22

AFTER WALKING THREE BLOCKS from the streetcar stop, Maggie paused to catch her breath, hoping she hadn’t made a huge mistake by coming here. This area of town appeared rougher than Rylan’s neighborhood, although perhaps the streets were merely unfamiliar, making them appear ominous.

Images of Neill Fitzgerald rose up to plague her. She hadn’t thought of him in days, so consumed had she been with the epidemic at St. Rita’s. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder and across the street. None of the people appeared out of the ordinary.

She offered a quick prayer for protection and hoped Adam wouldn’t be too angry with her for coming to find him on her own. Surely once he heard the reason, he’d understand.

Maggie crossed the road and hastened in the direction of the awning-covered stores farther down the avenue. She passed a woman’s dress shop and a haberdashery before coming to the mercantile Reverend McNabb had mentioned. Next to it, a door had been propped open. Dust and dirt swirled out onto the walkway, forcing Maggie to stop before her shoes and skirt became soiled.

A second later, Adam emerged, wielding a broom like a weapon. When he turned and saw her, his eyes widened, and the handle slipped from his fingers. “Maggie? What are you doing here?”

He wore a burlap apron tied haphazardly at his waist, his plaid shirt rolled up past his elbows. Seeing him there in front of her, so solid and real, caused a mixture of relief and joy to rush through her. “What kind of welcome is that, Mr. O’Leary?” she teased.

A splash of pink stole across his cheeks as he retrieved the broom. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Have you forgotten about Fitzgerald?”

She lifted her chin. “There’s been no sign of him for some time now. And I took the streetcar. I was perfectly safe with all the passengers.”

His frown deepened. “How did you find me?”

“Reverend McNabb told me where you were. May I come in?”

He scratched his head. “I . . . um . . . I haven’t finished cleaning.”

“A little dirt won’t kill me.” She laughed and brushed a hand over her skirt, hoping he wouldn’t notice she’d worn one of her best outfits.

He shrugged and gestured for her to precede him. Once inside, she marveled at the rustic-yet-homey atmosphere. The building had a masculine quality that suited Adam. She could picture him working in such an establishment. The countertop gleamed, and the shelves behind it showed not a trace of dust.

“I can see you’ve been busy. I understand you were hired to renovate the interior.”

Another frown creased Adam’s brow. “John said that?”

Maggie hesitated. “Not in those exact words. Did I misinterpret his meaning?”

Adam stalked to the other side of the room, leaning the broom in a corner. “Why are you here, Maggie?” He whirled then, alarm evident in his eyes. “Is Delia worse?”

She shook her head. “She’s holding her own for now. The doctor is optimistic that she’ll recover.”

The relief that spread over his features made Maggie want to hug him. But she knew he would not welcome her touch.

“Then why have you come? Does Rylan know you’ve gone?”

“No.”

His intense stare, meant as a scolding, did not intimidate her.

She ignored his glower and moved to the rear of the room, inspecting the space as she went. Selfishly, she wanted to draw out this rare moment together. “This building has a lovely feel to it. What type of store will it be?”

When he didn’t answer, she turned and pinned him with an arched look. “Well?”

“A furniture store,” he ground out.

Understanding dawned, and a quiet joy filled her soul. “You’re starting your own shop? That’s wonderful.” She swept out her arm. “How did you manage all of this?”

“John McNabb arranged to rent the building.” Adam’s scowl seemed permanently etched on his face.

“Where is the furniture? Back here?” Without waiting for a response, Maggie pushed through the swinging doors that led into a spotless work area, containing a long table and rows of neatly aligned tools hung on hooks. In the far corner, a large bin held piles of wood, ready for use. She gazed around in awe. Several chairs and stools in various stages of completion lined one wall. One piece in particular, a hope chest, made her breath catch. “These are beautiful, Adam. You have such a gift.”

She turned to find him in the doorway, arms crossed, revealing corded forearms. Maggie couldn’t tell from his guarded expression what he was thinking.

“It doesn’t mean the business will be a success.”

She ran her fingers over a few of the metal tools, all meticulously arranged. “At least you have the courage to try.” She stopped in front of him. “I’m proud of you, Adam.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he moved behind the workbench, as though he couldn’t bear to be near her. “You still haven’t said why you’ve come. You must have a reason.”

She repressed a quiet sigh. She’d been delaying, wanting to stretch out their time together, when in reality she had no right.

“I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news,” she said at last, “and I wanted to tell you in person.”

Adam grew still and fought for control over the tidal wave of emotion running riot through his system. Having Maggie so near was wreaking havoc with his senses. She looked so beautiful in a green dress and matching hat, her luxurious hair falling to her waist. With great effort, he pulled his attention back to her words and drew in a ragged breath. “What news?”

Her eyes clouded with sympathy. “Your mother has contracted typhoid fever. The housekeeper phoned to let us know.” She skirted the work table and moved toward him. “I had to come and tell you.”

The wood of the wall behind him bit into his back. “How bad is it?”

She moved closer. “Serious enough, or your father wouldn’t have had Mrs. Johnston call.”

A thousand thoughts invaded Adam’s mind. What should he do? Would he be welcome at Irish Meadows after leaving on such terrible terms mere weeks ago? Worse yet, had his accusations against his mother contributed to her ill health?

A warm hand on his arm brought his head jerking up.

Maggie stood so close he could see the flecks of green and gold in her gray eyes. Smell the lavender of the soap she used.

“You must go to her, Adam. If anything were to happen . . .”

Bands of tension seized his shoulders. He needed air. Pushing past her, he strode through the main part of the store and out onto the walkway, where he leaned against a metal lamppost as if to draw strength from its solidity.

His mother could be dying. Maggie was right. No matter the consequences, he had to see her again and try to make amends before it was too late. With a deep breath, he turned and found Maggie watching him from the open doorway, her features awash in sympathy.

“I’m sorry to bring you such dire news.” She held a handkerchief crushed between her fingers. “I know the type of fear you must be feeling. We’ve been keeping watch ’round the clock with Delia.”

Adam took a closer look at her face, calling himself every kind of fool. How had he missed the dark circles under her eyes and the pinch of fatigue around her lips? She’d been through torture since he’d left, having to give Ivy back, worrying over Delia, tending the sick. Yet here she was, concerned enough about him to travel across town.

“Thank you for telling me, Maggie.” He peered at her. “Are you keeping well yourself?”

She gave a thin smile. “Healthy as a mule, thank goodness. Though I wouldn’t be adverse to a good night’s sleep after all this is over.”

He wanted to smile in return, to speak his heart to her, but he knew there was no point. Instead, he nodded. “I’d best lock the store. Then I’ll accompany you back to the orphanage before I catch the train to Long Island.”

Maggie entered the orphanage kitchen and found Sister Veronica already at work, pots of water heating on the stove, a mound of peeled potatoes sitting on the counter.

“I’m back, Sister. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to start the potatoes.”

The nun sniffed. “That’s all right. I needed something to keep me busy anyway.”

Maggie looked up from tying an apron around her waist, alarmed at the tears slipping down the woman’s cheeks.

“What is it?” Maggie whispered.

Sister Veronica dabbed a limp handkerchief to her cheek. “We’ve lost another dear soul.”

Please God, no. Maggie swallowed the swell of fear in her throat. “Not Delia.”

The nun shook her head. “No, though she’s had a setback. As did little Johnnie, and his poor heart couldn’t take it.”

Maggie clutched the counter for support. With his impish charm, Johnnie Feeney had been a favorite at St. Rita’s.

Maggie sniffed back her own tears and moved to the sink. “Let’s get the food cooking, and I’ll go and set the table.”

Sister Veronica gave a final wipe of her face, pocketed the piece of linen, and straightened her back. “You’re right. We still have others in our care. There will be time to mourn later.”

Maggie moved through her chores with swift determination, and when she found a moment to take a break, she went to check on Delia’s condition.

She entered the hushed area and crossed to the far side of the room. The grief on Rylan’s face made Maggie want to weep. Colleen’s crumpled figure, twisted over the edge of the bed, spoke of tragedy.

Slowly she approached the bed. “Rylan?”

Her brother lifted his head, his normally luminous eyes now hollow and bloodshot. “Pray for her, Maggie. Aurora’s gone to find Dr. Reardon at the hospital. We don’t know if Delia will make it. . . .”

A strangled groan erupted from Colleen on the bed. “Why is God punishing us, Rylan? First He takes Ivy away and now Delia.”

Rylan gathered Colleen to him. “We have to have faith, love. Delia is strong. She could still pull through.”

Colleen’s tangled auburn hair quivered as she sobbed on Rylan’s shoulder.

For a minute, sorrow paralyzed Maggie, rooting her to the spot. She couldn’t break further bad news to Colleen about her mother right now. She’d wait and see how Delia passed the night and make a decision in the morning.

Maggie stiffened her spine and crossed the room to the prayer corner the nuns had created. She lifted the Bible from the table, then returned and took a seat beside Delia’s bed. She couldn’t do much, but she could pray. In a strong voice, she began to recite Psalm 27. “‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life. . . .’”

Gabe pushed out the rear door of the orphanage and strode across the back lawn. A forgotten baseball mitt, a skipping rope, and a rubber ball lay strewn across the grass, all evidence of normal children’s lives that had been disrupted. An uncommon anger gripped him, almost crushing the air from his lungs.

Why had the Lord allowed this to happen to these innocent children who already had enough sorrow in their young lives?

Johnnie Feeney had been a happy soul, who, despite his orphan status, had tried to cheer the other children when they were sad. And now he was gone. Just like that. Just like Delia could be gone, as well.

Gabe bent to retrieve the mitt and ball, blinking back moisture that stung his eyes. Never had he seen his brother so helpless, so bereft of hope that even prayer didn’t ease his mind. He loved Delia as much or more than any biological child he could have had. What would he and Colleen do if they lost their daughter?

Gabe sank down on an overturned crate and hung his head over his knees, wishing there was something he could do to help his family. Wishing he could find the words to pray.

The sound of material swishing over the grass barely registered in his brain until a warm hand landed on his shoulder.

“Is there anything I can do?” Aurora’s sweet voice infused his soul with hope.

He looked up at her. “You can tell me Delia’s regained consciousness.”

Her sad eyes told him everything. “I wish I could,” she said softly.

“Why could it not be me instead? Why these poor children? I ate here many a time, yet why has God spared me?”

“I don’t have the answers, Gabe. No one does, except God himself.”

He pushed to his feet. “I hate feeling so helpless with nothing to do but wait.”

“It’s the worst feeling ever, especially when it’s someone you love.” A tear rolled down Aurora’s cheek.

“Ah, darlin’, don’t cry. Please.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

“I’m sorry. I came out here to help and I’ve made things worse.” She dabbed her face with the square of linen.

“Shh. You’re doing everything you can to help your patients.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

A shudder went through her frame, and Gabe couldn’t hold back. He reached out to pull her to him, rubbing his hands over her back. Her head rested on his chest, causing a bundle of emotion to riot through his system. For weeks now, he’d been fighting his feelings for this woman, so brave and beautiful and kind. Not once did she think of herself and her own welfare, but worked tirelessly to see to the children’s comfort.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re doing the best you can.”

She didn’t answer but held tightly to him, as if through their physical connection, they could share each other’s pain and find the strength to carry on.

Behind them, the back door slammed, and Aurora jerked from his arms.

Dr. Reardon came down the stairs. “Miss Hastings, is everything all right?” The disapproving scowl on the man’s face did not match the tone of his question.

She dashed the tears from her cheeks, splotches of red marring her delicate complexion. “I . . . I’m fine, thank you.”

The desire to rush to her defense rose strong in Gabe’s chest, but he held back, realizing she needed to handle this on her own.

“Is Delia . . . ?”

“The same, I’m afraid.” He crossed his arms. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a word.”

“Of course.”

“Not you, Miss Hastings. I was speaking to Mr. Montgomery.” His hard brown eyes pinned Gabe in challenge.

“As you wish, Doctor.”

Aurora clutched Gabe’s arm and shot him a look filled with anxiety.

“Don’t worry. I promise we’ll keep it civil. Why don’t you go and check on my niece for me?”

She gave a tremulous smile. “I’d be happy to.”

Once Aurora had gone inside, Gabe followed the stiff back of Dr. Reardon down the hall to his brother’s office. The room hadn’t been used much of late, with Rylan so preoccupied with his daughter.

“Have a seat,” the man said as if he owned the office.

“I’d prefer to stand, thank you. What is it you wish to say?”

Dr. Reardon remained standing, as well. “I’ll be blunt. I want you to leave. Your presence here is a distraction and is hindering Miss Hastings’s work. Since you’ve passed the incubation period with no symptoms, I give you permission to leave the building. You may go back to your . . . firefighting.” A definite swirl of animosity laced the doctor’s tone.

Several rebuttals came to mind, but Gabe focused on the one that seemed the most rational. “I’m here first and foremost for my brother. With his daughter fighting for her life, Rylan needs all the support he can get. I’ll not be leaving until the crisis has passed.”

Dr. Reardon snorted. “I’m not a fool. I see your true motivation.”

So he wanted to spar, did he? Gabe took a step toward him. “Let’s address the actual issue at hand, why don’t we? You’re in love with Aurora, and you can’t stand that she seems to prefer my company.”

The doctor’s posture stiffened, his mouth a straight line beneath his mustache. “You are nothing but a passing fancy, a novelty. But you’ll soon be back on a ship, an ocean away, whereas I’ll be here for the duration.”

Gabe’s gut churned with that uncomfortable truth. “Aurora is a grown woman who makes her own decisions. My leaving the orphanage won’t change our friendship.”

Dr. Reardon crossed his arms and moved closer. “Just so we’re clear, I plan to wed Aurora.”

A stab of jealousy hit Gabe hard. “And how does she feel about this? Or have you even asked?”

“I don’t have to. We have a solid connection—one borne of mutual respect and a shared love of medicine.” His nostrils flared. “If you care about her, you won’t dally with her affections when you’ll be leaving soon and not returning.”

The thought of never seeing Aurora’s beautiful face again created a painful spasm in Gabe’s chest. Could he really walk away forever? Suddenly his reasons for going home seemed to diminish in importance. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

Something akin to fear flared in the man’s eyes. “Go ahead and break Aurora’s heart, Mr. Montgomery. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces.” He pushed past Gabe toward the door. “My initial request remains. Please leave and let us tend the sick.”

The grip on Gabe’s temper slipped, and he held back a growl. “Not until my niece is on the mend and my brother and Aurora no longer need me.”

The door slammed behind the doctor, leaving Gabe with an uncomfortable sensation in his gut. He couldn’t dispute most of what Dr. Reardon had said. Did Gabe have the right to disrupt Aurora’s life, or should he do the noble thing and back away?

It was true that the doctor and Aurora shared a bond through their work, and with a doctor for a husband, she would be guaranteed a secure future.

And her father seemed determined to keep Gabe away from Aurora. If he pursued a relationship with her, he risked splintering her family.

He let out a long breath. For now, he’d keep his feelings to himself and concentrate on getting through the epidemic before making any life-altering decisions. Once the danger had passed, he would figure out how Aurora felt about him, if he was indeed a passing fancy, or if they might share a more lasting connection.

He stepped out into the hall, at a loss as to what to do next. Quick footsteps sounded, and he turned to see Aurora rushing toward him. A clutch of anxiety hit him at seeing the tears streaking her cheeks.

“Gabe. Come quick,” she cried. “Delia is awake!”