32

Seated on the sofa in the parlor, Olivia watched Sal quietly sip his coffee, while her own cup remained untouched on the table before her. Her nerves were far too jumpy to tolerate an infusion of caffeine. She could hardly believe her brother was here in Ruth’s house, sitting beside her. Stretching her fingers out, she laid her hand on his sleeve as though to convince herself he was real. With sisterly pride, she took in his neatly trimmed dark hair, crisp black shirt, and starched clergy collar. Her brother was no longer a boy but a grown man. How long had it been since she was in the same room with him? Since they’d shared even a cup of coffee together?

He smiled. “You look good, Liv. Are you keeping well?” His brown eyes searched hers.

“I’m doing fine.” Mostly. “How about you? How is life as a priest?”

“Challenging.” He laughed, revealing his even white teeth.

So handsome, her brother. All the girls in the neighborhood had been devastated when he’d left for the seminary. Yet Sal had known from the time he became an altar boy at the age of ten that he was destined for the priesthood.

“But it’s a rewarding life as well.” He set down his cup, his expression suddenly serious. “I saw you at my ordination, Liv.”

“I thought so, but I wasn’t sure.” Olivia offered him a plate of biscuits, which he declined. “I didn’t want to ruin your special day, but I had to see you, even if from afar.”

“I felt terrible that I didn’t acknowledge you. Like I was betraying my own sister.” Lines marred his forehead, his dark eyes anxious.

“It’s all right. With Papà there, you couldn’t risk causing a scene in front of everyone.” She smiled. “I’m just glad you’re here now. I’ve missed you so much.” Her throat cinched closed. She would not cry any more tears today.

“It took me a while to get Mamma to admit why you went away, and when I found out what Papà had done . . .” His jaw clenched. “I’ve never been so angry with anyone.”

Relief spilled through her, so incredibly thankful that her brother didn’t despise her as she’d feared. “I know,” she said softly. “I’m trying hard to forgive him for what he put me through, but it’s not easy.”

Sal shifted to face her, his expression solemn. “What about the baby? What happened to him?”

She drew in a breath, steeling herself against the pain that caught her unaware at times. “Children’s Aid took him. I imagine some couple has adopted him by now.” She swallowed hard. “I can’t believe Matteo’s over a year old already. I only pray he has parents who will give him the love he deserves.” Her voice broke.

Sal reached for her hand and squeezed. “Oh, Liv. That must have been so hard.”

“Harder than anything I’ve ever had to do. Even harder than saying good-bye to Rory.”

He let out a sigh. “I heard what happened to him too. Such a shame the way things turned out.”

Shame didn’t begin to describe the situation. “I have to believe that God has a reason for everything,” she said. “And that one day it will all make sense.”

Sal nodded and squeezed her fingers again. “I’ve been praying for you and your son every day since I found out. And I want you to know that no matter what Papà says, I will never disown you.” His brown eyes grew damp. “I love you, Liv. You’re my sister, and I will always be here for you.”

She reached over to wrap him in a hug. This boy—now man—who’d shared her childhood and was now an ordained servant of God. “I love you too, Sal. Just knowing you’re on my side makes all the difference.”

He cleared his throat and looked around the room. She tried to picture the house as he was seeing it. The rich carpet, the fancy furnishings. What would he think of all this luxury?

“Are you happy here?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

“I am, Sal.” Despite her heartache over Abigail, it was true. “Ruth has been so kind, and helping these women makes me feel useful. Like something good has come from my ordeal.”

He nodded. “Serving others is a good step toward healing. I’m proud of you, Liv.”

“Thank you.” Her lips trembled. “It’s been a long time since anyone said that to me.”

He gave her another quick hug, then got to his feet. “I should get back to the rectory now.”

Reluctantly, she rose as well. “I wish you could stay longer, but I’m so happy you came.” She managed a faint smile. “When you see Mamma, tell her I’m all right and that I love her.”

“I will.”

In the front entry, Sal paused. “Who was that Darius fellow you were with? Is he a suitor?”

Her cheeks burned at the memory of the kiss they’d shared. “I’m not sure. Right now, he’s a good friend.”

“Friends are important.”

“Especially ones who know your mistakes and accept you anyway.”

His expression turned grave, his brows scrunching together. “I’d be neglecting my duty if I didn’t ask you this.” He looked her in the eye. “Have you been to confession, Olivia?”

If anyone other than Sal had asked her that question, she’d have unleashed her Italian temper. But she knew her brother’s heart, knew he was genuinely concerned for the state of her soul. “Yes, Sal, I have.” She didn’t tell him how unpleasant the experience had been and that she hadn’t been back to their church because she no longer felt welcome there.

“Remember, Liv, God loves you no matter what. I hope you believe that, because you deserve to find happiness in your life.”

“Thank you, Sal. And who knows, maybe I’ll come to hear you say Mass one Sunday.” She winked at him.

“I’d like that.” With a laugh, he bent to kiss her forehead. “I hope to see you again soon.”

After Olivia had walked him down the sidewalk, she returned to the house and let out a sigh. “Thank you, Lord, for your gifts today,” she whispered. “It was just what I needed.”

She touched her lips with a smile, the memory of Darius’s kiss spreading warmth all the way to her core. And for the first time in a very long while, Olivia dared to believe that her shattered heart might survive after all.

The next morning, Darius walked into the kitchen, filled with the delicious scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee, and grabbed his mother in a bear hug. “Good morning, Mamá. Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“Darius, you squeeze me like a lemon.” She batted him with a dish towel, but her eyes danced with delight. “Why are you so happy today?”

Because I kissed Olivia. And she kissed me back.

“Do I need a reason?” He tossed her a grin.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You have a new girlfriend?”

He ducked his head into the icebox and took out the orange juice. “Just because I’m in a good mood doesn’t mean I have a girlfriend.” But his pulse scrambled at the image of Olivia’s warm brown eyes and full lips.

“Sofia says you were kissing a lady in the park yesterday.”

He choked on a swallow of juice, and liquid spilled down his chin. He grabbed a cloth from the sink to wipe his face, and when he turned around, his mother was watching him, one hand on her hip.

“Sofia needs to learn when to keep quiet,” he muttered.

“Sofia’s papá shouldn’t kiss strange women in front of her.” Scowling, she waved a spatula at him.

Warmth bled into his cheeks. “I didn’t intend to. It just sort of happened.”

“Who is this woman?” She went back to the stove, where eggs and bacon sizzled in the pan.

“Her name is Olivia.” He wiped the counter, trying to act nonchalant. “She helps women at a local maternity home.”

“Is she Greek?”

“She’s Italian. She comes from an immigrant family like ours.”

Mamá pursed her lips. “She sounds . . . all right.”

His lips twitched. That was high praise coming from his mother.

“Are you going to marry this Olivia?”

“I don’t know, Mamá. We were just friends until yesterday. Then things changed and we haven’t had a chance to talk about it.”

Mamá flipped the eggs and peered over her shoulder at him. “You bring this Olivia to dinner one day soon.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The telephone rang, and Darius rushed to answer it. Anything to escape his mother’s scrutiny.

“Can I speak to Darius Reed, please?” a deep voice said.

“This is he.”

“Darius, this is Horace Cheeseman.”

Chills of foreboding raced along Darius’s spine. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Why would Mr. Cheeseman be phoning him at home on a Saturday? At seven forty-five in the morning?

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I have some bad news about Meredith.” The man’s voice cracked.

“What is it?” Maybe Mr. Cheeseman was just learning that Meredith hadn’t gone out west after all. That she’d found somewhere else to spend her confinement.

“My daughter is dead.”

The blunt words struck Darius like a blow to the chest. He sank onto a chair, his mind spinning. That wasn’t possible. The man had to be mistaken. “I don’t understand. She told me she was going to a maternity home in Ottawa. How could she be dead?”

“She didn’t go to a maternity home.” Mr. Cheeseman sounded gritty, as though he’d swallowed sandpaper. “She went to some back-alley quack and paid him to take care of her problem. But she developed a serious infection and ended up in the hospital, too afraid to call her mother or me. At least that’s what the nurse at the hospital told us when she called with the news.”

Darius raked a hand through his hair. “I . . . I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe this. . . .” His throat seized up. Meredith was gone? Lovely, vivacious Meredith . . .

“Since you cared for my daughter once, I felt you should know.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry for your loss, sir.”

“The funeral will be on Wednesday morning at St. Cornelius Church. Eleven o’clock.”

“I’ll be there, sir. If there’s anything I can do—”

The connection cut out, leaving nothing but silence buzzing in Darius’s ear, along with the sinking sensation that he may have somehow played an unwitting part in Meredith’s demise.

Olivia tried not to let the fact that she hadn’t heard from Darius since their kiss in the park disturb her. He took classes on Saturday, she remembered. And Sunday was spent with his family, going to church, and then having Sunday dinner. But by noon on Monday, while she helped Mrs. Neale make sandwiches, Olivia couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted his impulsive action and was now too embarrassed to call her.

Margaret entered the kitchen with her son on her shoulder. “I think we’ll have to call Mrs. Dinglemire soon,” she announced. “Cherise has been complaining about a sore back. That’s how my labor started.”

Momentary anxiety hit Olivia at the thought of another baby coming, but she forced herself to breathe. She would have to get used to this happening on a frequent basis and not panic every time. She cut the last sandwich and placed it on a plate. “Thanks for telling me. We’ll be sure to keep a close eye on her.”

Margaret bounced the baby, who had started to squirm.

Olivia took a closer look at Margaret, noticing the fatigue around her eyes. “Why don’t I take Calvin for a bit while you get some rest?” She wiped her hands on her apron.

Margaret’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She held out her arms. “I’m feeling a lot better now. I can handle a baby again.”

Margaret still seemed uncertain as she handed over the red-faced bundle. “I think he needs a diaper change.”

“I can do that. You go take a bath or a nap. If he gets hungry, I’ll come and find you.”

Relief flooded Margaret’s features. “Thanks. I could use a nap. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Go on then. We’ll save some sandwiches for you.”

Two hours went by in a flash. Tending to the baby kept Olivia occupied, with no time to dwell on Darius. She tried to sit with Cherise in order to keep an eye on her, but the girl wanted no part of her company, preferring to be alone with her discomfort. So instead Olivia rocked little Calvin in the nursery. She had just decided that it was near his feeding time when a groan sounded from the next room, followed by a string of French words that Olivia didn’t understand.

She took the baby into the next bedroom. Whether Cherise wanted company or not, she was getting it.

The girl was bent over the bed, one hand at the small of her back.

“Bonjour, Cherise. Looks like you’re having contractions. Remember to breathe through the pain.”

Cherise glared over her shoulder. “How can I breathe when it feels like a knife is stabbing me in the back?”

“I know it’s hard, but it does help.” Olivia could recall the discomfort of her contractions in vivid detail and had blessed the nurse for helping her manage the pain. “I’ll call Mrs. Dinglemire and be right back.”

“Wait.” Cherise huffed. “Promise me something, Olivia.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Promise you won’t let that woman near my bébé.”

Cherise didn’t need to elaborate. Olivia knew exactly whom she meant. She walked over and laid a hand on Cherise’s shoulder. “I promise no one will take your child. Mrs. Dinglemire and Dr. Henshaw both know your wishes, as do Ruth and I.” She shifted Calvin in her arms. “Keep breathing. I think your little one might be making his or her grand entrance very soon.”

Olivia’s prediction proved correct. A beautiful little girl was born just after midnight. Olivia cried tears of joy along with Cherise at the first sight of her. Cherise named her baby Angelique, and indeed the infant looked like an angel.

Olivia helped Mrs. Dinglemire get the pair cleaned up and settled. By the time they finished, it was one o’clock in the morning. The midwife then shooed everyone out of the room.

Bone-tired herself, Olivia was all too happy to leave Cherise in the midwife’s capable hands and flop into bed with no worries to hinder her rest. For the first time since Abigail had left, Olivia believed she would truly sleep well.

As her eyes drifted closed, her gaze fell on the picture Sofia had drawn for her, and she floated off to sleep with a smile on her face.