EILEEN

APRIL 1968

"Wake up, sleepyhead." Bridget throws back the covers and puts her cold hands on my feet. "You don't want to be late for mass again or Mother Superior will be in here."

I peep out from the pillow covering my head. "I think I still have the flu. I just—"

I bounce out of bed and make it to the trash can just in time to heave up what little dinner I’d managed to eat last night. My stomach has been on strike for the last week or so. Every time I feel as though I have kicked it, it comes back with a vengeance, usually just in time for morning mass. Another possibility lurks in the back of my mind, but I'm too frightened to consider it yet.

I don't miss the sharp look Bridget gives me. The fact that she’s quit teasing me about being love sick over Dec makes me worry even more. He had been called away on business almost three weeks ago, with the promise of being back this week. I've gotten a letter from him every week, but since he used my granddad's farm as the return address, I have had no way to contact him. As the days go by, doubts creep in and are turning to dread. Will I see him come Saturday, or will another letter come tomorrow, putting off his return for another week? Can I make it two more days?

"Ellie, you really should—" Bridget hands me a cool washcloth and a sip of water, but I cut her off, unwilling to take this conversation where it needs to go just yet.

"Get my uniform on and down to chapel."

We slide into the back pew with the other senior girls with a minute to spare. The cool gloom of the chapel soothes my worries for a bit. And miracle of miracles, the lingering spice of the incense wafting through the air calms my stomach. I'm not quite ready to give my problems over to God. I need to talk to Declan first. But the look Sister Joseph gives me from the end of chapel tells me she is about to give divine intervention a push.

For the rest of the day, I successfully avoid Sister Joseph, who undoubtedly is full of questions about my recent malady. The last thing I need is her planning my transfer to the east wing, and judging from the look in her eye, that is exactly what she has in mind.

The school is buzzing with gossip and speculation on Friday. The senior girls are getting pulled out of class, one by one, and questioned about their trips into town. Did we spend the day together? What did we do? Who did see? Where did we go? Were we meeting with boys?

In study hall, anxiety swirls around me like a cloud.

The other girls steer clear, and Bridget tries to reassure me. "This happens every year, and every year nothing comes of it. It will be fine."

I try to put my faith in her reassurances—after all, Bridget has gone to school here since sixth grade. Surely, she knows.

Bridget is wrong. A note left on my chair in Western Lit proves it.

They suspect. They want to know who you've been seeing.

I crumple the note as tightly as I can, as if I can somehow overcome physics and will it into invisibility. In a haze of dread, I find a moment of clarity. At least it bears a passing resemblance to clarity, as far as my panic-stricken mind is concerned. By this time, I'm in full fight-or-flight mode.

Find Dec now. It thrums in my veins like a profane litany. When class finally ends, I manage to sneak off to my room and grab my coat and pocketbook. The three o’clock bus takes the lay workers back to town, and I manage to be on it without drawing too much attention. I settle in and, remembering Bridey’s advice, silently ask Gran what she would do.

The bus fills up as we get closer to town, and an older woman takes the seat next to me. A kindly, chatty older woman.

"A pretty young lass like you shouldn't be carrying around the weight of the world. What troubles you, my dear? Start with his name. Perhaps between us we can come up with a solution."

"Well, it's not really a man…"

"If a woman is wearin' the look you're wearin', a man is always at the root of it." She clasps my hand in both of hers, the bird-like bones and papery-smooth skin belying the strength in them. "After all, I suspect your trouble isn't the sort you find alone." Her warm brown eyes hold no judgment. "Tell me about him."

I can't resist her entreaty, and the words tumble out in a rush. "He takes my breath away. He's fearless and smart. He's so charming he could have any girl. He's protective, always saving me from myself. But he doesn't treat me like a china doll. He respects my ideas and opinions. But mostly, he loves me for me. Not for who my family is or what I can do for him. At least, I think he may. I hope he may. But I pushed him and now I may have ruined it all." I fight back the tears brimming in my eyes.

"Don't ever think you're not worthy of someone's love. The only thing you should ever worry about is whether they’re worthy of yours. You're a brave lass. More than brave enough for the path God has set you on. Don't ever forget that. Tell Declan the truth that's in your heart, and it will work out as it should. This is my stop."

How did she know his name?

She whispers bits of a prayer as she gathers her belongings. It was to St. Brigid. The bus is already rolling again before I notice she had left behind a paperback romance. One of Gran's favorites, no less. Could it be? While I debate whether logic or magic was at work, anxiety finally loosens its grip on me and the bus comes to a halt at my stop. In the time it takes me to walk the few short blocks to Dec's hotel, a new wave of anxiety comes crashing over me.

I take a few deep breaths, and drawing a few sideways glances thanks to my school uniform peeping from my coat, I approach the front desk. "I'd like to leave a message for my cousin, Mr. Drazen. He's expected back—"

The scent of citrus and the sea overwhelms me. The adrenaline drains away, leaving me on the verge of collapse.

"Actually he's already back. What is so important that it was worth the truancy, cousin?" Dec catches me by the elbow and steers me to a quiet sofa in the corner of the lobby, in full view but away from eavesdroppers, his blue eyes turbulent and full of worry. "Ellie, you're scaring me. You're about ready to collapse. Did someone try to hurt you? You're trembling, love. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I think I'm pregnant," I whisper, too afraid to speak the words aloud. Unmarried and pregnant. "You have a right to know. I expect the sisters will allow me to board in the east wing and find a home when the time comes." I want him to know he has an out. That I don't want or need his pity or duty. I'd rather our love die quickly and painfully than be smothered by obligation and resentment.

Declan's expression is unreadable and silence fills the air. I stand and turn away, with every intention of making my way back to the bus stop. He grabs me by the arm—hard. So hard I flinch.

"Is that your decision? Place our child with a 'suitable' family? Without even asking me?" The rage and hurt in his voice is unmistakable, despite his low tones.

The color drains from my face as he spins me around to face him. "I couldn't even say the word 'pregnant' until five seconds ago. I've made a mess of everything. I'm so scared. I don't want you to feel trapped." My desperation and fear leak out with every word.

"Ellie, that's not the only option." The rage has dissipated, but the hurt lingers. He calls over a bellman. "My cousin worked herself into a state over a failed exam. Could you bring her some water and my car back around? I need to get her to school and smooth things over with Mother Superior."

Dec wipes away my tears, and the seamless service at the Halcyon has me rehydrated in no time. Dec bundles me into the car, his mood somewhat lighter, and he urges me to rest on the drive back. His concern soothes me, and exhaustion takes over.