of the love between them. If he could, he would destroy it, ye see, so they might be as miserable as he."
Shaking his head at the hopelessness in Fiona O'Reilly's eyes, Father Matthew shared her pain. "All you say is probably true, my dear, but you're at fault for none of it."
"Oh, but I am!" Nodding, unwilling to accept his words of consolation, Fiona held Father Matthew's gaze with her own.
"I failed me husband, and I'm failin' again because I've not the courage to go against him, ye see. I've not the courage to speak me mind and face his threats by tellin' him he's wrong in abusin' Sean with his anger, and in tryin' to wash the goodness from Meg's heart with his bitterness. I've only the courage to speak me mind when Tim's not present, and to try to soften the edge of Tim's spite. So ye see, I'm not a worthy person a'tall, and with every day that passes, I'm findin' it harder to understand why 'tis Mary, the good, lovin' woman that she is, who's lyin' on her bed, nearin' the end, while 'tis me that could so easily be spared here."
''Ah, Fiona…" Father Matthew's young face was pained. "There're so many things we can't reason through, but it's not for us to question God's way."
"But Father, I fear for the futures of Sean and Meg when Mary passes. And the time's comin' close, ye see."
"Will you keep them with you then?"
"Aye!" Her eyes lighting with uncharacteristic determination, Fiona nodded, but her quivering lips betrayed the price of that effort. "I'd follow them out on the street if it came to that."
Silent for long moments, sympathy for the poor woman's plight clearly visible in his eyes, Father Matthew took Fiona's callused hands to hold them comfortingly in his. "There's little I can do for you, my dear, except to tell you that where your courage is found lacking, your heart's kind and filled with understanding. You're a good woman, Fiona O'Reilly, and you must stop thinking poorly of yourself. And you must continue to share your goodness with the O'Connors, especially the children when Mary's gone. I'll do my best to help you, for I'm committed to them, you see. And in the meantime, we'll pray for the strength to do what we must."
Pausing, Father Matthew saw unexpressed gratitude in Fiona's eyes, and welling along with it, a light of hope that far surpassed his own. As she lowered her gaze respectfully, Father Matthew began the recitation of a heartfelt prayer.
"Oh, Mama, Beverly Hutton will think we're barbarians here on this lonely hilltop! Not only did the letter telling us of Mrs. Hutton's intended visit fail to reach us, but they've arrived when every bedroom is dismantled and in a state of disrepair! The beds are even stripped of their linens and the mattresses bare! You know how Beverly loves to ridicule. She'll tell everyone I know about this, and they'll all laugh at me."
Grace Lang fought to control the trembling of her lower lip at the calamity that had befallen the Lang household. But now facing her mother in the privacy of the master bedroom, she found her mother not in the least sympathetic. Instead, Millicent Lang's pleasant face lost its usual air of languorous tranquility as she grasped her daughter's arm and gave it a firm shake.
"Grace, you're behaving badly! The Huttons' unexpected arrival is unfortunate, I admit. But I should think you'd know me better than to think I'd allow anyone to view my household in anything but perfect order. Now pull yourself together and go back downstairs. It's unforgivable of you to have left our guests alone just to follow me upstairs with your foolish whimpering."
Grace raised her short, pert nose, her pretty face assuming a pettish air at her mother's rebuke.
"The Huttons aren't alone downstairs, Mama. Papa and David are entertaining them, and you know Abigail and Beverly don't see anyone else at all when David's in the
Shaking his head at the hopelessness in Fiona O'Reilly's eyes, Father Matthew shared her pain. "All you say is probably true, my dear, but you're at fault for none of it."
"Oh, but I am!" Nodding, unwilling to accept his words of consolation, Fiona held Father Matthew's gaze with her own.
"I failed me husband, and I'm failin' again because I've not the courage to go against him, ye see. I've not the courage to speak me mind and face his threats by tellin' him he's wrong in abusin' Sean with his anger, and in tryin' to wash the goodness from Meg's heart with his bitterness. I've only the courage to speak me mind when Tim's not present, and to try to soften the edge of Tim's spite. So ye see, I'm not a worthy person a'tall, and with every day that passes, I'm findin' it harder to understand why 'tis Mary, the good, lovin' woman that she is, who's lyin' on her bed, nearin' the end, while 'tis me that could so easily be spared here."
''Ah, Fiona…" Father Matthew's young face was pained. "There're so many things we can't reason through, but it's not for us to question God's way."
"But Father, I fear for the futures of Sean and Meg when Mary passes. And the time's comin' close, ye see."
"Will you keep them with you then?"
"Aye!" Her eyes lighting with uncharacteristic determination, Fiona nodded, but her quivering lips betrayed the price of that effort. "I'd follow them out on the street if it came to that."
Silent for long moments, sympathy for the poor woman's plight clearly visible in his eyes, Father Matthew took Fiona's callused hands to hold them comfortingly in his. "There's little I can do for you, my dear, except to tell you that where your courage is found lacking, your heart's kind and filled with understanding. You're a good woman, Fiona O'Reilly, and you must stop thinking poorly of yourself. And you must continue to share your goodness with the O'Connors, especially the children when Mary's gone. I'll do my best to help you, for I'm committed to them, you see. And in the meantime, we'll pray for the strength to do what we must."
Pausing, Father Matthew saw unexpressed gratitude in Fiona's eyes, and welling along with it, a light of hope that far surpassed his own. As she lowered her gaze respectfully, Father Matthew began the recitation of a heartfelt prayer.
"Oh, Mama, Beverly Hutton will think we're barbarians here on this lonely hilltop! Not only did the letter telling us of Mrs. Hutton's intended visit fail to reach us, but they've arrived when every bedroom is dismantled and in a state of disrepair! The beds are even stripped of their linens and the mattresses bare! You know how Beverly loves to ridicule. She'll tell everyone I know about this, and they'll all laugh at me."
Grace Lang fought to control the trembling of her lower lip at the calamity that had befallen the Lang household. But now facing her mother in the privacy of the master bedroom, she found her mother not in the least sympathetic. Instead, Millicent Lang's pleasant face lost its usual air of languorous tranquility as she grasped her daughter's arm and gave it a firm shake.
"Grace, you're behaving badly! The Huttons' unexpected arrival is unfortunate, I admit. But I should think you'd know me better than to think I'd allow anyone to view my household in anything but perfect order. Now pull yourself together and go back downstairs. It's unforgivable of you to have left our guests alone just to follow me upstairs with your foolish whimpering."
Grace raised her short, pert nose, her pretty face assuming a pettish air at her mother's rebuke.
"The Huttons aren't alone downstairs, Mama. Papa and David are entertaining them, and you know Abigail and Beverly don't see anyone else at all when David's in the
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