Wishes on the Wind (45 page)

    David gave a short laugh. "I'm not certain whether I should be flattered by your confidence." Pausing to assess Gowen for a few silent moments more, David stood up unexpectedly. Drawing Elizabeth to her feet, he waited until Gowen stood as well before continuing.

    "In any case, I'll have to think this over before I give you a definite answer. In all honesty, I must tell you now that my first inclination is to decline."

    "David, you can't!" Elizabeth's protest was spontaneous. "This is an opportunity to establish yourself in the industry! Ben is offering you a tremendous opportunity."

    "I'm aware of what Mr. Gowen is offering me, Elizabeth." Surprised by the fleeting glimmer of approval in Gowen's gaze as he efficiently quelled Elizabeth's interference, David extended his hand. "I'll give you my answer in a few days, if that meets with your approval."

    Gowen shook his hand firmly. "You're the man for the job, David. I trust your good sense, and I know you'll come to see that as clearly as I do."

    Turning with a nod, David ushered Elizabeth out beside him, the feeling lingering that much lay unspoken behind Gowen's friendly manner and carefully cultivated facade. Through his uncertainty, one thing remained abundantly clear. He still did not trust the man.

    Terry Donovan's arms tightened around Meg, crushing her against the rock-hard strength of his chest as his mouth moved hungrily against hers. The familiar taste of him stilled the gnawing trepidation inside her, and Meg returned the pressure of his lips in a heartfelt kiss. She drew back a moment later with a breathless whisper. "You and Sean were gone so long that I was beginning to worry."

    Terry's craggy face was soft with emotion as he paused in response. His dark brown eyes glowed in a way with which she had become as familiar during the past year as she had with the great towering size of the man and the gentleness that was so much a part of his nature. When he spoke, his deep voice bore an affected rasp.

    "Ye need not have worried, darlin'. Did I not tell ye I'd be back before suppertime this evenin'?" And then his low, satisfied laugh. "But I forget. Worryin's the province of a wife."

    "Nay, not this wife!"

    Aware of the untruth in her feisty response, Meg shook her head and hugged the big man tight against her. "But the truth is, I would never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to you. I know you've no true interest in the activities you attend with Sean, and that you only go with him because you're his friend and because you want to keep an eye on him for me."

    Easy laughter rumbled in Terry's broad chest. "Yer right about that, Meg, me darlin'. I'd much rather be feelin' yer arms around me than be lookin' down the barrel of a gun."

    "A gun!" Meg's heart skipped a beat.

    "Now, now…" His callused hand caressed her cheek as she pulled back to assess his expression, and Terry shook his head with obvious regret. "That was a fool thing for me to say. Aye, the lot of us faced guns today, but that Captain Linden had a meager force as compared to our five hundred men, in spite of his weapons, and they was the ones to back down, not us."

    "Seanis he all right? I want to see him."

    "He's downstairs. The generous fella that he is, is allowin' us newly married folk our reunion in private."

    "Newly married?" Meg's brows rose skeptically. "We've been man and wife for over a year!"

    "Nay, it can't be!" Terry's eyes were suddenly wide with mock surprise. "It seems just like yesterday! But I suppose I could make certain of it by countin' the nobs on me head from where ye've been landin' that fryin' pan of late…"

    "Oh, Terry!" Laughter was a part of Terry's nature, and he had made it a part of her own as well. Not for the first time, Meg realized that it was that part of Terry that had drawn her to him when he arrived in Shenandoah from Ireland two years earlier.

    From the doorway came another response. "And I'm thinkin' she's not used that fryin' pan as often of late as she should."

    Relief filling her throat, Meg disengaged herself from her husband's arms and in a few steps was hugging Sean with all her might. But all sign of merriment disappeared as she questioned simply, "All's well, Sean?"

    Directly addressing her unspoken fears and putting them to rest, Sean nodded. "Aye, all's well. We backed them black hearted scabs down and they fled like the cowardly rats that they are. We beat them one more time, Meg."

    Knowing better than to remind her brother that this was but one victory in a long line of defeats since the strike had begun four months previously, Meg attempted a smile. "Terry said"

    "Aye," Terry interrupted. "I told yer sister that we was the bravest of the lot, the two of us, and that we personally overcame a score a gun-carryin' policemen and fought them to the ground."

    Sean shook his head with mock disgust. "How the man lies, Meg."

    The spontaneous burst of laughter that followed laid to rest the last remaining tensions between them, and Meg was again grateful for Terry's entrance into their lives. And if she did not love him with the passion he exhibited for her, she loved him for his goodness and the gentleness he showed for all his hulking size, and for the healing power of his laughter. And she loved him for being the only person other than herself who had ever been successful in earning Sean's true affection, and for restoring her hope for Sean when it had been at its weakest point.

    A small, comradely wink passed between the two men as Sean slipped his arm around her. "And shall we go down to the dinner table now to make sure Uncle Timothy has his daily quota of rage?"

    Meg's smile dimmed. Uncle Timothy had never accepted any of them, and she knew he never would, despite the hefty sum she and Sean had repaid him over the years, and the monthly rent they continued to pay. But while Uncle Timonthy barely tolerated Terry and her, he hated Sean. She was well aware that the only reason Sean still maintained his residence in the household was to obtain his own version of revenge. As for herself, she had never been able to bring herself to abandon Aunt Fiona.

    But she would not harbor dark thoughts now. Sean and Terry were home safe, and they were all together again. They would celebrate, and she knew Aunt Fiona would join in their celebration, even if she did so in silence.

    Allowing Terry to sweep her forward as Sean started for the door, Meg ignored the knot in her stomach and the nagging voice in the back of her mind warning her that despite this morning's brief victory, defeat was inevitable. But Sean was an O'Connor, and he would never admit to defeat. Raising her chin, Meg fixed a smile on her lips. Neither would she.

    Sharp, potent memories returned to David's mind as he walked the familiar Philadelphia street, and he gave little thought to the attention he drew from two young matrons as they emerged from a small shop nearby. He had always attracted the female eye, and he knew that maturity had added a breadth of shoulder and muscle to his frame that naturally attracted women. He was not aware, however, that the air of a polished European gentleman he had unconsciously attained went deeper than he realized. It added a quality of aloofness to his strong profile and firm chin that often made his smile more caustic than true, and it stilled the gold flecks that formerly animated his unusual eyes. The effect was to erase all trace of the young man who had sailed for England five years earlier; an outward transformation that reflected the changes in the inner man as well.

    It was the new David Lang who had put Elizabeth Marklin back on the train to New York the previous night with a cool smile. He knew instinctively that the bold little baggage had been waiting for him to suggest that she remain in Philadelphia with him for the weekend, but he was too wise to step into that trap.

    After Elizabeth's train had pulled out of the station, he had taken a room and lain awake most of the night with Gowen's offer dominating his thoughts. He had arisen at the first light of dawn, an inexplicable unrest inside him. Now, several hours later, well-breakfasted and ready for the day, he walked along Walnut Street, refreshing his memory of the sights and sounds of Philadelphia.

    He had been gone five years, but it might just as well have been a lifetime. Graduated with an impressive degree, he was no longer the arrogant but unworldly young fellow he once had been. The high opinion he had had of himself those years ago amused him, for he now recognized the immaturity Uncle Martin had seen, and admitted to himself that his uncle had probably saved him from an error in judgment that could have ruined his life.

    A pang David thought he had long conquered squeezed at his innards. He had set to rest the difficult circumstances under which he had left Philadelphia when he finally realized that he was the only one, including Meghan O'Connor, who had been unable to see the situation clearly those many years ago.

    In retrospect, he supposed it was only natural for him to become involved with Meg. He had been in a particularly vulnerable state after the fire, and he had begun thinking of her as indispensable to his well-being and happiness. Meg was beautiful, warm, and giving, with an uncommon maturity for a girl of her youth. She was different from any person he had ever known, and in his need, he had taken and taken from her until she became a crutch he was unwilling to lose.

    A touch of his old bitterness returning, David gave a low grunt     of self- approval. He had learned to walk alone again, and he was a better man for it, but he would be the first to admit that it had not been easy. The first two years at the university had been nothing short of hell, with the devil tormenting him wearing the face of Meg O'Connor. His heart had jumped a beat with every curly-haired woman he passed on the street, with each slender female figure that turned a corner ahead of him, and every mail call was an excruciatingly painful disappointment. He wrote dozens of letters, only to tear them up with disgust at his own weakness, and it seemed he was never free of thoughts of Meg. But pride and common sense had finally prevailed, and he was finally able to look back on that time with Meg O'Connor without the pain that had been a necessary part of healing.

    His life had changed dramatically after that. His grades improved, and for a short time he gained just reputation for being a relentless womanizer. He was graduated at the top of his class, and when the opportunity for a lucrative position in Switzerland presented itself, he accepted it.

    But he had gotten restless again. Uncle Martin and Aunt Letty's surprise visit before beginning their European tour brought his restlessness to a head, and it was then that he decided to come home.

    Home the term taunted him. He supposed Philadelphia was his home. He had been born here and lived here with his parents until they were killed. After leaving Shenandoah, Uncle Martin and Aunt Letty had made their home here, and his only other living relative lived at the end of this street.

    Pausing briefly in front of the house he sought, David suddenly bounded up the steps and rang the bell. Within a few seconds, the door was flung wide and a graceful young matron threw herself into his arms.

    Father Matthew's slender fingers tightened on the missive in his hand, and the familiar paragraphs blurred before his vision with his growing rage.

    The "white paper" Father McDermott, he, and six other priests has signed the previous year condemning the Molly Maguires had been a farce. Published in the
Catholic Standard
, the official newspaper of the Philadelphia Diocese, it had set forth the most outspoken condemnation of the villainous group to date, with the express intention of influencing the majority of Irish Catholics against the organization. It had caused quite a stir at first, and his  colleagues and he had maintained high hopes for a change of affairs, but no such change had come about. Now, this most recent missive from Father McDermott had been delivered this morning, and he was sick to death with the inadequacy of words!

    Another Saturday had come around to Father Matthew's mind the most infamous day of the week. In a few minutes he would go to the confessional and face the line of penitents already forming, and he was sick at the thought. Aye, the Mollies had even managed to make a travesty of that sacred function.

    A glance out at the street beyond his window brought a frown to Father Matthew's face and silent confirmation to his thoughts as he viewed a familiar couple approaching the church. Meghan O'Connor Donovan had grown more beautiful with the passing years. His intense gaze moved to the large man at her side who held her arm so possessively, and he frowned. Dear Meg, if she but knew the truth hidden from her by those she loved the most…

    Father Matthew turned away from the window. He reached for his vestments, the anger inside him exceeding all priestly bounds.

    "David, you're home at last!"

    Grace clung to David's neck, sobbing happy tears, and a thickness rose in his throat at the warmth of his cousin's reception. Disengaging himself a moment later, David took a step further into the foyer, allowing the door to close behind him as he held her at arm's length. Astounded, he shook his head.

    "Grace, when did my little cousin turn into such a beautiful woman?"

    Smoothing the dampness from her cheeks, Grace responded without hesitation. "About three years ago, but you weren't here to witness the transformation. It happened the day I wed Freddie."