Page 11 of A New World for the Irish Daughter

It was surprisingly sultry as Maggie sat in the rocking chair by the window of her bedroom late one night in August, letting the salt-tinged breeze from the bay blow over her as masculine laughter drifted up from downstairs. In the bed behind her, Evie snored softly.

Maggie leaned her head back against the chair and, closing her eyes, let out a long, low sigh.

A week had passed since Jenny had confided in her, and she’d checked in on the girl every day. Her monthlies hadn’t come, and the morning sickness was getting worse. It seemed undeniable at this point that Jenny was pregnant, and Maggie had no idea what to do about it. The girl had begged her not to tell Miss Jessie yet, and in the meantime Maggie was afraid she might, in her panic and fear, do something terribly foolish—and dangerous. And Maggie had no idea how to keep her from it.

In moments like this, the ugly underbelly of the girls’ gilded life was exposed in all its terror and horror, Maggie reflected as she opened her eyes to stare blindly out at the night sky, a few stars seeming to hover on the horizon that was already lightening. It had to be nearly four in the morning, the time the gentlemen were kindly but firmly shown the door. Maggie stillwanted to believe Miss Jessie wouldn’t throw the poor child out, but Jenny herself seemed unconvinced about the matter, and Maggie didn’t dare talk to the madam without her permission.

But she wished she could talk tosomeone.

In the room next to hers, she heard a stirring, a floorboard creaking, and then the squeak of the window opening to let in the cool breeze.Brendan.

The thought of him moving around in the dark made Maggie’s heart skip a tremulous beat. They’d been in San Francisco for two months and yet in all that time she felt as if they’d barely spoken. It made her heart hurt, to think of how much of their friendship they’d lost. How much she’d thrown away, thanks to her stubborn ways and pointless, prideful ambition.

Another squeak sounded as Brendan lowered himself back onto the bed. Maggie could imagine it full well—they’d shared a room back in Chicago, after all, when they’d been pretending to be husband and wife. And as much as she may have once resented that role, she could still recall exactly how he slept, one arm flung above his head. She remembered the sound of his breathing—deep, easy sighs that had made her feel safe. She knew how he looked when he was asleep—his lashes feathering his cheeks, his light brown hair tousled, his lips slightly parted…

Abruptly, Maggie rose from her chair and slipped from her room to the hall, now cloaked in moonlit darkness. After only a second’s hesitation, she rapped softly on Brendan’s door. Another second and then he opened it.

He was shirtless, wearing only his drawers low on his hips, and the sight of him, his muscle-hardened body, made Maggie draw her breath. Belatedly, she realized she was in her thin cotton nightgown, without even a wrapper for modesty. After living in a brothel for the last two months, the impropriety of it all barely occurred to her.

But it seemed to occur to Brendan, however, for he grabbed his shirt and stuck his arms through the sleeves before opening the door more widely.

“Maggie, what is it?” he asked brusquely, buttoning up his shirt.

“I heard you moving around, and I realized you were awake,” she began. It did not seem to be much of a reason to knock on his door at this unwelcoming hour, and she wondered whether she should have come.

His mouth quirked slightly at her answer, although his eyes remained dark, his expression a little guarded. “It’s this heat. It reminds me of Chicago.”

“Yes.” She held his gaze, and for a moment she thought they were both remembering those sultry nights in Chicago last summer, when they’d shared a bedroom, if nothing else. The sound of their breaths, the rustle of the sheets, a dog barking in the distance, startling them both from a restless doze…

Brendan looked away first. “Did you need something?” he asked politely.

“I… No.” Maggie swallowed hard and then blurted, “May I come in?”

He looked surprised, as well as a little discomfited, by her request, but then he stepped aside so she could enter the room, which was exactly as she would have expected it to be—spartan and neat, his shoes lined up by the bed, his clothes hanging on hooks, a book on the bedside table.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as Maggie moved toward the window, her arms wrapped around herself.

Another rumble of male laughter came from downstairs, along with the scent of cigar smoke, the sound of a door closing. It was almost dawn, and the men were being ushered out. She wondered why she’d knocked on Brendan’s door, and yet she found she still didn’t regret that she had.

“No… that is, nothing really.” She sighed and then turned around to face him. “I just don’t know what we’re doing here,” she blurted. “Or what… what will become of us.”

He frowned, bracing his shoulder against the door. For a moment, Maggie thought he would argue, or maybe just shrug and not answer, the way he so often had lately, but then he said in a low voice, surprising her, “I don’t know, either.”

She gulped, nodding jerkily, grateful he’d acknowledged as much. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“No, I don’t suppose we can.”

“And my father… and Danny…”

Brendan shrugged, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what Danny is getting up to, but it’s probably not anything good. But he’s not your responsibility, Maggie, even if I understand why you might feel like he is.”

Maggie felt a wave of relief, that he understood this, as well. “I’m just sotired,” she whispered. “Tired of trying, and starting over, and still having nothing.” She swallowed hard. “And when we came here, it felt easier simply tobe, at least for a little while.”

He nodded slowly, his face drawn in haggard yet accepting lines. “Yes, it did.”

“Brendan…” Maggie’s heart started to beat hard. She’d come in here to talk about Jenny, at least she’dthoughtshe had, but now she realized she’d really knocked on Brendan’s door because she was lonely and shemissedhim. She’d missed him for a long time.

Her heart still racing, she took a step toward him, and then another. He stared down at her, his eyes dark, his breath turning a little ragged, although he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Standing so close to him, she could feel the heat coming off his body, could imagine the warmth of his skin. Neither of them said a word; Maggie felt as if a single syllable would shatter the moment, which felt as fragile as spun glass.