Irish Meadows

by Susan Anne Mason

  He sighed. “I’ll have to wait and see. Maybe we’ll be lucky and Mum will pull through.”

  She nodded and took in a long breath for fortification. “Well, I’d better go and let you make your arrangements.”

  They rose together, hands still joined. His warmth radiated through her palms.

  “Thank you for coming, Colleen. It was so good to see you.” Longing and misery shone in the dark depths of his eyes.

  Her heart threatened to crack in two. How she wished she could embrace him, feel his lips on hers once more—but she would not violate the sanctity of this holy place. She reached up to brush an innocent kiss across his cheek, inhaling his familiar masculine scent, and then she rushed from the room before she fell apart.

  33

  BRIANNA SAT ON THE BACK PORCH, staring out over the dirt track where Sam exercised Morgan’s Promise. The midmorning sun bathed the veranda’s floorboards in soft light while the gentle breeze teased her senses with the last traces of Mama’s roses.

  She fingered the envelope on her lap—the one Gil had left for her yesterday morning—turning it over and over. Though she’d memorized every word of the note he’d written, she still slid the stationery out and unfolded it.

  Brianna,

  Colleen asked me to accompany her on a trip today. She needed an escort, and I agreed to take her. She asked me to keep this confidential, so if you want to know more, you’ll have to ask her.

  What you witnessed between us last night was completely innocent. I cannot pretend your lack of faith in me is not troubling, not to mention your constant hostility toward your sister. I’m praying the Lord will heal the bitterness between you and Colleen. Family ties should never be discarded lightly. Take it from someone who has no family.

  Don’t wait up, as we will be returning on the last train.

  Gil

  Brianna folded the notepaper and returned it to the envelope. It was obvious he was angry with her. Angry and disappointed. He’d made her sound like a jealous shrew, but no one could fully understand her toxic history with Colleen. Not even Gil.

  Brianna wanted to believe her sister had changed. That she’d found a new spirituality and that her request for Brianna’s forgiveness had been real. But finding Colleen in Gil’s bedroom so late at night made it almost impossible. Didn’t she have the right to be angry?

  The French doors whispered opened, and someone stepped onto the porch. Brianna stared straight ahead, hoping whoever it was would carry on and leave her to her brooding. Luck was not on her side. Without a word, Colleen sat down on the chair beside her. Brianna bristled, prepared to take her resentment out to the barn where she could nurse it in private, but one look at her sister’s face riveted her in place. Colleen’s usually rosy complexion was blanched whiter than the paint on the plank floor, her red-rimmed eyes standing out in stark relief. What had happened to cause her such grief? Did it have anything to do with the mysterious trip yesterday?

  Before Brianna could recover her voice, Colleen turned bleak eyes to her. “I owe Gil a favor, so I’m going to explain something to you.”

  Unsure how to respond, Brianna waited in silence for her sister to continue.

  “I asked Gil to go with me to Boston yesterday—to see Rylan.”

  Brianna’s stomach dropped. So this wasn’t about Gil at all.

  “In hindsight,” Colleen continued, “it might not have been the most prudent course of action to go to his room, but at the time, I didn’t know how else to catch him alone.” She paused. “Judging by my past mistakes, I can see how you might think badly of me and jump to the wrong conclusion. But I don’t see how you can claim to love Gil and believe him capable of such dishonorable behavior.”

  Brianna’s cheeks flamed with misery. Colleen was right. Gil had never given her any cause to doubt him. Except propose marriage to a woman he didn’t love. She pushed that treacherous thought away. After all, these circumstances were entirely different.

  “Gil made me see that it may take time for you to accept that I’ve truly changed and that I need to give you another chance.” Colleen attempted a smile. “That man loves you more than anything. Don’t ruin a good thing, Brianna. If you constantly doubt his fidelity, you’ll drive him away.”

  Brianna bit her lip. “I owe you an apology, Colleen, for assuming you were trying to hurt me. I should have given you a chance to explain.”

  “Yes, you should have. Gil wanted to invite you to go with us—before you attacked him.”

  Shame burned hot in her chest. What sort of Christian example was she setting when she reacted with anger and jealousy?

  Lord, forgive me for not trusting my sister and Gil, for not trusting You.

  She took a long breath. “If I promise to give you the benefit of the doubt from now on, can you forgive me?”

  Brianna was relieved to see a softening of Colleen’s pinched features.

  “I’ve already forgiven you,” she said softly.

  Brianna’s throat constricted. “Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I owe you after all the times I’ve hurt you.” Colleen rose from her chair and smoothed out her skirts. “Now, if I were you, I’d go and apologize to Gil. He’s working in the study, trying to catch up on the work he missed yesterday.”

  Brianna jumped up. “Wait. What happened with Rylan in Boston?”

  Colleen lifted her chin, her hands clutched together in front of her. A wave of hurt crashed over her features. “We spoke. I don’t think he’s reached a decision yet. In any case, he’s on his way to Ireland. His mother is quite ill.”

  No wonder she’d been crying. Impulsively, Brianna moved to gather Colleen in a hug. “I’m so sorry. The waiting must be intolerable.”

  Colleen’s stiff figure sagged for a moment before she pulled away. “It is. Harder still to know he’s so far away, and”—her voice caught—“that he may never come back.”

  Brianna looped her arm through Colleen’s. Her sister needed a distraction in a big way. An idea formed—one that might go a long way toward making amends for her bad behavior and help Colleen at the same time. “Could you use another volunteer at the orphanage? I enjoyed the time I spent there and would love to go back. We could ride together on the train tomorrow.”

  Colleen nodded as tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, Bree. I’d like that very much.”

  Gil tried to concentrate on the figures in front of him but found his thoughts constantly circling back to Brianna. He’d had many hours on the train yesterday to rethink the message he’d left for her. If he had to do it again, he’d have toned down his indignation, or at least tempered it with understanding. Had his anger succeeded in pushing Bree away for good?

  His pencil snapped in two. Gil bit back an oath. Restless, he got up to pace the carpet, forcing himself not to rush through the house to find Brianna and beg her forgiveness. This time he had to hold out and wait for her to come to him.

  He moved to the window and peered out through the lace curtains at the immaculate lawns and the front garden in full bloom. He should be outside enjoying this day instead of glued to a desk chair.

  “Gil, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  Gil turned from the window to see Brianna standing in the doorway, as bright as a sunflower in a yellow dress. He took a second to recover his equilibrium, then motioned to the chair across from the desk.

  “Could we sit by the fireplace? A little less formal.” Her hesitant tone led him to wonder if she’d had a change of heart. At least he didn’t detect any remaining anger on her part.

  “Of course.” He moved to sit at the opposite end of the settee, careful to keep a distance, both physically and emotionally.

  She seemed nervous, perched on the edge of the seat. At last, she raised her eyes to his, uncertainty swirling in their green depths. “I came to apologize for the other night. I should never have jumped to such horrible conclusions about you and Colleen. I . . . I hope you can forgive me.”

  As much
as he wanted to, he needed further reassurance before he granted absolution. “How do I know the same thing won’t happen again if you see us together? Or if you see me talking with another woman? Aurora, for instance.” Not that Aurora was likely to speak to him, but Brianna didn’t need to know that.

  She let out a soft breath, twisting her hands in her lap. “I’ve promised Colleen—and I’ll promise you, as well—that from now on I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt before leaping to any conclusions.”

  He studied her, keeping his gaze steady. “Trust is vital to a relationship, Brianna. I need you to trust me completely if we’re to have any sort of future together.”

  She stiffened on the settee, her back straightening. “In my defense, our relationship has never been smooth, Gil. What with you kissing Colleen in the barn, and then your betrothal to Aurora.”

  He bit back a stinging retort about her own betrothal. Such sparring would get them nowhere. Instead, he inclined his head. “True enough.”

  One delicate brow arched as though she sensed the reservation behind his reply. “How would you have reacted if you’d caught Henry in my bedroom with his shirt unbuttoned?”

  A surge of heat blast through Gil’s system at the mental image she’d created. His hands curled into fists on his lap. “I see your point. I doubt I would have taken time to ask questions.”

  “Thank you. So can we agree to both work on establishing trust? If a woman comes up to your room again, take her down to the parlor to talk.”

  He nodded. “Agreed.” A sudden question dawned. “By the way, why did you come up to my room at that hour?”

  A furious blush spread across her cheeks. She ducked her head. “I saw Colleen go up to the third floor and . . . I followed her.”

  Gil gave a mock scowl. “Spying and eavesdropping are not qualities I admire in a woman.”

  Her indignant gaze flew to his. “I did not eavesdrop. I saw her go in and waited at the end of the hall—until I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

  Despite himself, Gil’s lips twitched, picturing her stewing in the hall as he and Colleen talked. But he sobered at the overall implication of her actions. “Seriously, Bree. If you’d only come to the door instead of imagining all sorts of illicit intentions, we could have avoided this whole misunderstanding. If these types of disagreements keep happening, they’ll eat away at the foundation of our relationship.”

  “I don’t want that,” she said in a soft voice as she rose. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can to regain your good opinion of me.”

  He stood, too, and crossed his arms over his chest to keep from pulling her into a hug. She looked like a lost child, seeking approval for her efforts. He realized with a start that the crux of her insecurity lay with James’s constant criticism. Bree never felt good enough for her father. Perhaps she didn’t think herself good enough for him.

  Before Gil could verbalize any of his revelations, Bree left the room.

  He returned to his desk full of ledgers. It seemed at every turn their tangled relationship hit some type of obstacle. Would God ever help them sort it out, or did their destiny lie in different directions?

  Gil promised himself he’d spend a great deal more time in prayer in the hopes of finding the answer.

  34

  SHIMMERS OF GREEN CRISSCROSSED the meadows that spread out to each side of the country road as Rylan hiked toward the tiny village in Cork where he’d grown up. The familiar scent of fresh-cut grass and sea air infused him with a sense of peace and homecoming. He’d purposely gotten off the bus a mile away from home so he could walk the last way alone, enjoying the peace of the countryside he’d so missed.

  Nostalgia for the happy childhood he’d spent here crashed over him like the waves that had barraged the ship on his sea voyage. The tall tree he and his brothers used to climb still reached its gnarled branches to the sky. The old wooden fence bordering Mr. Foster’s property sagged in exactly the same spot, and several fat cattle grazed in a shady pasture near the road. Rylan took out a handkerchief and wiped the beads of sweat from his brow. The sun was unusually warm today. That, coupled with the mile-long hike in his tweed jacket, made Rylan feel like he would soon be a grease puddle on the side of the road.

  He paused before the low stone fence that surrounded his mother’s property, drinking in the sight of his boyhood home. A lump of raw emotion rose in his throat. Nothing had changed since he’d left five years earlier. The same thatched roof sheltered the stone walls, the same green door still had patches of missing paint, and his mother’s flower boxes overflowed with violets. He took a moment to prepare himself for what he might find inside—his mother bedridden, possibly near death.

  Please, Lord, let me be in time to see her again.

  He pushed open the wooden gate and strode up to the entrance. Hesitating on the welcome mat, he opted to knock on his own front door, mainly because no one was expecting him, and he didn’t want to frighten his mother.

  The door opened almost immediately. A lovely young woman in a simple dress and apron stood with an inquiring look on her face. He was about to ask if Mrs. Montgomery was home when the woman’s eyes widened.

  “Rylan? Is it you?”

  He frowned. “Aye.”

  The woman launched herself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time. “It’s me—Maggie.”

  Wee Maggie? Could this really be his baby sister? He squeezed her hard, then pulled her back to get a better look at the raven hair and creamy complexion. “You’ve turned into a beauty while I was gone. Tommy, Paddy, and Gabe must be fighting the suitors off with a stick.”

  She laughed, a blush staining her cheeks. “Come in, you. Why did you not write to tell us you were coming?”

  Rylan dragged off his cap and entered the small living room of the cottage he’d grown up in. The same stuffed sofa and two rocking chairs flanked the stone hearth. The familiar smells of peat moss and homemade soup lingered in the air—smells that cried home.

  “It was a last-minute decision once I got Mum’s letter.” He turned his attention back to Maggie, whose dark hair matched his own. “Tell me the truth, how bad is she?” he asked quietly.

  Maggie stared at him. “Mum’s fine. Why?”

  Rylan frowned. “Her letter said she was too ill to travel. It sounded serious.”

  Understanding lit his sister’s features. “Ah, the pneumonia. Mum had a bad bout of it in the spring. Lasted well into the summer, but she’s picking up now. Still tires easily, though, and the doctor said the sea voyage wouldn’t be good for her.”

  Relief made his muscles weak. “So she’s not dying?”

  Maggie laid a sympathetic hand on his arm. “No.”

  Rylan scanned the room. “Then where is she?”

  “Resting. She takes a nap every afternoon. Come into the kitchen, and I’ll make you some tea. You can tell me all about America.”

  He’d just finished his second cup of tea when the sound of his mother’s voice snapped his head up.

  “Maggie? Whose voice do I hear?”

  Maggie jumped up from the wooden table. “I’d better warn her you’re home. Don’t want to risk her heart with such a grand surprise.” She dashed out of the room and down the hall to the bedrooms.

  Seconds later, he heard footsteps. His mother appeared in the door to the kitchen, her eyes brimming with tears. “The saints be praised. Is it really my Rylan?”

  “It’s me, Mum.” He stepped forward and caught the frail woman in a tight hug. Her stooped shoulders shook as she wept. Her auburn hair had turned mostly gray now, still worn in a tidy bun at the back of her neck. Gray eyes that matched Maggie’s shone with happiness. “I feared I’d never see you again. I thought once the ordination was over you’d be too busy to come back for a visit.” She straightened and scanned him from head to toe. “Where is your priest’s collar?”

  “I haven’t been ordained yet, Mum. Come, let’s sit in the parlor and we’ll talk.”

  She frowned,
her sharp eyes boring a hole through him with a flash of her Irish stubbornness. “We most certainly will talk.”

  He settled his mother in her favorite chair with an afghan covering her knees. As he tucked the blanket around her, he took note of how much she’d aged in his absence. Though only in her early sixties, Beatrice Montgomery’s hard life had begun to catch up with her. Sorrow gripped Rylan’s heart as he held her hand, the crippled fingers giving her the appearance of a much older woman.

  “How have you been keeping? Your last letter had me worried.”

  “I’m much better now that the pneumonia is finally gone. But my rheumatism keeps me close to home, I’m afraid.”

  Maggie bustled into the room with a tray of tea and biscuits for their mother, then discreetly left them alone.

  “And how are my brothers?”

  “They’re all doing fine. Tommy and Eileen are expecting their fourth babe around Christmas. Paddy and Claire are busy with the twins. And Gabe works hard at the fire station. No time for a wife yet, I’m afraid. I thank God every day that my boys stayed close to home. They take good care of me and Maggie.” She reached out a hand to pat Rylan’s knee. “And my other son, who traveled across the globe, will be doing God’s work.”

  Rylan’s gaze faltered under her admiration. He hung his head and studied the braided rug at his feet.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve got yourself banished from the seminary with that tongue of yours.”

  “Not quite,” he murmured.

  “Something’s wrong. I can tell by your face.”

  “I’ve been home fifteen minutes, Mum. Let’s catch up first. There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow to talk about my problems.”

  His mother straightened in her chair. “So there is a problem. I knew there was more to this visit than my health.”

  Her words startled him. Had he really used his mother’s ill health as an excuse to come home—to gauge her reaction to the decision he faced? A rush of air left his lungs. Perhaps on some unconscious level he couldn’t make his final decision without her blessing. Perhaps that was the real reason holding him back.