Hope from the Ocean: (The Prequel to Fireflies )

by P. S. Bartlett

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Back at the university, Owen was content and once again engrossed in his research. For weeks he watched the clock in the late afternoon, closing his days with a renewed purpose. Reaching his home in time to have dinner with Sarah would appear as a thought to him just after lunch and waver in and out of his mind, depending on whatever experiment or studying he had undertaken for the day.

  The cool evening breezes and low sunlight had already begun to turn the city from lush greens into rich reds and every shade of orange and brown in the spectrum. He intended for Sarah to see them all before the last leaf had fallen and the branches and grass were covered in white. Their conversations had evolved from speaking of the past and which books to read into current events and their personal views of the world. It was in those conversations they found common ground on every topic. However, the common ground was laid out before him by Sarah, who did most of the talking and regardless of Owen’s personal choices, he usually agreed with anything she said.

  The atmosphere of the house was delightful again and Sarah spent a good bit of her days learning everything from cooking to sewing and embroidery from the elder ladies of the house, as well as from Anne Marie and her nearly mute companion in maid-ship Becca. Becca was the same age as Sarah yet she was a wealth of quiet knowledge when it came to sewing. She assisted Sarah with making hand-made drawstring purses for her mother and Kathryn for Christmas gifts and over time, Sarah almost completely lost her interest in shopping or anything else to do with money. There was no longer any thrill in it for her. A thrill closer to her heart rather than her head motivated her now.

  Back at his research, Owen once again enjoyed not only having time to sit down for a decent breakfast each morning but also spending time with what he considered his family seemed to start each day off in a pleasant mood.

  “Good mornin’ everyone,” Owen said as he took his seat at the breakfast table.

  “And a good mornin’ to ye as well Owen,” William replied, as he poured a cup of tea for Elizabeth.

  “Mister Jameson, I wonder if I may ask ye for yer blessin’ to have Sarah accompany me to the Holiday Gala at the University. It’s a few weeks away which if ye need time to consider…”

  “Don’t be silly, I’m sure Sarah’d have my head if I denied it.”

  “Aye Da, yer head indeed. My goodness we’ve become so informal since we’ve been in America…but I must say, I rather enjoy it,” Sarah interjected with a smile.

  “It appears ye two have been enjoyin’ each other’s company quite a bit of late,” Elizabeth said.

  “Sarah is quite interestin’ and I’ve never met a more opinionated and original thinker in me life—man or woman,” Owen straightened up and stated.

  “Why thank ye Owen, yer an interestin’ fellow as well. Now, since ye’ve asked me Da, would ye mind askin’ me as well? I mean to say, since I am in fact the one who might be goin’ after all,” Sarah remarked and rolled her eyes at him.

  Owen pushed away from the table and stood as if at attention and spoke, “Miss Jameson…would ye like to, I mean to say, would ye do me the honor of…”

  “I’m sorry, Owen, what was that?” Sarah asked.

  “Would ye do me the honor of…well, for Heaven’s sake, ye heard me ask yer da, Sarah.” Owen choked, pulling at his shirt collar and tie for air.

  “I’d love to go.” She beamed with a sweetness that dissolved whatever was left of his ego.

  “It’s the Saturday before Christmas. The party begins at half past seven.” He took a last gulp of tea and bowed to everyone at the table but Sarah. Instead, he looked up at her alone, as he bent over to place his cup back on its dish and mouthed, “I’ll see ye this evenin’.”

  However, this wasn’t just any evening, it was Sarah’s eighteenth birthday and she’d planned a dinner for them alone. She’d even arranged to cook the meal herself with little to no help. The elders of the house were attending a charity dinner for Kathryn’s Women’s Club and although Sarah was of more than the age to attend, Kathryn and Elizabeth begged her forgiveness for not asking her to go and for missing spending the evening of her birthday with her.

  “Yer dinner party is startin’ rather early, Mrs. Doyle, isn’t it?” Sarah commented upon noticing the time was only five o’clock.

  “Aye, dear, ye see, many of the ladies and gentlemen are quite up in age and any dinner that lasts beyond eight o’clock will be fed to the cats in the alley behind the banquet hall. If we started any later they’d all be fast asleep before the second course.” Kathryn said. Sarah assumed she’d slipped in the hour at which the dinner would conclude, intentionally.

  “Good evenin’, dear,” Elizabeth whispered into Sarah’s ear. “I promise we’ll make it up to ye on Sunday after church. We’ll have a lovely afternoon together and do whatever ye like,” she said and kissed Sarah goodbye.

  “G’night, Sarah my girl,” William said, kissing her as well. “Come along, ladies.”

  Sarah rushed up to her room to change and freshen up, leaving the cook to put the finishing touches on the meal. Her usual ninety minutes of preparations were reduced to a mere forty-five and although she wouldn’t admit why, this dinner was too important to ruin by not putting on her best face.

  “Hello? Is anyone home?” Owen called out when he entered the house. He dashed to the bottom of the stairs and then from room to room.

  “Yes, sir, Miss Jameson will be down shortly and dinner will be served,” answered Anne Marie, rushing into the foyer from the kitchen and then rushing back again.

  “Sarah, where are ye?” Owen leaned on the rail at the bottom of the stairs and called up to her. She appeared above him an angel in royal blue silk, descending from heaven.

  “Oh, stop yer shoutin’. I’m here,” she chided, snapping him from his daydream and gliding as if on rails down the stairs.

  Owen was fixed on her from her hair to the hem of her skirt. When she reached the bottom step, she walked around him. His eyes followed her every move as if attached by an invisible cord.

  “What’s wrong with ya? Aren’t ye hungry?” She pushed past him and continued into the dining room. Every time her face turned from his, she smiled and had to suppress a giggle. “Come along now.”

  Once she had her back to him, she pursed her lips and then raised her eyebrows. She continued her glide with only the slight sound of the rustling petticoat beneath her dress. She walked to her seat at the table, which was done up as if for a holiday meal, and waited for Owen to seat her.

  “Yer seat, Miss.” He bowed and pulled out her chair. Then he dashed around to the seat opposite her and seated himself.

  “So, what do I owe the honor of such a lovely table?” Owen inquired, sliding his utensils into place next to his plate and rearranging them.

  “Today just happens to be me eighteenth birthday.” She smiled.

  “What? How is it that I didn’t know it was a holiday?” Owen joked.

  “Well, as busy as ye are, it’s easy to forget even such an important holiday as this,” she replied with an eye roll.

  “Ye got me, didn’t ya?” Owen laughed.

  “Don’t I always, though?” Sarah snapped back with false sweetness.

  Anne Marie carried in three serving dishes of ham, potatoes and green beans and placed them on the table. As she sat the beans near Owen’s plate, she turned her head to him enough to sneak off a wink and blushing smile before turning to collect the water pitcher from the server.

  “Anne Marie, did ye know today is a very special day?” Owen asked, holding up his glass for water.

  “Yes, Doctor Whelan. It’s the young Miss Jameson’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Miss Jameson,” she answered, smiling at them as she poured.

  “Thank ye, Anne Marie. At least ye’ve been kind enough to wish me well on my special day. By the way, I understand chicken pie is yer favorite meal but since this is my day after all, I chose ham,” Sarah remarked, giving Owen what she hoped was a disa
pproving yet playful look.

  “Oh no, Anne Marie! We’ve yet ta say grace and I’m already in trouble.” Owen laughed.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, I believe you are exceptional together,” Anne Marie commented.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, but we are certainly not together,” Sarah stated, straightening herself on her seat and sipping her water.

  “Now that’s a laugh.” Owen chuckled.

  “A laugh? I’m a laugh, am I?”

  “Well, ye said it first,” Owen folded his hands in his lap.

  “Don’t ye go actin’ all innocent now,” Sarah exclaimed.

  “Me? Well I’m as pure as the driven snow.”

  “Yer exasperatin’, is what ye are.” Once she said the grace, their banter continued. Owen normally didn’t discuss politics with Sarah but she allowed him to explain the political process and she expounded her outrage that women were not included in it. However, as their meal carried on, their conversation drifted down to earth and more immediate and less controversial subjects.

  “Owen, do they celebrate Halloween here? I mean, it is always such fun. It’s next week, ye know.”

  “Aren’t we a bit old to go guisin’ and prankin’ people?”

  “Oh, yer full of yerself tonight, aren’t ye? Why not bring a true bit a Ireland to this home? What about carvin’ some turnips?”

  “Not in America, lass,” he stated. “They carve pumpkins here, at least those who participate.”

  “Pumpkins? Hmph, well I suppose they would do. They’re very large and a lovely color. Do the children go guisin’ or not?”

  “I’ve not seen any but it doesn’t mean they don’t. I mean, if they do, it’s mainly Irish folk. Are ye done eatin’ yet? Anyone that eats more than me is a hog, that’s fer sure.” Owen pushed away from the table and tossed his napkin on his plate.

  Sarah sat her fork down quietly, then rolled her eyes over at him. “And just what is that supposed ta mean?”

  Owen laughed the loudest, heartiest laugh of his young life.

  “Ye’re a monster, ye are! Oh, how I’d wring yer neck if I were I man,” Sarah shouted, tossing her napkin onto her half-eaten dinner. “Speakin’ a hogs, if ye didn’t eat at a trough, then perhaps I’d be able ta keep up.”

  “I’m sorry, Sarah. I don’t know what’s come over me tonight. Maybe I’m gettin’ inta the Halloween spirit a wee bit early and I’m up to tricks already. Or maybe I’m just feelin’ a little a the Devil in me tonight.”

  “Well, I have room fer dessert and yer antics don’t make me laugh, so there.” She poked her tongue out at him.

  “Now, was that a nice thin’ ta do?”

  Sarah did it once more, this time crossing her eyes as well, and then pushed her plate to the side and awaited her cake.

  Once their dessert was devoured, Owen suggested she grab her wrap for a breezy stroll in the garden. She happily obliged and took his arm as they walked to the sun room.

  “I love October,” he said softly as he opened the door for her to step outside. A cool breeze brushed over them. Owen stopped and she looked back at him. His head was tilted slightly and his eyes were closed. He appeared to be inhaling the breeze.

  “Aren’t ye comin’, Mister October? What the Devil are ye doin’, anyway?”

  “I’m, I’m takin’ in the fresh autumn air,” he explained with a stutter. She thought maybe it was the lavender scent of her freshly washed hair. At least, she hoped it was.

  She took his arm as they strolled close to the house to catch the soft glow of light from the windows. He eventually led her to what was now their bench but there was very little light in the far end of the garden and it was much too breezy for a candle or even a lantern to light their way.

  “It’s too dark over here. The sun’s gone all the way down now.” Sarah pulled her wrap tightly around her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, are ye cold?”

  “It is a wee bit nippy tonight. Perhaps we could just have a seat in the sun room. It’s a little chilly in there as well but at least there’s no wind.”

  Owen conceded as he too was feeling the chill and led Sarah back through the sun room door. They sat at the table and continued their banter until Anne Marie appeared asking if they needed anything else before she closed the kitchen for the night and turned in. Neither of them requested anything other than each other’s company and Anne Marie bowed and excused herself.

  “What’s that outside the window?” Owen asked.

  She looked but didn’t see anything. “There’s nothin’ outside the window, ye git.” When she turned back to Owen, there was a small silver-wrapped box sitting before her, tied with a pretty red bow. “What’s this? Appeared from the air, did it?”

  “I hadn’t even noticed it when we sat. It’s a box, aye?”

  “Well, a course it’s a box. It looks like a gift,” Sarah commented as she picked up the box and removed the bow.

  “How do ye know it’s yers? Ye might be openin’ someone else’s gift.” Owen winked.

  “Too late now, but I’m certain it isn’t fer ye.” Sarah laughed. She removed the paper and folded it neatly before admiring the fine smooth wood of the box. She put it on the table in front of her.

  “Well, aren’t ye gonna open it?”

  “A course I’m gonna open it. Don’t be a fool.”

  “Yer lookin’ at it as if there’s a giant spider about to leap out at ye.”

  “Oh, ye’re drivin’ me mad tonight. Will ye hush and leave me be a minute? I’m admirin’ the box. Can’t I admire the bloody box?”

  Owen’s face went blank.

  “I just keep thinkin’ about how ye knew and yet pretended all evenin’ that ye didn’t,” Sarah said, placing her right hand on the lid and then lifting it slowly.

  “Oh, my goodness, Owen. Oh my goodness, I love it! It’s just perfect.” It was a golden hair comb engraved with the image of a bird in flight. She took it in her right hand and slid it up into her hair. “How does it look?”

  Owen’s eyes were fixed on the comb as it shimmered in the raven wings of her hair. For several moments, he forgot where he was and who he was and he was seeing the world as if through a spyglass. The room, the windows and anything else in view surrounding Sarah, faded into a blur. Anything that didn’t contain even a hair of her head was gone and Owen was left speechless with his mouth sitting open.

  “Owen, are ye deaf? How does it look?” Sarah asked, reaching over and placing her hand on top of his.

  “It’s the most beautiful thin’ I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he spoke, as if in a dream.

  “Ye’re such a tease.” She laughed, taking the comb from her hair carefully and placing it back in the box on its red satin pillow.

  Owen reached over and placed his hand atop hers as it rested on the box, surprising her and causing her to pull away. He reached out again, this time turning his hand palm up, opening it just enough to invite her hand into his. Sarah looked down at it, taking a moment to decide whether or not she should take it, when Owen wiggled his fingers a bit, encouraging her. She sat her palm against his and he closed his fingers around it barely touching her at first and then once possessing it completely, he pulled it up to his lips and placed a light kiss upon her knuckles.

  “Ye know there was a time I didn’t believe I fit in anywhere. I moved around a bit and wherever I was, I always looked to the horizon. I always wanted to know what was over the next hill, the next bridge, even the ocean. I looked beyond everythin’ instead of lookin’ into it. Even in my research and practicin’ medicine but in the medical field, most often ye gotta look beyond what only yer eyes can see as long as ye don’t miss what’s right under yer nose.”

  “What are ye goin’ all the way around the world to tell me Owen?” Sarah asked, wrapping both of her hands around his.

  “I think I’m supposed ta marry ye Sarah Jameson.”

  “Supposed ta what?” she exclaimed, releasing his hand, only to have hers captured
and pulled back.

  “A moment ago, I couldn’t see anythin’ but ye. I can’t explain it any plainer than that but I—everythin’ above, beside and most of all beyond ye was gone. As crazy as it sounds, I do. What I mean ta say is, I want ye to be me bride.”

  “As crazy as it sounds ye say? Well that has to be the strangest proposal I’ve ever heard.” She laughed, again pulling her hands away. “If ye think it’s crazy, then perhaps ye may want to give it more thought.”

  Sarah stood to leave and Owen sprung from his chair, rushing around the table and dropped to his knee blocking her path.

  “I said it sounded crazy Sarah, not that it is crazy,” he pleaded, taking her hand again. “Ye’re spoiled, moody, and bossy and full a guff but yer spirited, bright and kind as well. I haven’t been able to get ye out of me thoughts all day long for a while now. I tried, I can promise ye that but one thing I know for certain is I know what it is ta lose someone. I don’t ever want to spend another day of me life without ye. I know how I whine like a pup until I hear yer sassy voice and lay eyes on ye each day. I know the world, the whole world just disappeared right here at this table and that’s never happened to me in me whole livin’ life. Please, let me ask yer father for yer hand.”

  “Looks ta me like ye’ve already taken it,” Sarah remarked, looking down at him clinging to her hand as if he were a drowning man, hanging on to a rope, and again, pulled it to his lips. This time his kiss was strong and lingered for a few moments. His eyes were closed and before he released her, she pulled him to his feet.

  Sarah reached up and slid her hands over the sides of his face, giving her unspoken permission for him to do the same. Owen felt a slight tremble in his fingers as they explored her cheekbones and then gradually, pushed through her hairline, gripping her lightly before her eyes closed and her pouted lips raised awaiting his to join them.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Anne Marie fluttered back and forth between the kitchen and dining room, carrying plates and tea cups as she prepared for the family to come to the table. Owen lingered this morning with a purpose, as he knew he would be having much more than breakfast with the group. He wore his finest suit of clothes and combed his hair back before stepping out into the hallway. He was not one for primping yet he backed into his room and stood before the mirror one more time and fussed with his unruly hair before at last closing the door behind him and bouncing down the steps.