Always in My Dreams (35 page)

At first Skye thought the valise must be hers and that she had forgotten it. She had almost called out to him. It was the slightest hesitation on her part that permitted her to learn the truth. Walker turned, valise in hand, and instead of approaching her car, disappeared into one closer to the front of the train. Skye waited to see if he would get off again, but he never did.

Skye considered it was her great good fortune to be riding Northeast Rail. No other line would have accommodated her questions and her requests. Once she knew about Walker, it hadn't taken her long to find out that he was riding in the mail car or that his destination was the city. She almost felt sorry for him because he didn't understand her advantage in his cat-and-mouse game.

"But not sorry enough to give myself away," she said, thinking aloud. The sound of her own voice startled her. Skye sat up in the tub and laughed a little uneasily, looking around to make certain no one had heard her. When she saw that she was still quite alone, Skye relaxed. She picked up the sponge and squeezed water onto her shoulders and between her breasts. She let her head fall back and dripped water along the curve of her throat. Closing her eyes again, she thought of Walker.

She wondered if he would always be so easy to bring to mind or if the image of him would fade in time or blur at the edges. The picture she had of him now was so clear he could have been standing beside her. There would be a slightly wicked smile on his face and perhaps a hint of his single dimple at the corner. His brown-and-gold-flecked eyes would be darkening in the center, but the look would still be intense. He would watch her with frank appreciation, unashamed that he enjoyed looking. His glance was like a physical touch and Skye could feel it on her mouth, her shoulders, then on her breasts. His smile would deepen because she would flush and try to blame it on the steam rising from the water. Walker would know better. He always did.

He'd probably drop down beside the tub. His thick, tawny hair would fall forward across his brow. He would rake it back with his fingers in an absent gesture. One of his hands would touch the rim of the tub. His fingertips would flick at the water, creating ripples on the surface that expanded in ever widening circles. A droplet of water would glisten on her breast. He would touch it. They would both watch the path his fingertip took on her skin, following it as it dipped below the water until it disappeared under the curve of her breast. His thumb would pass across her nipple.

He would chuckle then, a low, deep, raspy sound that would rise from the back of his throat. His hands would move to the collar of his own shirt. Skye could feel herself staring in astonishment as he unfastened the buttons and removed it. He stood up long enough to remove the rest of his clothes and when he was splendidly, gloriously naked, he dropped into the tub with her.

Water sloshed over the edges and puddled on the braided rug. "There isn't room for you in here," she said.

"Who are you talking to?" Moira called from Skye's bedchamber. "Did you say something to me?" She poked her head around the corner of Skye's dressing room. "I came in to show you some scarves I bought yesterday. I could use your opinion." Seeing Skye's flushed face, she frowned. "Are you certain you're all right, Skye? Perhaps I should send Mr. Cavanaugh for Dr. Turner."

"I'm fine, Mama. I was just talking to myself. I didn't hear you come in." Skye sighed as her mother accepted her explanation and ducked out of the doorway again. It was a timely interruption anyway, she told herself. The erotic drama that had been playing in her mind was certain to have left her unsatisfied. She looked down at herself, her raised knees, her elbows barely contained by the tub. "There wasn't room for both of us in here anyway," she muttered.

"You're going to have to speak up," Moira called.

"Sorry." Skye picked up a towel and stood up, wrapping it around her. She dried quickly and slipped into her robe. Padding barefoot into the other room, Skye cinched the belt. Her mother had placed a half-dozen scarves lengthwise on the bed and was standing back, examining the bright array with a critical eye. "You bought all these yesterday?"

Moira nodded. Her smile was a trifle guilty. "I didn't know what to do with myself. Your father was at work and you were gone and nothing seemed to interest me. So I went to A. T. Stewart's and shopped. I think I'm relieved that it didn't make me feel any better. It could have been quite expensive for your father."

"Papa enjoys spending money on you," Skye said.

"That may be true, but six scarves seems excessive to me. At least, today it does. Help me decide which to keep and we'll take the others back to the store."

"I have a better idea. Let's take them all to Mary Francis and then we'll pick out a special new one at Stewart's."

Moira was a little doubtful. "Give them
all
away?"

"Mama, don't be mean-spirited. Mary Francis's charity can use them more."

Moira sighed, understanding. "You don't like any of them, do you?"

It was difficult to be diplomatic when your mother pinned you right to the wall. "They're beautiful," Skye said, "but I don't think they flatter your hair."

Moira considered this, picking up one of the scarves and laying it across her neck. She studied her reflection in the mirror. "I believe you're right."

"Then we'll go see Mary Francis?"

"We'll take her to lunch."

* * *

Little Sisters of the Poor was charged with the care of the indigent and needy in Queens. Moira and Skye found Mary Francis working in the hospital kitchen, preparing trays for the patients. They pitched right in, slicing warm loaves of bread and dipping chicken broth into small soup bowls.

"So housekeeping wasn't to your liking?" Mary Francis asked drily. Her beautiful features were framed by the stark black and white of her cornet and wimple. The stiff material didn't prevent her from getting her tongue firmly in her cheek.

"Actually, I discovered I had a flair for it," Skye answered. "What I didn't like was my employer's groping. And don't bother threatening to break his knees for me. I already took care of him."

"Really? How?"

Skye told her.

"That's quite impressive."

Moira clucked her tongue in admonishment as all three of the nuns who were working with Mary Francis had stopped to listen. She sensed, rather than saw, their keen interest. "You shouldn't encourage her, Mary. It's not seemly, and I'm not listening to another word." She pushed the cart loaded with trays toward the kitchen door. "I'll take this around to the rooms."

"Poor Mama," Mary Francis said. "She doesn't know what to make of us sometimes." She looked pointedly at her fellow Sisters of Charity, who quickly went back to their work. Mary Francis touched Skye's elbow. "Come on, there's a little room in the back where we can talk privately." She took off her apron and hung it on a peg by the door. The room where she led Skye only had one chair and a table littered with papers. Mary Francis let Skye have the chair and swept aside the papers so she could sit on the tabletop. "Menus," she said, explaining the papers. "And butcher and greengrocer bills. There never seems to be enough money."

"I have some of my wages left," Skye told her. "It isn't much, but I'd rather you had it." She opened her beaded reticule, extracted a small change purse, and handed her sister some bills and coins. "If I had lasted longer, I could have actually paid off the greengrocer."

"It seems to me you did the right thing, leaving when you did." She put the money on the stack of bills. She studied her youngest sister frankly. "We don't have much time. Tell me why you've come. Donating the scarves was a very nice gesture, but it could have waited."

"How did you—" There was no sense in finishing the question. It didn't matter how Mary Francis knew; she just did. "I've met someone," Skye said, after a moment. "His name is Walker Caide."

The story came out haltingly in the beginning and breathlessly at the end. In between were Mary Francis's thoughtful questions to bridge the gaps in Skye's account.

Mary Francis was silent for a long time after Skye finished. "Are you going to tell him about the baby?"

The question startled Skye. "He asked me that, too. I can't think that far ahead. I don't even know if I'm carrying a child."

Mary Francis had dark red eyebrows. One of them lifted now as she gave her sister an arch look. "There's a family history to consider here," she reminded Skye. "Michael and Maggie and even our own mother. Fertility doesn't seem to be a problem with Dennehy women. I don't think you can count on being slow to start, like Rennie. I imagine she's the exception. Had I made a different choice, I'd probably have half a dozen children by now."

All but groaning, Skye crossed her forearms on the table and laid her head against them. She felt Mary Francis lightly stroke the back of her hair. Her voice was muffled. "I don't think I wanted to hear this," she said.

"I know."

"Maybe it won't come to pass."

"Maybe it won't."

Tilting her head, Skye examined her sister with a single eye. "You could be more optimistic."

Mary Francis shrugged, but her touch continued to soothe. "What is, is," she said gently. "Just don't think you have to handle it all alone."

"You'd think I'd have learned from their mistakes."

"It's hard to know if they made mistakes. Mama has Jay Mac and she's had him for the better part of her lifetime. Which one of us do you think was a mistake?"

"Rennie," Skye said immediately.

Mary Francis smiled. "Do you think Michael regrets Madison's birth or that Maggie regrets Meredith's? And what about the love they found with Ethan and Connor? I imagine there were times when they thought they were making a mistake, but now, who's to say?"

Skye raised her head and looked at her sister with interest. Mary Francis sounded almost wistful. "What about your choice? Do you ever regret it?"

Mary Francis's hands went to her rosary. Her long, graceful fingers slipped over the cool ivory beads. "We're talking about
your
choices," she said.

Skye allowed her sister to avoid answering the question, in part because she wasn't certain she wanted to know the answer. Mary Francis had always seemed so strong, so certain in her opinions, in her decisions. Knowing that she was struggling had the power to rock Skye. It was humbling to realize how little independence she actually exercised. "I'll talk to you before I make a decision one way or the other."

"I don't have your answers, Skye."

"But you'll hear me out and I'll be able to hear myself. I couldn't think clearly at all around Walker."

"Is that a good sign or a bad one? I'm never quite sure."

Skye could hear the amusement in her sister's voice. "It doesn't seem very funny to me."

Mary Francis never found it easy to be contrite, but seeing Skye's distress, she did her best now. "Of course it's not funny. I only wish I could be more help. Are you going to see Walker again?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's up to me. I know how to find him, but he can't reach me."

"You made certain that was the case."

She nodded. "I had to. I still don't know why he was following me. I'm fairly certain it was prompted by his work for Parnell more than a desire to know where he could find me."

"He's something of a mystery, isn't he?"

"Yes. I don't know very much about him. He's always had the advantage there."

"Did he press his advantage unscrupulously?"

"No. Quite the opposite."

"Then perhaps he followed you from Baileyboro to protect you."

"From what? Parnell remained behind. He was the only danger."

"Are you certain?" Mary Francis asked. "What about the ghost?"

"That's not amusing, either. I blame Rennie and Maggie and Michael and you—"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. All of you had some part in those horrible ghost stories when I was a child. It was cruel. I can't help but think that that experience made me more willing to suppose I was being accosted by Hamilton Granville's ghost."

"Are you saying now that it didn't happen that way?"

"Mary Francis, please. Don't pretend you accepted that part of my story. I'm saying now that I don't even know if it happened at all. You can't imagine how real it seemed at the time and how unreal it seems to me at this moment. I didn't have the slightest difficulty sleeping last night and I don't expect I'll have trouble tonight."

"You think Rennie and I put the idea in your head all those years ago?"

"Michael and Maggie, too. You all planted the seed. Some of you fertilized it a little better than others, but you all had a part." She let herself enjoy Mary's stricken face for a moment. "Oh, don't take it too badly. I'm plotting real revenge when you least expect it."

"Well,
that
eases my mind," Mary Francis said drily. "I won't even warn the others."

"Good. They don't deserve a warning." Her smile contradicted her words. She stood. "I suppose we should find Mama."

Mary Francis slipped off the table and wrapped her arms around her sister. "I'll support you, Skye, in whatever decision you make. And I'll pray it will be the right decision for you."