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Gerritt gazed down at Maire’s fingers tangled in his shirt and sighed. How had it come to this? And what would their lives be like if he had gone for Michael that first night and not hidden it all? For that matter, what if she hadn’t gone wherever she went in the first place? What if she had stayed home?
What if? What if? What if?
There were a dozen questions, and it was a fruitless debate. He had hidden it, over and over and over, and he had tried every time to mop up the mess ... to no avail. She was as broken as she had ever been, and he was at a complete loss.
Yet, now it was worse because he loved her, because he wanted this marriage and her as his wife.
He set his face toward the three people before him and swallowed his pride. “The night you didn’t come home,” he glanced at Michael.
“You didn’t come home?” his mother said.
Michael waved at her. “Mama, not now.”
Gerritt rested his hands on Maire’s back. “I returned from the atrium and found her in the floor of her room sobbing. She was terrified of me.”
Maire whimpered, and he stopped and whispered in her ear. “It’s all right, Maire. I’m not leaving. They’ll understand.”
He raised his face again. “I sat with her for an hour or more before I decided to pick her up and put her on her bed. It was dark. She hadn’t bothered with the light, so I couldn’t see what was wrong for a few minutes.”
“No.” Maire’s cry overtook the room.
He caressed her cheek, softly breathing in her ear. “Shhh.”
“Wh-what was wrong?” her mother asked, trembling.
He laid his face against Maire’s head. “Her dress was torn, and ... there was ... blood.”
The intake of air sucked all the breath from the room, and he paused, the memory of that night suddenly so fresh. The horrible realization that some man had taken her like that. The sinking in his gut when he couldn’t decide what to do.
“Blood?” Michael said at last. “You mean like ...”
If only he could spare her this. But he couldn’t. “She was raped,” he said.
Her mother’s cries mingled with those of her father’s, and Michael stared back at him white-faced before hopping to his feet. “Who is it? I’ll kill him.”
Gerritt glared at him. “Sit down. First off, the man is dead.” He forestalled the next question by holding up his hand. “I’ll get there. Give me time. And as to your next question, why didn’t I say anything ... she asked me not to, and to be honest, I thought she’d get over it. She wouldn’t even let me leave her room. She begged, if I could stay for just one night, she’d be fine. And I believed her, so I sat in the chair to watch her sleep. But halfway through the night she began screaming, and I couldn’t get her to stop until I held her in my lap.”
“The bad dream.”
Gerritt nodded at Michael. “The bad dream and the reason you found me leaving her room.”
Michael squeezed the sides of his head. “I feel like a heel. You covered for her, and I was thinking all the wrong things. But ...” He raised his head, “but Jenny said ...”
“Jenny?”
Gerritt glanced at Anne O’Fallen, then picked up where he left off. “You returned the next night, and we all went to bed, myself included. But Maire woke me up ... standing in my room. She was hysterical, said she couldn’t sleep. He was coming after her. Begged to stay with me, and I knew it was wrong, but she was desperate and inconsolable. I kept asking myself what you would do and decided you’d let her stay. So I did.” He stopped in his telling.
Maire gazed up at him, and he cradled her chin. “Sweet Maire, I never wanted to hurt you tonight. Do you believe me?”
“I ... I saw him in my head,” she choked.
“I know,” he said, and he kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“For how long?” Michael asked.
Gerritt shot him a look. “For a week. Then I decided I had to speak with her, so I asked if I could take her to dinner. But as we left, we ran into her two friends, the ones that introduced her to the guy, and she fell apart. I couldn’t say it, not then, not when she was like that, and besides ...” He swallowed. “I didn’t want to.”
He turned to Michael. “Jenny saw us that night, and I told her to keep it to herself. I take it she didn’t?”
“She did until you were almost married.”
And Maire’s father at last spoke. “Gerritt Finnegan, why did you marry my daughter?” His voice rumbled in the room, dark and threatening.
Gerritt gazed right into his face. “To save her, sir. She came to me with the very news we neither one wanted to hear. She was five days late.”
Anne O’Fallen sobbed into her hands, and Gerritt wished with all that was in him he could take the pain away. But Maire’s tragedy now affected everyone else, and there was no going back.
“She’s ... my sister is ... with child?” Michael whispered. “The child of some ... some ...”
“No, she’s not,” Gerritt said. The room stilled, all heads turning his way. “She never was. Doctor said it was stress.”
“Doctor?” her father asked.
“On the ship. But that’s not all.”
“I can’t take any more,” Michael said. “How much more is there? Gerritt, how could you keep this from us?”
At that, Maire began again to weep, and Gerritt turned his back on them. Taking her tight in his arms, he kissed her face and tasted her tears. She loved her family, but feared their reaction. He didn’t blame her for that. What daughter ever wants to tell her parents something so awful?
She gripped his shirt. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. I’m sorry, Gerritt. I want to be your wife, but I can’t get past it. I can’t.”
He cupped her chin. “We will get past it together, Maire. I can wait. I will wait, for however long it takes. You are so beautiful. So beautiful, and nothing anyone does can take that from you.”
She shut her eyes, and he kissed her gently, her body relaxing in the midst of it and her hands falling limp.
“I have to tell them the rest,” he said softly.
He resettled her in his lap, and looked once again at her family’s faces. “The man who did this worked on the ship where we had our honeymoon. Her reaction to him caused her ... her body to reset itself. I found the fellow later and accused him of the crime. He admitted the whole thing. But before I could do anything to bring him in, he ... he jumped off the ship ... He said he meant to escape ... but he hit his head and drowned.”
To his dying breath, no one would know the words he said as he leaped. No one. They would go to his grave. Everyone had suffered enough.
“You asked why I married your daughter.” Gerritt ran a hand down Maire’s arm. “To save her ... and to save all of you. The scandal that a child out of wedlock would have brought, I knew was too much even for yourself. Plus, Maire couldn’t handle it. What I wanted to do or could have done didn’t matter to me anymore. My father took me in when I wasn’t his, and I would have done the same.”
He took a deep breath. “I have no regrets, except for the way I behaved after we returned. I was selfish and unkind to her. But the truth is, I felt like the rug was gone from beneath my feet. I had an offer before all this began, which I never told anyone, to come to school here in New York. I never responded to it.”
“Gerritt.” Maire sat up straight. “You never told me. You ...”
He took her face in his hands. “There was no reason. Mama wouldn’t have let me come, and I couldn’t pay for it without her and Papa. You needed me. That’s all there was to it.”
“But your dream ...”
“Will come true anyhow. I’ve not given up.” He looked past her into the room. “I admit to being depressed, to turning you away, but it wasn’t because I didn’t care for you. It was because I did. You were like a sister to me for so many years, and I couldn’t figure out how to treat you as my wife. I didn’t know ...”
He released her. “Until we came on this trip and closeness forced us to talk. We worked it out. But ...” His next thought sat heavy on him. It was personal to them both. However, there wasn’t any way around it. He wanted them to know he had treated her with honor.
“We have never been husband and wife,” he said. “Not out of any desire on my part. What you heard tonight was her reaction. Her mind goes back there, and she can’t.”
Maire finally lifted up her head and faced her family. Her hair was a bedraggled mess, having come out of its coil and sprung up around her face, and her eyes were weepy, her cheeks stained. But to Gerritt she was the most beautiful she had ever been because the secret was gone.
She stood to her feet, her legs shaky, and crossed over to her brother. Taking his hand, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry I kept it from you,” she said. “But Gerritt took care of me the best he could.”
“I know he did, sis. I’m sorry I doubted.”
She released him and walked to her mother. “Mama. I made a mistake in going that night. It isn’t like what you went through, but Gerritt and I ...” She looked back at him, and he smiled. “Gerritt and I will be all right ... e-eventually.”
Anne laid her hands on her daughter’s face. “Sweet daughter. I knew something was wrong, and then your questions to me earlier today ... I saw how you were with each other, but when you asked me that ...”
“I wanted to know if ... if it would turn out good or not,” she said.
She walked over to her father. Michael O’Fallen wept before her, his tears dampening his collar and dripping from his chin. Taking her to him, he crooned to her in Gaelic, the words so quiet only she could hear them, and she replied in Gaelic at first, then in English.
“Papa, pray for me,” she said. “Pray for us.” She extended her hand back toward Gerritt. He took it in his own.
“Gerritt Finnegan, I owe you,” her father said, “We all owe you. Never have you earned the right to be your father’s son as you have today. Patrick is the finest man I know, and he would be so proud of you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gerritt said with a nod, “but it’s undeserved. I made many mistakes. The greatest of which was not seeing what was plain below my face.” He pulled Maire away from him and faced her in his direction.
“Maire , I have never been happier than right now to have you as my wife. Never. Never. Do not doubt that.”
The hotel room door closed, and an uncomfortable silence established itself in the room. Maire fidgeted with her crinkled skirt. How was she supposed to behave now?
Embarrassment sat heavy on her shoulders. To have to speak of such intimate things to her family went beyond what she could endure. Everyone knew what had happened to her, what she and Gerritt had and hadn’t done. She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed at her sleeves. What was left to them?
“Maire,” Gerritt said. “Can you look at me?”
Raising her eyes to his face was painful. The way she had acted, he would think her unbalanced.
“I want to apologize,” he said. “I knew of your troubles but was inconsiderate. Can you forgive me?”
Her eyes welled with yet more tears. He apologized to her? That wasn’t right. What wife didn’t want to be desired by her husband? He did desire her. That was plain. No, the failure was hers, not his. She’d failed to provide what he had a right to enjoy. “I’m sorry I can’t ... be your wife. I want to, but it’s not you I see then, not your voice I hear.”
He raised a hand to her face. “Don’t apologize for something you cannot help. I was carried away on the strength of your voice.” He smiled. “You sang that to me. Maire’s song.”
“I love you,” she said. “I wanted the world to know how much.”
“I have a confession to make.” He captured her other hand. “My feelings for you have grown since we wed.” He raised her fingers to his lips. “You are so beautiful, but I knew that all along. What I didn’t know was the affect you would have on my heart. I look at you and my head goes places.”
Her face heated, and she folded her bottom lip between her teeth. “I see it in you sometimes.”
He smiled softly. “I know. But, Maire, you are not just any female who has taken my fancy, you are the only female who has taken my fancy.” He tugged her down into his lap and spoke into her ear, his voice low and breath hot on her ear. “I will not make tonight’s mistake again. When we make love ... when, Maire, not if, it will not remind you of him. I promise you that.”
“My children are as famous as their father,” Anne O’Fallen said, extending the newspaper across the table.
Her brother, Michael, snatched it up. “Look, sis, there’s our likeness.”
Maire peered over his shoulder and snorted. “I look like ... like ... Well, my face is flat.”
“Flat?” he laughed. “It looks like you to me.”
The horn of the steamship broke into their conversation. She was extremely relieved to be going home. The day following the concert, they had been hard put to go anywhere without being mobbed, especially her brother, who had drawn all the females in the city to their door.
“What paper is this anyway?” she asked. Maire folded the page down. “Savannah? I can’t believe this news has traveled so far south this soon.”
“This far?” their mother said, “Your father already has offers from four states for a repeat performance.” At the light in Michael’s eyes, she tossed her head. “He said, ‘No.’”
Personally, Maire was relieved, but the unsettled expression on Michael’s face spoke differently. He loved to perform, loved the attention, loved being followed around by fans, and truthfully, he deserved it. His ending song had brought a standing ovation the likes of which even her father admitted he’d never received.
Maire kissed him on the head. “Relax, my famous brother, you’ll get your day.”
A shadow on the newspaper caused her to look up. Gerritt stood over her, a smile on his face. She ducked her head. He was difficult to look at after the other night. It was all she could do to talk to her family and pretend nothing had happened. But one glance in his eyes and it all rushed back. Forget sleeping at night. She didn’t exactly avoid him, but she kept to her side of the bed. He seemed to respect that.
Michael feigned any notice. “Look, brother-in-law. Your wife’s in the paper.” He pointed toward the page.
“O’Fallen Children, Hit Of The Season,” Gerritt read the bold headline.
Michael picked up the story. “Michael O’Fallen, the man with the Golden Voice, finally allowed his children to be seen in public.” He snorted. “Funny. We’re nineteen and twenty-one, not five.”
“Keep reading,” Maire said.
He rattled the page. “But true to his nature, he did so in spectacular style. His daughter, a golden-haired beauty like her mother ... Aw, Mama, that’s sweet.”
Anne smiled and nodded.
“... led off the program with the song that made her father famous, a love song she sang to her new husband ... Check this out, Gerr, you’re in here too.” He licked his lips. “... her new husband, a long-standing family friend.”
“Long-standing family friend, huh?” Gerritt said with a laugh. “I’ve been reduced.”
“Well, you are,” Michael added, “and that’s not a reduction.”
Maire tapped his shoulder and waved to the page.
“You never were patient, sis,” he said. He rearranged it. “Michael O’Fallen was in beautiful voice, as is always expected and received, but the true star of the show was his son ... Oh no ...” Michael’s voice trailed away.
Three sets of hands clamored for the paper. He pulled it back.
“Michael,” Maire whined. “Oh, no, what?”
“Papa’s going to croak,” he said.
Maire looked at their mother.
“Do tell, son,” Anne said.
“Where is he anyway?” Michael cast his gaze left and right.
“Resting. He says he’s old.” She made a puffing noise with her lips. “Old, my foot.”
Maire smiled. Her father was anything but old, but he got this way sometimes, said he needed time to himself and he couldn’t keep up with his family.
“So what is it? Oh, no, what?” Maire pressed again
Michael folded the paper into a square and handed it to her. She scanned the paragraphs to the place of his thumb and her eyes grew large as flowers in the summertime. “Oh no,” she said.
Anne had apparently had enough. She snatched the paper and flipping it around, settled back to read. Her eyes crinkled more and more the further she read until she collapsed in a fit of laughter. “It’s ... really ... not funny,” she chuckled. “All these years, he’s tried to hide it ...” She lost her breath.
Michael recovered the page. Clearing his throat, he finished reading. “But the true star of the show was his son, a magnificent tenor the likes of which New York has never heard.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. Is it?” Gerritt asked.
“That’s not the part,” Maire inserted. She took the paper from her brother. “His son, a magnificent tenor the likes of which New York has never heard, who is named after his father, Michael Seamus O’Fallen.”
Gerritt’s face took on a grin. “Oh no.”
“Papa, you are being unreasonable. There’s nothing wrong with your middle name. Look at Mama’s first name. She doesn’t mind.”
But her mother glared at her, her blue eyes suddenly piercing, and Maire looked away.
Her father folded his arms in a huff. “Who told them anyway?”
“Well, it wasn’t any of us,” Michael said.
“Mr. Gray knew it.” This remark came from Gerritt. A hush descended over the room.
“Tom Gray would never tell my middle name to anyone much less the press.” Her father pushed the offensive newspaper away.
“He told it to us on the train,” Maire said. She inhaled sharp. “What if ... if ... someone on the train overheard? Oh, Papa, then it’s my fault. I asked him.”
Her mother overruled them all. “I fail to see why this is such a big deal. What’s wrong with Seamus? It was your father’s name.”
“What’s wrong with Carol?” Her father snapped back.
“Shhhh,” she hissed. “Do not say that name to me.”
Michael and Maire laughed, but as they did, Gerritt slipped away. Their faces swiveled to follow his retreat.
“Sis, you and he ...?” Michael began.
Maire stared at Gerritt’s back. He remained the most beautiful man. “It’s ... awkward,” she said.
“But he loves you.”
Wadding her hands together, she glanced at her feet. “He hasn’t said so.” Why wouldn’t he say so? He was forever picking up the pieces of her life, and he said he had no regrets about the marriage. He said he intended them to be together. If that was so, then why couldn’t he say those three little words?
“I’ve seen his face, and we’ve all seen him kiss you. That wasn’t fake.”
“Michael.”
Michael glanced up at the sound of his mother’s voice to see her shake her head.
“It’s all right, Mama,” Maire said. But it wasn’t all right. This time it wasn’t a wall that came between them, but a gulf.
“You going after him?”
Maire sighed and looked full in her brother’s face. “And say what? No. I’ll let him be for now.”
He stood to his feet. “Well, he was my friend before he was your husband, so I’ll do it.”
Maire met her parents’ gaze as her brother walked away. “We try,” she said, “but ...”
“Come here,” her father said, “and we will pray. Nothing is too big for God.”
“You should tell her you love her.”
Gerritt flicked a glance behind him, then back to the view of the ocean. “I will ... eventually.”
Michael leaned his shoulder on the rail. “What’s the hold up?”
“Do I need to spell it for you?”
“No,” Michael said. “But I know you better than to think that’s your only issue. You’re not that kind of guy.”
Gerritt gave a half-hearted smile. Good to know Michael believed that.
A breeze ruffled the finely coiffed hair of an older lady standing a few feet ahead, and she clutched at her hat.
“Why don’t you tell me what you going to do with your newfound fame instead?”
Michael sighed. “Nothing, if it’s left up to my father.”
“He has your best interests at heart.”
“He has his fear at heart.”
Gerritt turned around. “You don’t believe that.”
“I believe that I’m twenty-one and under his thumb. Don’t get me wrong, I respect him. I saw how emotional he got over returning to his old haunt. He’s been through a lot, but he needs to trust me.”
Gerritt gazed past Michael at Maire, now sitting in her father’s lap. “Maybe you need to trust him. You’re riding on his fame. We all are.”
The conversation died between them, and Michael shuffled his feet. “So what are you going to do when we get home?”
Gerritt shrugged. “Go back to work.”
“Seriously? At the newspaper?”
“I have to pay my bills, eat, take care of my wife.” He smiled a bit when he said it.
“But what about your book?”
“Still working on it. However, I need to talk to some people.” Gerritt counted them off on his fingers. “The former sheriff, for his part of the story, Grandma and Grandpa, your mother, my mother. I wish I could talk to the Farmers, but Old Man Farmer passed away and she moved to live with her sister in Georgia.”
“Papa was really upset about his passing. He had great respect for him.”
Gerritt nodded. Though he was young, he remembered. Michael O’Fallen had stood over the old man’s grave, weeping, and sang the old man’s favorite hymn as only he could sing it.
“In the meantime ...” Michael clasped a hand on his shoulder and jerked his head toward Maire.
Gerritt sighed. “In the meantime, we go on, live life, work toward Christmas.”
“Christmas.” Michael lowered his hand. “We’re all supposed to perform at the church on Christmas Eve.”
“Standing room only.”
“You think so?”
Gerritt smiled. “Yes, and let’s see how many of those are female.”
Michael grinned. “Ah, the rewards of fame.”
“Except you have eyes only for my sister.”
Michael’s eyes took on a gleam. “Your sister is a rare thing. One day she’ll wake up and see me in a whole new light.”
“I hope it’s a good light,” Gerritt said.
Michael laughed.