Wishes on the Wind (29 page)

    Ah, she wished she could hear Ma's reaction to that one! She had no doubt her Ma's beloved laughter would ring out loud and clear even while she shook her head with disapproval. But it really wasn't funny, and she knew Ma would have been the first to agree.

    A spoiled daughter of loving, indulgent parents that was Grace Lang, and she feared the young woman would suffer for it. Not that Miss Grace was lacking in any way from outward appearances, for she was lovely to look at, to be sure. Meg had never seen such lustrous blond hair, or such clear pale skin, and there had been a wealth of change in Miss Grace's womanly proportions in the past year. Always a beautiful young girl, Grace Lang was now a beautiful young woman. But, strangely, Meg did not envy her in the least, for on the inside the young mistress was still a child.

    However, it was not her place to criticize her employers' daughter. For that reason she cooperated with the conspiracy that     now placed her in this room, and she knew she would perform the task as long as it was requested of her.

    Leaning over the nearby bed, Meg scooped up three lacy frocks tossed there in a careless heap and walked to the wardrobe to hang them. The vast array of dresses displayed as she opened the door no longer impressed her, as accustomed as she had become to the excesses of the household, but she knew the average young woman in the valley would not own that many gowns during the whole of her lifetime. That thought somehow saddening, Meg completed her chore and began scrambling for the shoes thrown helter-skelter around the room. Aye, and so many children in the valley went barefooted.

    Meg caught her reflection in the mirror as she stood frowning, but she knew she could not truly fault the conditions of her employment in this household. The new, well-fitted uniform she wore this day was evidence of the mistress's concern for her appearance. She had received new uniforms three times in the past year to accommodate her growth, and since the rest of the staff received a supply of uniforms only once a year, she had been embarrassed at the mistress's need for such unusual expense on her behalf.

    Meg studied her reflection briefly. Aye, her height had seen the addition of at least two inches maybe three and her body was no longer straight as a stick. She had reached her fifteenth year in May, and physical changes had seemed to come suddenly upon her shortly thereafter. Small breasts bloomed as her rib cage stretched with her height, and her hips developed a gentle curve that now gave her the appearance of a young woman. But she had not needed the physical reassurance of maturity to know she was an adult, for she knew that the responsibility her Ma left her, however well she cherished it, had matured her long before her womanhood became obvious to the eye.

    Aye, that responsibility was Sean, her dear brother. The passage of a year had wrought little change in him on the inside, with the bitterness that still gnawed at his peace of mind, but the outside had changed immeasurably. At sixteen Sean was now manly and broad, with their Da's same handsome face, even if his smile was not as bright or as frequent. He had not grown to their Da's full height, but he touched the mark of ten inches past five feet, and with considerable brawn added to his frame, he was beautiful to behold. And, on the rare occasions when he so chose, Sean was such a charmer. The girls were all agog about him, most   especially Sheila McCrea, her closest friend, although she discouraged Sheila's interest in Sean. She did not want to see her friend suffer the heartache that would come in loving him.

    Her hands moving quickly at their task, Meg allowed a difficult reality to surface in her mind. Aside from his deep and sincere feelings for her, Sean had little love inside him. He took pride in her achievements and her steadily advancing ability with reading and ciphers, although he avoided any conversation about Father Matthew, but the reality that her life was still involved with the family on the hill gave him little peace. His frustrations mounted daily, for his victories were pitifully few. He was still bent on revenge and the forcing of change, and nothing she said seemed to influence him to think otherwise.

    For that reason she had been less than honest with Sean about her friendship with David Lang. She knew he would never understand, because she didn't quite understand it herself. David had been true to the promise he made her the day after that terrible confrontation between Sean and himself, and she did her best to be true to hers. His proposal for her to become part of the live-in staff at the house was never mentioned again, and she had attempted to erase his prejudice against the Irish in the valley from her mind. They began afresh, and although the honesty between them occasionally erupted in anger, strangely enough, the result was to forge their friendship stronger than before.

    David's smiling image appeared in her mind, and Meg could not help but smile in return. The past year had seen physical change in them all, but having reached the age of nineteen, David was now a man. He had always had the height of a man, but where he was so slender before, he had begun filling out well. His handsome face, though still youthful, had the mark of a new maturity, and his unusual hazel eyes, so changeable with his moods, had become more fascinating still. And when he looked at her in his special way, with the disturbing affection that glowed so brightly there, she often felt her heart race.

    Despite the misgivings always present when she thought of this strange friendship between herself and the wealthy, indulged David Lang, Meg refused to think of the day when her friend would come to see the hopelessness in their continued friendship, and the future just around the corner where they'd have no place in each other's lives. The thought was too painful to bear.

    Tripping unexpectedly over another small slipper peeking out from under the massive bed, Meg released an exasperated breath.

    Her mind thus forcibly drawn from its meandering, she attacked the task at hand.

    Pausing unobserved outside his cousin's room, David peered through the crack of the doorway. Satisfied that it was indeed Meg moving industriously inside, he pushed the door open wider, but she was too deep in thought to notice him. Pensive, David watched Meg's efficient movements as she bustled around the room with an exasperated frown, gathering shoes strewn hither and you by his careless cousin.

    Watching her in silence, David felt a familiar discomfort grow inside him. He was intensely aware that although Meg bore Grace no malice, she had little patience for his cousin's pampered lifestyle. Her reaction disturbed him because he realized Meg probably had little patience for some of his vices that were reflective of a pampered youth, and he realized as well that it was only Meg's prejudices that could come between them.

    That thought had become a bedeviling spot of uneasiness inside him of late. He supposed the reason was because he saw little in Meg of which he didn't approve or with which he wasn't willing to compromise. Nothing had happened during the past year to cause his feelings to change in that regard, and he knew nothing ever would.

    Still watching Meg's deft movements, David recalled his disturbing conversation with his uncle that morning after receiving the Coal and Iron Police weekly report. He had been grateful for the errand that brought him home early because he needed time to think. Sean O'Connor had been mentioned frequently in weekly reports over the past year, and the general consensus regarding O'Connor since the turn of the year was that although he was less outspoken than he had been, his attitude had not changed.

    He hadn't mentioned the reports to Meg because it would have served no constructive purpose between them, but the summary Uncle Martin received that morning was especially damning. It contained Captain Linden's belief that the next time trouble came, O'Connor would be in the middle of it.

    However, suspicion was one thing and proof was another, and Uncle Martin knew he could not afford an open confrontation with any of these men now, when the coal fields were in such a state of flux. Realizing the inevitable was merely being forestalled, David had needed the reassurance of seeing Meg on the hill, away from the trouble brewing below. He was desperate to keep her from involvement in her brother's schemes, and for that reason he had decided only a few minutes earlier to broach another plan with Meg.

    His train of thought interrupted as Meg paused in her work, smiling unexpectedly at her thoughts, David felt the responsive warmth Meg's smile always evoked. His outrageous comment as he stepped into the room was deliberate.

    "You're smiling, Meg, so you must be thinking of me."

    Meg's head snapped up in his direction, and the glorious blue of her eyes met his for a heart-stopping moment that made David catch his breath. When had Meg become such a beauty?

    "Vanity and arrogance it’s my thought they'll be with you till the day you die, David Lang."

    His laughter rumbling despite the sharpness of her annoyed response, David swept the room with his gaze. "Probably so, but you forgave me those faults long ago, Meg."

    "Did I, now?"

    "If you didn't, you should and you will."

    Straightening up, Meg rested her hands on her hips. "So you've begun counting me one of the kitchen group that fawns over your every word and sighs at your smile."

    "No, never, I swear!" David's smile broadened. "The only thing I'm sure of, is that I can get a rise out of you anytime I challenge you, and that doing it gives me more pleasure than almost anything I know."

    "That you should find pleasure in such an unremarkable thing speaks poorly for your entertainment at hand." But Meg smiled reluctantly as she spoke, and David's spirits lightened.

    "I knew you couldn't stay angry with me." He turned to appraise the room once more. "Cook says your chores will be done for the day once you're finished here."

    "Aye, but that may take another hour at my present rate of progress."

    David would not relent. "It's too beautiful a day for that. Come on, give it up. Grace will have this place back to disorder the minute she returns and she'll never notice a thing you've done."

    "Would you have me shirk my duties?"

    "That argument won't work, Meg. You're wasting precious time. You know there's nothing much more you can do here. You can leave early today, so take advantage of the opportunity."

    Meg's light-eyed gaze moved disturbingly over his face, and

    David felt their touch down to his toes as she narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

    "Seems you're very anxious to be rid of me."

    "I'm anxious to get you out of the house. I haven't had time to talk with you in days."

    "We spoke just this morning!"

    "Meg…"

    Turning to give the room a last glance, Meg shook her head. "You're right, you know. I can do little more without disturbing Miss Grace's 'order of things,' and I've no doubt it'll be back to the way it was within five minutes of her return, more's the pity."

    "Meg…"

    "All right."

    Meg started for the hall, and David fell in behind her. His gaze slipped to the pleasant sway of her trim little hips, and he suddenly realized that the rise of feelings within him had very little to do with friendship.

    Father Matthew swallowed tightly, his hands shaking as he unfolded the slip of paper he had found under his door. He looked at it once more. The printing was barely legible, but the message became clear the moment he saw the crudely drawn coffin that gave the missive its name. He reread the message in his hand:

    "Lay off preaching against Molly's noble sons, or suffer at the hands of those ye despise."

    Breathing deeply, Father Matthew walked to the basin and filled it with water. Lowering his head, he splashed the cool liquid on his face, the spotting of his tunic far from his mind as he fought his growing agitation. This was not the first notice he had received and he had heard what happened to other priests who ignored the Mollies' threats. He had continued preaching against the Mollies in his weekly sermons as he prayed each night for the courage to continue. The courage had come slowly, despite the brave facade he maintained.

    Father Matthew stepped back from the sink, reached for the cloth lying beside it, and carefully dried his face. Running his fingers through his straight brown hair, he blinked as a new realization dawned upon his troubled mind. It had been almost a year since the Mollies' last threat. The second warning could mean only one thing. They feared his sermons were beginning to succeed in turning the tide of opinion against them.

    His breathing restored to normal, his quaking stilled, Father Matthew picked up the note and folded it carefully. He clasped it in his hand as he turned and made his way out of the rectory to the sanctuary of his church.

    Standing at the altar rail, he looked up at the cross, at the image of a God made man, at One who had suffered far worse than he for the sake of love. Dropping to his knees, he clasped his hands in prayer, the note that had shaken him so severely only minutes before pressed tightly between his palms. And he prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for the courage that had almost deserted him.

    The echo of the colliery whistle still reverberating on the still autumn air, Sean O'Connor walked amid the stream of men that emerged from the day shift of the mine. He glanced briefly around him and took a deep, deliberate breath. As heavy with coal dust as was the air, it was fresh and clean in comparison to the foul stuff he breathed down below. But he was aware of the deceit in that thinking. It was the same deceit that was practiced in saying that he and those walking beside him were free men when they were not. For free men were not left without choice in their lives, chained to a vicious circle of hunger, need, debt, and an all-powerful system that held them helpless to escape it. And they were not free men when the law leaned so heavily on the side of the oppressor as to brand the oppressed criminals if they sought to fight their circumstances.