Miracle of Love

by Victoria Chancellor

  They talked for just a little longer about Colin's health, then Erina said good-bye. As she hung up the phone, Grant and Mr. Abbott came out of the office.

  "Erina, I'd like you to talk to someone."

  "Of course," she said, surprised that he had something else planned at the office. She supposed that anything to prolong her ordeal with his mother would be welcome, but the waiting was beginning to set her nerves on edge.

  She walked beside Grant down a row of offices, stopping in front of one that read "Conference Room" on the door.

  "Do you remember when I asked if you would give your fingerprints to a private investigator?"

  "Yes."

  "Brian managed to get in touch with him. He's waiting inside. If you would, give him some information and he'll take your prints."

  "And what will he be doin' with my fingerprints?"

  "He'll check police and government databases to see if you match anyone on file."

  "I won't, you know," she said, looking up into his blue-green eyes. "I'm not from your time."

  "That's why I want him to check you out. If he doesn't find anything, then INS won't either. We'll be in much better shape to face whatever questions they have for us--"

  "You will be, you mean. I know perfectly well where I'm from."

  "If you don't want to do this, just say so." Grant paused with his hand on the door knob.

  "I don't mind," she replied, but inside a lump formed in her chest when she thought that Grant didn't believe her--and probably never would."

  The private investigator took only a few minutes to "print" her. He used a special kind of ink that seemed invisible, but then turned black on the paper. And he asked only a few basic questions about her place of birth and other numbers and identifications, which she didn't have. Grant told him to forget using her date of birth. The man looked at him strangely, but nodded. Throughout the whole ordeal, Erina kept thinking about how many lies they'd told, and how many they were yet to tell to his mother.

  A few minutes later, he was gone. Grant said, "We're finished here. Are you ready for dinner?" He opened the door for her.

  "I'm not sure I can eat a thing," she answered honestly, queasy at the thought of how they were deceiving the people important to him. He hadn't talked about his mother, about what kind of woman she was. Erina had no idea what to expect, but in any case, she would have been nervous even without the lies.

  "Don't worry. We won't eat right away. Mother will want to put us on the grill for a while and watch us sizzle."

  "She's not that bad," Mr. Abbott added, joining them in the hallway.

  "I think you're prejudiced," Grant said with a smile.

  "Hmm."

  "Perhaps dinner would be more pleasant if you went without me," Erina volunteered.

  "No way," Grant said. "We're in this together. Don't forget that."

  #

  Grant's mother was as intimidating as every other society matron Erina had ever met. Tall, slim, with a regal bearing, she stood in the foyer of her home like a queen receiving subjects. Her eyes were wide and deep set, looking down at Erina like she were a thief come to steal the silver--or the son.

  "Mother, may I present Erina O'Shea, recently of Ireland?" Grant said formally, yet with a bit of a smile.

  "Erina, this is my mother, Virginia Kramer Kirby."

  "Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Erina replied, resisting the urge to curtsy at the tall, blond-haired woman. Instead, she stood a little straighter.

  Mrs. Kirby extended her hand and Erina shook it tentatively. There was no warmth involved in the handshake; it was polite at best. She reminded herself to be as gracious as possible; this was Grant's mother and he must love her, even if he didn't talk about her.

  "Welcome to Houston," Mrs. Kirby said, crossing her hands in front of her.

  "Thank you." Erina looked around the entryway to the large brick home. A decorative gilt paper covered the bottom half of the walls, with cream walls above it and light, almost golden stained wood around the tall window and along the floor. A large mirror hung above an ornate white and gold credenza, it's doors painted with twining vines and flowers. Overhead, a gold and crystal chandelier glistened in the afternoon sun.

  Jerrold Kirby's mother would have loved this entry hall.

  "How about something to drink before dinner, Mother?" Grant finally asked when the silence stretched too long.

  "Of course. Where are my manners? But Erina seemed so interested in the decor," she added with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Please, come into the library and we'll have some wine. I received an excellent vintage just the other day."

  Grant again reached for her hand, this time holding on while they walked down a short hallway next to an impressive staircase.

  "I hope dinner didn't ruin any of your plans," Grant said as they took a seat in a dark, masculine-looking room. Bookcases lined a fireplace. The walls were a dark red, matching the red, black and gold patterned rug over the hardwood floors.

  Erina sat next to Grant on a cane-back, leather settee. She resisted the urge to slide closer on the uncomfortable piece of furniture, sitting up straight and trying to appear confident when that was the last thing in the world she felt.

  "Just a tennis game at the club," Mrs. Kirby answered. "We're getting ready for the tournament."

  "My mother is a great tennis player," he told Erina. "She took the trophy last year in the senior division at the country club."

  Mrs. Kirby twirled around, a white knuckled grip on a bottle of wine in one hand, a cork extractor in the other. "Grant, why don't you do the honors while Erina and I have a chance to talk?"

  "Of course," he said, rising from the settee.

  Mrs. Kirby settled in a wing-back chair that resembled a throne. "Have you been in the U.S. long, Erina?"

  "No, not really." At least, not in this time, she told herself to justify the misconception. She'd been in Galveston for eight years by 1896.

  "And are you here visiting friends or on business?"

  "Well, actually--"

  "Mother, why don't you save the inquisition so I can join in the fun," Grant said, walking up with two glasses of white wine.

  "Really, Grant, there's no reason to be defensive," she said, taking a sip of wine. "Is there?"

  He handed a glass to Erina. "Not at all. But Erina is my guest. I don't want expect her to face one of your chats alone."

  "Honestly, Grant--"

  "You know I'm not exaggerating, Mother. You love to intimidate the common folk."

  "I do no such thing!"

  "Grant, please," Erina asked softly, "don't argue over me."

  "This isn't about you, sweetheart," he said, bringing his own glass of wine over and sitting beside her. "This is a long-standing disagreement we have."

  "That's not true. I can't imagine where you get these ideas. I'm just making conversation." Mrs. Kirby took a sip of her wine, her gaze on them.

  Erina felt a blush creeping into her cheeks at the endearment Grant had used. Although she knew the reason they were here--to explain her and Colin's relationship to Grant--she still wasn't used to thinking of herself as his "sweetheart."

  "Brian should be here soon," Grant said. "He wanted to bring his own car."

  "Yes, he told me he was coming," Mrs. Kirby said. "By the way, Erina, how long will you be staying in the U.S.?"

  "Mother!"

  "Well, what do you want me to say? I'm trying to find an acceptable topic of conversation."

  "Why don't you just wait for me to explain everything when Brian gets here?" Grant said, leaning back and placing his arm across the settee. Erina felt the brush of his fingers against her hair. Chills chased heat down her spine.

  A chime sounded. Erina jumped, but Grant placed his hand on her shoulder. "That must be Brian."

  "Maria will get it," Mrs. Kirby said.

  Silence descended for just a few seconds before Mr. Abbott's large, bear-like frame filled the doorway of the library.
/>   "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Traffic along Westheimer was a . . . awful."

  Erina watched Mrs. Kirby as she tracked Mr. Abbott with her gaze. Her face softened and she looked much less regal than when she'd greeted them. Odd, how the woman would appear warmer to a friend than to her own son.

  "Let me get you a glass of wine, Brian," Mrs. Kirby offered. "Or would you like something stronger?"

  "Scotch would be nice," he said, walking over to stand beside her. "I've got a feeling I might need it," he said in a low tone.

  "I may join you," Erina heard Mrs. Kirby whisper.

  As soon as they took their seats, Grant said, "So, is everyone ready to hear about Erina? I could wait until after dinner if you'd like."

  "No! That is, I'm sure we're all anxious to hear why Erina is here."

  Grant smiled. "I thought so. Well, it all started last fall when I went to Europe."

  Mrs. Kirby's brow drew together in a frown. "I don't remember a trip you made to Europe last year."

  "For climbing," Grant explained. "I'm not sure I even mentioned it. It was a very quick trip between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'm sure you were busy with your charities and the holiday season."

  "Perhaps," she replied, not appearing convinced.

  "Yes, it was a spur of the moment thing. I heard about a good place to climb in Ireland."

  "I thought you went to Europe."

  "Ireland is in Europe."

  "Did you go with one of your friends around here?"

  "No, I didn't go with anyone you know, Mother. Just a climbing instructor from Colorado."

  "Oh, I see," she said. Erina got the impression Colorado was a sore spot between mother and son. "So that is where you met Grant?" she asked Erina.

  "Yes," she replied, crossing her fingers in the folds of her skirt. Please forgive me for lying, she prayed silently. I'm doing this for Colin.

  Grant looked deeply into her eyes. "I forgot all about climbing when I saw Erina."

  "And where was that?"

  "Just in the village."

  "Um Hmm," she heard Brian Abbott murmur.

  "And what did you do there?" Mrs. Kirby asked her.

  "Do?"

  "Yes. Did you live there? Work there?"

  "I lived in the village with my da," Erina answered carefully. That was true. Before 1888, she'd never left their small village.

  "Her father was a landscape architect," Grant said.

  "He was a gardener," Erina whispered as she turned her head toward Grant.

  "Yes, I know," he whispered back, his breath hot against her ear. She shivered at the pleasurable chills that raced through her.

  He smiled and faced his mother again. "I'm afraid I swept her off her feet," he said, playing with a strand of Erina's hair. "She'd never met anyone as determined as I was."

  "You mean you took advantage of an innocent child," his mother said with censure in her voice.

  "No! He didn't take advantage of me," Erina said quickly, angry that Grant would make himself look so callous in front of his mother and his friend.

  "She's just saying that to make me look better," Grant added.

  "Um Hmm," Mr. Abbott murmured again, his lips against the glass of scotch.

  "That's a very touching story, but what does it have to do with why Erina is visiting us in Houston?"

  "Actually, she's visiting me in Galveston," Grant corrected. "You see, I had to leave Ireland after less than a week. Something came up and I couldn't stay any longer."

  Um Hmm," Mr. Abbott murmured.

  "I tried to contact Erina, but couldn't get through. I called the embassy, but that was during the budget crisis last year and the offices were closed. You remember all that lack of funding problem the government had last year?"

  Apparently Grant was weaving fact and fiction together. Erina watched as Mrs. Kirby nodded, her eyes narrowed in speculation. "So I take it you couldn't contact Erina for some time."

  "That's right. Then her father died and she had to move."

  Heavenly Father, forgive us, Erina silently prayed again, for our lies to this woman.

  "I'm sorry about your father, dear, but again, I wonder why you're here now."

  "I wasn't sure I could find your son, Mrs. Kirby," Erina said, glancing at Grant for moral support. He nodded. "I probably wouldn't have tried to find him, but you see, I . . . we . . ."

  "What Erina is trying to tell you is that my time in Ireland was very fruitful. We have a son."

  "Aye, a son named Colin," Erina continued quickly as color drained from Mrs. Kirby's face. "And he's a sweet child, just two months old, but he has a heart problem that needed an operation, and--"

  "And in any case, congratulations. You're a grandmother," Grant announced with a smile as Mrs. Kirby slumped back against her chair.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "I thought you should hear it from me first," Grant said as his mother regained her composure.

  "Grant, are you absolutely certain?" she asked, her voice sounding weak for the first time in years.

  "Yes, mother."

  "How did this happen?" she asked, a bit of panic in her voice.

  "The usual way, I suppose. The heat of passion and all that. Do you really want the details?"

  "Of course not! That was a rhetorical question."

  "Aren't you at least curious about your grandson?"

  "Grant, give me a moment, please. This is a shock."

  "Yes, Grant," Brian said, draining his scotch, "this whole story is a shock."

  Grant doubted much of anything would surprise Brian at this moment. He'd known the basic idea all along; he'd already expressed his displeasure.

  "What's this about a heart condition?" Grant's mother asked finally.

  "Colin was born with a hole in his heart," Erina explained. "He always looked blue around his mouth, his fingers and toes. The doctors . . . where I was said that they couldn't help him. That's why I needed Grant's help. I had to find a way to save my baby."

  "But if you couldn't find him before, how did you locate him? And why wait until after the baby's birth?"

  "I . . ."

  Maria entered the library. "Dinner is ready, Mrs. Kirby."

  "Of course. We'll be right there." She turned her attention back to Erina. "We can finish this later."

  Brian set his empty glass down on the butler's table and escorted Grant's mother out of the room.

  Grant took Erina's hand when she stood up. "You're doing great," he said. "Just keep with the story and we'll be fine."

  "Your mother thinks I made all this up to take your money."

  "Mother's always think that. Don't worry about it."

  "I won't be comin' between you and your family. Even Mr. Abbot is vexed with you. I feel like a cheat."

  "Don't." He traced a finger along the arch of Erina's cheek. The skin was as soft as Colin's. "The problem between my mother and me didn't happen because of you."

  "What then?"

  "I'm afraid I've never been the son she thought I should be. I didn't try hard enough when I was younger. I didn't go to the right college. I'm just not what she wanted in a child."

  "That's a horrible thing to say! How can you know what's in her heart? Surely she loves you just the same."

  "Let's just drop it, okay? My mother and I just don't want the same things from life and probably never will."

  "Grant, I . . . I feel bad that I'm makin' you look even worse in front of the people you love."

  "Are you sure that's what you're doing?" he asked, resisting the urge to kiss her soft lips.

  "I believe so," she whispered, leaning close.

  "Grant? Are you coming?" His mother's voice from the open doorway cut through the heavily charged room.

  "Yes, of course," he replied, taking Erina's arm and steering her toward the door. He pushed all thoughts of kissing Erina from his mind--at least for now.

  After they walked down the hall and into the dining room, Grant took a seat beside Erina. His moth
er already sat at the head of the table with Brian on her left. As Grant watched Brian across the polished expanse of mahogany, he wondered what his old friend was thinking. The conversation in the library had no doubt reinforced his opinion that Grant was certifiable.

  His mother rang for dinner to be served.

  "This is your great-great-grandmother's table," Erina whispered to him in an excited tone.

  "How do you know?" he asked, amused by the change in topic.

  "I'll have you know that I've polished it enough to know by sight," she replied in a hushed tone. "When your great grandfather was a boy, he carved his initials inside one of the legs, way up high so it couldn't be seen."

  "I'm sorry, dear. What did you say?" his mother asked.

  "Erina was just commenting that she believes your table is an antique."

  "Yes, it is. It was brought to Galveston by Grant's great-great-grandparents when they settled there from England."

  "I'm so glad it survived the hurricane," Erina said. "Grant told me about the storm and how the downstairs of the house flooded."

  Grant felt his stomach do a little flop. He'd never inquired about his mother's furniture. Although he knew Galveston's history and contributed to the historical society, he'd never felt any personal interest in the past except in very general family history. But that didn't mean there were initials carved on one of the legs. Erina's observation that the table had been in his family for generations could have been a lucky guess.

  Erina smiled at him. Her eyes said, "I told you so."

  Only the presence of his mother and Brian kept Grant from getting down on his knees and looking under the table for the initials. Erina was so sure they existed. Perhaps being confronted with the truth would help her come to grips with reality. There was no way she could guess about something like initials.

  "Do you have an interest in antiques, Erina?"

  "Yes, I suppose I do, ma'am." She looked around the room. Grant wondered what she thought of the heavy mahogany pieces set against the gold walls and light wainscoting. Did she have any other stories about specific pieces of furniture? He'd always liked this room, but it was only used for formal occasions--like dinner with the mother of the next generation of Kirbys. The soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

  Except his mother didn't know that yet. He hadn't dropped that bombshell.