Irish Meadows (21 page)

When he had put some distance between them, Rylan peered down at Colleen. Her features were pinched, her skin blanched of color. In the circle of his arms, her frame trembled.

“Are you all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?” Hot curls of anger wound their way through his chest.

“No.” Shame surfaced in her gaze. “I'm only sorry you had to hear that,” she whispered.

The sorrow on her face tore at him, adding to his fury at the man who caused her to feel this way. “You've nothing to be sorry about. That lout is the one who needs a lesson on how to treat a lady.”

She shook her head. “Not many people think I deserve to be treated as one. It appears I have a”—she gulped—“bad reputation.” She bit her lip and turned her head away.

The music, something sad and haunting, seemed in keeping with her mood. Rylan longed to see her return to her spirited self, filled with confidence. Even anger would be better than this apparent self-loathing. He pulled her closer, as if to protect her from the gossip and disapproving stares while they danced. “Perhaps I should have let you break the man's fingers,” he teased.

That coaxed a slight twitch of her lips. “Perhaps.” She sobered. “I want you to know something, Rylan. Besides a few kisses—ill-advised as they may have been—I have done nothing to warrant—”

“You don't have to explain yourself to me, Colleen.”

“But I want to.” Tears gathered in her eyes, creating two twinkling pools of violet.

Rylan tightened his arm around her waist. “I know you're not that type of woman. And no one should treat you as anything less than the good person you are.”

A single tear dislodged to trail down her cheek. “But I'm not a good person, and I don't deserve—” She broke off in a stifled sob and lowered her head to his chest.

He needed to get her away from the stares of curious onlookers
until she'd gained control of her emotions. Discreetly, he led her off the dance floor, through an open door, and onto the balcony. Once outside, she broke away from him and rushed to the stone railing, gripping it with both hands. Rylan moved quietly beside her and handed her his handkerchief. The cool night air blew tendrils of her red hair about her cheek and fluttered the folds of her dress. She didn't seem to notice the chill in the air or the fact that she had no wrap.

Help me to get through to
her, Lord. To convince her of her worthiness. Of Your
great love for her.

He stood near her at the railing, not daring to touch her. “Did you not believe me when I told you God loves you unconditionally and that nothing you do can keep His love from you?”

She sniffed, dabbing her cheeks with the handkerchief. “I want to believe that, Rylan. It's easy for you. You don't do anything wrong.”

“I've done my share of disreputable things in my youth, before entering the seminary.”

“Nothing like what I've done.”

Something in the devastation of her voice told him there was more to her story than a few stolen kisses. “What could be so terrible you think God won't forgive?”

“I can't tell you.” She glanced over at him with tortured eyes. “I don't want to ruin your opinion of me.”

Rylan ached to comfort her, but other guests had come out to the balcony for some air. In order to avoid prying eyes, he took her hand and led her down the nearby steps to walk in the candlelit garden. After a few moments, they came to a stone bench situated between two large bushes, and he motioned for her to sit. He lowered himself beside her, careful to keep a respectable distance between them, then shrugged off his jacket to drape around her shoulders.

They sat in silence for several minutes.

“I promise,” he said at last, “that nothing you tell me could
ruin my good opinion of you. Not even if you told me you'd murdered someone.”

She twisted his handkerchief in her lap, not looking at him. “I think murder would be easier to confess.”

She'd done something worse than murder? For a moment, doubts crept into Rylan's certainty. He petitioned God for guidance and forged on. “Have you never told anyone of this great sin?”

She shook her head. “No one.”

“Not even your priest?”

Her eyes grew wide in horror. “Especially not a priest.”

He was about to remind her of his intended profession but thought it wiser to let it go. Colleen had something eating at her soul, and the only way to remove the power it held over her was to confess it. “Don't you think it's time to get this off your conscience?”

“Not if I lose your respect.” She met his gaze. “Your opinion matters to me, Rylan.”

He couldn't help it. He took her hand in his. “I promise you won't lose my respect.”

Her eyes searched his a moment longer, then she dipped her head and pulled her hand free. He could almost sense the battle raging within her.

Finally, she released a weary sigh. “I made a priest break his vows.”

Rylan jerked on the bench, barely keeping from falling onto the grass below. He swallowed hard to hide his dismay. “How exactly did you . . . accomplish this?”

Her hands shook on her lap, and he forced himself not to touch her again.

“I didn't mean to. I had no idea what he was thinking.”

“Was it Reverend Filmore?” he dared to ask, praying it wasn't.

“No. It was another priest many years ago.”

A host of emotions rioted through Rylan's chest. “Many years ago? How old were you then?”

“Thirteen.”

It took all his willpower not to scream his outrage. Whatever had happened between Colleen and this priest, it could not be the fault of a thirteen-year-old child. “Tell me everything,” he whispered, not trusting his full voice.

The blue intensity of her eyes stood out in her pale face before her lashes swept down to shutter them. “He was at the school for a prayer service. I . . . I was in trouble with the teacher and had to stay after school to clean the chalkboards. He told Mrs. Stephens she could leave. That he would make sure I did my job and then escort me home.”

Nausea curdled in Rylan's stomach as he imagined the rest of the scenario. “What did he do?” He dreaded hearing the rest of the sordid tale but knew for her sake he must.

Her hand fluttered like an injured bird. He caught it in his and held on tight.

“He told me I was a tease and I deserved to be spanked.” She gulped as a sob tore from her throat. Her shoulders slumped as she collapsed toward her knees in a storm of weeping.

Rage, more violent than he'd ever known, shook Rylan's frame. He would learn this monster's name and make sure he could never harm another innocent girl again. He took her shoulders gently in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. One more question had to be asked. “Did he . . . violate you?”

She was crying so hard she could barely answer. “Not that way, no. He started kissing me, touching me . . .” She shuddered. “I didn't know what to do.”

Rylan pulled her near and closed his eyes. God may preach forgiveness, but Rylan doubted he could ever forgive this man for betraying a child's trust. Right now his heart felt as cold and hard as the stone bench beneath him. “It wasn't your fault, Colleen. He was the one who sinned.”

“But he said it was my fault for being so bewitching. For flaunting my wiles, I think he called it.”

“And ever since then you've been trying to live up to his description,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She stiffened in his arms and began to pull away, but he held her tight.

“Not on purpose. That's not what I meant. But he made you feel that you were the guilty party when he knew he was to blame.” He tilted her chin to force her gaze to meet his. “Colleen, love, you did nothing wrong. Not a thing. That man lied and made you out to be the temptress, but you were a child. He was a man of God, in a position of trust. He abused that trust in the worst possible way.”

“You really believe that?” she whispered.

“It's the truth. You did nothing wrong. I'll keep saying it until you believe me.”

She sagged against him once again, and he held her until her sobs quieted, his heart breaking for her misery. In direct contrast to her pain, the sound of laughter drifted out from the open door to the ballroom.

“Why did you not tell your parents?” he asked. “Surely they would have believed you.”

She exhaled slowly. “I couldn't add to their burden. My brother, Danny, had just died a few weeks before . . .” She trailed off.

“I see. There was already enough grief in the house, and you didn't want to make things worse.”

She nodded against his chest.

“Which only proves how unselfish you really are, Colleen O'Leary.” He let out a long sigh. “It seems I have my work cut out for me to make you see your true worth. Your value in the eyes of God, in the eyes of your family, and . . .” He paused. “And in mine.”

She lifted her head to look into his face, her eyes liquid pools. “So you . . . you don't think badly of me now?” The vulnerability on her face made him want to weep.

“Never.” A fierce wave of emotion enveloped him. His heart began a slow, heavy thump as the reality he'd been trying to avoid for weeks now hit him hard.

Heaven help me! I'm falling in love with
this girl.

Intense guilt crashed over him as heat flooded his neck and face. He shifted on the bench, purposely putting some distance between them, except for her small hand, which he kept tucked in his.

“I could never think badly of you. Especially not for something like that.” He paused, searching for words of wisdom. “You must let go of the guilt you've been harboring all these years. And if you're able, try to forgive the sorry excuse for a man who robbed you of your innocence. Only then will you truly be free. Only then will your heart be able to heal.”

“I'm not sure I can,” she whispered, “but I'll try.”

“God will help you if you let Him. And so will I.”

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Rylan.”

He cleared his throat and rose. “We'd best be getting back before we start any new rumors. Especially since I'm not wearing my collar tonight.”

The sadness and longing in her eyes twisted his insides. He only prayed she wasn't falling in love with him, too.

For he was not free to love her as she deserved to be loved.

W
ITH
B
RIANNA
NO
LONGER
living at home, Gil felt free to spend the night in his old room at Irish Meadows, even though being there after announcing his engagement to Aurora seemed like an added form of betrayal. Sleep eluded him most of the night, and in the pre-dawn hours, he dressed quickly and left the house.

His burdened soul required solace, and the one place he hoped to find it was at church. He'd been leaving God out of his life too much lately—making decisions without the guidance of prayer, ashamed because in his heart he knew his actions were wrong.

Now, in the early morning hours, Gil sought the silence of the large church he used to attend with the O'Learys, hoping for answers, hoping to find a way out of the impossible predicament he found himself in.

The wooden door creaked open as he stepped into the dark interior. Knowing the inside of St. Rita's as well as the Irish Meadows stable, he had no need to illuminate the space. Waiting a minute for his eyes to adjust, he made his way to the front
of the church and entered the first pew, lowering himself to the hard wooden kneeler. Hands clasped so tight his knuckles ached, Gil bowed his head and willed peace to descend on his troubled soul.

The treachery of his actions ate at Gil's conscience like a deadly disease. How had he, a man who prided himself on his integrity and principles, fallen so far away from them?

He moved his hand, surprised to find wetness there, unaware of the tears that had fallen.

“Can I help you with anything, Gilbert?”

The sympathetic voice of Reverend Filmore startled Gil from his thoughts. He swiped a sleeve over his eyes and pushed up to sit on the wooden bench. Reverend Filmore stood at the end of the pew, a concerned expression on his lined face.

“Is everything all right at the O'Learys'?”

“The O'Learys are fine, sir.”

“But evidently you are not.”

Gil opened his mouth to reply that he was fine, but the added lie would not leave his tongue. “No, I'm not.”

The priest moved to sit beside him on the pew. “I'm a good listener if you want to get something off your chest.”

Gil bent his head over his knees. Could it hurt to hear a minister's opinion, or would it forever taint the reverend's view of him?

“There's nothing I haven't heard before, son. No sin is so terrible it can't be forgiven.” His soothing tone gave Gil confidence.

They sat side by side, each man gazing ahead at the simple altar.

“I've got myself into a situation I don't know how to get out of.” Gil's voice, a mere whisper, seemed to echo in the silent space.

“This situation . . . does it involve a woman?”

“Not in the way you're thinking, but yes. I've allowed myself to become betrothed to a woman I don't love. Not the way a
husband should love a wife.” He shook his head sadly. “I knew it was wrong, but I allowed myself to be talked into doing this . . .” He trailed off, not willing to besmirch James's reputation. “I can't go into all the details.”

“I understand. What's important is that God knows the motivation in your heart.”

Gil squeezed his hands into fists on his lap. “When I break off the engagement, it will cause great pain to the girl and her family.”

“I presume you had strong reasons to agree to this. But by doing so, you haven't been true to yourself, and that's what's causing you such misery. That and knowing you're going to cause this poor girl heartache.”

“Yes.”

“The important thing is you've realized your mistake, confessed it here to God, and asked His forgiveness.”

“Do I even deserve forgiveness?” The question he'd asked himself so often in the past now resurfaced.

“Everyone who repents of wrongdoing deserves forgiveness, Gilbert. Ask for God's help. Seek His will in making amends to right the wrong you've done. It may take some time, but I'm sure the young lady in question will forgive you eventually.”

Gil released a weary breath. “Thank you, Reverend. I'll do my best.”

“Good to hear. Remember I'm always available if you need to talk.”

“I'll keep that in mind, sir.”

“Now, I'd best be preparing for my service in a few hours.” He stood slowly, his knees creaking like the wooden floor beneath him. “I hope to see you back here later.”

Gil nodded. “I'll be here.”

Gil sat in the silence for several more minutes. At last, some of the burden seemed to lift from his shoulders. Now that he'd involved God in his decisions, as he should have all along, a
certain clarity cleared the fog of guilt from his mind. He left the church, praying for the strength to follow through on his decision—as soon as the verdict on the loan came through.

Colleen hummed on her way up the stairs to the front door of the orphanage on the morning after Independence Day, eager to see Delia and hear her account of the parade the children had attended.

In the cloakroom, she removed her hat and gloves, feeling lighter than she had in years, as though a huge burden had been lifted from her soul. Her conversation with Rylan on Saturday night had had a cathartic effect on her in ways Colleen could never have imagined. For the first time since she could remember, she'd looked forward to attending Sunday service with her family and had actually enjoyed Reverend Filmore's sermon. The usual anger and sting of guilt had dissipated from her like the smoke drifting over the church candles.

The fact that Rylan didn't despise her for her secret shame was in itself the best gift she'd ever been given. Total and unconditional acceptance. Affection and friendship based not on her looks, her family, or her wealth, but on the true person she was inside. Rylan knew every dark corner of her soul and liked her anyway.

Dare she hope he might love her?

What a foolish notion. He'd never once indicated he felt anything romantic for her, though she'd mistakenly imagined he might kiss her the other night. But then he'd moved away, and she realized she'd misinterpreted his reaction. She was nothing more than a person he'd helped through a spiritual crisis. She would have to be content with his friendship and keep her true feelings buried deep.

This morning, she'd missed his charming presence on the train ride into the city. He'd said he had something to do at the
church before he could join them at the orphanage, so Colleen traveled in alone.

But nothing would dampen her spirits today. She had a new outlook on life, a new joy, a new truth about herself, and she felt all-powerful. Full of love for her fellow human beings. Not even Sister Marguerite's dour countenance could daunt her today.

Smiling, she marched into the classroom, full of purpose. The children had not yet come in, so only Sister Marguerite occupied the room, seated at the head of the class.

“Good morning, Sister,” Colleen called out to the nun. “How did you enjoy your holiday?”

The woman blinked, then inclined her head. “I enjoyed it very much. I will thank Mr. Montgomery when I see him.”

Colleen ignored the attempt to minimize the part she had played in the nuns' day off. “I'm glad.” She smiled as she took a handful of children's readers from the bookshelf. “We had fun with the children, as well.”

“Believe me, we've heard about nothing else since.”

Colleen tried to curb her annoyance. Sister Marguerite managed to take such an enjoyable occasion and still find something to grouse about. Colleen decided not to take her negativity personally.

The door opened, and Sister Veronica led the children into the classroom. Colleen paused from her task to greet them as they entered, eager to see Delia's face light up in welcome.

When all the children had taken their seats and Delia had not appeared, Colleen crossed the room to peer into the corridor, thinking the girl had lagged behind the others. The hallway remained empty.

“Sister Veronica, where is Delia this morning? Is she ill?” If so, Colleen would go and check on her.

The usually serene face of the young nun turned sorrowful. She placed a gentle hand on Colleen's arm. “You haven't heard?”

Alarm skittered up Colleen's spine as her gaze swung over
the heads of the children to the smug expression on Sister Marguerite's face. “Heard what?”

“Delia is gone,” Sister Marguerite snapped.

“What do you mean gone?”

“It's good news, really.” Sister Veronica's soothing voice did little to calm Colleen's anxiety. “Delia's been adopted. Her new family came to pick her up yesterday.”

The floor swayed under Colleen's feet. “Adopted? Why didn't I know about this?”

“I thought Mr. Montgomery would have told you.” Sister Marguerite removed her glasses and set them on the table. “He helped arrange the whole thing.”

Colleen's legs wobbled beneath her, and the room spun. Rylan knew this was happening and hadn't said a word? How could he have kept this from her—especially when she'd asked him about the possibility of Delia being adopted? She reached out to grasp the wooden doorframe, willing her legs to hold her.

“I didn't even get to say good-bye.” Tremors started in her knees and moved up her body.

“Maybe you should come to the kitchen,” Sister Veronica said, her tone kind. “I'll get you a glass of water.”

“No, thank you. I just need a moment . . . alone.” Colleen lifted her skirts and fled down the hallway. She charged up the stairs and pushed through the door into the girls' dormitory. Her breath came in great gasps as her gaze flew to the little bed at the far end of the room. Right away Colleen noticed the difference. Delia's special quilt was gone. In its place, a standard-issue wool blanket covered the bed.

Colleen moved across the floor as if in a trance and sank onto the mattress. Snatching up the pillow, she pressed it to her face as though she might be able to smell a trace of the little girl left there. Nothing but the freshly laundered odor of bleach met her nose. Tears blurred her vision. She sat rocking on the edge of the bed, the pillow clutched to her chest.

Dear Lord
, I know I should be happy for her, but I
'm so very sad. Please let Delia have a wonderful
family with the kindest of mothers to love her. As
I would have loved her.

She brushed at the tears that spilled over and streamed down her cheeks.
Oh,
Delia
. How Colleen wished she could have sent her off to her new home with good wishes and lots of kisses. What must Delia think of her, that she never even bothered to say good-bye? Did she think Colleen didn't care about her?

Her watery gaze landed on the polished hardwood floor where a scrap of fabric stuck out between the bed and the night table. Colleen reached down and pulled out Delia's worn rag bunny. A cry escaped her as she caressed the cherished toy.

How would Delia sleep in a new house without Mr. Whiskers?

Colleen grasped the tattered toy in her arms and curled up on the bed as sorrow gutted her. She felt the loss of the little girl in every fiber of her being. Never again would she see those blue eyes light up, never again feel those arms hug her neck.

Colleen's world would never be as bright again.