12
AURORA STEPPED OUTSIDE THE WARD on the second floor of the hospital and inhaled deeply, seeking relief from the pungent smells inside. She’d been observing the examinations of two polio patients, and between the body odors and the antiseptic scents, Aurora couldn’t wait to breathe clean outside air.
She started down the tiled hallway but stopped when Dr. Reardon came up behind her.
“Miss Hastings, if you’re not busy, would you be able to accompany me to St. Rita’s? I’m scheduled to do a follow-up examination on the new infant there, as well as check on a few other children.”
Aurora turned to face him. This was the first time Dr. Reardon had ever asked her to join him outside of the hospital on a patient visit. Whenever she went to the orphanage, it was strictly to visit with the children—never anything medical. “I’m flattered you would want me along. Is there any particular reason?”
Was it her imagination or did he blush?
“I thought it would be good experience for you.”
She still questioned his motivation, but it didn’t really matter. She’d been meaning to make a stop at the orphanage, especially after he’d told her about the newly arrived baby. “I’d love to go along.”
“Wonderful. Meet me outside in five minutes.”
The ride in Dr. Reardon’s motorcar proved quite enjoyable. He was a skilled driver and maneuvered through the streets with ease. When he stopped in front of the orphanage, he hurried around to open the door for her and offered a hand to help her alight. She looked up at him and caught the unmistakable flash of attraction in his eyes.
His hand lingered on hers, and for an instant she thought he might lean in and kiss her. Her heart gave a lurch, but she freed her hand and moved forward, almost tripping on the curb.
“Careful there.” Dr. Reardon caught her by the elbow.
She clutched the sleeve of his jacket, her breath coming too fast. The fresh scent of soap and wool invaded her space as she struggled to regain not only her balance but her equilibrium, as well.
A chuckle sounded from somewhere behind her. “Hello again, Miss Hastings.”
The familiar Irish lilt made Aurora’s heart gallop. She turned to see a grinning Gabe Montgomery on the sidewalk.
“Gabriel. I didn’t expect to see you here.” She wished she could do something to cool her flushed cheeks.
“Are you certain you’re all right, Miss Hastings?” Dr. Reardon’s concerned face inched closer.
She pulled back, putting some distance between them. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Doctor.”
Gabe came to stand beside her. “What a lucky coincidence to run into you here.” Something akin to pure merriment danced in his eyes.
If only Dr. Reardon wasn’t watching her as intently as a scientist viewing a specimen in a lab, she might be able to talk in a coherent manner.
“I’m accompanying Dr. Reardon to check on the children. Dr. Reardon, this is Gabriel Montgomery, Rylan’s brother.”
The doctor’s face brightened. “Ah, yes. I see the resemblance. Good to meet you, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Likewise, Doctor.”
They climbed the stairs and entered the main door of the orphanage. Aurora was surprised, and somewhat dismayed, when Gabe followed them in. How was she supposed to be professional and concentrate on the children with Gabe shadowing them?
Aurora removed her gloves and hat and left them in the cloakroom, wishing for a mirror so she could check her appearance. With the tips of her fingers, she smoothed her hair in place and followed Dr. Reardon down the main corridor to the small room he used to see patients. Colleen sat on a chair inside the door, a swaddled infant in her arms. While Dr. Reardon greeted her, Aurora turned to Gabe, who sauntered along behind them.
“What are you doing here?” She didn’t intend to sound so annoyed, but she needed her wits about her, and Gabriel Montgomery kept her totally off-kilter. The fact that he’d caught her in a somewhat compromising position with Dr. Reardon did not help matters.
“I’m here to see my brother.” He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t seem pleased to see me. I could take great offense at that.”
Aurora worked to contain her frustration. “I’m not unhappy to see you. It’s just . . .” She waved a hand toward the doctor.
“Miss Hastings, I’m ready to begin.” Dr. Reardon’s frown made Aurora’s stomach sink. Already she’d disappointed him.
“I’d best let you get on with your work.” Gabe bowed over her hand. “I’ll be seeing you tonight for dinner anyway.”
“I beg your pardon?”
One brow rose over eyes that appeared to dance an Irish jig. “Did your father not tell you? He’s invited me to dine with you at the Vanderbilt Hotel this evening.”
“Oh,” she replied weakly. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”
As she watched him walk away whistling, Aurora pushed aside the thread of unease winding through her system. Hopefully Papa only intended to thank Gabe for his bravery, but knowing her father, he most likely had an ulterior motive.
One that Gabe might not enjoy in the least.
Adam put the finishing touches of varnish on the pew he’d repaired and then stood back to admire his efforts.
John let out a low whistle as he approached. “You certainly have a way with wood.”
“Thank you.” Adam allowed the pleasure of the compliment to flow through him. It felt good to be appreciated even for such a simple task. He wiped his hand on a clean rag. “Tell me, John, have you heard if any of your parishioners need any work done?”
John’s smile faded. “Unfortunately, all the people I’ve spoken with have nothing at the moment.”
The response wasn’t unexpected, yet Adam felt the rush of disappointment nonetheless. He’d been clinging to the hope that someone would be willing to give him a chance—as a favor to John, if nothing else. “Well, thanks for trying. I appreciate it.”
He’d have to keep his job at the orphanage awhile longer—a slow form of torture being so near Maggie and unable to speak with her. As much as it pained him, Adam knew Rylan and Gabe were right. He had no business talking to Maggie, never mind daydreaming about more. The sooner Adam could distance himself from her, the better.
John walked to the pulpit and placed a book on the dais. “I hope you don’t mind, but I looked at some of your work out in the shed.”
“I don’t mind.”
“The pieces are excellent, Adam. Good enough to sell to the public.”
“Thank you.” Adam replaced the lid on the can of varnish and wiped his brush on a rag.
“Have you ever thought of opening your own business?” John came back and bent to help him pick up the newspapers protecting the floor.
“Thought of it? It’s been a dream since I was a child. But my father wouldn’t hear of it. He deemed it too lowly a profession.”
“So you turned to crime instead. A logical jump.”
Adam stiffened until he realized John was teasing him. “You know I never started out to break the law. By the time I realized what I’d gotten involved in, it was too late to get out.”
John sobered. “I know.”
“Too bad a person’s intentions don’t count for anything.”
“Indeed.”
They exited through the rear door and crossed the property to the shed where Adam stored his creations.
John opened the door. “Seriously, Adam, these pieces should be shared.”
“I plan to share them.” Adam set down his equipment. “This cedar chest is a wedding gift for my sister Brianna. She’s to be married at the end of August.”
“It’s lovely.” John bent to run his hands over the cradle Adam had nearly finished. “Is this for her, as well?”
“No. It’s for the abandoned baby Colleen is looking after. She has no real bed for her.”
“That’s very thoughtful. Especially since her husband hasn’t been the most welcoming to you.”
Adam put the varnish tin on the shelf. “Rylan has given me work, which is more than most people would do.”
A deep frown lined John’s forehead. “But he hasn’t been very forgiving. He’s warned you away from his sister as if you’re some type of monster.”
“You can’t blame him, John. He’s only trying to protect his family. My own father has treated me worse.”
John straightened. “Speaking of your father, have you done anything more in that regard?”
The cords in Adam’s neck cinched, and he rubbed a hand over them. “Not yet. Maybe I’m not ready to know the truth.”
John crossed his arms in a pose that told Adam he had a few more tidbits of advice to impart. “You once told me that suspicions about your father have bothered you for years. Like it or not, Adam, you need the truth so you can put the pain of your childhood behind you once and for all.”
Adam released a weighty sigh. “You’re right . . . as always.”
“And you’re good for my ego.” John clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You could probably catch the next train to Long Island.”
John was right. Adam had put this off long enough. “Thanks. I think I will.”
Once John had left, Adam took extra care to ensure everything in the shed was tidy, and then, with no excuses left, he closed the door and prepared for the walk to the station.
The train ride to Long Island and the subsequent walk to town gave Adam time to firm his resolve that the course of action he was about to take was absolutely necessary to his peace of mind.
His first stop was a long-overdue visit to the cemetery behind the small church he used to attend with his family. Adam walked through the rows of graves, clutching a handful of wilted daisies he’d picked along the way, and finally halted at the familiar spot where the ornate gravestone of his little brother evoked a host of unwelcome memories.
How Adam used to resent coming here every year on the anniversary of Danny’s death. It seemed designed as a form of torture to remind him once again how he’d failed his family.
Daniel James O’Leary, age eight.
Adam’s throat tightened at the flashes that invaded his mind. His brother’s mop of dark hair—the only one in the family to share their father’s coloring—the dusting of freckles across his nose, the impish grin that always meant he was up to no good.
“I should have taken you swimming like you asked, Danny, instead of running off with my friends. I should have been a better brother to you.”
His eyes stung as the stark truth penetrated Adam’s soul. He’d been jealous of his brother—jealous that their father showed Danny more affection than he’d ever showed Adam. Jealous that Danny looked like their father, while he did not.
Adam forced himself to be brutally honest. Neither Danny nor Gil had deserved Adam’s resentment. Even Gil had done nothing to warrant Adam’s hatred, his only crime being an affinity for horses that matched James’s. In reality, the true source of Adam’s anger had been Father himself.
Adam bent to lay the daisies at the base of the large stone. With one knee on the damp grass, he recited the prayers his mother used to make them say, for once finding comfort in the words. When he finished, he traced the carved stone letters with one finger, silently pleading for forgiveness from his brother.
“You deserved so much better, Danny. It should have been me who drowned. Then you’d be here to fulfill our father’s dreams.”
“Is that you, Adam O’Leary?” Reverend Filmore strode across the grass toward him.
Adam swiped a hand over his eyes as he jerked to his feet, working hard to contain his emotions. “It is, Reverend. How are you?”
“I’m well, my boy. It’s good to see you again.” He shook Adam’s hand.
Had the man not heard where Adam had been for the past few years? Surely not, or he wouldn’t be so happy to see him.
Reverend Filmore folded his hands over his stomach. “What brings you here on this fine afternoon?”
“Just paying respects to my brother. It’s been a long time since I’ve been . . . home.”
“It has indeed. Staying with your parents, are you?”
“No. I have a place in the city.”
“Glad to hear you’re getting back on your feet. Well, give my best to your parents.”
Adam fell in step with him as he headed toward the church. “I’m not sure if I’ll see them today, sir. But I do have a matter you might help me with.”
Reverend Filmore turned to peer at him through his spectacles. “What is it, son?”
“I’d like to see my baptismal record.”
The pastor came to a halt, and for a brief moment, Adam feared he might refuse.
But at last the man nodded. “Follow me. I keep the records in my office.”
It didn’t take long for the man to find the ledger in his bookcase and bring the volume over to his desk.
“What year would you be looking at?”
Adam swallowed. “I was born in November of 1889.” If what I’ve been told is the truth.
Reverend Filmore flipped through the book until he came to the right time. He ran his finger across the yellowed pages and stopped at an entry near the middle of the page. “There it is, my boy. Your mother liked to have her babes christened within a few weeks of their birth.”
Adam held his breath as he attempted to focus on the script.
Adam Francis O’Leary, christened this 24th day of November 1889. Date of birth: November 18, 1889. Mother: Kathleen Agnes O’Grady. Father: James Francis O’Leary.
Nothing out of the ordinary there. Did he really imagine there would be a different name for his father? He let out his breath.
“Is there anything else you need?” Reverend Filmore regarded him with a curious stare.
“Actually, there is.” Adam still wasn’t convinced that he was indeed James’s son. “Would my parents’ marriage be registered here?”
Reverend Filmore straightened, his expression suddenly wary. “Were they married in this church?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Very well. Let’s have a look.” He moved to the bookcase, pulled a different volume off the shelf, and laid it on the desk.
His pulse thrumming in his veins, Adam peered over the reverend’s shoulder while he scanned the pages, moving backward through the months. At last his finger stopped at the name O’Leary.
“Here it is.”
Adam scanned the date in the left-hand column. March 25, 1889. He pressed his lips together, doing a quick calculation in his head. Eight months. He sucked in a breath and stepped away from the desk.
“Come now, son. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You were likely born a few weeks earlier than expected. If not . . . well, your parents wouldn’t be the first couple who didn’t wait for the wedding night, if you catch my drift.” He closed the book with a soft thud.
Adam drew himself up to his full height. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Reverend Filmore accompanied Adam out of the office and rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Talk to your parents, son. It will ease your worries.”
Adam replaced his cap as he exited the building. If only it were that easy. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
“Make it fly, Aunt Maggie.” Delia’s squeal of delight sounded over the rush of the wind.
Maggie smiled. “I’ll try, but you have to help me. Hold the string up high while I run.” She lifted the bedraggled-looking kite over her head and began a slow trot across the grass, careful not to trip on her skirt.
She’d promised Delia she’d take her to the park and fly the kite they’d constructed the day before, and today, since there was a slight breeze blowing, Maggie hoped she’d be able to get it off the ground.
When the wind seemed favorable, Maggie released the toy to the elements. It dipped and bobbed, seeming to hover in midair, and then pitched upward on a current.
Maggie rushed back to help Delia with the string if necessary. “That’s it. You’re doing a fine job.”
The paper-and-wood kite managed to maintain the tautness necessary to stay suspended. Delia bit her lip in concentration, holding the string as though it might fly away without her.
Craning her neck, Maggie watched the kite’s fledgling journey and laughed out loud with sheer delight. For some reason, her thoughts turned to Adam, wishing he were here to share his niece’s joy.
“That’s a fine-looking kite you have there.”
The small hairs on the back of Maggie’s neck rose. She whipped around to see Neill standing beside Delia.
Delia grinned up at him. “Aunt Maggie helped me make it.”
“Well, you’re a lucky girl to have such a nice aunt.” Neill stared at Maggie as he spoke.
Delia scrunched her nose. “You sound just like her. Do you come from Ireland, too?”
“I do indeed.”
What was Neill doing here? When Maggie hadn’t heard any more from him, she’d decided he must have given up and returned home. Now here he was again. Had he been watching her all this time?
Her heart thumping an uneven beat, Maggie stepped forward and laid a hand on Delia’s shoulder. “Delia, this is Mr. Fitzgerald. He’s a friend from home.” She shot him a warning look over Delia’s head. “Neill, why don’t we sit on the bench while Delia flies her kite?”
“I’d like that.”
A mixture of irritation and dread swirled in Maggie’s stomach as she took a seat on the wooden bench. She glanced around the small neighborhood park, grateful to see another family out for an evening stroll.
“What are you doing? Following me around?”
“How else am I to win you back if you won’t see me willingly?” His gaze grew earnest. “Won’t you tell your brothers that we’re still courting? Then I can call on you properly at the house.” He grabbed her hand in his. “Let’s have some fun together, Maggie. We can explore the Museum of Natural History together. Take the ferry over to the Statue of Liberty.”
For a mad moment, she was taken back to their childhood, when she and Neill, along with a group of neighborhood friends, would race over the meadows, climb trees, and explore the abandoned barns out in the country. But they were children then, and too many things had changed. She sighed and removed her hand from his. “A few days of sightseeing won’t change the fact that our lives are on two different paths.”
He stiffened, the enthusiasm fading from his features. “What do you mean? We both love our town, both want to raise a family there. I’ve got a good business that provides a stable income. We’ll live above the pub until we can afford our own house.”
Maggie shook her head. “I can’t marry you, Neill. Though I’m fond of you, I don’t love you like a wife should love her husband. I’m afraid nothing is going to change that.”
His features hardened. “That’s not true, Maggie.”
She sighed. There was only one way to make him understand. “I’m not going back to Ireland.”
Creases appeared on his forehead. “Not until the end of the summer. But once you have this wanderlust out of your system, you’ll be ready to come home and settle down.”
“Aunt Maggie, look.”
Maggie rose from the bench and squinted at the kite as it careened around the sky in a crazy pattern. She waved at Delia. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”
With a silent prayer that Neill would accept the end of their relationship once and for all, she turned back to him. “I’m not going back,” she repeated. “I’m staying in New York for good.”
Neill shot to his feet, disbelief in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I—”
Without warning, he grabbed her roughly and kissed her. At one time, back when she’d actually thought they might make a life together, she’d found his kisses pleasant enough. But today his hard mouth brandished punishment as well as possessiveness.
She shoved him away from her and swiped a hand across her lips. With considerable effort, she reined in her temper. “Forcing yourself on me will get you nowhere. Now, please do us both a favor and don’t contact me again.”
Maggie lifted her skirt and rushed back toward Delia, just in time to see the kite swoop from the sky and plummet to the ground below.
Delia laughed and ran toward the fallen toy. “Did you see how long it stayed up, Aunt Maggie?”
Maggie forced a smile to her lips. “I did. You’re an excellent kite flyer.”
As they gathered up the length of string, Maggie glanced behind her to the bench. Neill stood glaring, a look of hatred in his eyes. He jammed his hat back on his head and stalked off down the path.
“Can we try it again?” Delia asked.
All the energy seemed to drain from Maggie’s body, leaving her as limp as the kite in her hands. “Maybe tomorrow, sweetie. I think I’ve had enough for today.”
Adam pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. The train back to Manhattan wouldn’t leave for another two hours, which gave Adam plenty of time for a quick trip to Irish Meadows. He stiffened at the thought of facing his father, not prepared for that battle just yet. But a visit with Brianna was long overdue. If Adam’s luck held out, perhaps he could talk to her alone.
Twenty minutes later, Adam strode up the road toward his parents’ home. He skirted the main entrance and made his way to the servants’ door, where he ducked inside a small hallway leading to the kitchen. Pausing to remove his cap, he listened for any sign of Mrs. Harrison at work in her domain. The telltale clatter of pots and pans told him she was indeed there.
“Are you going to lurk in the doorway all day or come in and say hello to your old cook?”
Adam startled at the woman’s ability to know the moment someone came near her kitchen. He stepped into the room. “Hello, Mrs. Harrison.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and came forward, her round face beaming beneath her white cap. “Why, Adam O’Leary, you are a sight for these weary eyes.” She wrapped him in a tight hug, and once again Adam was struck at the manner in which servants at Irish Meadows seemed more family than staff.
“How have you been keeping, Mrs. Harrison?”
“Not bad at all. If you’re looking for your parents, I’m afraid they’re out for the day.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Actually, I was hoping to speak with Brianna, if she’s home.”
“You’re in luck. She got back from the library about an hour ago.”
“Adam?” The sound of his sister’s voice preceded her footsteps into the kitchen. “It is you. I thought I heard your voice.” Brianna rushed forward to envelop him in his second hug of the day.
Her loving acceptance humbled him. “It’s good to see you, Bree. You look wonderful.” She had indeed matured into a lovely woman, her cinnamon-colored hair tamed into a tidy roll at the back of her neck.
When she pulled back, moisture rimmed her eyes. “How are you doing? Mama won’t say a word about you for fear of upsetting Daddy.”
“I’m fine.” Adam glanced at Mrs. Harrison and the other maids who scurried about the kitchen. “Could we talk in private?”
“Of course. Why not your old room? No one will bother us there.”
He nodded and winked. “Afraid Gil may come looking for you?”
She cast him a scathing glare as she swept toward the servants’ staircase. “I may be marrying the man, but he won’t stop me from talking to my own brother. Come on.”
Adam laughed, following her upstairs. “I’m glad to see you’ve developed a backbone at last.”
She peered over her shoulder. “It was either that or follow Daddy’s orders for the rest of my life. Not much of a choice.”
They walked along the second-floor hall to Adam’s bedroom at the far end. Once inside, Brianna took a seat in the armchair by the window while Adam grabbed his old desk chair and straddled it. He glanced around the room, trying to ignore the rush of nostalgia twisting his insides.
“So what is it?” Bree asked without preamble. “I can tell something’s on your mind.”
“You’re right.” He frowned, looking past her out the window.
“This better not be about Gil. Now that we’re getting married, I expect you to put your ridiculous animosity aside once and for all.”
He chuckled at her ferocious defense. “You’ll be happy to know that I’m working hard to do just that. I realize it was never Gil’s fault that our father preferred him over me.”
“Oh, Adam.” Sympathy shone in her green eyes as she laid a hand on his arm. “I’ve never understood why Daddy treated you so harshly. I thought maybe he had greater expectations for you, being the eldest.”
Adam held back a snort. “That’s part of it, I’m sure.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Can I ask you some questions—without you asking anything in return?”
She gave him a wary frown. “What about?”
“About our parents. Do you know anything about how they met, or their courtship?”
Her brow cleared. “Of course I do.”
“I figured if anyone did, it would be my romantic sister.”
She laughed and smoothed the material of her striped skirt. “Mama and Daddy met at the mercantile our grandparents owned. Mama was there one day when Daddy came in with his father to buy supplies. Apparently she stole Daddy’s heart right away.”
Adam pondered this for a minute. “How old was she?”
“About seventeen.”
“Did they have a long courtship?”
“I think it was quite quick, if I remember Mama’s stories.” A dreamy expression stole over her face. “They were married in the same church as I will be soon.”
Needing to move, Adam pushed up from the chair and walked to the four-poster bed. Absently, he fingered the blue-patterned quilt that had adorned his bed since childhood. “What about other suitors? Wasn’t Mama promised to someone else when she met Daddy?”
Brianna’s fair brows came together. “You’re right. Mama’s father had an agreement with a friend of his, a Mr. Drake, that she would marry his son.” Brianna tapped a finger to her lips. “I don’t know the son’s name. But I do know Mama didn’t much care for him. As soon as she met Daddy, she knew she could never marry anyone else.” The dreamy look returned.
“Do you know anything more about the Drakes?”
Her smile faded. “Not really. What’s this about, Adam?”
He set his jaw. “I said no questions, remember?”
She rose from the chair, hands fisted on her hips. “That’s not fair—”
“Did Mama say anything about her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary this past winter?”
Brianna’s mouth fell open for a moment. “I didn’t realize . . .” She stared at him. “You’ll be twenty-five this fall, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then it must have been their twenty-sixth anniversary.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth.
He sighed, unwilling to disillusion his sister. “You’re probably right. Must have my dates mixed up.”
Brianna grew pensive. “I wonder why no mention was ever made of it last year. How odd.”
He moved toward her and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Do me a favor and forget I asked. It’s not important. Besides, you have your own wedding to concentrate on now.”
His ploy worked, and her features brightened immediately. “I can’t believe it’s almost here. I’m finally going to be Mrs. Gilbert Whelan.”
A whisper of tenderness for his sister curled around his heart. “You really love him, don’t you?”
She beamed at him. “I do, Adam. Gil’s kind, caring, and so thoughtful. You’d see that if you’d give him a chance.”
Adam swallowed his bitterness and managed a nod. “For your sake, Bree, I’ll try my best.”