weight. You're doing all you can to provide but"
"But it isn't enough." Sean's eyes narrowed, and he ran an anxious hand through his shaggy dark hair. "I'm the man of the family now all right, but I'm not much of a man, am I."
"You're only fifteen, Sean."
"Our Da would've found a way to keep you from bein' a servant to them Langs."
"Maybe, but Father Matthew says"
"To hell with Father Matthew!"
"Sean!"
"I'll not listen to a word the man says! I've put the days of dreaming about 'The Almighty who watches over us all' behind me. Listenin' and believin' makes a man weak when he should be strong makes a man sit back and wait for justice when he should be fightin' for it. I'll not waste another day of my life that way, Meg, so don't tell me what that man said to you."
"Sean, I want to go to work at the house on the hill for Ma. Will you be angry with me if I do?"
Sean hesitated, his eyes filling unexpectedly as he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"Ah, Meg, how could I be angry with you when it's because of my own shortcomin's that you're to work in that place. I've let you and Ma down. I should be able to provide for you."
"Sean"
But Sean would hear no more as he turned away. "Aye, Meg. I should be able to provide for you."
Her heart a grievous ache inside her, Meg watched as Sean stepped through the kitchen doorway without another word and slipped from sight.
Chapter 4
"All right, miss, step lively! We don't have all day to get this laundry done."
Casting the rotund Mabel Strong a glance that spoke volumes, Meghan held her tongue and picked up the laundry basket. She suppressed a grunt as her aching muscles strained at the oversized load, certain the smallest sound would bring the usual negative comment from the critical maid.
Maintaining a firm grip on her burden, she followed the woman's lumbering gait into the yard. She was glad to be out of the kitchen, where she had worked since five that morning, and to have the spring sun on her head and a cool breeze drying the perspiration on her brow.
Reaching the area where clotheslines were strung to accommodate the endless laundry generated by the Lang household, Meghan halted at last and lowered the basket to the ground.
"All right, miss. You know where the pins are by now. There's no time for dallying."
Meghan returned the older woman's gaze with deliberate silence. Mabel's normally pleasant, aging face tightened with the same resentment she and the rest of the loyal Lang staff had evidenced toward her since her employment over a month earlier. The resentment was now mutual. It grew stronger as Meghan recalled her first day at the Lang mansion.
Hannah Worth, dark hair graying, small brown eyes snapping under uneven brows, her matronly bulk wrapped in a dark uniform and an oversized, spotless white apron, had met her at the kitchen door. Referred to as "Cook" by all, the woman had taken in every aspect of Meghan's appearance in a glance faded cotton dress and shawl, stockings with visible signs of mending, badly worn shoes, and the untamed mass of her hair. Her tone had been demeaning when she spoke.
"It's a good thing you'll be wearing a uniform while you're in service here. Those clothes would never do for a house of quality. And make sure to wear your cap. The mistress don't tolerate an unkempt appearance."
Deliberately ignoring the flush her comments had raised, Cook then proceeded, "Just so's you get things straight right off, Mrs. Lang consults with me each morning about the menu and the running of the household. You'll be helping Mabel here." Cook turned momentarily to indicate the big, older woman behind her. "Mabel's been having trouble with her legs of late, and Mrs. Lang don't want her to become too uncomfortable with her work. You're to take up the slack,
"But it isn't enough." Sean's eyes narrowed, and he ran an anxious hand through his shaggy dark hair. "I'm the man of the family now all right, but I'm not much of a man, am I."
"You're only fifteen, Sean."
"Our Da would've found a way to keep you from bein' a servant to them Langs."
"Maybe, but Father Matthew says"
"To hell with Father Matthew!"
"Sean!"
"I'll not listen to a word the man says! I've put the days of dreaming about 'The Almighty who watches over us all' behind me. Listenin' and believin' makes a man weak when he should be strong makes a man sit back and wait for justice when he should be fightin' for it. I'll not waste another day of my life that way, Meg, so don't tell me what that man said to you."
"Sean, I want to go to work at the house on the hill for Ma. Will you be angry with me if I do?"
Sean hesitated, his eyes filling unexpectedly as he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"Ah, Meg, how could I be angry with you when it's because of my own shortcomin's that you're to work in that place. I've let you and Ma down. I should be able to provide for you."
"Sean"
But Sean would hear no more as he turned away. "Aye, Meg. I should be able to provide for you."
Her heart a grievous ache inside her, Meg watched as Sean stepped through the kitchen doorway without another word and slipped from sight.
Chapter 4
"All right, miss, step lively! We don't have all day to get this laundry done."
Casting the rotund Mabel Strong a glance that spoke volumes, Meghan held her tongue and picked up the laundry basket. She suppressed a grunt as her aching muscles strained at the oversized load, certain the smallest sound would bring the usual negative comment from the critical maid.
Maintaining a firm grip on her burden, she followed the woman's lumbering gait into the yard. She was glad to be out of the kitchen, where she had worked since five that morning, and to have the spring sun on her head and a cool breeze drying the perspiration on her brow.
Reaching the area where clotheslines were strung to accommodate the endless laundry generated by the Lang household, Meghan halted at last and lowered the basket to the ground.
"All right, miss. You know where the pins are by now. There's no time for dallying."
Meghan returned the older woman's gaze with deliberate silence. Mabel's normally pleasant, aging face tightened with the same resentment she and the rest of the loyal Lang staff had evidenced toward her since her employment over a month earlier. The resentment was now mutual. It grew stronger as Meghan recalled her first day at the Lang mansion.
Hannah Worth, dark hair graying, small brown eyes snapping under uneven brows, her matronly bulk wrapped in a dark uniform and an oversized, spotless white apron, had met her at the kitchen door. Referred to as "Cook" by all, the woman had taken in every aspect of Meghan's appearance in a glance faded cotton dress and shawl, stockings with visible signs of mending, badly worn shoes, and the untamed mass of her hair. Her tone had been demeaning when she spoke.
"It's a good thing you'll be wearing a uniform while you're in service here. Those clothes would never do for a house of quality. And make sure to wear your cap. The mistress don't tolerate an unkempt appearance."
Deliberately ignoring the flush her comments had raised, Cook then proceeded, "Just so's you get things straight right off, Mrs. Lang consults with me each morning about the menu and the running of the household. You'll be helping Mabel here." Cook turned momentarily to indicate the big, older woman behind her. "Mabel's been having trouble with her legs of late, and Mrs. Lang don't want her to become too uncomfortable with her work. You're to take up the slack,
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