25

THAT NIGHT A SMALL BREEZE stirred the cotton curtain in the window of Gil’s stuffy room in the boarding house. Stretched out on the ragged quilt atop his bed, he could feel no cooling effect. He lay there, hands folded beneath his head, staring at the cracked ceiling, wishing he knew what to do with all the guilt he was feeling. Why had he added to James’s misery with his angry accusations? And why hadn’t he insisted on taking James home? At least then he’d know the man was safe. For all Gil knew, he could still be slumped over the bar at O’Malley’s while poor Mrs. O’Leary paced the floor with worry.

When sleep wouldn’t come, Gil sat up and peered at the face of his pocket watch under the light of his bedside lamp. Nearly midnight. He hung his head, wishing the room were big enough to pace. With all his restless energy, he needed somewhere to expend it. If he were home, he’d go out to the barn and saddle up Midnight for an evening ride. The thought of country air and lush meadows made Gil’s throat burn with sudden homesickness.

Bree. He could never think of Irish Meadows without thinking of her. How he missed her face, their easy communication, her rich laughter whenever he told a silly joke. A selfish part of Gil wondered if losing Irish Meadows would change James’s mind about Gil being good enough for his daughter. Or would it only make him more determined than ever that she marry a wealthy man?

Loud rapping on his door jerked Gil up from the bed. “Who is it?”

“Mrs. Shaughnessy. There’s a telephone call for you in the parlor.”

His heart raced as he yanked on his shoes and grabbed a shirt. Who would be calling him at this time of night? “Be right there.”

“Some time of the night to be getting telephone calls.” Mrs. Shaughnessy grunted as her footsteps shuffled off.

By the time Gil reached the parlor, there was no sign of his landlady. He picked up the receiving end of the phone and leaned in toward the mouthpiece on the wall. “Hello?”

“Gilbert? It’s Kathleen.” The high-pitched hysteria in her voice sent shivers of alarm down Gil’s spine. Had his worst fears come true and James hadn’t made it home? Another sickening notion made his stomach lurch. Had something happened to Brianna?

“What’s wrong?” His tone came out harsher than he’d intended.

“Oh, Gil. It’s James. He’s . . .” Sobs drifted through the end of the phone.

Icy talons gripped his chest. “He’s what?”

“He’s in the hospital. They think it’s his heart.”

Gil clutched the edge of the piano beside the phone. His mouth became as dry as the dust that coated the instrument, and he had to swallow before he could get a word out. “Where are you?”

“I’m outside the waiting area. The doctors are examining him.” Her voice broke. “They don’t know how bad it is.”

Gil took a breath and forced a calm he didn’t feel. “Everything’s going to be all right. Which hospital are you in?”

“Long Island Memorial. Gil, I need you to come. I can’t find Adam. Colleen and the younger ones were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake them.” The frailty of her voice shook Gil to the core. “Rylan’s here, trying to get some information . . .” She trailed off.

“I’ll leave right now. Just hold on a while longer.” He paused, hesitating to bring up the subject but knowing it was the right thing to do. Rylan wasn’t a priest yet, and Mrs. O’Leary would want the man she relied on for her family’s spiritual well-being. “Do you want me to contact Reverend Filmore?”

More sobs fractured her response. “Y-yes, p-please.”

“I’ll get there as quick as I can.”

“Thank you, Gilbert.”

With unsteady hands, he hung up the receiver and ran back to his room. As he threw on his suspenders and a jacket, and stuffed his wallet inside the pocket of his pants, his thoughts turned to Brianna. She would never forgive him if he didn’t take her with him.

He placed a quick phone call to Arthur Hastings before letting himself out the front door and onto the darkened street.

It was going to be a very long night.

Brianna stirred from her sleep, not knowing what had woken her. She lifted her head off the pillow, listening. In the chill of her room, she shivered and pulled the quilt more firmly under her chin.

“Brianna, dear. It’s Aunt Fiona.” The door creaked open, and her aunt stepped inside.

Brianna sat up, rubbing her eyes in the darkness. “What time is it?”

“It’s after midnight. Gilbert is downstairs asking for you.” She moved to the side of the bed, frowning. “It seems there’s a family emergency.”

Alarm chased all notion of sleep from her brain. She swung her legs off the bed. “What’s the matter?”

Please, Lord, don’t let it be Mama.

“He wouldn’t say. He’s waiting to tell us both at once.”

Brianna tugged on her slippers and dressing gown, belting the waist tight, and followed her aunt down the narrow staircase to the parlor below. As she entered the room, she became conscious of the untidy state of her hair and ran a hand over her head to smooth the stray pieces that had escaped her long braid. Her heart thumped a crazy beat, half from nerves at the news to come, half at seeing Gil again.

He stood by the unlit hearth, his shoulders hunched. A candle flickered on the mantel by his head, casting a glow over his dark hair. At the sound of their footsteps, he turned to face her. His curls stood in disarray, as though he’d been running his fingers through them as he often did when agitated. A faint shadow of stubble hugged his jawline, accenting the beloved cleft of his chin.

She clutched the lapels of her robe with icy fingers. “Gil. What’s wrong?”

His bleak expression told her the news would be grim.

He crossed the carpet to where she stood and reached for her free hand. The warmth from his skin radiated through her palm and up her arm.

“Sit down, Bree.” His tender gaze moved from her to her aunt, who hovered by the doorway. “You, too, Aunt Fiona.”

A sob rose in Brianna’s throat, fighting for release, but she pushed it back. “Please tell me no one has died.”

He guided her to the sofa. “No one has died . . . but your father is in the hospital.”

She gasped. Gil sat beside her and reached for her again. She clung to his fingers like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry to spring bad news on you like this.”

Aunt Fiona lowered herself to the edge of her chair. “What’s wrong with my brother?”

“The doctors are trying to determine that. They think it might be his heart.” He turned back to Bree. “Your mother telephoned and asked me to meet her at the hospital. I figured you’d want to come. That’s why I’m here.”

Brianna shot to her feet. “Yes, of course. Give me a minute to change.” She faced her aunt. “Will you come, too?”

Aunt Fiona shook her head sadly. “I don’t think I’d be welcome. I’ll do more good here by praying.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Go on now. Don’t keep Gilbert waiting.”

Brianna dropped a kiss on her aunt’s cheek before rushing back up the stairs. In the midst of dressing and twisting her hair into a quick knot, she murmured constant prayers for God to keep her father safe and to give her mother the strength to bear whatever was to come.

She snatched her shawl from a hook on the door and rushed downstairs, not allowing a full thought to form in her head.

Gil waited in the entry hall, cap in hand. Aunt Fiona came forward to embrace her. “Let me know how your father is when you can. I doubt I’ll sleep a wink until I hear he’s all right.”

She squeezed her aunt. “Of course. As soon as there’s word, I’ll call.”

Gil tugged on his cap and offered Brianna his arm, which she accepted, grateful for his steadying presence as they stepped outside. “Which hospital is Daddy in?”

“Long Island Memorial.”

She stopped short. “But how will we get there? There’s no transportation at this time of night.”

With a sheepish shrug, he pointed to the black Model T parked at the curb. “I called Mr. Hastings, and he lent me his chauffeur.”

Brianna stiffened at the blatant reminder of exactly where Gil now belonged—and to whom. “Of course. I forgot.” She descended the stairs, forcing him to follow.

“Bree, I’m sorry.” Sorrow laced his voice.

She couldn’t look at him, afraid her emotions, so near the surface at the moment, would overflow. “Please don’t. Let’s just get to the hospital.”

The chauffeur held the door open for them, and Gil helped her into the car. The touch of his hand at the small of her back was almost more than she could bear. She moved as far over on the seat as possible, unwilling to risk any contact.

The stillness in the car stretched into an uncomfortable silence. Brianna kept her eyes fixed out the window, concentrating on prayers for her father’s welfare until the need for physical comfort became all-consuming. How she wished she could lay her head on Gil’s chest—feel the shelter of his arms around her. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from quivering. She had to be strong for her mother. Mama would need everyone to rally around her now.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Gil’s quiet voice broke the silence.

Her throat, thickened with emotion, would not allow any words to pass.

“It’s about your father.”

He had her attention then, and she glanced over at him. A look of grief haunted his eyes.

“This morning, Mr. Hastings had to turn down your father’s loan application. James left the bank very upset, and I followed him.”

“Followed him where?”

He sighed. “To O’Malley’s Pub. I tried to get him to go home, but he became almost violent. I had to leave him there alone. It was either that or get into a brawl.”

Brianna bit her bottom lip. Though Daddy enjoyed his after-dinner brandy, he was not the type to frequent drinking establishments. Mama wouldn’t allow it.

“I don’t know what happened after that. But I think the stress of losing the loan caused his collapse. He was counting on that money.”

“Is Irish Meadows really in that much trouble?” She kept her eyes fixed on his, willing him not to lie.

He nodded. “Things aren’t good at all.”

Thoughts flew through her mind, swirling like the debris on the street below. They could lose their home, their farm. What would they do then? “What’s going to happen to us, Gil?”

His arm came around her then to pull her close. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make sure Irish Meadows stays afloat.”

Though her eyes remained dry, she accepted the handkerchief he pressed into her hands.

“Please try not to worry. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I thought you had a right to know what may have contributed to your father’s illness.”

She nodded against his chest, her emotions beginning to steady from the rhythm of his even heartbeat beneath her ear. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and she closed her eyes, pretending for one brief moment that he still belonged to her.