Band of Sisters (55 page)

Maureen swallowed.
Is love truly like that, then? Does it see only what is good and not the evil? Charity—love—“is kind . . . thinketh no evil . . . is not easily provoked . . . beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things”—isn’t that what Mrs. Melkford’s Bible says? Is that the way you see me, the way you love me?
She tried to speak, failed, swallowed, and tried to speak again. “You love me.” She formed the words and said them aloud, foreign though they were.

“In every way I can.” Joshua took her fingers and pulled them to his chest. “But I must ask you now, for it’s too long already that I’ve waited to ask. Do you love me?”

She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t speak.

“I must know now: do you love me, Maureen O’Reilly?”

Tears overflowed their bounds and spilled down her cheeks. The love she’d realized for this man filled every space in her soul, and if she didn’t confess it, she knew she would burst—and yet . . .

“Is it that hard to say?” He looked as if she’d shot a poison arrow to his heart, and let go of her fingers.

The unexpected cold—the fear of losing him—that flashed through her chilled her to the bone. “I do love you, Joshua Keeton, with all of my heart, but—” She couldn’t finish.

“But?”

“But what about Katie Rose? She’ll blame me . . . she’ll blame me for—”

“For what? For lovin’? For bein’ loved? And if she does? Does that change anythin’ between us?”

It was the question Maureen had pondered each night before she fell asleep. It was the question she could not answer. She sighed. “I don’t know what will happen after the trial.”

“None of us do.” He pulled her into his arms.

She leaned her head against his chest. “But what if—?”

“The prosecutor is painting the worst possible picture, just so we’ll all be prepared.”

But the prosecutor hadn’t, and that was what frightened Maureen. Not once had the man addressed the problems she’d face if they deemed her a woman who’d passed through Ellis Island for purposes of prostitution, if they sent her back to Ireland.
There’d be no one to watch over Katie Rose, no one to protect her from the Jaime Flynns prowling the streets of New York.

She sighed, wishing she could stay there forever. But she left the warmth of his embrace and folded Joshua’s hand between her own. “Promise me.”

“Anything.” He smiled, leaning very near her cheek.

“That you’ll stay close to Katie Rose—now, before the trial, and during. Close enough to know she’s not desperate, that she’s not alone. And no matter what happens, you’ll stay in New York. You’ll watch over Katie Rose.”

Joshua pulled back. “We’ll stay. We’ll watch over her together.”

“Promise me,” she insisted.

But he held his ground.

Maureen anticipated Mrs. Melkford’s frequent visits. She knew her friend would come every other day, as regularly as clockwork, just as soon as she’d finished her work at the Missionary Aid Society. Though Maureen regretted the toll the sum of events had taken on Mrs. Melkford, there was something entirely healing and loving about the older lady’s presence that helped repair the damage the grueling prosecutor had done to Maureen’s spirit—something she couldn’t imagine doing without.

“It’s demoralizing, this pounding against your character!” Mrs. Melkford insisted.

“He’s only trying to prepare me for the worst, to harden me.”

“He’ll not harden your heart. I know you won’t allow that.” Her friend smiled. “Snowdrops never harden. You have a heart like spring rain, and nothing’s going to change that.”

“If I do,” Maureen laughed, “it’s thanks to you.”

“It wasn’t me,” Mrs. Melkford replied.

Maureen smiled in return, knowing she was right. It was the voice that spoke within. It was the quiet affirmation of the Lord’s unfailing love for her, His complete forgiveness of all her past and all her present—the things she’d done and let be done, the things she’d failed at and been unable to do.

In the days before the trial, Maureen dug into Mrs. Melkford’s Bible, especially the account of her Lord’s last week—His betrayal, His arrest, the moment His closest friends deserted or denied Him, His mock trial, His beating, His crucifixion.

“He knew what was coming,” she whispered two days before she was to give testimony, “but He did it anyway. He did it for us because we couldn’t do it for ourselves.” She swallowed her tears. “He did it for me.”

Maureen sat a long time that evening, thinking, praying. When morning dawned, so did a resurrection in her heart, born of one nearly two thousand years before.

Before she left for the courthouse to testify, Maureen prayed on her knees for strength. She remembered Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. She remembered that He’d begged for the cup of suffering to be taken from Him. But when it wasn’t, He’d walked forward.

The day passed in a blur. The faces of the courtroom swirled before her—hard faces, leering, condescending, suspicious. But in their midst she recognized Joshua—smiling, encouraging, worried; Olivia—brave, determined; Mrs. Melkford—believing, but slightly more frail than before, constantly moistening her lips for courage; Curtis—the face of an older brother, protective. As she took the stand, she noticed more familiar faces, women from the circle—Agnes, Julia, Carolynn, Hope, Isabella, Miranda—all sitting in the third row. Knowing it was considered nearly scandalous for reputable women to attend a trial, Maureen was taken off guard by their presence.

She remembered in a rush the things Katie Rose had said to her and about her to the circle, things she was certain had singed the ears of those proper ladies. Maureen quailed, sure they’d come to witness and gloat over her downfall.

But a look of fierce determination linked their countenances, encouraging warmth in their expressions, a solidarity in their posture. Maureen knew, in that moment, that she was not alone, would never be entirely alone again, no matter the outcome of the trial. She was embraced by an entire battalion—made up of these she could see and others she could not.

She was asked her name, told to place her hand on a Bible. As she made her vow to tell the truth, the whole truth, she knew that this was exactly what Jesus would do.

The prosecutor and Curtis had rightly anticipated the false witnesses from Darcy’s, even the paid false testimony of Officer Flannery. Over the next two days, they ripped Maureen’s reputation to shreds, discrediting or reinterpreting everything she said.

But not even the jaded prosecutor had anticipated the damning letter the defense had extracted from her village priest in County Meath, let alone a shaming false dismissal from Lord Orthbridge of Orthbridge Hall, signed and sealed with his signet ring.

The only part of her testimony that appeared to bear weight were the cold, black figures written down in Belgadt’s ledgers. Even those the calculating defense minimized, misrepresented, redefined.

Mrs. Melkford broke down on the witness stand when forced to testify to Maureen’s early lies. If Maureen regretted anything, it was her actions that led to hurting her dearest friend.

Jeered from the courtroom at the end of the third day, the judge’s gavel pounding for order in her ears, Maureen held her head high, squeezed Mrs. Melkford’s stooped shoulder as she passed, and walked out into the late afternoon sunshine, free at last.

“But for how long?” she asked Joshua as he took her arm to begin the long trek to Morningside from Mrs. Melkford’s that evening. “What if they decide to send me back?”

“We’re small potatoes to them.” Joshua squeezed her hand to his side as they entered Washington Square. “They’d not bother nor wish to bear the scrutiny of the fuss Curtis and Olivia would rouse in this city, let alone your Ladies’ Circle.” He chuckled. “I do believe those women could move mountains, once they put their voices together for a cause.”

She sighed wearily. “Then I’m ever so glad to be small potatoes.”

Joshua stopped, and she with him. He turned to her. “You truly don’t mind? Wouldn’t you rather have the grand life—a life like Curtis is offering Olivia?”

Maureen snorted. “I’d not know what to do with it. It’s wearying to think about. I just want a fire and a home and a—” She stopped, blushing.

He guided her to a nearby bench, pulling a small box from his coat pocket. “If being small potatoes is all right with you, Miss O’Reilly, then perhaps you won’t mind sharing that fire and home and those small pratties with a Paddy like me.”

The soul Joshua poured into Maureen’s eyes stole her breath.

He opened the blue velvet box, revealing a ring, a golden band engraved with leaves and rose of Sharon, delicately cut in filigree.

She couldn’t speak for the joy set before her.
To think he loves me—Joshua—and heaven, too!

“I take that unprecedented silence as consent.” And he slipped the ring on her finger.

Before God and all of Washington Square, he kissed her. And when she gasped, he kissed her again and again, until she nearly rose off her seat for kissing him back.

When a matron strolled by shaking her head, Maureen pushed him away and straightened her hat.

Joshua laughed out loud.

That was when she saw Katie Rose walking arm in arm with her friends, just off work from the Triangle Waist Factory.

“Isn’t that your young man?” one of the girls beside Katie Rose asked loudly. “Is that your sister he’s with, the one from the trial?”

Katie Rose paled. The spears of fury she shot toward Maureen found their mark, piercing deep into her heart.

“Katie Rose.” Maureen made the first move, but Katie Rose backed away.

“Don’t touch me.” Katie Rose pulled her friends back the direction they’d come. “I want nothing to do with a liar and a thief.”

“Katie Rose!” Joshua started, but Maureen shushed him.

“She’s taken you in, Joshua,” Katie Rose said, pleading in her voice. “You should read the papers. They’re full of the trial, full of her slander and the truth that found her out!”

“Katie Rose, don’t,” Joshua cautioned.

The girls beside Katie Rose backed up in wide-eyed wonder. But one reached her hand to Katie Rose. “You can’t believe everything the rags say. It might not—”