips. “I think I understand.” She paused. “What I did notice, however, was your strong reaction to Gilbert when he was here. Am I correct in thinking there are unrequited feelings involved?”

Brianna quickly lowered her head. How she wished she could keep her emotions contained—like her sister who never blinked an eyelash without complete control. She supposed there was no reason to hide the truth from her aunt. “I'm in love with Gil, Auntie.”

There. She'd said it out loud. And the roof hadn't caved in.

“Does he feel the same?” her aunt prompted, eyebrows raised.

“I think so. But he won't act on it because of Daddy.” She swallowed hard to push back a wave of hurt.

Her aunt pursed her lips. “I see. Your father doesn't approve of Gil as a match for you.”

She shook her head. “Daddy's only concern is money or social position.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and gripped it in her fist. “He doesn't care about my feelings at all.”

Her aunt's features became wreathed in sadness. “I understand more than you know,” she said softly. “I had a suitor once when I was young. Because our father was dead, James took it upon himself to act as head of the family, and thus my protector. He deemed Martin unworthy of me and forbade us to see each other.”

“What did you do?”

“A very foolish thing. I engaged in a clandestine relationship with Martin, until . . .” Her aunt's voice faltered. “Until I found myself expecting a child.”

Brianna gasped. She couldn't imagine her father's reaction to that news. “How awful. Why didn't Martin marry you? Surely Daddy wouldn't have objected with a child on the way.”

Fiona smiled sadly. “It turned out Martin was not free to marry me. He already had a wife.”

Brianna's heart clenched in sympathy for her aunt's pain. Betrayed by the man she loved. Alone and expecting a child. “What did you do?”

“Something even worse.” She took a deep breath. “Seeing no way out, I tried to end my life.” Moisture rimmed her aunt's eyes, though her gaze did not falter. “My attempt was unsuccessful. I lived . . . but my baby died.”

Tears trailed down Brianna's cheeks. She dabbed at them with her handkerchief, and Aunt Fiona patted her arm.

“It's all right, child. I've made peace with all this many years ago. God has forgiven me, and I finally learned to forgive myself. The hardest thing was admitting James had been right about Martin all along. However, by that time it was too late. I was a fallen woman with no hope for a husband. So I enrolled in college and threw all my passion into furthering women's education.”

Brianna admired her aunt's bravery, coming back from such tragic circumstances and making a life for herself as a well-respected teacher.

Aunt Fiona squeezed Brianna's hand. “I've told you all this to show you how quickly life can change. Doors once open to you may close forever. At this point, my dear, you still have all your options open. Are you absolutely sure this is the path you wish to take?”

Brianna twisted the handkerchief in her hand. “I'm sure. I want to study Library Sciences and maybe teach after that, or become a librarian.”

“But what about a husband? A family? Surely you want children someday.”

Brianna pushed back a clutch of sorrow and lifted her chin. “If I can't have Gil, I don't want anyone. At least not now. Perhaps in time I may reconsider. But I cannot marry a man just to please my father.”

Her aunt studied her, and at last she nodded. “Very well. Here's what I propose. You will live here with me, help me with my charity work for the summer, and attend classes at Barnard College in the fall. We'll have to put in your application right away. I will use my connections, if I must, to get your application approved.”

“But what about the cost?”

Aunt Fiona waved a hand in front of her. “Thanks to my mother's will, I live a comfortable life. I would consider it an honor to pay your tuition. How wonderful that another O'Leary woman will enter the academic world.”

Overwhelmed by her aunt's generosity, the tension drained out of Brianna. “How can I ever thank you?”

“No thanks necessary, my dear. I'm delighted to have you here.”

Brianna leaned over to hug her aunt, grateful for an ally who understood her plight. For the first time, Brianna felt she held the power over her future.

She only prayed she was headed down the path God had intended for her.

R
YLAN
WAITED
FOR
C
OLLEEN
in the parlor early Saturday morning, happy she seemed eager to spend the day with the orphans. Rylan hoped a holiday would go far in softening Sister Marguerite's hostility toward Colleen, who had even arranged to have Mrs. Harrison bake some of her melt-in-your-mouth scones for the nuns to enjoy on their outing. An effort to make amends for losing her temper, he was sure.

Rylan still could not believe the subtle changes he'd witnessed in Colleen over the past few weeks since they'd started volunteering at St. Rita's.

Thank You, Lord, for using me as an
instrument in bringing Colleen to know Your saving grace.

Times like this reaffirmed Rylan's decision to enter the religious life, a choice he secretly questioned in rare moments of weakness. Memories of his mother lying ill with pneumonia came back to haunt him. The doctor had told Rylan and his siblings that only a miracle could cure his mother's weakened
lungs. Desperate to save their one living parent, Rylan had pleaded with God, offering his life in return for hers. Entering the seminary seemed a small price to pay when his mother regained her health and became well enough to look after wee Maggie. Most days, Rylan felt fulfilled in his choice of career, yet sometimes he wondered what it would be like to fall in love.

Noises in the corridor had Rylan moving to the door of the parlor in time to see Colleen gliding down the stairs, humming to herself. Clad in a lavender-striped gown with a white collar, she stopped at the foot of the stairs to peer at her reflection in the mirror. Rylan stilled, hand on the doorframe, watching as she patted her upswept hair and poked a pin back in place. She turned away from the mirror to tug on little white gloves, still humming under her breath. In that unguarded moment, her inner purity shone in the soft expression of her face, overpowering her physical beauty by far. Rylan started at the sudden realization that most times Colleen wore a polite mask, hiding her true self from those around her. Was she even aware she did so?

He hated to make his presence known and watch the mask slip back into place, but he knew he must. He stepped into the foyer. “Good morning, Colleen. You sound happy this fine day.”

She whirled around, hand to her throat. “Rylan. I didn't see you there.” Her eyes widened. “Where's your clergy outfit?”

He glanced down at his plaid vest and brown wool pants and shrugged. “Since I'm not visiting in an official capacity today, I thought I'd dress in a more casual manner.”

“Oh.” A frown tugged her thin eyebrows together.

He tried to imagine what was going through her mind and why she cared whether he wore his collar or not. He actually thought she'd feel more comfortable around him without it, since members of the clergy seemed to put her in an ill humor. “If it bothers you, I can change.”

The mask slipped back over her features as she lifted a brow. “Suit yourself. Why would I care what you wear?”

The deliberate chill in her voice sparked the heat of temper in him. He moved a step closer, irritation spiking his pulse. “Why indeed?” He imagined his outdated clothes were not as fashionable as what she was used to. “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

She lowered her eyes and flushed scarlet, but she remained silent.

“Don't worry. If anyone asks, you can tell them I'm a poor relation. I'm sure they'll take pity on you for having to put up with the likes of me.” He hated the bitterness in his voice. Hated even more the fact that he wished he could be the finest dressed gentleman escorting her about town.

What was the matter with him? As a priest, he would have no need for fine clothing or the pride that went along with owning such items. And he certainly shouldn't be thinking about escorting a woman anywhere.

Without waiting for her, he grabbed his cap from the hook by the door and pushed out onto the porch.

She'd offended him.

Yet how could she tell him she felt safer when he was dressed as a clergyman? That when he looked so handsome and available in regular clothes, she allowed her mind to wander to places it shouldn't?

Colleen stifled a nervous laugh. Of all the irony. She, the girl who'd planned to marry the richest, most attractive man in town, was falling for a poor country priest. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Was this some type of terrible punishment? God's wrath upon her for all the horrible things she'd done in her life?

She swiped angrily at the moisture under her eyes, pinned on
her stylish hat adorned with purple ribbons, and followed Rylan out the door. The apology she'd been so desperate to impart a moment ago faded into oblivion. No, best that he remain mad at her. Thought her to be the vain and selfish woman she knew herself to be. That way she could avoid any temptation to fall completely in love with the unattainable clergyman.

Despite the bad beginning to the day and the almost silent train ride, Colleen enjoyed her time with the orphans—especially without the disdainful eye of Sister Marguerite watching her every move. Though Rylan treated her with cool aloofness, he was warm and energetic with the children. Following morning prayers, the children enjoyed packing a picnic lunch with the help of Mrs. Norton, the cook, who, along with Mr. Smith, the caretaker, had agreed to accompany them to the local park.

After a bracing walk, they made their way to the children's playground. The little ones whooped with glee upon spying the recently built swings, slide, and seesaws. Colleen found her spirits soaring as high as the swings. Much to her joy, little Delia insisted on Colleen accompanying her everywhere. She pushed the child on the swing, held her on the seesaw, and caught her as she came rushing down the slide, curls flying behind her. The happiness shining on the girl's precious face made each moment worthwhile.

When they had finished their picnic, the tired group headed back to the orphanage, the older children helping the younger ones. Delia became so weary that Colleen had to carry her most of the way back. The feel of those tiny arms wrapped around her neck and the golden-curled head bobbing on her shoulder tugged at Colleen's heartstrings. Never did she imagine becoming so affected by a child. Most times, she found children loud and annoying. But this imp had wormed her way past all Colleen's defenses.

Colleen carried Delia upstairs to the girls' dormitory and
laid her sleeping figure on the bed. After ensuring the other girls were settled, Colleen returned to Delia and removed her shoes, frowning at the worn soles. Then she tucked Mr. Whiskers, Delia's tattered stuffed rabbit, beside her and smoothed the hair back from her innocent face. A sudden surge of love rose in Colleen's chest—one so strong she had to choke back tears. This darling girl deserved a mother to kiss her good night, to sing to her, to read her bedtime stories. To brush her hair and buy her new shoes and make sure she got plenty to eat. Colleen pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle the sob threatening to burst forth.

God, where are You for
these children who need families? Why did You take away
their parents in the first place?

She knelt on the floor beside the bed, lay her head on the lumpy mattress, and let her tears fall.

No matter how hard Rylan tried to hold on to his anger, he couldn't stay mad at Colleen. Although he'd kept his distance most of the day, he couldn't help but admire her enthusiasm with the children during their outing. She seemed to enjoy herself immensely, playing like she was still a child herself.

A strong sense of guilt niggled at him, however, because of some information he'd become privy to the previous day. Sister Veronica had told him in confidence that negotiations were underway for Delia's imminent adoption. He huffed out a sigh. What would her departure do to Colleen?

Rylan made sure all the boys were settled in the dorm for their afternoon rest period, then headed to the floor below to check on the girls. Colleen stepped into the corridor before he reached the door.

“Everyone accounted for?”

“Yes.” She kept her face averted as she turned in the direction of the stairs.

He placed a hand on her arm to stop her and peered at her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “Is everything all right in there?”

“Everything's fine.” She pulled her arm away and continued down the hall.

He stopped her again, not willing to let her get away with the fib. “You've been crying. Obviously something's wrong.”

“The wind blew sand in my eyes at the playground. It's nothing.” She tried to move past him, but he blocked her path, placing gentle but firm hands on her shoulders.

“Lying to a man of God is a sin, Colleen O'Leary. I want the truth.”

She stilled, her eyes cast down at the patterned carpet. He tipped her chin up, and the sorrow shining there stalled his breath.

“It's so sad, Rylan. Those poor children have no families to love them.”

The sight of more tears blooming in her violet-blue eyes caused his chest to constrict. Without thinking, he pulled her into a light hug, wanting only to soothe her hurt. “Aye. That's the drawback of helping out in an orphanage. You see a lot of sad cases.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket and handed it to her. She took it and dabbed her damp cheeks, still standing close enough for her lavender scent to envelop him.

“I wish I could take Delia home with me. Do you think Mama and Daddy would consider adopting her?”

His spirits plummeted even further. Colleen's attachment to the girl was worse than he'd feared. Still, he couldn't break a confidence and reveal that Delia may already belong to another family. Yet he couldn't afford to let Colleen get her hopes up either. “I think your parents may be over the age requirement,” he said softly. “They usually place children with younger parents.”

He braced himself for more tears. But she sniffed and handed
him back the handkerchief. “Do you think anyone will ever adopt Delia?”

Heat scratched the back of his neck. Why did it feel like he was lying by not telling her about the adoption? “I've no doubt some lucky couple will snap her up soon enough.”

She let out a long breath. “I hope so. Delia deserves it.”

“Aye. I hope so, too.”