Irish Meadows (16 page)

The stylish woman stood before Brianna in the hallway, her bright blue eyes so much like Daddy's that Brianna's heart bumped with fear.
Please, Lord, let her
be sympathetic to my cause.

“Brianna? Is it really you?” Aunt Fiona rushed forward and enveloped her in a warm hug. “It's so good to see you.” She wiped tears from the corner of her eyes. “The last time I saw you, you were a child with your hair in braids. Look at you now, a beautiful young woman.”

Brianna laughed. “I don't know about that.” She cast an admiring glance at the tall, willowy woman dressed in a fashionable skirt and a lace blouse. “I'm sorry to arrive on your doorstep without calling . . .”

“Don't be silly. I'm delighted to have company.” She looked down, noticing the suitcase. Her thin, arched eyebrows rose in question. “Are you planning to stay awhile?”

Brianna hesitated. “If it's all right with you. I need to decide what I'm going to do with my life, and I'm hoping you can help.” She raised pleading eyes to her aunt.

Regret and some other emotion passed over Aunt Fiona's fine features. “Does your father know you're here?”

Brianna's knees shook, despite her will to stay strong. “By now he might. I left Mama a note telling her where I was going.” She pushed away the thought of her mother's reaction to finding her gone, lest she break down in front of her aunt.

“Oh, my dear girl. Come into the parlor and tell me the whole story.”

W
ILL
YOU
HELP
ME
draw a giraffe, Miss O'Leary?” Delia O'Brien's big blue eyes widened as she waited for a response.

Colleen crossed the wooden floor of the classroom with a ready smile. Though she knew little about giraffes, Colleen would try her best, just to please the girl. In a little over a week, the imp had captured her affections, becoming almost as dear as her own little sister. In fact, Colleen wished she could bring Delia home for a visit, thinking how much she'd love Deirdre and Connor.

“How is that alphabet coming?” Colleen pulled out a tiny chair and perched beside the eager pupil.

Delia held the end of the nibbed pen to her lips. “I'm all done.”

Colleen scanned the row of crooked letter
A
's and stifled a grin. “If you finish one more row of letters, we can draw a giraffe. I'll find some paper to use.”

She smiled at the concentration on Delia's face and checked on the other children as she moved toward the cupboard that housed the school supplies.

“Miss O'Leary, did you give ink to the younger children?” The sour nature of Sister Marguerite's voice prickled irritation down Colleen's neck.

She schooled her face into a neutral expression. “Yes, Sister, I did.”

“We have to use our resources sparingly. The younger ones are much too clumsy. They always waste the ink.” Sister Marguerite's face pinched into a wreath of wrinkles under her wimple, as if the material pulled too tight.

Colleen kept her tone even. “I'm sorry, Sister. I didn't realize.”

“Make sure you don't make that mistake again.”

Colleen returned to Delia, noting the apprehension on all the pupils' faces. Sister Marguerite was no one's favorite as far as Colleen could tell. How such a strict, dour woman had ended up caring for a group of energetic children was beyond Colleen's comprehension. If only the pleasant Sister Veronica had stayed to help, the atmosphere would have been so much nicer.

The clock in the hallway chimed three o'clock. Soon she would have to meet Rylan to leave for the train station.

“It's time to start cleaning up now, children. Put your work on the teacher's desk and go wash your hands.”

A loud gasp made Colleen whirl around in time to see a small river of ink spilling across Delia's desk. The girl stood with the inkpot clutched in her stained hands, panic on her stricken face. Colleen grabbed some loose sheets of paper and rushed to blot the stream before Sister Marguerite could notice it dripping onto the floor.

“I'm sorry.” Tears appeared in Delia's wide eyes.

“Don't worry, sweetie. It was an accident.” Colleen scrambled to mop up the mess, but two big splats landed on the polished hardwood floor. “Oh, saints alive.”

“Miss O'Leary!” The horrified voice of Sister Marguerite screeched across the room.

Colleen froze, wads of crumpled, ink-stained paper in her
hands. She tried to calm the trepidation that crawled up her spine, as though
she
were the child in trouble once again.

“We had a bit of an accident here, Sister. Could you call the caretaker, please?”

Sister Marguerite's beady eyes bored into Colleen. “Who is responsible for this mess?”

Colleen moved to conceal Delia, who cowered behind her out of the nun's immediate sight. “It's my fault for bringing the ink out. I'll pay to replace it.”

“Who spilled the pot?” Sister Marguerite peered around Colleen. Her face hardened when she saw the girl standing with the evidence still in her hand. “Delia O'Brien. You know the punishment for wasting supplies.”

The girl's tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “I didn't mean to,” she whimpered.

“Put that inkpot down at once and get the cane.”

Rylan jumped down from the ladder and stood back to survey his handiwork. The girls' dormitory looked much cheerier now, painted a soft yellow. Even better than the boys' room, which he'd painted a bright blue last week. He gathered his supplies and moved them out into the corridor, leaving the ladder against the wall. With quick movements, he retrieved the paint can and the dirty brushes and carried them downstairs to the utility room.

The grandfather clock in the main entranceway bonged out three chimes. He'd have to hurry if he and Colleen wanted to make the afternoon train back to Long Island.

Ten minutes later, hands and face as freshly scrubbed as the paintbrushes, Rylan whistled a tune as he bounded up the stairs to the main floor. Colleen was not waiting for him in their usual spot by the reception area. With a grin, he changed direction and headed toward the classroom, hoping to catch Colleen interacting with the children.

Fortunately, the wooden door stood slightly ajar, allowing him to peek inside. The sight that greeted him, however, wiped the grin off his face. Sister Marguerite stood at the front of the classroom, making angry gestures with a cane before an obviously incensed Colleen. Little Delia, her tiny hands covered in ink, cowered sobbing behind Colleen's skirts. The other children huddled together at the far end of the room, as though fearing the punishment may extend to them, as well.

Colleen fisted her hands on her hips. “Touch that child one more time, Sister, and you'll be meeting Jesus a lot sooner than you expected.”

Rylan choked back a half-laugh, half-gasp at the expression of shock on the nun's face, and stepped into the room. “Ladies, what seems to be the problem?” He didn't really need to ask. There was enough ink on Colleen's hands and apron to tell the tale.

She whirled to face him, eyes blazing. “This woman is beating little Delia because of an accident.”

Lord, a little help here would be appreciated.
Though he tended to agree with Colleen and didn't uphold the beating of small children, he was loathe to challenge the older nun's authority. “Now, Sister, surely we can come up with a suitable consequence that doesn't involve”—he cast a stern look at the instrument in her hand—“caning a child.”

Her face turned a mottled purple. “How dare you criticize the way I run this institution.”

Rylan pasted on his most charming smile and laid a calming hand on the nun's shoulder. “I see how much responsibility you have here, Sister, and how well you take care of these children.”

She relaxed a fraction of an inch, but her mouth remained pinched.

“And I understand the need for strict discipline to keep the asylum running smoothly.”

Her shoulder stiffened under his hand as she straightened. “We are doing God's work here, Mr. Montgomery.”

“Of course you are.” He deftly removed the cane from her hand. “You and the other sisters are doing an amazing job. I'm sure you must find it overwhelming at times. Tell me, do you ever have a day off?”

She blinked like a wizened owl behind her spectacles. “We do not take time off. This is our vocation.”

With one hand behind his back, he motioned for Colleen to get Delia out of the way. At the same time, he smiled into the nun's eyes. “What would you do if you had a whole day to yourself with no responsibilities?”

Her mouth fell open, as though she'd never entertained the possibility. “I . . . I suppose I'd spend the day in Central Park.”

“Aye, that sounds lovely. I will make it my personal mission to arrange a day off for all of the nuns working here.” He smiled at her stunned expression. “Just give me time to line up some volunteers, and we'll make it happen.”

She sank onto the chair by the front desk. “I don't see how. Where would you find enough volunteers?” she asked weakly.

“Leave that to me, Sister. In the meantime, if you'd be so kind as to ask the caretaker to clean up the desk and floor, Miss O'Leary and I will be on our way.”

“Of course.” She rose and headed to the door, then turned back. “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.”

“My pleasure, to be sure.”

Seated on the train several minutes later, Colleen stuffed her blackened hands under her skirts. She could hear her father's admonition now. “Ladies never get their hands soiled. And they certainly don't yell at nuns.”

She released a weary sigh. She did not regret saving Delia from the punishment Sister Marguerite had begun to inflict. She only wished she'd done it with a bit more grace, without losing her temper in the process.

“Don't worry. That ink will wash off with a good scrub of lye.”

Her gaze flew to the amused grin on Rylan Montgomery's cheeky face. He had an uncanny way of always knowing what she was thinking.

She scowled at him. “How do you always stay so calm?”

Amusement softened his eyes to melted chocolate. “The blessing of an easygoing nature . . . and a wagon-load of prayer.”

She lowered her gaze back to her lap. He'd been so supportive of her during the whole fiasco, never once admonishing her for her rudeness to Sister Marguerite. Regret sat heavy on her shoulders. “I'm sorry if I caused any problems for you with the nuns.”

“What problems?”

She ignored his attempt at a joke. “I suppose they won't let me come back now that I've proven to be an unsuitable volunteer.”

Why did that thought make her heart ache? Two weeks ago, she would have plotted just such an incident to get out of going. Now all she could think of was Delia's disappointment when she didn't return. Who would look out for the girl? Keep her safe from Sister Marguerite's dire discipline?

Rylan's warm hand settled on her arm, sending tremors through her body. “It'll take more than one ink spill for them to refuse a volunteer. They're rather short-handed, in case you hadn't noticed.” He gave her that cocky grin she'd started to find endearing. “Besides, I need your help with the children on Saturday so the sisters can have the day off I promised.”

Surprising tears sprang to her eyes, but she forced them back. What was the matter with her lately? Other than the day her little brother had died, Colleen could count on one hand the number of times she'd cried. Tears were a useless waste of time. Besides, they made her eyes puffy and turned her nose red.

“You will help me, won't you?” Rylan asked. “After all, I did save you from the wrath of Sister Marguerite.”

A weak laugh escaped before she could stop it. “I suppose I could spare the time.”

Really, what else did she have to do? For some reason, the endless rounds of parties, balls, and social activities she'd been used to now left her cold. Even the lure of rich, eligible men didn't hold the appeal it once had.

She bit her lip, hands clenched under her skirts. “Rylan, could I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do . . . do you think I'm going to hell?”

He raised one dark brow. “Well now, I guess that depends on the terrible things you've done. I know you threatened the life of that poor nun today.” A teasing glint shone in his eyes.