AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What was your name before they kicked you out?”
Donella sincerely hoped she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life known as the girl who got kicked out of the convent.
She gestured toward the velvet settee, inviting him to sit with her.
“My religious name was Sister Dominic.”
Joseph perched next to her, tucking his feet close together and folding his hands in his lap. “That’s a funny name for a girl.”
She almost grinned. Perhaps he had a bit of his father in him, after all.
“True, but Saint Dominic was a great man who accomplished much in his life.” She wrinkled her nose. “While I picked him as a good example for me to follow, it unfortunately didn’t stick. I suppose that’s why they kicked me out.”
She mentally froze, surprised both by the words and the effect of them. It was actually a relief, because it was the truth. How strange was it that it had taken a child to finally get her to admit it to herself.
His mouth twisted with sympathy. “They don’t sound very nice, if you ask me.”
“No, they were nice. I just wasn’t a very good nun.”
His eyes went wide. “Did you do anything naughty, like put frogs in the other nuns’ beds or refuse to eat your turnips?”
This time, she did grin. “Sadly, no. Although now that you mention it, I can think of one nun who quite deserved a frog in her bed. And I like turnips,” she added.
“Papa says I have to eat them so I grow up to be as big as he is,” he said morosely.
“You can give your turnips to me. I’ll eat them for you.”
He brightened for a moment before that oddly wary expression shuttered his gaze. “You won’t tell Papa, will you? I don’t think he’ll like it.”
Surely the boy wasn’t afraid of his father? Logan was a big, brusque man, but from what little he’d said to her, he clearly loved his son.
“Does your father know you don’t like turnips?”
He shook his head.
“Then I would advise you to tell him as soon as possible, and also that I’ll eat your turnips from now on.”
She was again rewarded with that lovely, shy smile.
“I will.” He cocked his head and pointed to her throat. “I like your necklace.”
She touched the Celtic cross on its silver chain. Donella had given away most of her jewelry when she joined the Carmelites. Her brother had saved a few of the more important pieces, though, like this cross. She was slightly ashamed that she’d shed a few tears when Fergus had pulled it from his waistcoat pocket and given it back to her.
“It’s a very old family heirloom, Joseph. It was a gift to my great-grandmother from her grandmother.”
He apparently tried to work out the convoluted ancestral connection before giving up with a shrug. “I have a cross, too.” He fished a chain out from under his shirt.
Donella rested the expensive gold cross in her palm. There was a delicacy to it, as if it had been made for a woman. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was my mama’s. She died a few months after I was born.”
“I’m so sorry. That’s terribly sad.”
“I don’t remember her.” He tucked the cross back under his collar. “But Papa saved this special for me. He gave it to her when they got married.”
Donella had to struggle against a constriction in her throat. “I think it’s a splendid gift. I’m sure your mama would be very proud to see you wear it.”
“Mama was a Catholic, like me.” His smile suddenly flashed bright. “And like you.”
