John quirked a brow. “A furniture shop.” He regarded Adam steadily. “I thought we would make a good team. What do you think?”
Adam swallowed hard and walked to the counter to run his fingers slowly over the wood, mentally picturing how he would restore it. “Did you buy this property?”
“Rented it. I know the owner, and he’s happy to have someone use it again. Gave me a very fair price.”
Adam’s pulse thrummed. He wanted to jump at this chance, but his pride rose to bar the path to his dream. “I appreciate the gesture, John, but I can’t let you do this. Your family needs that money.”
John held up a hand. “Hear me out, please. I’ll pay the rent until you start making enough with your furniture sales to cover it. Think of it as a leg up until you can ride alone.”
A tiny bud of hope began to unfurl in Adam’s chest, but once again, cold, hard reality took hold. “It won’t work. People aren’t going to want to do business with a man who’s been in prison.”
“I don’t see the need to tell anyone of your history.”
“Your parishioners don’t know?”
“I only told them that you had fallen on hard times and were looking for work. I’ve already taken the liberty of showing your work to several people who seemed quite interested.”
So that’s where his missing pieces had gone. “What if someone who knows me spills the beans?”
“Hopefully by then you’ll have established a good reputation, which is what people will value.” John paused. “Don’t you think it’s worth the risk?”
The bud of hope uncurled further. He’d always wished for this type of opportunity. Now that it was being handed to him, how could he refuse? He walked to the rear of the building and through a set of swinging doors, where he found a spacious back room—the perfect work area where he could build his inventory. At the far end, a narrow staircase led to an upper level.
John leaned against the doorframe, watching him.
Adam pointed to the stairs. “What’s up there?”
“I believe a small living quarters. Go take a look.”
Adam climbed the steps to a dusty but serviceable living area. A woodstove served as a source of heat and a place to cook. The space held a table and chair, a narrow bed, and a wardrobe. He returned to the main level, where John waited for him.
“Well?”
“It’s perfect.” Adam blew out a long breath. “I guess if you’re willing to take a risk, then so am I.”
Grinning, John shook Adam’s hand. A rare burst of excitement filled Adam. Perhaps, despite the terrible news of his parentage, things were turning around, after all. If he could make a success of the shop, maybe it would be enough to overcome the disgrace of his past so that he might one day be worthy of a woman like Maggie.
For the first time in years, hope glowed brightly in Adam’s heart.
19
MAGGIE WALKED BRISKLY down the street, pulled her shawl more securely about her head, and allowed the fresh air to revive her soul. She needed this outing, needed to escape the confines of Rylan’s house and feel the freedom to enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city.
Over the past few days, she’d felt like a prisoner, only getting outside for a few minutes a day to play with Delia and Chester in the yard.
The outbreak of typhoid had everyone in a dither. Rylan and Gabe were holed up at the orphanage, while Colleen seemed obsessed with not letting Delia or the baby out of her sight, lest they, too, be stricken with the disease. Maggie had been helping Colleen care for the girls, but there was little she could do to ease Colleen’s anxiety. Other than cooking and cleaning, the only thing Maggie could do was pray that God would bring Colleen a measure of peace.
With not enough to occupy her restless mind, Maggie feared she’d go mad if she didn’t get out of the house, even for an hour. After all, she and Colleen weren’t under quarantine. As long as they showed no symptoms and were fastidious with their cleanliness, they posed no risk to anyone.
Or so Maggie told herself as she walked toward the cathedral, pushing the small prickle of guilt away. A telephone call earlier in the day from Mr. Unger had presented an opportunity she couldn’t let pass. He’d asked to see her and hinted that he might have news for her. She didn’t dare put off this meeting or she might miss out on the possibility of employment. Even if nothing came of it, she’d at least have a change of scenery for a few hours and perhaps the chance to play that grand organ again.
Though initially thrilled at her little adventure, the farther away from the house she got, the more aware she became of every noise. Knowing how furious Rylan and Gabe would be if they discovered she’d gone out alone put a slight damper on her excursion.
For the last several blocks, Maggie had the sense someone might be following her. Persistent footsteps sounded behind her, increasing in pace as she did. Her pulse sprinted in keeping with her breath. Two more blocks and she’d reach the cathedral. She crossed the street, thoughts of sanctuary spurring her onward. She’d been foolish to risk her safety. But she couldn’t imagine that Neill would spend all his time lying in wait on the off chance she might walk somewhere alone.
Please Lord, let this be a random person out for an evening stroll.
Maggie quickened her stride once again. As soon as she reached St. Patrick’s, she’d be safe. Neill wouldn’t dare accost her inside one of God’s holy churches. Still, her hand trembled when she lifted the latch on the great brass door. Once inside, she moved to the shadows of an alcove at her left, waiting to see if someone followed her in. She pressed her spine against the wall and willed her heart rate to lessen.
Several seconds later, the door creaked open, and a pair of men’s boots entered her line of vision. She held her breath until the man moved farther into the entry and removed his cap. At the sight of auburn curls, accompanied by a muttered oath, Maggie’s temper flared into full boil.
She charged out of her hiding place. “What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing, Adam O’Leary? Following me around town, scaring the daylights out of me.”
He whirled around to face her, his brows pulled together in a thunderous expression. “What am I doing? What are you doing sneaking off by yourself?” He moved closer, towering over her. “You’re lucky I was on my way to see Rylan when I saw you leave.”
“Lucky, am I?” She poked her finger into his chest. “Lucky to be watched over like a child? Delia has more freedom than I do.” Maggie realized she sounded ridiculous, but the mixture of nerves and repressed anxiety from the past few days bubbled up, rendering her powerless to stop her tongue.
“Maybe Delia is more deserving of freedom because she heeds her parents’ wishes and doesn’t purposely set out to worry them.”
Maggie’s mouth flapped open as she searched for a scathing comeback.
“Excuse me, Miss Montgomery. Is everything all right?” Mr. Unger stood in the archway, a frown creasing his forehead. “Your voices are carrying.”
In the church behind him, several people had gathered to gawk.
Her anger withered as fast as a candle’s flame in a gust of wind. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Unger. My . . . friend and I were just having a difference of opinion.”
She ignored Adam’s snort.
Mr. Unger gestured toward the small door leading to the loft. “Are you available to talk right now?”
“Aye. That’s why I’m here.” She turned to Adam. “Thank you, Mr. O’Leary, but as you can see, I’m fine. You may go back to your previous activities.”
Adam shot her a dark look. “I’m in no hurry to leave. In fact, I believe a few prayers are in order.”
“Suit yourself.” She spun on her heel and followed Mr. Unger upstairs.
Although still thoroughly incensed, Maggie breathed easier knowing Adam would be there when she finished her conversation, saving her from having to face the long walk home alone.
In Adam’s present state of mind, prayer was not exactly his top priority.
He needed to get his temper under control before he spoke to the Lord. There was no telling what might come out.
In an attempt to walk off his foul mood, he paced the large foyer of the cathedral, his face and chest hot with annoyance. The one thing he could offer the Lord were words of gratitude that he’d come to Colleen’s in time to see Maggie sneaking out alone. He hated to think what type of trouble she could have found herself in had he not been there to follow her. Adam had no doubt that Fitzgerald still lurked in the shadows, waiting for the chance to get Maggie alone. And she’d almost given him the perfect opportunity tonight.
Adam leaned against a wall near the stairs, poised to watch anyone who might enter the church. His thoughts drifted to another unpleasant topic—George Drake. For several days, Adam had ruminated on the fact that his natural father was a criminal and that Adam appeared to have inherited George’s criminal tendencies. Any residual hope that Adam might one day be worthy of Maggie’s affections had withered and died like a dehydrated plant. She deserved an upright man, someone without his tarnished heritage. Just as well that today she’d whipped him into a fine temper. Anger seemed to be the best weapon to keep his feelings for her from blossoming.
The beginning strains of a song on the pipe organ barely penetrated Adam’s reflections at first. Then, as the music reached a powerful crescendo, he straightened against the wall. Maggie was playing. He’d bet his last piece of pine on it.
Adam didn’t notice the newcomer stalk past him until the man stopped to look furtively from side to side, as though seeking someone in particular.
Fitzgerald. Adam jerked away from the wall. The mongrel had been watching Maggie. Did he know Adam was here, as well?
Adam slipped behind a statue to remain undetected. The moment Fitzgerald’s gaze moved toward the loft, Adam froze. From the smug look on his face, Fitzgerald knew it was Maggie on the organ.
Adam’s hands tightened into fists, his heart thrumming. He considered confronting Fitzgerald, but he didn’t wish to create a scene in the middle of a church. Instead, he strode to the stairs and took them two at a time, following the vibrations of the music to the monstrosity of an organ where Maggie sat, her fingers moving over four massive rows of keys.
He moved toward her, ignoring the frown on Mr. Unger’s face.
“Maggie, I need you to come with me. Right now.”
Her fingers hit a discordant note, and she scowled at him. “I’m not going anywhere—”
“He’s here, Maggie.” Adam pinned her with a pointed stare and nodded when her eyes widened. He turned to Mr. Unger. “Is there another way out?”
Mr. Unger looked at Maggie, then back to Adam, obviously sensing her distress. “There’s another staircase on the opposite side.”
“Thank you.” Adam held out his hand to Maggie, who remained frozen on the bench.
Mr. Unger leaned forward. “Is it safe to let you leave with this man, Miss Montgomery?”
She stood up and reached for her shawl. “It’s fine, Mr. Unger. The man downstairs is the problem.”
“His name is Neill Fitzgerald. Tall. Dark coat. Claims he’s Maggie’s fiancé, but he’s not.” Adam helped Maggie wrap her shawl around her head and shoulders. “If you could distract him and give us time to leave, I’d appreciate it.”
The man nodded. “Certainly.” He turned to Maggie once again. “I’ll be awaiting your answer to my offer, young lady.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Unger. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Footsteps echoed on the stairs.
Adam took Maggie’s arm and led her to the back staircase while Mr. Unger went to intercept Fitzgerald coming up the other side.
They made their way to the foyer below, exited the main door as quietly as possible, and started along Fifth Avenue.
Maggie walked in silence, her profile rigid. For once, Adam coveted her reprimand. Even her sharp tongue would be better than her silence.
“Go ahead. Say it,” she finally spat out.
Adam took in her pinched features. “I don’t need to. You know you made a poor choice coming out alone.”
She pulled her wrap tighter around her and huffed out a shaky breath. The tremor of her hands told him how helpless, how powerless she must feel, and he reined in the urge to scold her further. “Promise me you won’t take such a chance again.”
She pressed her lips into a tight line, then she nodded. “I promise.”
As they continued walking, Adam searched for a way to change her focus. “So, what kind of offer was Mr. Unger talking about?”
She clamped her lips together again and quickened her pace.
“He didn’t offer to marry you, did he?”
She stopped in her tracks, mouth agape. “Don’t be daft. He’s sixty if he’s a day.”
“Then . . . what?”
Her nostrils flared. He waited while she seemed to wrestle with her response. “If you must know, he offered me a position as assistant organist.”
“You must be happy.”
She quickened her pace. “I am. Although the wage won’t be enough to support me. I’ll have to teach, as well.”
The backdrop of noise from traffic in the streets created a buffer around them. Horses clip-clopped down the road, while the occasional motorcar honked for right of way.
Adam took her elbow to cross a street. “Why are you so set on staying in America? Won’t you miss home?” His heart gave an uncomfortable thump at the mere thought of Maggie being an ocean away.
She sighed softly. “I do love Ireland. But ever since Rylan left for America, I’ve wanted to travel, to see more of the world.”
“You’re looking for adventure?”
“No. Just something different. I’m tired of everyone in our village knowing my business. Tired of all the boys I grew up with, none of whom I’d want to marry.”
“You want a home and family of your own, then?”
She bristled. “Of course. Don’t most women?”
“I suppose they do.” An ache spread through Adam’s chest, for he couldn’t be the one to fulfil her heart’s desire. The one thing he could do was protect her.
They walked on again in silence, with Adam occasionally casting glances behind him to make sure Fitzgerald wasn’t following them.
“Adam, is something else bothering you?”
He looked over to find her studying him and frowned. “Fitzgerald isn’t enough?”
She scrunched her nose at him like she’d hit a bad note. “I think something else has you preoccupied.”
The fact that she could read him so well disconcerted him. He clamped his mouth shut and kept walking.
“Has Rylan—”
“It’s nothing to do with you or Rylan.”
She walked in silence for several moments. “Is it Ivy’s mother? Has she contacted you?”
“No.”
“Is it your—”
“Enough.” Adam scrubbed a hand over his beard, regretting his harsh tone. Perhaps he should just tell her about his wretched background. Maybe then she’d quit haunting his dreams. The disgust on her face would surely cure him of any romantic delusions.
They reached the Montgomery house and came to a halt at the foot of the stairs. Adam turned to her. The sadness on her face sent arrows of guilt shooting through him. “I’m sorry for snapping. It’s just . . .” He sighed. “I’ve had some disturbing news that’s taking some time to process.”
Her eyes lit with sympathy. “It might help to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” He clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.
She took him by the hand, her warmth radiating through his fingers. “Come inside. It’ll be safer than standing out here if Neill is following us.”
He blew out a breath. “All right. Just for a minute.” He’d go in long enough to make sure everything was secure. Long enough to tell her about his sordid beginnings and disillusion her completely.
They entered the house, doing their
best to be quiet. Maggie hung her shawl on a hook, and he removed his cap. By mutual accord, they went into the parlor. Though the room was empty, the remnants of a small fire still burned in the grate.
“So what is this disturbing news?” She smoothed her skirts as she sat.
Why did he find her every action so fascinating? He tore his gaze away to stare at the pattern on the carpet. “What I tell you must remain confidential, especially from Colleen.”
“You have my word.”
Pressure built in his chest until he could no longer remain seated. Adam pushed to his feet and crossed the room to stand before the mantel. “I found out James O’Leary is not my true father.”
He heard her soft gasp. “I don’t understand. Who is your father, then?”
Adam stared into the fire, wishing his life hadn’t been shrouded in secrets and shame. Wishing he could be a paragon of respectability for her. But there was no point in wishing for the impossible.
He turned to face her. “A criminal by the name of George Drake.” He paused for effect. “The man violated my mother. My conception resulted from an act of violence.”
Her hand flew to cover her mouth. “Oh, Adam.”
“Drake spent his last days in prison, which proves the old saying is true. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He barked out a harsh laugh. And then, to avoid witnessing her disgust, he bent to stir the embers in the hearth with a poker.
Acutely aware of her every breath, he heard her rise from the sofa, felt the vibration of her nearness. When he rose, wiping his hands, she stood before him, tears glistening in her eyes.
“You are not at fault, Adam.”
“I’m a product of my father’s criminal act. No wonder James can’t bear the sight of me.”
“Adam—”
He pulled away from her. “Now you see why you need to stay far away from me, before I contaminate you, as well. Good-bye, Maggie.”
“Wait.”
The pressure on his arm halted his retreat before he reached the door. He paused and closed his eyes, praying for the strength to leave.
“I don’t care who your father is, Adam. I know you’re a good and decent man. Nothing will convince me otherwise.”
A Worthy Heart Page 19
