“We didn’t think you would live,” she said. “You were so sick. Your lungs were full of fluid, and I was the only one who could soothe you. When I rocked you on my lap, you were so grateful. You cried when I had to step away. You were so needy, and I loved being needed. My own baby had only been in his grave for three months, and I was still grieving.”
Liam turned his face away but thumped on the cushion beside him. Hearing the command, Frankie lumbered to his feet and laid his big head on the sofa cushions. Liam mindlessly stroked the dog’s head. His hand trembled.
“Why did you lie all these years?” Liam finally asked.
“I wanted a son,” she said. “When you finally got better, it was too late to give you back without getting into trouble ourselves. We left New York and moved to Pittsburgh, where no one knew us. We figured that if Mick got convicted, he would roll over and confess, but he got away with it. The day I heard the news, I fell to my knees and wept because you’d been with us for almost two years and I couldn’t bear to give you back.”
Patrick curled his hands into fists but tried to block any other emotion from his face. Janet Malone had perpetrated a horrible crime. The grief of losing her own babies could not excuse stealing another woman’s child. He watched Liam carefully, searching for any sign of emotion, but the welder simply looked drained.
“If you want to go back to them, I’d understand,” Janet whispered.
“I don’t want anything to do with those people,” Liam said weakly. “Even if it meant I’d inherit a little money, that’s not who I am or who I want to be.”
“It’s more than a little money,” Patrick said.
“A lot of money, then.” A range of emotions crossed Liam’s face as he stared at a spot in the corner of the room. “I’ve always prided myself on earning my own way. I get up in the morning, even when my bones are still tired from the day before, and make my way to the shipyard. I do good work. Sometimes, when the steel is still hot, I take a file and press my initials into the metal. I always do it in a spot where no one will ever notice, but I’m proud of my work. All over the world, there are ships that have my initials hidden on them. Sometimes I see one of them sail back into the Philly harbor, and I secretly think, I built that ship.”
The passion on his face drained away, slowly replaced by disdain. “I could never be someone who takes a fistful of money for nothing. Where’s the pride in that? I’m a man. I earn my own way. The Blackstones can keep their sparkly jewelry and fancy houses.”
Patrick shifted uneasily. Not many people would walk away from a fortune to continue living in a row house, but even if Liam stuck by his decision, that wouldn’t be the end of it. If the Blackstones were trying to kill him, they would come after him again and again until they succeeded. Liam probably wouldn’t survive the year.
“Some of that money would be welcome,” Janet said. “I don’t know how we’re going to pay that hospital bill without it.”
Liam sounded exhausted when he replied. “I’ll figure something out. I kind of wish I had that woman’s sapphire ring back.”
“She’s your sister, you know.”
Liam snorted. “We come from different worlds.”
“Nonsense,” Patrick replied. “We are all created in God’s image. Gwen Kellerman is no better or worse than the people in this room.”
There was only one thing Patrick was sure about: Gwen didn’t have anything to do with the assault on Liam. Her house was nice but nothing like the gilded palaces where the rest of her family lived. All she seemed to care about was the college, and she wouldn’t put it at risk to murder her own brother.
“Liam, I think you need to either change your name and disappear out West or go to New York and settle things with the Blackstones. If an ordinary welder from Philly gets killed in a back-alley brawl, no one will raise a stink about it. If you can get recognized as William Blackstone, you’ll be much harder to take down. It will be your best protection against another hit.”
Liam was pensive as he digested the news. The shadows beneath his eyes were dark smudges against the deathlike pallor of his face. He was barely strong enough to stand on his own two feet, but he was going to have to walk back into New York City and fight for recognition from one of the most powerful families in America.
“I know you’re right, but I don’t know how to begin,” Liam said weakly.
Patrick didn’t either, but Gwen would. “I think our next move is to go to your sister,” he said, praying that Gwen would be prepared to accept Liam into her world.
22
Gwen considered the feast she had prepared for Patrick’s return. He had called from the train station to tell her he’d arrived back in the city and that she should expect a visit this evening. It gave her enough time to run to the Irish bakery a few blocks from campus and buy plenty of food because Patrick had been traveling all day and would be hungry. She spread an Irish lace tablecloth over the table, then filled the sideboard with a platter of corned beef sandwiches, cranberry scones, and a jar of clotted cream. She didn’t know if he would prefer the spiced apple cake or the almond cake, so she’d bought both. She arranged a few peony blossoms snipped from her garden to complete the table. Maybe it was a little much, but she wanted Patrick to know that she would celebrate his Irish heritage.
She had barely finished arranging the flowers when he knocked on her front door, and she hurried to let him in.
The shapes of two men were visible through the cut-glass leaded window in the door, and one of them was Patrick. The smile fled her face when she recognized the other. Liam Malone stood beside Patrick on the front stoop, looking like death warmed over.
“You look awful,” she said.
Liam’s mouth twisted. “Thanks. Can we come in?”
She glanced at Patrick, whose face was uneasy, but he met her eyes squarely and nodded. She clenched the doorknob as the implications of Liam’s presence sank in. Patrick wouldn’t have brought Liam here unless it portended something big.
She led the way to the parlor. “Are you hungry?” she asked, even though she suddenly felt too ill to eat a single morsel.
Patrick shook his head, and Liam plodded slowly into her parlor, where he lowered himself into the wingback chair without being invited. Patrick took the chair beside him and gestured for her to sit on the sofa across from them.
She remained standing. Anxiety made it impossible to sit. Liam was big and intimidating and seemed out of place in her parlor. His pallor made him look ill but didn’t diminish his toughness, and he frightened her.
“Tell me what you’ve learned,” she managed to ask Patrick in a calm tone.
“There’s no easy way to say this,” Patrick said. “Somebody attacked Liam last week. There were three of them, and they stabbed him in the gut. They meant to kill him.”
She sucked in a startled breath. “How do you know? Were you there?”
He held up his right hand. “I broke two fingers during the brawl. Yes, I was there, and it was an unprovoked attack. The ringleader came from New York and was promised a small fortune to take him out.”
Her gaze flew to Liam. Someone like him surely had a lot of enemies. The report submitted by Oscar’s detectives contained a long history of rabble-rousing likely to provoke resentment.