A Worthy Heart

by Susan Anne Mason

  And unfortunately it wasn’t Philip Reardon.

  “There’s a woman on the telephone wanting to speak to Mr. or Mrs. Montgomery. I hate to disturb them. . . .”

  Maggie turned from the sink to see an agitated Sister Veronica in the doorway. “It’s all right, Sister. I’ll take it.”

  Maggie dried her hands and made her way to Rylan’s office, where she picked up the receiver and spoke into the mouthpiece. “This is Maggie Montgomery. May I help you?”

  The woman on the other end identified herself as the O’Learys’ housekeeper. “I’m afraid I’m phoning with unpleasant news.” The woman hesitated. “Mr. O’Leary wanted Miss Colleen to know that her mother has taken ill with typhoid fever.”

  Maggie sucked in a breath. This was the first time they’d heard of any other case of typhoid outside of the orphanage. “What about the others in the family?”

  “So far no one else has been affected.”

  “Thank goodness. Is there anything else you’d like me to pass on?”

  “Please tell Miss Colleen we’re praying for Delia and all the children.”

  “I will. Thank you for calling.” Maggie hung up the receiver and remained seated at the desk. She hated to add to Colleen’s burden with this latest piece of distressing news. Knowing Colleen, she’d want to be in two places at once. And she was already turning herself inside out over Delia.

  Maggie found her thoughts turning, as they so often did, to Adam. Despite his strained relationship with his parents, Maggie felt certain he’d want to know about his mother. A pang of regret wrenched her heart. It had been over a week since she’d seen or heard from him. She missed the comfort of his presence, for whenever he was working on the grounds, she always felt safe.

  Recalling his last words about how she could reach him, Maggie picked up the receiver of the phone again, waited for the operator, and then asked to be connected to the Shepherd of Good Hope Church. Nerves dampened her palms as she waited for an answer. At last, a man’s voice came over the line.

  “Hello. Reverend McNabb speaking.”

  “Good day. I hope you can help me. I’m trying to reach Adam O’Leary.”

  There was a subtle pause. “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “My name is Maggie Montgomery. I’m related to Adam’s sister by marriage.”

  “Oh yes. Adam told us about the situation at the orphanage. I hope everything’s all right.”

  It would be so easy to tell this man the news and let him impart it to Adam. But the selfish side of Maggie wanted to tell Adam in person—and be there to offer whatever comfort or support she could. “The children are holding their own. But I have something I need to discuss with Adam, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’m afraid he isn’t staying at the church any longer.”

  A cold ball of fear settled in Maggie’s stomach. “Where is he, then?”

  Silence hummed over the line for several seconds. “Adam is . . . doing some renovations at a store on 14th Street. There’s no phone installed, but I could get a message to him, if you like.”

  Maggie paused to digest this new information and made an instant decision. “No, thank you. I’ll make sure someone finds him and tells him the news in person. Where is this shop?”

  “On 14th Street near the corner of 4th Avenue. Beside the general mercantile.”

  “Thank you so much for your help, Reverend.” She hung up the receiver before he could ask any more questions.

  Her heart beat a wild rhythm as her common sense warred with her emotions. By all rights, she should heed her brothers’ advice and avoid Adam. Adam himself had made it clear that he would not entertain a romantic relationship with her. Yet she could not forget the power of the kiss they’d shared and the host of emotion it evoked within her. Never in her life had she felt anything like it. She had to believe something so intense could not be wrong, that God had brought them together for a reason. And so she would take advantage of this small opportunity to see Adam again, if only for a few minutes.

  Leaving the orphanage should not be a problem, but she would check with Dr. Reardon to be sure. Then, once she was cleared, she’d set out to find Adam and this mysterious store.

  22

  AFTER WALKING THREE BLOCKS from the streetcar stop, Maggie paused to catch her breath, hoping she hadn’t made a huge mistake by coming here. This area of town appeared rougher than Rylan’s neighborhood, although perhaps the streets were merely unfamiliar, making them appear ominous.

  Images of Neill Fitzgerald rose up to plague her. She hadn’t thought of him in days, so consumed had she been with the epidemic at St. Rita’s. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder and across the street. None of the people appeared out of the ordinary.

  She offered a quick prayer for protection and hoped Adam wouldn’t be too angry with her for coming to find him on her own. Surely once he heard the reason, he’d understand.

  Maggie crossed the road and hastened in the direction of the awning-covered stores farther down the avenue. She passed a woman’s dress shop and a haberdashery before coming to the mercantile Reverend McNabb had mentioned. Next to it, a door had been propped open. Dust and dirt swirled out onto the walkway, forcing Maggie to stop before her shoes and skirt became soiled.

  A second later, Adam emerged, wielding a broom like a weapon. When he turned and saw her, his eyes widened, and the handle slipped from his fingers. “Maggie? What are you doing here?”

  He wore a burlap apron tied haphazardly at his waist, his plaid shirt rolled up past his elbows. Seeing him there in front of her, so solid and real, caused a mixture of relief and joy to rush through her. “What kind of welcome is that, Mr. O’Leary?” she teased.

  A splash of pink stole across his cheeks as he retrieved the broom. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Have you forgotten about Fitzgerald?”

  She lifted her chin. “There’s been no sign of him for some time now. And I took the streetcar. I was perfectly safe with all the passengers.”

  His frown deepened. “How did you find me?”

  “Reverend McNabb told me where you were. May I come in?”

  He scratched his head. “I . . . um . . . I haven’t finished cleaning.”

  “A little dirt won’t kill me.” She laughed and brushed a hand over her skirt, hoping he wouldn’t notice she’d worn one of her best outfits.

  He shrugged and gestured for her to precede him. Once inside, she marveled at the rustic-yet-homey atmosphere. The building had a masculine quality that suited Adam. She could picture him working in such an establishment. The countertop gleamed, and the shelves behind it showed not a trace of dust.

  “I can see you’ve been busy. I understand you were hired to renovate the interior.”

  Another frown creased Adam’s brow. “John said that?”

  Maggie hesitated. “Not in those exact words. Did I misinterpret his meaning?”

  Adam stalked to the other side of the room, leaning the broom in a corner. “Why are you here, Maggie?” He whirled then, alarm evident in his eyes. “Is Delia worse?”

  She shook her head. “She’s holding her own for now. The doctor is optimistic that she’ll recover.”

  The relief that spread over his features made Maggie want to hug him. But she knew he would not welcome her touch.

  “Then why have you come? Does Rylan know you’ve gone?”

  “No.”

  His intense stare, meant as a scolding, did not intimidate her.

  She ignored his glower and moved to the rear of the room, inspecting the space as she went. Selfishly, she wanted to draw out this rare moment together. “This building has a lovely feel to it. What type of store will it be?”

  When he didn’t answer, she turned and pinned him with an arched look. “Well?”

  “A furniture store,” he ground out.

  Understanding dawned, and a quiet joy filled her soul. “You’re starting your own shop? That’s wonderful.” She swept out her arm. “How did you m
anage all of this?”

  “John McNabb arranged to rent the building.” Adam’s scowl seemed permanently etched on his face.

  “Where is the furniture? Back here?” Without waiting for a response, Maggie pushed through the swinging doors that led into a spotless work area, containing a long table and rows of neatly aligned tools hung on hooks. In the far corner, a large bin held piles of wood, ready for use. She gazed around in awe. Several chairs and stools in various stages of completion lined one wall. One piece in particular, a hope chest, made her breath catch. “These are beautiful, Adam. You have such a gift.”

  She turned to find him in the doorway, arms crossed, revealing corded forearms. Maggie couldn’t tell from his guarded expression what he was thinking.

  “It doesn’t mean the business will be a success.”

  She ran her fingers over a few of the metal tools, all meticulously arranged. “At least you have the courage to try.” She stopped in front of him. “I’m proud of you, Adam.”

  The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he moved behind the workbench, as though he couldn’t bear to be near her. “You still haven’t said why you’ve come. You must have a reason.”

  She repressed a quiet sigh. She’d been delaying, wanting to stretch out their time together, when in reality she had no right.

  “I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news,” she said at last, “and I wanted to tell you in person.”

  Adam grew still and fought for control over the tidal wave of emotion running riot through his system. Having Maggie so near was wreaking havoc with his senses. She looked so beautiful in a green dress and matching hat, her luxurious hair falling to her waist. With great effort, he pulled his attention back to her words and drew in a ragged breath. “What news?”

  Her eyes clouded with sympathy. “Your mother has contracted typhoid fever. The housekeeper phoned to let us know.” She skirted the work table and moved toward him. “I had to come and tell you.”

  The wood of the wall behind him bit into his back. “How bad is it?”

  She moved closer. “Serious enough, or your father wouldn’t have had Mrs. Johnston call.”

  A thousand thoughts invaded Adam’s mind. What should he do? Would he be welcome at Irish Meadows after leaving on such terrible terms mere weeks ago? Worse yet, had his accusations against his mother contributed to her ill health?

  A warm hand on his arm brought his head jerking up.

  Maggie stood so close he could see the flecks of green and gold in her gray eyes. Smell the lavender of the soap she used.

  “You must go to her, Adam. If anything were to happen . . .”

  Bands of tension seized his shoulders. He needed air. Pushing past her, he strode through the main part of the store and out onto the walkway, where he leaned against a metal lamppost as if to draw strength from its solidity.

  His mother could be dying. Maggie was right. No matter the consequences, he had to see her again and try to make amends before it was too late. With a deep breath, he turned and found Maggie watching him from the open doorway, her features awash in sympathy.

  “I’m sorry to bring you such dire news.” She held a handkerchief crushed between her fingers. “I know the type of fear you must be feeling. We’ve been keeping watch ’round the clock with Delia.”

  Adam took a closer look at her face, calling himself every kind of fool. How had he missed the dark circles under her eyes and the pinch of fatigue around her lips? She’d been through torture since he’d left, having to give Ivy back, worrying over Delia, tending the sick. Yet here she was, concerned enough about him to travel across town.

  “Thank you for telling me, Maggie.” He peered at her. “Are you keeping well yourself?”

  She gave a thin smile. “Healthy as a mule, thank goodness. Though I wouldn’t be adverse to a good night’s sleep after all this is over.”

  He wanted to smile in return, to speak his heart to her, but he knew there was no point. Instead, he nodded. “I’d best lock the store. Then I’ll accompany you back to the orphanage before I catch the train to Long Island.”

  Maggie entered the orphanage kitchen and found Sister Veronica already at work, pots of water heating on the stove, a mound of peeled potatoes sitting on the counter.

  “I’m back, Sister. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to start the potatoes.”

  The nun sniffed. “That’s all right. I needed something to keep me busy anyway.”

  Maggie looked up from tying an apron around her waist, alarmed at the tears slipping down the woman’s cheeks.

  “What is it?” Maggie whispered.

  Sister Veronica dabbed a limp handkerchief to her cheek. “We’ve lost another dear soul.”

  Please God, no. Maggie swallowed the swell of fear in her throat. “Not Delia.”

  The nun shook her head. “No, though she’s had a setback. As did little Johnnie, and his poor heart couldn’t take it.”

  Maggie clutched the counter for support. With his impish charm, Johnnie Feeney had been a favorite at St. Rita’s.

  Maggie sniffed back her own tears and moved to the sink. “Let’s get the food cooking, and I’ll go and set the table.”

  Sister Veronica gave a final wipe of her face, pocketed the piece of linen, and straightened her back. “You’re right. We still have others in our care. There will be time to mourn later.”

  Maggie moved through her chores with swift determination, and when she found a moment to take a break, she went to check on Delia’s condition.

  She entered the hushed area and crossed to the far side of the room. The grief on Rylan’s face made Maggie want to weep. Colleen’s crumpled figure, twisted over the edge of the bed, spoke of tragedy.

  Slowly she approached the bed. “Rylan?”

  Her brother lifted his head, his normally luminous eyes now hollow and bloodshot. “Pray for her, Maggie. Aurora’s gone to find Dr. Reardon at the hospital. We don’t know if Delia will make it. . . .”

  A strangled groan erupted from Colleen on the bed. “Why is God punishing us, Rylan? First He takes Ivy away and now Delia.”

  Rylan gathered Colleen to him. “We have to have faith, love. Delia is strong. She could still pull through.”

  Colleen’s tangled auburn hair quivered as she sobbed on Rylan’s shoulder.

  For a minute, sorrow paralyzed Maggie, rooting her to the spot. She couldn’t break further bad news to Colleen about her mother right now. She’d wait and see how Delia passed the night and make a decision in the morning.

  Maggie stiffened her spine and crossed the room to the prayer corner the nuns had created. She lifted the Bible from the table, then returned and took a seat beside Delia’s bed. She couldn’t do much, but she could pray. In a strong voice, she began to recite Psalm 27. “‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life. . . .’”

  Gabe pushed out the rear door of the orphanage and strode across the back lawn. A forgotten baseball mitt, a skipping rope, and a rubber ball lay strewn across the grass, all evidence of normal children’s lives that had been disrupted. An uncommon anger gripped him, almost crushing the air from his lungs.

  Why had the Lord allowed this to happen to these innocent children who already had enough sorrow in their young lives?

  Johnnie Feeney had been a happy soul, who, despite his orphan status, had tried to cheer the other children when they were sad. And now he was gone. Just like that. Just like Delia could be gone, as well.

  Gabe bent to retrieve the mitt and ball, blinking back moisture that stung his eyes. Never had he seen his brother so helpless, so bereft of hope that even prayer didn’t ease his mind. He loved Delia as much or more than any biological child he could have had. What would he and Colleen do if they lost their daughter?

  Gabe sank down on an overturned crate and hung his head over his knees, wishing there was something he could do to help his family. Wishing he could find the words to pray.

  The sound of material swi
shing over the grass barely registered in his brain until a warm hand landed on his shoulder.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Aurora’s sweet voice infused his soul with hope.

  He looked up at her. “You can tell me Delia’s regained consciousness.”

  Her sad eyes told him everything. “I wish I could,” she said softly.

  “Why could it not be me instead? Why these poor children? I ate here many a time, yet why has God spared me?”

  “I don’t have the answers, Gabe. No one does, except God himself.”

  He pushed to his feet. “I hate feeling so helpless with nothing to do but wait.”

  “It’s the worst feeling ever, especially when it’s someone you love.” A tear rolled down Aurora’s cheek.

  “Ah, darlin’, don’t cry. Please.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “I’m sorry. I came out here to help and I’ve made things worse.” She dabbed her face with the square of linen.

  “Shh. You’re doing everything you can to help your patients.”

  “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

  A shudder went through her frame, and Gabe couldn’t hold back. He reached out to pull her to him, rubbing his hands over her back. Her head rested on his chest, causing a bundle of emotion to riot through his system. For weeks now, he’d been fighting his feelings for this woman, so brave and beautiful and kind. Not once did she think of herself and her own welfare, but worked tirelessly to see to the children’s comfort.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re doing the best you can.”

  She didn’t answer but held tightly to him, as if through their physical connection, they could share each other’s pain and find the strength to carry on.

  Behind them, the back door slammed, and Aurora jerked from his arms.

  Dr. Reardon came down the stairs. “Miss Hastings, is everything all right?” The disapproving scowl on the man’s face did not match the tone of his question.