A Worthy Heart

by Susan Anne Mason

  The officer nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  The cold light of dawn crept through the window in the hospital waiting room where Maggie stood, staring out. She’d hoped the coming of morning would erase the bleakness from her soul, but the light did little to ease her fears. She’d spent most of the night pacing the room, unable to rest. Each time she closed her eyes, all she could envision was Adam’s lifeless face as the ambulance took him away.

  After she’d given all the information she could to the constable, he had kept his word and driven her and Rylan to the hospital. Partway through the night, she’d sent Rylan home, insisting that Colleen would be frantic and that Maggie would be fine on her own. Adam had been taken into surgery, leaving her with nothing to do but wait . . . and pray.

  Pray that Neill hadn’t killed him.

  A sob caught in her throat, but she pushed it back. She had to stay strong. If Adam made it through the operation, he would need her strength to help him recover.

  Maggie stared at her discolored hands clasped on her lap. She hadn’t wanted to wash away that last contact with Adam—the visible reminder of his sacrifice, of the precious blood he’d spilled for her. Adam had lost everything—his shop, his dream for the future, perhaps his very life—all because of her. She’d brought nothing but disaster to the man she loved.

  In the stillness of the empty room, Maggie fought to hold on to her faith. To feel that God cared what happened to her and to Adam. That He had everything under control.

  Where are You, Lord? I need You. Adam needs You.

  Only a hollow echo of footsteps in the corridor broke the silence.

  Unable to stand her own thoughts any longer, Maggie left the waiting room and walked out to the nearest nurses’ area.

  A woman raised her head from the sheet of paper where she was recording some information. “May I help you?”

  “Could you tell me how Adam O’Leary is doing? He went in for surgery hours ago.”

  The plump, motherly-looking woman scanned Maggie’s face and clothing, halting at her blood-stained hands. “Are you a relative, dear?”

  Maggie nodded, hoping the woman didn’t ask her to explain their relationship. She didn’t know if any of the other O’Learys had been informed of the shooting, and if so, whether anyone would come. Colleen would likely arrive soon, but Maggie couldn’t wait any longer to find out if Adam was alive.

  “Just a moment,” the nurse said, “and I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Exhaustion tugged at Maggie’s limbs, attempting to pull her down. If she didn’t keep moving, she feared she would collapse. She paced the long hallway, trying to ignore the strong medicinal scents that hovered in the air. Several minutes later, the woman returned with a doctor in tow.

  “This is Dr. Plimpton. He can tell you about Mr. O’Leary.”

  The doctor stepped forward and peered at her over his spectacles. “Are you Mrs. O’Leary?”

  Maggie wet her dry lips. “No. I’m related . . . by marriage.”

  “I see.” He frowned but let out a sigh. “Mr. O’Leary survived the surgery. The bullet went clean through his left shoulder. Luckily it missed hitting anything vital. It was a tricky procedure, but we feel we were successful in repairing the damage.”

  “Will he be okay?”

  “It’s too soon to say for certain, especially given the extreme amount of blood loss. But we are cautiously hopeful.”

  Maggie’s legs wobbled like a marionette whose strings had suddenly loosened. “May I see him?”

  The man gave her a concerned look. “For now I’ve restricted him to no visitors. He needs complete rest. However, you may check back later in the day to see if his status has changed.” He looked pointedly at her tarnished hands. “In the meantime, I’d suggest you go home and get some rest yourself, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she whispered.

  He gave a nod and continued down the hall, leaving Maggie a quivering mass of relief and despair.

  Adam had made it through the night. God willing, he’d make it through the day.

  Adam struggled to fight his way to the surface through murky water. He must have fallen from the docks into the river. His limbs seemed confined, as though tied down, impeding his effort to move. He took in a long breath and coughed, his throat raw and aching. When he attempted to sit up, searing heat shot through his chest, forcing him down.

  Where was he? He blinked, trying to focus his vision.

  “Easy does it, Mr. O’Leary.” The syrupy female voice jolted Adam.

  He glanced to the right and saw a large-boned woman bending over him, a white nurse’s cap pinned to her head. He must be in the hospital—again.

  White-hot pain shot through his upper torso, bringing the events of the night rushing back.

  Maggie! Had Neill spirited her away once he’d gotten rid of Adam?

  A gray-haired man in a white coat entered the room. “Hold on there, son. Don’t be undoing all our hard work.”

  Adam winced, furious at not being able to rise. “Is anyone asking for me?”

  The doctor ignored his question until he’d lifted the sheet, poking and prodding the gauze on Adam’s chest. “Good. The bleeding hasn’t started again. Try not to move unless absolutely necessary. And then wait for the nurse to assist you.”

  Grinding his teeth together to fight the pain, Adam shot out a hand to grasp the doctor’s sleeve. “Maggie . . .” He wheezed, trying to get air.

  The doctor disengaged his arm. “A woman has been asking about you. I’ll see if she’s still here.”

  When he left, the nurse continued to fuss around him and administered a dose of laudanum. Adam swallowed, grimacing at the bitter taste. He wanted to bark at her to leave him in peace, but his eyes drifted closed.

  When he opened them again, Maggie’s face filled his vision, concern and sorrow flitting over her features. A burst of relief coursed through his body. She hadn’t left for Ireland with that madman.

  “Maggie.” He tried to raise a hand to touch her, but the effort proved too great.

  She grasped his hand and held it to her cheek.

  “You’re . . . all . . . right?” The effort to speak left him weaker than a newborn.

  “Yes. But don’t talk or the doctor will make me leave.” She pressed a kiss to his palm.

  “Fitzgerald?” he managed to wheeze out.

  “The police caught him. He’ll be going to jail for what he did to you.” She laid a hand on his arm, its warmth penetrating the sheet that covered him. “I’m so sorry, Adam. For the fire, the shooting—all the terrible things that have happened because of me.” Her voice cracked.

  “Not . . . your . . . fault.”

  “Aye, it is my fault. I’ve brought you nothing but harm since we met.” Tears flowed freely, bathing her beloved face.

  Adam wished he had the strength to wipe them away. “Not true.” His lids drooped as the medicine took effect. “Safe now, Maggie.”

  Her fingers squeezed his. “Aye, I’m safe, and so are you. Rest now and get your strength back.”

  “Stay.” He felt himself drifting.

  “I’ll be right here when you wake.”

  37

  SEATED IN THE DINING ROOM at her family’s Long Island home with her cat Petunia dozing on the floor beside her, Aurora sipped her coffee and opened the morning paper. It had been three weeks since the start of the war in Europe, three weeks since Gabe had left, yet Aurora still couldn’t quite believe it had happened. She scanned the newspaper for articles about the war, almost as though she could find word of Gabe on the pages. Yet any news concerning the fighting did little to reassure her.

  She turned the page, attempting to suppress the melancholy that plagued her so often of late. Gabe had promised he would come back one day, and she believed he would keep his promise if it was in his power to do so. But in reality, it could be year
s before the war ended, before he was able to make his way across the ocean again. And what if something terrible happened to him before then?

  “Aurora, you have a visitor.” Papa entered the room, a smile beaming under his handlebar mustache.

  She sighed and lowered the newspaper. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Dr. Reardon. He’s waiting in the parlor.”

  Aurora’s heart climbed into her throat. “What is he doing in Long Island?”

  “He came to see you. Don’t keep the good man waiting, daughter.”

  Aurora hadn’t seen Dr. Reardon since the end of the epidemic. Holed up here at her parents’ home, nursing wounds of her own, she hadn’t been able to face going back to the city just yet. He must wonder what had become of her.

  She smoothed her hair into the knot at her nape, adjusted her skirt, and made her way to the parlor.

  Philip stood at the window, gazing out over the gardens. He whirled around at the sound of her entering the room. In a gray suit and tie, he cut a very handsome figure, quite different from his usual white coat. The sight of him brought both comfort and pain, for he, too, reminded her of Gabe.

  “Hello, Aurora. You look lovely as always.”

  Aurora hid her surprise at his compliment with a gracious nod. “What brings you all the way out here, Doctor?”

  He inclined his head. “Surely you could call me Philip since we’re not at work?”

  She nodded. “Very well, Philip. Won’t you sit down?” She gestured to the sofa along the far wall.

  They each took a seat, keeping a respectable distance between them.

  Aurora forced her mouth into a smile. “You haven’t answered my question. What brings you here?”

  “I have news for you from Bellevue, and I wanted to deliver it in person.” He pulled an envelope from inside his jacket. “It came to my office since I was the one who sponsored you.”

  Her heart thundered against her ribs as she accepted the envelope. “Do you know what it says?”

  He smiled. “I have a fair idea, but why don’t you open it and find out?”

  With trembling fingers, she ripped open the flap and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She scanned the words on the page.

  Congratulations on your acceptance into the Bellevue Nursing Program.

  The rest of the words faded away. She looked up at Philip, blinking back tears of joy. “I’ve been accepted.”

  “I had no doubt you would.” He beamed at her like a proud teacher. “Congratulations, Aurora.”

  Gratitude swelled in her chest. “Thank you, Philip, for everything. Without your mentorship and recommendation, this would never have been possible.”

  In the rush of joy, she leaned over to kiss his cheek. However, he misread her intention and pulled her to him, kissing her fully on the lips.

  Shock stiffened her spine, the paper fluttering from her fingers. She pulled away from him as if scorched and jumped to her feet. “Forgive me, Philip. I merely meant to thank you . . .”

  He rose and took her hand in his. “Please don’t apologize. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time now. In fact, I came here to do more than kiss you. I came to ask you to marry me.”

  Aurora’s mouth gaped open. Several emotions struggled to gain hold of her. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “First, let me be clear. I fully support your schooling. We can wait to be married until you’ve finished.”

  His earnest expression shamed her. He’d been nothing but kind and supportive of her. How could she turn him down after everything he’d done? Yet how could she accept him when her heart belonged to another?

  “This has all happened so suddenly, Philip. I’m afraid I don’t—”

  He held up a hand as though anticipating her refusal. “Please don’t answer right now. Take some time to think about it.” He gave her a smile tinged with disappointment. “Again, my sincere congratulations on your achievement.” With a lingering kiss to her cheek, he picked up his hat and left the room.

  After he’d gone, Aurora leaned her head against the back of the settee and blinked back tears that came too easily these days. Somehow she’d have to find a way to let Philip down gently and pray that he could accept her refusal without it affecting her career.

  Oh Gabe, I wish you were here.

  Just over two weeks after the shooting, the doctor deemed Adam improved enough to leave the hospital. Gil and Brianna arrived to pick him up in their father’s auto. Adam accepted their assistance down the long corridor, mildly disappointed that Maggie wasn’t there to see him walk out of the hospital on his own steam.

  Colleen and Mama had fought over where he would recuperate, but Adam had decided it would be easier at Irish Meadows, with plenty of room and servants to assist in his care. Plus it would give him a chance to solidify his new relationship with his father.

  Brianna helped Adam into the backseat of the motorcar. Gil stowed his bag, then came around to the driver’s side, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.

  While Gil maneuvered the car through the crowded streets, Adam tried to find a comfortable position where his injury didn’t pain him. He peered at the back of Gil’s and Brianna’s heads. “Why didn’t you send Sam to get me? You two must have better things to do now that your wedding is almost here.”

  Brianna twisted to give him a sad smile. “Actually, we’ve postponed the wedding for a few weeks so Mama will have longer to regain her strength.”

  Adam nodded. “Probably a wise decision.” He winced as the car hit a bump and jostled his shoulder, wishing he’d taken a last dose of laudanum.

  His stay in the hospital had given him many hours to ponder his future. Almost dying, and almost losing Maggie to that madman, had put things in perspective for him. His shop, the furniture he’d created—they didn’t define who he was, didn’t measure his worth. His worthiness came from God, from belonging to Him and living a life according to His word. Perhaps Adam had to lose all his material possessions to see what truly mattered.

  Loving God, loving his family . . . and loving Maggie.

  His sweet, brave Maggie. Adam’s heart squeezed at the thought of the sacrifice she’d been willing to make for him—leaving with Fitzgerald in order to keep Adam from harm. If by some miracle she still wanted him after he recovered, Adam wasn’t going to be foolish enough to turn her away again.

  Adam swiped the moisture from his eyes and turned his focus to the streets outside the car window. He frowned at the sight of the familiar surroundings. “What are we doing here?”

  Gil slowed the car to a stop across from Adam’s shop and pulled up the parking brake. “A small detour before going home.”

  He scowled. “There’s nothing to see but rubble.”

  Brianna opened the door for him. “Why don’t you let us be the judge?”

  With little choice, Adam followed Gil and Brianna across the street, only to stop dead in front of his shop. The bricks still bore the scorch marks of the fire, but a new door and windows graced the front.

  “Who did this?” His voice rasped like a rusty pipe.

  “You’ll have to go in and find out.” Brianna winked at him.

  Gil held the door for Adam to enter. He stopped just inside, scarcely able to believe what he was seeing. Gleaming wooden floors shone in the interior. The walls and ceiling had been restored, along with a new counter and shelving, very similar to the ones that had been there before. The whole room smelled of freshly cut wood and varnish.

  Shockwaves coursed through his body, leaving him reeling. Only the faintest scent of smoke gave evidence of the fire that had all but destroyed the place.

  “How is this possible?” Adam spoke almost to himself as he moved toward his former workshop.

  Inside, leaning against a wooden workbench, John grinned at him. “Welcome home.”

  Adam stared around the room at the assortment of tools hanging on pegs, at the pile of wood neatly stacked in one corner, and at the few pieces of
furniture he’d managed to rescue, which now sat against the wall.

  His stunned gaze returned to John. “You did all this?” He couldn’t believe so much had been done in such a short amount of time. It would have taken an army.

  “Not quite.” John straightened. “You’ve heard of barn raisings? Well, we had a shop raising.” He let out a shrill whistle, and the back door opened.

  A flood of men poured in, cheering and waving their hats.

  John gestured to them. “Thanks to your fellow parishioners, who all came together to help, we have the basic structure restored. Ready for you to make more furniture.”

  Adam fought the onslaught of emotion that clogged his throat as he scanned the group of men. Some he recognized, some he’d never met before. “H-how can I ever thank you for this?”

  One man stepped forward, grinning. “No thanks needed. Unless you let me place your first order. My wife needs a rocking chair. She’s expecting our first babe around Christmas.”

  “And I could use a dining table.”

  More remarks flew around as the men came forward to shake Adam’s hand. He thanked each one, his mind a haze of disbelief.

  Slowly they all trooped out the rear door, except for John—and one man who had lingered against the back wall. The air seized in Adam’s lungs as he stared at his father.

  “When were you going to tell me you’d started your own business?” For once his father’s blue gaze held no disapproval, no censure, only curiosity.

  Adam cleared his throat and attempted to banish the fog from his brain. “Once it became a success.”

  A dark brow rose. “That could take years.”

  Adam shifted his weight, at a loss for something to say.

  “Wait here.” James went out the back door and returned moments later with a small table—one Adam recognized from the parlor at Irish Meadows.

  “Your mother’s been after me for years to refinish this for her.” His father shrugged. “Turns out, unless it’s repairing a paddock fence, I’m not much good at woodworking.” He set the table on the floor. “I know she’d be thrilled if you’d restore it for her.”