The Promise

by Amanda McIntyre

  "So, what is on your agenda today, my dear?" her father asked, his gentle brown eyes twinkling over his spectacles.

  The older woman hesitated at the other side of the swinging door to the kitchen. Saran knew she was listening. They both wondered how her father would react to Saran’s suggestion.

  "I thought perhaps I would ask Estelle and Thomas to assist me in decorating the house for the holidays." She waited for the booming "no" that for the past three years had followed that statement. Since her mother passed away, her father had defied anything regarding celebration of the festive holiday. Saran had learned to broach the idea with the caution of approaching an angry dog.

  A deep sigh was her only response as he turned the next page of the morning paper.

  "They’re expecting more immigrants in the next few months."

  Had he completely ignored what she was saying? Perhaps that was just as well--with less resistance came the hope that he’d turned a corner in his grief.

  "I thought perhaps I would take Thomas with me to find a tree."

  "Estelle, is there more coffee?" her father shouted.

  Estelle bustled through the swinging wooden door, giving Saran a glance as if to ask if her plans were going over well.

  Saran frowned and shrugged her shoulders. She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin, and attempted to keep things light. "So, what are your plans, Father?" Saran gave Estelle a quiet smile.

  "I need to make a visit with my associates at the paper. I’ve heard rumblings of a merger in the works."

  "I’ll need the carriage for a short time." She stood, adjusting her long tartan plaid skirt, a gift from her mother.

  "Very well. I can walk. Mind you, take Thomas. There are a great many new faces out there on the streets."

  “Thank you, Father. I will." She bent down and softly kissed his forehead. "We’ll see you around suppertime."

  A low hrrumpf was his response.

  Joy skated through her heart like a child with the first snowfall. Perhaps this year, Christmas would be different. Saran felt sure that Providence was smiling down upon them.

  ***

  Brady wolfed down more than a dozen hotcakes and as many slices of crisp bacon before he realized that he’d barely come up for air. He glanced up, sheepishly aware of the steady gaze of his wife’s uncle. "Forgive my rudeness. I guess I had no idea how hungry I was."

  Sadness flitted though the man’s eyes. "No need to apologize, lad. The journey was a long one for you and your boy." He sipped from his coffee cup. "Still, if you are going to make a life here for yourself and Daniel, you’ll have to work. And sometimes, starting out, the work isn’t always pleasant. But if everything was easy then we wouldn’t have men of character, would we?" He narrowed his gaze. "Are you willing to work hard, Brady?"

  Brady wiped his hands on the cloth napkin tucked into the neck of his shirt. "Aye, sir. It is not my intent to overstay our welcome. We’re much obliged for your kindness." Brady folded his hands in his lap as the cook removed the table service. His hand shot out in time to grab his coffee cup to prevent her from taking it.

  "Mary Margaret indicated that you were a hard worker. I can see that she was telling the truth, and so I will do all I can to help you achieve your goals.”

  Uncle Stephen paused to take another sip of coffee and wrote down a name on a small piece of paper. He handed it to Brady. "Go to the wharf. There’s a man there, name’s Henschel. Runs a fish market, and he’s looking for hard workers."

  Brady accepted the paper, glad that he was at least able to read. His Da had seen to that. Soon, he’d need to see to it that Daniel was enrolled in a proper school.

  "There’s one more thing, Brady.”

  The hesitation in the air caused Brady to look at Uncle Stephen. He was a portly man, shorter than Brady by a good four inches. He wore gentlemen’s clothing and his gray hair grew in billowy tufts over his ears.

  "I’ve only enough room and resources for you and the boy until after the New Year.”

  Brady’s world spiraled with fantastic speed as he focused on Uncle Stephen’s words. "That’s less than three months, sir." Brady cleared his throat, hoping to quell the nausea ruining the sumptuous meal in his belly.

  Uncle Stephen nodded. "Yes, I know. Unfortunately, I have a budget and a household to run, and two more mouths to feed does not fit for very long within them.”

  “But I’d be willing to help out.”

  He held up his hand. “Yes, I’m sure you would. But surely you want a home for you and your energetic son.”

  It occurred to Brady that he’d met no wife, seen no family. There were no pictures on the mantel. This had only ever been a temporary welcome, at best. Whatever ties Brady had to the idea of family ended with the rigid screech of Uncle Stephen’s chair across the pine floor. The conversation was finished. He had less than three months to save for a place for him and Daniel. The realization made him queasy, but even more determined to get them out from under Uncle Stephen’s roof as soon as possible. He would not accept any man’s charity as long as he could work with his two hands.

  "Uh…well, we’ll be out from underfoot as soon as we can, sir. Thank you." Brady stood, unable to choke down any more of the man’s coffee.

  In the shadow of the kitchen door, ten-year-old Daniel McCormick had heard every word between his Da and Uncle Stephen. His heart ached for his Da and this news right before Christmas, too. The old buzzard--he’d show him. Surely there were good jobs in America that a small boy could do.

  He turned and ran square into the ample bosom of the cook. "Pardon ma’am, if you’ll not be needin’ me anymore, I’ve an errand to attend to."

  Surprised, the cook studied him a moment before dismissing him readily.

  Daniel gave her his most charming smile and headed out the back door, grabbing his hat and coat on the way.

  Chapter Three

  Brady slung the large gutted mackerel over his shoulder, turning his face from the stench as he walked past the rows of butcher-block tables. The pay was menial, the labor unpleasant and hard, but it offered a paycheck, and the beginning of security. "McCormick, we've another shipment coming in on the four o'clock—dock eight. Take Randolph and go get it. The wagon's outside," the dock supervisor yelled across the large open warehouse, his instructions punctuated with the thump of knives scraping across the wood.

  Brady nodded, but wondered why, as the new man, he would be sent out on such a task. Then again, it gave him a chance to prove himself in many areas. He hoped that this Randolph fellow knew his way around. He wiped the blood from his hands to the heavy canvas apron he wore in a futile attempt to remove the repulsive odor. A young man with a face making him appear not much older than Daniel stepped to Brady’s side, keeping up with his stride toward the door.

  "Name's Randolph Nickelby." His London accent was thick and he stuck out his fair-skinned hand in greeting.

  "Brady McCormick."

  "Been in America long?"

  Brady glanced sideways at the young man. "Long enough to know I don't like gutting fish here anymore than I did back home."

  "America is your home now, eh?"

  Brady raised an imperious brow. "Then it’s best I get used to the smell of fish, is that what you're getting at?"

  The man barely cleared the height of Brady’s shoulder.

  Randolph laughed. "Well, I hear there's gold in California and better money from the copper mines."

  Brady shook his head. He'd seen what mining had done to friends and relatives back in Ireland—their cold stone grave markers served as a constant reminder.

  Brady grabbed the clapboard side of the wagon, climbing into the seat. He wiped his hands once again before taking up the worn leather reins.

  "When it comes down to choices, boy, fish will keep you alive longer."

  ***

  Dark and cloudless, the sky hung like a drab cloak overhead. Saran pressed her hands farther into her muff, unscathed by winter’
s futile attempt to mar her spirit. Beside her, Thomas, their household servant, sat stern and straight. He’d come to their family as a teen and stayed on after his parents died. Were Saran made of lesser stuff, between Thomas’s lack of enthusiasm and the dank weather, this errand would have been ruled a disaster already. As though her will was linked by some magical holiday spirit, fat snowflakes began to fall, rekindling her goal to make this a wonderful Christmas for her father. Saran turned her face to the heavens and smiled in silent thanksgiving. "Look there, Thomas--over near the docks. It appears to be a new shipment of trees." She did not bother to mask the child-like excitement in her voice. Everything good that she remembered about past Christmases welled inside her. The radiance of her mother’s face when she returned home with just the right tree, the aroma of fresh evergreen boughs, and the array of spicy ginger, oranges, and nutmeg that permeated the inside of the house. When she grew old enough, Saran had been permitted, with careful guidance, to light the many candles her mother so loved to decorate with at Christmas.

  Thomas leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder, signaling him to pull alongside the curb. With Thomas offering assistance, Saran stepped onto the carriage stone and then to the ground, dusting the remnant of snow from her skirt. She looked at the crowded street, bustling with shoppers in their holiday finery. Some carried enormous hatboxes, surely carrying special holiday creations that would be worn only to Christmas church services, while others shuffled brightly beribboned boxes to their servants. Saran hoped, no matter her age, to never lose the spirit of Christmas. Rejuvenated by the holiday spectacle around them, she sighed with renewed determination and looked at Thomas. "We will find the most perfect Christmas tree today, Thomas. I intend for this holiday to be different. I want to bring the joy of Christmas back into our house. It is time, don’t you agree?”

  Thomas blinked as though none of the hustling crowd affected him in the least. “Indeed, miss,” he answered, his expression droll.

  Saran’s skirt beneath her cape swirled clouds of fresh snow into the air as she hurried to where the trees were being unloaded from the dock. The pungent scent of pine overwhelmed her, evoking memories when she and her mother would pick out the Christmas tree. She thought of seeing the unbridled joy on her father’s face when she came through the door tonight with a magnificent tree in tow.

  "Good afternoon, Miss Reichardt."

  The youthful voice behind her startled Saran. She turned and saw a miniature replica of Brady McCormick grinning up at her.

  "Miss Reichardt does not wish to be bothered, young man. Now run along and beg on another corner." Thomas shooed his hand at the boy.

  "Begging? Beg pardon, sir. I dinna think so. I’m strong enough to work for an honest day’s wages, I am." He straightened his shoulders, puffing himself at least another half inch taller.

  Saran smiled at the boy and held her hand up to Thomas. "Young Master McCormick and I are old friends, Thomas. Why don’t you cross over and help yourself to some hot cider? I’d like to ask Master McCormick his thoughts on trees."

  "But, ma’am."

  "Please, Thomas. We won’t be long."

  "Very good, ma’am." And with that he left.

  "Now, Master McCormick." She placed her hand on the small boy’s shoulder.

  "Aw, Miss, you can call me Daniel. I’m not used to bein’ called like I was my Da."

  His contagious grin was every bit as charming as his father’s. Saran wondered, in fact, just where his father was. "Are you here with your father, Daniel?"

  The boy’s smile faded briefly and he quickly averted his gaze from hers. "No, he’s…not here at the moment."

  Something about the boy’s hesitation gave Saran cause for concern. Still, she did not want to appear gruff and scare off the lad.

  "Well, perhaps you can show me what business skills you possess, Daniel." She leaned down to meet his eager gaze. "You see, it’s been a while since I’ve picked out a tree, and I’m not at all sure I remember what to look for."

  His grin returned, brighter than before, and with it whatever gloom hanging over his head dissipated.

  "My Da says you want to look for supple branches. They bend, but they won’t break. He used to take me out in the woods, and we would chop down our own tree."

  Saran was truly impressed with the child’s knowledge and more intrigued at finding out more about the relationship between father and son. She wondered if they lived nearby and if Daniel’s father knew he was out in the streets. Perhaps it was best if she kept her eye on him until he returned. "Show me what you mean, Daniel." She held out her hand and waited a moment before he shyly took it. Upon seeing her smile, he led her to a fat grouping of trees.

  ***

  Brady enjoyed the brisk winter air. It reminded him of the cold season in Ireland. The sharp bite of the wind skating off the water could clear a man’s senses quicker than most anything.

  "So, are you planning Christmas with your family, McCormick?" Randolph tugged a piece of dried jerky between his teeth as he stared ahead at the bustle of unloading going on at the wharf.

  "It’s me and my boy now." Brady wasn’t much for conversation. Mary Margaret had told him once that he was akin to a tree stump in that respect. Still, she had a way of finding the right topic to get him talking. Quite often, it wasn’t until he noticed her wry smile that he realized she’d managed to get him talking again. How he missed the pleasant companionship he’d felt with her in simple conversation.

  "Watch out for the carriage, McCormick!"

  Brady swerved, barely missing a collision with the back of a stately carriage stopped near the dock laden with freshly imported trees. The heady scent of pine filled the air, and he breathed deep simply to clear his lungs of the stench of fish. Brady glanced down as he passed the carriage and spied a white muff lying in the seat. His mind clicked back to the image of the beautiful woman he’d met on the docks. He glanced over his shoulder, scanning the heads of the shoppers. As if summoned by his secret thoughts, Saran Reichardt’s face appeared above a row of trees. Brady was caught between keen interest and a greater fear that she might recognize him in his bloody garb. The melodic tinkle of her laughter wafting on the chilly air sent a direct message to his self-esteem. "This woman is nowhere in the same class as you, boyo, and shame on you for even thinking about your loneliness," he muttered to himself. He cast a quick parting glance at the woman, seeing her tip her head as though listening to someone. Brady not only felt the guilt of looking at another woman, but of choosing one so obviously taken by whomever she was with.

  "You care for a piece of jerky?" Randolph pulled a hunk from his tattered flannel shirt and held it out to him.

  Brady eyed the offering and gave the ruddy-cheeked man a smile. "Thanks just the same. I’ve not much of an appetite just now.”

  ***

  "Now, this one looks about right, don’t you think, Daniel?" The dockworker held the tree upright as she surveyed its height and width, trying to imagine it in the front bay window.

  "Aye, Miss Reichardt. ‘Tis a fine tree." He regarded the tree with absolute seriousness.

  She smiled. "Perhaps we should discuss it over a cup of cocoa?"

  Daniel’s eyes lit up, and he licked his lips.

  "There is a vendor just across the street. Let’s have them hold it for us while we have something warm." Saran turned to the man. "Is it possible for you to hold this for us while my friend and I have a cup of cocoa?"

  "Certainly, miss." The scruffy dockworker tipped his hat. "We’ll just lay it—"

  "No, no. I mean, we would like you to hold it while we look at it from across the street, so we can better see what it might look like from the window of the house."

  "Pardon?" The puzzled worker stared at her and then glanced at the boy. "Ah, I understand how it is, miss. I’ll hold it up nice and straight for ya, so you and your son can make a proper choice."

  "But, I’m not—"

  Saran smiled and, grabbing Da
niel’s hand, hustled him away from the man.

  "He thought I was your son,” Daniel called. She hurried him toward the street. Carriages and cargo wagons plodded by in succession, leaving them to wait at the road until a gap opened for them to run through.

  "Hurry, Daniel, stay close to me." Saran held the boy’s hand tightly until they arrived safely on the other side.

  "Did you hear what I said? He thought you were my mother."

  Saran took a deep breath. "Well, but you aren’t now, are you? You’re simply giving me your assistance with this most critical purchase, isn’t that so?"

  The boy puffed small frosty breaths as he came to her side. She still held his hand, somehow needing to protect him and to preserve that innocence for as long as she could. She’d seen the metamorphosis too often at an early age where she used to teach in the new communities springing up in the South. Many young boys were used on the farms, working alongside their fathers in lieu of an education. When her mother died, it was then she made the decision to return to New York, though her father as of late had been needling her to return to her teaching duties.

  They huddled together under the awning of the corner store, sipping hot chocolate from tin cups as they eyed the dutiful clerk across the street. For the last fifteen minutes, he’d stood straight as a soldier at attention, the tree at his side, with the exception of a scant turn to the right to appease Saran.

  "I think this one is definitely the right choice, Daniel. Perhaps you might help old Thomas with carrying the tree." She motioned for Thomas to come get the boy. "And help him harness the tree to the carriage while I finish my drink."

  "Aye, m a’am." And before she could stop him, he skirted across the street to meet up with Thomas.

  Saran grinned as she watched the young boy talking to Thomas. It was obvious that he was accustomed to being around adults, as he carried on conversation well with them. On the other hand, Thomas had never married nor been around children very much, and it was time he learned. She thanked the vendor and started across the frozen dirt road, making a beeline for the small clapboard hut used as an office for tree sales. As she counted out her change she heard Daniel’s name thunder over the crowd. Her surprised gaze met that of the sales clerk, and she turned and ran toward where she’d left Daniel. Swiftly dodging other trees being hoisted onto the backs of other clerks, she missed seeing a rope dangling from a departing tree. Saran’s right foot caught the rope and she tripped, finding herself flying midair toward a pile of fragrant pine trees. She closed her eyes, preparing for the inevitable, but a sudden jerk stopped her breath as two great arms caught her around the waist. The fresh, wintry scent of pine mingled with an odd scent of gutted fish.