“I love the nineteenth century,” she said to herself.
She pulled on the tights, they were really like thick silk socks, and underwear. She eyed the scooped necklines of the dresses. “Hmm, no bra.” She put on one of the slips, adjusting the thin straps at her shoulders.
She chose the white and yellow dress and stood in front of the long mirror in the corner. “Not bad.”
She tied the thin yellow ribbon beneath her breasts and stepped into soft leather slippers. “And these must be a pair of ‘fine MacDonald shoes,’” She held out one foot. “Very pretty and quite comfortable.”
Clueless about what to do with her hair, she simply pulled it back and tied it with a white ribbon from the vanity. She grabbed the wrapped cookies for Devlin and left the room.
“Oh, Miss Tara!” Mrs. O’Grady said in the hall. “Ya’ be a pretty picture.”
Tara waved away the compliment. “Thank you for arranging the dresses and things, Mrs. O’Grady. Is Devlin awake?”
“Aye, miss.”
She nodded her thanks and went to Patrick’s room, gathering all of her knowledge and strength around her as she always did in preparation for her work in the behavioral lab.
She found Devlin on the floor, once again with his skinny arms wrapped around his knees. He appeared calm, but she knew what torment could be going on inside his little body.
“Hello, Devlin,” she said with a bright smile. “Mrs. O’Grady told me you had a nice nap.”
Devlin didn’t say anything in response, though he did lift his head a fraction. She took that as a sign of encouragement and joined him on the floor, tucking her skirt beneath her folded legs.
“Mrs. O’Grady makes the yummiest cook— biscuits, Devlin.” She unwrapped the sweet treasures and held them in front of him. “Have you tasted one today?”
A flicker of his lashes showed he eyed the treats. Tara brought one to her mouth and took a bite, tasting lemon and honey and sunshine. These were the perfect cookies for a little boy wrapped in darkness.
“Mmm,” she said with exaggeration. “Yummy.”
Devlin eyed the cookies in the napkin. She wanted him to take a one from her hand, but didn’t dare hope that would happen right away. She placed the open napkin on the floor at his feet instead, leaving the two cookies to tempt him. One little hand shot out and he grabbed one, bringing it to his mouth. He chewed with his mouth open, devouring the cookie. He was so little, and obviously hungry. She wondered if he ever had enough to eat before Patrick brought him here.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” she asked.
One often-used technique was to state the child’s feelings as if he was saying them. And the delight on his little face made that task easy today. He licked his lips and reached for the other cookie. In a flash it too was gone.
“Oh, you like Mrs. O’Grady’s biscuits!” Tara said, clapping her hands together. “She’ll be so pleased.”
Devlin was still again, but his body tensed as he paid attention to her. Tara took the empty napkin and wiped the crumbs from his face. He flinched slightly.
“You don’t like getting your face cleaned,” she said. “But you’re so handsome, Devlin. You look just like your papa.”
At the mention of Patrick the boy lifted his head and looked toward the door. Tara knew this was a good sign. That he anticipated Patrick’s return.
“Your papa’s at the workshop, Devlin. He’s making shoes.” She touched the toe of one of his sturdy little boots. “I bet he made these.”
Devlin still looked at the door. She thought she’d try another technique, and mirrored his actions. She sat closer to him, facing the door.
“Your papa will be back to see you soon, Devlin,” she said. “He loves you very much.”
He faced her and she caught a flicker of something in his eyes, an odd glimmer she’d never seen in the autistic children in her care in Indianapolis. It caused her skin to dimple in goose bumps. Devlin was locked in there, but she knew in her heart that he wanted to come out.
“I thought you could eat with us at the big table tonight, Devlin,” she went on. “Won’t that be nice?”
She edged closer to him and he scooted away a fraction.
“Oh, I’ll get your spot!” she said cheerfully. “You can’t have all the good sitting space.”
Using another technique she’d used in the past, she followed him. As he continued to pull away, she laughed as if it was a grand game they played. At last he was in the corner and she thought she saw his mouth lift slightly. She felt a surge of encouragement.
Before she could risk crowding him, she pulled back. She stood and crossed to the window. “It’s a lovely day outside. Have you looked outside today, Devlin?”
The little boy was still now, but his head tilted toward her. Tara looked at her watch, surprised to see that nearly half an hour had passed. The child was a draw to her, but she didn’t want to press him. Twenty to thirty minutes of “floor time,” as it was called, was really the limit. But she could observe him for a while yet.
She turned to him, her hands clasped. “I’ll bring some toys for you, Devlin. I bet your papa has some toys for you.” He faced her then, and she knew it was a direct response to her mention of Patrick again. That man was the key to the boy’s recovery, and the one who could do more than she could alone. And Patrick didn’t even know it.
“I’ll ask your papa when he comes home,” she said. “Then we can play.”
She stepped closer to Devlin. Unable to resist, she touched the boy’s curls. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t respond either.
“I’ll be back in a little while, Devlin,” she said.
She returned to her room and picked up her notes. Mentally exhausted, but much more encouraged than she had been at their initial session, she settled at the desk. The child wanted to make a connection. She’d felt it. Once more she thought of that flash or glimmer in his eyes. Something wasn’t quite right, though.
She recalled her impression as the boy slept, that he seemed different. She couldn’t put into words what she suspected, and wouldn’t burden Patrick with such foolishness. Devlin was troubled, and that had to be her focus. Grabbing up her notes and the Colts pen, she returned to Devlin’s room.
She perched on the edge of the neatly-made bed and watched the child as he played with the laces on his shoes. The shadow of an expression, a wistfulness, crossed his face. Did he think about his father? She wrote down her impressions and settled in to keep an eye on the boy.
She took few notes, as he didn’t do much for a long while. Her gaze strayed to the window, taking in the lovely day visible outside. A bird call, loud and jarring, suddenly broke her trance. Devlin screamed, running toward the nearest corner as if he wanted to bury himself in it. He began to pound his hands against the wall, clawing at the plaster as he tried to hide himself.
“Devlin!” Tara cried.
She ran to him and grabbed his hands. He grunted as he fought her. He was stronger than his size should indicate. But she held on tightly, whispering soothing words as she stilled his flailing arms.
“It’s all right, Devlin,” she said, wrapping him in her arms. “The loud bird scared you,” she stated. “You want to hide from the bird. But the bird can’t get you.”
He began to shake and she felt it clear to her soul. He cuddled against her, curled into himself rather than embracing her. She held him to her breast, rocking back and forth as his body lost its rigidity. Finally, his slack body collapsed against her and she brushed his damp curls away from his brow.
“There,” she said, her eyes stinging. “You feel better now. Relaxed. I’m glad.”
She held him like that as long as he would allow. Soon he scrambled off her lap to stand against the wall. She wanted to hold him again, but wouldn’t push him. Not now.
“You want your space,” she said with a nod. “I’ll sit on the bed again.”
She did as she said, still watching him as he sank back down to the f
loor. But his gaze slid to her now and then, and it was enough to give her what she so wanted to give his father. Hope.
***
“She’s stayin’ with us?” Sean asked Patrick as they walked home.
“Aye, Sean. She needs to attend to Devlin.”
Sean nodded. “What does she look like?”
Patrick stilled. He wouldn’t tell his brother that Tara was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Or that when he’d held her that afternoon he wanted to never let her go. Sean would think him daft for sure.
“She’s very fair,” he offered.
Sean turned sharply, narrowing his eyes. “You favor the girl?”
“Nay!” Patrick snapped. He raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t need a woman, Sean. Not after the Banshee. But, Devlin… Devlin needs her.”
It was Sean’s turn to shrug and Patrick sighed. He resumed walking. ‘Twas a pity he didn’t believe the subject dropped. At least the pup hadn’t ask Patrick to describe the lass. He knew he wouldn’t be able to disguise the fact that he found her very much to his liking.
Tara was quite pretty. With all that sable hair and those big amber eyes. And her future clothes hid little of her fetching figure from him.
That morning, as the girl spoke to Devlin, he’d known he’d done the right thing. She was the one to pull Devlin from his suffering. But Patrick was torn between wanting desperately to check on Tara’s progress and wanting to shield himself from her possible failure. Lord, he would give anything for Devlin. He prayed that Tara would be enough.
“I’d cease that scowlin’, brother,” Sean teased as they stepped onto the front porch. “You’ll scare the girl right back to the future.”
Patrick bit back a retort and entered the house. The sight that met him was surprising. Uncle Seamus sat in his place at the head of the table, with Tara to his right. And there, in the chair beside her, was Devlin. His head was down, his gaze fixed on the table linen, but he was there.
“Good evening,” Patrick said, stepping toward the dining room.
As he did so, his eyes shifted to Tara. She wore one of Brianna’s dresses. To advantage, in his considered opinion. She was so lovely.
“Hello, Tara,” Sean said, coming forward to sketch a bow. “I’m Sean MacDonald.”
Tara nodded her head, a smile on her face. “Hello, Sean. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Patrick frowned at his brother, whose green eyes were dancing with mirth. And interest, damn it.
“Uncle,” Patrick said. “Tara.” He stepped closer and saw that Devlin was perched on several books. “Hello, Devlin.”
The little boy lifted his head to stare at him. Patrick nearly lost his breath. Devlin’s eyes were crystal clear and, for that brief moment, Patrick believed his son actually saw him. Devlin soon lowered his head and grabbed up the roll Tara placed in front of him.
“You like the bread, Devlin,” she stated.
The boy said nothing. Uncle Seamus and Sean exchanged a look of confusion, but from what little Patrick knew of Tara he knew she didn’t do anything without a purpose. He caught her eye and she offered him a smile of encouragement.
“You’re hungry, son,” he offered as Devlin took another bite of the roll.
Tara’s gorgeous smile was worth the small effort. He smiled in response, feeling a bit like a daft boy. He turned to find Sean gazing at the girl in rapture. Bloody hell.
“Come, Sean,” he said, shoving him with his shoulder. “We need to wash for dinner.”
At last his brother pulled his gaze from Tara. Patrick would need to keep an eye on him. The pup was as blessed with the MacDonald charm as the rest of them.
When Patrick rejoined the family at the table, he sat at the end opposite Seamus. From there he watched Tara speak to, and for, Devlin as the boy devoured the savory stew. It was one of Mrs. O’Grady’s specialties, and though Devlin wore most of it on his little face it was clear that he liked the stuff as much as his father did.
Tara ate gracefully, as he’d suspected she would. By her dress and demeanor, anyone in the dell would think her born and raised in this time. But he knew the strong woman within the pleasing form, and she wouldn’t be Tara without that strength.
“Were you lads busy this day, Patrick?” Uncle Seamus asked.
“Aye,” he said.
“Winter was tough on shoes,” Sean put in. “And we’re all too pleased to sell replacements.”
Seamus laughed as he nodded his agreement and Patrick caught that smile on Tara’s lips again. The sight warmed his belly. Forcing his attention to his meal, he took a large bite of bread and chewed.
The meal was pleasant with the addition of the two newcomers to the table, and Patrick watched Devlin and Tara closely. She was patient with the boy, speaking softly yet clearly as she righted his spilled bowl or wiped his face.
“I got sweets fer ya’, lads,” Mrs. O’Grady said at the end of the meal.
“Oh, Devlin!” Tara said as the boy raised his head. “You like sweets. And Mrs. O’Grady made them, like the biscuits you ate today.”
Patrick glanced at his son. The housekeeper had only been able to get him to eat broth, and only by feeding him herself. Tara gave the boy some independence as she directed his meal. Again, he knew she was the one to help him. He thought of his promise to take her home once Devlin was well. ‘Twas only right. He ignored the faint gnawing sensation in his belly.
Devlin ate three biscuits, loudly and with obvious delight. The expression of pleasure on his little face warmed Patrick himself, brief though it was. Devlin soon began to shift in his chair, and his gaze darted about the room.
“I’ll take the little mite to the water closet, Miss Tara,” Mrs. O’Grady said.
Tara thanked her and watched as the child let the housekeeper lead him to the bathroom. Patrick saw the worry on her face. And the hope.
“Well, now,” Uncle Seamus began, coming to his feet. “I have a bit o’ readin’ awaitin’ me in the study.”
He shot a look of meaning in Sean’s direction, and Patrick hid his smile. Sean shot to his feet and bowed again.
“Miss Tara,” he said. He turned to Patrick. “Brother.”
He left the dining room and Tara began to rise.
“Pray sit, Tara,” Patrick said.
***
Tara watched as Patrick rose and sat down in his uncle’s chair. He folded his hands and placed them on the table. They were strong-looking, capable hands.
“That was amazing,” he said.
She felt a blush creep up her cheeks. She would focus on his words, and not on the clean fresh scent of him as he leaned closer. “Devlin needs to feel connected, Patrick. Mealtime is a wonderful opportunity for that.”
His blue eyes were round as he stared at her. “But he looked at me, Tara. When I spoke to him, he looked right at me.”
She nodded, pleased that he saw the importance in that brief connection.
“I’ve seen these flashes of awareness a few times today.” She thought to ask him more pointed questions about his son. “Did you spend time with Devlin before he came to live here?”
His brow furrowed. “Nay.”
She blinked. Why didn’t Patrick see his son before now? And who was Devlin’s mother?
“And yet he feels a connection to you,” she stated.
“Do you really think so?”
The desperation was clear on his face and Tara refrained from hugging him as she had Devlin. She doubted she would feel the least bit maternal with the big man pressed against her.
“Yes,” she said. “I made a point to mention you to him, and I got some response.”
“Ah.” The wistfulness in his voice touched her. “It’s what I pray for,” he murmured.
Her heart skipped a beat and she eased her chair away from him.
“I’d like to review my notes with you,” she said.
He shook his head. “I know nothing of your work, lass. I trust you in this.”
&
nbsp; “But, don’t you want to know?”
He held up one hand and came to his feet. “You’re the one to help him, Tara. It’s my duty to keep him warm and safe. And I shall.”
“But you should play a part in his therapy, Patrick. You can help him.”
Sadness filled his eyes before he tore his gaze from hers. He gave a slow shake of his head.
“Nay,” he rasped. “I’m the one who did this to him.”
Chapter 8
Tara was struck speechless. Many of the parents she’d encountered went through a period when they questioned every little thing they’d done during the pregnancy or following the birth, all to finally come to the conclusion that Autism often had no single cause. But Patrick’s conviction was so strong she didn’t dare argue with him. Not now.
“I’ll keep working with him,” she said. “And you’re welcome to join us whenever you’re able.”
He gave another shake of his head. Tara stood and placed her hand on his arm. Patrick grew rigid as his gaze met hers again. Her belly gave a flutter as she stared up at him. He was in so much pain. Almost as much as Devlin.
“Tara,” he whispered.
Her name on his lips sent a shiver through her. She remembered the moment—was it only that morning?—when he had held her. In gratitude, yes, but she was afraid to think of the sensation he’d cause her should he hold her for a different purpose. With his blue eyes so compelling and his body so close to hers.
Mrs. O’Grady entered the room and Tara stepped away from Patrick.
“The mite be in Master Patrick’s room, Miss Tara,” she said.
Tara lowered her gaze and brushed her hands over her skirt.
“All… all right, Mrs. O’Grady,” she said. “Thank you.”
She turned to Patrick. “Would you like to come with me?”
Patrick's Promise Page 7
