The warm sun heated his back through his jacket as he bypassed the house and headed straight to the gleaming white fence that surrounded acres of meadows to the east and defined the oval racetrack in the center. The soil had been freshly tilled, most likely by head trainer Sam Turnbull, who loved to rise with the dawn and groom the track each morning.
With grim determination, Adam averted his gaze to keep from seeing the willow that shaded the far pond—a horrible reminder of the unspeakable tragedy that had further fragmented his fragile relationship with his father.
The thunder of horses’ hooves over the soft earth brought his attention back to the track. Thankfully, the trainer raced by without a glance in Adam’s direction. Maybe it was a leftover habit from prison, where staying anonymous had become a matter of survival, but Adam automatically kept to the shadow of a maple tree and wound his way to the far barn—his haven as a boy.
The smell of wood shavings and hay uncurled the knot of tension in Adam’s stomach. He inhaled deeply, breathing in comfort from the past. When his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, he made his way past the stall doors. At this time of day, all the work horses would either be out plowing the far fields where his father grew hay to feed the livestock or grazing in the west meadow. Adam walked past Sam’s quarters to the small room that contained the workbench.
A lump of emotion jammed Adam’s throat. Nothing had changed since he’d left. The same well-used tools sat neatly to one side on the scarred tabletop. Adam ran his fingers lovingly over a piece of wood Sam was in the process of sanding. How many years had it been since Adam had created a new piece of furniture? Or refinished an old one? He hadn’t indulged his passion for woodworking since before he’d left Irish Meadows. Before he’d gotten sucked into the mire of the criminal world.
He picked up a few woodchips from the table and sifted them through his fingers.
“So you’ve come home at last.” The gruff voice of Sam Turnbull sounded in the doorway behind Adam.
Adam dropped the chips and turned to face the man who had been both mentor and surrogate father to him.
“Hello, Sam. It’s been a long time.” Unsure of the welcome he’d receive, Adam wiped the sawdust from his palms and waited.
“That it has, son.” Sam moved forward and, without hesitation, clasped Adam in a tight embrace.
Adam inhaled the familiar scent of wood shavings and horseflesh, unable to remember the last time anyone had hugged him.
Sam cleared his throat and stepped back. “When did you get home?”
Adam quelled the urge to laugh. Sam made it sound as though Adam had been away on an exotic trip instead of locked away in the bowels of the earth. Adam met Sam’s quiet gaze. “This morning. Took the first train I could get.”
“How’d they treat you in there?”
“Well enough.”
Sam scratched his graying goatee. “Look, Adam. I’m sorry I never came to visit. . . .” He broke off.
“It’s okay, Sam. I didn’t expect anyone to.”
Sam released a breath. “Your mother will have Mrs. Harrison cooking a feast for you.” He squinted. “Does she know you’re home?”
“Not yet. I couldn’t face them right away.” Adam ran a hand over his unruly hair.
“I imagine you could use a hot bath and a clean set of clothes.”
“I could.”
“As far as I know, everyone’s out for the day. Why don’t you go in and freshen up before you see them?”
A wave of relief slid through Adam. “I think I’ll do that.” It would be easier to face his father feeling more like his old self, instead of a vagrant.
Sam laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder and walked with him through the barn.
At the main doorway, Adam hesitated, then forced himself to ask the question he must. “Do you know if my father needs any help in the stables?”
Sympathy swam in Sam’s brown eyes. “You’d have to ask Gilbert. He’s in charge of the hiring now.”
Of course he is. The irony hit like a sucker punch to his gut. Was this more of God’s punishment? Having not only to let go of his anger toward Gil, but to grovel at his nemesis’s feet for a lowly position on the farm he’d always hated? Adam forced himself to remember the cold, steel bars that had caged him within the dank prison walls. At Irish Meadows, at least he’d have open air, green grass, and blue skies. If it meant prostrating himself, then so be it.
Adam managed a tight smile for his old friend. “I’ll talk to Gil later.”
“It’s great to have you back, son.”
Adam nodded and swallowed the ball of dust in his throat as he headed out the door.
If only his father would share that same sentiment.
3
ADAM FINISHED DRESSING, praying no one would discover him here in his old room. The maids, per their usual schedule, were busy elsewhere at this time of day, and as expected, when his family members had returned home from their day’s activities, they had gone directly to the parlor to await the summons for dinner.
Standing before the mirror, Adam adjusted the cuffs of his jacket and studied his reflection. A bath and a quick trim of his auburn hair and beard, as well as a clean set of clothes, had rendered him almost presentable. Nevertheless, unrelenting nerves pitched in his stomach. How would his family react to his homecoming? Mama would certainly be overjoyed—as would his younger siblings. Adam only prayed their happiness would temper his father’s reaction.
He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Dinner would be served any minute. Adam squared his shoulders, and with one last fond glance around the familiar bedroom, which his mother had kept exactly the same as before he’d left, he closed the door and headed downstairs to greet his family.
The sound of animated voices met Adam’s ears as he neared the bottom of the main staircase. He paused a moment to drink in the elegance of the house—the mahogany banister, the large chandelier overhead, and the marble entryway. Growing up, he’d taken this luxury for granted, but now that he’d experienced cement-block walls and iron bars, his home seemed like a king’s palace.
His father’s booming laugh rang out into the hallway. Adam cringed, imagining how the man’s good humor was about to change.
Halting at the parlor door, Adam peered into the room and simply stared. His father sat in his favorite armchair by the fireplace, newspaper raised in front of his face. Adam’s youngest siblings, Deirdre and Connor, sat on the sofa on either side of his mother.
Adam’s chest constricted as he took in the silver threads now winding through her fading auburn locks. Tiny lines bracketed her eyes and mouth, further indications of the passing years. A twinge of guilt pushed at his conscience, knowing the pain he’d caused her, which in all likelihood had added to those lines. If it took the rest of his life, he’d make it up to her—one way or another.
Steeling himself, Adam entered the parlor.
“I hope I’m not late for dinner.” He added as much false gaiety to his tone as he could muster and pasted a weak attempt at a smile on his face.
For several seconds the room stilled, and four pairs of eyes turned to him. His father’s newspaper fluttered to the floor while his mother gasped. Instant tears flooded her eyes.
“Adam! You’re home.” Deirdre was the first to recover, and in her usual boisterous fashion, she ran to throw her arms around him. Poised on the brink of adolescence, she still wore her reddish hair in braids that hung over her shoulders.
“Hi, Dee-Dee.” He lifted her slight frame off the rug and gave in to the pleasure of returning her embrace. “How’s my girl? You’ve gotten so tall since I last saw you.”
“You’ve gotten skinnier.” She frowned at him.
“Didn’t much like the food where I was staying.” Though Adam kept his attention on his sister, he grew increasingly aware of his father’s stiff posture and his mother moving toward him. Connor hung back, as though unsure how to react.
Adam set Deirdre on her feet t
o focus on his mother, a storm of emotion rioting through him. “Mama. It’s good to see you,” he managed to get out.
“My boy is home.” Tears dampening her cheeks, Mama grabbed him for a hard hug. Her frame shuddered as she wept in his arms. “We’ve missed you so much.”
Adam’s chest ached. “I’ve missed you, too.” His thoughts flew to the one time she’d come to visit him in prison, against his father’s express orders. Seeing his upright mother in that hovel of a place had broken something in Adam. He’d vowed then and there that if he ever got out, he would make something of his life so she would never again have to witness him in a state of such degradation.
Mama stepped back and wiped her face with a handkerchief. “Why didn’t you let us know you were coming? We’d have prepared your favorite meal. Made sure your room was ready.”
“I’m sorry. It all came about so fast, and there wasn’t time. Besides, I didn’t want anyone making a fuss.” He smiled at her, ever his greatest defender.
Connor came forward, now a lanky teen with the family’s trademark auburn hair. The boy shook his hand. “Welcome home, Adam.”
So serious for a fifteen-year-old. “Thank you, Connor. You’ve grown, as well. Almost as tall as me now. Though I still may be able to best you at arm wrestling.”
The boy’s mouth tugged upward. “I don’t know about that. I’ve beaten Gil a few times.” His smile faded, as though he suddenly remembered Adam’s strained relationship with Gil.
With considerable effort, Adam kept his expression pleasant, ready to make the first effort at burying the hatchet. “I’m glad to hear Gil’s been keeping you in line.”
At last, Adam focused his attention on his father, who now stood by the fireplace. His stony countenance did not inspire optimism. It seemed it would be up to Adam to make the first move.
“Hello, Father. You’re looking well.”
“Can’t say the same for you. I guess prison will do that to a man.”
Adam ignored his mother’s harsh intake of air. “Yes, sir. It will.” He swallowed and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “If it’s not too presumptuous, I’d like to join the family for dinner, and afterward, I hoped we might talk—in private.”
The man’s expression did not change, save for the tick in his jaw. Adam sensed his mother nervously awaiting her husband’s decision.
“Very well.” Father bent to retrieve the discarded newspaper and laid it on the coffee table. He straightened, directing his gaze at Mama. “Kathleen, do we know if Gilbert is joining us for dinner tonight?”
“I believe so, unless he’s told Mrs. Harrison otherwise.”
Adam looked around, suddenly realizing his other sister was missing. “What about Bree?”
Mama smiled. “She’s at college for another week.”
Footsteps echoed on the hall tiles, and Gilbert rushed through the door. “Sorry I’m late. Hope I haven’t kept everyone waiting.” He froze when he spied Adam. “Adam. This is a surprise.”
Adam took in the expensive cut of Gil’s jacket, along with the glitter of gold cufflinks, and fought back a bitter flare of resentment. This should have been my life. He stole it from me. “Hello, Whelan.”
The use of Gil’s surname, which as a child had always rankled him, still found its mark. Gil’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t realize you were being released so soon.”
“Good behavior does have its rewards.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Mama cleared her throat and looped her arm through Adam’s. “Come, let’s adjourn to the dining room. I’m sure dinner will be served any moment.”
Adam allowed Mama to lead him down the hallway to the dining room, mentally preparing to swallow a large piece of humble pie for dessert if it meant he could stay.
The children’s ward at Bellevue Hospital rang with laughter, a sound that warmed Aurora Hastings to the core. For a few brief moments during her visits here, these children could forget their pain and enjoy a little fun. Aurora loved her volunteer duties at the hospital almost as much as the hours she spent helping at St. Rita’s orphanage. The more time she spent with these misfortunate little ones, the more she became convinced that nursing was the career she was born for. The path God intended for her life.
Aurora continued reading the story, making sure to exaggerate her facial expressions and keep the tale entertaining. When she closed the book at the end, a collective groan went up from the children.
“Can we have one more story, Miss Hastings? Please?”
She’d learned when to end the sessions, knowing the children would always beg for more, but that too much would exhaust them. “I’m afraid not. But I’ll be back soon, and I’ll have a new book next time.”
She made her good-bye rounds, hugging each child, trying to make them feel special, if only for a moment. Then she waved and let herself out of the ward into the main corridor. With a sigh, she leaned against the wall, allowing the pinch around her heart to recede. It always took a few minutes to shrug off the sadness that clung to her after seeing the little ones in pain, alone in their beds. How she wished she could take them on an outing to the park or on a picnic. But she lacked the authority and the means to make that dream a reality.
“Miss Hastings.”
The male voice halted her inner musings. She turned to see Dr. Reardon coming toward her, and a rush of pleasure filled her.
For the past several months, Dr. Reardon had been acting as a mentor of sorts, allowing her to observe the nurses interacting with his patients in order to determine if Aurora herself might make a good nurse. If all continued according to plan, she hoped to apply to Bellevue’s nursing program in the fall, and Dr. Reardon’s recommendation would add considerable weight to her application.
Philip Reardon stopped beside her, his cheeks slightly flushed. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.”
Aurora gave him a welcoming smile. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”
“I have an interesting case on the second floor. I thought you might like to observe the treatment we’re trying.” He seemed a bit nervous, fiddling with the stethoscope looped around his neck over his white coat.
“I’d like that very much.” She shifted the books in her arms, noticing again what an attractive man he was.
He wore his brown hair short and sported a neatly trimmed mustache. His eyes, the color of milk chocolate, exuded warmth and compassion, some of the traits she most admired.
Philip Reardon was a man her father would approve of as a suitor. A man dedicated to his profession. A man, Aurora had to admit, she was beginning to see as more than just a mentor.
“Wonderful. Are you ready now?”
“Yes. I’ve just finished with the children. I can spare a few more minutes before I head home.”
Dr. Reardon’s beaming countenance hinted at more than just a professional courtesy. Could Philip be forming a different type of admiration for her? Though not an unpleasant notion, Aurora found herself hesitant to start something that might damage their working relationship. At present, she needed Philip far more as a supporter than a suitor.
She fell into step with him, and they headed toward the stairs.
“So, have you told your parents about your plans to enter the nursing program?” he asked as they reached the second floor.
A band of tension cinched her neck. “I’m afraid I haven’t been brave enough yet.” She glanced over at him. “I’d rather face a thousand infectious diseases than make Papa angry.”
Dr. Reardon only chuckled. “I understand. Your father is rather intimidating.”
“To say the least.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “I would think that you’d want to apprise him of your plans. If he sees how serious you are about your career, he might stop nagging you to find a husband.”
“Either that or he’ll double his efforts to pair me with someone,” Aurora replied. “You’re right, though. I will have to tell him one day soon.”
&n
bsp; Dr. Reardon stopped outside of a private room and turned to face her. “If it’s not too presumptuous, I would be happy to speak to your father. Perhaps if I explained what a fine nurse you’d make, he might see your desired career in a more favorable light.”
Aurora hesitated. It would be so easy to accept his assistance. But she needed to handle her father in her own way. “I appreciate the offer, and maybe at some point I will take you up on it. But I’m a grown woman, and I need to learn to deal with Papa as an adult.” She gave a light laugh. “The first of many battles I will face in my career.”
A glint of respect glowed in the doctor’s eyes. “I have a feeling you will do just fine, Miss Hastings.”
A telltale warmth crept through her cheeks as she basked in his approval. Having a man admire her for her talents was a refreshing change. Most men saw her only as the beautiful heiress to the vast Hastings fortune, not the least concerned with Aurora’s opinions or her intellect.
The image of Gilbert Whelan flashed through her mind, and with it the usual pang of regret. After Gilbert’s betrayal and the ugly ending to their engagement, Aurora had sworn off romance and marriage altogether. Now, three years later, the pain had receded to a tolerable level, but she would never forget the harsh lesson she had learned at his hand.
Dr. Reardon opened the door and ushered her into the patient’s room. Aurora had no doubt that Philip’s interest in her had nothing to do with her father or her family’s financial status. She and Philip shared a bond of mutual respect and a common interest in healing the sick—a solid basis for a lasting relationship.
Still, for now, she’d bide her time. Keep any budding feelings in check until she had her recommendation and a guaranteed acceptance to Bellevue’s nursing program.
Maybe then, with her future secure, she’d be willing to open her heart to the possibility of romance.
His father’s study hadn’t changed in the three years since Adam had been here. Each book, each racing trophy, the neat stack of papers on the corner of his father’s desk—all could have been frozen in time. Adam inhaled the familiar scent of his father’s after-dinner pipe and braced against the bittersweet wave of nostalgia. As a boy, he would sneak into the study to sit in Father’s chair and dream of being grown up enough to smoke a pipe with him.
A Worthy Heart Page 3
