“All right, Patrick.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll see your son. But I’m not making any promises.”
Patrick nearly wept with relief. He stood and grabbed her to him, holding her close. She felt so good in his arms, like a bundle of hope. “I’m grateful to you, lass. Aye, so grateful.”
When she stiffened against him he realized their position. He released her as if she burned and raked his fingers through his hair. “Forgive me, Tara.”
She waved her hand, but he didn’t miss the pretty pink blush on her cheeks. He would try his hardest to ignore the warmth it spread through him.
“It’s all right.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll give you my answer after I see him. I don’t know if I can help him, but I’ll see him. Take me to your son, Patrick. Take me to Devlin.”
Chapter 6
Tara walked beside Patrick, her mind racing. The pretty views, the picturesque cottages, barely registered in her mind as she worked through all Patrick had told her. And all he hadn’t.
She’d had no idea a child was involved. She’d suspect the man of knowing her weakness if he hadn’t waited until this morning to tell her about the boy. Yes, her work was no secret, but her reasons behind it were. Every child should have a connection to their family. Wasn’t that what drove her own work?
What could be wrong with this child? Patrick said he couldn’t reach his son. Could the child be autistic? Mentally disabled or diminished somehow?
She slanted a look at the big man walking briskly at her left, and saw a jumble of expressions. Did Patrick realize he wore a mixture of emotions on his face? She looked ahead. Maybe only someone with Tara’s background in human behavior would see it, but the man was troubled with a capital T.
She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He certainly looked different this morning in his loose shirt and pants tucked into shining boots. Quite… dashing. And very different from the man who wore jeans and a flannel shirt yesterday. God, had it only been yesterday?
She glanced around at the quaint buildings in the charming but certainly primitive town. Perhaps Patrick’s son was no more than deaf. Surely people in this time wouldn’t be able to deal with a handicapped child, no matter how mild the impairment. When she imagined such cruelty or ignorance her heart gave a twist. Oh, to be shunned was a cruel fate no child should suffer.
The crushed stone of the road crunched beneath his boots as her sneakers silently kept pace. She longed to ask him more, but now his handsome face was shuttered.
“There’s my family’s workshop,” Patrick said, finally breaking their quiet.
Tara looked at the long building, and at the cheery storefront with broad windows. What had Bryce told her? Shoes. The MacDonalds made shoes. Her gaze fell to Patrick’s boots once more. Nice. And very pricy if they’d been bought at the mall in downtown Indianapolis. Again, she glanced at his clothes. They were obviously very fine, despite being outdated. She swallowed a slightly hysterical laugh. No, not outdated. She gave her head a shake. So the MacDonalds must do all right for themselves. Made plenty of gold, or shillings or stinkin’ doubloons, for all she knew.
As they passed several shops and homes, no one greeted Patrick with more than a curt nod, their eyes narrowed. Tara felt Patrick’s anger in that moment, when those same people gazed at her with open distrust. These people treated a little boy like he was the devil? She longed to shout out that all children were blessings, even the troubled ones. But her jeans and T-shirt drew more attention than she wished, so she kept her mouth shut. An angry mob was something no one needed this morning.
Patrick turned down a tree-lined lane to the left and she followed. She soon saw a large buff-colored house with three thick peaked roofs. Smoke curled from one of the chimneys at the back of the house, most likely the kitchen. It was a pretty house and impressive in its way. Certainly in comparison to the modest cottages she’d seen on their short walk, and this seemed to confirm what she’d assumed about the MacDonalds’ success. The hostility she’d sensed from the villagers seemed even more out of place, given the family’s apparent standing.
When they stepped on the covered front porch, Patrick at last stopped. He placed his hand on her arm and she looked up into his face. His concern was visible, but so was his uncertainty. Tara felt a tremor in her heart.
“Devlin was quiet this mornin’, Tara,” he said. “But I don’t know how he’ll be now.”
She offered him a slight smile and gave his hand a pat. “It’s all right. I want to see him.”
Relief filled his eyes as it had back at Brianna’s house. He released her arm and she sighed. Tara bit her tongue so she wouldn’t voice her thoughts. She was no miracle worker, and this man seemed to think that she held some secret to his son’s recovery. He pushed open the front door and waved her in ahead of him.
“Uncle?” he called, shutting the door behind them.
“Aye, Patrick,” came a man’s voice.
A man came into the room. He was an older gentleman, and dapperly dressed. His green eyes were both sharp and kind as they took her in.
He smiled and inclined his head. “Hello, Miss.” He rounded on Patrick. “Is this the girl you took, you bloody fool?”
Tara knew the man’s irritation wasn’t focused on her. Patrick shifted on his big feet, looking like a little boy for a second.
“This is Tara Connor, Uncle. From Indianapolis.” He turned to Tara. “Tara, this is my Uncle Seamus.”
She held out her hand and Patrick’s uncle took it and brought it to his lips. His eyes sparkled and she knew from where the MacDonalds got their lauded charm.
“’Tis a pleasure, Tara Connor. Pray don’t let my nephew’s foolish act lead you to believe all we MacDonalds are daft.”
Brianna time traveled. Patrick used his charm on her, Tara was now in the year 1814? Daft? Crazy and out of her own mind maybe. The MacDonalds seemed as normal as anyone else here.
Tara smiled and shook her head. “I won’t, sir.” She once more saw the man fix a glare on Patrick and faced him herself. “Take me to your son, Patrick.”
Patrick nodded and walked down a hallway, Tara following closely behind. At what must be a bedroom door, he once more faced her with both relief and concern etched on his face.
“Thank you, Tara. I know you can help him.”
Tara wished she was as certain of that fact as Patrick was. He opened the door and she looked past him into the room. The large carved bed was empty, except for rumpled linens. It took her a second to spot the child, who was curled into a ball in the corner. He was so tiny, she could hardly believe he was three years old.
“He used to sleep on the floor,” Patrick said in a low voice.
Nesting, she guessed. That wasn’t uncommon with kids suffering from emotional or mental conditions. Her heart tight, she stepped closer to the boy. He shifted onto his bottom, hugging his knees to his chest as he stared ahead.
He was such a beautiful child, with curls the same strawberry blond as his father. Thick black lashes framed vacant blue eyes. His pale cheeks were porcelain smooth and his little mouth, which if animated would probably be a perfect cupid’s bow, was slack.
“Devlin,” Patrick said, crouching down beside his son. “This is Tara Connor. She’s going to help you, son.”
The boy gave no indication he’d heard his father, and Patrick didn’t say more. His shoulders were set and stiff, as if he longed to touch the boy but didn’t dare.
Tara chose to take Patrick’s continued silence as her cue. “Hello, Devlin,” she began. She settled beside him on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees to replicate his posture and to make herself smaller. “I came from far away to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
She sensed the child heard her, for his long lashes flickered as he nearly blinked. She slowly reached toward him, her gaze focused for any reaction. She touched his arm and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. But he didn’t move away.
She withdrew her hand. “Devlin, I know
we just met. But I’d like to play with you some time. I bet we could be friends. Would you like that?”
The boy flicked his gaze at her, his large blue eyes showing nearly nothing. Her heart twisted again. The next instant he began to rock, pulling from her as he stared at the floor. She took one glance at Patrick and her heart nearly broke. The anguish on his face cut into her. She looked at Devlin and forced a smile.
“I’ll be back to see you later, Devlin,” she said in a bright voice.
The boy stilled for a moment, then continued his rocking.
Tara walked to the door, turning when she realized Patrick didn’t follow. She saw him ruffle the boy’s curls before dropping a kiss on his head. The man loved his son. That was crystal clear. Her throat tight, she stepped into the hall to wait for him.
“Mrs. O’Grady will look after him,” he said as he joined her. “Can you help him, Tara? Lass, I pray you can help him.”
Could she? Tara didn’t believe the boy was deaf, so that left any number of possible afflictions causing his condition. But with her training she would try. She couldn’t leave here without trying to reach Devlin, to attempt to bring him back to his father. And she knew Patrick’s ultimatum wasn’t the reason. Any child who had a chance to make a connection with his family should take it. Tara would see to it.
“I’ll try my best, Patrick.”
He reached for her and she thought he would hug her as he had at Brianna’s house. But he dropped his hands and reddened. She felt her cheeks heat and looked away.
“I’ll go borrow some of Brianna’s things for you, Tara.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That is, will you be stayin’ here with Devlin?”
Tara thought for a moment. She couldn’t stay at Brianna’s house. She had a husband and toddler to care for. And Tara knew Patrick’s uncle lived in this house, so there wouldn’t be any impropriety. Impropriety? Oh, she was beginning to think like a nineteenth century woman!
“Yes. I’ll stay.”
Patrick gave a curt nod. He showed her to a room down the hall from his. As lovely as the room she was in last night, this one was opulent. It was decorated with fine cherry furniture that would make an antique dealer sigh. She walked into the room and sat on the bed, bouncing a bit.
He paused in the doorway, as if reluctant to cross the threshold. “There’s a water closet down the hall.”
She gave him a small smile. “Brianna?”
Patrick returned the expression. “Aye.”
With that, he closed the door and left her to her thoughts. Tara crossed to a small desk set against one wall and pulled open a drawer. She withdrew several pieces of paper and sat in the chair. To her surprise she discovered a pen made of plastic in the drawer. She rolled it in her fingers, and the plastic felt smooth and familiar beneath her touch. It was imprinted with bright blue letters and a horseshoe: Indianapolis Colts. She chuckled and pulled off the pen cap.
First, she would write her observations from her short visit with Devlin. Then she would make a list of the milestones and their indicators, hoping to gauge the boy’s development—or lack of it. As she neared the end of the list, her spirits were low.
Even from her brief visit with the child, she knew he was quite troubled. There was so much to accomplish here in this time. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see it was still running. Time was surely relative. Wasn’t it only yesterday she was at the behavior lab?
Her mind went to her little apartment in Indianapolis, a city that didn’t even exist yet. She rubbed her forehead. Well, she doubted anyone there would miss her. She had no one in the city, not even a close friend. Studying to satisfy her grants and scholarships had left little time for socializing. And until she sat here in this lovely room in the past, she hadn’t really given much thought to the state of her life.
Mark had called her cold, unable to let anyone close. His parting words still stung, though more than a year had passed since the disaster that had been her one close relationship ended. Maybe he was right.
A knock came at the door and she started. She eyed the wood panel, wondering if Patrick had returned.
“Yes?”
The door opened and a round gray-haired old lady peeped inside. “Hello, dear.” A smile showed on her face. “I’m Mrs. O’Grady.
This must be the housekeeper Patrick had mentioned. Tara stood, brushed her hands over her thighs and extended her hand.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. O’Grady.”
The lady’s brows shot upward as she shook her head and bobbed a curtsey. Whoops. Tara dropped her hand to her side.
“I fixed a bit o’ somethin’ for you to eat,” the woman said. “Master Patrick says you’ll be stayin’ here to help the little mite, and I’m to get ya’ settled.”
“I… Yes. Thank you.”
The lady smiled and bobbed another curtsey. She spun on her heel and waved a hand in the air so Tara followed.
“The water closet be down that hall,” Mrs. O’Grady said as she walked toward the living area. “I put some o’ Miss Brianna’s things in there she said ya’ kin use. I’ll see to the dresses and such when Master Patrick brings ‘em.”
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Grady.” She followed the woman into the dining room, a pretty room with a long table of dark wood and a matching sideboard. On the sideboard was a tempting spread of salads and bread and cheese. Her stomach rumbled and she crossed to the buffet. “This all looks so wonderful.”
“Help yourself, dear.” She turned to leave the room. “I’ll be in the kitchen if ya’ need anything.”
Tara nodded. As she served herself some ham salad, she heard tuneful whistling from outside. It grew louder until the front door opened. Tara glanced through the archway to find Patrick’s uncle smiling in her direction.
“Hello, Tara lass.” He rubbed his hands together and joined her at the sideboard. “Ah, Mrs. O’Grady sets a fine luncheon, she does.”
Tara nodded her agreement and sat at the table. Patrick’s uncle wore his fine clothes well, and she’d bet that as a young man he would have come close to rivaling Patrick in the looks department. Tara shook her head. She’d never been so focused on a man’s… attributes before seeing Patrick’s handsome face yesterday.
She glanced down at her own drab clothes, feeling out of place in her jeans and T-shirt. Maybe wearing some of Brianna’s things wouldn’t be so terrible.
“What’s your thinkin’ on the boy, Tara?” Seamus asked after a short while.
Tara wiped her mouth with a fine linen napkin and then folded it once more. “I’ll need to spend more time with him,” she said. “But I can think of several things I might try.” She glanced around the pretty dining room, her mind working. “Does Devlin eat here with the family?”
“Nay,” Seamus answered, his brows drawn together. “Why?”
“I think it would help him begin to relate to all of you if he shared your meals. And he has to learn to connect with the people around him.”
Seamus’s green eyes were thoughtful as he stroked his dimpled chin. “Aye, a connection.”
“The child eatin’ here, Miss Tara?” Mrs. O’Grady asked. She set a tray of fragrant cookies on the table and straightened. “But he barely eats when I feed him in Master Patrick’s room.”
Tara knew these people were trying to deal with Devlin’s problems as best they could, and didn’t want to push them. But the child needed to feel a connection to his family, and meal time would be a good place to start.
“We’ll give dinner a try tonight, Mrs. O’Grady.” Tara faced Seamus. “That is, if you have no objections?”
“Nay,” Patrick’s uncle said with a shake of his red head. “If you think it would help him, lass, then he’ll eat here with his family.”
Tara’s shoulders relaxed. “Good.” The aroma of the cookies reached her, lemony and sweet. “Oh, Mrs. O’Grady! Those cookies smell wonderful.”
“Cookies? Oh, ya’ mean the biscuits.”
Tara smiled.
“Yes. May I take some to Devlin?”
Mrs. O’Grady sniffled as she bobbed her head. “Oh, I made ‘em for the little mite.” She dabbed one eye with the corner of her apron. “Thought as they be the MacDonald lads’ favorites all these years he might favor them too.”
Tara took a few cookies and placed them in another napkin, flashing a smile at the older woman. “I bet he’ll like them, then. After he wakes up I’ll give him some of your delicious biscuits.”
The housekeeper gave Tara a watery smile and hurried into the kitchen. Seamus winked at Tara and they went back to their meal.
After lunch, Tara looked in on Devlin. He slept on a little bed against one wall, though kicking and twitching was no way to get any true rest. She tiptoed to the bed and sat on the edge, reaching out to gently stroke his red-gold curls. She studied his fair skin, which was flawless and smooth. His rosy lips were turned down in a pout.
He was a beautiful child, with an otherworldly look to him. That thought gave Tara a start and she withdrew her hand. Patrick was able to bring her here from her own time. And Brianna traveled back and forth to the future on shopping sprees. She couldn’t imagine how they came to have toilets and running water here, either. No! If she ignored the fact that she was in Ireland in the year 1814, everything here was as normal as back home. The MacDonalds were nothing more than normal good-looking people who could time travel.
She smoothed her finger over the boy’s cheek and left him to his troubled nap.
Chapter 7
Tara peeked into the bathroom in the hall. What the heck? She gave in to the temptation and took a shower in the well-appointed “water closet.” Hot water. She wasn’t surprised. Though the thick bar of soap wasn’t the bath gel she was used to, she found it lathered well and left her skin and hair soft. She dried herself with a thick towel and wrapped herself with it. She picked up her discarded clothes and hurried to her room.
She noticed a comb and brush set on the vanity then, and some hair pins and ribbons. She picked up the comb and worked it through her curls. A glance at the open doors of the carved armoire showed her several dresses hanging there. Curious, she set down the comb and walked to the wardrobe. The dresses were light and soft, and made of cotton or muslin in pale colors with little cap sleeves. She touched the one nearest her, a white dress dotted with little yellow roses. Cotton slips hung beside the dresses, and on the shelf above were what looked like baggy underwear and tights. No corset? Nice.
Patrick's Promise Page 6