J. RoBB - The Lost

She nodded, then purposefully removed her hand from his grasp and sat back. She wanted no connection with him while he spoke. She needed to make this quick and painless. Or at least as painless as possible.

Cullen’s face grew animated. “When I was just seventeen, I met the great love of my life. Her name was Moira Fitzgibbon, and she lived in the town of Glinkilly. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, with skin like milk, flashing green eyes and hair as dark as midnight.” He shot Aidan a smile. “You look just like her.”

“That’s not possible because…”

Before she could say more, he interrupted her. “Moira’s father considered me to be beneath her, because I was a common laborer, while her father made a comfortable living as a landlord who owned a great deal of land in the area, which he leased out to tenant farmers. Moira and I were young and foolish and wildly in love, and we did what young lovers have done from the beginning of time.” He waited a beat before adding, “When Moira came to me and said she was with child, I went to her father and asked for her hand in marriage.”

Aidan glanced at Ross, who would surely have known all this. But he was watching the old man with a fierce intensity that had her turning back to watch and listen in silence.

“Hugh Fitzgibbon said I had despoiled his daughter, and that he’d see her dead before married to the likes of me.”

Though she’d hoped to listen in silence, Aidan was caught up in the narrative. Without thinking, she asked, “Oh, that’s horrible. What did you do?”

“I went to our parish priest here in Glinkilly, and begged him to plead my case with Hugh Fitzgibbon. I said I would do whatever it took. I promised to work three jobs for a lifetime if necessary in order to support Moira and the babe. The priest agreed to speak with Hugh Fitzgibbon after Sunday mass. I remember thinking that those next few days were the longest of my life. Little did I know,” he mused almost to himself, “that the rest of my life would be even longer.”

“So he refused the priest?”

“Worse. On Sunday evening Father Ryan came to tell me that the Fitzgibbon home had been hastily vacated. Hugh and his wife had taken their daughter in the night to Dublin, and from there to America, where, they’d vowed, I would never see my Moira again.”

“Did you try to follow her?”

“How could I? I hadn’t two coins to my name. Hugh was right. I was a laborer. But not common. Not at all. I spent the rest of my life accumulating the fortune I’d need to find my Moira and our child and bring them back to me. But Hugh was one step ahead of me all the way. When they landed in America, Hugh changed his family name to Gibbons and took his middle name, Francis. For years I searched for Hugh Fitzgibbon, and checked out nearly a dozen or more, only to come up empty. As for Moira, who was now Maureen Gibbons, she was wed to an American almost as soon as she stepped off the boat in New York. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

“Not at all. You said that your Moira was beautiful. If, and it’s a big stretch to suggest that my grandmother Maureen is somehow your Moira, but if it were true, then why wouldn’t Edward Martin be equally struck by her beauty? It doesn’t sound odd that they met, fell in love and married quickly.”

“And less than seven months later your mother was born.”

Aidan pursed her lips in a frown. “Don’t make this into more than it was. I was told that my mother was premature, and very frail at birth.”

He chuckled. “So many babies enter this world before the full nine months. Not all of them frail. It’s said that half the population wasn’t planned. Many of us are accidents of birth.” He looked over. “Did your grandfather strike you as an impulsive man who would marry someone he’d only just met within days of her landing in America?”

Aidan laughed. “Quite the contrary. He was a very stern, disciplined man. But I didn’t know him in his youth. Perhaps in his later years he was forced to overcome an impetuous nature.”

“Or he was persuaded to marry a dishonored young woman who was in need of a husband in order to hide her shame. Knowing Hugh Fitzgibbon’s fury, he would not have been above offering quite a dowry for the right man to take his shameful, headstrong daughter off his hands and spare him and his wife the embarrassment of a grandchild without a father.”

Aidan gave a firm shake of her head. “I simply can’t accept any of this. I know what I know, and that is that Edward Martin was my grandfather, and his wife, Maureen, my grandmother. Their daughter was my mother, whom I loved more than life. I’m not prepared to accept that their entire lives have been a lie.”

“Not a lie, Aidan. The result of difficult circumstances, perhaps. We do what we have to in order to survive. Your grandmother was no different.”

“But to never tell my mother…” She spread her hands. “They were too close. There was plenty of time for honesty before she died. She would have had to tell the truth of her parentage to my mother.”

“Perhaps she did, and your mother chose not to share that with you.” While Aidan was shaking her head in denial he added, “One thing more about your mother. You have yet to say her name.” He leaned forward.

“Her name was Claire.”

“Have I told you my mother’s name?” He paused dramatically before saying, “It was Claire.”

Aidan swallowed. “A coincidence.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or perhaps you’re making this up.”

“I could be. But there are documents to prove what I say. My mother, Claire,” he added emphatically, “loved Moira like a daughter, and grieved along with me when my great love was taken away to America, never to be seen again. Imagine how my dear mother yearned to see her only grandchild. But it was to be denied her. And yet, though Moira was forced to change her name, live a lie and wed another, she still saw to it that her daughter bore the name Claire, in honor of the woman her namesake would never know.”

Aidan pressed her fingers to her temples, where the beginning of a headache had begun to throb. “I’m sorry. This is all so much to take in.”

“I know.” His tone gentled. “I understand everything you’re feeling, for I’ve struggled with every emotion possible. Through the years I’ve been angry, sad, defeated, determined, hopeful and, at times, desperately unhappy. After a lifetime of searching, I finally learned the name of the man Moira had married, and was able to put all the pieces together. I don’t believe I’ve ever been so joyful, so filled with hope. Then, just as my legal team was closing in on the one I sought, I was told that both Moira and the child were dead.” His eyes were hot and fierce. “But you’re alive, Aidan. The daughter of my daughter. Don’t you see? My lifetime search has not been in vain.”

Aidan scrambled to her feet, nearly knocking over her chair in her haste. “I can’t accept this without proof. What you’ve offered me is a sad story, a few coincidences. I need more.”

“Very well.” The old man glanced at Ross for confirmation. “We thought you would need convincing. And for the sake of the courts, we’ll need more. Ross?”

Taking his cue, Ross picked up the conversation. “With your permission, Cullen would like to order a genetic test. It’s simple enough. A technician from our local hospital can be here within an hour to swab both your mouths. Within forty-eight hours a DNA test will offer proof beyond a doubt as to whether or not you two are blood-r elated.”

“Forty-eight hours.” Aidan chewed the inside of her mouth, considering. “I’d hoped to be on a plane later today.”

“Of course,” Ross added, “should the tests prove negative, Cullen will keep his promise to send you home with a first-class air ticket and a generous settlement for your inconvenience.”