Song of Erin

by BJ Hoff

  He had performed the yearly pre-Christmas tasks as usual: making repairs and patching the cottage, discarding any dross that had gathered inside and out over the preceding months, cleaning the outbuildings and applying whitewash where needed. He had even helped Roweena and Evie scour the furniture with sand, scrub the hearth, and clean the fireplace.

  Yesterday he had gone to the Margadth Mor—the Big Market—to “bring home the Christmas,” just as he always did. In fact, Roweena thought he must have emptied his pockets in the process, for he had returned bearing a fine, plump goose and a more than ample supply of dried fruits, spices, and tea.

  Evie had practically swooned at the sight of the delicacies. But when Roweena commented, “Sure, and you’ve brought home a feast for the kings,” Gabriel had merely smiled somewhat absently and gone to sit by the fire.

  Any departure from custom had been so slight as to be negligible—except for his uncommonly grave demeanor. Roweena could not help but wonder just how much of his behavior had to do with Brady Kane. She suspected that Brady’s betrayal still troubled him greatly, as it did her.

  But for herself, it wasn’t the actual betrayal she found most painful—although, sure, Brady had done a shocking, terrible thing. What she could not seem to put out of her mind was the stunning revelation that she and Brady might actually be half brother and sister.

  There was no way of knowing for certain, of course. According to Gabriel, there had been many soldiers drunk on the whiskey and mad with the blood lust that horrible night. But even the possibility that the same man might have fathered both herself and Brady, no matter how incredible it might seem, could not be ignored.

  When she remembered the feelings Brady had once stirred in her at the beginning, when they had first met, a wave of sick shame invariably washed over her. Those feelings had always been confusing and troubling to her, and in truth they had weakened and died long before she’d ever learned of the possible blood tie between herself and Brady. Even so, Roweena still bitterly regretted the fascination he had once held for her.

  Every time she looked at Gabriel, she wondered how she could have ever misplaced, even for a moment, her affections. Once she faced the truth about her feelings for him, there had been no emotion left for Brady, except a kind of sad fondness, the same sort of hopeless affection she might have felt for a wayward friend.

  Or brother.

  It was Gabriel she loved. It would always be Gabriel, despite the fact that he could not see her as anything but a defenseless child.

  In any event, she was concerned about his unusual behavior and decided that when he returned later today she would speak with him about it.

  For weeks, Gabriel had heard the rumors about Brady Kane but had steeled himself not to listen, not to care. Whatever happened to the deceitful young American, he had only himself to thank, with his profligate ways, his scheming, and his lies.

  It was said in the marketplace and elsewhere that the Yank was drinking himself to death, that in fact Kane lay drunk most every day and night. Gabriel hardened his heart to the stories. If the young fool was indeed intent on killing himself with the drink, then let him have at it.

  He was resolved not to feel anything for the boy, not to care even a little about what happened to him. Kane had dug his own hole; let him lie in it.

  For a time he had almost succeeded. What man could not harden his heart, after all, if he set his head to doing so?

  But it seemed the Spirit had a different idea. At first the nudging was gentle, more a whisper. But when he remained obdurate, the holy whisper became a shout; in the dead of night, at the break of day, when he worked, when he walked, he felt the urging upon his heart until he could no longer ignore what his God would apparently have him to do.

  And so he had gone to the city. He had gone grudgingly at first, on the pretense of tending to the boy’s wound, which was, in fact, festering badly and in desperate need of attention. Brady was already far more ill than he would have been had he had proper medical care on an ongoing basis. That fact alone had pricked Gabriel’s conscience rather sharply.

  The rumors about Kane’s drinking had not been exaggerated. Each time Gabriel stopped by, he found the American in his cups. It soon became clear that the lad was never sober. His physical condition had deteriorated badly. He had lost a great deal of weight in a very short time, and his skin was tinged with the unhealthy, puffy appearance of the malnourished drunkard.

  At first he fought Gabriel, trying to ward him off with a volley of abusive language and self-pitying protests. But finally, seeing that Gabriel would not be turned away, he took to whining about his pain, his wastrel ways, his brother’s deception—all the while fueling a poisonous, self-centered hatred.

  He seemed particularly fond of insisting that he was hopeless. Forsaken. Lost.

  “No man is truly lost unless he chooses to be,” Gabriel would counter.

  Kane’s reaction was to turn suddenly hostile, even angry.

  Late one afternoon, Gabriel entered the flat—never locked—and knew an instant of alarm when he thought the boy had died. Sprawled across the bed, clad only in his underclothing, Kane gave no indication that he still breathed.

  When Gabriel tried to rouse him, there was no response whatsoever, although by now he knew the lad was still alive. He glanced around the cluttered bedroom and saw several whiskey bottles scattered about, all empty. At first, he was merely disgusted, then angry. He shook Kane hard, not really caring if he hurt him. At last, however, he realized that this was no ordinary drunken sleep: Brady Kane was unconscious.

  He flew into action, tugging him over to the pump and splashing cold water over his head. Other than a slight moan, there was still no response.

  Gabriel charged out of the flat, taking the steps two at a time, frightening Meg Hannafin, the landlady, nearly out of her wits when he charged into her front room, demanding, “Hot tea or coffee at once!”

  For almost two hours he forced strong tea down Brady’s throat, doused him with cold water, chafed his arms and legs to get his blood moving, and walked him back and forth through the flat until finally he roused him out of his stupor. Kane awoke in a foul temper and sick with a thunderous headache—but for all that, he was alive.

  The next day, Gabriel hired Murtagh Molloy to move in with Kane temporarily. The lad’s indignant shouts of protest had bounced off the buildings in Galway City for two days. He stopped raving only because he finally lost his voice.

  Big Murt, as he was called, was even larger than Gabriel. Molloy was, in fact, huge, a veritable colossus who never failed to make Gabriel think of a rampaging Norseman. But the man fell into the role of both warden and steward with surprising ease. Of course, considering what he was paying him, Gabriel thought Molloy should perhaps do the wash and feed the geese as part of the bargain.

  First thing, the two of them set about clearing every bottle of the drink out of the flat. Within the hour, they had the place as whiskey-free as a nun’s prayer closet. And dry it remained. They also took care to remove the young American’s clothing, all but his night wear, as well as his room key.

  Gabriel put out the word that any man selling the Yank whiskey would answer to both himself and Big Murt. At the same time.

  It took nearly three weeks. Kane shouted, he cursed, he pounded the walls until they shook; other times, he cried and took on like a motherless babe. But at last he was sober and reasonably stable.

  And with a little help from Big Murt and Gabriel, he had remained so.

  But it was time now for the lad to make it on his own, and Gabriel could not help but be concerned for what might happen.

  He had gone to Kane’s flat again this afternoon with the thought of trying to talk some common sense into that thick head and perhaps even convince him to go back home to his brother.

  He found the lad at the desk, head in his hands, staring at what appeared to be a fairly lengthy letter spread out in front of him. Kane looked up when Gabriel entered,
but only for an instant before turning back to the vellum sheets on top of the desk.

  Gabriel looked at Murtaugh and jerked his head toward the door. The big man gave a nod and stepped outside.

  Gabriel waited, and finally, after a long enough time to make the silence awkward if not downright rude, Kane acknowledged his presence. “Making our daily rounds to check on the prisoner, are we?”

  Gabriel ignored the jibe. Some days the lad took refuge in sarcasm. Other days he was almost civil. “Good day to you, too, young sir,” he said, going to sit down, uninvited, on the only other chair in the room, a lumpy affair by the window.

  Once seated, he studied Kane and saw with some concern that the American’s eyes were red rimmed, his countenance patently haggard. More troubling still was the noticeable trembling of his hands.

  “Not bad news, I hope?” Gabriel ventured, inclining his head to the letter at Kane’s fingertips.

  The lad’s smile was bitter. “Oh, indeed not! It seems that for reasons of his own, my esteemed big brother has finally decided to tell me the charming story of my ever-so-humble beginnings.”

  His words fairly dripped acid, but Gabriel could hear the pain behind the anger.

  “I see.”

  Kane’s eyes were slightly wild as he continued in the same cutting tone. “Yes, apparently Jack’s had a recent attack of conscience—a surprise, that, since I was unaware that he even possessed such a burdensome thing—and decided to come clean with the whole ugly truth. I can scarcely wait to write back and tell him that you stole his thunder.”

  Gabriel remained silent. He found himself hurting for the young American. Why, he wondered, had the brother waited until now? How much better it would have been to tell the lad face-to-face, not in a letter when they were an ocean apart.

  “He kept the secret for my own good, of course,” Kane said, his voice even harder now. “You have to understand, Gabriel, that my brother is always doing something for my own good. Jack always knows best. About everything.”

  “Well—at least he has told you the truth, finally,” Gabriel said, knowing the words to be rather lame. Given the young American’s state of mind, he was hesitant to ask the next question but wanted to know. “And…does he mention the Sheridan girl? Did she arrive safely, then?”

  As he watched, Brady Kane seemed to shudder. When he spoke, his voice had dropped considerably. “She had a difficult time of it, apparently. But she’s all right now.” He passed a hand down the side of his face. “Jack knows everything,” he said. “About me and Terese. About the lie. He knows the baby is mine.”

  Gabriel frowned. “What lie is that?” What sort of a story had the young fool concocted, he wondered?

  Brady looked at him, seemed about to answer, then apparently thought better of it. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about Jack,” he said firmly. “Or Terese. And I especially do not want to talk about my illustrious pedigree, if you don’t mind! Whether you realize it or not, it’s no easy thing to find out that not only was your father not the man you believed him to be, but worse yet, he was an Englishman. And a rapist to boot.”

  Gabriel shrugged. “There are good Englishmen and bad. The same could be said of the Irish. But in truth I know a little of what you mean, being a foundling myself.”

  Kane turned toward him, his eyes widening in surprise. “You?”

  “Aye. I never knew the identity of my natural parents. I was set out in a basket at the door to Lynch’s Castle on a summer’s night. Fortunately for me, I was taken in and adopted by an aging couple who treated me as their own.” He looked at the troubled young man across from him, studying him for a moment. “Is your brother a bad man, then?”

  Kane glanced away, then shook his head. “No, not a bad man. Just—a stiff-necked one.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m sure he thought he was doing right by you, lad. Don’t be too hard on him.”

  Gabriel stirred himself back to the reason he had come. “So, now—how are you feeling, lad?” Gabriel asked.

  Brady scowled at him. “Do me a favor, would you, Gabriel? Stop being so blasted nice to me! I know you hate my guts, so stop pretending you don’t! What has all this been about, anyway? A matter of your Christian duty?”

  “In the first place, Brady Kane, I don’t hate you at all,” Gabriel said mildly. “ ’Tis only you, hating yourself, that would seem to be the problem. And as for my Christian duty, aye, that’s a part of it, no doubt, but not the whole.”

  Kane curled his lip. “No preaching today, Gabriel. I’m not up for it.”

  Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps you’d rather talk about what you plan to do next. Will you be going back to the States?”

  Brady laughed—an ugly sound. “I haven’t the faintest notion what I’m going to do next, but I’m most assuredly not going back to the States. I don’t know that I ever will. Jack made one thing perfectly clear, however.”

  He feigned a stern frown and a harsh tone that Gabriel assumed was meant as mimicry of his brother. “I will earn my own keep from this time forth. From now on, there will be no monthly wage unless I earn it.”

  “That would seem fair enough,” Gabriel replied. “ ’Tis how it is with most men, after all.”

  “Yes, well, in that event, perhaps I can convince you to give me back my clothes and my wallet,” Kane shot back sarcastically. “I can hardly go about the business of earning my own keep until then.”

  Gabriel studied him. The face, a handsome one when it was not contorted in anger or bitterness, was leaner than it had been when they’d first met. And there had been lines added, he noticed now, lines that gave at least the appearance of maturity. The lad no longer looked like a boy—which indeed he wasn’t—but a man. A man who had lived hard and perhaps foolishly, but a man all the same.

  “I did what I did to save your life, you know. There was no meanness in it,” Gabriel said, hoping it was the truth.

  To his surprise, Kane gave him no argument. Instead, he sat quietly, regarding Gabriel with a curious expression. “And perhaps you did save my life. Even I know I would have destroyed myself if I’d kept to the same road. But if you don’t mind my asking, man, why did you do it? Why did you bother?”

  “I thought you were worth saving,” Gabriel said simply. “As did the Lord, I’m sure.”

  “I said no sermons, Gabriel.” Kane stopped, glancing away for a moment. When he turned back, his expression had cleared some. The anger and bitterness were no longer evident. In their place was a look that might have been genuine curiosity. “You’ve gone out of your way to help me, and you took a great deal of abuse from me in the process. Yet you didn’t have to do anything for me. So why did you?”

  Why, indeed? Gabriel wondered. He had asked himself the same question many times. With no real answer, except for one.

  “I merely saved your hide, boy, to buy you time for the Lord to save your soul.”

  “Am I supposed to understand that?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “It would be to your benefit to try, I expect.”

  Brady waved a hand as if to dismiss the subject. “No more talk of saving me, Gabriel. We both know I’m hopeless.”

  “I know nothing of the kind. ’Tis as I told you, no man is hopeless unless he chooses to be.”

  “Better stop it, Gabriel,” Kane said with a sly look. “Your harping at me only makes me thirsty for a drink.”

  “Far better that it make you thirsty for a cup of God’s grace.”

  Kane looked at him. “You told me yourself that you’re a doctor, but I declare, Gabriel, you do sound a whole lot more like a priest.”

  Gabriel smiled a little. “ ’Tis true that I’m a doctor. But I am no priest.”

  Brady studied him with a quizzical expression. “You really are a doctor, then? But you have no practice.”

  Gabriel gave a shrug. “My practice is the Claddagh. I care for many people there. Whoever needs me. I simply do not refer to myself as a physician. ’T
is not a title that gives worth to a man, only the good he does.”

  “Did you ever have a practice?”

  “I was a doctor on the mission field for a time. I made the choice not to return.”

  “Because of Roweena.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

  “Oh, come on, man! You’re in love with her, and don’t deny it! But why did you feel it necessary to give up your career?”

  Gabriel hesitated, then saw no reason to answer. “It was a choice I made. Roweena was but a child then, and she needed a guardian. She had lost everyone in her world, you see. I could not take a frightened child to the mission field, and I could not bring myself to leave her behind. She had no one. So I stayed.”

  Gabriel got to his feet. “I should be going. But there is something I would ask you first. ’Tis one of the reasons I came.” He paused. “I thought perhaps you might want to join us for Christmas dinner tomorrow.”

  40

  WISE MEN AND KINGS

  The Lord has sought out a man after his own heart.

  1 SAMUEL 13:14, NLT

  From the look of utter astonishment on Brady Kane’s face, Gabriel might just as well have asked him to charge into a sea of fire blindfolded.

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “I am entirely serious,” Gabriel assured him. “I’ll admit that I’m speaking on impulse, without asking Roweena first. But I know her well enough to know she will not mind. To the contrary, she will probably be pleased. She has been fretful for some time now about the state of your health and your heart. And in case you’ve wondered, she bears you no ill will for what you did.”

  It was true. They had talked, the two of them, and he had not been surprised to realize that Roweena’s only thought for the American was one of concern for him—and even a kind of sadness that he would stoop to such dishonorable behavior.