Sweet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  “Sister Anne is going to a mission on Fiji soon,” he said, thinking aloud. “And Sister Isabel has many other duties. I suppose there might be a place for—”

  “Oh thank you! I promise you won’t regret this. Shall I start this afternoon? I can, you know. I think I even remember some of the names of the children from the one time I helped them. I’m quick at that sort of thing.”

  Lydia was on the edge of her chair now, her excitement bubbling. “Or would you rather I go to Petty’s first and change out of these dusty clothes? That might be better. The children are used to you and the sisters, all perfectly neat and pressed. I probably look shockingly disreputable. I wonder if they may call me Miss Chadwick? If I’m to use my married name it’s bound to raise questions and eyebrows. I really think it would be—”

  Father Colgan held up both hands this time, in part to halt Lydia’s rush of words, in part as a symbol of surrender. He was grinning widely. “Enough, Lydia. Enough. Your enthusiasm does you credit, but let us try to temper it a bit. You will start your duties in the classroom on Monday next. The children will return to school then. We had a small, er, altercation among the students yesterday and I’ve dismissed them all until I can speak to each of the parents.”

  “Altercation?”

  “Boyish high spirits.” He felt her skepticism. “All right. It was a veritable riot. One of the newest boys is having a hard time of it. You’ll see for yourself come Monday.”

  “You’re not expelling him then?”

  “No. I promised his sponsor I’d do what I could, and I’m not giving in yet. I may lose two or three other students in the process, but I’m not giving up on this nipper. I’ve got a streak of stubbornness to rival any.”

  That pleased Lydia. “I think we’ll get on very well, Father.” She stood and extended her hand. “Monday next. I’ll be looking forward to it. May I have some books so I might prepare lessons?”

  Father Colgan released Lydia’s hand. If there had been any bargain made he believed he’d got the better of it. “Follow me. I’ll show you where everything is.”

  Irish wheeled his chair around sharply. The footrest caught one of the legs on an end table and the chair and Irish came to an abrupt halt. Nathan did not move to offer assistance, knowing it would only make Irish angrier. He stayed where he was, one hip resting on the edge of Irish’s desk, his arms folded casually in front of him, and said nothing while Irish tried to extricate himself and the chair.

  “Bloody hell,” Irish swore sourly, pushing the table over. Free now, he completed his turn, faced Nathan, and went on without missing a beat. “You’re going after her, of course.”

  “You said you read what she wrote to me,” Nathan said. “There is no ‘of course’ about it. You know what Lydia’s wishes are. I’m staying here at Ballaburn.”

  “She doesn’t know what she wants.”

  Nathan didn’t argue the point. He had spent all morning thinking about that very thing and had come to the opposite conclusion. Lydia did know what she wanted. “What did her letter to you say?” he asked. “I assume she didn’t leave without writing you as well.”

  “She wrote. Told me she regards me affectionately. Says she’ll miss me but that I’m welcome to visit her in Sydney. Regards me with affection! Hah! Visit her! As if that’s satisfactory. I want her here, Nathan. I’ve only known her a week. A week!”

  “You’ve had longer with her than I have, Irish.”

  “What do you mean? You were with her for the entire voyage.”

  “Never mind,” he said. “It’s not important.” Irish wouldn’t understand. The voyage was something that happened out of time, something that should never have been. Her memory loss altered the way she responded to him. Lydia had trusted him then, loved him, all because she hadn’t really understood the man he was. Now she remembered and now she was gone. There was no one around to force him and Lydia into each other’s pockets as he had done for Irish. “She said you could visit her,” Nathan went on. “That’s more invitation than I received. I would not treat the affection you’ve earned so cavalierly. I know. Lydia thought she loved me once.”

  The bluster drained out of Irish. He couldn’t intimidate Nathan or threaten him. He refused to plead. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “Wait to hear from her. Once she’s settled, take her belongings to her personally. If she wrote that she wanted you to visit, she meant it. Lydia’s resourceful, Irish. She’ll be writing soon.”

  He nodded, sighing. Calmer now, he felt not only his own sadness but had a sense of Nathan’s as well. He poured himself a drink, offered Nathan something, and stoppered the decanter. “What about you?” he asked.

  Nathan shrugged. “I’ll be here if she changes her mind.”

  Irish was not deceived by Nathan’s practiced indifference. He rolled his tumbler of whiskey back and forth in his palms, watching the amber liquid slosh gently against the rim but never overflow. “What about your feelings for my daughter?” he asked.

  “What about them?”

  “Does she know you’re in love with her?”

  Nathan levered himself away from the desk. His hands settled at his side. “I have work to do, Irish. I’ve neglected things all morning.” He started to walk to the library door.

  “She was going to ask you for an annulment,” Irish said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his words stop Nathan cold. “That’s when I told her about the conditions for you to take control of Ballaburn. I told her you’d never agree to an annulment. Was I right?”

  “It’s a moot point,” Nathan said heavily. “No one will ever know because she didn’t raise the issue. That isn’t what we argued about last night. Annulment was never mentioned.”

  “Ask yourself why. I don’t think it’s because she was worried that you’d turn her down. She’d take that risk. She had nothing to lose.”

  “What are you getting at, Irish? Say it plainly so I can disagree and get on with my work.”

  Irish’s glance was assessing and shrewd. “Just this: she didn’t broach the subject because she was afraid you’d accept the offer. That’s how much she wants you to have Ballaburn. If you can’t see that it’s a measure of her love, then you, my friend, need to get a better ruler.”

  Nathan laughed shortly. One corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile. “You keep trying to write a better ending to your ill-conceived wager. Be satisfied that it worked as well as it has. You’ve got Lydia here for a year and passed on the scepter at Ballaburn. There was never a word mentioned about anyone’s happiness. Not Brig’s, not mine, certainly not Lydia’s. You can’t make things right between Lydia and me so don’t interfere. You’re only guessing as to how each of us feels. You don’t know anything about it, Irish. Not a thing.” He turned on his heel and left.

  Irish pursed his lips and brushed his thick mustache with a forefinger. He stared thoughtfully at the open doorway long after Nathan had gone through it. “Don’t I though?” he said to himself. “That I could have given Ballaburn to one fool and sired another. It doesn’t do a dying man credit.”

  In spite of Lydia’s doubts that it would ever arrive, Monday morning was eventually upon her. Her room at Petty’s Hotel was small compared to the suite she had shared with Nathan, but it was adequate for her needs, reasonably priced, and Lydia was comfortable there. She could walk to St. Benedict’s, thus saving cab fare, and Henry Tucker treated her as if she were royalty. She had already written to Nathan and expected a trunk of clothes to arrive any day. The missive enclosed her best wishes to Irish, another invitation to visit her in Sydney, and Father Colgan’s reminder that Mass was at ten on Sundays.

  Anticipating the lessons at Saint Benedict diverted Lydia’s thoughts from Ballaburn and Nathan during the day. At night there was no help for it. She thought about Nathan when she was awake and dreamed about him when she was asleep. Lydia was only astonished that her grief wasn’t immediately evident to everyone, for grief exactly described what she was feeling
. It wasn’t logical or rational since she could list—and often did—the reasons she was better off in Sydney. None of those reasons kept her from hugging her pillow when she reached for Nathan and didn’t find him. She missed looking up from her embroidery to catch him watching her thoughtfully. She missed surprising a smile from him and spying the elusive dimples. She managed each day because there was simply no alternative, but time had done nothing to ease the pain. She wondered if it ever would.

  There were seventeen children in the chapel schoolroom ranging in age from six to fourteen. Ten of them were boys, most of them high-spirited, talkative, and curious. One child sat apart from the others, alone in a seat he might have shared with a classmate if he had been so inclined—or been invited. Lydia gave him only a cursory glance as she walked into the classroom behind Father Colgan but she noted his aloneness and wondered at it. Was this the child that had caused last week’s riot?

  The priest had just introduced her to the class when he was called away by Sister Isabel. He apologized to her and the students, gave the class instructions, and whispered to Lydia that she was on her own. She estimated that she was alone forty-five seconds and only halfway through the roll when the first spit wad was thrown.

  As near as she could tell the lone boy in the back hadn’t done anything to instigate the initial attack or the barrage that followed, but once he was hit he didn’t hesitate to retaliate. Before Lydia could get down the aisle the child jumped on top of his desk and flew across the aisle and three desks to get at the ringleader. His fists flailed in the air and he let loose a string of curses that opened Lydia’s eyes wide.

  She knew then precisely who the boy was and where she’d seen him before.

  Clapping her hands together smartly, she directed all the interested observers into the hallway and shut the door, then she pushed aside the chairs and desks so there were no unintentional bruises, and let the two boys clobber away.

  Kit’s adversary was not nearly the size of his burly brother-in-law, but the battle was heading toward the same end. Kit was a head shorter, twenty pounds lighter, and so angry he wasn’t thinking how to get the better of his opponent. He did display a remarkable degree of tenacity, though. His arms worked like windwills, connecting just a third of the time but never letting up, and he came back each time Daniel Flaugherty put him on the floor. He’d spring to his feet and start jabbing and jumping all over again.

  “Get him away from me!” Daniel yelled, swatting at Kit. “Or I’m going to really hurt him.”

  The challenge came back. “As if you could!”

  Lydia’s only response was to push aside another desk as the combatants widened their arena. The movement of both boys slowed a little; they both glanced in her direction, anticipating her interference. She shrugged and held up her hands, palms out, in a gesture of innocence and impartiality.

  The boys continued to circle, but the punches they threw lacked any real menace. After a minute of posturing and threatening they stopped altogether and turned simultaneously, wary and puzzled, in Lydia’s direction.

  “Aren’t you going to stop me from killing him?” Daniel asked.

  “Aren’t you going to stop him from killing me?” Kit asked.

  Lydia answered both questions with a gentle, enigmatic smile. “Put the desks back where they belong, boys.” Her voice was quiet and firm. “I’ll let the other children in.”

  The classroom was restored to order as the students marched in single file. There were curious glances at the two subdued warriors and Lydia heard one child ask in a stage whisper, “Who won?” She didn’t hear the reply, but when she turned around to face the class, she saw Kit and Daniel were both pointing at her.

  She felt very good about that.

  Chapter 13

  “What did you do then?” Irish asked. He was chuckling around a mouthful of grog, trying to swallow and laugh at the same time. Across the table from him Lydia’s smile was innocent and demur, as if she could not understand what he found so amusing.

  “I began the lesson, of course,” she said simply. She put a hand over her glass when the waiter came by to pour more wine and ordered another glass of beer for Irish. “And then I kept Kit and Daniel after school when the other children left for the day.”

  “They cleaned for you?”

  She shook her head. “A dirty classroom wasn’t the problem. When I talked to them I discovered that Kit was being teased constantly because he was so far behind in his work. He was doing sums and reading that the youngest children were doing, and not doing it as well. He’d never been to school before, but the other students didn’t care about that. You know how children can be.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t. But you seem to understand them.”

  Lydia blushed, embarrassed and pleased by Irish’s genuine admiration. “Daniel, on the other hand, is one of the biggest boys in the class. His size alone would have made him a natural leader at his age, but he’s also smart as a whip. He was counting on the interference of some adult to stop the battle. The riot he helped cause the week before got everyone out of a few days of school. He was a hero.” She laughed, shaking her head as she recalled their stunned expressions when they learned their punishment. “Daniel is tutoring Kit every day after school for one half hour. In the evening Kit comes here to the hotel and I help him with more lessons. He’s making fine progress and Daniel is satisfied with helping.”

  Irish was fairly beaming with pride. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing. Father Colgan must be pleased.”

  “I think he is,” said Lydia. “I’ve already been given more responsibility in the month I’ve been there.”

  “A month,” Irish said softly. “It’s hard to believe it’s only been a month. We’ve missed you at Ballaburn, Lydia.”

  “You could have visited before now,” she admonished. “I thought you might bring my trunks yourself.”

  “That’s what Nathan suggested, but I...” He hadn’t been able to travel then. With almost no warning the pain in his upper back had become excruciating, so much so that Irish had found himself confined to bed, unable to sit up for any length of time. The bullet in his spine was shifting. He knew it, had been warned by a surgeon it could happen, and now it was. “I thought it would be better if you had the opportunity to settle here. I hope you don’t think I didn’t want to see you.”

  “I never thought it for a moment.” Her eyes darted over Irish’s face. A faint gray tint colored his complexion. He was thinner than when she had last seen him and there were new creases at the corners of his eyes and forehead. Even when he laughed there was a suggestion of tension around his mouth. “Have you been feeling well, Irish?”

  He raised both iron gray brows in astonishment. “Me? I’ve got no complaints.” He waved to the waiter and had another beer sent to his table. “Except that I’d like to have my daughter at Ballaburn again.”

  “That’s not possible. Not now. Perhaps in a few months.”

  A few months, Irish thought. It might not be too late. “You’re going to stay at Petty’s then?”

  “A while longer. Mr. and Mrs. Garrison have offered to rent me a room. Those are the people who have taken Kit in. Do you know anything about that, Irish?”

  “Garrison.” He said the name thoughtfully. “Don’t they make shoes in a shop over on Elizabeth Street? Good work as I recall. They’ve been part of Saint Benedict’s Parish as long as I’ve been there.”

  “That’s the Garrisons. But I wasn’t really referring to them. I meant about Kit finding a place with them.”

  “I would assume that’s Colgan’s doing.”

  “Yes, but Kit has a sponsor. Someone who helps pay for his schooling and clothing, the extra bills the Garrisons have incurred. Do you know anything about that?”

  “How would I?”

  Lydia sighed. “I’d thought perhaps that Nathan said something to you about it.”

  “Nathan? You mean…Nathan is the child’s sponsor?”

&n
bsp; “Your astonishment isn’t very flattering to him. Of course he’s Kit’s sponsor. I just wondered if he ever said anything to you. He kept it a secret from me.”

  “My, my, my.” Irish was grinning. “Just who is this rapscallion anyway?”

  Lydia related the incident in The Rocks. “Nathan told me there was nothing to be done for the child and then I stumble upon him again, clean and pressed, a brightness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and I almost didn’t recognize him. Nathan’s responsible for giving Kit this opportunity and I would never have known if I hadn’t come back to Saint Benedict’s.”

  “Why do you think he kept it to himself?” Irish asked. “He could have gained a little ground in your eyes if he had said something earlier.”

  “Don’t you see? He didn’t do it to impress me.”

  “He impressed the hell out of you anyway.”

  “He did that a long time ago,” she said softly. She raised earnest eyes to Irish. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

  Irish shook his head. “Not a word.”

  Lydia hesitated, absently pushing some food around on her plate. “Nathan told me once that a murder conviction led to his transportation. Is that true?”

  “As far as it goes.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nathan didn’t murder any whore. I believe that. I always have. Has he ever told you about it?”

  “He only told me he hadn’t done it. I believed him, too.

  Irish briefly described the murder for which Nathan was convicted. “Nath doesn’t say much about it,” he continued. “Brig told me most of what I know.”

  “And Brigham? How was it that he was transported?”

  “The damn fool wanted to be with his friend. Tried to come to Nathan’s rescue and ended up on the same ship with him. Later, when he was able to leave Van Dieman’s Land, he traveled to Sydney. That’s where I found him and through him, Nathan. He always made it clear that when I took him on that I was taking on his mate.”