Dawn of the Golden Promise (64 page)

In their bedroom, Nora pinned up the sleeve of Evan's jacket while he sat beside her on the bed. “Isn't it lovely of Sara and her family to have all of us for Christmas Eve? And planning a late supper, so we could have our worship and treats with the boys before we go.”

“Sara could give almost anyone we know lessons in thoughtfulness,” Evan said, smiling. “Certainly, this should b-be a special Christmas for all of us.”

Nora stood, waiting to help him with the jacket. “Aye,” she said as he rose from the bed and slipped it on, “and let us pray that it will be special indeed.”

She moved behind him to check the back of his collar. “Next year,” she said after a long sigh, “Daniel John will be away at university, thanks to Aunt Winnie and Mr. Farmington.” She gripped his shoulders. “Wasn't it grand of them to offer their support for his tuition?”

Evan nodded. “Aunt Winifred can be very persuasive, in case you hadn't noticed. And the money from the music will help, too.”

“Daniel John will realize his dream at last,” Nora sighed. “A great gift from God—and the Farmingtons. A great gift.” She paused, and her voice turned wistful. “But he will be gone, Evan. And Morgan and his family will go back to Ireland. Who knows how we may be scattered before another Christmas?”

She lifted a hand to smooth his lapels, but Evan caught it. “I am quite certain that Daniel will come home for Christmas, darling. And perhaps one day soon, we m-might even make a trip to Ireland, to visit the Fitzgeralds. Who can say?”

Nora raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And shall we be taking all our little boys with us, then, when we make this journey back to Ireland?”

Evan chuckled. “Only if we c-can afford to hire an entire staff of help for the duration.” He studied her for a moment. “Wouldn't you like to go b-back at some time, Nora? To see your home again?”

She had thought about it, of course. “I expect I would, just to visit. Ireland is, after all, my home.” She paused, considering. “But my life here is so full—I am content, Evan.”

Nora smiled at him. “There now. And don't you look positively grand in your new coat, Mr. Whittaker?” she teased, kissing him on the cheek.

“Do I?” He stole a glance at himself in the vanity mirror, then turned toward her. “Well, if I m-may say so, you look extraordinarily lovely yourself tonight, Mrs. Whittaker.”

“It must be my new brooch.” Nora touched the small garnet stone, set in the shape of a heart, at her throat. “Though I still think it's much too extravagant, Evan.”

“Nonsense. Why, I c-can scarcely see it unless I'm nose-to-nose with you,” he said, pulling her close and smiling into her eyes. After a moment he eased her away from him, just enough to study her face. “Tell m-me something, darling. Do you feel even half as well as you look tonight? I declare, you're actually glowing!”

“I
do
feel well, Evan, and that's the truth. Which reminds me, I have some news from the tests Dr. Mandel ran earlier in the week. He stopped by for a moment while you were with the boys this afternoon.”

A stricken look crossed Evan's face, and Nora hurried to reassure him. “
Good
news, Evan, not bad! My, how you do fret! Dr. Mandel seems quite pleased with my progress. He thinks I'm doing very nicely. He said I can be up and about for longer periods of time now. He's even decreasing the medication a bit.”

“Oh, Nora, that's splendid! Why—that's the b-best Christmas g-gift I could possibly imagine.”

Nora laughed at his obvious relief. The man did take on over her.

And wasn't she blessed that he did?

Nora raised her face to his, locking her hands behind his neck. “And you, Evan Whittaker,” she said softly, “you are my own treasure, my special gift from God.” She paused, an unexpected heaviness stealing over her.

Ever sensitive to her feelings, Evan searched her eyes. “What is it? What's wrong?”

Nora shook her head. “There's nothing wrong. I was just…wishing that God would share some of the healing He's given me with Morgan as well. The last time we saw him—he was trying to be so cheerful, but underneath the pretense, he seemed worried.”

Evan nodded. “Who
wouldn't
be anxious, after going through so m-much with not even the slightest hint of change? But we mustn't give up, Nora. Morgan hasn't. He is alive and getting stronger. Perhaps that is God's answer to our prayers.”

“Yes,” Nora said softly. She knew Evan was right. But she could not help but wish that God had answered in a more tangible way.

At the last minute before going downstairs, Sara stood, her back to Michael, as he fastened the clasp of her mother's emerald necklace.

His hands settled lightly on her shoulders for a moment, and Sara smiled to herself, imagining his response to the Christmas gift she was about to give him. She shivered when he pressed his lips to the back of her neck, then turned her around to look at her.

He drew in a long breath, his dark eyes glinting. “Lovely,” he said softly. “I declare, Sara
a gra
, you are positively radiant tonight. You make even your mother's emeralds look dull.”

Sara smiled at him, thinking, as she always did, that the man was simply too handsome.

“You said you had something to tell me,” she reminded him. She was increasingly anxious to give him his gift, but she didn't want to take away from whatever news he had been keeping.

“Did I?” He looked at her blankly.

“Michael—don't tease! We have to go down in a minute. Tell me now!”

His hands circled her waist. “Actually, I want to ask you something, rather than tell you.”

“Don't play coy with me, Michael Burke. Tell me at once!”

His expression gradually sobered. “Very well, then,” he said, searching her eyes. “I've been wondering how you would feel if I were to leave the force.”

Whatever Sara had expected to hear, it wasn't this. “Leave the force? Michael, are you serious?”

He nodded. “I believe I am, yes. Simon Dabney has approached me again, about the alderman slot. I'm tempted to make a try for it, Sara.”

She studied him. “You would actually leave the police department? Leave your men, your work? It's been a part of your life for so long.”

“Perhaps too long,” he said, letting out a long breath. “I'm growing tired of the violence, the corruption—and the long hours. I know how you worry about me—and you
do
worry, don't think I haven't noticed. In truth, I sometimes worry about myself. Being a cop can make you—hard,” he said. “Eventually, it can even callous your soul. I don't want that to happen to me.”

Sara studied him frankly, with some concern. “Michael, I won't deny that I'd be relieved. Even though I know you're quite wonderful at what you do, you're right: I do worry about you. But—are you sure? Are you sure you
can
leave, and still be happy?”

His hands tightened on her waist. “I won't know that until I try, now will I? Besides,” he said, his face drawing into a somewhat peevish expression, “there is the fact that I'm not getting any younger. I'll soon be too old to go chasing after hooligans, you know. I'd like to get out before I'm too old and used up to be good for anything else.”

Sara's eyes went over his handsome face—still decidedly youthful for a man who groused about his age as much as Michael did—and she couldn't stop a faint smile.

“Well? What do you think?”

“I think,” she said deliberately, “that a man who is soon to become a new father is anything but old and used up.”

Michael's entire face went slack. He looked positively ashen as he gaped at her. “I'm not!” he blurted out.

“Oh, but you are, darling,” Sara said, laughing at his astonishment. “Really, you are.”

His eyes glistened, and his voice went soft. “You are quite certain?”

“Beyond any doubt.” She paused. “That's my Christmas gift to you, Michael.”

He made a strangling sound, and then he began to laugh. He swept Sara off her feet and swung her around and around, until she warned him she would surely faint.

As if suddenly remembering her condition, Michael set her gently to her feet and clasped both her hands in his. “Sara…ah, Sara…what a gift you are to me! And what a gift you have given me this night! I cannot wait to tell everyone!”

“Michael!” Sara felt a wave of color creep up her face. “You can't tell
anyone.
Not in public. It simply isn't done.”

He reared back. “You can't mean you expect me to keep silent about such a thing? I will not! I
cannot
! I will tell everyone in the house, and I will tell them tonight!” He beamed at Sara. “And then I will go out into the street and tell the neighborhood. And the city—perhaps I will tell the entire city. What do you think of that, Sara
a gra
?”

“I think you are mad,” Sara answered, laughing in spite of herself at his boyish excitement.

He kissed her soundly on the forehead, then each cheek, then the tip of her nose. “Indeed I am,” he agreed, his eyes glinting. “I am mad entirely. Mad about my wife, the mother of my child.”

His expression sobered as he set her slightly away from him so he could look at her. “Sara, promise you will help me to be a better father to our child than I ever was to Tierney.”

Sara stared at him. “Oh, Michael! You were a
good
father to Tierney! And one day he'll realize just how much you mean to him. He'll come home, Michael, you'll see. Tierney will come home again.”

Even as Sara spoke the words, she somehow knew that she was right, that Tierney
would
come home again. She believed in the unbroken circle of a family's love. She believed in the power of God to heal the wounds that even in the closest of families could cause division. And she believed in Tierney, for she had seen the love in his eyes for his father the day they parted.

Tierney would come home. And when he did, he would find his family waiting.

46

You are God's smile upon my life,
My soul's bright star, my joy…my wife.

MORGAN FITZGERALD (1850)

T
he late Christmas Eve supper had proved to be a splendid idea, everyone in attendance agreed.

Seated at the long dining table in the vast hall, each family member and friend seemed relaxed and aglow with the season's cheer. A profusion of evergreens, berries, and dried flowers sprayed seasonal colors about the room. Daniel Kavanagh's Christmas harp, which by now had become an annual tradition, rested proudly at the front of the hall, its frame decorated with colored ribbons, Christmas greens, and tinsel.

The food was lavish—baked hams and roasted turkeys, scalloped corn and candied sweet potatoes, oysters and dressing and an endless assortment of baked goods. A feast!

Gifts were abundant. Smiles were bright. Hearts were warm.

It was Christmas.