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Four weeks earlier
The book lifted from Maire O’Fallen’s fingers into the hands of her brother, Michael, who turned it around before him and proceeded to read aloud. “As he swept her into his arms, her bosom heaved ...” An eyebrow shot up noticeably, and he gazed down at her, his green eyes twinkling.
She sighed. He was up to something. He was so much like their father.
“Can’t say as I’ve ever seen a woman’s bosom heave,” he said.
She gave a soft laugh. “Have you swept one into your arms?”
“Can’t say as I’ve done that either.”
With a giggle, she snatched at the book, but he held it higher, just out of reach.
“She could not believe this moment had come,” he read, “Here ... now ... he would kiss her and their life together would begin.” He snorted. “I can’t believe you read this stuff. You do know that love is not that easy?”
He lowered the book, and she, at last, captured it successfully. “That is precisely why I read it.” She settled back into position, her legs dangling over the arm of the chair. “Where are you off to?”
“Out,” he said. “You’ll be all right here by yourself?”
She waved one hand outward. “Who will bother me? The house is empty.” Which was an unusual thing. “And Gerritt will be back later. You know you really shouldn’t make fun of his writing. He will be famous one day.”
Michael leaned over her head, his inverted face giving him an awkward appearance. “Gerritt will write something intelligent, not that trash. I’m surprised Mama let you have it.”
Mama didn’t let her have it. She’d gotten it from Cora, a fact her brother must’ve realized just then.
“I see,” he said.
“Look, Michael, don’t be such a pest. I’m going to lay here and read until I can’t hold my eyes open and then go to bed. I’ll be asleep before you return.”
“That’s a given, since I’m not returning.”
This time it was her turn to show surprise. “You’re staying out all night?”
He shrugged. “Our loving parents won’t be back until tomorrow evening, and the Reverend and Amber have taken Jenny with them to visit cousin Grace’s father. This is the only night I’ll be allowed to do as I please.”
Michael chafed at the bit, always wanting to stretch his legs. Granted, their father was hard on him, but she understood why. They’d had it too easy. Papa’s fame and fortune paved a road for them to live life without hardship, something any parent should strive for, but at the same time it left them indolent. For her, that wasn’t so bad. She’d never had any big plans for her life past marriage and a family, but Michael ... he wanted to pursue his own fame and grew increasingly tired of living in their father’s shadow.
“Well, please be careful. If you do something careless and Papa hears about it ...”
She shivered. She didn’t fear their father; he only ever loved both of his children. But on the other hand, he could look at you a certain way and you felt guilty, whether you’d done anything or not.
Michael raised his right hand. “I promise.” He kissed her forehead and slipped from the room. She listened until the door lock clicked, and then returned to her book.
This was the good part.
Gerritt Finnegan tucked the envelope into his notebook and wandered across the atrium towards the chair he knew would be there. He spent a lot of time in this chair, nothing around him but warm window glass, and he preferred it that way. People were rotten, words were not. Words he could form to his will, bend and shift, put into place, and make them exactly what he wanted them to be. They were un-judgmental, controllable, and complaisant. They didn’t care what he looked like or make fun of him because he preferred to be alone.
That was not so odd to him. All writers spent a great deal of time alone, working hard at their craft, putting in the long hours needed to be the best. So if he was going to be successful, he would have to do the same.
He settled in the chair and extracted the envelope. He’d waited all day to open it, his nerves and rising doubts getting the better of him. What if they said no? What if there wasn’t room? Or if he simply wasn’t good enough?
He’d worked hard. His teacher had said he showed great promise. Of course, that was two years ago.
He flipped the envelope over and ran his thumb beneath the flap. Closing his eyes, he unfolded the page, breathing deep, and settled his mind before looking down. No matter what the letter said, he wouldn’t stop. He’d keep writing and make his way somehow.
Dear Mr. Finnegan,
We received your application dated the fourth and are pleased to respond in acceptance. Yours is truthfully one of the best essays we’ve read, and we are excited about the potential you display.
However, due to the number of applicants we receive, we require a thirty (30) day affirmation. If we do not hear from you within that period of time, we will be required to fill your spot with another.
We hope to hear from you and are excited for the promise of next semester.
Sincerely,
Marvin Stanley, Dean of Students
A slow smile spread over Gerritt’s face. Accepted. Unbelievable. He was in. All this time and he was still good enough.
He tightened his grip on the letter, rereading it twice, and paused the last time on the number of days. Thirty days wasn’t very long to convince his mother, less than that really. That he hadn’t asked her permission to apply went against the respect he held for her. He loved her, but she never spoke of New York. Her fear of the city would ultimately override any logical thoughts about the prestige of the school or the many possibilities attending there would bring.
Thirty days. How would he ever get her to see his point of view in such a short period of time when it had taken him two years to go against her and apply? He folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.
The knock at the door awakened Maire from her slumber, and she pulled herself upright, squinting through the late afternoon light filtering through the window. How lazy was she to fall asleep so early?
The knock repeated itself, the visitor impatient, so she rose, smoothing her skirt with one hand. “I’m coming,” she called on her way to the door.
The scent of an early frost rushed in at her through the opening. Breathing the cool air in deep, she faced her friend standing nervously on the stoop. “Cora? I wasn’t expecting you.”
Cora wrung her hands at her waist. “No, you weren’t ’cause I wasn’t plannin’ on comin’.” She turned aside and waved toward the street where a carriage stood, a pair of fine bays harnessed to the front.
“It was last minute,” she continued, “and ...” Cora curled her lip between her teeth.
“And?”
“And Eddie brought his friend, Daniel. Please say you feel up for a ride.”
Maire flicked a glance downward at her dress. Not one of her best outfits. She should look presentable. “I must change,” she said. “Where are you headed anyhow?”
Cora blushed. “Oh ... uhm ...” She leaned forward, her voice falling to a whisper. “The lake.”
Maire started. The lake? Couples only ever went out to the lake for one reason ... to be alone.
“Please, Maire.” Cora begged. “I’m frightened, and I can’t say no.”
But no seemed like the best response. Cora had always been a little afraid Eddie would take off with someone else, and it seemed to her if their relationship was that fragile, then it was hardly worth it.
Maire’s thoughts changed. Who was this Daniel-person anyway? Did she seriously want to spend her evening with someone she didn’t know? At the same time, how could she let Cora go out there alone? It wasn’t safe.
She sighed, the decision made for her. “I’ll go ... for you ... but give me ten minutes to change.”
Cora’s face lit. She gave a small hop. “Thank you, Maire. You haven’t any idea what a relief it is for you to say yes. I owe you big.”
Really big. Maire left the thought unsaid and, instead, scampered up the stairs and across the landing.
Her brother would kill her for doing this. You, Maire, are a soft-hearted fool, he’d say. He was right, but her conscience would bother her all night, thinking about Cora out there alone. Surely, this was no big deal. She’d spend a few hours and come home, no one the wiser.
She swung open the great wooden doors of a large armoire in the corner of her bedroom and ran her fingers across several dresses. She paused on the one at the end, lifted it out, and pressed it to her frame. She shouldn’t wear that one. Her mama had made it for a Christmas party last year, and it was much too formal for a trip to the lake. But—
A smile on her face, her will wavered, and within a couple minutes, she’d changed into it. She did a twirl. It fit so well. After donning some strong boots, she made her way back downstairs.
Cora’s gaze widened. “That’s a pretty dress. You sure ...?” Her words faded, and she tossed her head and smiled. “You look nice. Are you ready?”
Maire nodded, uncertainty rising in her gut. Maybe she shouldn’t have given in. But, seeing the carriage, she quashed the thought. It was too late now.
The young man in the back seat extended his hand. “Daniel Boon.” He gave a short laugh. “Boon minus the ‘e’.”
Daniel Boon was of moderate height and weight with wavy brown hair. He dressed well, though his clothing appeared well-used.
He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Cora didn’t tell me how lovely her friend was.”
Though he was polite, his compliment struck her strange. Words were easily spoken, and his seemed too ... practiced.
“And what a beautiful dress.”
Maire’s stomach twisted further, forming a knot. Uncomfortable beneath his gaze, she ducked her head and pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. Was the tremor creeping up her spine from the look on Daniel’s face or the cold night air?
“We should go,” Cora said from the front seat.
Maire, with a glance forward at her friend, took a place at Daniel’s side and turned her gaze toward the darkened streets. But as they neared the lake, to her mind, he sat too close, was a bit too eager. She suppressed a shiver, relieved, minutes later, to see the silver waters of the lake reflecting the night sky.
Eddie pulled the carriage to a halt in the grass and, without giving them any glance, took Cora’s hand and disappeared. Maire watched them go, nonplussed.
“Would you like to walk?” Daniel asked.
This seemed preferable to sitting in the carriage. Yet, his arm brushing her side, his footsteps sure, he once more, pressed too close. Maire sped her pace, stepping ahead of him, and focused her gaze on the lake.
It was like any other in the area, a round disc surrounded by pointed cypress trees. Several years ago, wooden benches had been placed around the edge in hopes it would become a picnic spot, and initially, it had. However, when young couples claimed it, many families became too afraid to visit, including her own.
Her father had warned her to stay away more than once, and thought of his disapproval made her almost as nervous as Daniel’s behavior. In her next breath, however, she determined to make the best of things, and not let her fears take flight.
“Must be a serious thought,” Daniel said.
Maire glanced up. Heavy shadows shielded his face. The least she could do was talk, be friendly. “No, not really,” she replied.
He led her onto a wooden dock jutting into the water and reclined against the wooden railing at her side. “I’d say it was,” he continued. “You didn’t hear me speaking.” He slid one hand toward her, his fingers brushing the back of hers.
Distressed, she stepped away. “My apologies. What did you say?”
He closed the distance without pause. “I asked if it was true you were O’Fallen’s daughter.”
Despite her anxiousness, Maire smiled. “You’ve heard him sing?”
“Once.” Daniel nodded. “I was tremendously impressed. Does he sing like that at home?”
People always asked that, as if her father walked around all day singing arias. “No,” she replied. “Though he sang to us growing up, Gaelic lullabies mostly, and he sings to my mother.” Those songs he would never sing in public as the words were ... racy. She wasn’t even supposed to have heard them, but walls were thin and children were nosy.
“Can you speak like that?” he asked.
His arm neared hers, and she slid to the right. “Some.”
Her father had insisted they learn, so she’d spent hours pouring over difficult Gaelic terms, but she hadn’t retained it the way her brother had. Michael could speak it fluently, which was just as well. He was the better performer anyhow.
“Say something.”
She raised her gaze from the undulating water to his face, but darkness again hid his expression. “Tá tú ag cur imní orm,” she said. You are making me nervous.
He gave a sharp laugh. “Why do I get the distinct impression I don’t want to know what you said?”
She bit back a retort and paced a few feet away.
He followed, persistent. “You know ... you’re avoiding me. Do I upset you?”
Maire lifted her chin. He did, but she wouldn’t show it. “Of course, not.”
“I think I do,” he continued. “But ... come now, we’re supposed to do like all the others, who come out here ... spend time together.”
He backed her up against the rail, and the edge dug hard into her spine. Her breath fled. Wriggling out from beneath him, she moved toward the corner, her heart beating hard. But peace was elusive, fear throbbing in her temples. This was a mistake. He obviously thought there was more to the night than she did. She needed to escape the dock and put space between them. To do so, she would have to pass him. That meant moving closer.
This seemed to enter his head as well for he shifted himself into her path, preventing it.
“You may play hard to get,” he said, “but I know better. After all, you did wear that dress.”
He pressed himself against her, wedging her in place, and a scream pushed at her throat. He stifled it with his mouth, his teeth nipping her lips. She struggled, shoving hard at his chest, and hooked one nail into the skin on his neck.
He yelped. “Why you little ...” In the next breath, his irritation dissolved into mirth. “I’d think you didn’t like me if I didn’t already know better.” He waved one pointed finger back and forth in her face. “You see, I know what girls like.” Taking hold of her wrists, he pulled her hands apart, placing one to either side.
Maire yanked at them. “If you harm me, you’ll have my father to deal with.” And her brother, Michael, her Uncle Pat, Gerritt, the mayor, the sheriff, and half the town by the time her father had finished.
Daniel’s laughter became arrogant. “Oh, I’m shaking. The Great O’Fallen threatens me? You know what I think? I think you won’t say anything because you won’t want anyone else to know what I did.”
“What ... what you did?” The question emerged, with it, a dozen more. He gave her no time to ask them.
“This,” he said.
Lifting her off her feet, he tossed her hard on the floor of the dock, and his hands crawled up her skirt, oily, callused. He then fumbled with the clasp of his breeches.
She cried out, only to have it muffled with his palm. This wasn’t happening; it couldn’t be. She’d wake up in her bed, safe and sound, the familiar noise of palm fronds scratching a beat on her bedroom window. There’d be all her family around her, her dear papa, her mama, her brother. Gerritt.
But his breath on her neck, faintly spiced with mint, and the force of his movements told her differently. Tenacious, lust-crazed, he dug into her. Her naked bottom scraped against the weathered boards, splinters digging deep into her flesh, and she wept at the pain of the act and the raw, empty ache that claimed her soul.
He slumped against her minutes later, his body throbbing to the strike of his breath on her cheeks, and moaned his exultation.
Collapsed there beneath him, she shut her eyes and wished for death. But death didn’t come, only his face hovering over hers, a sly grin gleaming brilliant in the darkness.