The Lost

Five

Aidan paced the length of the room and back, her thoughts in turmoil. It wasn’t so much that her mind refused to accept the story told by Cullen, but rather that he had managed to plant a seed of doubt.

What if his Moira were truly her grandmother Maureen? What if the child she bore hadn’t been Edward Martin’s, but in fact Cullen’s?

“Oh, Mama.” Aidan struggled to hold on to the image she’d carried of her sweet, stoic grandmother, pouring herself into the intricacies of her husband’s business, staving off bankruptcy by the sheer force of her will.

Everyone who had known Maureen Gibbons had been astonished by her strength. Throughout her marriage she had deferred always to Edward. It was he who chose their furniture, each new car, even her wardrobe. Though not in the same category as a tyrant, he had definitely played a dominant role in their marriage.

Had he been chosen, not by her, but by her father? Had their marriage been one of convenience only, to hide the shame she’d visited upon her parents? It would explain so much about that distant relationship. Aidan tried to recall if she’d ever seen a display of tenderness between her grandparents.

At a knock on the parlor door, she looked up. “Charity?”

The knock sounded again, followed by the door being opened.

A

“I’m sorry.” Seeing her look of dismay, Ross paused just inside the doorway. “I suggested that you be given more time to compose yourself, but Cullen refused to wait another minute. He’s beside himself and sent me to apologize for having upset you. He begs you to look at some of the things he’s been saving.”

“I can’t. I’m not ready…”

He held up a hand. “In all the years I’ve known Cullen Glin, I’ve never known him to beg. This means the world to him. You,” he said for emphasis, “and your opinion of him have begun to mean the world to him.”

“I’m not who he wants me to be.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ve heard his story.”

“And he’s heard mine. Just because he wants my grandmother to be the great love of his life doesn’t make it so.”

“He has documents…”

“So do I. A birth certificate, a marriage license…”

“Which could have been filled in with any name, especially by immigrants who desperately wanted to hide their identity. You know that’s so, Aidan.”

“My parents and grandparents lived ordinary lives.”

“So do thousands of people who want to blend in.”

“Stop.” She rubbed at her temples. “You make my ancestors sound like criminals.”

“They were good people who thought a baby conceived out of wedlock to be something shameful. They were trying to protect not only their own reputations, but also that of their daughter. You heard Cullen. They thought him unworthy of their only child. So they started a new life in a new country, and persuaded Moira to do the same. Maybe she wanted a new start. Maybe she didn’t love Cullen as much as he loved her. Or maybe her loyalty to her parents was stronger than a tenuous love for an impetuous young man. For whatever reason, whether she was persuaded, or forced, what’s done is done. There’s no going back. But at least, while you wait for the hospital technician, read the letters Cullen wrote to his Moira through the years. None of them ever reached her. But he kept them, hoping that one day he could give them to her as proof of his love. It is his fondest wish that you read his letters and look over the mounds of documents he’s gathered through the years in his search for the love of his life. And then listen to your heart.”

She stared at the pile of papers that he set on the coffee table. “What do you get out of all this, Ross?”

He straightened. “I get to see a man I love and respect finally getting the chance to fulfill his dream.”

The words were spoken so simply, she knew they came from his heart.

As he started toward the door she said softly, “All right. I’ll read his letters and documents. But I can’t promise anything.”

By the time Ross descended the stairs, she was already settled on the window seat, lost in a young Cullen Glin’s declarations to the woman he’d love and lost.

Aidan looked up from the last of the letters, her eyes moist. What would it be like, she wondered, to love someone so deeply, and then face the loss of that love for a lifetime?

Cullen had poured out all his feelings on the pages of his letters. Had emptied his heart and soul, until she wondered that he had any passion left. And still he’d refused to give up his search for his Moira. There were piles of requests for information regarding immigrants from Ireland by the name of Fitzgibbon. A thick folder compiled by a private detective agency in New York State documenting every Fitzgibbon who had entered the country legally, and some who had found their way via illegal cha

A lifetime search had ended with a death.

Aidan stood, flexing her cramped muscles just as a knock sounded on the parlor door.

She opened it to find Charity poised to knock again.

“Oh.” The girl snickered. “I thought you might be napping. Bridget sent me to fetch you. There’s a hospital technician in the library waiting to administer a test.”

“Thanks, Charity.” Aidan followed the girl down the stairs, aware that everyone working at the lodge knew just what was going on. There were no secrets here.

In the doorway of the library she paused. Cullen was seated behind his desk. Ross and a stranger were standing by the windows talking.

They all looked over as she stepped into the room.

Cullen walked around his desk to stand beside her. As though, she thought, to shield her.

“Easiest test I’ve ever taken,” he said with a grin. “A quick comb of my cheek, in triplicate just to be certain, and we were done with it.” He turned to the young man wearing latex gloves. “Patrick, this is Aidan O’Mara. Aidan, Patrick is with St. Brendan Hospital. He’ll administer the DNA test.”

“Miss O’Mara.” The young man handed her a long plastic stick with something that resembled a tiny comb at the end. “If you’ll comb your mouth for a full minute and place the comb in this vial, please.”

“Comb? I thought I’d be swabbing my mouth.”

“It’s the same. We call it combing.” He glanced at the tiny comb. “I’m sure you can see why.”

She did as he instructed, pleased that the tiny comb easily detached from its handle as she slid it into the vial. After handing over the vial, he sealed it in a plastic bag, which he carefully marked with a pen.

“And now again,” he said, handing her a second.

She swabbed a different section of her mouth before dropping the tiny comb into another vial.

The technician followed the same procedure and handed her a third.

When she’d finished, he turned to Cullen. “The results will be sent by courier within forty-eight hours, Mr. Glin, and possibly sooner. As you requested, we’ll give this top priority.”

“Thank you, Patrick.”

When he was gone, Aidan touched a hand to her middle, and wondered at the feelings churning inside her. She ought to be relieved. The decision was now out of her hands and placed in the capable, unerring hands of science. One way or another, she and Cullen would soon know the truth.

The old man touched a hand to her shoulder, and she wondered if he meant to soothe her or himself. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”

“No.” She forced a smile. “Easy as pie.”

“Indeed.” He turned away. “I’ve ordered Sean to bring the car around to drive me to Glinkilly. Would you care to go along?”

She was about to refuse when a thought occurred to her. “I’d like that. I told Charity that I’d help her father with the figures for the Farmers’ Cooperative’s books if I stayed here long enough. It seems he’s feeling overwhelmed. And since I now have forty-eight hours to do with as I please, it’s the least I can do for her.”