Never Broken

Never Broken

by Kathleen Fuller

Mountain Brook Ink

Everlasting Faith Series

Book One: Never Broken

Book Two: Never Abandoned

Book Three: Never Forsaken

Mountain Brook Ink

White Salmon 98672

www.mountainbrookink.com

Never Broken

© 2015 by Kathleen Fuller

ISBN 978-0-996008-6-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

The website addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource to you. These websites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of Mountain Brook Ink, nor do we vouch for their content.

Scripture references are from The Holy Bible, King James Version (KJV).

The places depicted in this book are real places, but all characters, other than known historical figures addressed in the Author’s Note, are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

The Team: Miralee Ferrell, Judy Vandiver, Laura Heritage, Hannah Ferrell.

Cover Design: Lynnette Bonner, www.IndieCoverDesign.com

Mountain Brook Ink offers fiction you can believe in.

www.mountainbrookink.com

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition of this new version 2015

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Dear Readers,

Never Broken
was originally published in 2006. At the time of its release, the plan was to publish the next two books in the series,
Never Forsaken
and
Never Abandoned
, the following year. Due to circumstances beyond my control, the other two books were never published, and readers of the original version of
Never Broken
were left with a cliffhanger. This was deeply upsetting to me because I never want to disappoint readers.

Over the years, I’ve attempted to find a “home” for this series, but nothing came to fruition. Now, nearly a decade later, the Everlasting Faith series is finally being published. If you’ve read the first edition of
Never Broken
, you may notice some changes in this book—hopefully for the better.

Happy Reading!

Kathleen

Limerick, Ireland

December 1834

Margaret O’Leary sat down at the
splintered wood table, tugging her threadbare shawl against her body. She glanced at the mound of ashes in the hearth, the peat fire having gone out long ago. Cold, damp air now filled the tiny, one-room hovel, piercing through her taut skin and penetrating deep into her bones.

Dim light flickered from a lone candle on the table, casting heavy shadows throughout the room. Two small, thin children lay on the floor under one tattered blanket in front of the dead hearth. She watched the soft rise and fall of her sons’ chests as they slept.

Another coughing spell consumed her, pain knifing through her chest. She didn’t have much time left. The spasms were more frequent, the pain more acute.

She focused on the small pile of coins in front of her. Already they were down to crusts of bread. She’d made so many mistakes in her life, all in the pursuit of pleasure, of adventure, of selfish gain. Now Rory and Colm, her two shining lights in a dark world, were suffering with her.

She couldn’t let them suffer any more.

A stub of charcoal lay next to a single sheet of paper. She should have done this long ago. Earlier that evening she’d gathered the courage to tell Rory about her plan. As she’d expected, he reacted stoically, agreeing to follow her wishes. Barely twelve years old, he’d been forced to leave childhood behind. After Finn O’Leary’s abandonment two years ago, Rory had become the family backbone she’d needed him to be.

Picking up the charcoal, she held it poised over the paper. How could she find the words to write her regrets, to voice her apologies? At one time, she’d thought Jane a stuffy prude who chose money and security over excitement and passion. Tomorrow morning she would give the letter, the money, and the last bits of food to Rory. There were enough coins for her sons to travel to County Cork, then to the Gormley estate. She had to trust that Jane would have compassion for her nephews and wouldn’t turn them away.

A frigid draft sliced through the room, causing Colm to stir and snuggle closer to his older brother. Margaret hadn’t told her youngest of her plans. An eight-year-old wouldn’t understand. Perhaps one day he would. Perhaps he could even forgive her.

God knew she couldn’t forgive herself.

Taking a ragged breath, she applied the stub to the paper. My dearest sister Jane, she began, tears blurring her eyes.
I’m so sorry…

After the gathering comes the scattering.

Irish Proverb

Ballyclough, Ireland

June 1844

Rory O’Leary tugged at the stiff
white collar that circled his neck like a noose. His body tensed as the coach’s wheels dipped into every bump and rut along the uneven road toward Gormley Manor. He pulled a dove gray card from the inside pocket of his black wool jacket. His jaw jerked as he reread the words penned in his aunt’s elegant script.

You are cordially invited to celebrate the marriage of William Dickson Gormley and Priscilla Annette Bancroft…

He continued to scan the rest of the invitation, noting the dates and times of the various dinners and events scheduled to honor the newly wedded couple. Then Rory read the last sentence at the bottom of the card.

I will expect you to be here in support of William and out of respect for your family. Do not disappoint me. Jane G.

This wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons.

He crumpled the card in his fist. He hadn’t wanted to leave Dublin and his life as a student at University to celebrate anything with his family. Any gathering always consisted of Aunt Jane’s blatant disdain, Cousin William’s thinly-veiled insults, and Colm’s open antagonism. He seriously considered refusing the invitation, despite the scandal it would cause.

Yet the two people he truly cared about, his cousin Sara and Uncle Edwin, needed his support. He looked forward to seeing them, especially seventeen-year-old Sara, who had somehow managed to remain sweet and kind, in spite of having Aunt Jane for a mother.

He unfolded his fists and stared at the wad of paper in his palm.
Do not disappoint me.
As if he had a choice in the matter.

The coach lurched to an abrupt stop. Rory drew back the short, velvet curtain from the carriage window and peered through the dust-coated glass at the stately manor in the distance. A thin curl of dark smoke floated from one of the chimneys, and black wrought iron fencing separated the grounds from the surrounding land. From the moment he’d set eyes on the looming gates as a child ten years ago, he had considered the barrier not only physical, but symbolic as well. The bars had seemed to scream at him:
no peasants allowed
.

But he was no longer a peasant. Soon he would have his education, then a job as a solicitor. He would live in comfort, never worrying about where his next meal would come from or if he would live through a frigid winter. And he would pay back every penny Uncle Edwin had given him, whether the man would accept the money or not.

For now, he had to do his duty. He exited the coach and squinted for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the bright summer sunlight. The scent of fresh, crisp air mixed with the earthy aromas of grazing livestock and fertile soil was a welcome change from the very human smell of Dublin. After taking a deep breath, his nerves seemed to settle a bit, and they calmed even more at the sight of Sara rushing toward him. Perhaps he could survive this after all.

“Rory!” Skirts in hands, she scurried down the pebbled path that led from the front of the estate to the enormous gate. Using her slender shoulder, she shoved against it until an opening appeared large enough for her to slide through.

His case landed on the ground with a thud as he spread out his arms and embraced her.

“I’ve missed you so!” she exclaimed.

“And I, you.” He held her at arm’s length. “Why Sara, you’ve grown into a bonny lass now, haven’t you?”

Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, the sun glinting off her blonde hair. “Come now, Rory, you’re only saying that because you’re my cousin.”

“’Tis the truth, though. I’m sure Uncle Edwin is having a fine time culling through your persistent suitors.”

“He is not because there are none to consider.” She lifted her chin as if proud of this fact.

Rory knew better. Sara was lovely and was also part of a noble family. If she didn’t have a passel of young men pressing their suit now, she would in the near future.

He picked up his case and offered her his arm as the driver led the horses to Lord Edwin’s stables. As they headed to the manor, Sara glanced at his small bag.

“You packed lightly for this trip.”

“I won’t be stayin’ long.”

Her smile faded a bit, but they continued to walk, the crunching of the small stones beneath their shoes the only sound between them. Finally Sara spoke, “I must say I’m disappointed.”

“But you can’t blame me.”

“Nay—I mean no, I can’t.”

Rory chuckled. “Been lectured again by Lady Jane on the necessities of proper speech?”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “‘Tis—it is—only for a week. I know William’s celebration is important to Mother, and I don’t want to let her down. Even if it means watching every word I say.”

“And how is Uncle Edwin holdin’ up during all this?”

“Oh, you know Father. He stays out of the way, allows Mother and William to take control, and counts out the money. As long as they don’t do anything outrageous, he stays out of it.”

“Sounds like he’s withdrawin’.” They reached the front door.

Sorrow crept into her eyes. “Yes,” she said in a low voice. “I think it’s the only way he can cope.”

They entered the great hall, servants bustling about as if Rory and Sara were invisible. The wood floors and furniture had been cleaned and rubbed until they shone, the silver and brass fixtures polished to a brilliant gleam. Winding their way through the house Rory noticed a great number of crystal and porcelain vases decorated each room, filled to overflowing with fresh flowers from Lord Edwin’s garden.

Rory wondered whether his uncle considered the cutting of his prized roses outrageous or not. From the heady scent pervading throughout the bottom level of the manor, he suspected the blooms had been brought in recently. Hundreds of flowers would be used up by the end of the week. Lord Edwin might not have much of a garden left when it was all over.

“I believe Brigit should have tea ready soon,” Sara said when they neared the wide circular staircase. “Are you hungry?”

He hadn’t realized he was until she mentioned it. “Famished.”

“Splendid. I asked her to prepare your favorites.” She began to ascend the stairs. “I’ll meet you in the drawing room in twenty minutes.”

“Will anyone else be joinin’ us?” he asked, following behind her.

“No.” She stopped on the top step and turned to him. “I’m sorry, but Father is out in the countryside checking on one of his holdings, and Mother is off tending to the evening’s dinner details. There’s no one else here. Just me.”

“That’s fine by me, lass,” he said, touching her hand and giving her fingers a squeeze. “I prefer your company over any other.”

She scampered down the hall. “Twenty minutes, Rory!” she called out before entering her suite. “And don’t be late!”

He went to his room and unpacked his case. As he changed his dusty clothes and readied for tea with Sara, he tried to stem his disappointment at Colm’s absence. Not that he wanted to get into an argument with his younger brother, which undoubtedly would have happened. It always did when they were together. But he’d hoped that things between them might have changed, that Colm might have missed him while he’d been gone. Even a little. Obviously he hadn’t.

Rory washed the travel grime off his face in the basin on the nightstand near his bed. He wiped the water from his cheeks and chin with a soft towel, putting Colm out of his thoughts. He needed to get through the next few days without incident and return to Dublin as soon as possible. With a little luck and a lot of prayer, he hoped to do just that.