Redeemed Hearts

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Mum would take one look at her and know something was dreadfully wrong, so Brigit didn’t want to go home. Bless his heart, Papa O’Brien delivered the money to her parents and came back with a handful of cheerful stories and the assurance that all was well with them.

  Someone pounded on the door. Brigit ran to answer it. The minute she saw who stood there, she wanted to slam it shut. Duncan’s arms were full of fabric.

  “Emily’s asked if you’ll make new gowns for the staff.”

  Brigit stared at the two huge bolts of material and blinked to be sure it wasn’t her overactive imagination. Indeed it wasn’t. Miss Emily hadn’t sent solid cornflower blue serge or wool. No, she hadn’t. She’d had her brother deliver a dainty green-and-white ivy print and a stunningly feminine, very stylish pink cabbage rose.

  Duncan stood in the doorway and gave her an amused look. “You needn’t decide betwixt the pieces, if that’s why you’re hesitating. Emily wants you to make a gown from both fabrics for each of you.”

  “My. Oh, dear me. Yes, well. . .” She backed away from the door and gestured for him to come in. I’ve been a bogbrain, leaving him out in the cold.

  Duncan conscientiously wiped off his boots before he stepped over the threshold. He carried the bolts over to a small table on the far side of the parlor and propped them up against it. After making sure they wouldn’t slide and fall, he set down a small wooden case. “There you are.”

  When he turned back around, Brigit forced herself to keep her hands folded at her waist. “Miss Emily chose bonny cloth, to be sure.”

  “So you like it?”

  Brigit nodded. She didn’t want to prolong the conversation. In fact, she wished Nonny would come out of the kitchen and ease this dreadfully awkward encounter.

  Duncan took a seat and made himself at home. Brigit wanted to shove him straight back out the door; but it wasn’t her home, and she had no right. He’d dropped by at least once a day since she’d come here. Now ’twas a good thing for a son to be dutiful and loving. Clearly he displayed both of those laudable qualities toward his parents—but he’d been checking up on her. He and she both knew part of his intent was to hover like a hungry hawk, and she was the field mouse he’d nab if the merest opportunity presented itself. Oh, he’d said he intended to prove she was innocent, but Brigit’s trust in him was too badly shaken to allow her to believe him.

  “Em sent you the whatnots in that case.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. The man looked comfortable enough to stay a good long while. “She wanted to be sure you had everything you needed.”

  At your request, so I wouldn’t steal? Brigit held her tongue. Regardless of how upset she felt, antagonizing him wasn’t right. “Please let Miss Emily know I’ll get to sewing at once.”

  “My sister is a bit distracted these days. If you find you require anything else, just let me know.”

  Brigit nodded.

  Duncan must have figured out she didn’t care to pursue a conversation because, after silence stretched between them, he stood. He walked toward the door and stopped directly in front of Brigit. “You didn’t catch a chill from the other night?”

  He sounded almost concerned. Brigit could scarcely credit it would matter to him at all. Likely Miss Emily wanted to know. Staring at his shoulder, she said, “I’ll save the scraps for the girls’ sewing baskets.”

  Duncan made an impatient sound and tilted her face to his. Before he could speak his mind, Nonny’s laughter sounded from the other side of the room. “Nonsense. You’ll keep those scraps yourself. Duncan-mine, I’m wanting a wee bit of satin. The palest blue, if you have it—just scrap is all. About a yard or so will do nicely.” She came over and patted his chest. “Drop it off whenever’s convenient.”

  “I’ll see to it.” After giving his mother a quick and sure hug and kiss, he left.

  Brigit went to the fabric and touched it.

  “I’ll have ye know, our Duncan chose those prints,” Nonny said in a gay lilt. “Our Em had him get them in Lowell. You’ll be a pretty sight in that green, come Christmas.”

  “I’ll be sure to make up that print for the girls first.”

  Nonny shook her head. “Dinna be thinkin’ you sneaked that by me with your sweet vow. You’re to make one for yourself, too.”

  Brigit busied herself with some housekeeping, then ventured toward the small wooden box. Inside were needles, thread, scissors, a tape measure, a slip of paper with everyone’s measurements, and a thimble. Another bit of paper had been folded and wedged into the lid.

  “Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.”

  Matthew 5:11

  Brigit folded the verse and tucked it in her pocket. God, please bless Miss Emily and Nonny for their kindness. To be sure, I’m in the fiery furnace; but You gave them to me just like You allowed Shadrach to have Meshach and Abednego with him during his trials.

  Over the next week, she took out the slip of paper and read the verse over and over again. Oh, she knew that verse. Back when she was but a small lass, she’d committed it to memory. That was all well and good, but now it served two purposes: It prompted her to keep her eyes on the Lord in her troubles, and it reminded her someone still had faith in her honesty.

  Duncan continued to drop by. Sometimes he had a good excuse—like with the blue satin. He’d brought by no less than five different shades of blue so his mother could make a choice that suited her fancy. There was no mistaking it—Duncan O’Brien cherished his family.

  Most times he just came by. He didn’t seem to have any reason at all, but Brigit knew the truth—he was there to intimidate her and spy on her. She tried to make herself scarce during his visitations, but that wasn’t very easy in the small cottage. She felt clumsy as a cow with him around. Awkward and fumble-fingered as a twelve-year-old lass, and all because he made her so self-conscious. Every last thing she did fell under Duncan O’Brien’s scrutiny. Each time he left, she’d breathe a sigh of relief.

  Working helped keep her mind off her troubles. Brigit stayed industrious from the minute she woke until Nonny O’Brien chided her into blowing out the lamp at night. She already had Cook’s and Lee’s dresses nearly finished, and she’d cut out Fiona’s and Trudy’s today. As both of them were identical in size, it made more sense to tackle them at the same time.

  After having cut out all of those gowns, Brigit still had cloth left. . .cloth originally earmarked for her. She wouldn’t make it up. No, she wouldn’t.

  That night she waited until Nonny and Papa went to bed; then Brigit sat by the hearth and carefully embroidered. When her eyes grew too weary, she tucked away her stitching and turned in for the night. After she blew out her lamp, she climbed into bed and curled into a ball of misery.

  Da always said God had a purpose for everything. Aye, and he also said anything worthwhile was hard won. Lord, I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be learning from all of this.

  A faint, scraping sound interrupted her prayer.

  Brigit slid out of bed and threw on her robe. Her bare feet made no noise on the floor as she crossed into the doorway. A man had nearly folded himself in half to fit through the window; but when he turned, a shaft of moonlight illuminated his face.

  He was the man she’d seen out in the yard all those nights!

  Brigit didn’t even pause to consider her actions. She ran across the room and used the seat of the chair as a stepping stool in order to leap onto the man’s back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and legs about his waist as she screamed, “Help!”

  Papa O’Brien ran out and managed to belt the intruder in the middle.

  The door crashed open, and Duncan thundered in with a bellow. Brigit continued to cling to the stranger as he wheeled around. Papa was in midswing and couldn’t stop. He accidentally
knocked her off. She hit the wall as she saw Duncan lunge and heard him hiss, “You!”

  Twenty

  The tide had come in late that night, and Duncan needed to be there to meet a vessel. He’d ordered special gifts for John and Emily, and he didn’t want them to find out. As he rode by his parents’ cottage, he heard Brigit’s screams. He vaulted off his mount and tore through the front door.

  Seeing her hit the floor made his heart stand still. Seeing Edward made his blood run cold.

  The uppercut he served Edward hit true, as did the blow to his middle. Edward crumpled over; but the odd part of it was, he’d never put up the slightest defense. “Fetch some rope,” Duncan barked.

  “I know where there’s some,” his father said, panting. “Just a minute.”

  “Brigit? Are you all right?” Duncan knelt by her and bit back a roar as she dazedly lifted her hand to her head. “Come here, Sweet.” He scooped her up and carried her to the settee. He didn’t want to turn her loose or put her in the other room. He refused to let her out of his sight, but Edward’s moan let Duncan know he couldn’t turn his back for a single second.

  “I’ve got her, Son.” His mother patted his arm.

  “Rope.” His father came back into the room, holding aloft a fair length. “Good sturdy rope ’tis. We’ll bind him to a chair.”

  Duncan thrust Edward into the chair and set to work. He yanked the rope tight and knotted it once more for good measure. That task done, he wheeled around and strode to the settee. His mother was clucking over Brigit, whose wide eyes and pale face made his heart lurch. A quick glance at the spot on Brigit’s temple told him she’d have a headache and a good-sized lump for a day or so. Even so, he couldn’t resist cupping her cheek. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” he rasped angrily. “Stop sitting here. Lie down. Da, I’m asking you to go fetch the doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor.”

  “Nonsense.” Duncan lifted her and cradled her for an instant to assure himself she’d not really been hurt any other way. “There’s a knot on your head, so you’re not thinking clearly. I want you lying down until the doctor says you can get up.”

  “Then lay her down,” his mother urged.

  “I’m deciding where to put her. She’s cold. Look at how she’s shivering.”

  His father crossed the room. “You left the door open and let in the winter night air. I’m thinking that’s as good a reason as any for the lass to be shivering.” He slammed the door shut.

  Brigit jumped and winced at the noise.

  “I’ll go into town and get the doctor,” his father said, “but I’m yanking on my boots first.”

  Duncan studied Brigit’s features. “Are you seeing double or feelin’ like you might lose your supper?”

  “The only double I’m seeing is that man,” she whispered. “He looks like John Newcomb.”

  Duncan murmured some nonsense to calm her, then settled her back on the settee. He shed his greatcoat and covered her in the depths of its thick brown folds.

  “You turned into a fine young man, Duncan,” Edward said softly. “You treat a lady well.”

  “At an early age, I saw you do the opposite.” Duncan shot Edward a venomous look. “I learned my lesson from that.”

  Unable to tolerate the sight of the man who had betrayed his loved ones, Duncan strove to contain his temper. He strode to the window and stared sightlessly out into the yard. Since the day he’d learned Edward duped his sister Anna into a sham marriage and abandoned them, Duncan had longed for justice. In a flash of characteristic honesty, he admitted to himself he wanted more than justice—he wanted revenge.

  “You killed Anna. Aye, you did.” He didn’t turn to make the accusation. “Granted, you never actually plunged a knife into Anna or shot her—but you did worse when you deceived and betrayed her. You left her, knowing she carried your child. Aye, you left her to freeze and starve.

  “Here, in this very cottage, Anna passed on. She passed on shamed to the depths of her soul, her heart broken because she finally learned of your betrayal.”

  The cottage stayed chillingly silent. Finally Edward confessed, “Everything you say is true. I cannot begin to—”

  Duncan’s father slammed his fist into something. “Then say nothing.”

  Duncan clenched his jaw at the wave of sorrow that washed over him. His arms shook with the effort it took to keep his fists at his sides.

  “What more did you plan to take from my family?” he demanded in a low roar of fury. “Haven’t you already done more than enough?”

  “I have.” Edward’s voice carried no challenge. “And I—”

  Duncan wheeled around. “Why? Why did you come back here? And spare me your lies. I’ve had a belly full of them already.”

  “I’ve told more than my share of lies. I came here tonight to try to make right a small portion of my wrongs.”

  “Impossible.”

  “There’s an envelope in my pocket. Read the letter. You’ve nothing to lose by reading it.”

  Duncan’s father jerked the envelope from Edward’s pocket. He strode to the fireplace and almost threw it in, but Edward shouted, “No! Anna’s ring is in there!”

  “Anna’s ring! What were you doing with that? You had no right.” Duncan grabbed the envelope and opened it with a savage rip. He cradled the thin golden band with the tiny ruby chip in his palm. He hadn’t seen it since he was a lad, and the broken promises it represented washed over him. “You put this on her hand with deceit in your heart. You’re not worthy to touch it.”

  “You’re right. I’m not worthy.” Edward bowed his head. “I’m a sinner of the worst sort. I have no excuse for the evil I did, and any apology wouldn’t erase the wounds I inflicted.”

  Duncan’s mother stopped dabbing at the bump on Brigit’s temple. “Then why did you come back?”

  “Because God sought this lost sheep. I’m in the fold of Christ now—bought by His precious blood. Only now can I look back and admit the wrongs I’ve done.” He shook his head and sighed. “Anna loved me with all her heart.”

  “Aye, and you broke that sweet heart of hers,” Duncan bellowed.

  “I did. I’m ashamed of that. Though the Lord has forgiven me, I don’t ask it of you. I have no right. I’ve come to realize what a treasure I had and gave up in Anna.”

  Father moaned. Mama sniffled.

  Duncan glowered. “Some new leaf you turned over. You found another lass, teamed up, and stole. So tell me now who you had in the house as your accomplice.”

  “I have no accomplice.” Edward shook his head. “I sneaked into the house. There are passageways built in the walls where I’ve hidden. I discovered them when I was a boy. I took the things I’d given Anna—not so I could keep them, but because I’ve had replicas made of them. I wanted to have reminders of her.”

  “You don’t deserve—”

  “I don’t. But it wasn’t a matter of justice. I wanted to ensure Timothy would get the ring; and while I was looking for it, I happened across some of Anna’s other things. I found I longed for a touchstone—memories of the few times in my life when I’d been happy. She did make me happy, Duncan. I gave back everything I took.”

  “You’re a liar. You took more than just Anna’s things, and you kept back this ring.” He held out his hand to display the unmistakable evidence.

  Edward cleared his throat. “I took the other things so you wouldn’t notice a pattern. I gave it all back, except the ring. The letter is written to Timothy. I wanted him to have the ring, hoping someday he’d be able to give it to his sweetheart. The joy on Anna’s face when I put that ring on her finger—I want my son to see that same joy on a girl’s face someday.”

  “Tim’s an honorable man. When he weds, it will be a true marriage, and he’ll provide and protect as a husband should.”

  “That knowledge pleases me. I pray my son turns out better than I did.”

  Du
ncan sucked in a deep breath. Edward wasn’t saying a word in his own defense. He clamped his teeth against the vile things that wanted to spill out, then unfolded the letter.

  My son Timothy,

  It’s a sad day when a father’s first words to his son are an apology and come only after the boy has already grown into his manhood. You deserved better.

  I’m only now writing this, not contacting you in person because I gave up any right to you when I abandoned your mother. I was a sinner of the worst sort. Anna was an innocent, and her very goodness drew me to her. She gave me her heart, and she pledged her love. It shames me to say I took all she so freely gave, then left her.

  God took Anna home, and I knew about you. Though I acted hard-hearted, I felt such deep shame that I wanted you spared my influence. Emily and John had fallen in love, and I knew they’d rear you far better than I could. All these years you thought I’d spurned you; the truth is, leaving you was the one sacrificial act of my life. Seeing the young man you’ve become gives me peace about that decision.

  My conscience has haunted me all these years. The Holy Spirit wouldn’t allow me ease. God, our Good Shepherd, sought me. He untangled me from the brambles of bad living and redeemed me by the blood of the Lamb.

  Two years have passed, and my walk with the Lord has deepened. I came to a point where I knew that though I’d been forgiven, I still had to make restitution for my wrongs.

  When I left, John told me I’d be welcomed back if I got right with God. I came back fully intending to be a prodigal brother. That night, though, I heard you in the garden, pouring your heart out to Duncan. I realized then that I couldn’t return home because the cost of my reunion would be far too great, and you would be the one to bear it.

  I deserve nothing. Still, over the years, I’ve come to realize the days I shared with your mother were the sweetest of my life. Looking back, I now know I loved her—as much as a selfish, evil man could. The one thing I wanted for you is the legacy of love Anna carried in her heart. The day I put this ring on her finger, she glowed. By all rights it should be yours to give to your sweetheart someday. Let it always remind you of the constancy of unconditional love.