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."

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