Disclaimer: I don't own a thing (but if I did, I wouldn't share Michael =0P)
Spoilers: Are you kidding me? This is back around 1800, people!
Category: AU
Summary: In the mid 1800's, Father Maxwell Evans arrives in America...
Rating: PG-13
Author's notes: Based Nehal's Sexual Temptations Challenge

***

Part 1

From the last memos of Father Maxwell Evans:

"Until I met my Elizabeth, I never desired to be enchanted by a siren. I never considered the absolute perfection of such a death. But now, as I sit in this cold cell, with the letters "F U C K" written in angry, bold letters above the door, I know it was all worth while. I would die a thousand deaths as long as I could drown in her ocean. . . "

***

It's been a long time since I have felt relief. But I feel it now. If I shield my eyes from the setting sun, I can just make out the Virginia coast line. America. I've finally made it.

This ship is full of the suffering, and as the only priest on board, I have counseled them all. Every last one of them trying desperately to escape the famine that has swept across Ireland, and striving for a new beginning in America. The Land of Milk and Honey. Every last one of them has endured starvation, the loss of land, family, and friends. I myself have come to escort orphans of the famine across the ocean to St. Patrick's Cathedral in Ravensport. And I myself is the one who needs counseling.

God works in mysterious ways, but how is any man to maintain hope with the sounds of the dead and dying to lull him to sleep? How can any man maintain faith in a father who allows his children to face such tremendous anguish? I have lost my faith in the Holy Spirit. And how can I not? My work provides me with every bit of evidence I need to doubt my Lord and God. I have seen the most righteous of men, the most loyal of women, the most innocent of children die by my feet. Is there no good left on this earth?

But, throughout my pain, I feel relief. I have come to a new world. The pain and suffering of Ireland is a thing in the past for me. But is it not my job to provide guidance to those most in need? Can I be truly happy knowing what I have left others behind to endure? Only time will tell. I can only pray -- and yes, I do still pray -- that God will reveal himself to my people and end their pain where I have failed.

As the town of Ravensport comes into sight, I can't help but feel a small thread of excitement. Will I find my peace in this quaint little farming village? From where I stand, there doesn't seem to be much to the town. There are a few dozen shops and houses in a cluster amongst the backdrop of a lush green valley. Although my eyes strain from the sun, I can just make out farms dotting the horizon. Peace. I crave and fear it. I long for a moment of harmony, of true bliss, but I tremble for my immortal soul. Am I a godly man? A priest who leaves the suffering on a dying island and has no faith in a god he should know with all his being. Does such a man deserve peace? Can such a man be brought back into the light?

Part 2

I sometimes wonder if I chose the right calling in my life. I mean, yes, I am incredibly fulfilled with my work. And who wouldn't be? There could be no comparison to the feeling of benefiting those who are unfortunate in life. I don't know if there is anything else in my life that could measure up to the pleasure I feel when helping God's children. But still, sometimes I look up into the heavens and wonder. Is it God's plan that I became a nun? Does the Lord intend for me to dedicate my life in his name?

The only reconciliation I feel in this matter is that nothing compares to my work. Nothing in my experience could take that place in my heart and substitute the magnificence of providing care for those who need it most. I have had no real regrets in life since I have dedicated myself to God, mind, body and soul.

These are desperate times for the human race. Famine has spread throughout Ireland, and her sons and daughters have been escaping their hardships by fleeing to America. If there has ever been a time where mankind has desperately needed the guidance of God, this is it. By nightfall tonight a ship is to arrive, depositing Irish immigrants onto our shores. Some of these will stay with friends or family who have previously embarked on the journey to America, but many will take refuge here, at St. Patrick's Cathedral.

There is a mass of activity within these walls. Many of the townspeople have come to help prepare the convent for the onslaught of distressed men, women, and children. Father Whitman is certain that there will not be enough room in the areas of the church dedicated for the poor alone to house all of those who will be arriving at our steps shortly. As it is, there is estimated to be at least twenty orphans amongst the ship's passengers. These children will most likely themselves become part of the church. It is our duty as servants of God to safeguard those who are vulnerable, and they are the ones who need the most protection.

I brush errant locks of hair beneath my scarf as an unmistakable Irish accent breaks me away from my contemplation. "I keep telling you, Elizabeth, I will not allow you to sleep in the stables like some common sheep. There's plenty of room at my home for homeless little nuns."

"You know I will not be able to stay with you, Michael. Your farm is half a mile out of town. It won't due for a nun to live so far from her convent. Besides, I will not be living in the stables forever. It will take the men only a few days before finding work on a plantation."

Michael Guerin flashed me one of his trademark grins, his hazel eyes flashing with mischief. "Well, then, send a few of those good Irish lassies my way. There's always room for a few pretty nymphs to bed at my home." I try to hide my own smile, but it's impossible.

"Michael, I'm sure it will take you less than a night to make all the good Irish women disappear." He laughed loudly.

"Well, then send me some of those orphans you've been wailing about. I'm sure I could find a use for a couple of good, able hands."

I can feel my brow furrow as I watch him try to squeeze another bed into the cell. "Michael, all you do on your farm is train wild horses. What work could you find that is safe for a child?"

"I don't recall saying a thing about work, Lizzie. Would I set a child against a wild stallion? Don't be daft. I mean to train them for boxing. Get a few good matches in before the harvest."

I shake my head. Impossible. That's what he is. But then again, he knows it. Sometimes I believe that he tries to be frustrating. In the two years I've known him, Michael has never once displayed a rational train of thought. Don't mistake what I'm saying -- I love Michael like a brother. He is a very good man -- but he is completely insane.

Before I can answer, Father Alexander Whitman appears at the doorway. "Sister, they have arrived." I feel my muscles tense with a sudden premonition as the priest and the horseman lead me out of the convent and into the church. For some reason, I feel that my life is about to change.

***

Am I the same man who questioned the existence of God not more than an hour ago? Because I swear in the name of the Virgin Mary that I see an angel walking amongst my people. Could she be real? This woman, this nun, moves with a modest, feminine grace that I have never been able to fathom even in my dreams. Her hair is hidden beneath a scarf, but a few stray locks of glistening ebony have managed to escape the confinement of the pins to caress her gentle face. Her eyes are loving as she helps remove a child's soiled clothing, a deep, rich chocolate brown filled with the light of the stars.

"Be careful, Father. If you were not a priest, I would feel obligated to protect her honor." I tear my eyes away from the gleaming angel and find myself face to face with a tall, well built man. His posture is threatening in many ways, the muscles in his arms whispering the danger that they are capable of unleashing. But his hazel eyes sparkle with laughter under a mop of unruly brown hair.

Try as I might, I cannot persuade my tongue to be of any use to me. It seems that the woman has captured more than my eye. Chuckling slightly to himself, the man continues to help the nuns prepare the people for their stay. I stand frozen for a moment, still shocked at my actions. Although I question His existence, I am not far from formally becoming a member of the priesthood. Could this angel be a test of my faith? Of my commitment?

"Welcome to St. Patrick's Cathedral, my son." I turn around and face the priest of this church, Father Whitman.

***

Ever since I have started about settling the newcomers into their new home, I have felt some change in the air around me. It's like the atmosphere has suddenly risen in temperature, and I can feel the heat of the descended sun burn through my flesh. Some distant part of my essence vibrates in anticipation of some unknown event that awaits me. What is the cause of these feelings in me?

"Sister, I would like you to meet Father Maxwell Evans. He arrived today with the other Irishmen."

Once I look this new man in the face, my mind can hardly recognize Father Whitman's words. This man is. . . stunning. He seems no more than the average man, but there is something about him. Something about the set of his shoulders, the tortured soul behind his gaze.

His eyes burn through me like wild fire. Suddenly, I understand why my senses have been on overload since the immigrants arrived. Somehow, this Father Evans' presence has awakened parts of my soul I never imagined existed. I could feel my face heat up under his scrutiny, and I duck my head to hid my reaction from Father Whitman. As my eyes are torn from this man's, the father's voice becomes recognizable as it begins to form words and sentences again.

". . . will be staying at our church. Father Evans is to become my student until he is ready to take his vows. Until then, he will be working closely with the nunnery to provide services to the Irish immigrants who find their way to our door."

Part 3

"He's respectable."

"He's completely and utterly boring!"

"He's well off."

"You and I both know that my dowry is more than enough to purchase his plantation."

"He can take care of you."

"PLEASE! He can't take care of himself. I mean, look at his hair! What kind of man has hair like that?"

"Maria. . . "

Oh no. He's using the voice. How am I supposed to win this one when he's using his I-am-Lawrence-Deluca-the-lord-of-the-finest-vineyard-in-Virginia-so-all-must-bow-to-me voice? I am a grown woman, and I should be able to pick and choose whom I do and do not marry. I mean, Kyle Valenti? Why not just marry me off to a rock? At least then I have a chance at a decent conversation.

"But Father -- "

"Maria Catalina Antonia Deluca, you are my daughter, and you will do as I see fit. Kyle Valenti is a good, honorable man, and you will be married to him. I don't want to hear another word about it."

I watch as my father walks away. For about two seconds. "Kyle isn't a good, honorable man. He isn't even mediocre!" I turn to face my mother, who is busying herself with her tea as if nothing is the matter. "Mother, help me!" My mother, Amy, gazes up at me with wholesome green eyes. Oh no. She's using the eyes.

"Maria, I think that your father has made the right decision for you. Kyle is the most eligible bachelor in Virginia. It is a good match for you." Dear Lord, why must this happen to me?

"I cannot marry Kyle. He wouldn't know what to do with me. What would I do to keep occupied with a husband with Kyle's lack of wit?"

"You will have your children to keep you occupied. Kyle doesn't need wit."

Children? Children?!? No. No possible way. I don't want to even THINK about having children with that twit. "Mo -- "

"Maria, this topic is closed. You will marry Kyle."

***

Maria Catalina Antonia Valenti. Just the very thought of those names placed together gives me hives. How can my parents believe that Kyle Valenti is a good match for me? Have they even met the man?

All my life, my parents have always tried to do what is best for me. Why oh why did they decide to stop now? I mean, Kyle is a good man -- just not a good man for ME. My parents do love me with all their hearts, but they have missed the most basic of requirements I look for in a suitor. And we have nothing in common. I have my music, Kyle has his polo. I have my charities, Kyle has himself. Marrying me off to Kyle Valenti would be the absolute most horrid choice my father could have made for me.

But, of course, I am bound to disapprove of any choice in husband my parents make. Except for one. Michael Guerin.

But how would it work? I am the daughter of the most influential man on the coast of Virginia, and Michael is an Irish immigrant who tames horses with the reputation of a scoundrel. Is it a joke in Heaven to have me fall in love with such a man? Although, I know that Michael is so much more than what he allows most people to see.

I have lived in Ravensport since my birth, and I have yet to meet either a man or a woman who has a fraction of the compassion that Michael possesses. Michael is a man who is very difficult not to notice. I knew of his arrival from the moment he stepped off of the ship. Truthfully, so did every other person in this town. Of course, it is not much of a surprise when you consider the fact that he had been drinking ale and brawled the blacksmith. And won, as I might boast. The little known cause of said fight was to protect the honor of a nun who had made a late night trip to the apothecary to purchase medicine for an orphan boy after midnight.

That is the Michael Guerin that I see. The protector of the weak. Because that is what he truly is. I have seen him fight for everyone from the most respectable citizen to the most degraded whore. There has never been a more selfless man born since the saints. If only I could marry a man for his soul and not for his wealth. Although Michael does make a fair amount of money with his horses -- his reputation precedes him; he sells his stock from Pennsylvania to Georgia -- but his wealth is not nearly enough to gain the eye of my father.

"Maria."

Oh dear Lord. There is a voice I have come to loathe. I look up from the daisies I am weaving in my long, golden hair. "Good afternoon, Kyle."

Kyle Valenti strolled up the path of the garden. Kyle lifted my hand gently to his lips. "How are you today, milady?"

"Fine." Please leave, please leave, please, please, please. . .

"Maria, I was wondering if you would pleasure me with your company this afternoon. Your father has already permitted me to take you on an outing." Oh, that is just peachy. How could he do this to me? Well, just let me give Kyle Valenti a piece of my mind. . . "So, will you like accompany me on a trip to Michael Guerin's farm? I have heard that he has a wonderful selection of animals this summer." Michael? Did he just say Michael?

"I would love to, Kyle."

***

Of all the things I had expected to see on Michael Guerin's farm, children has never been one of them. Michael and a tall boy -- around eleven years with curly blond hair -- are standing in the middle of a coral, tethering a muscular black mare together as she trots around in a circle. Two young girls -- one blond and the other a redhead, aged about seven and thirteen -- watched them train the horse from the other side of the fence, a bundle that I can only presume to be a baby in a basket by their feet. I can feel my heart shatter into a thousand pieces. Is he married? How is it that I did not know that he has children?

"Mr. Guerin!"

My heart skips a beat as Michael looks away from the mare. Sending the boy out of the ring, Michael carefully removed the harness from the horse. After releasing the mare into the pasture, he made his way towards us. "Hello Mr. Valenti." Michael caught my eye with his own stunning hazel. "Miss Deluca." I can feel my face heat into a blush, and I tilt my head so that my long, daisy-filled locks might hide my reaction from Kyle.

The children come towards us slowly as Kyle walked towards the pasture for a better view of the animals. I know it is not proper, but I cannot help but inquire. "I was not aware that you were a father, Mr. Guerin." Michael grins at me, and I try to hide the trembling in my knees.

"I was not aware I am a father, either, Miss Deluca. Is there something you would like to share with me?" Michael laughs as my blush deepens.

"Mr. Guerin, you would not think that so funny if my fiancee had heard you speak to me in such a manor." His laughter stops abruptly, and I could swear that his face has paled.

"You are engaged to Kyle Valenti?" I nod. Michael runs his hands through his hair and avoids my eyes. "You must be joking. You don't belong with that dolt. He is a terrible match for you."

"Tell that to my father." We stand awkwardly, and I try to think of something -- anything -- to say to fill the void. "So, if these children are not your own, who are they?"

Michael drags his gaze from the ground and gives me another grin. Waving the children over, he beams at me proudly. "These are orphans who came in from Eire yesterday. This is Thomas O'Brien and his sister, Rhiannon," he gestured to the boy who was training the mare and the blond girl. "That. . ." pointing to the redhead, ". . . there is Finola Connely, and the babe is Andrew McTiernan."

"Mr. Guerin!" Kyle runs up to us. Michael tears his eyes away from my own, and I can feel the loss like the loss of the sun. "Your horses are truly magnificent. How much does the silver stallion fare?"

Michael turned his gaze back to mine. "Some creatures are too wild for the likes of you, Mr. Valenti."

Part 4

"What do you search for, Father?" Sister Mary Elizabeth Parker stares up at me with her beautiful, endless eyes. My Elizabeth, my angel.

This is completely irrational. She is a nun. A NUN, for the love of God. And a dedicated nun at that. She is the bride of Jesus Christ, the head of her convent despite her early years. And I am only a few months away from becoming a priest. I have always wanted this for myself. Haven't I? If this is the life that I have always worked towards, then why can't I take my eyes away from her? Why do her eyes haunt my soul and torment me with a longing that could never be fulfilled?

"I search for hope."

I have been in Virginia for five days. How is it that my soul, my very essence, belong to a woman I have known for so little time? A woman to whom I have had the pleasure of conversing with only a few meager times? Is this what love is? If it is not love, how is it that I have felt a connection between us from the moment I arrived at the church? This must be love. If it is not, then this must be madness.

"Father Evans, you are a good, kind man, but I wonder if you looking in the right place? A search for hope need only possess mere seconds of time. How is it that a man of God does not gain hope from the small miracles that are performed every day of our lives?"

Am I mad? Is this all a grand ploy of the devil to bring me into the darkness where the light of my Lord is powerless to reach? But then, how could an angel of my Lord harbor the intentions of a demon of Lucifer? Is that not in itself madness?

"I suppose I have been mislead."

How is it that a man could not find hope in you, sweet beloved? How much farther than the gloss of her hair do I need to look to find hope? How could hope elude a man with such a woman in his presence? I have all the hope I need in the curve of her smile.

"Well, permit me to lead you back! Look around you. There is hope in the kindness of a mother, in the love of a father. Hope is in the innocence of a child. It is our duty to preserve hope at St. Patrick's Cathedral."

Preserve hope? Preserve me. Five days and my soul is filled with love so bright and pure that the stars fade out under it's magnificence. Five days and I, a dying soul, have been brought into a passion that no God could have foreseen. A passion that must remain unsatisfied until the end of time.

Sister Mary Elizabeth studies my face critically. "Father, you cannot save the world. It is not the job of a priest to right all of the wrongs in life. It is only the job of a priest is to try." She stops the carriage in front of a long dirt road. "Here it is."

The Deluca Vineyard. The shear size of the vineyard is spectacular. Acres of grapevines stretch across the land, meeting the horizon in a gentle kiss. A mansion that takes the height of three stories, with seven windows across the front, stands tall and proud against the setting sun. Turning the carriage, my Elizabeth takes us to the imposing palace.

"Good evening, Sister, Father." A tall man with silver hair helps the woman beside me out of the carriage. His wife stands beside him, dark brown hair tied in a knot at the crown of her head.

"Good evening, Mr. Deluca. Good evening, Mrs. Deluca."

Leading us into the mansion, Mr. Deluca started to speak. "As you may have heard, my daughter, Maria, is less than enthused about her upcoming marriage to one Kyle Valenti. . . "

***

"Father, would you take me to confession?" My beloved's eyes are wide and immaculate as she speaks nonsense. What sins could such a woman harbor?

"Of course." I lead the way into the confessional, and it is all I can do not to place my hand on the small of her back. She is so dainty, like a child crafted out of the finest china.

I can hear her mumble a slight prayer as I pull the curtain of the confessional closed. Her head snaps up -- shock fleeting over her delicate features -- as I slide open the wood panel. Light filtering through the mesh places tiny patterns in gentle caresses across the polished curves of her surreal face.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been eight days since my last confession." Her voice floats on the air like the sweet music of bells. I can't help but feel faint at the sound of her siren's song.

"Go on."

"I have become distracted in my work with thoughts that betray my standing of a servant of God."

Thoughts? "What sort of thoughts could you have that would be such a betrayal?"

Her voice came as the slightest of whispers. "Thoughts of envy. Of those who have not pledged their lives to servitude."

I take a deep breath. Is it my place to give forgiveness to her for a sin to which I am also guilty? "Sister, I do not pretend to know the mind of God. However, I do know that the sin you have committed is not one that is punishable by the laws of our Lord. God may know the error of your thoughts, but it is in your actions to which you will be judged. You can only follow the path your heart and your faith will lead you to."

***

The party is going well. As well as could be expected, anyhow. The Delucas decided that a social function at the church where their daughter and Kyle Valenti could interact would do them some good. It is obvious to all that they are both reluctant to join in holy matrimony. They have hardly spoken to each other all night -- Maria has spent most of the night cooing over the orphan children, and Kyle seems enthralled by a young Irish woman with curly blond hair. At least, now that his father has given up on trying to force him to interact with Maria.

"What do you think, Elizabeth? A match made in Heaven?"

I turn around to see Michael. "What do you mean?" The ruffled Irishman rolls his eyes.

"Lizzie, every one in Virginia knows that they treat each other like the plague. They do not love each other. Three times when the lad was to be courting, he had brought Maria to my farm so they could properly ignore each other. Either that, or the boy has a fetish for horses."

Interesting. "Is that why you and Kyle have been exchanging looks all evening?"

Michael looks at me, his eyes wide with shock and his skin paled. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but no words come out. Michael runs his hands through his hair and tears his eyes away from my own in avoidance. What under God's blue sky has him so dumbfounded?

His gaze roams behind me, and his expression changes from one of panic to one of engrossment. I turn to see what it is that has caught my friend's attention with such rapt intrigue. I turn back to watch Michael watch Maria approach us, her hair glowing in ethereal ringlets around her head. Shaking himself out of his stupor, his rakish smile returns. "Would you like to dance, Miss Deluca?"

Maria beams back at Michael, with her eyes sparkling like the most precious emeralds as she flashs him a flirtatious smile. "Certainly, Mr. Guerin."

As soon as Michael and Maria dance away, my thoughts return to a more. . . intimate matter. That being the subject of one Father Maxwell Evans. What am I going to do about him? He has bewitched me with unholy thoughts. But I cannot help it. There is just something about him. . .

Just the way he is standing there, talking to Judge Valenti, is completely mesmerizing. Maxwell makes the most simple, repetitive tasks seem like the most enticing opportunity. It amazes me to no end the emotions that I can read in his dark, soulful eyes, half hidden under soft black locks. It is like seeing the mysteries of the universe unveil within the two brown orbs of a man so amazing that I can scarcely believe that he is not some figment in my imagination.

But I cannot love him. It must be impossible. Have I not dedicated my life to God and his work? I love my work. But somehow, I feel as if I did not live a day before a certain group of Irish immigrants arrived on the steps of St. Patrick's Cathedral one week ago. Can I give up on everything for a man? Just one, simple man. Who is kind, and loving, and everything I could have every wanted in a soul mate. The part that frightens me is that I think that it would be worth it if I gave it up -- if I gave it all up -- just to be with him.

Part 5

"It's Tess Harding, isn't it?"

The blond in question turns around to face me. "Aye, it is."

I grin. "My name is Michael Guerin. I have been told that you were a school teacher back home at Ireland. Is this true?"

"Aye."

Perfect. Another Guerin scheme falls into place. "Well, then, I have a proposition for you." Wait for it, Mikey. . . Wait until interest is properly established. . . "I was wondering if I could persuade you to tutor my children. I could pay you any amount you desire, and I would provide free room and board."

Tess eyes me suspiciously and pushes a tangle of golden curls from her eyes. "YOU have children, Mr. Guerin? Somehow, I doubt that."

Okay, this definitely isn't going as smooth as I had hoped. This is for a good cause. Just remember that. . . I nod my head towards the church yard, where Rhiannon, Finola, and Andrew await me. "Orphan children. I also have another lad living with me, but he is off on an errand for me."

***

He is so adorable! Michael's "son," Thomas, is playing a violin in the rose garden. Luckily, my father is helping the Valentis locate a slave who had escaped from their plantation last night. Seeing my face in the window, his face lights up. "Miss Maria! I have to talk with you!"

I smile at him. "Come inside, Thomas."

I rush down the stairs and open the patio doors, where the boy stands waiting for me. I lead him into the parlor and sit down on one of the silken sofas. Thomas bows down on one knee at my feet. "Milady, I have a gift of great importance from my da." His da? I can't help but smile. Michael has made quite an impression on his new found family. Thomas places a rectangular package on my lap.

Curiously, I turn the parcel over in my hands. Michael sent me a gift? Could he feel the same way about me as I feel about him? "Open it, Miss Maria!" Thomas sits next to me, staring at the package as if to see beyond the simple brown paper. Grinning, I tear into the paper. A copy of William Shakespeare's "Mid Summer Night's Dream" lays in my lap.

***

"Please, they have never been to a school. I want them to be able to read and write before classes begin in the fall."

I put on my most sincere smile. "Well, that and I cannot take care of them by myself. Finola helps, but she is just a babe herself. My home is less than a twenty minute walk from town. It would take you even less time on horseback."

Tess eyes me again, but I can tell that she is being won over by the children. Finola holds Andrew in her arms as Rhiannon stands by my side, half hiding behind my leg as she sneaks looks at Tess. "All right, Mr. Guerin, I am convinced."

Perfect. "Please, call me Michael."

***

The course of true love never did run smooth.

Truer words were never spoken. What is the reason for Michael to give me this particular story as a gift? A story of a woman who is to be wed to the man her father fancies while she feels everlasting adoration for her heart's true love? What is Michael trying to say to me? He opposes my engagement to Kyle, holds me closer than his soul when we dance, sends his new son to my door playing the violin and conveying gifts. . . Michael must love me.

"Thomas, where is your father now?"

"Asking a lady from the church to come stay with us."

A lady? Before I can inquire further, there is a rapping at the door. Thomas follows me as I open the door. "Kyle!"

Kyle plasters a half-hearted smile on his face. "Good afternoon, Maria. Young Thomas. How are you on this fine day?"

I can hardly entice my throat to work. Of all the possible times to intrude. . . "Well. I am well. I. . . I thought that you and your father had urgent matters to attend to this afternoon!"

"Our fathers decided that they do not required my services any more today. I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me." What is that face Kyle is making at Thomas? I could swear that I saw him give the boy a subtle smile. "I think that Mr. Guerin would like the safe return of his child. We could pass by his farm on our excursion."

Michael's farm. I swear that Kyle Valenti must have a fetish for horses. Honestly. It seems that we always visit his farm so that he might stare at the animals. Still, at least it gives me precious moments to spend with my love. "That would be splendid, Kyle."

***

What sort of woman is Michael inviting into his home? Could she be his sister? I have often heard him compare the benevolence of his sister to that of Sister Mary Elizabeth. But if it were, then why hasn't she already gone to live on his farm? No, his sister is out of the question. Could she be his lover? Maybe I was given the book as a token of friendship. But then why a book of such similarity to my own peril? Perhaps he overlooked my situation. Men are not known for speculation. Yes, that must be the case. I jumped to conclusions again.

I can feel my heart drop into the very pits of my stomach. Michael does not cherish me as I cherish him. I feel like such a fool. Why would a man of such charm and desire want for an ill-starred woman with an aristocratic father? He is too untamed -- too free and unrestrained -- to ever be tied down by the state of being to which I have been born. When I look at him, it as if he were an apparition the wind may carry out of my life in a matter of seconds. How could I ever hope to hold the phantom of perfection within my grasp?

As we walk over the final knoll towards the farm, I cannot wonder what it is that I will bear witness to. Will I find my beloved in the arms of another? Will I be forced to perceive the final affliction to the fantasies that I harbor for myself and my heart's desire? I do not think that I could survive perceiving Michael's love for another woman.

Shouts of anger break my thoughts away from the contemplation of my adversity. Kyle rushes from my side towards the pasture and halts abruptly near a gathering of people. A large man hovers over Michael as his superior in mass proportions holds the reigns of a black mare -- the very same creature that Michael had trained with Thomas, now throwing her foot nervously -- roughly in his callused hands. A woman with curly blond hair stands to the side with the children.

"I have not cheated you! The mare is a fine horse!"

The man pushed Michael, but he did not do so much as flinch. "That beast is savage. I cannot do so much as mount her!"

Michael straightened his back. "That is a lie. She was as gentle as a pony when she left. Even a child could mount her. You have mistreated her. I can see the lash marks on her backside."

"Well, then, set that pretty little bit against this monster, and we will see who is right."

I hold my breath as Thomas and I approach the scene slowly. Michael is a strong and able man, but I do not believe that he could beat both men. "Rhiannon. Mount the horse, girl."

"MICHAEL!" I watch as the woman takes Rhiannon by the arm. "Don't even think that I will allow you to do this!"

Michael turns around, and I catch the glimpse of a twinkle in his eye. "Have you no faith in me, Tess? Rhiannon, do not be afraid. Just mount the horse." Michael motioned for the other man to release the mare.

Rhiannon tentatively approached the mare. I can't hear what it is she is saying from my standing, but I can tell that she is murmuring some comforting words of some sorts to the frightened animal. Stepping closer to the mare, Rhiannon extends her hand. After a moments consideration, the mare nuzzles her hand. Walking to the flank of the animal, Rhiannon uses her mane to hoisted herself up. Well, halfway up.

"DA! Help me! I'm stuck!"

Michael laughs as he goes to help Rhiannon. Keeping one hand on the girl's back to steady her, Michael turns to face the men. "This is the dangerous beast that you have been complaining about, Fergus?"

The larger man turns red with embarrassment. "Keep the beast if you like, Guerin, but do not believe that you will have the chance to shaft me again." With that, Fergus and his counterpart started down the road.

Laughing, Michael turned to catch Thomas' eye. As if on cue, the lad took off towards the mare and lead her into the pasture as Michael approached me. Suddenly, I am all too aware of the presence of the young woman who is now at Kyle's arm. Michael nodded towards the retreating figures. "Unsatisfied customers."

I smile in acknowledgment -- I do not think I could muster up a coherent sentence if I tried -- but I cannot bring myself to look Michael in the eye. He bends down to catch my gaze. "Is something the matter with you?"

I shake my head and start to walk towards the pasture. Michael grabs my arm. "Something is the matter with you, Maria." I look at him in shock. I do believe that this is the first time I have heard him use my name. Michael smiles at me and takes my hand.

"I do not believe that you have meet my children's tutor, Tess Harding."

Part 6

Dear Lord, she is so beautiful. Just the way that her silken strands curl around her face like wisps of golden honey mesmerizes me in ways I could never have conceived. And her eyes. . . I have never seen eyes so captivating in my entire life. From the first moment my gaze fell on her liquid form in the church, I knew that Tess was special. I could never have imagined myself a woman this extraordinary. I have the distinct feeling that my heart is no longer my own.

"Does living here meet your fancy?"

Michael snorts. "What woman would not be satisfied living with me?" Maria's grip on Andrew tightens as she turns to glare at Michael. I know of only one man who can make a woman angry less than an hour after declaring his love. Shakespeare is not here to save him this time, but luckily -- VERY luckily -- Michael noticed my subtle hand gestures and places his hand on the small of her back. "Maybe I could prove that to you one day, Maria."

Maria rolls her eyes and shifts the baby onto her other hip. "That was a commendable endeavor, Michael, but I'm afraid that I would hardly put myself through such agony. Any life with you would no doubt be as accommodating as living with a pig."

Laughing, I take Tess' hand and lead her away from my fiery fiancee and her fervent suitor. I wonder if God had created them both specifically for each other. It seems as if each is filled with even more vivacity in the presence of the other. I stop underneath the branches of a tall, stately oak and place my jacket over the grass so that my love might sit without being defiled by dirt and insects. She smiles up at me as I sit next to her, and I have to restrain myself from tasting the soft petals of her lips.

"What manner of business are you engaged in, Kyle?" I lean back against the rough bark of the oak.

"Farming. My father owns a large plantation a few miles from where we sit. He also acts as the judge of Ravensport."

"And you stand to inherit this land?"

"Yes." I try to shift my gaze from the deep pools of her eyes, but only succeed in moving my eyes so far as to view the soft curls that rest behind her ear. "My mother left this earth when I was a young child, leaving my father with no other offspring." Tess looked away from me then, staring at her hands intently. When she speaks, it is in the whispered tone of angels.

"My mother died one week before I left Ireland. My brother and my sister both departed within this last year. I am all too aware of the anguish that death can reap in one's heart. It must have been very hard on you to grow up without a mother."

I lean over and take her face in my hands. Raising her eyes to my own, I take note of the tears glistening like dew on her lashes. "I had a good life, Tess. I had my father, family, servants, nannies, and tutors. I wish that your life is as full as my own." As I lean down to give in to the infinite temptation of her moistened lips, I hear footsteps behind me.

"Kyle, your father calls for you." I turn around to face an embarrassed Maria. Although she is still the vision of perfection, I cannot help but note that her skin is flushed and her lips swollen. I have no doubts as to how they came to be in this new state. Looking up from her hands, she grins at me sheepishly. "I will tell him that you are on your way."

As she makes her way back towards the house, I turn back to Tess, a blush now painted across her lovely features. Smiling softly, I place a gentle kiss on her cherub's cheek.

***

After seeing the enormity that is the Deluca Vineyard, the Valenti Plantation seems to be a mere garden. Yet I cannot see how far the stretch of carefully planted vegetation extends. A large mansion stands tall at the end of the dirt road, and slave quarters can be seen built row by row in the distance.

"Good evening, Father Evans." A brown haired man approaches me, his hand extended in welcome. "My father apologizes for not accompanying you on a tour of our facilities, but there has been some unanticipated matters to which he must attend. I am his son, Kyle Valenti."

I take the young man's hand in my own. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Kyle and I walk along the edges of the crops, surveying the work being done by imported slaves from Africa. I listen with only a partial ear as I watch the downtrodden people toil away in the fields. There are children as young as five doing the work of a grown man. It is a sad sight to behold, but one that does not seem to reach Kyle's eyes. How could a man become so blind to the suffering around him?

A young girl of an age no more than ten falls down in the path before us. Her shirt rises on her back as she struggles to regain a hold on the collection of firewood that she was transporting to a wagon. Kyle kneels on the ground and lifts her shirt higher, revealing several long slices cut deep in the smooth brown skin of her back.

"FERGUS!"

A large, muscular man hurries out of the fields. His hair -- a wan rust-brown -- is plastered to his face with sweat as he loops a long, braided leather whip into a coil in his hands. "Yes, Mr. Valenti?"

Kyle turns the girl so that her injuries face the man. "Fergus, can you explain this to me?" The larger man flickers his gaze along the girl's wounded back and runs his hands through his limp hair. "This is not acceptable, Fergus. It seems that you have been causing more than your fair share of troubles for yourself today."

"Sir, I -- "

Kyle shakes his head, brown locks of his own hair falling into his face. "I do not want to hear any excuses from you. You have been far to abundant in the use of your strap. I have heard from Michael Guerin that young children are not the only creatures to face your wrath." He glares at Fergus with such intensity that the other man can look no higher than the soles of his boots. "I will not warn you again. The next time I find that you have beat some creature with such vigor, it will be you who will face the whip."

With that, Kyle started back to the mansion, leaving the brute of a man to his anxiety. I follow him quickly, with one last look at the poor, battered child. "I am truly sorry that you were forced to witness that, Father. Fergus has a habit of beating our stock past the point of usefulness."

"I take it that it happens quite often?" I don't know why I ask. I already know the answer.

***

I cannot get that girl out of my head. My beloved Elizabeth once told me that I could find hope in the innocence of a child. Where do I find hope when that innocence is taken away -- stripped heartlessly by the hands of one of my own flock? What crime could a child commit that would grant her such a punishment? And what is it that makes me so worthy under the eyes of God that I must suffer under my own accord while a child suffers under the cruel bite of metal and leather?

"Father Evans?" I stop pacing and stand still. I will not allow myself the luxury of viewing her radiant features. "Father, you have yet to come inside all evening. It is after midnight. You must get some rest."

"Rest?" I laugh. "Sister, how can I rest? Have you no knowledge of the suffering that surrounds us? Or are you unaware of the anguish of those who are enslaved for drudgery?

My angel steps out of the doorway of the church. She reaches for my face, but I turn away. "Father, I do know your turmoil. But there is only so much that a servant of God can do. The law permits this abomination to persist. We can only fight it by striving to change the hearts of our fellow men. Please come inside now. Your troubles will meet you in the morning."

I look up at the stars. They glare back down at me in cold, cruel judgment. Each star speaks in a different voice, all telling of my inadequacy as a priest and as a man. Sister Mary Elizabeth places her hand on my arm. "Father, the answers you seek are not up there at all." She moves her hand over my heart. "I am certain that you will have better luck if you search in here."

I look down into the face of my beloved. Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears as the glittering liquid courses down her velvet cheeks like molten diamonds. "Sister, my pains are minuscule to the suffering that I have seen today. I am not sure that there is enough goodness in my heart to find any sort of peace."

She runs her fingers across my cheeks. It is only after I feel the gentleness of her feather-light caress that I realize that tears have found their way out of my wounded soul to be born into the world. "Then let me lend you mine."

With that, my love took my hand and lead me back into the church.

***

My love is finally asleep. The magnitude of his torment astounds me, although it is not misplaced. There is so much agony on this earth God has created us. There is as much blackness in this existance as there is light. So much horror that one can experience. How can one man hope to end it all?

As I watch him sleep restlessly in his bed, I cannot help but brush away strands of hair that have managed to fall into his eyes. I wish that it were so effortless to brush away his pain. He revels in his pain, my love. It is what makes him who he is. In feeling the afflictions of others, Maxwell becomes an advocate for their cause. A shepherd of God.

But will he succeed in his causes? Will he ever find the hope that he is looking for? I wish -- no, I yearn -- that I could give him the absolution that he searches for. I would gladly embrace his pain as my own if only to reveal to him the hope that he reaches for. I would turn away from everything -- my work, my Lord -- if I could save this man from himself.

I wonder if he turn away from his suffering for me.

Part 7

As I wake up, I feel the weight of my love pressed against my back. Sliding from his arms, I rise from the bed quietly. He looks so peaceful in his sleep. Like the image of some child who has been blessed with the purity of heart and soul. Although I have no doubts that his psyche is unblemished by sin, faint lines of torment and remorse untimely crease the expanse of skin on his forehead. I run my fingers along his eyebrows as he yet again knits his brow in some trepidation of misery.

He is so young to carry the burdens of the world. I kiss his forehead gently as I leave him to his slumber. I have always prided on the release from anguish I have brought into the lives of God's children, and yet it seems that the one vexed man whom I wish to relieve of affliction with the whole of my heart's desire is enclosed from my touch.

I walk through the church as quietly as I can as to not disrupt the many souls harboring within the convent. Although there is still many in need within these walls, more than half of the new arrivals have found work on plantations and vineyards. Mr. Deluca himself was good-hearted enough to hire fifteen skillful men. Nevertheless, there are still many in need of employment.

I walk out into the morning air, inhaling in the rich fragrance of a new day born. I find Father Whitman at his morning prayers in the garden, the light of the rising sun placing a heavenly glow around his slim form. "Father?" He turns away from the marble statue of the Virgin Mary, his kind blue eyes troubled with some vast dilemma to which I know I will never be enlightened. I know Alexander well enough to leave him to combat his own turmoil alone. "I must speak to you about Father Evans."

Alexander rises from the ground and makes his way farther into the safety of the gardens. The faint smell of lilac dances on the morning breeze as he motions for me to sit beside him on a large stone bench. "Tell me what is wrong, Elizabeth."

I brush some wandering strands of my black hair behind my ear. "Alexander, he is just so troubled! He takes the pains of this life so deeply into his soul that he has lost faith in himself." I take a deep breath. "Sometimes I wonder if he has faith in our God at all."

Alexander takes my hand in his own and smiles gently. "Elizabeth, you have often told priests and nuns alike that the job of the devoted is not to save the world, but simply to try. It seems that you have yet to follow your own advice. Maxwell will come into his own if you give him time."

"But how do you know, Father? How can you be sure that he can find his way back to God without guidance?"

"Because I know the man. He will open himself up to the Lord once he knows himself and what he must do. Give him time."

***

"So you see, Father Whitman, I am rightly concerned about the intentions that Michael Guerin retains towards my daughter."

Mr. Deluca glares at Michael and his newfound family seated in a pew. Father Evans is performing the service splendidly -- the sermon he assembled this morning when he awoke is marvelous. "Mr. Deluca, I feel that this is a matter that you should discuss with your daughter. Perhaps her intentions towards Kyle Valenti are not what you would like. It seems to me that God's will may be distracting her from the marriage to which she has been promised."

Mr. Deluca turns his glare to me, the dark brown irises deepened into an inky inferno of blazing ebony. "Father, are you questioning my daughter's honor?"

I raise my hands in a gesture of peace. I should have know that my comment would only succeed to agitate the man further. "Sir, you misunderstand what it is that I am saying. I was merely suggesting that your daughter's heart does not belong to Mr. Valenti. Mr. Guerin is an honorable man. He would never take advantage of Maria. Perhaps this suspicion of yours is the Lord's way of revealing to you that this is not the life that He has planned for your daughter."

The infuriated man growls low in his throat. "I decide what is right for my daughter, Father. And I do know the intent of that. . . degenerate towards her is not one that I approve of." Mr. Deluca looks towards the front pew, where his wife and daughter sit next to the Valentis. Although the tension has lessened, both Maria and Kyle avoid contact with each other with the same vigilance. "I would like to ask a favor of you, Father."

"Yes?"

Mr. Deluca turns to look at me, his eyes hard and determined. "Speak to Maria for me. Find out the state of her mind and turn her head away from this Guerin boy. I have tried to direct her on course, but she is tremendously headstrong. Perhaps she will listen to a man of God."

Thoughts fly through my head, creating turmoil on an already troubled vessel. If I refuse this man, then the church can no longer look forward to his generous and very sizable donations. With the onslaught of Irish immigrants, his charity is even more imperative than ever. But if I take this offer, I will be forced to influence a virtuous woman against her will. "I will speak to her, but do not establish your expectations too high. Maria is a conscientious, devout girl, but God articulates to her through her heart, not through me. I can only guide her to receive the message He has left in her soul."

***

"Father, how can you say I should marry Kyle Valenti?!? I do not love him! I cannot stand in front of God and country and pledge myself to a man I do not love! It is completely unfathomable! I fear my father has taken ill in his mind, for he would never have arranged this marriage if he were right in the head. He has been infected by sheer madness!"

I tune Maria out as she rambles on, her eyes flashing in anger. I knew from the start I would not be able to sway her from her selection of beau. Glancing around the churchyard, I cannot help but notice a tall, statuesque woman -- no, a vision of perfection -- roaming through the crowd. She glides past a group of children, her hair cascading down in a golden mane to frame her dazzling face. I am certain that she has never been here before; as the head of St. Patrick's Cathedral, I am acquainted with nearly every soul within miles. This angel of God who has only just landed in Ravensport walks up to Maria and I, and I cannot help but feel a shortness of breath.

"Good morning, Father." The divine beauty breaks out into a smile more dazzling as a sunburst. Before I can answer, one of Michael's children, Thomas, approaches.

"Miss Maria, I have learned a new poem. Would it pleasure milady if I were to recite it for you?"

Maria's face lights up with the radiance of a thousand moonlit roses bejeweled with sparkling dewdrops. "That would be wonderful, Thomas." The young boy flashed a victorious grin.

"Stars, you are unfortunate, I pity you, Beautiful as you are, shining in your glory, Who guide seafaring men through stress and peril And have no recompense from gods or mortals, Love you do not, nor do you know what love is. Hours that are aeons urgently conducting Your figures in a dance through the vast heaven, What journey have you ended in this moment, Since lingering in the arms of my beloved I lost all memory of you and midnight."

If it is as all possible, Maria's smile grows even wider with enchantment. I pat the boy on the shoulder. "That was excellent, my son. Where is it that you have learned to charm young women so well, Thomas?"

The boy stiffens slightly, but recovers almost instantly. "The charm is my own, Father Whitman. The poem is written by one Johann von Goethe. Tess and my da are teaching me to read it."

"Goethe?" The angel beside me laughs slightly. "I suppose your da has a fancy for Shakespeare as well, laddie?" He nods his head. "Where is your da? I think that we should go and compliment him on his choice of poetry."

The boy pointed to the other side of the courtyard where Elizabeth and Michael are engaged in conversation. Smiling brilliantly, the young woman took towards Michael with Thomas in tow. I turn to Maria. "I think we are in order to give thanks as well. Shall we follow?" Maria nods.

"ISABEL!" Michael stands in shock as the exquisite seraph throws her arms around his neck. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifts her from the ground and twirls her around in a circle. "Dear God, girl, where on earth did you come from?"

Laughing, the golden child pulls herself from his embrace to take in the form of the man before her. "My ship landed in Maryland not more than a week ago." Wrapping her arms around Michael again, she tangles her graceful fingers in his shirt. "It is so good to see you again. Ireland was not home without you."

Giving Isabel one last hug, Michael turns to his curious audience. "Isabel, this is Father Whitman, Sister Mary Elizabeth Parker, Maria Deluca, and my son, Thomas O'Brien. Everyone, this is my sister, Isabel Guerin."

Part 8

"Elizabeth."

My beloved turns to face me, the tender skin beneath her eyes darkened from a deficiency of sleep. I cringe with the knowledge that it was my afflictions that painted those stains marring her lovely features. "I never did properly thank you for what you did for me."

Turning away from me, my angel stirs the thick stew that she is preparing for dinner. "I just wish that I could do more for you, Maxwell." She looks at me over her shoulder, the sadness in her eyes speaking volumes to the remorse in my heart. This child of light should never be touched by the oppressive shadow of darkness. "No one with a soul as unadulterated as yours should feel such guilt and sorrow."

I take her slender hand and lead her to sit at the oak table, small crucifixes carved into the wood of the surface and in the high backs of the chairs. "You have done more for my soul than you will ever know, Sister." My Elizabeth nibbles the rosy skin of her lower lip slightly as she tucks her silken hair beneath her scarf.

"But even so, Father, you are a good man. Not even the best of men can perform the duties of a god. I admire your strength of character and envy your sense of morality, yet I would rid you of both if it would lessen your self loathing." She reaches out one of her delicate hands to caress the skin of my cheek. I lean into her gentle touch, covering her fingers with my own.

"I embrace my pains with my whole heart, for they are what have brought me to you. I am a simple man with a simple life. God placed me on this earth for you to redeem." I bring her dainty hand to my lips. Capturing the endless chocolate depths of her compassionate eyes with my own, I kiss the soft curve of her knuckles. "I would pray that my adversity intensify ten fold if it were you who would set my soul free from it's confinement."

An earnest smile spreads across her face, filling her angelic features with the splendor of her soul's exuberance. I feel an immeasurable amount of relief at succeeding to erase her memories of the night, if only for a single moment. Unable to resist the temptation that her luscious lips provide, I lean forward and cover them gently with my own.

***

*Ping*

"Maria!"

*Ping*

"Maria!"

*Ping*

"Michael."

I whip around, dropping the handful of small limestone pebbles I gathered along the road onto the ground. "Good God! What are you doing here?" Alexander grins at me, his hands folded behind his back in a practiced gesture of serenity.

"Keeping Maria away from you, by request of her father." His jesting manner rapidly fades into one of concern. "Michael, what on God's green earth are you doing on the Deluca's land? Have you no sense at all? I am aware that you love her, but there is too much at stake for you to be so impulsive."

Light suddenly filters through the rainbow panes of the stain glass window that leads to my immaculate goddess's chamber, casting a kaleidoscope of pigments out into the night. The crimson velvet of the curtains rustle as my shimmering fairy maiden draws them aside to open the window. I push Alexander into the hedge lining the mansion. His arms flail about his head as he struggles to rise, but I give him a hard look. "Not one word."

Maria leans over the wooden frame, her long blond curls pouring over her milky shoulder like a sparkling waterfall of the purest starlight. The soft glow of candles from the room behind her casts her elegant form in an celestial glow. "Michael, what are you doing here? If my father should detect you -- "

"Your father does not concern me, Maria. I would face death to see you." I smile up at her as she tries to hide the curve of exhilaration in her sensuous raspberry lips. "It is worth any punishment to see you. You are the very definition of beauty." Alexander laughs slightly -- as if he does not spout poetry at the sight of a glorious woman himself -- and I give him another look.

My honeyed enchantress smiles tenderly. "Still, you should not have come. Kyle and I will come by soon. It is too dangerous for you here."

"I know. I came to give you this." I produce a small box no larger than my fist from my jacket pocket and toss it up to her. My love catches it with lithe hands.

She turns the gift over in her hands. "May I open it?" At my nod, she carefully opens the box and pulls out a gold ring adorned with a single diamond. Turning it over in her palm, the precious jewel glitters in the faint light.

In a vain effort to calm my nervousness, I bury my hands in my pockets. "Will you marry me, Maria?" My magnificent sprite raises her emerald gaze to mine, tears flowing in twin rivers down her roseate cheeks.

"Yes!" She laughs slightly as her voice cracks. "Of course I will!"

Feeling the desire to scale the wall so that I might brush the crystalline drops away, I back away from the window. "I love you more than life itself. Just know that." She straightens her back suddenly as she brushes back her multitude of curls.

"Michael, wait!" Maria disappears into her chamber. I pull Alexander from the bushes and take him away from the light of the mansion.

"I will be along in a moment. Do not let her see you." He gives me another grin and disappears into the darkness.

"Michael!" I follow the sound of her harmonious voice and find her treading towards me with the graceful rhythm of moonbeams reflected on a silver pond. Throwing her arms around my neck, she places butterfly kisses along my jaw and captures my lips in a passionate kiss. I can feel my body sigh as the world melts away into a faded memory.

My beloved releases me from the warmth of her loving embrace all too soon, and it takes the full restraint of my entire existence to prevent me from submitting again to the overpowering lure of her lips. Maria looks into my eyes, her own glowing with the light of a thousand angels. "I love you too, Michael."

I bury my face in the soft ringlets of her hair. "If I don't leave now, I never will." Pulling away from her sweet embrace, I back away at a snail's pace. The exquisite glimmer of her eyes follow my decent into the night.

"It is about time. Do you even comprehend how blessed you are that no one appeared at the window, Romeo?"

My eyes strain to see Alexander's frame hidden in the shadows of the vines. "You would have done the same thing, Father. Her love is worth any price I pay."

***

"I thought that you were careful."

Kyle walks down the aisle of Henderson's Mercantile, appearing to examine sacks of grain. "I WAS careful, Michael." He glances at me briefly out of the corner of his eye and lowers his tone to a whisper. "I tried my best to make our appearances at your farm seem innocent. Our fathers became suspicious nevertheless. If you had restrained yourself, Maria would not have been so disordered when her father arrived on your farm."

I glare at Kyle. "Aye, but if your fathers were to have come from the west, it would be me giving that lecture to you." I run my hands through my hair, struggling to keep my voice from rising. "This is bad, Kyle. VERY bad. We risk loosing everything."

"I am well aware of that." Kyle sighs and leans on a sack of wheat. "My father tells me that my wedding to Maria is to be advanced to next Monday."

"Don't worry. Alexander is on our side." I turn away from a display of small trowels to face my friend. "But if you lay a hand on Maria, you will live to regret it for a long, long time."

Kyle stands up straight and looks me in the eye. "I could say the same for Tess." I give a half-hearted laugh.

"Aye, you could." I glance around the shop, making certain that nobody has been eavesdropping. Only Henderson himself is in the store, going over his books behind the counter, and completely oblivious to our presence. "What are your intentions with Tess?"

Kyle shrugs. "My love for her is more powerful than I ever thought possible to love another. She is everything I could have wished for and more."

Glancing around another time, I pull Kyle through the doors and into the alley. Walking farther into the shadows, I lean back on the wall of the store. "Do you wish to marry her?" Kyle looks at me in shock.

"Yes, of course I do. I owe the entirety of my happiness to her alone."

I pull a small handkerchief from my shirt pocket. Unfolding the soft cotton gingerly, I reveal to him small golden wedding band. Kyle sucks in a breath. "It was my mothers." Folding the ring carefully back in the handkerchief, I look Kyle in the eye. "I have every intention of marrying Maria. I will do it in secret if I have to."

Kyle shakes himself from his stupor. "When do you plan to do this?"

"As soon as possible." I place the precious bundle back into my pocket. "But first we should see if it is at all possible to delay your wedding. There is still a chance that you will be able to convince your father to let you choose your own wife."

Kyle scratches the back of his head. "I do not think that is likely to happen, Michael. The Deluca's are enormously wealthy and influential. My father would not dare endanger his political career by angering Lawrence Deluca." He grins at me. "It is a trick that would be beneficial for you to master." I smile back.

"Well, I have yet to be accused of being sociable." Walking back towards the entrance of the alley, I look at Kyle over my shoulder. "We should start making our plans reality, Kyle, before it is too late."

Part 9

He kissed me. I cannot believe that he kissed me. What in God's name planted the bud of inspiration for Maxwell to kiss me? Does he not know that it is forbidden? We cannot have these feelings for each other. It is not possible for us to be with one another. What would the members of our parish conceive if they were to have viewed the immorality of our disclosure?

Oh Lord, I do not know what to believe anymore. How am I to continue on with the knowledge that my heart and my sex has been possessed by the tortured passion in his golden brown eyes? I cannot deny the emotions my heart depicts, but I cannot forsake and abandon my promise to God. I can feel the simplicity of life fade away like the green of an autumn leaf. I have a distinct feeling that the clarity I once knew was merely an illusion to mask my true self from my mind's eye.

"Elizabeth?"

Yelping sharply, I drop the white wicker basket of freshly cleaned bedclothes on the ground as Michael appears behind me. He kneels down beside me, watching as I scramble to retrieve the previously folded laundry. "Elizabeth? Have you taken ill? You face is so pale."

I grab a rumbled sheet from his grasp and walk quickly towards the convent. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Michael." Michael catches up to me with three long strides and grabs my wrist.

"You are talking out of your arse, Elizabeth. I know you. There is something hanging over your head." Michael takes the basket from my arms and places it on the ground. Pulling me down under the leafy branches of a willow tree, he takes my hands in his own. His hazel eyes are overcast with concern as he runs his fingers over my knuckles. The soft skin of his thumb reminds me of the gentle caress of Maxwell's lips, and I cannot help a shudder of pleasure at the memory. "Tell me."

Leaning back against the chalky bark, I inhale deeply. "Oh, Michael. It is all so terrible." He sits beside me and wraps a strong arm around my shoulders. I bury my face in the thin cotton of his shirt. "I fell in love with Father Evans." Michael's arm stiffens.

"Would you repeat that one, Lizzie. I think I misheard what you said." I pull myself out of the warm circle of his embrace.

"Oh, you heard me. I fell in love. In LOVE! Michael, what in God's good name am I going to do? I cannot just disregard my obligations to the Lord, but how can I live with the knowledge that there is someone like him out there waiting for me?" I take in a shaky breath. "No matter what decision I choose to follow, I stand to lose an enormous component of my life. How do I choose between my love and my God?"

Michael scratches his eyebrow. "Lassie, if I knew the answers to all of love's dilemmas, I would not be in the predicament that I reside within. All I know is that you must follow your heart. The greatest crime of all is making decisions based on circumstances and ignoring what your soul tells you. It was you who taught me that."

I laugh bitterly. "So you do remember when it was I who dispensed the advice to you?" I brush my hair back behind my ear. "But apparently, I am not as skillful at lavishing advice as my status would prefer. Look at all the trouble I have caused for you. You are fortunate that I have not gotten you hanged." Michael shakes his head as he leans forward to catch my gaze.

"Elizabeth, you have given me nothing but joy. You said listen to your heart, and I did." An overjoyed grin spreads across my friend's sculptured features. "Look at all your advice has given to me. I have a good business, four of the most beautiful children in America, and soon I will have a wife more magnificent than any angel of God. And I owe it all to you."

My thoughts are suddenly catapulted from those concerning my beloved. "A wife?" Michael's grin expands.

"Aye, a wife. Maria has agreed to give me her hand." I throw my arms around Michael's neck.

"Michael, that is wonderful news!" Another thought strikes me. "But what of her father?" Michael pulls himself from my arms and runs his hands through his soft brown locks.

"We will be wed in secret. Along with Kyle Valenti and Tess Harding." He gives me a weak smile. "Kyle is inside of the church at this very moment convincing your Father Evans to marry us in the forest at twilight."

Maxwell? Oh no. "What is wrong with asking Alexander? I am sure that you could persuade him to perform the marriage."

Michael clears his throat. "He. . . um. . . he opposes what Kyle and I are doing." He looks deep into my eyes and takes my hand again. "Elizabeth, I know that it will be difficult for you to be in the presence of Father Evans, but I would love for you to attend my wedding." I squeeze Michael's hand.

"I would not miss it for the world."

***

"And do you, Kyle Valenti, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife to have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

Kyle grins at me, smoothing away my tears with the palm of his hand. "I do."

Father Evans closes the black leather-bound bible. "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

My heart overflows with joy as Kyle wraps his arms around me and presses his lips against my own in a tender kiss. My princely husband pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against my own. "I love you." I feel a slow smile spread across my face as the applause of our small audience fades away into oblivion.

"I love you too, Kyle."

I turn to face our congregation of friends and loved ones. Michael stands proud with his chin resting on the daisy-laced curls of his fairy wife as he envelops her in a tight embrace. Maria herself glows with exhilaration, reflecting all of the joy and love that I feel inside for Kyle. Isabel stands beside them with Rhiannon in tow, Finola and Thomas at her side. Sister Mary Elizabeth holds a drowsy Andrew against her bosom, a small smile across her lovely features. Michael turns his head to Thomas.

"Maestro, if you will." The boy pulls out his violin, his nimble fingers dancing along the strings. I sigh blissfully. Thomas is a true prodigy. He plays with the talent and skill of a grown man.

Time fades away as Kyle pulls me close, swaying with me slowly under the careful watch of the stars. Tonight is perfect. If I were to die at this very moment, I would be grateful -- I would thank the Lord for His kindness -- for I would never have to see this phenomenal moment end. The inevitable departure of my love hangs over my head like a black cloud of desolation.

"Congratulations." I pull face out of the crook of Kyle's neck to face Alexander. Smiling, I place a soft kiss on the young man's cheek.

"Thank you for coming, Alexander." Kyle shakes his hand. "I was wondering if you would come to wish us well." Alexander grins.

"Well, I could not let this momentous occasion pass by without asking the lovely Isabel Guerin to dance in her brother's honor, now could I?" Laughing, Kyle and I watch as he walks towards Isabel. I turn to rest my head on his shoulder once again.

"Now he is a strange one." Kyle chuckles and pulls me closer.

"We are all a little strange, now aren't we, my love." I can hear the music of Maria's laughter ring above the notes of the violin. I look over my shoulder to see Michael lift her in the air, her satin gown flowing around them like snowflakes on the wind. Alexander and Finola dance nearby as Isabel watches, a thoughtful smile fondly gracing her lips. Sister Mary Elizabeth sits under the protection of the branches of an oak, a sleeping Andrew cradled in her arms as Rhiannon curls up against her legs. Father Evans stands away from the small crowd, his eyes curiously surveying over us with rapt mystification.

"Promise me that we will be together again soon." I look into my beloved's gray-blue eyes. "Promise me that this hiding will not be forever." Kyle looks at me wistfully and presses a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"No matter where I am, or what I am doing, my soul will always lead me back to you. You are my wife, my love, and nothing can take that away from us."

Although I can only pray that fortune will be so kind, I nod my head and lose myself in the magic of this night.

***

"Sister."

"Father." Oh God, what have I done? My sweet Elizabeth cannot even look me in the eye. She shifts the young babe in her arms, clutching the slumbering infant like a drowning man clutches a lifeline.

"Sister, I just felt that I should apologize for my inappropriate behavior last night." I sit down beside her, carefully avoiding contact with the smooth skin of her arm. "It was wrong for me to place you in such a situation. You have done nothing but aid me in my selfish dilemmas, and I repaid you in a violation of your ethics. For this I am forever remorseful." My heart's desire sighs deeply.

"Maxwell, you did nothing wrong. My actions are the ones to be ashamed of. You have yet to pledge yourself formally to our Lord and Savior, yet it was I who gave you unsuitable implications of my intentions." She raises her untainted doe eyes to meet my own. "The fault is mine." I shake my head.

"If that is the extent of your indiscretion, Elizabeth, then I beg you to wrong me again. I would not change a single moment I have spent with you for all the angels in Heaven." I take her hand in my own, begging my body not to raise her slender fingers to my lips again. "My only regret is taking for granted the gifts you so generously bestowed upon me."

Elizabeth turned her eyes to the sky, scanning the stars for some answer from God. She turns back to face me, her divine eyes holding the pure light of the stars within their heavenly depths. "Well, then let me rid you of that one regret with my own." Leaning forward, my saccharine belle captures my lips with her own blushing petals, turning all of night into day, all of dark into light.

Part 10

I pick a rose azalea from it's leafy holding on the branch. The fragile bloom rests in my palm like mist above the white-capped waves of an ocean. I bring the velvety plant to my cheek, reveling in the fragrant perfume that is emitted from it's blossom. I add the gentle flower to the lovely bouquet in my basket. Humming softly to myself, I bend down to pluck another bloom from it's stem.

As I place my basket down on a rock, a pair of strong arms encircles me from behind as my love leans his head forward to nibble the curve of my jaw. I can feel a small smile taking form on my lips. Although our love must be hidden from the eyes of others, I have no regrets.

All my life, I have told others to listen to what their soul is saying. Now, I can say this with the knowledge of the jubilation can be obtained by listening to what messages God has left imprinted on one's psyche. Because my heart and my soul led me to him.

"I cannot stay." I can hear the melancholy edging his voice. I turn in his arms and bury my hands in the smooth black locks of his hair as he places a hand under my chin to lift my face to his own. His eyes plead with me to beseech him to remain, although we both know that he will depart in a moment's time. Obliging, I nuzzle his cheek, slipping my tongue from my mouth to taste the salt of his skin.

"You only just arrived. Forget with me awhile, darling. It's been too long since we have been able to leave behind our troubles. Just for now, look at the ocean, and pretend that what we possess is rational." My arms snake around his neck as his lips glide across my forehead.

"I am afraid the ocean must wait, my love. I have been asked to join Mr. Deluca and Judge Valenti tonight for private counseling." I laugh against his neck.

"I am certain that there must be a law against that or something. Come, stay awhile. You have hardly taken the time to breathe." I cover his mouth with my own before he can protest. Rubbing my hands along his back, I try to smooth out the muscles that reside there, tensed from a hard day of work. A low grumble of pleasure escapes his throat as he tightens his hold around my waist. His graceful hands tangle themselves in my long hair, capturing my face closer to his own. Alexander pulls away from me, his bright blue eyes memorizing my own.

"I will come for you soon, Isabel. I promise."

***

"So, I would that the service will be held on Monday."

I stare at Mr. Deluca in shock. "Sir, Monday is three days away. I have been striving to shift your daughter's affections towards Mr. Valenti, but it seems that her heart is beyond his reach. Have you decided in all certainty that this is a choice that you would like to make on her behalf?" Mr. Deluca glares at me. I sigh, knowing the argument that is impending. He is every bit as stubborn as Maria.

"Father Whitman, Maria is my daughter. It is my responsibility to make the best choices possible for her. Kyle can provide for her in ways that no other man in Ravensport can. Maria's heart will change in time." I lean forward in my chair, making sure to have both his and James Valenti's complete attention.

"But are you certain? What if your children never come to love each other? Are you willing to gamble with their happiness? If you feel that they have found love outside of the coupling you wish for them, then perhaps you should let them be contented within their own relationships."

"Father, Kyle is a good man. He will treat her well. My daughter will never lack of anything in her life. Michael Guerin cannot guarantee this in the slightest. How would she survive fending for herself all alone when he is on business? Maria was not raised to live in such a manner. This Guerin boy whom she seems to be infatuated with cannot give her the life that she deserves."

"She deserves what she wants, Mr. Deluca. She does not want Kyle." Judge Valenti speaks up in place of Mr. Deluca.

"But she will, Father. In time, Maria will appreciate my son and the life that he will give her. With that ruffian, she will have to take care of herself. Maria is a kind-hearted woman, but she has been pampered. Believe me, she is better off with a man of her own standing."

I run my hands through my hair. There is just no negotiation with these men. Lawrence Deluca is completely obstinate, and James Valenti is consumed by greed. How can I convince them that their decisions will only succeed in rendering Maria and Kyle completely miserable?

"I expect you to perform the wedding ceremony for my daughter and future son-in-law." Before I can think of another argument against their children's marriage, a servant girl enters the room.

"Mr. Deluca, the slave master wishes me to inform you that there has been another runaway." Mr. Deluca rises from his seat.

"I apologize for my discourteous departure, Father, but I must end this meeting abruptly. Please be prepared to marry Maria and Kyle on Monday."

***

I watch as Alexander walks towards the front door, his head hung low in troubled concentration. I can tell from the set of his shoulders that he has failed to sway my father in his decision.

"Good evening, Maria. How are you today?" I turn around to face Judge Valenti -- my father-in-law in three days time -- standing behind me, his face set in a practiced smile.

"As well as could be expected." I walk away swiftly, trying to ignore the echo of footsteps following my retreat. I enter my chamber and close the door swiftly. No sooner than I release the bronze handle than it turns seemingly on it's own, and the door opens.

"Do you not know that it is uncivil to enter a lady's rooms without her expressed permission?" Ignoring my obvious displeasure, Judge Valenti closes the door behind him.

"Maria, I beg you to be reasonable. You have no choice in the matter. Please, just give Kyle a chance. I am certain that you will find that he is a good match for you."

"Sir, I am confident that if you would consider this joining, you will find that neither I nor Kyle will ever find that we are a good match for each other. My father and yourself have doomed us to a life without love." I walk through the terrace doors, leaving my future warden to plan what purchases he will make with my father's money.

"Maria!" I turn to find Kyle skulking behind the hedge. He grins at me, his eyes alight with mischief. Knowing what circumstances must have painted such relish in his gray-blue eyes, I smile back. "Get yourself to confession at seven o'clock tonight. Do not be late."

***

I pull back the heavy curtain of the confessional and slip inside. The carved wood paneling is closed, and for a moment I wonder if Michael is on the other side. As I raise my hand to knock on the wall, a hidden panel in the flooring slides open. A familiar brown head peaks out from the black depths.

"Fancy meeting you here." I laugh quietly as he places a fleeting kiss across my neck. I watch as he takes in my appearance, a glow of admiration apparant in his beautiful eyes.

"Michael, what on earth are you doing?" He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me down the steps into a hidden tunnel. His rakish grin widens as he places back the trap door, making the blood rush through my veins like quicksilver.

"I just thought that you would prefer some privacy, love. Do not worry. Isabel is keeping watch with Finola." I hear the scrape of a matchbox as my beloved lights a lantern. He takes my hand in his own and leads me down the musty hallway to another trap door. Opening the panel, we climb into an abandoned cell. Light filters over a wooden table in the center of the room, tea and cakes strategically left on the table. Off to the side, a small bed lays undressed with the absence of an owner.

I walk over and pull closed the curtains framing the window as Michael pours cups of tea. He pulls me into his lap as I approach the table and plants kisses along my shoulder. Sighing, I lean back against his broad chest, drawing strength from the warmth of his embrace.

"I am going to be leaving Ravensport in a few days." I pull away from Michael and look into his hazel eyes. They are cloudy with gloom, an expression that I wish I could erase from his eyes for all time.

"Wait a minute. What do you mean that you are leaving? Why? Leaving where? You cannot just leave me here to be married to Kyle! We need you now more than ever! Our fathers will not listen to reason and -- " Michael silences me with a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every crevice in my mouth. I tremble with pleasure before I pull away. "And another thing -- " Laughing at my displeasure, my love covers my mouth with his own once again. This time, I cannot summon the determination to tear myself from his lavish affections.

Releasing my lips, Michael rests his forehead lightly against my own. "I will only be gone for a short while. A month at most. I am heading north with my stock, before winter comes. You know that I do this every year. I will be leaving after your wedding." I grimace.

"You are all too casual about this, Michael. It seems as if you do not care that I am to be wedded to another man." Michael pulls me closer on his lap, resting his head against my bosom. I brush my hands through his soft locks, twisting light brown strands around my fingers.

"Of course I care. There is nothing that we can do about it. The wedding will not be legitimate. You are my wife, always and forever. I am yours and you are mine. Never forget that." He places his hand on my abdomen, tracing slow circles along the fabric of my dress. It tickles mercilessly, but I do not struggle from his arms. I would rather die than waste a single moment's time with my sweet angel. Lifting his head, Michael looks me in the eye. "Maria, if I had no choice but to leave Ravensport forever, would you come with me?" I smile and place a kiss between my husband's knitted eyebrows.

"Without a doubt." I pull myself from his lap, although every fiber of my being begs of me to return to him. "I should go before my father believes that I am a wicked child." Grinning impishly, Michael walks over to the window and places the lantern through the curtains for a moment. A large clatter sounds itself outside. Pulling me over to the bed, Michael runs his hands down my arms.

"We have time."

Part 11

"This is unacceptable, Kyle!"

My father paces around the parlor, knocking over carefully prepared vases of goldenrod and heather. A young servant girl dashes between my father's strides, picking fallen objects from his path. "We have lost three slaves from the plantation. There have been seven runaways from Ravensport in this last month alone! There must be an alternative to beating the bastards past the point of value!"

My father throws a basket full of stationary onto the floor. When the girl does not move from his well-worn track quick enough, my father kicks her away with the toe of his heavy boot. He knocks over a small clock as the servant girl scampers away from his reach. "At this point, I have decided to trade slaves." I pick up a crumpled piece of goldenrod, twirling it around my fingers.

"But Father, we will need all the hands we can get to bring in the fields. It is bad enough that an illness has spread throughout the work hands. A slave trade will set the harvest back by weeks." He sits down on a chair across from me, throwing an embroidered pillow on the floor.

"I already know this, Kyle. We will make due. I plan to send a man with twenty slaves to the Carolinas." I run the broken flower along the lines of my palms.

"So, I suppose that in light of these new circumstances, my marriage should be postponed -- " The crevices leading from my father's nostrils to the corners of his mouth deepens with annoyance. I have learned from experience that this is never a good sign.

"Kyle, no. We have had this conversation before. Marrying Maria will be the best thing for you. She has everything you need in a wife." I sit up on the sofa.

"But what about love, Father. I could never love Maria. She's impossible."

"She's wealthy."

"She's exhausting."

"She's well-bred."

"She's -- "

My father raises his hand to silence me. "Kyle, stop this nonsense. Maria comes from a rich and influential family. In marrying a Deluca, you ensure the success of our lineage for years to come."

"The power our name holds is more than enough to ensure the success of our family. The wealth that our plantation provides guarantees that I will live better than almost any other man on the east coast. I do not need these things from a wife. Any addition to our success should come from my prosperity, not from my marriage." My father grumbles.

"This is not up for debate, Kyle. There is not a worthier woman to take as a wife in all of Virginia. I do not wish to hear another word about it." Fergus Nelson walks into the parlor, clearing his throat to gain Father's attention.

"Sir, we have found the runaway from Mr. Deluca's Vineyard." My father hoots in victory.

"Well, where was he found, man?"

"In Father Whitman's cell at St. Patrick's Cathedral."

***

I run towards the rapidly expanding crowd on the churchyard, Isabel, Tess, and the children following close behind me. Judge Valenti stands behind a makeshift podium made from an overturned wagon. Alexander stands to the side -- proud and courageous despite his dire situation -- a rope thrown over the branch of a strong oak and looped around his neck. Fergus sits on a brown mare nearby, the end of the rope tied around his saddle. One of the workers at the saw mill stands in front of the judge.

" -- found the run away in Father Whitman's cell." Judge Valenti turns to face my unfortunate friend.

"Father, do you have anything to say on your behalf?" Alexander takes a step towards the crowd.

"I am certain that every soul standing here today has heard me preach of the humane treatment of the slave population. I will not question your intelligence by trying to prove otherwise. But I will say that I am innocent of the charges."

"Can you prove that to the court, Father?" Alexander looks at the judge briefly and hangs his head low.

"No, I cannot." Judge Valenti strikes his gavel on the side of the wagon.

"Then I have no choice but to sentence you. Father Alexander Whitman, by the power of the court, I sentence you to death. You will hang by the neck until you are dead. May God have mercy on your soul."

"NO!" Finola pushes her way through the crowd. "It isn't so! Father Whitman is innocent." I make my way towards her and grab her arm.

"Finola, what are you doing, girl? Stand back." Judge Valenti motions for me to release her arm.

"Let her speak." Finola approaches the podium.

"Father Whitman did not help the man. It was I." A collective gasp spread throughout the crowd.

"No, your honor, my daughter does not know what she is talking about." I reach for her arm again, but Finola pulls away angrily.

"I do not lie! There is a door -- a hidden door -- on the south side of the church. This door leads to a stairway which opens to the Father's cell. I took the man to this door and showed him where to hide!" A man stands forward from the group of bystanders.

"It is true! There is a door hidden behind the hedge." The judge motions for the release of Alexander and turns to face my daughter.

"Child, in light of your confession, I must sentence you as I would any other. And that sentence is death." I hear Tess and Isabel cry out as Finola is taken to the noose, and it is more than I can bear. I kneel before Judge Valenti.

"Sir, my daughter lies! The truth is that it was me. I am the one who committed these crimes!" The judge leans over and places his hand on my head.

"Mr. Guerin, it is in the nature of any good father to protect the lives of their children. The law requires that I punish the wicked swiftly and justly. I am sorry." Two men wrap their arms around me and hold me to the ground. Struggling to free myself, I look into Finola's wide, frightened eyes. With a curt nod from the judge, Fergus rides the horse forward, dragging Finola up into the air.

"NOOO!" I throw the men off of me and run towards my daughter. Three more men tackle me and hold me down. I can only watch as Isabel, Alexander, and Tess are also restrained. I can only watch as Thomas and Rhiannon run towards their struggling sister, trying to lift her body so that she might breathe. Finola's blue eyes bulge out of their sockets as she claws at the rope binding her throat. A low gurgle escapes from her mouth, and the sound of her wordless cry fills me with inhuman strength.

I buck wildly, freeing myself from the grasp of the men. Reaching my daughter, I lift her flailing legs so that she sits on my shoulder. Before she can loosen the rope, Fergus rides the horse forward again. Finola reaches the limb of the oak with a resounding crack. In a last desperate attempt, Alexander fights his way forward and cuts the rope free. My daughter falls rapidly into my waiting arms.

I lay Finola gingerly on my lap as Isabel, Tess, and Alexander gather around. Taking the knife from Alexander's hands, I carefully cut through the noose. Finola's head falls limply from my hands, angry red marks wrapped around her neck. Her glassy eyes stare at me blankly as my own fill with tears. Thomas tries to look over my shoulder. I push him away.

"Stay back, boy." I move Finola to the ground, trying to ignore the awkward angle of her neck. I run my hand gently across her face, smoothing down her eyelids. Wiping away my tears, I glare at Judge Valenti. "She was a child." He walks past us indifferently.

"She was a criminal." Tess rushes to him, beating her small fists across his chest and shoulders.

"You brute! You MONSTER! How could you? How COULD you? She was innocent!" Judge Valenti pushes her roughly to the ground.

"If you do not restrain yourself, you will meet her fate." The judge mounts his horse and rides away, apathetic to the mindless slaughter of my child. I swear that if God did not look down on murder, he would be pushing up daisies in a heartbeat. I feel a shaky hand place itself on my shoulder. I look up into Alexander's tear-filled eyes.

"Let's bring her into the church."

***

"Michael?" Michael sits hunched over the cold grave, his bloodshot eyes unresponsive to my approach. "Michael, it is the middle of the night. What are you doing out here?" My friend laughs bitterly.

"I am looking out for my daughter. What does it look like, Lizzie? It isn't safe for a pretty thing like Finola to be out unattended after dark." I sit down beside him and take note of the half empty bottle cradled in his hands.

"Michael, have you been drinking?" I reach out to brush back his tangled hair, but he pulls away.

"Maybe a little. Just a wee bit of brandy." He laughs again, and the sound of it sends shivers up my spine.

"It was not your fault, Michael." Michael turns to face me, nearly falling into my lap in the process.

"Of course it was my fault! I was her father! It was my job to protect her!" Michael chokes back another round of sobs. Reaching out again, I rub his back softly.

"You did everything that you could." Michael buries his head in my shoulder.

"It was not enough. I could have done more. I could have turned myself in before she did. I could have sacrificed myself." I place a kiss along his hairline.

"Michael, I know that you do not want to hear this, but God has a plan. It was in His plan for Finola to join Him so early in life. She knew that it was her time. And she was not afraid." Michael pulls away from me savagely.

"Of course she was afraid! She was only a child! And I failed her." He tilts his head back and glares angrily at the stars. "I was not even going to take her. If I had only taken Rhiannon and Thomas as planned, she would be alive. But the girl kept talking about how Finola took care of the babe of a mother who died on board. Rhiannon reminded me so much of my Maria -- all sparkles and light -- I had to see Finola for myself. If I had just let her alone. . "

I watch as Michael tries uselessly to fight tears of guilt and wish that I knew the words to take away his pain.

Part 12

I hold out my arms as the long, flowing gown is drawn up my body by a group of young servant girls. I watch in the mirror as the silken material is tied back with a matching sash of the palest beige and the high lace neck is buttoned tight against my throat. I watch as my hair is drawn up in an elegant twist and strings of polished pearls are pinned to the perfectly sculptured strands of golden honey. One large tear-shaped pearl hangs down the middle of my forehead, matching the glossy jewels of my earrings perfectly. A thin veil of the finest lace is pinned in place against my pearl-adorned curls.

"Maria." My father's reflection closes in on mine, one hand reaching out towards her. He pins a golden broach in the center of her bosom, where silk meets lace. I watch as my father's reflection brushes away glittering streams of tears from my reflection's ashen cheeks. "Maria, dearest, say something to me. You have not said one word in two days."

The silver-haired reflection pulls my own close to his body. "I only wish to give you the best future possible. I will not be alive forever. It will do us both good for you to marry a deserving and competent man." Two raspberry lips that match my own begin to tremble as my vision fluctuates.

"Please, do not make me do this." Her voice cracks hoarsely from misuse and unshed tears.

My mirror father leans down to kiss her cheek. "It will all turn out for the best. You will see. Kyle will make a fine husband."

"How can Kyle make a fine husband for me if I do not love him?" My father turns my shoulders so that I face him.

"He is better than that Guerin boy that you fancy. I am sure that he seems fine and well, but if you were to know of his true nature, you would not be so quick to declare your love. Michael Guerin is no more than a swine; a common drunkard. He would treat you no better than a harlot."

"And how would a boy who was raised by a father who murders young children treat me?" My father's mocha eyes darken.

"Maria, I understand that what James ordered was severe, but he thought for the best. We cannot have people stealing what is ours. It is his job to punish those who do, in whatever way the law requires." I pull myself out of his grasp and pick up my bouquet of yellow roses and baby's breath.

"I hope that you remember those words when your grandchildren make a mistake that requires justice."

***

Oh God, Maria is so pale. She walks stiffly at her father's arms, her wedding gown glowing elegantly from the light emitted from dozens of candles. She looks like a china doll. The only thing marring her beautiful pixie face is the redness of her eyes.

My father smiles proudly at me as I stand at the alter. I must admit, I do not fare any better than Maria herself. Even though this marriage is not valid, I somehow feel that I am betraying my wife.

Tess.

She and Michael watch us from the back of the church, holding Andrew and Rhiannon close on their laps as Thomas is crushed between Tess and Isabel. I feel my heart sink as I notice the absence of one red-haired child. The pain that we are all going through is immeasurable.

I should have been there. If I had not stayed at the plantation to make arrangements for Fergus to travel to the Carolinas, I could have stopped it. There was no need for Finola to die. How could my father have done such a cold, heartless thing? What has happened to the man who taught me polo and archery? What happened to the man who told me stories of my mother in front of the fireplace before we retired to bed?

Maria stands beside me at the alter rigidly. Alexander's words are a blur as I try not to look into his haunted face. I think that this entire plight has affected him most of all. Throughout this whole ordeal, he took it upon himself to be the leader -- the protector and savior -- of us all. Now, after all that has happened, he believes that he has failed.

Tears cascade down Maria's porcelain cheeks as she promises herself to me. The words she speaks are an exact reproduction to those that she had spoken that night in the woods. When daisies replaced pearls, and her tears were not born of sorrow and distress. We cry together, this woman and I, for the loss of our hope.

We had hoped for the day that our parents would accept our incompatibility, so that we might reveal our marriages in harmony. A day that I might take the velvety hand of my lovely wife and live with her in glory. A day when Maria and Tess would knit caps for the children growing in their wombs as Michael and I carve fairies and angels in the cradles. How can we hope for such a future now? The entire town believes that we are legitimately married. We are bound together in misery, Maria and I.

"You may now kiss the bride."

I look at Alexander in panic.. His bloodshot eyes are focused on the bible in his hands. I turn to Maria, careful not to let my eyes wander to the wooden pew that holds my heart and soul. Gently lifting the lace of her veil, I kiss her swiftly on the corner of her lips. The very same lips that I have heard my spellbound friend dote on for hours on end. I pull back and stare into the horrified emerald eyes of the very same enchantress to which I conspired to help said friend pursue.

"I am sorry, Maria." I pull away from her and face our congregation. My father grins in satisfaction, his greed satiated with the knowledge of the fortune which I will now possess. The company of townspeople rise to their feet and give their applause. All except for a small group sitting in the back, tears flowing from their eyes in pity and remorse.

***

"Michael, this is no time to leave. You can still do something!" Michael throws his clothes into a box.

"Tess, this is the perfect time to leave. This was all part of the plan in the first place. I leave every year around this time. Unless you would rather live with the poor in the convent, I have no choice but to sell the stock. Pass me that rope." I lift a large coil of rope from the shelf and hold it from his reach.

"Michael, you are running away. The situation will only worsen with your absence. The sooner we find a solution to this, the better chance Maria's father will not have you killed." When he does not respond, I throw the rope into his chest. "For the love of God, Michael, I want my husband back! It tears me apart to see this lie play out."

"And what about Finola? Do you wish that her death be for nothing?" I shake my head as Michael carries boxes and crates to the door. "If nothing else, this proves that we should not challenge Valenti. He would have both our heads if we were to come forward with the truth."

"But there must be something -- " Michael whips around, anger flashing in his eyes.

"WHAT? What is there for us to do? It is impossible! Our only choices are to let the situation stand as it is, or to run away, change our names, and begin again. And that is the one thing that I will not do. Maria deserves better than to live on the streets as I start my business from scratch. You, Isabel, the children, you all deserve better than that!" I watch in frustration as Michael carries a stack of boxes outside to the wagon. I run after him, passing Isabel and Rhiannon coming back from the well.

"Michael, I am pregnant!" He stumbles on the ground, nearly losing a handle on his packages. "It is a safe bet that Maria is carrying your child. I do not want my baby to be born without it's father. I am certain that you wife feels exactly the same way." Michael places the crates on the ground and falls back next to them. I walk over to him and watch as he buries his hands in his hair. Unable to resist, I rub my hand over my abdomen.

"Tess, there is nothing I can do. Do you think I want to see my own flesh and blood take Kyle's name? It is all up to him now. Anything I do will only result in more turmoil. But I do promise you that your child will never lack a father." He raises his troubled eyes to mine, his own flowing with another attack of salty tears. "But I still must leave. Too much will be lost if I stay."

***

I watch as Michael rides out of town, a small heard of horses tied to either side of his covered wagon. I do not understand what has transpired. How is it that Alexander allowed the marriage of Maria and Kyle to be performed -- by himself, no less -- if he knew of the other unions of the young couple? I turn away from the window as the arms of my darling wrap themselves around my waist.

"I do not think that he will ever forgive himself." I pull my Elizabeth close against my body.

"Michael is a strong man. He will learn to deal with his pain." She sighs against my chest, tiny quivers vibrating against my skin. I smile and bury my face into the softness of her hair. "You worry so much, my love." She laughs quietly.

"You are one to talk, Maxwell. No sensible person would chastise me for my grievances when their load is as large as yours." I pull her down onto the bed. My angel spoons into my chest, her breath caressing across my shoulder.

"What do you search for, Elizabeth?" She lifts her head slightly, examining my face with her chocolate eyes.

"I do not know. I suppose I search for love." I laugh.

"If you must search for love, that I do believe that I have not made my emotions clear for you. My love for you is so great that you should never feel the lack of it." Elizabeth smiles her sweet, heavenly smile.

"Would you believe me if I were to tell you the same?" I place a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"I would believe you if you told me that night was day and water was fire." Suddenly, my beloved's brow furrows as she pulls herself out of my embrace.

"Maxwell, do you believe that what we are doing is the right thing? Should we not be resisting the temptation that we provide for each other?" I reach out and brush back a lock of her raven hair.

"I have no answers for you, Elizabeth. But I do believe in you. I know that your decision to let yourself be in love with me was not one made lightly. If you followed your heart to me, then that is all the proof of God's intentions that I need." The graceful smile returns to my angel's lips as she rises from the bed.

"I must go. Will you come to me tomorrow night?" I smile back at her.

"Always."

Part 13

The ordinary life I once knew is no more. I left it behind completely when I kissed my love. I found a tranquillity that I never knew existed within the circle of his embrace. I look at my life now and wonder why I fought my emotions so.

Should I be feeling remorse for betraying my oath to God? Could what I have with Maxwell be truly defined as a betrayal? I do not know what it is that we are to each other. We are not lovers, betrothed, or spouses. True, our relationship is intimate, but it is hardly physical. I know his soul's desire, but not his body.

Do I have the right to such happiness? There is so much grief and betrayal surrounding me. Alexander has been forced to break faith with God by marrying Maria and Kyle. The newlyweds themselves had broken vows with their loves by the will of their fathers. Michael and Tess have lost their companions and a child that we all held dear to our hearts. And yet, I find happiness in a pair of golden brown eyes underneath soft black locks.

He is my soul mate. What other than adoration can I receive from my soul mate? I feel as if I am floating on the most gentle of summer breezes, like the feather of a dove lost in mid-flight. Cupid's wings have shielded my eyes from the distress of others.

I dance between wide, billowing sheets hanging from the clothesline, cherishing the freedom that I feel deep in my soul. Small orphan boys play gleefully nearby, throwing a leather ball back and forth over the wall of cotton. Mothers with somber faces watch their sons play, and I abruptly end mine. What on God's green earth am I doing?

I run back inside the church and into my cell. Closing the latch behind me, I sink to the floor. Oh dear God. I have not lost my work as I once feared. I have lost myself.

How could I let myself be so jovial? It was once my accomplishments that set me in such an exhilarated mood. I thrived on dwindling the pain and suffering of others. In fact, it was Maxwell's own tortured soul that attracted my eye in the first place. But now? Who am I now? Who is this woman who dances in the courtyard, apathetic to the anguish around her? Have I given up my entire being for a man?

Oh Lord, what have I become? If you had told me before Maxwell arrived from Ireland that I would turn my head to the misery of another, I would never have believed you. But now. . . now I barely give a thought to the stricken.

And Michael.

I have hardly tried to soothe his soul. I have spoken to him only once since the death of his daughter. I would not have spoke to him at all if I had not stole into the forest to visit my love under the protection of the night. And where is he now? Michael left Ravensport alone the day of Maria's wedding. Is he well or is he drowning his sorrows in brandy again?

I get to my feet and leave my cell. I must find Maxwell.

***

"Maxwell!"

Grinning, I turn to the call of my love. She stands, shaking, at the door of my cell -- her eyes wide with fright and her skin paled as she gasps for breath -- her slender hands grasping the door frame in a white-knuckled grip. I can feel the corners of my lips fall as if pulled by weights. "Elizabeth? What has happened?" I reach out to brush my hand across her cheek, but she pulls away sharply.

"Maxwell, we cannot do this anymore!" I open my mouth to answer, but her words have left a lump in my throat that my voice is powerless to fight through. As my angel turns to leave, I grasp her arm desperately.

"Why? Please, tell me what is wrong." Her eyes fill with tears at my pleading.

"Do you not see what is happening? Maxwell, in being together, we ignore our responsibilities. It is our duty to help the downtrodden, and yet we have given it up in exchange for a few swindled moments together. We cannot continue to ignore our duties."

I sit down on the corner of the bed. She is right. We have sacrificed others for our own happiness. We have stolen moments of time from God to be together in a forbidden liaison. The difference between us is that it was all worth it for me. "What do you want us to do?" My Elizabeth takes my hand.

"We cannot continue together." I shake my head, pleading her with my eyes to reconsider.

"I cannot be without you." I lift her chin to look directly into her remorseful eyes. "You are my guiding light." Smiling sadly, she runs her fingers through my hair.

"I love you too, Maxwell, but there is so much to loose if we were to be together. I cannot abandon the position that I have committed myself to. I am sorry." I place my fingers over my Elizabeth's.

"Will you at least spent this last night with me?" My beloved lifts herself from her knees and sits on the bed beside me.

"Of course, dearest."

***

"Rhiannon, come down from there." I lift her away from the windowsill, her tiny hands leaving hazy outlines on the glass. Wrapping her arms around me, she stares at me with her somber green eyes. For a moment, I think of how my brother compared her to his darling Maria. At this moment -- as I see the mannequin of the child I once held -- I think of the ghostly bride who walked down the aisle. Michael was right. They are so much alike.

"Aunt Isabel, when is Da coming home?" Sighing, I kiss one round cheek.

"When he sells all of the horses you helped him train." I set Rhiannon onto the floor, and she pulls the violin case from under the table.

"Will you play something, Thomas?" The boy takes the violin from her hands and tightens the strings. A low, sad, harmonious tune fills the room as I sit next to Tess, handing her a cup of tea. She lays her head on my shoulder, and I wrap my arm tightly around her neck.

Why did Michael have to leave now? Him and his damned cause. He could have waited a month, a week, a day even. Michael does not see how we need him. How we all rely on him. Rhiannon never strays far from the door, waiting to run into Michael's arms at the first sight of his tall form. Thomas worries constantly that we will not be safe from Judge Valenti, fearing that we all face certain death at his hands. I myself am afraid. Our home is not faraway from Ravensport, but we are still far enough that it is not favorable to live without the presence and protection of a man. Even Andrew seems to be aware of my brother's absence, fussing almost constantly.

Tess is the worst off, I believe. Michael kept her hope alive. Without him, she has no confidence that the future will bring her and her baby good fortune. From the moment that Michael left, Tess has hardly spoken a word. Her eyes are dark from insomnia, and her appetite has all but disappeared. It is for the child growing in her womb that Tess eats at all. She needs Michael to give her faith.

Rhiannon crawls into my lap and leans onto my other shoulder. I survey my little family, four blond heads bowed in quiet contemplation. I look out the window and pray for my brother to come home.

***

I sit in the bar, drinking the dregs of a warm ale from the bottom of my glass. God, I hope that all turns out well. The cursed band of gold shines in the dim light of the salon on my finger. My real wedding ring hangs around my throat on a leather cord.

"Would you like another, Mr. Valenti?" I look up into the eyes of the bartender, Aidan Freeman, and nod. He sets another pitcher before me, the foamy brew sloshing over the sides. Sighing woefully, I take another drink.

I would gladly give up my entire fortune if I could avoid going home forever. But if I did, then I would leave Maria alone in that cold mansion, with no one but slaves and my father -- our jailer -- for company. Still, I wish that I could avoid seeing the uncharacteristic emptiness in her previously vivacious eyes. I cannot help but feel responsible for crushing her spirit. And my father. I rue the moment when I must face that man again. I never imagined before that fateful night at St. Patrick's Cathedral that he could be so cruel.

A lanky man sits down beside me. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Although I have never seen him before, he seems familiar to me. He leans over to speak to the bartender.

"I was wondering if you could help me, sir." Aidan walks over to him, passing me another a tall pitcher. "I am looking for my brother. The last I heard, he was living here in Ravensport. His name is Alexander Whitman. Do you know of him." My back stiffens at the sound of Alexander's name. This must be his brother, Daniel." Aidan cocks his head.

"Aye. You mean the priest, Father Whitman, I takes it?" Dropping a few coins on the counter, I slip off the stool discreetly and make my way to the door, barely catching Daniel's response.

"Priest? Alexander is not a priest."

I run towards St. Patrick's Cathedral, nearly knocking over Isabel. I grab her arm and drag her with me.

"Kyle! Have you gone mad?" I shake my head.

"Just come on! Alexander has been discovered!"

***

I breath in the scent of my love's hair deeply. I cannot believe that this is to be our last night together. I cannot believe that I am about to lose her, after all that has happened between us. I kiss the top of my Elizabeth's head, and she snuggles deeper into my chest.

"I love you." The words shred my soul, but I cannot help but return them.

"I love you too."

Suddenly, without warning, the door of my cell opens. "Father Evans, there has been -- "

I look up into the face of Judge Valenti, panic coursing through my veins.

Part 14

I wait, huddled under the long, fan-like foliage of ferns in the underbrush. It should not be long now. My ears strain, grasping for the sound of the anticipated wagon crossing over the low bridge. The sound of horse hooves galloping on the dirt road echoes in the stillness. Two figures on horseback ride towards me, slowing down as they cross the bridge.

"Michael! Michael, I know that you are out there!" I stand up from my hiding spot.

"Alexander? Isabel?!? What are you two doing here?" Alexander and Isabel climb from their horses, a grim look passing between them. Taking the reigns from my sister, Alexander leads the stallions deep into the bush. Isabel wraps her arms around my neck.

"Oh, Michael, it is terrible. They found out about Alexander." My mind freezes as I reach up to stroke her golden hair.

"Do they know about Kyle and I?" My sister shakes her head. Alexander comes out from the bush and takes Isabel from my arms, holding her in a possessive grasp against his chest. Isabel leans back wearily, a small sigh of sorrow escaping from her lips. Alexander brushes his hand across her cheek.

"I cannot go back to Ravensport. You should return; tell the townsfolk that you were told my me that your son had taken ill. Isabel and I will continue on from here." I reach out to grab my sister's arm, glaring at Alexander.

"Isabel is not going anywhere with you. They know who you are. It is only a matter of time before they know what you did. It is too dangerous." Isabel pushes me back and glares at me, her dark eyes flashing.

"This is my decision, Michael. You have no say in what I do. I choose to go with my love." There is something in the set of her jaw that prevents me from arguing further. I run my hands through my hair.

"This is bad. I should collect Tess and the children and leave Ravensport." Alexander shakes his head.

"There is no need. All will be blamed on me. Do not forget, now the townspeople know that Maria and Kyle's wedding is not legitimate. Maxwell will not perform the marriage -- he's too righteous. Unless they find a real priest to marry them, there is still a chance for you to be together." Isabel winks at me, a wide grin spreading across her features. I smile back, my mind churning with possibilities. Suddenly, I hear the sound of horses in the distance. Alexander nods towards the hidden road through the woods.

"Go. There is no reason for you to do this anymore." I take my sisters hand and lead her swiftly into the forest. Treading through the thick branches, we reach the small meadow where my cargo lies. I walk towards my covered wagon, the herd of horses grazing lazily in the field. I pull back the cover, exposing my precious cargo.

"There has been a slight change of plans. Everybody out." Six heads of tightly curled black hair shoot up as six pairs of coal black eyes meet my own. Isabel and I help the runaways out of the wagon. Four men, a woman, and a child shield their eyes from the blazing light of the sun.

I lead the small group away from the glen. Alexander stands on the side of the road, binding an unconscious Fergus to a tree. A large wagon with twenty slaves sits on the bridge. The six runaways behind me rush forward to greet their friends and family. I kneel down to help Alexander tighten the bonds around the other man's wrists.

"Where will you go after this, my friend?" He grins at me, his eyes alight with triumph.

"Isabel and I will take the children north. It is safer for them then to let them travel by foot with the adults. I hear that Canada is quite lovely at this time of year." Laughing, I pat Alexander's shoulder.

"Just make certain that you stay alive, Alexander. You now have the obligation to protect my sister. If something happens to her, it will not be the bounty hunters that you must worry about."

"Are you talking about me, dear brother?" I turn to face the threatening eyes of Isabel Guerin.

"Aye. I was only warning Alexander about the trouble he is in for, now that you are to be living with him." She smacks me playfully in the arm. Grinning, I wrap her in my arms. "I want you to be careful too, Isabel. Perhaps stay with some abolitionists while Alexander travels with the children." She shakes her head against my shoulder.

"No. I am going to help. They need me." Isabel pulls away from me, and I take her face in my hands, trying to memorize every curve of her face. This could very well be the last time that I see her.

"Then you must be careful. I expect you to be alive to spoil you niece or nephew." She laughs, and walks toward the wagon.

"And I expect you to provide me with many more." I watch as Isabel takes charge, breaking the runaways into small groups of four. I sigh wistfully. My little sister is all grown up and breaking the law. Where does the time go?

Alexander waves me away, laughing. With one last look at Isabel, I trot back to my wagon to gather my herd. It is time for me to claim what is mine.

***

"Put her in the cell down the hall."

Judge Valenti pushes me roughly past the rod iron door -- the letters "F U C K" scrawled above the frame, mocking me with sadistic delight -- as a medium-size man comes into the room from behind a desk. My Elizabeth is lead away down a different hallway as the cell is locked around me. She looks back at me, her vulnerable doe eyes wide with shock and fright. My seraph mouths three words to me; I love you. I mouth them back as the door closes behind her.

"Your honor, this is all an extremely huge misunderstanding. You see -- " The judge turns his back to me, walking away without so much as a glance.

"Save your excuses for the trial, Father Evans. Judgment will meet you in the morning" The door closes behind him with a resounding boom. Silence surrounds me, as if I have already met my maker. Trying to ignore the overwhelming feeling of helplessness, I survey my surroundings.

A rickety old bed lays in the corner, bare except for a thin gray pillow and stained, worn blanket. A tin chamber pot lays in the middle of the mattress. In the center of the wall, a small window provides the only light in the room. Under said window, small wooden desk and chair lay naked under the cold, harsh light. As I look out the window into the afternoon sunlight, I hear the door creak open once again.

"Would you like some stationary, Father?" I turn around to face the self same man who lead away my love. He smiles faintly, holding a fountain pen and paper through the bars. "I just thought that you might have some family to contact."

"Thank you." I take the meager gifts and lay them on the desk as the man leaves me to my thoughts. I neglect the whim to write my Elizabeth. I want the last words that are spoken between us to be "I love you," even if our voices rang loud and clear only in our souls. But who is there under God's blue sky that I would want to receive my last words?

My father. I decide my father deserves one last letter. I have had no contact with him since arriving in Virginia; mail by sea leaves something to be desired. Although by the time this reaches him, I will most likely be charged and possibly hung, I owe him one last letter.

Shaking grim thoughts from my head, I sit down in the chair. The pen feels cold in my hands, and my fingers recoil. I watch as my hand shakes, reluctant to commit to any last memorandum to the man who gave me life. How do I explain to this man how the gift he gave me will soon be taken away? Sighing deeply, I reach for the pen again.

Dear Father;

I am sorry that I have not heard from you since my arrival in America. Although I wish it were otherwise, I regret to inform you that my situation is less than ideal. I have met some very complicated circumstances which required controversial decisions. Needless to say, I must now face the consequences.

I fell in love upon reaching Ravensport. With a nun, whose given name is Elizabeth Parker. Although we have not violated the vows to God that she has made, we were caught in a very suggestible situation. A situation to which the conclusion has wrongfully been drawn. My love and myself face charges for unlawful carnal knowledge. Although I face almost certain death at the hands of a ruthless man -- a man who recently hung an innocent girl-child after a false confession -- do not feel sorry for me. All is well.

Until I met my Elizabeth, I never desired to be enchanted by a siren. I never considered the absolute perfection of such a death. But now, as I sit in this cold cell, with the letters "F U C K" written in angry, bold letters above the door, I know it was all worth while. I would die a thousand deaths as long as I could drown in her ocean.

My Elizabeth once told me that the answers I seek are within my heart, and to find these answers, I must look within. When I did -- and still when I do now -- I find her. I know that you wished for me to become a priest, but do not be ashamed. I found all the faith I need within one raven-haired angel of God. My life has been more successful then I could have ever imagined.

My only regrets are that she too faces these charges, and that I will never live to see you again. If I have ever wronged you, I apologize. I wish for nothing but peace between us. Do not mourn my passing, for we shall meet again.

All my love,

Maxwell.

Part 15

"Kyle, please inform the coroner that we will be requiring two adult coffins in the near future." Kyle looks up at his father, his fork and knife hovering over his breakfast.

"Who for?"

"Father Evans and Sister Mary Elizabeth." I choke on my juice, my coughing interrupting Kyle's response.

"They were not found to be guilty yet. Do you not think it will be wise to have the sister examined by a doctor before you pass the charge?" Judge Valenti glares at me, leaning menacingly over the t