A Heart Revealed

  “Four,” Steven said as he strolled into the room. “Not counting the top layer you put on ice that I just caught her trying to sneak.”

  “Four pieces of cake?” Marcy said, mouth gaping in shock.

  Gabe blinked. “Of course—it was wonderful, my first wedding cake ever. Nobody bakes like you, Mrs. O’Connor, you know that.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, young lady,” Patrick said, his romantic mood now “on ice” as well. “No more cake.”

  “But what about tomorrow? I can have a piece then, can’t I . . . please?” Panic paled her cheeks, making her generous spray of freckles all the more noticeable.

  “Nope.” Steven plopped in the chair. His blue eyes, a deeper shade than his mother’s, twinkled with a smile that was matter-of-fact. “Sorry, Gabe. All that’s left is Luke and Katie’s top tier in the icebox. Collin, Brady, and I polished off the rest . . . along with you, of course.”

  A painful groan erupted from Gabe’s throat as she slumped against the love seat. “But why can’t I have some of the top tier? Luke won’t mind—he loves me.”

  “We all love you, darling,” Marcy said in a soothing tone. She tugged Gabe into her lap, giving her a tight squeeze. “But the cake in the icebox is off-limits, do you hear? It’s an O’Connor tradition—Luke and Katie will eat it when they get home from the honeymoon, as part of their first meal in their new apartment. Celebration of their new life together as a family—Katie, Luke, and Kitty.” A smile flickered on Marcy’s lips. “And any other little ones who happen along . . .”

  Steven grinned. “That’s something I gotta see—Katie Rose having a baby. Heaven help us all. She’s practically all thumbs with little Kit as it is. Can’t imagine her with a newborn.”

  “Hush, Steven, Katie Rose will make a perfectly wonderful mother. She’s just a little hesitant because it’s been Lizzie who’s watched Kitty since Luke moved back to Boston. But that will all change when Katie gets pregnant and quits the BCAS to stay home full-time.”

  “Katie’s gonna quit all right, but not to stay home.” Gabe leaned back against Marcy’s chest, settling in with a cross of skinny legs on Patrick’s lap.

  Patrick hiked a brow. “Comfy?”

  She ignored him and propped her hands behind her neck. “She’s gonna be a lawyer.”

  “Not anymore, dear,” Marcy said. “She’s a married woman now.”

  Steven ruffled a hand through his dark hair and put his feet up on the ottoman. “You sure about that, Mother? I think Katie may still have plans for law school.”

  Marcy frowned. “Well, I know she’d still like to go, but I just assumed it was out of the question since she’s married now and likely to have a baby of her own.”

  “Maybe, but all I know is when I was sorting through the mail a few weeks ago, Katie got a letter from Portia Law School.” Steven stifled a yawn.

  Patrick sat up, disrupting Gabe’s feet. “What? Did she tell you what it was?”

  “Nope, and when I asked, she just shoved the letter in her pocket and smiled, telling me that some dreams never die. So naturally I assumed she was still planning to go.”

  “Oh, she’s going,” Gabe said. She closed her eyes and adjusted her feet on Patrick’s lap.

  “Excuse me?” Patrick shifted her legs to a different position. “How do you know that?”

  “Because we share a room, remember? Or did. I saw the letter on her dresser, welcoming her to Portia Law School this fall.”

  “What?” Patrick straightened in unison with Marcy. He jiggled Gabe’s leg, forcing her to open her eyes. “Does Luke know?”

  “Nope.”

  Marcy swiveled Gabe’s chin. “How do you know?”

  Gabe’s rosebud mouth eased into a smirk. “Because when Katie found me reading the letter, she snatched it away and made me promise not to tell Luke. She said it was a surprise.”

  “Oh, it’ll be a surprise all right,” Steven said with a chuckle.

  Marcy shook her head, a hand to her brow. “Oh, Katie Rose . . .”

  “Let it go, Marcy,” Patrick said. He slipped an arm around his wife’s shoulder and drew her close. “It’s their problem now, not ours. They’ll work it out.”

  “But Katie has to learn you can’t have secrets in a marriage—it can hurt a relationship.”

  “Yes, darlin’, I know,” Patrick said with a dry smile. “All too well. But that’s a lesson for her husband to impart, not us. And if ever a man was up to the task, it’s Luke McGee.”

  Marcy slumped against Patrick’s shoulder. “I suppose . . .”

  “So, Gabe . . . up for a Nehi at Robinson’s?” Steven rose, muscled arms stretched high.

  Wiry limbs scrambled as Gabe shrieked to her feet. “Honest, Steven, you mean it?”

  “Sure, squirt. But you gotta promise to keep your mitts off Katie and Luke’s cake. Deal?”

  “Deal! Let’s go.”

  “Hold on, young lady,” Marcy said with a grip of the sash at the back of Gabe’s pale pink dress. “Not before you change from your good clothes.”

  “But I don’t wanna cha—”

  The words garbled in her throat when Steven squeezed the nape of her neck, forcing a hunch of Gabe’s shoulders. “No change, no Nehi. It’s that simple, squirt. Why should I buy a soda for a kid who doesn’t respect her foster parents?”

  “Okay, okay, but I swear you people are in cahoots.”

  Marcy tugged Gabe back to deposit a quick kiss to her cheek. “We don’t swear in this house, Gabriella Dawn, and we are not in cahoots. We are in a family, and that includes you, understood? Now, scoot and have a good time.” Gabe tore out of the sunporch with a whoop and a holler, and Marcy called after her. “And you mind Steven, you hear?”

  “Oh, she’ll mind, or else.” Steven said with a smile. He shook his head. “And you always thought Katie was the ‘handful,’ Pop. No wonder you two look so tired.”

  “Speaking of tired,” Patrick said with a squint, “what was wrong with Sean today? You would have sworn he was blood-related with Mitch, given the grouchy mood he was in. Did something happen at work?”

  Steven’s smile disappeared. A noisy gust of air escaped his mouth as he perched on the arm of the sofa across the way with a fold of his arms. “I don’t know, Pop, but whatever happened put him in the foulest mood I’ve ever seen.” Steven peered up, a crimp in his brow that clearly indicated his concern. “I had to pull him off some poor guy who gave Emma a hug out in the hall. Apparently Sean lost his temper because he thought the guy was a drunk who was manhandling her, so he took several swings at him.”

  “What?” Marcy bolted up, hand to her throat. “Sean doesn’t even have a temper.”

  “Well, he does now,” Steven said. “Started pummeling Emma’s friend, Martin, like he used to pummel those kids in the ring at Clancy’s, remember, Pop?”

  Patrick nodded, an uneasy feeling gnawing in his gut. “Did he hurt him?” he whispered, eyes trained on Steven.

  “Naw, scared him mostly, because I’ll tell you what, he scared the tar out of me, railing on the poor guy like some madman. I got to him on the second swing, but even so, Martin left with a swollen lip, bruised jaw, and a black eye that will have him thinking twice before he ever hugs another woman again.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to Sean? Ask him what happened?” Patrick studied the son whose own bad temper was buried deep, but definitely there. Like all of his children, he supposed . . . except for Sean, that is. His lips went flat. No, Sean had always been the peacemaker, not a fighter, the dutiful son Patrick depended on, obedient, compliant. A model son.

  “No, when I got back from helping Martin to the door, Sean was gone, back to work I assume since he said he had budgets to trim.”

  Marcy shifted to stare at Patrick, her eyes spanning wide. “Should we call him at the store? See if he’s all right?”

  “He’s a grown man, Marcy,” Patrick said with a pat of her arm. “Whatever is eating on him, he’ll talk to
us when he’s ready.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Alarm seeped into her tone. “This isn’t like him, Patrick.”

  “I know, darlin’, and if this passes without a word, I’ll get to the bottom of it when the time is right.”

  With a heavy sigh, she slowly nodded before sinking back against his chest.

  “Well, I’m off.” Steven stood to his feet. “You two want anything from Robinson’s?”

  Patrick eyed his son. “No, thanks, but I’d like to know why you’re home tonight in the first place. It’s Saturday night, for pity’s sake, and the Fourth of July—I expected you to be out with Joe and your buddies, or at the very least helping Sean coach his baseball team tonight.”

  Steven cuffed the back of his neck, suddenly looking more exhausted at twenty-four years of age than Patrick felt at fifty-three. “Yeah, I know, but Joe and the guys are going to Revere Beach for a dance marathon tonight, and I just wasn’t up to it. It’s been a pretty grueling week at work, so I figured I’d just turn in early.”

  “You think you’re going to like it—the Prohibition Bureau?” Patrick glanced up, feeling an edge of concern that the son who had burned the candle at both ends during college was now a nose-to-the-grindstone prohibition agent in bed by nine.

  “Yeah, I think so. It’s great, Joe and I being partners and all, although I don’t think he’s as enamored with the job as I am. I guess I like the idea of working for the Department of Justice, you know?” His lips quirked. “Like maybe it exonerates me from my questionable past.”

  Patrick felt a twinge in his chest. “Steven, you’ve already been long exonerated. Your exemplary behavior since my heart incident two years ago more than proves that. You’re a hardworking and honest man, son, and I’m proud of you.” He hesitated. “But you need to enjoy life too. Why don’t you go with Joe and the others to Revere Beach tonight and have fun. Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet a nice young woman.”

  A wry smile hovered on Steven’s lips. “Nice young woman? Hanging out with Joe and the others? I don’t think so, Pop. You didn’t take a shine to the women I met hanging out with Joe and the gang before. What makes you think you will now?”

  “I’m not talking about women like Maggie. Surely there must be some decent young girls you can meet and get to know?”

  “Young?” Steven leaned to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Yep, plenty of those. But decent?” He slapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Trust me, Pop, they’re few and far between. See you later.”

  A thunderous clomping rattled down the staircase, followed by a slam of the front screen door, indicating Gabe was more than ready. “Steeeeeeeeeven!! Meet you on the porch swing.”

  “One Nehi only, Steven,” Marcy warned. “And don’t let her talk you into chocolate—heaven knows she already has enough sugar to keep her up for days.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Steven said with a wave. “Enjoy the solitude.”

  The screen door slammed again, and Patrick eased into the love seat with a sigh. He drew Marcy close. “Solitude,” he whispered. “Heaven help me, I almost don’t recognize it anymore.”

  He felt Marcy’s chuckle against his chest. “Don’t get too used to it, Patrick. We have two sons and a very active foster daughter who still call this home.” Her sigh seemed one of pure contentment. “Besides, raising someone as young and vital as Gabe will help keep us young.”

  His fingers caressed the back of her neck before tilting her face to meet his. One brow edged high as he studied her with a slant of a smile. “I can think of better ways to stay young, Marceline,” he whispered, allowing his eyes to linger on the fullness of her lips.

  She pressed a hand to the scruff of his jaw and smiled while a faint blush colored her cheeks. “And better ways to spend your sweet solitude, I suppose.”

  “Mmm . . . ,” he whispered, taking her lips with his own. His mouth trailed to caress the lobe of her ear. “Sweet solitude, indeed.”

  Emma unlatched the spiked wrought-iron gate and skittered up the red-cobblestoned steps of Mrs. Tunny’s stately, brick row house to see Alli, her adrenaline still coursing from the excitement of the day. She pressed her finger to the ornate buzzer beside the carved wooden door impressively flanked by graceful Greek columns and whispered her usual prayer of gratitude. Thank you, God, for helping me find such a wonderful home for one of my dearest friends. And on Beacon Hill, no less.

  The door swung wide, and she was met by a tiny slip of a woman with warm brown eyes and snow-white hair perched atop her head in a tight little bun. “Emma—come in, come in! How was the wedding? Oh, I bet Katie was a beautiful bride, wasn’t she?” She steered her inside with a strength that belied the tiny, blue-veined wrist clamped to Emma’s arm like a vise.

  “Oh, you should have seen her, Mrs. Tunny!” Emma breathed. “She was stunning—a sleek satin dress handmade by her mother, all studded with pearls at the neckline. Trust me, Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off her.” Emma grinned and wagged a sack in her hand, her tone playfully singsong. “And I have wedding cake . . .”

  Mrs. Tunny giggled like a schoolgirl as she closed the front door. “Oh, I’m so sorry Alli had to miss it, but the good news is I think the worst of her flu is over. And your timing is perfect because she just finished her dinner.” The elderly woman snatched the bag from Emma’s hand and shooed her down the hall. “Now, you go on and see her, and I’ll serve up the cake. How about a cup of tea or coffee to go with it?”

  “Oh, tea would be lovely, Mrs. Tunny, thank you.” Emma hurried to the end of the hall and peeked into the sunroom Mrs. Tunny had converted into a bedroom for Alli. Her lips lifted into a soft curve at the sight of the frail young woman asleep in the bed, barely a bump under the covers at the age of almost twenty. The last remnants of sunlight filtered into the room, casting an iridescent glow on the pale cheeks of one of Emma’s most cherished friends who slept propped up against the headboard with a Bible in her lap. Alli Moser was both an employee and a friend whose many trials in life had not diminished her innate joy one fraction of an inch. In fact, Alli’s faith seemed to grow daily, providing a constant source of delight and comfort for Emma herself. The young woman’s shoulder-length brown curls fanned across the pillow as she rested, an angel with porcelain skin and the innocence of a child.

  “Alli . . . are you asleep?”

  At Emma’s soft whisper, her friend’s eyelids flickered open to reveal large brown eyes brimming with a dozy welcome.

  “Emma—how beautiful you look! Tell me, was the wedding wonderful?” Scooting over in the bed, Alli patted the mattress in joyous expectation, indicating for Emma to sit.

  “More than wonderful. How are you feeling?” Emma asked, concern crinkling her brow.

  A sleepy smile inched across Alli’s lips. “Much better, I think. No more fever, at least.”

  “The saints be praised!” Emma sat on the edge and adjusted her friend’s pillow. “Oh, Alli, I have never seen a more glowing bride than Katie. I just know they’re going to be happy.”

  Alli shimmied down into the bed with a dreamy sigh, resting her folded arms against the sheet on her chest. “Oh, I agree—they’re perfect for each other.” She hesitated, her gaze wandering into a faraway stare before she finally blinked up with a shimmer of hope in her eyes. “Emma . . . do you, you know . . . think something like that could ever happen for me?”

  Emma smiled as she studied Alli Moser, a young woman who’d spent her life as an orphan at the Boston Society for the Care of Girls. Polio had left her with braces on her legs while epilepsy had given her an occasional stutter when she got nervous, a habit that made most assume she was slow. And Alli was anything but, possessing a mathematical ability Emma had seldom seen. Since Katie had asked her to give Alli a job two years ago, this gentle girl had not only become invaluable at the store, but a godsend to Mrs. Tunny as well, both as a bookkeeper and a companion. And now, Emma thought with a catch in her throat, a very dear friend.

  Her heart softened at the look
of hope on the young woman’s face. “I’m not sure what God has in store for you, Alli, but I do know one thing—it will be good. I’ve learned he doesn’t skimp with those who have a heart for him. After all, his Word says he honors those who honor him, and that’s certainly you, young lady. Besides, Katie and I prayed for a wonderful home for you, and lo and behold, I find out Mrs. Tunny was looking for a companion.” Emma hiked a brow while a smile tugged at her lips. “Do you know, Alli Moser, how many young women would love to be in your shoes, leg braces or no, living in the lap of luxury on Beacon Hill? With one of the kindest, godliest women no less, who provides for your every need?”

  A soft giggle escaped Alli’s lips, and for the hundredth time, Emma thought that she had never seen a more transforming smile. There was nothing particularly beautiful about Alli Moser with her small, puggish nose set in a pale face, but no one noticed that when she smiled. Like shafts of sunlight bursting through an overcast sky, Alli had a smile that lit up the room as well as her face, making you glad to be alive.

  “I do,” Alli whispered. “I will be forever grateful to both you and Katie. Mrs. Tunny is the mother I never had, and the family I’ve always wanted.” A sigh drifted from her lips.

  Emma tugged one of Mrs. Tunny’s small boudoir chairs to the side of Alli’s bed and sank into its plump pillows, the satisfaction of Alli being taken care of as comfortable as the plush cushions beneath her. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Emma said with a gentle stroke to her cheek.

  “After my fever broke, I’ve been feeling much better. I plan to be at work on Monday.”

  “Good.” Emma squeezed her hand. “Think you’re up to some wedding cake?”

  The twinkle in Alli’s eyes made Emma laugh. “Oooo . . . I love wedding cake!” She hunkered down even farther in the bed and folded her hands in expectation. “Tell me all about the wedding.”

  Emma kicked off her shoes and happily chatted about the day—from flower girl Gabe blowing bubbles with Dubble Bubble while walking the aisle, to Charity being buzzed by a bee during the vows. Much to Alli’s delight, Emma divulged every glorious detail of both the church ceremony at St. Stephen’s and the reception at Kearney’s Café, her smile dimming somewhat at the memory of Sean’s altercation with Martin. Halfway through, Mrs. Tunny brought in cake on china plates and her silver tea service, capping off the telling of a near-perfect day.