Emalyn's Treasure Read online

  Emalyn knelt beside her.

  “No, you’ve not failed either of us, Fiona. You’re only one person. You take care of me and this house and still, you find time for mothering Percy. You’ve done your best.”

  Fiona buried her face in the skirt of her apron and wept.

  Emalyn stood and wrung her hands. Then she went to the sink and wet a hand towel. It was all she could think of to do.

  “Here now,” she said in a soft, soothing voice. “Wipe those tears away. You’ve been the best mother anyone could ask for, a blessing to Percy. When no one else wanted him, you took him in and then adopted him. You’ve given him the very best, Fiona.”

  Fiona wiped her eyes and sat up straight.

  “He’s up to something, my girl. I know it in my mother’s heart. Those ruffians he runs with are no good, their dads neither, all of ‘em opposed our own good Mr. Dunaghy and Mr. Meade.” Fiona crossed herself. “God rest their souls. And now, they’re talking against your Owen. I’m afraid of their influence on Percy. Aye, he’s all bluster and brag, but inside, he’s still a frightened little boy with a limp that causes him pain and ridicule. The poor boy has known such pain.”

  Emalyn nodded. “I remember.”

  Emalyn thought back to the day they found him, just a baby, right there on their doorstep outside the kitchen. He was screaming and wailing, wearing nothing but a diaper in the freezing cold, tears and mucous caked all over his little face. His eyes were crusted shut. And one of his legs was so badly broken that it shot out at an odd angle. The baby looked as if he’d been beaten over every inch of his small body.

  “He claimed my heart on the day we found him,” Fiona said, “and hasn’t let go of it since. Day after day, night after night, we sat with him and held him. Your father had the best doctors to set his little leg. We fed him ‘til he could eat no more, and that boy has not known hunger or cold since. Praise the sweet Lord for that.”

  “And we’ve never been able to find out about his real parents,” Emalyn said, “even with all of Papa’s efforts with detectives and the garda, the police.”

  Fiona shook her head.

  “We’ve never had an inkling,” she said. “I used to tell Percy, when he’d ask me how his leg got hurt, that he was a wee angel who toppled down from Heaven and landed on some rough stone. He’d always ask, ‘If I was an angel, Mam, why didn’t God protect me?’ And I’d answer, ‘Well, now, He did, didn’t He. Our Father in Heaven sent you straight from your fall to the steps of Dunaghy Manor and into my waiting arms.’”

  Emalyn patted Fiona’s hands.

  “No one could have loved him more than you,” she said.

  “’Tis true, I think,” Fiona said. “Well, we’ve no more time for this. There’s a feast to ready for tonight’s celebration. Will ya hand me a clean apron, my girl, the one with the rose on it? But I’ll go and fetch Percy first to let him eat before any of the guests come. Lord only knows how he’d act given the state he’s been in today.”

  “Shall I have Owen do that, Fiona? He has a heart for the boy.”

  “Have Owen do what?”

  Emalyn turned to see Owen standing in the doorway. Dressed in his finest cuffed linen pants, white collared shirt, silk tie, and tweed vest, he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. His blond hair, short in the back but longer in the front so that it occasionally fell across his forehead and his finely chiseled nose and cheekbones gave him the look of an ancient god.

  He smiled at her and bowed low, gesturing with his large hands.

  “Your wish is my command, my swan.”

  “Lordy me, I’ve never seen such,” Fiona said. “You’d think you two were wed just yesterday.”

  Emalyn felt a blush rising in her cheeks.

  “Blushing like a new bride,” Owen said and hugged her. “And what is it you desire of me?”

  “Would you be a dear,” Emalyn said and ran her small hand down Owen’s tanned cheek, “and fetch Percy for us? Fiona wants him to be fed and off to bed before any of our guests arrive. And I must go upstairs and get ready myself.”

  For a few seconds, she felt herself caught by Owen’s beautiful blue eyes, caught and held as if in a trance. The scent of his cologne, a new French one called Caron, wafted its exotic but subtle floral notes around her. Arrested by his presence, Emalyn gazed into those eyes.

  Owen took her face in her hands and whispered, “I am the sun.”

  “And I am the moon,” Emalyn said.

  “And I will die each night just to let you breathe.”

  Fiona sniffed and brushed a tear from her eye.

  When Owen had kissed his wife softly on the cheek, he turned. “I’m off,” he said, “to fetch Master Percy.”

  “And I am off to make myself beautiful for our festivities.”

  “Then it shouldn’t take very long,” Owen said as he left.

  Before Emalyn left the kitchen, she checked her cooling chocolates, made sure each white swan sat securely atop its chocolate companion, and tested with her finger to make certain of the texture.

  “Perfect,” she said to Fiona.

  Owen and Percy came in just as she was leaving to go upstairs. Emalyn was shocked to see how badly swollen the boy’s eye and nose had become. In spite of her slight fear of him, her sense of justice prevailed. She could not leave without trying to find out who had done this to him, so she sat across from him at the small table.

  “Will you tell us who hurt you, Percy?”

  Fiona set a plate of steaming roast pork and vegetables and a heaping mound of potatoes in front of him. He dove into it greedily.

  Owen stood beside the boy and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Percy, did you have lunch today?”

  Percy nodded his head.

  “And what would that have been, then lad? What sort of lunch did your Mam prepare for you?

  Emalyn saw Owen glance at Fiona, who’d stopped her vegetable chopping to look at him.

  Percy shrugged.

  “Same as always,” he said without looking up from his plate.

  Fiona slid her arm across the boy’s shoulders.

  “So, what did you think of the special treat I put in the bag for you?”

  “A treat, now what would that have been I wonder?” Owen said. “You’re a lucky boy to get a treat in your lunch sack.”

  “Oh, tell us, Percy. What was it?” Emalyn asked. “What special treat did your mam give you?”

  Percy shoveled the last bits of food into his mouth.

  “I’m finished now, Mam. I’m not feeling well. May I go back to bed?”

  “Well, look at you using your manners,” Owen said.

  Fiona smiled at the boy. “You may certainly go back to bed, love, just as soon as you tell us about the special treat in your sack.”

  Percy lowered his head and mumbled, “Chocolates, the ones made by Miss Emalyn.”

  “Run along to be now, Percy. Your mam will check on you shortly,” Owen said. “And I’ll pop in before the celebration begins.”

  Emalyn watched Owen as he peeped around the door when Percy left.

  Then, he turned to her and Fiona.

  “Well, did you put chocolates in his lunch?”

  Fiona shook her head.

  “I put an extra biscuit with some sausages. They’re his favorites. And one of those sweet oranges you brought us from the market. But why would he lie about it?”

  “He didn’t lie,” Owen said and rubbed his forehead. “The boy didn’t lie because he didn’t know what was in the bag.”

  “But how could he not know what was in his own lunch bag?” Emalyn asked.

  “It’s just as I’ve suspected for a good while, why he’s so hungry every evening, eating as if he were half starved. Those hooligans he’s hanging out with are stealing his lunch. They probably get it first thing every morning.”

  “Then we should go right to the school and report it. We know Principal O’Hara and his whole family. He would help.”
/>   “I’ve no proof, Emmy, and Percy won’t tell for fear of what they’d do. They already tease and batter him about his limp. Principal O’Hara is a good man, but he’s no match for that group of ruffians.”

  “There must be something we can do,” Emalyn said. “Surely we can think of some way to stop them. We have to help him, Owen.”

  Owen was about to speak when the doorbell rang.

  Emalyn gasped.

  “Oh, mercy! Look at the time! I’ll be late for my own anniversary party.”

  Emalyn slipped out of her dirty clothes, washed herself off, and stepped into the beautiful dress that Owen had given her. She straightened the ruffled straps on her shoulders, adjusted the row of pink and yellow roses lining the neck then turned to do the same with the large roses that graced the waist of the low-cut back. She fumbled with the hooks, finally secured them, then fluffed out the floral overlay. The chiffon trailed out behind her for three or four feet.

  She gazed at herself in the mirror.

  My hair. Oh, my hair.

  At the vanity, she brushed out her hair, pulled it tightly back from her face and twisted the thick red mass into a chignon, her nimble fingers working to secure it with a multitude of pins. When it was tight and smooth, she slid in the large jeweled comb, turned her head, and smiled. Rouge, lipstick, and a bit of mascara completed the look.

  At the shoe closet, she surveyed her choices and settled on the green satin heels, the very same color as the floral leaves in the chiffon.

  Instinctively, she walked to the velvet chair, felt the cushion, smiled when her fingers lingered at the small stiffened section and whispered a prayer of thanks for her treasure and for the many blessings in her life. Her prayer of thanks turned into a plea for the safety of Percy.

  When he’d come into their lives twelve years ago, a pitiful, abandoned, and sickly orphan, Emalyn had tried to love him, but Percy required round-the-clock care. Her mother, father, and Fiona rotated shifts with the child. The house seemed always occupied by doctors or police or detectives. And Percy screamed and wailed interminably. If he was put down for a nap, he screamed until someone picked him up. If he was put down to play, he screamed until Fiona, Mother or Father either sat beside him or held him.

  And when he grew, walked, then ran, he climbed all over the furniture, even on the grand piano. If someone weren’t watching him every minute, he’d sneak away and go into the bedrooms where he’d cause havoc by emptying out drawers. And once, the very worst time, when Emalyn was left to watch over him, she turned to put a batch of chocolates into the oven, and he disappeared. Emalyn found him in the parlor, relieving himself on the expensive rug.

  As hard as she tried not to, she came to dislike him immensely.

  Several times, Emalyn had gone to her bedroom to find the boy perched in the green chair digging at the cushion. Horrified that he might discover her treasure, Emalyn insisted on a lock for her bedroom door, one that she could lock from the outside. Her father complied, and Emalyn relaxed…until Percy’s ninth birthday when she went upstairs, saw her door ajar, and found him going through the drawers in her room. She immediately looked at the velvet chair. The cushion lay on the floor, ripped in several places by a pair of scissors that lay on the floor.

  Emalyn screamed. When her screams brought her father, mother, Fiona and even her young friend Owen into her room, the group found Percy sitting on the side of Emalyn’s bed smiling sweetly, and Emalyn crumpled in a heap beside her chair. Her father wrapped his arms around her and cooed, “Be still, my little one. Be still. Papa’s here now.”

  “I tried to lock him out, but he found a way in,” Emalyn said between sobs.

  Her father stood, then and turned to the boy.

  “Percy, you will go downstairs with your mother where you will stay. You are forbidden entry into any of the rooms upstairs. Do you understand me, boy?”

  Percy sat stone still on the side of the bed.

  “He’s ruined my chair, Mama,” Emalyn said. “My green velvet chair.”

  Then, Emalyn picked up the scissors and held them for Fiona and her mother and father to see.

  “This is what that mind of his thinks about. Destruction.”

  Young Owen walked over to Percy and held out a hand.

  “Come along, boy,” he said firmly.

  During the next week, her mother bought fabric for her to mend the velvet chair, so she carefully recovered the cushion, grateful to God that her treasure was still there. She spent long hours in her room, and though she’d protected her treasure again from Percy, she didn’t seem to be able to relax. Deep inside, she felt that nothing in her room would ever be safe from him again.

  He’d changed everything.

  Fiona cried more, talked less, and seemed cold and distant when she spoke.

  Mother was given to fits of temper and spent more time outside than inside, sometimes not even coming in for dinner.

  Father worked longer hours and seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Often, when he stopped in to say good-night before bedtime, he’d enter her room with a frown but when he turned to her, a thin smile came to his lips…a forced smile, not his usual loving Papa smile.

  Their happiness as a family had been replaced with tension and strain.

  The only one who hadn’t changed was Owen. He was always his optimistic self, seeing Percy’s acts as nothing more than childish mischief.

  Emalyn sighed. “Forget the past. Think of the present,” she chided herself.

  She thought of the way Owen was always so protective of Percy, always willing to see the good buried inside him, and for the first time in a long time, she felt sorry for the boy.

  “Angels protect him,” she whispered.

  She was quiet for a moment, and then her thoughts turned to the celebration. Tonight, she had a gift for Owen, one that would make him happy. She went to the closet and took down a square box wrapped in glittering gold paper and tied with large yellow bows. Then she opened the bedroom door, looked up and down both sides of the hallway, leaned over the railings and peered into the downstairs foyer.

  When she was sure that Owen was otherwise occupied, she hurried down the stairs and ducked into his study. She placed the box in the middle of his desk, shut the door quietly behind her, and headed back upstairs to do some last-minute touch-ups to her hair and makeup. In the formal dining room behind her, she heard Owen talking with some of the guests and smiled. He’d not seen her.

  Once in the bedroom, she studied her appearance. The lovely gown overshadowed the stray wisps of hair that had fallen away from her chignon. Her makeup wasn’t perfect, but it would do since she didn’t want to bother adding any more. And the final touch was her gloves, there on the bed waiting to be slipped onto her hands and arms. Long, white and pure satin, the elbow-length gloves had belonged to her mother. She slid them on and admired her reflection.

  She was about to leave when she heard barking.

  A dog? But, we haven’t any dog.

  When the bark came a second time, Emalyn walked to the balcony and looked down through the front garden and across the road.

  On the side of the road opposite their front lawn stood a beggar. He wore a long, tattered black coat, a dark knitted hat pulled down around his ears, and a worn pair of brown Wellies. Beside him, an enormous dog sat, his mouth open, his tongue hanging out, his tail swishing back and forth in the dirt.

  Instinctively, she stepped back.

  When she did, the beggar bowed low then looked at her and grinned.

  Emalyn shuddered.

  Emalyn stood at the top of the enormous staircase waiting for Owen.

  Just then, she saw him with a good sized bundle wrapped in burlap. He handed it to one of the male guests and whispered something in his ear. The man patted Owen on the shoulder and left out the front door.

  “Ah, my swan,” Owen called to her from the bottom of the steps. “My lovely swan.”

  The guests had all gathered in the
foyer.

  Owen met her at the top of the stairs, laid her gloved hand atop his, and guided her down and into the foyer. Immediately, the guests swarmed around her, admiring the beautiful gown, carefully touching the floral chiffon and the silk roses at her waist.

  “You look like a vision, Emalyn,” they said. “This dress is absolutely stunning!”

  “It was his anniversary gift to me,” Emalyn said and put her hand on Owen’s arm. “He has such impeccable taste.”

  “One need only look at his choice of brides to know that,” someone said.

  Emalyn felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

  “Still the blushing bride,” her friends said.

  The sound of their hearty laughter filled the house.

  Emalyn felt as if she’d never been happier. She looked up at Owen, ran her hand along his smooth cheek.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Beyond wonderful, my love,” he said.

  Emalyn glanced behind him at a sofa table piled high with brightly colored boxes.

  “Oh, dear,” she said. “We asked them not to bring gifts but to donate to the orphanage instead.”

  “Many of them did, I hear,” Owen said, “according to the Mother Superior. It was quite a large sum that will enable them to buy much of what they need for all of the children. But some people love to give gifts, my dearest. You can’t deny them the pleasure.”

  “You’re right, of course. Now, tell me, what was in that burlap bag you gave to the Senator?”

  Just then, Fiona appeared in the doorway of the dining room. She held a crystal bell and rang it three times.

  “Happy Evening to all of you,” Owen said, his voice ringing like a song throughout the foyer. “Please join us for our anniversary celebration dinner.”

  The happy throng filed into the massive formal dining room, its hallmark an ornate escutcheon from which hung a sparkling five-tiered chandelier. Two large tables were perfectly adorned with sterling silver candelabras, gold-edged china, gold flatware, and glittering crystal. Fresh flowers in crystal vases formed the centerpieces of each table.