“What did you say?”
“Our girl, here, she’s named Bitty Brown.”
Eliza held out a gloved hand.
“People call me Eliza, the Lady of the Flowers,” she said and coughed again. “Please pardon my voice. I’ve had a bit of a chill today.”
Fiona nodded to Bitty.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Bitty said and shook her hand lightly.
When her hand touched Eliza’s, Bitty took a step back. Something familiar crept into her sense, something known but not. She massaged her temples to stop the ache that had begun to throb in them.
And then, her mind was awash in images.
Bitty groaned as the scene played. She saw herself on the dock in Dublin screaming for her mother not to leave her, watching as the ship sailed away, seeing her mother’s eyes staring after her, her arms straining to reach out over the railing.
“Child, what is wrong?” Fiona asked.
Eliza’s hands shook, her body trembled all over.
“Oh, God,” she said, “oh, my dear God.”
Eliza slipped to her knees and rocked back, her arms hugged tightly around her.
“Oh, God,” she repeated several times. “What did they do to my baby?”
Bitty Brown stooped beside her, loosened her scarf, and pulled it away from her face. Then, she removed the woolen cap and watched the woman’s dark hair—hair just like hers—cascade down her back. Freed from the confines of wool, the scent of lavender soap wafted throughout the room.
Bitty put her face next to Eliza’s and whispered,
“Mama? Is it you, Mama?”
The two of them wrapped their arms around each other, their bodies racked with sobs.
Fiona and Percy knelt beside them.
“What’s this?” she asked.
Eliza spoke through her tears.
“I left her, left this sweet child on the dock in Dublin. She was four years old, only four, and the Sisters, the Sisters….”
“The Sisters of Mercy?” Percy asked.
Eliza nodded.
“I lived there until one of the men….”
Eliza bent double and groaned.
Fiona and Bitty wrapped their arms around her.
“It’s all right, dear,” Fiona said. “Shh, it’s all right.”
“The Sisters sent me away. They kept my baby and sent me away, but I was hurt on the ship and put into a hospital. By the time I recovered, I couldn’t remember anything. I lost my sight and my memory. My poor baby. Can you forgive me, Bitty?”
Eliza reached up and cupped Bitty’s face in her hands.
“I’m so sorry, my little girl, so very sorry.”
“Mama,” Bitty said, tears flowing down her cheeks. “I never forgot you, Mama. I’ve been waiting for you, hoping you’d come and want me back.”
“I always wanted you, my sweet Bitty Brown, always.”
Fiona lifted her face and sniffed the air.
“Percy, is that smoke? Do I smell smoke?”
And then Jonesy began to howl.
He left Percy’s side and ran to the door. The wolfhound pawed furiously at it.
Percy glanced at Fiona then at Bitty and Eliza.
Outside, a racket had begun, people yelling and screaming, glass breaking.
Percy ran to the window.
“There’s a fire in the building. The whole thing is in flames. We have to get out of here!”
He tried to open the door, but it was stuck. He banged on it, rammed his shoulder into it twice, but it wouldn’t budge.
Then, the four of them used all their strength to force it open, but still, the heavy old door would not give.
Smoke began to seep under the doorway and out of the vents in the ceiling.
Jonesey howled again at the window, but the noise of the people below screaming, the deafening sound of beams splitting in half and crashing to the floor made even his howl insignificant. They could hear the roar of the flames as they climbed upward to claim all of them.
The entire building now crackled with the sound of the fire. The old wood stood no chance against the power of the raging inferno.
Bitty screamed and wrapped her arms around Eliza when the first of the fiery monsters crept in under the door.
“It’s all right,” Percy said and gathered them both in his muscular arms. “It’s all right.”
Bitty clutched her treasure bag to her chest then slid her hand inside to retrieve the tiny box. When she opened the lid, the only thing she could see was a single golden strand of hair.
“Look, Mama,” Bitty said stepping out of Percy’s arms. “I still have it.”
Eliza ran her fingertips over the tiny container.
“The angel gave it to me, Mama. When you left, an angel stood beside me on the dock. He shone like the sun and was tall as the sky. He dropped this into my hand and told me to keep it with me until I needed it. He called himself Jude.”
Bitty gently lifted the glowing strand from the box.
As she held it in her fingers, she felt a sudden warmth prickling in her fingertips. It traveled throughout her body until Bitty thought she might actually be glowing.
And then it came.
Peace, sweet peace. Without fear. In that moment, she understood the wealth—the true treasure—of God’s love for her. No longer was she Bitty Brown, the slave of the laundry. Now, she was Bitty Brown, child of God.
“We need you now, Lord,” she said, “to save us.”
A voice spoke to her, softly, almost like a breeze.
“Follow me,” it called, still and small and hardly more than a breeze.
As the last of the beams succumbed to the flames and plummeted toward them, the door flew open.
In the collapsing hallway stood three people and a dog: The Lady Emalyn, Master Owen, the Beggar Jude and Mr. Jones.
They walked through the fiery blaze, bright smiles on their faces.
Fiona struggled to her feet and wrapped her arms around Emalyn.
“My sweet girl, my precious girl,” she said, planting sweet kisses over her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
And as if there was no danger surrounding her at all, she laughed and hugged Owen, and even gave a gentle squeeze to the beggar’s shoulder and a rub behind the dog’s ears.
The sound of their bright laughter and happy tears swirled around the room.
When it exploded, the crowd below swore they heard only the sounds of angels singing.
15
Treasures
Dungarran sits at the edge of the Golden Vale on the edge of County Tipperary. Fed by the River Shannon and its twin, the River Suir, its green and verdant lands sweep along the countryside in great swaths, still peopled by magnificent herds of cattle and black-faced sheep, each one painted with a red or blue splotch to signal its owner.
As every skilled shepherd knows, sheep, at times, are lost and must be brought back to the fold.
Bordered by the economic hub of Tipperary, Clonmel, Dungarran hails as the historic center, dotted along its picturesque landscape with ancient stone ruins that, in spite of the siege in the Middle Ages, remain standing, their turrets and battlements in view for visitors and residents alike. Though most are covered in bright ivy boasting brilliant purple flowers, the ruins attest to the bravery and skill of a people who loved their country.
Five years after the great fire in Dublin, Dungarran thrives. At its heart is Dunaghy Manor, the famous Swan House, still a favorite among the considerable tourist trade and a gathering spot for neighboring communities and churches. A hub of activity, the Swan House employs many of the townspeople busy with maintaining the pristine gardens and the abundant greenhouse, supplier of fresh produce to the entire county of Tipperary.
In charge of this massive undertaking is one Eliza Farrell, commonly referred to as the Lady of the Flowers, because of her skill with a variety of healing methods designed not only to beautify ailing plants but to restore them to full health
. A strikingly beautiful woman, Eliza had been dragged from the wreckage of the Great Dublin Fire and regained her sight. It is said, though none can confirm, that she owed her sight and her life to an angel.
Eliza lives at Dunaghy Manor with the owners, Fiona and Percy Quinlan and with her daughter, Bitty, wife to Percy. That the family has been blessed is evident. Though they do not live a life of luxury, their wealth is found in service to others, service that ministers to the entire county of Tipperary and true enough, to the whole of Ireland.
Fiona serves as the keeper of the guesthouse, and though she is white-haired and aging, she is a woman blessed with the love of a family who adores her. Guests often comment that Fiona’s smile is contagious and that her willingness to cook and clean and look after her guests is unparalleled in Dungarran. She possesses the ability to make even the least of them feel special, and because of that, her guesthouse never lacks for lodgers, most of whom stay on to become full-time employees.
On the grounds of the manor toward a shed in the back stands a lovely building designed to house children who have been abandoned, though cases of extreme poverty find their way to the place called Quinlan’s Hope. Usually operating at full capacity, the children’s home accommodates twelve but is almost always running at maximum capacity with twenty or more, all in an innovative program of hands-on learning, daily chores, and evening vespers. But perhaps the most striking feature upon which visitors comment—and visitors are always welcome—is the delightful sound of children’s laughter that filters into every crevice throughout the grounds.
Though Bitty and Percy have no children of their own, they are a couple who share the rich blessings of unconditional love. Wherever they go, people comment that the stylish couple seem like newlyweds. They walk arm in arm, hand in hand, snuggling and leaning in close to whisper. When they walk into a room, they beam with love and pride, and it isn’t uncommon for Bitty to receive an unexpected kiss on the cheek, a beautifully scripted love letter, or even a dozen bright red roses during a given week, not in celebration of a special occasion, but rather, in celebration of their love. They are content. They delight in providing a full measure of love and care for those who are so desperately in need.
Percy, big and brawny, can often be seen rolling in the grass with a dozen or more children squealing after him. When he started Quinlan’s Hope, he told all who would listen that this was his calling, his ministry, and though most would smile but secretly believe he would fail, Percy opened the doors fully believing it would serve the community well and offer hope to abandoned children. Within two months, he was proven right when two children, lost and hungry, showed up on the doorstep of Quinlan’s Hope. As more children came, even a few young women in trouble, the townspeople admitted they had been wrong.
As he plays with the children, he gives out a whistle to summon the great wolfhound, Jonesy, who gallops and dashes with the youngsters and even, on occasion, lets them ride on his back. Beside him, the ever-faithful but somewhat persnickety Bluebelle—chief cat and security patrol—scampers when the mood strikes her and swishes her fluffy tail in approval.
The children say the animals are magic.
But the true magic comes from the lady of Dunaghy Manor, one Bitty Brown. Though she is married to Percy, she rarely uses her married name, preferring instead the one given to her when she was four years old. An adept at hosting functions and raising funds for the school, she glides from gathering to gathering, mesmerizing all who see the stunning young woman with gorgeous eyes, flowing hair, and a head held high: a most magnificent visage, indeed.
People say that, at times, when Bitty is walking the grounds in the late evening, a bright radiance surrounds her and that her footsteps hardly touch the ground. That she is blessed by God there is no doubt. Her sweet smile, melodic voice, and affinity for healing the broken hearted have garnered her genuine respect from residents throughout the county. They flock to her, if only to glimpse as she kneels to embrace the pure white swans, watch as the swans appear almost human in form resembling the former Lady Emalyn and Master Owen. Those who linger might hear their joyous laughter or see the light of love shimmering around them.
It is said that in her possession is a treasure most dear, a single golden strand of great power, and rumor has it that, even though no one in Dungarran has ever seen it, during the Great Fire in Dublin, it was this same lock of hair that miraculously saved the family from a certain fiery death and brought them, unharmed, back to the safety of their beloved Dunaghy Manor.
Bitty doesn’t say. She simply smiles and casts her gaze toward the sky.
Rumors hold that, on occasion, as she walks across the grounds of Dunaghy Manor, she is accompanied by a beautiful young woman and her handsome husband. And those who have seen this phenomenon swear that the couple is the Lady Emalyn and her beloved Owen.
Many times, at night, a resident or two will look out a window and see Bitty combing through the side streets. She finds hiding places that others can’t see, and she checks them all, looking for the cold, the hungry, and the homeless.
And for the people of the town, it is a comfort that their streets harbor no one in need. They would all attest that this young woman who came to them as an abandoned orphan, emerged transformed by God’s grace as the treasure that is Bitty Brown, referred to lovingly as the Angel of Dungarran.
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