“I’m accompanying Dr. Reardon to check on the children. Dr. Reardon, this is Gabriel Montgomery, Rylan’s brother.”
The doctor’s face brightened. “Ah, yes. I see the resemblance. Good to meet you, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Likewise, Doctor.”
They climbed the stairs and entered the main door of the orphanage. Aurora was surprised, and somewhat dismayed, when Gabe followed them in. How was she supposed to be professional and concentrate on the children with Gabe shadowing them?
Aurora removed her gloves and hat and left them in the cloakroom, wishing for a mirror so she could check her appearance. With the tips of her fingers, she smoothed her hair in place and followed Dr. Reardon down the main corridor to the small room he used to see patients. Colleen sat on a chair inside the door, a swaddled infant in her arms. While Dr. Reardon greeted her, Aurora turned to Gabe, who sauntered along behind them.
“What are you doing here?” She didn’t intend to sound so annoyed, but she needed her wits about her, and Gabriel Montgomery kept her totally off-kilter. The fact that he’d caught her in a somewhat compromising position with Dr. Reardon did not help matters.
“I’m here to see my brother.” He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t seem pleased to see me. I could take great offense at that.”
Aurora worked to contain her frustration. “I’m not unhappy to see you. It’s just . . .” She waved a hand toward the doctor.
“Miss Hastings, I’m ready to begin.” Dr. Reardon’s frown made Aurora’s stomach sink. Already she’d disappointed him.
“I’d best let you get on with your work.” Gabe bowed over her hand. “I’ll be seeing you tonight for dinner anyway.”
“I beg your pardon?”
One brow rose over eyes that appeared to dance an Irish jig. “Did your father not tell you? He’s invited me to dine with you at the Vanderbilt Hotel this evening.”
“Oh,” she replied weakly. “I guess I’ll see you later, then.”
As she watched him walk away whistling, Aurora pushed aside the thread of unease winding through her system. Hopefully Papa only intended to thank Gabe for his bravery, but knowing her father, he most likely had an ulterior motive.
One that Gabe might not enjoy in the least.
Adam put the finishing touches of varnish on the pew he’d repaired and then stood back to admire his efforts.
John let out a low whistle as he approached. “You certainly have a way with wood.”
“Thank you.” Adam allowed the pleasure of the compliment to flow through him. It felt good to be appreciated even for such a simple task. He wiped his hand on a clean rag. “Tell me, John, have you heard if any of your parishioners need any work done?”
John’s smile faded. “Unfortunately, all the people I’ve spoken with have nothing at the moment.”
The response wasn’t unexpected, yet Adam felt the rush of disappointment nonetheless. He’d been clinging to the hope that someone would be willing to give him a chance—as a favor to John, if nothing else. “Well, thanks for trying. I appreciate it.”
He’d have to keep his job at the orphanage awhile longer—a slow form of torture being so near Maggie and unable to speak with her. As much as it pained him, Adam knew Rylan and Gabe were right. He had no business talking to Maggie, never mind daydreaming about more. The sooner Adam could distance himself from her, the better.
John walked to the pulpit and placed a book on the dais. “I hope you don’t mind, but I looked at some of your work out in the shed.”
“I don’t mind.”
“The pieces are excellent, Adam. Good enough to sell to the public.”
“Thank you.” Adam replaced the lid on the can of varnish and wiped his brush on a rag.
“Have you ever thought of opening your own business?” John came back and bent to help him pick up the newspapers protecting the floor.
“Thought of it? It’s been a dream since I was a child. But my father wouldn’t hear of it. He deemed it too lowly a profession.”
“So you turned to crime instead. A logical jump.”
Adam stiffened until he realized John was teasing him. “You know I never started out to break the law. By the time I realized what I’d gotten involved in, it was too late to get out.”
John sobered. “I know.”
“Too bad a person’s intentions don’t count for anything.”
“Indeed.”
They exited through the rear door and crossed the property to the shed where Adam stored his creations.
John opened the door. “Seriously, Adam, these pieces should be shared.”
“I plan to share them.” Adam set down his equipment. “This cedar chest is a wedding gift for my sister Brianna. She’s to be married at the end of August.”
“It’s lovely.” John bent to run his hands over the cradle Adam had nearly finished. “Is this for her, as well?”
“No. It’s for the abandoned baby Colleen is looking after. She has no real bed for her.”
“That’s very thoughtful. Especially since her husband hasn’t been the most welcoming to you.”
Adam put the varnish tin on the shelf. “Rylan has given me work, which is more than most people would do.”
A deep frown lined John’s forehead. “But he hasn’t been very forgiving. He’s warned you away from his sister as if you’re some type of monster.”
“You can’t blame him, John. He’s only trying to protect his family. My own father has treated me worse.”
John straightened. “Speaking of your father, have you done anything more in that regard?”
The cords in Adam’s neck cinched, and he rubbed a hand over them. “Not yet. Maybe I’m not ready to know the truth.”
John crossed his arms in a pose that told Adam he had a few more tidbits of advice to impart. “You once told me that suspicions about your father have bothered you for years. Like it or not, Adam, you need the truth so you can put the pain of your childhood behind you once and for all.”
Adam released a weighty sigh. “You’re right . . . as always.”
“And you’re good for my ego.” John clapped a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? You could probably catch the next train to Long Island.”
John was right. Adam had put this off long enough. “Thanks. I think I will.”
Once John had left, Adam took extra care to ensure everything in the shed was tidy, and then, with no excuses left, he closed the door and prepared for the walk to the station.
The train ride to Long Island and the subsequent walk to town gave Adam time to firm his resolve that the course of action he was about to take was absolutely necessary to his peace of mind.
His first stop was a long-overdue visit to the cemetery behind the small church he used to attend with his family. Adam walked through the rows of graves, clutching a handful of wilted daisies he’d picked along the way, and finally halted at the familiar spot where the ornate gravestone of his little brother evoked a host of unwelcome memories.
How Adam used to resent coming here every year on the anniversary of Danny’s death. It seemed designed as a form of torture to remind him once again how he’d failed his family.
Daniel James O’Leary, age eight.
Adam’s throat tightened at the flashes that invaded his mind. His brother’s mop of dark hair—the only one in the family to share their father’s coloring—the dusting of freckles across his nose, the impish grin that always meant he was up to no good.
“I should have taken you swimming like you asked, Danny, instead of running off with my friends. I should have been a better brother to you.”
His eyes stung as the stark truth penetrated Adam’s soul. He’d been jealous of his brother—jealous that their father showed Danny more affection than he’d ever showed Adam. Jealous that Danny looked like their father, while he did not.
Adam forced himself to be brutally honest. Neither Danny nor Gil had deserved Adam’s re
sentment. Even Gil had done nothing to warrant Adam’s hatred, his only crime being an affinity for horses that matched James’s. In reality, the true source of Adam’s anger had been Father himself.
Adam bent to lay the daisies at the base of the large stone. With one knee on the damp grass, he recited the prayers his mother used to make them say, for once finding comfort in the words. When he finished, he traced the carved stone letters with one finger, silently pleading for forgiveness from his brother.
“You deserved so much better, Danny. It should have been me who drowned. Then you’d be here to fulfill our father’s dreams.”
“Is that you, Adam O’Leary?” Reverend Filmore strode across the grass toward him.
Adam swiped a hand over his eyes as he jerked to his feet, working hard to contain his emotions. “It is, Reverend. How are you?”
“I’m well, my boy. It’s good to see you again.” He shook Adam’s hand.
Had the man not heard where Adam had been for the past few years? Surely not, or he wouldn’t be so happy to see him.
Reverend Filmore folded his hands over his stomach. “What brings you here on this fine afternoon?”
“Just paying respects to my brother. It’s been a long time since I’ve been . . . home.”
“It has indeed. Staying with your parents, are you?”
“No. I have a place in the city.”
“Glad to hear you’re getting back on your feet. Well, give my best to your parents.”
Adam fell in step with him as he headed toward the church. “I’m not sure if I’ll see them today, sir. But I do have a matter you might help me with.”
Reverend Filmore turned to peer at him through his spectacles. “What is it, son?”
“I’d like to see my baptismal record.”
The pastor came to a halt, and for a brief moment, Adam feared he might refuse.
But at last the man nodded. “Follow me. I keep the records in my office.”
It didn’t take long for the man to find the ledger in his bookcase and bring the volume over to his desk.
“What year would you be looking at?”
Adam swallowed. “I was born in November of 1889.” If what I’ve been told is the truth.
Reverend Filmore flipped through the book until he came to the right time. He ran his finger across the yellowed pages and stopped at an entry near the middle of the page. “There it is, my boy. Your mother liked to have her babes christened within a few weeks of their birth.”
Adam held his breath as he attempted to focus on the script.
Adam Francis O’Leary, christened this 24th day of November 1889. Date of birth: November 18, 1889. Mother: Kathleen Agnes O’Grady. Father: James Francis O’Leary.
Nothing out of the ordinary there. Did he really imagine there would be a different name for his father? He let out his breath.
“Is there anything else you need?” Reverend Filmore regarded him with a curious stare.
“Actually, there is.” Adam still wasn’t convinced that he was indeed James’s son. “Would my parents’ marriage be registered here?”
Reverend Filmore straightened, his expression suddenly wary. “Were they married in this church?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Very well. Let’s have a look.” He moved to the bookcase, pulled a different volume off the shelf, and laid it on the desk.
His pulse thrumming in his veins, Adam peered over the reverend’s shoulder while he scanned the pages, moving backward through the months. At last his finger stopped at the name O’Leary.
“Here it is.”
Adam scanned the date in the left-hand column. March 25, 1889. He pressed his lips together, doing a quick calculation in his head. Eight months. He sucked in a breath and stepped away from the desk.
“Come now, son. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You were likely born a few weeks earlier than expected. If not . . . well, your parents wouldn’t be the first couple who didn’t wait for the wedding night, if you catch my drift.” He closed the book with a soft thud.
Adam drew himself up to his full height. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Reverend Filmore accompanied Adam out of the office and rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Talk to your parents, son. It will ease your worries.”
Adam replaced his cap as he exited the building. If only it were that easy. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
“Make it fly, Aunt Maggie.” Delia’s squeal of delight sounded over the rush of the wind.
Maggie smiled. “I’ll try, but you have to help me. Hold the string up high while I run.” She lifted the bedraggled-looking kite over her head and began a slow trot across the grass, careful not to trip on her skirt.
She’d promised Delia she’d take her to the park and fly the kite they’d constructed the day before, and today, since there was a slight breeze blowing, Maggie hoped she’d be able to get it off the ground.
When the wind seemed favorable, Maggie released the toy to the elements. It dipped and bobbed, seeming to hover in midair, and then pitched upward on a current.
Maggie rushed back to help Delia with the string if necessary. “That’s it. You’re doing a fine job.”
The paper-and-wood kite managed to maintain the tautness necessary to stay suspended. Delia bit her lip in concentration, holding the string as though it might fly away without her.
Craning her neck, Maggie watched the kite’s fledgling journey and laughed out loud with sheer delight. For some reason, her thoughts turned to Adam, wishing he were here to share his niece’s joy.
“That’s a fine-looking kite you have there.”
The small hairs on the back of Maggie’s neck rose. She whipped around to see Neill standing beside Delia.
Delia grinned up at him. “Aunt Maggie helped me make it.”
“Well, you’re a lucky girl to have such a nice aunt.” Neill stared at Maggie as he spoke.
Delia scrunched her nose. “You sound just like her. Do you come from Ireland, too?”
“I do indeed.”
What was Neill doing here? When Maggie hadn’t heard any more from him, she’d decided he must have given up and returned home. Now here he was again. Had he been watching her all this time?
Her heart thumping an uneven beat, Maggie stepped forward and laid a hand on Delia’s shoulder. “Delia, this is Mr. Fitzgerald. He’s a friend from home.” She shot him a warning look over Delia’s head. “Neill, why don’t we sit on the bench while Delia flies her kite?”
“I’d like that.”
A mixture of irritation and dread swirled in Maggie’s stomach as she took a seat on the wooden bench. She glanced around the small neighborhood park, grateful to see another family out for an evening stroll.
“What are you doing? Following me around?”
“How else am I to win you back if you won’t see me willingly?” His gaze grew earnest. “Won’t you tell your brothers that we’re still courting? Then I can call on you properly at the house.” He grabbed her hand in his. “Let’s have some fun together, Maggie. We can explore the Museum of Natural History together. Take the ferry over to the Statue of Liberty.”
For a mad moment, she was taken back to their childhood, when she and Neill, along with a group of neighborhood friends, would race over the meadows, climb trees, and explore the abandoned barns out in the country. But they were children then, and too many things had changed. She sighed and removed her hand from his. “A few days of sightseeing won’t change the fact that our lives are on two different paths.”
He stiffened, the enthusiasm fading from his features. “What do you mean? We both love our town, both want to raise a family there. I’ve got a good business that provides a stable income. We’ll live above the pub until we can afford our own house.”
Maggie shook her head. “I can’t marry you, Neill. Though I’m fond of you, I don’t love you like a wife should love her husband. I’m afraid nothing is going to chang
e that.”
His features hardened. “That’s not true, Maggie.”
She sighed. There was only one way to make him understand. “I’m not going back to Ireland.”
Creases appeared on his forehead. “Not until the end of the summer. But once you have this wanderlust out of your system, you’ll be ready to come home and settle down.”
“Aunt Maggie, look.”
Maggie rose from the bench and squinted at the kite as it careened around the sky in a crazy pattern. She waved at Delia. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”
With a silent prayer that Neill would accept the end of their relationship once and for all, she turned back to him. “I’m not going back,” she repeated. “I’m staying in New York for good.”
Neill shot to his feet, disbelief in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. I—”
Without warning, he grabbed her roughly and kissed her. At one time, back when she’d actually thought they might make a life together, she’d found his kisses pleasant enough. But today his hard mouth brandished punishment as well as possessiveness.
She shoved him away from her and swiped a hand across her lips. With considerable effort, she reined in her temper. “Forcing yourself on me will get you nowhere. Now, please do us both a favor and don’t contact me again.”
Maggie lifted her skirt and rushed back toward Delia, just in time to see the kite swoop from the sky and plummet to the ground below.
Delia laughed and ran toward the fallen toy. “Did you see how long it stayed up, Aunt Maggie?”
Maggie forced a smile to her lips. “I did. You’re an excellent kite flyer.”
As they gathered up the length of string, Maggie glanced behind her to the bench. Neill stood glaring, a look of hatred in his eyes. He jammed his hat back on his head and stalked off down the path.
“Can we try it again?” Delia asked.
All the energy seemed to drain from Maggie’s body, leaving her as limp as the kite in her hands. “Maybe tomorrow, sweetie. I think I’ve had enough for today.”
Adam pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. The train back to Manhattan wouldn’t leave for another two hours, which gave Adam plenty of time for a quick trip to Irish Meadows. He stiffened at the thought of facing his father, not prepared for that battle just yet. But a visit with Brianna was long overdue. If Adam’s luck held out, perhaps he could talk to her alone.
A Worthy Heart Page 13
