Sean smiled.
“What?” Gabriel asked, cramming in a mouthful of burger.
“Hearing you talk makes me miss home.”
Gabriel put back his shoulders and cleared his throat. “You would sound like home as well, John, old boy, if you didn’t try so bloody hard not to.”
John, the English form of Sean, was what Gabriel called his brother when he was hoping to get under Sean’s skin. It generally worked. “Well I can’t land a headmaster’s position speakin’ like a buck eejit bogger, now can I?”
Gabriel stopped chewing. “I sound like a buck eejit bogger?”
“No.” Sean pushed his plate back, never touching his food, and exhaled greatly. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not being very good company.”
“You goin’ to eat that?” Gabriel pointed to Sean’s burger.
Sean shook his head. “I’ve no appetite.”
Gabriel picked up the burger and took a hearty bite. “What’s eatin’ at yer gut, Brother?”
Sean looked at Gabriel. Maybe he should bend his brother’s ear a little. Perhaps it would persuade Gabriel to tell Sean what was eating his gut—if anything was. “Toby Patterson.”
“Toby who?”
“Patterson…the boy you talked to on the bench. He’s a mute like Joseph was. Toby hasn’t spoken to anyone in over a year.”
“Joseph’s still a bloody mute. I hardly hear four words out of the wee lad’s mouth a week at a time.” Gabriel took another large bite and chewed vigorously.
Sean nodded, knowing Gabriel was right about their youngest brother. “The quiet one,” Joseph had been duly dubbed. He leaned forward on his elbows and kept his voice down, not wanting the other diners to overhear him. “Toby Patterson suffered a great shock. His father murdered his mother and tried to kill Toby; the boy barely survived. His arms are covered in scars from the attack.”
“Dear God.” Gabriel made a face and tossed the last bit of the burger back on the plate.
“Aye,” Sean breathed. “That’s why I was so surprised he would be waiting on his father.”
“Wonder what made him talk to me?”
“Yes, I just was wondering the same thing. Think, Gabe. What could you have said that might have made him speak?”
“Nothing really.” Gabriel took a long sip of his Coke, wiped his mouth, and wadded the paper napkin in his hand. “I just walked up and asked him if he minded I sit down.”
“Did he answer you?”
“No, the wee lad didn’t say anything—just ignored me and kept rocking back and forth. So I sat down anyway and introduced meself. Said, ‘I’m Gabriel by the way.’”
“And?”
“And that’s when the wee fellah finally stopped rocking, looked up at me as if I was Christ himself, and said, ‘You’re Gabriel?’”
“And what did you say?” Sean asked impatiently.
Gabriel looked at Sean funny. “I said, ‘aye.’”
Sean rubbed his hands over his face in a flustered manner that Gabriel took personally.
“Well, what was I supposed to say?”
“You did fine,” Sean assured him. “It just doesn’t make sense, that’s all.”
“Maybe the lad’s off in the head a bit. Wouldn’t you be?”
“Did he seem off in the head to you, Gabe?”
“No.” Gabriel admitted. “No, he didn’t.”
By the time they reached the school, Sean had made up his mind to spend the afternoon at the stables. A new load of hay needed putting up, and he desperately needed to work his back. For all his time at university and two years of teaching school, Sean had yet learned to think something through without the balm of a good sweat.
“Why are we stopping here?” Gabriel asked as Sean parked in front of the administration building.
“There’s a fair amount of hay needs putting up, so I thought I’d help. But first I must change clothes and tell Dr. Middleton about Toby Patterson. He’ll need to report what happened this afternoon to Toby’s caseworker. Come in with me…meet my boss.”
“No thanks.” Gabriel put his head back and closed his eyes. “I’ve met enough principals for my lifetime. I’ll just stay here and steal a few winks.”
“Fair enough,” Sean chuckled and started to get out of the car but hesitated.
Gabriel peeked at him through a slit in one eye. “What?”
“You do know I’m always here if you need me…don’t you, Gabe?”
“Oh, God,” Gabriel moaned and turned toward the window.
“No, listen. You’re my brother, and—for what it’s worth, I love you.”
Gabriel batted his eyes like he’d done to the waitress. “I love you too, Seany.” He then puckered his lips and made smooching noises.
“Amadán!” Sean said and got out of the car.
“Gobshite!” Gabriel replied, laughing, as the door slammed. He watched his brother climb the steep, concrete steps then reached into the old military jacket and pulled out a silver and leather flask. “I love you too, Seany. Cheers,” he said quietly, raising the flask in toast before taking a healthy drink. The whiskey warmed Gabriel’s throat as he closed his eyes and felt for the letter from Tess he’d kept next to his heart since she’d given it to him. “For once in my bloody life, I wanted to do the right thing and—” He took another pull on the flask. “Bugger ’em all, Tess, me girl. Bugger ’em all.”
***
Visibly overjoyed with his new stable assignment, Jamal grinned from ear to ear as he stood in the dusty stable yard, listening to Sean explain the effects of poor ventilation on hay. “Find this all that interesting, do you, Jamal?” he asked, cocking a teasing brow at the boy. Jamal nodded excitedly, making Sean laugh. If all students were like Jamal, teaching wouldn’t be called a thankless profession.
Once Gabriel and Matthias had checked the bales for any early signs of rot, they were ready to begin. “Jamal,” Sean said, “why don’t you help my brother in the loft?”
“Okay!” Jamal exclaimed and scampered over to stand beside Gabriel.
Gabriel looked down at his helper, the smallest boy of the lot, then back at his brother. “This is my helper?”
“Yes,” Sean replied. “And lucky you are because Jamal’s a hard worker, so he is.”
“Oh, aye?” Gabriel examined Jamal carefully, front and back. “Where’s the rest of ’im?” he asked, making the other boys roar with laughter.
“That will do,” Sean said firmly, instantly squelching them. “Give the lad a chance, Gabe. Jamal is stronger than he looks.”
“Is that true?” Gabriel asked Jamal, who had dropped his head in embarrassment. The little boy shrugged. Grimacing, Gabriel leaned down and tried to repair the damage his tease had caused. “Let me see your muscle then, mate, and I’ll judge for meself.”
Not looking up, Jamal shook his head.
Sean started to approach, but his brother waved him back. Sure, Sean was the expert, but Gabriel didn’t need a piece of sheepskin to understand a man needed his pride. He squatted down in front of the child. “Jamal,” he whispered, “you’re making me look bad in front of me brother, mate. I was just raggin’ you a little. It’s what fellahs do. You have to learn to take a wee bit of raggin’ and serve it back twofold. Understand?”
A set of large, brown eyes glanced up at Gabriel, looking doubtful, but Jamal nodded nonetheless.
“All right then…that’s better. Now play along with me this time.” He stood back up and asked again, “Jamal, show us that muscle.” To Gabriel’s dismay, the child shook his head again. “Jamal!” He went quickly back down on his knee and whispered impatiently, “You’re killin’ me, mate. What’s wrong now?”
Jamal leaned over and cupped his hands over Gabriel’s ear. “Don’t g-got a b-big muscle. They’ll j-just laugh at m-me again.”
“Ah, I see.” Gabriel scratched his scruffy chin contemplatively then asked, “Can you run fast, mate?”
Jamal smiled slightly. “Kinda.”
&
nbsp; “Grand. Let’s you and me give this another try.” He winked at the boy and once again stood to face the patiently waiting onlookers. “Jamal, if you can beat me in a foot race to that hay loft, then I’ll be proud to have you as my helper. Deal?”
Jamal nodded.
“Fair play, Brother!” Sean exclaimed, knowing full well what Gabriel was up to. As older brothers, they’d each thrown the occasional race or wrestling match for the sake of improving Ronan, Cian, or Joseph’s mettle. Using his shoe, Sean drew a line in the dirt of the stable yard. “You better run fast, lad,” he warned Jamal, “because my brother runs like a cheetah.”
The boys counted down their start and cheered for Jamal as the two sprinted across the stable yard—neck and neck—then disappeared into the dark mouth of the barn. There was a sudden silence as they all waited with bated breath to see who would emerge first in the door of the loft. A howl of cheers erupted as Jamal popped up and proudly waved down to them. It was the broadest smile Sean had ever seen on the child’s face.
“All right, Knights of Norbury,” Sean announced, feeling the school’s team name rather befitting for a home of abandoned and abused boys. “That’ll be enough messin’ around for one day. The hay’s not going to stack itself!”
“Yes, sir!” the Knights of Norbury rang back in unison and scattered to their work.
Chapter 12
On Tuesday morning, as Sean and Dr. Middleton started the day over coffee in Sean’s office, a gathering chatter began to swell in the hall outside his door. “That would be our new volunteers.” Dr. Middleton hurriedly took his last gulp then stood, making sure his shirt was tucked properly and his tie straight. “I’m going to take them on a tour of the campus. When I’m finished, you can bring one of the vans around and drive them out to the stables. I want the ladies to get the red carpet treatment. Their time and efforts could be a big help to some of our boys.”
“Tour guide?” Sean said, complaining. “Why do they need to see the stables? Surely they aren’t going to tutor the students out there.”
“Giving campus tours is part of it, Sean. Better get used to it. When you’re running your own show, you’ll be proud to show off your campus — if you’re doing the job proper. Anyway, you can talk up the stables much better than I can.” He stopped at the door and smiled back at his intern. “Plus, I’m sure those women will be ready for a handsome young face after a morning with my ugly mug. Come to the dining hall in about an hour. I’ll introduce you while the ladies have refreshment.”
“Yes, sir,” Sean said obligingly, but plowed his face in his hands as soon as the door closed. He’d give almost anything to avoid having any part in Prissy Middleton’s volunteer program. Since Catie had come to him, brimming over with excitement about volunteering at Norbury, he’d suffered a festering guilt that had gnawed at him like a deep splinter embedded under the skin, irritating and always present. It wasn’t that he had reconsidered—quite the contrary. The more Sean thought of Catie teaching, the less he believed his wife suited for the profession. Still, he had dumped sand all over her spark of enthusiasm and felt a bloody heel for having done so.
“Take care of her,” Ben had said that night at the Green Man, when Sean had asked the man’s permission to marry his sister. Sean took those words to heart. Ben had entrusted him with Catie, handed over to Sean—another man—his beloved sister whom he’d raised as his own child. Since their first night together away from Pemberley, Sean had double-checked all the doors to make sure they were secure. He couldn’t rest his head until he was satisfied the gas was turned off, the thermostat at a comfortable temperature for her sleep, and her arms covered so she’d not wake with a chill. Sean liked taking care of Catie, wanted to take care of Catie—always.
The hour passed without event and faster than he would have liked. As the sun rose a bit higher in the sky, casting the day’s first shadows across his office wall, Sean watched with dread as the last ten minutes ticked away. He imagined Catie’s smiling, eager face among the other volunteers. He pictured her beaming proudly as he gave the stable tour and spoke of Norbury’s early success in the horse business. But Catie wouldn’t be there. He had discouraged her from participating—forbidding her essentially with his dogged resolve to be her ever present knight in shining armor. But he’d been wrong, and he bloody well knew it. Sean screwed shut his eyes and blew out a lung full of air. Finally, he had admitted it to himself, but the revelation didn’t lessen his remorse. Unlike pulling the bedcovers up to her neck before going to sleep each night, standing between Catie and the world she lived in wasn’t taking care of her. “Or reasonable, or fair,” he admonished himself aloud as he pushed away from the desk. “Then again,” he reminded himself, “reason and fairness don’t always serve one’s greater good.”
Sean strode into the dining hall where approximately eleven ladies sipped coffee or tea from Styrofoam cups and nibbled on tea biscuits. He scanned his audience with a slight, congenial smile but stopped short when his eyes fell on his wife. “Catie?” he exclaimed, stunned and harsh enough to make her cheeks glow.
She smiled nervously at him but spoke with purposeful dignity. “Sean, darling, allow me to introduce you to everyone.” Her poise never faltering, she went mechanically through the introductions as he responded as politely as was possible for a man whose insides were boiling.
He needed to take her aside. Something needed to be said, but for the life of him, he could figure out what. “Kindly pardon us for a moment,” Sean told the women pleasantly once Catie had named each one and he had nodded accordingly. “I need a wee word,” he whispered in his wife’s ear as he took hold of her elbow and marched her from the dining hall.
The heavy, institutional door closed hard behind them and echoed at the other end of the polished hall. Out of view and completely separated from the others, Catie jerked from his grasp. “Unhand me!” she hissed angrily. “The way you ushered me off, those women probably think you brought me out here to bash me about.”
“What are you doin’, Catie?” Sean folded his arms across his chest, seeking a certain degree of intimidation.
In response, she raised her chin and replied, “I think you know very well what I’m doing.”
“I don’t fancy playing word games. I’d like and deserve a straightforward answer. Why didn’t you tell me you had decided to take the volunteer position against my advice?”
“Because I knew telling you would result in this…a row. Sean, I listened to what you said and thought carefully through every word. I just didn’t come to the same conclusion as you.” Her voice was strained, and Sean thought she might be near tears.
He uncrossed his arms and gently took hold of her shoulders. “I was only trying to protect you, mo chailín.”
Her mouth firmly pressed, Catie stepped back and declared, “As you can plainly see, I’m not in need of protecting. I’ve been here all morning and haven’t yet shattered into pieces.”
Sean gave her a lengthy, speculative look then leaned forward and replied in a low, flat voice, “And as you can plainly see, I’m not your brother, so you’re doing naught but wastin’ time playin’ the spoilt, daddy’s girl schemes on me.”
“Is that what you think?” she asked in disbelief. “You think I’m here just to prove to my husband that I’ll have my way…like a willful child?” When he didn’t answer, Catie moved to brush by him but he put out a hand and stopped her. “I must get back,” she said, not looking at him.
“I’m not finished.” His tone was softer but commanding. It was the tone he often used during their lovemaking, and her heart felt suddenly tight as if someone had squeezed it unmercifully. Sean had spoken that way on their wedding night — the very first time he had made love to her. “You’re mine, Catherine Elizabeth Kelly,” he had triumphantly pronounced, putting a distinct emphasis on her new surname as his hands explored her freely for the first time.
Catie glanced up at him, but the intense blue gaze she met with wasn’t fi
lled with passion; he was angry. “Well I am.” She stepped around his outstretched hand and returned to the dining hall.
***
There was a loud, somewhat unbearable silence in the car as Catie stole a wary, sidelong glance at Prissy Middleton, who had invited her to lunch. Prissy’s lips were drawn tight as she navigated the turns of Lafayette Square, and Catie began to question whether she should have accepted the invitation. When Sean had finally come to take the volunteers out to the stables, he was collected and professional but nothing of his usual, good-humored self. Of course, Catie realized their friction hadn’t escaped notice, especially from Prissy, who knew him best. Still, Prissy Middleton was her friend, a fellow female, and Catie had to admit to being a trifle miffed if Prissy was taking Sean’s side—particularly before she’d heard Catie’s. Even Mrs. Taylor, the eldest member of their standing Wednesday tea, had pulled Catie aside and said, “I don’t know what you’ve done to get that man of yours in such a tizzy, honey, but mark my words, and stand your ground. A new husband is like a puppy; either train them right from day one, or they’ll be marking their territory all over everything for the next fifty years.”
As the car headed into the long stretch of road alongside Colonial Park Cemetery, Catie looked out her window at the old graveyard—hallowed ground enclosed and protected by a tall, wrought iron fence. Buried there were Savannah’s earliest citizens, the victims of the 1820 Yellow Fever Epidemic, and countless numbers of men who had fallen in duels of honor. The Spanish moss, hanging grey and mournful, gave even the trees a grief-stricken appearance. Glancing back once more at Prissy, Catie was beginning to think that the inhabitants of Colonial Park might have a better chance of lively lunch conversation than she.
At Reynolds Square, their final destination, Prissy parallel parked on a side street, took off and stored her sunglasses above the visor, then turned to Catie. “Hungry?”
Braving an answering smile, Catie nodded, and to her great relief, the smile was instantly reflected.
Together they ascended the steps of The Olde Pink House—a favorite haunt of Hugh and Prissy Middleton—and stepped inside what had been the eighteenth-century mansion’s grand foyer. The wide, marble hall now housed a reception station where several hostesses were busy organizing and stacking menus, answering ringing telephones, and greeting patrons.
The Heart Does Whisper (Echoes of Pemberley Book 2) Page 15