Miracle of Love

by Victoria Chancellor

  He placed his hands against her warm cheeks and tilted her face up. "I'm not sure if I'm a gentleman as much as I am a man, but I'd never harm you," he said softly.

  She looked startled for just an instant, then her eyes grew soft and she seemed to melt against him. He felt the tentative brush of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her body, the womanly smell of her filling his senses. How could he not kiss her, again and again, until she said his name in a sigh of satisfaction?

  "Mr. Kirby? Ms. O'Shea?"

  He dropped his hands and stepped back, feeling as though the doctor had thrown a pitcher of ice water between him and Erina.

  "Doctor, do you have news of my son?" she asked, her mood changing in an instant.

  The surgeon looked tired but not grim-faced. "Yes, I do. Colin's surgery went very well. We were able to repair the obstruction. I'd expect a full recovery."

  "Oh, thank you! Thank you." She whirled around between the doctor in front of her and Grant behind her, as though she didn't know what to do.

  Grant solved that problem, placing his arms around her and holding her tightly, feeling her joy and energy like electricity, racing from her body to his. And then another feeling, warm and glowing, a joyous as a child's first Christmas, caused him to blink and hide his face in her hair for just a moment.

  Colin had survived the surgery. He was going to be okay .

  "He'll be in the ICU for the rest of the day and night, then he can probably be transferred back to a regular room."

  "Can I see him now?" Erina asked, sniffing, breaking away from Grant's embrace and facing the surgeon again.

  "In a little while. He's still in post-op. And don't be surprised that he's still under anesthetic. We keep the little ones sedated and restrained so they don't pull out their IV's and tubes. He'll have some bruising on his chest near the incision. It might look a little scary to you, but he's going to be fine."

  "Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much. This is truly a miracle." Erina clasped the surgeon's hands in what looked to be a very tight grip. He smiled in return.

  "I'll be around tomorrow to check on him."

  Erina whirled back to Grant as soon as the doctor left. "Did you hear? My Colin is going to be fine. Oh, I'm so happy I could dance with the joy of it!"

  "I'm happy too," Grant said, catching Erina's hands in his. "I'm happy for both of you."

  "I must thank Mary. She's the reason my Colin is alive today."

  "There's a chapel in another area of the hospital. If you'd like to go, I'll take you."

  "Yes . . . no, I'd like to go to St. Mary's, if the cathedral is still there. Do you know if it is?"

  "Yes, it is. As a matter of fact, there's a legend that as long as the statue of Mary is on top the spire, the church will be safe. It survived the hurricane intact, with no major damage to even the windows."

  "The Holy Mother protects her own, I'm here to say," Erina said joyously. "Oh, can we go to the church? I'd be so grateful to give thanks to her there."

  "Sure. Do you want to wait to see Colin?"

  "Yes. I want to see my son, and then go to St. Mary's."

  "Your wish is my command," Grant said with a smile. At the moment, he felt like granting her any favor. Even if she pretended she was from the last century and that a miracle had occurred.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Erina enjoyed the drive to St. Mary's Cathedral, since the Cherokee didn't travel too fast this time, and she got a chance to see more of the changes that had taken place since 1896. When they'd gone to breakfast and to his home before, they'd stayed along the beach, on a road that Mr. Kirby--Grant--called Sea Wall Boulevard. He'd explained that the sea wall had been built after the hurricane of 1900, but Erina still had a difficult time understanding how the island had been raised so many feet and such a massive undertaking had been executed.

  She looked away from the scenery outside the window and watched him drive. Both of his large, work-roughened hands rested on top of the wheel that steered the Cherokee. He looked straight ahead, his nose straight, his chin solid and strong. She knew from memory that when he smiled, a rare occurrence indeed, a dimple appeared in his cheek.

  His hair brushed the collar of his jacket and slightly curled under. She wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. She wished she could reach out and touch the tawny curl, much as she would Colin's hair. But there was nothing childish about how her imagination seemed to be working. The feelings Grant inspired in her were not motherly, and definitely not appropriate. Not when he'd made it clear that he would accept her affections--and that he wouldn't take them forcefully.

  She was simply a guest in his time, and whether she stayed forever or just a few days, she had to think of Colin first and not allow her own nature to lead her astray. She'd done that before with Jerrold Kirby and had more than learned her lesson.

  They drove through business and residential areas, passing many buildings that she recognized. The roads looked so very different though, and the vehicles--she'd learned that was the proper term for these modern carriages--parked along the sides of the road. So many of them! Did no one own a horse and buggy any longer?

  "Do the trolleys still run down Broadway?" she asked, craning her neck to see what she could as they crossed that major street. The Kirby mansion was close, along with many other homes that she hoped still stood.

  "No, just buses."

  "What are buses?"

  "Come on, Erina," he said in an exasperated tone.

  She continued to stare at him. Finally, he explained. "They're like trolleys, but not electric or pulled by mules. They have engines, like my Jeep. I think Galveston does have a trolley of sorts, but it's really a bus that looks like a trolley. There's a historic route and people pay to ride."

  "I'd like to ride this new trolley," she said, distracted as she looked ahead for the church. Above the large palm trees and oaks stood the statue of a pale gray Virgin Mary, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, rising behind the cathedral like a protective mother.

  "I think the parking lot is on the side of the church," he said as he pulled the Cherokee off the road and steered through an open area in a tall fence. He switched off the engine and turned to her. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

  "If you would like." In truth, she didn't know how she'd feel about having him inside the sanctuary as she gave her personal thanks for the miracle. She didn't even know if he was Catholic, although she suspected he was because all the Kirbys were.

  "I'll walk in with you, but I think I'll stay in the back."

  "I won't be long."

  "Take your time. It's good to be away from the hospital."

  "You needn't stay if you'd rather get back to your work," she said. "You've been more than generous with your time and money. I've been meanin' to tell you that I'll be payin' you back, but it might take awhile."

  "Erina, I don't want you to pay me back. And I wasn't complaining about being in the hospital so often or so long. I did what I did because I wanted to help Colin--and you. Whatever I gave you was a gift, not a loan."

  "But I'm understandin' that things are a lot more expensive now than I'm used to, and I know that you're not a wealthy man, so if--"

  He unfastened his seat belt and turned to face her. "What?"

  "Your hands. They're big and rough, like a workman. And you don't wear suits, just the denims and cottons of a working man. I'm not complainin', mind you. I think you look grand in them, but I know that you must work for your money, and needn't spend it on me and my son."

  "You can jump to the oddest conclusions of anyone I've ever seen. What are you trying to do, get me to admit how much I'm worth?"

  "Mr. Kirby! I'd be doin' no such thing. It's none of my business how much money you have, and it's not even proper to discuss it with you. I'm just informin' you that I'll pay you back when I can."

  "Erina, I won't accept a penny of your money. You're making me angry just talking about it."

  "I told you it wasn
't a proper subject."

  "And I told you I have plenty of money to take care of you and Colin," he replied, scowling at her.

  She would dearly love to ask him how he'd come by this money, if he indeed had any. Had he inherited it from his family? Surely that must be it. But if he did, he must still work--at something. Good manners forbade her from inquiring, no matter how she longed to know more about him. But how ironic that Jerrold Kirby's money was finally being used to help his son!

  "I'll just be goin' into the church then," she said when he remained silent.

  He got out of the Cherokee and walked around, opening her door forcibly. "You could have looked up my personal or family income in one of the Texas business journals." His eyes flashed and a muscle in his jaw where that dimple sometimes appeared, now jerked in repressed anger.

  "I don't know what you mean," she said warily, hoping he didn't become abusive when he was in a temper. She didn't believe he was the type of man who would strike a woman, even if he was more than willing to tell her what to do.

  "Don't you? Even though my mother is the primary stockholder, Kirby Investments is still my company. I run it. And we have assets in excess of $400 million."

  With that announcement, he took her arm and steered her toward the front doors of the church. She felt numb, her mind refusing to comprehend what he'd just said as her feet automatically moved her forward. As they neared a statue in the midst of a small garden, Erina dug in her heels and stopped.

  "$400 million dollars?"

  "Yes," he said before urging her on.

  Lord in heaven! How did one man, or even one family, acquire that kind of wealth? Even if tea cost five dollars a cup, $400 million dollars was too much to comprehend.

  But then she entered the vestibule of the church, passed through the heavy oak doors that she knew so well, and slipped inside the darkness of the rear of the church. Finally, something familiar.

  "Wait," she said, turning back toward the door. "I need to cover my head."

  "You don't need to do that any longer."

  "Are you certain?"

  "Yes. I remember clearly when my mother gave away an entire closet of hats to charity."

  "If you're sure . . ." She turned around and looked in wonder, expecting the cathedral to appear much the same as it did when it was only fifty years old, back in her time. But so much had changed! Instead of pews reaching almost to the doors, a strange sort of display had been erected. Colorful signs and banners, along with pamphlets of different sorts, covered the latticework walls and wooden table tops. There were brightly painted shields of each diocese, but she didn't recognize most of the names.

  No, not even her church was familiar any longer. That realization filled her with sadness and a longing for something solid and real in this new world.

  The holy water resided in the middle of this new area, so Erina knelt, touched her fingers to the liquid, and made the sign of the cross. At least that tradition had remained the same. As she walked up the aisle toward the altar, more changes became obvious. The beautiful gas lamps were gone, replaced by smaller ones that looked like they should hold candles, but appeared to have the glass bulbs she'd seen before in electric lamps. Gone was the communion rail. The whole area was now raised from the original floor by tiles of white and black marble. Behind the dais was a carved wooden piece that seemed too small for the area. Stained glass windows faced each other high on the wall, but sunlight did not shine into the church there. She imagined that a wall had been added which blocked the sun.

  Most of all, she thought as she approached the Virgin Mary's altar, the statue had changed. The face was different, looking down from a marble table instead of the sturdy oak one she remembered. But this was just an image of Mary, Erina told herself. She could still give thanks, even though nothing about the Holy Mother seemed the same.

  What had happened to her statue, the one she'd prayed before with Colin? It must have been replaced long ago by some well-meaning bishop or due to an accident or natural disaster. The fact that she'd transcended time, that she was here when the statue of Mary was long gone, struck her with awe.

  Erina knelt at the marble rail that fronted the statue. "Holy Mother, I'm here to give thanks to you for savin' the life of my son Colin. You granted my miracle, and guided the hands of the doctors as they operated on him. And I want to thank you also for sendin' me to this new time, and lettin' me experience all the wonders of this world."

  She stopped her prayer and turned toward the back of the church. Just as she thought, Grant Kirby sat in a back pew, hands folded across his chest, looking at her. $400 million dollars. That was unbelievable. Incomprehensible.

  She quickly looked away. Resuming her prayer, she closed her eyes and tried to block the sight of him. "I want to thank you for sendin' me into the care of Mr. Grant Kirby, who has been more than kind to me and Colin. And I ask for your blessin' on him also, because he really is a good man, even if he doesn't believe where I'm from.

  "In the name of Christ your son," she ended, crossing herself, "I pray."

  Erina stood, but still didn't turn back to the rear of the church. She needed to absorb the feeling of peace she'd always found in church, but with his eyes on her, she knew peace would elude her

  As she stood there, uncertain and confused about her feelings for Grant Kirby, a priest entered the church from a door beneath one of the stained glass windows above the dais. "Can I help you?"

  "Yes, Father. If you have time to hear my confession, I'd be very grateful."

  "Certainly. Evening mass isn't for another forty-five minutes. Come right over here."

  Erina looked at the place he'd indicated with a sweep of his arm towards the front of the church. Nothing more than a table with two chairs, and a tiny screen, it looked more like a place to dine than a confessional. Grant would be able to see her there, and she'd feel his eyes on her when she should be concentrating on seeking peace and forgiveness. Then she remembered the velvet draped confessional she'd seen in the back of the church.

  "Father, may I give my confession in other one? The closed one."

  "We don't use that one any more. It's merely a relic of the past."

  "But that the kind I'm accustomed to. Please, Father. It would mean so much to me."

  He hesitated, then nodded. "Just for you. Come."

  Erina followed the priest toward the back of the church, glancing just once at Grant. Her heart beat a little faster at his intense look. She slipped inside the confessional, feeling comfortable for the first time in such a long while. Here was something familiar, something from her own era.

  "Father, forgive me, for I have sinned," she began. "It has been two weeks since my last confession." Two weeks and a hundred years, she amended silently.

  The priest said his words, she responded, and then it was time to admit to her sins.

  "I doubted the power of the Blessed Virgin on one occasion, and lost my temper twice," she admitted. "And I was kissed by a man who is not my husband," she added hurriedly.

  "Are you married?"

  "No, Father."

  "Then that is no sin."

  "But Father, I . . . I felt . . . I felt lust for this man."

  "Did you act on this lust?"

  "No, Father."

  "Then you have committed no sin. Go in peace, my child."

  "But Father!"

  She heard the slide of the velvet curtain, then the faint footsteps of the priest as he walked away.

  She also thought she heard him chuckle.

  Erina frowned. Why hadn't the priest told her to say a dozen Hail Mary's, or give up something she enjoyed, or attend an extra mass? He didn't seem at all concerned that she'd admitted her feelings for Grant went beyond gratitude.

  Shaking her head, she exited the confessional. Near the back of the church, she saw him place some paper money inside an envelope and slide it into a slot on a wooden box. "Are you ready?" he asked, looking up as though he knew she'd be standing there
.

  "Aye, I'm ready," she said, still feeling a bit sour over the priest's dismissal of her confession.

  "Church must not agree with you. You don't look like you're in a good mood."

  "I'm just not understandin' this time of yours," she said peevishly. "Some people act more than a bit odd."

  With that, Grant Kirby burst into laughter--and in church, of all places!

  #

  Grant returned Erina to the hospital after buying her lunch on The Strand and listening to her "ooh" and "ahh" over the "changes." Probably since she'd been to Galveston last time, he thought to himself as he drove back to the condo, a year or so ago. And she was so excited by the horse drawn carriages standing along the streets that she'd spooked one normally placid animal. Grant had slipped the driven a ten and apologized for Erina's exuberance. She was from the country, he said softly so she wouldn't hear, as if that explained her unusual behavior.

  She was not from 1896, despite her convincing portrayal of an young, innocent, Victorian, Irish-Catholic . . . What? She wasn't old enough or worldly enough to be a woman, but she was a mother. Grant had no doubt that Colin was her son. She loved that baby too much to be anything else.

  She was too damned young, that was for sure. Too young to be a mother, too young for him . . .

  He pulled into a parking spot near the elevators and slammed the door of the Cherokee. He couldn't get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how many times he told himself she was not his problem. No matter how often he told himself to make sure the baby had what he needed and forget about the mother.

  The cold front that had come through on Saturday was rapidly dissipating in the warm breeze off the gulf. As he opened the door of the condo and stepped inside the air-conditioned comfort, he again wondered how Erina had managed to break in without setting off the alarm system. He knew he'd turned it on before slipping into bed. In many ways, he'd become a creature of habit--mostly out of necessity. Being a real estate mogul did not come naturally.

  He hadn't wanted to run his father's business. He'd wanted to become a geologist and was well on his way to his undergraduate degree when his father had died.