Beholden

by Bronwyn Williams

  “I have a feeling that with a few more pounds and the right clothes, and something done with her hair, Katy would he lovely. Did you notice her eyes?”

  “Somehow, I don’t think Gale’s in the market for any more females, no matter how lovely. He’s got his hands full dealing with Tyler’s daughter.”

  “I can imagine. Brand, do you think there’s something a bit strange about that child?”

  “Tara? Hmmm. Our old friend Maureen would call her pisky-mazed. Fey. Probably a prank, but a harmless one. Although, come to think of it, she hadn’t been inside my office more than five minutes when she broke in to tell me where that manifest was that I’d been looking for all week. The blasted thing was right where she said it was, slipped down behind the filing case, so maybe it’s not a hoax after all.”

  “Yes, well, she told me my sister was coming for a visit, and we both know I don’t even have a sister, so maybe it is.”

  Now, as he waited for the train to begin boarding, Brand thought about all that had transpired over the past few days since he’d been summoned to meet an immigration official and take charge of a pair of incredibly green girls.

  He thought about his young brother, his only remaining brother, whom he’d come so close to losing. Galen deserved all the good fortune that came his way. Lately, fortune had smiled on him, in spite of his ongoing battle with that harridan, Aster Tyler, but Brand had a feeling Galen wasn’t quite as satisfied with life as he let on. He’d sensed a certain restlessness the last time they’d been together, almost as if he were searching for something.

  The O’Sullivans were probably not the answer to whatever ailed him, but Brand had a feeling things were going to get interesting, mighty interesting, once they were added to the mix.

  The conductor stepped out onto the platform. Brand collected the shabby valise, which was all the luggage they possessed in spite of his wife’s best efforts except for the trunk full of books he’d shipped on ahead after promising Katy they’d be waiting for her when she arrived.

  Katy took out a handkerchief and dabbed at a smudge on her sister’s face. “There, now,” she scolded gently. “Stay clean, for we want to make a good impression on Mr. Galen.”

  Oh, you’ll make an impression, all right, Brand thought a few minutes later as he watched them take their seats. Tara grinned through the sooty glass and waggled her grimy fingers.

  Katy managed a smile, but she looked scared half to death. Probably wishing she had a bucket handy, in case train travel served her the same as travel by shipboard.

  Oh, yes, brother Galen, you’re in for a rare treat.

  It might even be worth a trip south once Ana and the baby were up to traveling, just to see how it all turned out.

  *

  The trip was endless, for all they rollicked along at a breathtaking speed. For the first few hours, Katy’s fingers gripped the edge of the seat, as if she was afraid of being thrown off onto the floor.

  By the third day she’d given up hanging on for dear life. She was simply too exhausted. She’d seen cities, towns, and villages until she’d lost count, passed pastures and fields, forests, and rivers, until she was dazed by the very vastness of it all. For the first few hours she’d been fascinated, but now all in the world she wanted was a bed that didn’t rock, and a cup of strong tea that didn’t jiggle off the table and spill all over her lap.

  “Sit down, Tara, before you fall.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “It’ll soon be suppertime.”

  The girl bounced a few more times, looking more like the child she was than the young lady she was on the verge of becoming. After being cooped up aboard ship for so long, it was no wonder she needed to work off her high spirits. The brief stay in Mystic hadn’t been enough. Katy’s heart went out to her, that it did, but there wasn’t a blessed thing she could do about it. They would simply have to endure a few more hours of captivity.

  “Do you think he’ll be glad to see us?” Tara asked for the hundredth time.

  “You’re the one who said he was longing for us to join him. You’re the one who said we’d be sailing on a ship of gold, up to our elbows in emeralds and rubies.”

  “Well, and I never said that, to be sure. I said I saw a fine ship, and gold, and lovely tables all covered in green. And I did see it, Katy, that I did, plain as day.”

  “The way you saw Thomas O’Neill’s cow lying dead in the bog, and her all along hiding in a thicket with her new calf?”

  “Well, and I can’t always—”

  “And the way you saw Mrs. Gillikin fall off the milking stool and break her leg?”

  “It could still happen.” The child’s blue eyes widened under a fringe of wispy hair. For all she was still thin as a rail, she was growing up. Katy only hoped she’d done the right thing by bringing her to a place where neither of them knew a single soul. Perhaps she should have stayed with the wrong Mr. McKnight.

  The child sighed and scratched a bony knee under her thin skirt and single petticoat, cut down from one of Katy’s own. Not knowing how long it would take her to find work, even in this land of opportunity, Katy had hoarded every penny. Now she wished she’d spared enough for one new outfit for each of them. With the most generous heart in the world, the right Mr. McKnight was hardly going to be impressed by their appearance.

  Mrs. McKnight had offered to take them shopping. Katy, painfully conscious of how shabby she must look to a woman who wore fashionable silk and cashmere, had declined, partly from a lack of funds, but mostly out of a fierce sense of loyalty to the women of Skerrie Head, each of whom had donated something of their own to see Declan’s daughters properly outfitted for their new life in America.

  She was wearing Mrs. Gillikin’s best shirtwaist, that had been stitched by machine and had come all the way from Belfast, along with the lace collar Maura Clancy had worn on her wedding day. Tara’s dress had been worn and outgrown by only two of the O’Donnough girls before their mother passed it on. It was practically new.

  Wish us luck, Da. We’ll not shame you, that we’ll not.

  *

  Shortly before the train pulled into the depot, a sense of tired excitement began to stir among the handful of passengers getting off there. Faces were wiped, hair was smoothed, collars were straightened and wrinkles were brushed out. Katy requested a damp napkin from the porter, handed over a penny, feeling like a queen dispensing largesse, and proceeded to do her best to erase the stains of travel from her own and her sister’s face.

  According to Mr. Brandon, the town of Elizabeth City did a thriving shipping business, with more industry moving in every year. There was bound to be work for her here. She had only to find it. She could cut peat in her sleep, but according to Mrs. McKnight, wood and coal were used for fires. Her mother had taught her to sew and make lace. Of course, she needed a strong light to see, but the days were longer here in America, which was another good reason for emigrating.

  On the long journey south, Katy’s dream had come clearly into focus. She would do whatever she had to do until she earned enough money, but then, as soon as she could pay back what she owed and save enough more for a start, she was going to have her own shop. A ladies’ gown shop, full of lovely things that smelled of lavender and linen, not fish and burning peat.

  Katy knew better than to talk about her dream now. Who would believe her? She looked a frump in her secondhand dresses, with her peat-stained fingers and her hair all wild from weeks on the ocean. But she could still remember the way her mother had looked before her pretty gowns had become worn and stained, before work and too many babies had turned her hair gray and put lines in her face.

  As much as she hated to ask one more favor, she would need Mr. Galen’s help in finding a cheap room. He might even put her in the way of a job. According to Mr. Brandon, there was a fine school Tara could attend during the day, so that Katy wouldn’t have to worry about her getting up to mischief.

  It would all work out. She would make it work o
ut.

  “Do you think he’ll be waiting for us, Katy?”

  “Who, Mr. Galen? If not, then we’ll walk. Unless you’ve forgotten how?”

  Tara grinned, her pale blue eyes gleaming with excitement. In spite of Mr. Brandon’s assurances, Katy wasn’t at all certain they’d be met. For Tara’s sake, she hoped so. The child still insisted that the right Mr. McKnight had sent for them to come here, and against her better judgment Katy had let herself be convinced, for there’d been no future for them back home.

  She was too sensible to put all her faith in dreams, but she was no stranger to hard work. With Tara’s dreams and her own strong back, there was nothing they couldn’t do, given time and a bit of luck.

  Galen McKnight. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the man who might be waiting for them. Mr. Brandon had mentioned his white hair and a bit of a limp, which meant he was older, perhaps even as old as her father. If he looked anything at all like his brother, he would be a handsome gentleman, even so.

  She hoped he had children. It would be nice if he had a daughter near Tara’s age, someone who could show her where the school was and be a friend to her so that she wouldn’t feel quite so alone.

  Not that she ever did. Tara had never met a stranger. The world was her best friend, which was never a problem back home, but America was different. It would pay to go carefully until they learned their way about.

  “May I please go find the porter and ask him for an apple?”

  “Not now, the conductor just announced our arrival.”

  “Oh, is that what he was after saying? If everyone in Amerikey talks so funny, how’re we ever going to get along?”

  “Well, we’ll see, won’t we? If they can’t speak properly, then we’ll just have to teach them how.”

  The remark prompted a giggle, which was just what she intended. For all her sweet nature and boundless curiosity, the child was exhausted. They’d both do well not to fall on their face once this infernal machine stopped moving.

  Lagging behind a straggling line of passengers, they finally managed to disembark. Katy looked around for someone who looked as if he might be looking for them. Family groups met, embraced, and dispersed. By the time the train pulled out of the station, there were only a handful of people left, not a one of them with white hair and the look of a McKnight about him.

  “Do you think he got lost on the way to meet us? What if his pony ran away and he tried to catch him and fell and even now, he’s lying there, all broken and bleeding and—”

  “Tara Eleanor O’Sullivan, hush your blather!”

  Hiding her own misgivings, Katy continued to look around her. Beyond the station, there were handsome houses behind iron fences and blooming hedgerows. Saints preserve us, did everyone in America live like kings?

  “I don’t see him, Katy.”

  Katy didn’t, either. Other than the two men she recognized as railroad workers, there was only a sweeping boy, two elderly women with market baskets, and a strikingly handsome young gentleman who kept glaring at his watch and tapping his black-booted foot.

  Gathering her courage, she set out to ask if he knew the whereabouts of a Mr. Galen McKnight. She’d almost sooner have boarded the train and gone back to where she’d come from, but that was not an option.

  Dangerous. That was the first word that came to mind. Wickedly handsome, but as dangerous as any hidden undertow. Heart pounding, she approached the man, with Tara dawdling along behind. She opened her mouth to speak when the two elderly women came around the corner, market baskets over their arms.

  The gentleman tipped his hat, revealing hair the color of tarnished brass with a narrow streak of white above his left brow. Katy waited, fighting the urge to flee, and an equally powerful urge to go closer.

  “Morning, Miss Maude, Miss Abbie,” Galen said politely. One of the old women giggled. The other simpered.

  Galen was fit to be tied. He’d placed more calls to Brand’s office in the past few days than he had in all the time he’d been here, and not a one of them had gotten him any answers.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Brand just stepped out. I could give him a message.”

  Eight calls, and Brand had just stepped out before every damned one. Galen was beginning to believe his brother was deliberately avoiding him.

  “Yes, ma’am, it surely is a fine day,” he said, and forced a smile as the two spinster sisters hurried home to their supper.

  The minute they were gone, his smile turned into a scowl. What the devil had happened to his own old biddies? The ones Brand had palmed off on him? Either they’d missed the train, or got off at an earlier stop, or Brand had been pulling his leg all along.

  He had read and reread the letter. It made no more sense the last time than it had the first. For all his various skills, his brother was sadly lacking in some areas. No wonder he had an office full of clerks to keep his ledgers for him. Why the devil hadn’t he simply telegraphed?

  Galen checked his watch again, as if the time meant anything. The damned train had come and gone, and Brand’s old ladies weren’t on it. As far as Galen was concerned, he had done his duty. He shrugged and was about to head back to Water Street when a pair of ragged children approached him. Without thinking, he reached in his pocket for a coin.

  And then something made him give them a second look.

  Chapter Two

  With all the savoir faire of a professional gambler—which he was, in a manner of speaking—Galen curled his fingers into his palms, took a deep breath, and counted to thirteen. Not a glimmer of emotion showed on his face.

  He was going to wring Brand’s neck.

  No, first he was going to deal with this pair, hole up in his private quarters, and get quietly drunk, and then he was going to wring his brother’s neck, if he had to go all the way back to Connecticut to accomplish the deed.

  Old ladies? They were children! A pair of ragged, faded, exhausted waifs who looked as if they’d been thrown into a lion’s den and were waiting to be served up for dinner. What the devil did he know about children? What was he supposed to do, adopt them? First Oscar and now this pair. You’d think he was running a bloody orphanage instead of a gambling establishment.

  It didn’t take long to discover who they were. The minute the little redhead opened her mouth, he recognized that brogue.

  “O’Sullivan,” he muttered, half under his breath. His composure badly shaken, he tried unsuccessfully to keep the irritation from his voice. “You must be Declan O’Sullivan’s children.”

  The smile on the freckled face of the younger girl wavered. What did she expect him to do, throw open the gates of paradise and wave them through? “Aye, she’s Kathleen Margaret Sheehan O’Sullivan, after Ma’s old granny, and I’m Tara, after me da’s own ma.”

  Which was confusing as hell and several times more than he cared to know about either of them.

  Tilting her head to one side, the kid narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re the right one this time?”

  Galen barely contained his frustration. “The right what?” He glanced at the older one, slammed head-on into a pair of pale green eyes squinting through a thicket of the longest, blackest eyelashes he’d ever seen, and momentarily lost his train of thought.

  The little redhead stood on first one foot, then the other, the way kids did when they had to pee. Galen felt a wave of panic sweep over him. She was still chattering. “The right Mr. McKnight. We went to that other place first, because you said that’s where we should go, but you weren’t there. The wrong Mr. McKnight fed us and took us home with him, and he put us on the train. Sure and he even paid our fare, that he did, for we’ve all but used up the money you sent for our passage. Travel is fearful costly, it is.”

  The older O’Sullivan hissed her sister to silence. “We’ve a trunk to be collected, sir, if you would be so kind.”

  Galen wanted to say kindness was the very last thing he was feeling, but he didn’t have it in him. She looked as if a whispe
r, let alone a sharp word, would drop her in her tracks. “Freight office,” he growled, and tried to pull away from the spell of a pair of eyes the exact color of green grapes.

  The little one hitched up her limp, faded skirts. “Do you have any children? The wrong Mr. McKnight has a little baby girl. I held her. I could look after your baby for you. I’m practically thirteen, and—” She broke off, looked him dead in the eye, and played her hole card. “But then, you’re not wanting us at all, are you?”

  He folded. What the devil was he to say? Pasting a sick smile on his face, he blustered something about being surprised, that was all, which was more of an understatement than an outright lie. “I expected you in on a later train.”

  “Then why did you meet this one?”

  Lifting his hat, Galen raked a hand through his hair, buying time. Then he offered the best excuse he could come up with at short notice. “An intelligent man always hedges his bets.”

  “Me da said a smart man never bets on the turn of a card, but Tommy Clancy said betting on cards was no worse than betting on the horses. Me da was a dab hand when it came to the horses, he was.”

  A bead of sweat formed under his hat band and trickled down his forehead. He dug out a crisp linen handkerchief and mopped it away. Turning his attention to the girl in the ugly brown shirtwaist with the crooked lace collar, who was older than he’d first thought, he came up against those eyes again. This time it was the expression that got to him, not the color. She might be down, but something told him she was far from out. At the moment she was as pale as buttermilk. Not a speck of color except for those remarkable eyes of hers and half a dozen freckles.

  Oh, hell. If she was going to pass out on him, he’d better get her off the street. “Miss, are you all right?”