Running From Fate
Authors: Rose Connelly
F
ate
Rose
Conne
lly
Running from Fate © 2012 by Cassandra Connolly-Brown
Writing as Rose Connelly
All Rights Reserved
This book is dedicated to my beta readers, especially Arwen and Kyla, who read multiple versions and weren’t afraid to make suggestions and give me the unvarnished truth
And to my wonderful sister and fellow writer,
Maryska
, for listening to me brainstorm, for giving me the encouragement to keep going, and for designing the perfect cover
Thank you all
Mira Sweeney was seven
the first time she saw James Kelly.
It was summer
time
in Boston and
the
big white fans in her parent
s
’
house
whirled quietly as they
sullenly
stirred the thick air.
Mira had heard some people call her daddy frugal and other
s
call him a cheapskate. All she knew was that her friend, Mary Kate, got to have air conditioning and she didn’t.
Her stockings had been itchy and hot and sticky after her snack so she had taken them off. As she crept toward t
he stairs, drawn by the knocking on the front door
, she diligently prayed that her mother didn’t catch her. Then she would get a ‘talking to’ for being indecent and exposing her legs
.
She glanced down at herself, wondering what it meant to be indecent. She wasn’t wearing shorts like some of her friends and as far as she could tell her dress was pretty long. Why she could barely see her knees.
Uh oh.
She stopped and bent down, almost toppling over in the process. There was
blue chalk
on the bottom of her dress.
It must have gotten there when she was drawing earlier.
Her mother was going to be mad.
Maybe if she changed her clothes and hid the dress at the bottom of her toy box no one would know. She turned around, intending to do just that, when
she heard voices
.
Dress forgotten she continued her journey toward the
stairs, curiosity drawing her.
She could tell one of the people talking was her daddy because his voice was different than the way most Americans sounded. Somet
imes, especially when he got mad
, he sounded like a bear, but it never scared her cause, even then, the way he talked made him sound like he was almost singing the words.
Her daddy and mommy had come from a different country.
Her daddy had always called her his Irish Rose and
,
when she was
younger,
it had made her giggle, but she was older now and had started school two years ago.
Ireland wasn’t a silly
flower, it was a whole country. Her parents had come from there, but she was born in America so s
he couldn’t be Irish anything.
She walked closer and snuck down to the landing, leaning over so she could see into the hall. The boy talking to her daddy could have been an Irish something, she decided, because he talked in the same funny way that her parents did.
She sat on the stairs and watched through the banister.
The boy
probably wasn’t any older than Amy’s brother, who was only 14, but he
sure looked
different. Why his wavy black hair was a long as a girl’s and it curled around shoulders that were
already
starting to show muscles.
He could have been the hero from one of those silly books her mommy was always reading.
She sighed dreamily, imagining him riding on a beautiful white horse as he came to rescue her from an evil witch.
Her young heart soften
ed
as she noticed that his shirt was so thin she could almost see through it and his pants came up to his ankles
. She peered closer and noticed that his hands were clenched and his forehead was sweaty. Why
he
was
scared.
H
e was the one who needed rescuing
. She could be the knight, but first she had to know what the danger was. She propped her elbows on her knees and rested her head in her hands content, for now, to wait.
His voice floated
up
to her, the
lyrical Irish brogue beautiful, but his words painfully correct
as if he were
forcing himself to speak properly
.
“Mr. Sweeney,” he said
.
“
My
name is James. I’m Patrick Kelly’s
son.
I’ve come to tell you that m
y father
fell and hurt his back yesterday.
The doctor
told us
that he has to stay in bed for
a while
so he won’t be able to come to work.
”
H
e swallowed audibly
and shifted his weight
.
The
truth was worse than that
, he thought
.
Patrick Kelly had
fallen off a ladder while trying to reach the jar of household funds that his ma had hid in the top cabinet. His dad had sworn that he would stop gambling, but James had known it was a lie
. It
always was.
“I’m very sorry to hear that son,” Sean Sweeney said sympathetically.
“
The men will miss him at the site.
He’s my best foreman,
” he sighed,
“
but I suppose I can find someone to
take over until he gets better.
Well
now
,
g
ive him my best and tell him to stay off his feet.
” His eyes brightened.
“
I’ll come round later
to see him
,” he promised, “
Now off you go
lad,
as I’m sure your ma
will
be needing
your help
.
”
He turned and headed to the kitchen muttering about bringing a spot of whiskey round for Pat.
James
loudly cleared his throat
, causing the older man
to turn.
“My family is the problem, sir,
”
he said. He hated to plead,
but there didn’t seem to be any other option.
“
The doctor cost a lot of money
, sir, and we can’t
even
afford food
.
I don’t think
we can manage
for
weeks
without
a pay.”
He felt tears building behind his eyes and fought to hold them back
. A
man didn’t cry. Still, his throat wanted to close and he had a desperate urge to turn and run. His ma’s gaunt face and his own rumbling stomach
forced him to stay
.
“Did Patrick send you to beg then?”
Sean scratched his head, looking confused.
“No th
at doesn’t sound like something
he’d do.
He’s no a man to ask for charity
and I’m sure he knows he’ll be g
etting his wages while he’s laid up.
”