Song of Erin

by BJ Hoff

  It was an unnerving thought, to say the least.

  When Rufus finally concluded, Jack was suddenly seized by the disconcerting feeling that, even though he had not closed his eyes throughout the entire litany—had not uttered a word, so far as he knew—he had been praying too, in spite of himself.

  Bewildered, badly shaken, he stepped back a little. Rufus did the same, making room for Samantha to take up her former place close to Sheridan, where she resumed her soft, strangely maternal, soothing words for Cavan’s ears alone.

  Cavan Sheridan was dreaming about home. He was there, back home in Ireland, with his parents, his sister, Honor, and Baby Mada. And yet there was little of the joy he would have anticipated—at least on his part—had such a thing ever come to pass. His family seemed contented enough, but the initial burst of happiness he had felt upon first sight of them was quickly fading, giving way to confusion.

  They were all of them walking upon the shore, with the water splashing high upon the rocks. In his dream, Cavan knew he was dreaming, knew this was not real, although it was real enough that he tried to speak with each family member, even the baby.

  Mostly, he was asking after Terese, her whereabouts, for he had not yet seen her. She was the only one absent, and he was growing anxious.

  His family behaved in a most peculiar fashion. They spoke and laughed among themselves, but other than Baby Mada, who stared at Cavan with large, studying eyes, no one paid him the slightest heed. Cavan had thought they would be glad to see him after so long a time. Instead they virtually ignored him, even his questions about the missing Terese.

  Because he knew he was caught up in a dream, he shouldn’t have grown impatient with them. But he thought they might have shown a bit more sensitivity to his exhaustion, his weakness—and his need to gain some word of Terese before he could rest. Instead, they simply continued walking along the shore, not even bothering to wait for him when he fell behind.

  Suddenly, he realized someone was calling out to him, and he turned, expecting to finally see Terese running up the shore to greet him. But there was no one.

  The water was slamming harder and harder against the rocks now, driven by the strange wind that had blown up in the middle of the sea. Above, the sky had darkened to an ominous, dark pewter, the clouds hanging so low he could almost touch them.

  His family had gone on ahead of him, not waiting, and Cavan could scarcely make them out. He could no longer keep up. His breathing was tortured, his chest pounding, and he was finding it difficult to walk, much less run, after the others.

  Cavan…

  He had heard someone calling his name. Again, he turned to look but could see nothing…nothing but a thin, dark mist where the clouds were now slipping down behind him.

  Cavan…

  The voice sounded nearer now…a woman’s voice, sure, but not Terese’s voice.

  He turned once more to look after his parents and sisters, but they had disappeared into the distance, hidden by the clouds that now encompassed him from behind and before, hiding his family, the rocks, even the waves of the sea.

  Finally, he began walking back the way he had come, away from his family, back along the shore, out of the clouds…out of the mist. Someone was holding his hand, and he allowed himself to be led as he followed the voice that continued to call his name…

  Over an hour later, Jack saw the boy stir slightly and moan. He tensed, fearful of the worst. But as he watched, Sheridan blinked, squeezed his eyes shut once more, then opened them again.

  Jack put a fist to his mouth to suppress a gasp of relief. Samantha made a soft cry and turned to look at him and Rufus. The latter voiced an enthusiastic, “Praise God! Thank you, Lord!”

  Sheridan was watching Samantha, who still had hold of his hand. She smiled at him and murmured something Jack couldn’t make out. The boy seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes, but he looked surprisingly alert, given the gravity of his condition.

  “Mr. Kane?”

  Jack flinched at the sound of his own name, the first words Sheridan uttered as he regained consciousness.

  The matron was already rushing out to fetch the doctor, so Jack went to take her place across the bed from Samantha.

  He knew as soon as he looked in Sheridan’s eyes that the lad was going to be all right. He stood staring down at him, wondering at the way Cavan was searching his gaze. Finally, Sheridan gave a small nod, as if to reassure himself, and said, “ ’Tis safe you are, then.”

  It was the most natural thing ever for Jack to fall into the Irish cadence they held in common, even though his throat had tightened treacherously. “Aye, ’tis safe I am, lad. All thanks to you.”

  The boy’s smile was wobbly as with a languid motion he turned his face toward Samantha. “It was you I heard.”

  Samantha’s expression was questioning as she leaned slightly closer to him. “What, Cavan? What did you hear?”

  “It was you who called me out of the dream,” he said. “I heard you, Mrs. Harte…I heard you calling my name…”

  His eyes fluttered a little, and seeing his weakness, Jack was reluctant to risk tiring him. But the question that had raked at him throughout the night would give him no peace. He had to know.

  Bending over the boy, he studied his pale, lean face for a moment. “Why did you do it, Cavan Sheridan?” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You could have been killed, you young pup! You almost were, you know. Why would you do such a fool thing?”

  The lad made no reply right away, but instead lay looking up at Jack as if uncertain as to how to answer. When his response finally came, it was so soft that Jack had to lean still closer, straining to hear.

  “To give you more time, sir.”

  “What’s that?” Jack frowned, wondering if he’d heard him correctly.

  “I had…to give you more time, don’t you see? You need…more time. The Father knows you, knows your heart…but you don’t know him…can’t choose…unless you know…his love…”

  Jack’s breath seemed lodged in his throat. He tried to swallow but found he could not. He stayed as he was for a moment more, watching as Cavan Sheridan closed his eyes and drifted off, this time, obviously, to a more natural sleep.

  Jack straightened and looked across the bed at Samantha, who merely gave a gentle lift of her eyebrows, as if to ask what he intended to do with the gift…the time…he had been given.

  EPILOGUE

  GIFTS OF GOLD AND GRACE

  ’Tis grace itself, this letting go of yesterday,

  The relinquishing of old days and old ways

  To make room for the gift of God’s tomorrows.

  CAVAN SHERIDAN, FROM WAYSIDE NOTES

  NEW YORK CITY

  On the following Monday, Samantha was visiting Cavan Sheridan, along with Rufus and Amelia, when Jack strode into the ward.

  It was late afternoon, but the man certainly did not look as if he had spent the day at the office. Samantha couldn’t stop a smile at his jaunty air and his light, almost dancing, step as he approached. He was his usual natty self—impeccably groomed, freshly barbered, and dressed to the nines in an elegantly tailored gray suit and a silk neckcloth in a shade of lustrous pearl.

  He was carrying something—a rather thick letter, so it appeared.

  As he walked up to the bed, his greeting took in everyone, but his smile seemed just for her.

  “I hope you’re getting good and tired of playing the slugabed, boyo,” he cracked to Cavan Sheridan, who, although still obviously weak and in some discomfort, was propped up by a flock of pillows at his back. “I’ll grant you only a few more days, and then it’s back to work for you!”

  As he spoke, he waved the letter he was carrying in Samantha’s direction. “And for you as well, Mrs. Harte—we have company coming, you see.”

  Samantha wondered what on earth he was talking about, then realized—“You’ve heard from your brother!”

  “Indeed. As it happened, the letter’s been lying about
the house since last Friday, but with all the fuss and confusion, I’d forgotten to read it until this morning. It seems we have a wee boy and girl coming across very soon now—and my troublesome brother even remembered to send along the copy for their story.”

  He stopped, studying Cavan Sheridan for a moment before going to stand alongside him. When he spoke again, he dropped his voice and put a hand to the boy’s good shoulder. “And you must brace yourself, Sheridan, for the rest of the news in my brother’s letter will surely astound you.” He paused. “Your sister has been found, lad, and even as we speak, is more than likely on her way to America.”

  Jack had the satisfaction of seeing Sheridan’s eyes grow wide enough to pop as he delivered his news. For once, he thought wryly, the boy was actually speechless.

  “Aye, it’s true,” Jack assured him. “Apparently, she traveled to Galway after the big storm, and that’s where Brady came upon her. It seems he has worked things out so she and the children can travel together, with your sister looking after the youngsters.”

  “Terese…” The boy breathed her name like a prayer. His eyes suddenly filled, and for a fraction of a second Jack feared the news might have been too much for him. Perhaps he should have waited until the lad was stronger.

  He had withheld a less joyous portion of the announcement. The bitter fact that the girl was with child as a result of an attack would have to wait until Sheridan was well enough to bear the whole story. For now, let him rejoice over the good news. The rest could come later.

  The lad looked about to weep. Jack released him, fumbling in his pocket for a handkerchief, just in case.

  “Is she…is she well, then, sir—Terese?”

  Jack chose his words carefully. “It would seem from my brother’s letter that your sister is quite healthy. The children, however, sound a bit frail.”

  He gestured again to the letter. “When you’re feeling stronger, you can read it all for yourself. But for now, you must concentrate on getting well as soon as possible. I can’t have my newest reporter working from his bed. It wouldn’t do at all, don’t you see? You are needed at the office, and the sooner the better.”

  “Sir?” The puzzled frown on the boy’s face gave Jack more satisfaction still.

  “Why, didn’t you hear me, lad? It has occurred to me that you will prove far more valuable with a pad and pencil in your hands than sitting on a driver’s bench. I’m putting you on the Vanguard’s payroll as soon as you’re able to come back to work.” Jack paused, then added, “And lest you think this has anything to do with your injury, it does not. I had already made the decision before you pulled that fool stunt on Friday night.”

  “Mr. Kane—what have you learned about the shooting? Have the police found the man yet?”

  Jack shook his head. “No, but they’re doing what they can. They’ve little to go on, of course, with the bounder disappearing as easily as he did, but they have some of their best men on it.”

  Jack had his own suspicions about the affair, but this was not the time to voice them. Even though a hired gun would hardly seem the sort of thing a man like Turner Julian would resort to, he couldn’t afford to dismiss the possibility out of hand. But as he had told Avery Foxworth, there was no denying that he had made some enemies. The truth was, it could have been anyone behind that gun.

  “Jack—Mr. Kane—?”

  Jack turned to see Samantha blushing furiously at having used his given name in front of the others. He grinned at her discomfiture. “Mrs. Harte?” he said with deliberate emphasis.

  Her eyes flared a little, but being Samantha, she regained her composure nicely. “Have you considered—what if he should try again?”

  It had occurred to him, of course, and he supposed he had to allow for the possibility. But Jack thought it unlikely that a second attempt would come so soon after the recent failure. Still, her concern pleased him.

  Rather than alarm her, however, he dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “Well, I suppose we shall simply have to outfit Sheridan here with a suit of armor, now won’t we?”

  Jack laughed at her thoroughly outraged expression. “Don’t fret yourself, Samantha. Despite what you may have read in the newspapers—” he grinned—“our police department is not without resources. Besides, I’ve already looked into the matter of a private investigator as well.”

  He turned back to Sheridan. “About your sister, lad: She’ll be needing a place to stay once she arrives, and even though you won’t be driving for me by then, I rather like the idea of having my bodyguard close by, all the same. So I thought we might partition the room above the stable and make a place for the two of you, for now at least. The room is large enough, and it will give you time to save a bit of money for something larger.”

  Sheridan shook his head, as if somewhat bemused by the offer. He pushed himself up as much as possible, extending a hand to Jack. “How can I ever thank you for all you’ve done, Mr. Kane?”

  Jack’s gaze flicked from the lad’s hand to his bandaged shoulder and chest. “Well, now,” he said, grasping Sheridan’s hand in his, “it seems to me you have already made a right proper job of it.”

  Before Jack escorted Samantha from the ward, Amelia surprised him by pressing a parcel into his hands. “What’s this?” he said, looking down at the package wrapped in brown paper.

  “Happy birthday, Jack,” she said. “I bet you thought we’d forgotten all about it, didn’t you, what with all the commotion?”

  Jack looked at her, then laughed. “Actually,” he admitted, “I’d forgotten it myself. So what is this, then?”

  “Well, why don’t you open it and find out?” she teased, linking arms with Rufus.

  “I will indeed.” Jack glanced from one to the other, then at Samantha. He felt somewhat awkward, for it was a rare occasion of any sort when he received a gift. But Amelia was clearly expecting him to open the package as they watched, so he began to tear at the string.

  His fingers were clumsy as he worked to free the contents from the paper wrapping. For a moment he could do nothing but stare at the elegantly fashioned vest—obviously one of Amelia’s own creations.

  His throat tightened treacherously as he held the garment up for all to see. It was a resplendent effort, woven of carefully blended shades of deep crimson and burnished gold, finished with precise gold stitching. Jack found himself pleased beyond imagining.

  “Amelia—I am…I don’t know what to say!”

  “Well, now, that’s a first,” Rufus said, ignoring his wife’s punch in the ribs.

  Samantha stepped closer to inspect the vest, smiling up at Jack as if she sensed his discomfort as well as his pleasure. “Oh, Amelia, this is absolutely lovely!”

  “It is indeed, Amelia,” Jack seconded. “I confess I have always envied Rufus his handsome vests. I can’t thank you enough.”

  He went to her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. When he would have stepped back, however, Amelia stopped him with a little tug on his sleeve. “I’ve been working on this for a long time now, but after our talk last Friday, I was determined to get it finished for your birthday.”

  Jack frowned. “Last Friday?”

  “Friday evening,” she said. “In the sewing room. Remember what I told you about the ‘cloth of heaven’?”

  Jack nodded slowly, wondering what she was getting at.

  “Well, I want you to promise me that every time you wear this vest, you’ll think on that little talk we had—about what the Lord can make of your life if you’ll just let him have his way. I want your word on it, Jack Kane.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Jack said dryly.

  “You always have a choice, brother,” Rufus put in. “It seems to me that Amelia, she’s just doing her part to help you make the right one.”

  THE ATLANTIC, OFF THE COAST OF IRELAND

  Terese Sheridan stood on the deck of the Providence, taking a last look at Ireland. She pulled her emerald cloak more tightly about her shoulders, trying n
ot to think of the night Brady had bought it for her. At the same time, she attempted to shake off the melancholy that had engulfed her since early morning. She reminded herself how fortunate she was to be up here, on deck, where she could breathe in the fresh air, rather than suffering belowdecks. That was one thing she could thank Brady for, at least—by paying the extra passage money, he had spared her and the Madden children the rumored horrors of steerage.

  She would thank him for nothing else, that much was certain. She glanced behind her, where wee Tully Madden was hobbling up and down the short distance of the deck to which Terese had confined him. She watched him for a moment, feeling a tug at her heart for the limp that slowed his little-boy gait. His cheerfulness seemed not to suffer, however; each time he caught Terese’s eye, he favored her with a quick smile.

  Tully’s older sister, Shona, stood close to Terese’s side. Terese could feel the girl’s eyes on her but did not turn to look. Those large, haunted eyes with their sorrowful blue gaze discomfited Terese. The child seemed to be always staring at something, yet seeing nothing.

  Despite her resolve to put the past behind her, her gaze—and her thoughts—returned to the fading coastline in the distance. For another moment, Terese allowed herself a brief memory of Inishmore and all that she was leaving behind: her home—the only home she had ever known—her mother, her da, her sisters…Brady…

  Her heart wrenched at the thought of Brady, but it was a pain kindled by anger. She had promised herself she would never again think of him without remembering his betrayal, his rejection. She would get over him by despising him.

  Only the thought of Jane Connolly brought any real sadness to her spirit. Poor Jane, trapped forever in her chair by the window, looking out upon a world of which she could have no real part. At the end, she had been kind, kinder than Terese would have had any right to expect. That last evening before her departure, Jane had added an extra week to Terese’s wages.