23

THE BEAUTY OF THE WARM JULY afternoon did nothing to lighten Adam’s mood as he climbed the grand staircase at Irish Meadows. The door to the master bedroom stood slightly ajar, and Adam paused to steel himself before entering. What would he find waiting inside?

The moment he stepped over the threshold, the gloom of the interior surrounded him like a shroud. Heavy curtains were drawn over the large window, with only a small crack of light casting a beam across the carpet. The stench of sickness, mixed with a sweet medicinal odor, permeated the space.

Please Lord, don’t let me be too late.

James sat beside the bed, his head bowed over the still figure beneath the covers. Regret weighed like a two-ton load on Adam’s shoulders at the sight. He hesitated, unsure what do next. Would James allow him to stay or throw him out? He waited for him to acknowledge his presence.

At last, James raised his head and directed a bloodshot gaze to Adam. “So you came.”

“Of course I came. She’s my mother.”

James straightened and slowly rose from the chair. Haggard did not begin to describe his appearance, making Adam wonder if he’d turned to whiskey to ease his distress. His stained shirt hung out of his trousers, suspenders laying limply at his sides. His dark hair looked gouged from dragging his hands through it.

Adam watched him approach, inwardly bracing for a fist to the jaw. But James only stared at him. “If your presence will do her any good, then I thank God for bringing you.” He pointed to the chair he’d vacated. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone.”

James didn’t wait for a reply but walked out the door. His heavy footsteps thudded down the carpeted hall, leaving Adam alone to watch over his mother.

He pulled out the chair and perched on the edge, forcing himself to look at Mama’s wan face. Her labored breathing made her chest rise and fall beneath the thin sheet.

Never had Adam felt more helpless, except for the time he’d found Danny floating in the pond. Though he’d tried to breathe life back into the boy’s tiny body, nothing could be done to revive him. The sight of his little brother’s blue lips and white face had haunted him ever since.

That couldn’t happen again. This time he had to find a way to help.

Adam lifted one of his mother’s hands and warmed it between his own. “I’m here, Mama. You’ve got to fight this illness. You’re the cement that binds this family together.” He rested his forehead on her hand. “Please don’t give up now. We haven’t had a chance to work things out between us.”

He searched her face for a sign she’d heard him, but her features remained unchanged.

Adam hung his head in prayer and settled in to the vigil he would keep until his mother either got better—or didn’t.

“I’m sorry, son. I wish I had better news.” Dr. Shepherd, the family physician since Adam had been a boy, folded his stethoscope and placed it back in his battered leather bag. “There’s no change.”

Adam nodded, not surprised by his words. “But she’s no worse?”

“No. She’s the same, which for now we’ll take as a good sign.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Two days had gone by in a blur, with the family keeping watch in the room. Adam, James, and the others took turns so Mama was never alone for a moment.

“Kathleen hasn’t reached the critical point yet. If she makes it through the next forty-eight hours, she might have a fighting chance.”

Adam swallowed the ball of fear in his throat. “You’ll be around in case we need you?”

“I will. I have a few more patients to see today, but I’ll be back.”

James, who had been standing silently to the side, moved forward. “Let me walk you out, Doc.”

The moment they left the room, Adam sank onto the chair, no longer having to maintain his façade of strength. He bent over the side of his mother’s bed and closed his eyes. “Mama, you have to hang on. You’re the strongest woman I know. You can make it through this.”

Someone pressed a cup into his hand. “Here, you haven’t eaten all day. At least have a sip of tea.”

Adam looked up to see his sister. He blinked and wrapped his fingers around the warm mug.

Brianna rubbed a hand over his back. “Mama always said a cup of tea could fix anything.”

Adam’s lips twisted. “Yes, she did. I think it made her feel better, to make the tea for us.” He rose and offered Brianna the chair.

She took his place, picked up a cloth, and wiped Mama’s face. “She has to get better, Adam. I can’t imagine a world without Mama in it.” Her voice caught, and she bit her bottom lip.

“She is going to recover. We all have to believe it, so she will, too.”

Brianna turned her head to study him. “You’ve changed since you were . . . away.”

“It’s okay to say the word prison, Bree.”

A flush colored her cheeks. “I mean it. You seem more at peace. Less angry.”

Adam held back a snort. Ever since he’d learned of his true parentage, he’d been angrier than ever.

“Now that we’re alone,” she said quietly, “I want you to know Mama and Daddy told Gil and me . . . everything.”

“They told you?” Shock stung Adam’s senses. Remembering the shame and guilt on his mother’s face, Adam couldn’t imagine her telling the rest of the family.

“Yes. And it doesn’t matter to us. You’re still our brother, and we love you.”

She held out a hand to him, and he grasped it.

His throat constricted. “Thank you, Bree. That means more than you know.”

She squeezed his fingers and let her hand fall to her lap. “It must have been quite a shock.”

“Not totally. In a way, it’s a relief to know the truth at last.”

“It does explain a lot about Daddy’s attitude. Not that I’m excusing his behavior, but I can see how hard it would have been for him.”

Images of their childhood flashed in his memory. His gentle sister, ever the peacemaker, always managed to see both sides of every story. “Right now nothing matters except Mama regaining her health. The rest can be sorted out later.”

“Bree, Adam—” James entered the bedroom, his face even more drawn. “Deirdre and Connor are both showing symptoms. Dr. Shepherd never got out the front door.”

Maggie gave Colleen another full day before broaching the subject of her mother. By that time, Dr. Reardon had assured the worried parents that Delia had indeed turned a corner and was expected to make a full recovery. Maggie and Rylan had finally managed to coerce Colleen into one of the now-empty beds to get a decent sleep. She’d barely eaten or slept in the days since Delia had taken ill, and the toll it had taken on her body was obvious. Maggie only prayed she would regain her strength at the same rate as Delia.

The news she’d kept from Colleen now became a heavy burden on Maggie’s conscience. She could not keep it to herself any longer.

When Colleen came into the orphanage kitchen that morning, Maggie set aside the mound of dough she’d been kneading. “You sit. I’ll fix the tea.”

“I’ve been sitting far too much. It will do me good to get back to normal again.” Colleen tied an apron around her and began to inspect the cupboards. “We will need to get in a good order of staples. I’ll try to do that tomorrow. When is Mrs. Norton expected back to work?”

“The doctor said a few days’ more rest should do it.” Maggie washed and dried her hands, then crossed the kitchen. “Colleen, there’s something I must tell you now that Delia’s on the mend.”

Colleen closed a cupboard door with a frown. “Neill Fitzgerald hasn’t been around again, has he?”

The worry on her face gave Maggie a pang of guilt. “No. Nothing like that.” She twisted her hands together. “There’s no easy way to tell you this. . . . Your mother, Connor, and Deirdre have contracted typhoid fever. When the housekeeper phoned, I didn’t want to add to your burden.”

Colleen pulled out a chair and sank onto it. “How is that possible?”

Maggie took a seat across the table from her. “The doctor said the disease could be passed from tainted food. Did your family ever eat here?”

Colleen nodded. “Mama brought Connor and Dee-Dee one day. Mary had made a batch of peach ice cream, and they all had some.” A stricken look came over her. “Delia had some, as well.”

“And you?”

“No, I . . . By the time I finished tidying the classroom, it was all gone.” She put a hand over her mouth.

Maggie nodded. “I remember that day. Rylan and Gabe complained that they’d missed the treat. And I gave my portion to Johnnie.”

Colleen sat back with a thud. “How bad is Mama?”

“Her condition is quite serious.” Maggie paused. “I let Adam know. He’s gone to be with her. He was there when Connor and Deirdre fell ill.”

Colleen gripped her hands together on the tabletop. “I should go, too. But how can I leave Delia? She still needs her mother.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

Maggie covered her hands with her own. “Your mother has the whole family there, but Rylan and Delia need you here.”

Maggie hesitated. Now that Delia was on the mend, she felt she had to go to Adam. “I’m going to Irish Meadows tomorrow,” she said quietly. “I could deliver a letter for you.”

Colleen stared at her. “Why are you going there?”

Maggie lifted her chin. There was no point in keeping the truth from Colleen. Too many life-and-death events in the past weeks made hiding her feelings seem foolish. “Knowing how strained things are between Adam and your father, I want to be there for him. He needs someone in his corner.” She held herself steady under Colleen’s scrutiny.

“Maggie, you can’t get involved in Adam’s life. No good can come from it.”

Maggie gave a rueful smile. “You sound like your brother . . . and mine. But I’m afraid it’s too late for your warnings. Come what may, I have to follow my heart.”

Sympathy oozed across Colleen’s face. “Oh, Maggie. I know you feel compassion for him. Perhaps you’re confusing that . . . sentiment . . . for something else.”

With quiet determination, Maggie rose and went back to her dough. “I’m not confused, Colleen. Adam may have given up on himself—but I haven’t. And neither has God.”