Guarding the Treasure (5 page)

She watched as Sean's eyes seemed to darken.

“Do you take me to be a fool?” Sean pulled on Father's outer coat. “No Father, you are the fool, and the one who lacks trust.”

“Sean.” Mr. O'Connell's sharp voice split the dimly lit room. “Be reasonable, you are young and busy with your own dealings. The warehouses are busy with merchants and dock workers. You have spent little time there and know nothing of the comings and goings of the business at hand. I think it best that in my absence; the waterfront is taken care of by those who are familiar with the details and everyday—”

“And who will take care of your mistress, Father? Or is that part of my duties, too?” Sean said with a wry laugh, stepping into his father's shadow.

Anya's eyes widened. Her hands rose quickly to cover the gasp that threatened to escape her throat. What was Sean talking about? Her father had no mistress. He had loved his wife, and Anya could prove it. She had witnessed his tears at Mother's death. Her eyes went as slits. What was she seeing in her father? Her eyes began to burn with hot tears as she listened to the deadly silence.

Mr. O'Connell sat hard in the chair beside his desk.

“I know about her, Father,” Sean's voice rang out, accompanied by a sadistic smile of satisfaction on his face. “I know you have had her for more than two years, and I know where she lives.”

Anya watched as Sean strut like a cock only inches from where Father slumped.

“But what made my skin crawl, dear Father, was all the evenings you were gone from Mother, and yes, even mornings as of late. Then telling her how hard you were working for her and your family. And you do know that she believed every word you said. She was blind to your antics. But not me, oh no, I could tell by your mannerisms that it was more than work that occupied your time. You see, Father, I am your son, and I have learned a great deal from you.” Sean bent down close, close enough to look directly into his Father's reddened face. “Be well assured that while you are away to Canada, I will take very good care of the estate you have put into my hands. And oh, let me not forget about your sweet little Anya. She will be put to good use, too.”

Anya stood still as a figurine in disbelief, not wanting to believe what she had seen and heard. Sean, her only brother, appeared to be something of a large sly cat taunting its prey before the final fatal blow. And her beloved father sat in a state of awful shock, his eyes large, and his hands gripping the arms of the chair as if they would protect him from the blast of truth that was evident.

Sean straightened and walked to the door. “I will not be joining you and Anya for the morning meal, so you may tell her anything you like about your trip.” He turned and, without expression, walked out of the room, not seeing Anya hiding in the darkness beside the staircase.

 

Colleen served the morning meal in the garden. It was at Father's request that the table be set proper and in the open air. Anya knew that meals in the garden always meant there was family-altering news to be presented. But this morning, she did not care about the news, she did not care what Father had to say. She, for the first time ever, found it hard to look at him as he spoke. The only image encompassing her mind was that of Sean and the dangerously cynical look on his face as he took pleasure in exposing Father's unfaithfulness. Then the dreadful look on her father's face at being caught in adultery. It brought shame to her mind and made her stomach tighten with knots that were being doubled with each silent minute at the table. She wished it was not true but feared that it was. Father's lack of words in protest last night and the look about his face told a story that was unforgettably haunting, yet rife with truth.

The silence was broken by the deep sound of a man with too much pride to admit he was a traitor to himself and his family. “Anya, I am going to be sailing to Canada in a few days and will be gone for two—maybe three—months,” her father said, continuing to consume his bun and tea. “Your brother will be in charge. Please listen and do as he requests. I have instructed Colleen to attend to your personal needs as they arise.”

Anya listened but did not want to hear his words. He had betrayed Mother, and for that she could feel hot anger build within her body, anger that had been experienced only with Sean, but never her father. Sean's words of last night rang loudly in her ears, even as Father spoke. “I am your son and have learned a great deal from you.” Had he truly learned his mannerisms from Father? Was this beloved man someone she really did not know? Too many questions that had no real answers circled round and round in her head.

Anya could hear her father's voice as if through a hollow tube. “Little lass, you are to listen to Sean and allow Colleen's womanly advice to take hold of you, just as if it were coming from your mother,” he said, raising another forkful of food to his mouth.

Her anger rose. How could he eat so heartily and look very little at her as he spoke, she wondered, picking at the food on her plate.

“I know for a fact that Colleen is only a bit older than you, but she is sound and has had much experience in her youth. She will advise you properly, and you would do well to heed her advice.” He glanced up only briefly, not catching her eye. Anya remained expressionless and gave no immediate response to his words.

Anya's face mirrored her lifeless words as they finally escaped her lips, “Yes, Father, I will do as Sean says and take the advice of Colleen, just as you request.”

At that, Mr. O'Connell rose from the table and gave his daughter a kiss on the top of the head as he passed to enter the living quarters. He turned slightly just a few lengths from her, adding, “Oh Anya, I will not be home this evening. I have many things to get done at the waterfront before I leave. I will say my goodbyes before I depart.”

She sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the stillness of the garden. Were those the very words he had said to her mother? She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands. “Mother, help me never to be deceived as you were,” she said, fighting back the tears and the ever building anger within.

Anya sat covered with the lace throw that usually graced the large fan-shaped back of her mother's wicker chair. It now provided security that was missing from the men she shared the castle with. She found herself spending more and more time in Mother's room, enjoying the eastern garden and trying desperately to see what the lady of the house had seen among the bushes and mature trees before her passing.

There was a knock on the door. Anya turned, praying it wasn't Sean. The thought of talking to him at this time made her heart sink. The door eased open. “Miss O'Connell, are you in here?” she heard a soft voice ask.

“Yes, Colleen,” she whispered, relieved at the sound of her voice.

“I have been a bit worried about you. You did not come for tea, and you hardly touched your morning meal. Miss, you must eat to remain strong through this ordeal.”

Anya smiled, returning her gaze to the garden. “I guess I wasn't very hungry this morning, and my lessons ran over the allotted time this afternoon.” She turned her head to meet Colleen's eyes. “I will try to do better.” Anya breathed deeply, pulling in a large amount of air as she wrapped the throw tightly around herself. “I needed to think of other things before we—” She stopped and turned to stare out the window again. “I'm not sure I can go through Mother's personal things, Colleen,” she said, not taking her eyes from the outdoors.

Colleen hesitated to think of the best words before speaking. “Oh Miss,” she sighed. The job of airing the bedchamber was necessary for cleanliness, but even more importantly, the command had been given by Mr. O'Connell, and he had left no options with his orders. Colleen tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. What can be said to convince her that the airing must be done? She closed the door behind her and walked closer to where Miss O'Connell was resting.
I must say words that will brighten the thoughts of this young woman and yet get her to understand the need at hand
, Colleen thought. She stood at the foot of the bed, close enough to see Anya's face from the side. “Say, Miss O'Connell, I was thinking, let us not look at the familiar things of your mother's today. Let us look at the things you know little of. Perchance then you will have questions in your mind in place of the gripping sadness, aye?”

Anya sat, continuing to stare out the window and listening to Colleen's words blend with the music of the garden birds. Her lips turned up slightly at the corners. “You may be right. I really want no more sadness today.”

“Good,” Colleen said quickly, not wanting her to change her mind. “Let us start over here near your mother's writing table. She loved this part of the room almost as much as the windows that overlook the gardens.” The young servant ran her fingers along the edge of the black walnut table as she spoke.

Anya studied Colleen's face as it shone in the dimly lit corner. She could see an endearment for the one who had used the table. Anya's eyes filled with tears. How did a servant know so much about her mother and care so deeply, she questioned as her heart filled with regret. She wished she had known such special things.

“There is so much I did not know, I wish I had—” Colleen abruptly slid a door open. It rubbed against the wall with a scraping noise and exposed a floor-to-ceiling case of books. Anya's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped. “I had forgotten about the hidden bookshelf,” she said, rushing to Colleen's side. “I did not realize Mother had so many books in her possession.”

Colleen watched as Miss O'Connell ran her fingertips over the covered spine of each book. She could see Anya's eyes move with excitement as she read one title then another. Miss O'Connell stopped, pulled a book from its resting place near the top of the shelf. She opened it to her face and breathed deeply from its pages. Colleen dared not ask but guessed it was to experience more of her mother by its smell.

Anya replaced the book and pulled another from the shelf. She now held a small black book in her hands. She stroked it with the palm of her hand, curious of its shape and texture. “Do you recognize this book, Colleen?”

“Ah, I do, Miss,” she said, smiling as Anya put the book in her hand. “This is one of a set of books Mrs. O'Connell would write in during the long afternoons you were gone away to school.” She slowly ran her hand over the cover. “Miss, look here, on the back.” She turned the book over to expose the engraved name of Alanna O'Connell. “Your mother purchased the blank books from a merchant in town. His name is Mr. Sweeney.”

She looked caringly at the engraved name. “He was so fond of Mrs. O'Connell,” she said as if reliving a treasured moment. “Anya your mother had shown such kindness to Mr. Sweeney and his family during a hardship they were going through. That is why he took it upon himself to have her name engraved on each book.” Colleen turned the book back to the front cover. “Miss, your mother loved to write her thoughts and feelings among the pages of these precious books, if for no other reason than to share them with you at this time in your life.”

Anya looked at the engraved name once more.
What a treasure these books will be
, she thought, opening to the first page. She stopped. “What?” a crease formed across the bridge of her nose, she looked curiously at Colleen. “But why are the words in Gaelic? Why not in English, as she spoke until her death?”

“May we sit, Miss?” Colleen asked, pulling a chair from the desk for Anya to rest in. “Your mother loved her homeland and had said many times that when she wrote in her native tongue, it was as if she were speaking right out loud. Out loud to the people she loved as she grew up in the country, and even more now to those she had shared her life with on this grand estate. I believe, Miss, that these books have something to do with why Mrs. O'Connell was so insistent on you learning the old language.”

Anya's eyebrows rose. “How did you know what Mother wanted for my education?”

Colleen was surprised at the questioning look on Miss O'Connell's face. She quickly shifted her weight on the bed away from the closeness that had been realized as they talked. “Miss,” Colleen began, her eyes firmly fixed on her clasped hands in her lap. “During the days of school, Mrs. O'Connell would be home alone, and as I worked, she would sit and talk with me. She talked of both you and Sean, but mostly about you. Miss, I really do think that the book you have in your hand is your real connection to your mother, her past and her present.”

Anya looked from the servant to the diary she held in her hand. She laid it in her lap, and it instantly fell open. Her eyes locked.
The date,
she thought.
How were words written the day her mother died?

“Colleen, this writing is of right before Mother's death. I didn't think she was awake, how could she have…?”

“Mrs. O'Connell was a surprisingly strong woman. What is written is of her hand on the day she passed. Miss, you have many of the same traits she possessed. I can see them in you, I can.”

“Colleen, I do not want to do any more cleaning today,” Anya said, clutching the black book tightly to her breast. “I will take this book to my bedchamber. If you could find any of the others, would you see that they are put away for me?”

“Aye, it will be done for you, Miss.”

Anya stood and made her way hastily to the door, not wanting to talk about anything further. “Colleen, I need to be alone with Mother's thoughts,” she said, opening the door, “Oh, and Colleen?”

The young servant pushed the chairs to the table. “Yes, Miss?”

“I would like you to have the dresses, underclothes, and shoes in the wardrobe. I have no need of more clothes, and you have proven to have been like a daughter to Mother. I see now how she loved and cared about you, and you about her,” she said, a smile lighting her face.