Kilpara (16 page)

She patted my hand and lay back against the
pillows.

We drew into Camden Station later in the day.
A porter quietly guided our group to a restaurant lounge where we
ate our evening meal and rested in comfort.

The hotel car on the New York Express was
every bit as comfortable as that of the Baltimore Express. Night
unfolded as we fell asleep to flashing countryside and the train
swaying on the tracks. We were awakened shortly before daylight by
short knocks on the door. Outside, a uniformed employee stood ready
to take our breakfast order.

“
What time will we arrive in New
York?” I asked.

“
Around eight o’clock,” he said.
“Everything’s on schedule.” He returned with trays of steaming
eggs, bread, fruit, and a pot of coffee. By the time we finished
eating, we were already seeing neat farmhouses close together as we
approached the outskirts of New York City.

Dr. Thompson had telegraphed ahead to a
colleague at the New York Hospital to meet us at the station when
we arrived. When we dismounted the train, a tall well-dressed man
in a dark overcoat rushed forward to greet us. He grasped Dr.
Thompson’s hand and shook it enthusiastically.

“
Good to see you, Adam,” he
said.

“
Thanks for coming, John,” Doctor
Thompson replied.

“
My pleasure. This must be the
patient.” The man bent toward Mother who was being guarded against
disembarking passengers by Seamus and Rengen on each side of her
wheelchair.

“
Yes,” Dr. Thompson said. He
introduced the man as John Endicott first to Mother, then to the
rest of us. Dr. Endicott’s intelligent brown eyes lingered
appreciatively on Trista Joyce.

Pulling his gaze away reluctantly, he spoke
kindly to Mother. “Let’s get you out of here, Mrs. O'Donovan. I
have an ambulance waiting outside. We’ll be at the hospital in no
time.”

We moved cautiously toward the station
entrance, avoiding people scurrying about us. As we settled into
the ambulance Dr. Endicott said, “I’ve arranged accommodations for
you in the visiting doctors’ quarters. It’s almost empty right now,
so it’ll be pleasant enough.”

“
Thanks, John,” Dr. Thompson
said.

“
It’s the least I can do.” Dr.
Endicott’s tone implied an enduring friendship between the two
men.

It began to rain lightly as the ambulance
driver cracked the whip and the horses pulled away from the
station. Very quickly the streets became wet and muddy and this
slowed traffic down, causing a jam. Confusion ensued as vehicles
pushed behind and around each other. Horses reared in confusion and
drivers cursed and swore and cracked whips. Dr. Endicott smiled
helplessly at us.

In moments, however, a squad of policemen
appeared out of nowhere yelling orders and blowing whistles. They
began moving vehicles out of the way, and upon seeing the
ambulance, made a path for us. Very quickly, we resumed our journey
to the hospital.

After driving through many city streets, we
turned into the circular driveway that was fronted by large spruce
trees. Sitting back about a hundred yards from the street stood the
three-story gray hospital building sided by two smaller buildings.
We pulled up in front of the main building and a nurse came out to
meet us with a wheelchair. After getting Mother safely secured in
her hospital room, Dr. Endicott escorted us to the visiting
doctors’ headquarters to freshen up. We rejoined him an hour later
for lunch in the large dining room. As we ate, I looked out the
window. All that was visible was the front lawn and the other
hospital buildings.

“
The river runs behind the main
building,” Dr. Endicott explained, noticing my curiosity. “And the
park, not far from here, has a view of the harbor.”

“
How far is the harbor?” I
asked.

“
Not far, fifteen minutes by
hansom—when there are no traffic jams.” He grinned at this
assumption.

“
We’ve been traveling in vehicles a
lot these past few days, a walk to the harbor sounds invigorating,”
I said. “Can you point me in the general direction?”

Dr. Endicott obliged. I thanked him, and as
both doctors rose to leave, Trista Joyce spoke up abruptly. “If you
have no objection, Dr. Thompson, I’m also feeling the effects of
travel and would like some walking exercise. If you can spare me
for a few hours, I’d like to join Mr. O’Donovan on his walk, if
he'll permit me.” She looked at me hopefully. I bowed my
acceptance.

“
Of course, Nurse Joyce,” Dr.
Thompson said. “You’ve been working very hard. The fresh air will
do you good.”

John Endicott looked disappointed.

Together, we left the hospital and walked
along crowded streets until we came to the park. The rain had
stopped and a warm mist hung in the air. We entered the park
passing young boys engaged in baseball practice. Others unsteadily
rode cycling machines along wet paths. Already the end of the
rainstorm had urged other walkers outside. They greeted us casually
as they strolled past. Before long, we came to the harbor road and
stopped momentarily to watch fishing boats come in from the bay. A
mixture of large and small boats stood moored along the
pier.

“
It’s so different seeing the
harbor from here,” Trista said. “Last time, I saw it was from the
waterway. Autumn had already begun. Leaves were turning glorious
colors, the way they do before trees shed them for winter.” She
stopped to smell blooming delphiniums. “Soon, it’ll be summer.
Where has the time gone?”

I had not been alone with Trista since our
first meeting the night I came home. She had been so timid then,
and fearful. Mother was her primary concern and there had been
little opportunity for private conversation. I had forgotten how
soft her voice was and how she moved sensuously when she walked. As
she looked at me now, her frank gaze let me know she was capable of
dealing with me firmly should I behave unseemly toward her. She
took her assignment very seriously. I noticed how tired she
looked.

A flower girl stood close to a park entrance
and, on impulse, I motioned her over and bought a hand bouquet.
Trista smiled when I gave her the small token of apology. No words
were necessary; she knew the gift was a gesture of an unspoken
truce between us. She held the flower close to her nose and inhaled
its scent.

Street vendors were staked out hawking their
wares on the pier when we arrived there. People bustled about in
all directions. Sailors in uniform hurried toward gangplanks of
large ships, some pausing briefly at shoe stands to get their boots
shined before reporting for duty. From behind a barrier, custom
officers checked foreigners as they disembarked from incoming
ships. The released immigrants were greeted by shabbily dressed
young men who rushed forward, offering their strong backs for a
price.

Finding the shipping office, I asked the man
in uniform where I might find Brazonhead. He looked in a book, and
then pointed to the livery where Brazonhead was stabled.

“
You’ll be sailin’ on The White
Lady,” the man said. “She’s anchored out yonder, close to the bay.
If you’d like to see her, I’ll take yer for a look.”

“
Yes, please,” Trista said,
undisguised longing in her voice.

We walked along the pier and the man pointed
to a big white ship anchored in the Hudson River.

“
There she be,” he said. “She’s a
beaut. One of the finest. Built in Liverpool she was, out of iron.
Should make the voyage in under four weeks if the weather’s good.
You’ll be sailin’ in three days’ time, soon as they load her cargo.
She’s got nice cabins for gentlefolk like yerselves.” He smiled
benevolently and then turned to stare at the ship again. “Yep, she
sure is one fine lady.” His eyes had a dreamy look and he smacked
his lips in satisfaction.

Brazonhead turned at the sound of my voice. He
was restless in his stall. I picked up a brush and began combing
his coat, talking to him the whole time.

“
You care a lot about your horse,
don’t you?” Trista said.

“
He’s a fine animal, a
thoroughbred,” I said. “Father worked long and hard to breed an
animal like him.”

“
What’ll you do with him in
Ireland?”

“
Give him to Aunt Sadie. He's quite
a runner.”

Trista laughed. “Your aunt’s no horsewoman.
She's a nun and a nurse.”

“
Nuns don't ride?” I asked,
wondering again if Dan had been hasty in his generosity.

“
Sure they do, but only horses that
are tied to carriages.”

“
Brazonhead’s a thoroughbred, meant
to show his strength and grace. He’ll never be hitched to a
carriage.”

“
I can see he's no common animal,”
she said. “St. Bridget's has adequate stables and Gully Joyce is an
expert groom and an ex-jockey. He'll see to it that your horse
receives the attention he deserves.”

I was relieved to hear this. It quelled the
rising apprehension that Dan’s rash decision to send Brazonhead to
Ireland had been a bad one. When he tied Brazonhead to the
carriage, I was so filled with misgivings about Mother’s departure
that I lacked the presence of mind to persuade him from making such
a gesture. If Aunt Sadie accepted my brother’s generosity, only to
have Brazonhead hitched to a carriage like some common steed, this
would be a cruel fate indeed. I made a mental note that I should
impress upon her what a fine animal he was and point out he was
bred for racing purposes; not for common use. I must make her
understand Dan’s sentiment that Brazonhead belonged with Father and
Mother in Ireland because he represented their life’s
struggle.

I looked up from combing Brazonhead at Trista
Joyce. She cocked her head to one side. “I wonder if you’ve ever
cared for a woman the way you care for that horse.”

I expected her words to accompany a challenge
in her eyes, but her look was naively curious. I returned to my
task not bothering to answer. She didn't press for a response, just
stood relaxed, arms rested on the wooden rail inhaling the scented
flower I had bought her.

When I finished brushing Brazonhead, he was
considerably calmer. “I’ll be back this evening. We’ll go for a
gallop then,” I assured him.

“
He doesn’t understand what you’re
saying,” Trista scoffed.

Brazonhead snorted. “You’re wrong,” I said.
“He knows exactly what I’m saying.”

Trista laughed and rolled her eyes
skyward.

Three days later, we stood on the pier again,
this time awaiting the signal to board The White Lady.

“
This place has hardly changed in
over thirty years,” Mother said. “The ships are bigger and made out
of iron instead of wood, that’s all.”

“
Aye,” Seamus agreed. “It hasn’t
changed, except there’s no half-dead Irish dropping on the
shores.”

A uniformed man came over and accompanied us
on board. Deckhands carried our luggage as Seamus and Rengen pushed
Mother in her wheelchair up the gangplank. On deck, Trista took
over and wheeled Mother to our cabins. These were located on the
upper deck and were more spacious than I expected. Mine was
equipped with a narrow bed, a lounging chair, a chest of drawers
beneath a small wardrobe, and a desk and chair for writing.
Everything was anchored to the floor. A small water closet was
located through an adjoining door.

Mother’s cabin was larger. It included a
detached compact kitchen and a large comfortable divan. An
adjoining door led to a shared water closet and beyond it was a
smaller cabin for Trista Joyce.

“
These accommodations are very
different from the ones we had on our voyage here,” Mother said,
looking around. The kitchen caught her eye. “The decks below were
overcrowded—we had no cooking facilities other than a shared fire
on deck that people fought over. I wish your father could see all
this.” The sadness in her voice tore at my heart.

When it came time to say goodbye to Dr.
Thompson and Seamus and Rengen, it was every bit as difficult as I
anticipated. I shook hands with Dr. Thompson and was pulled into a
bear hug by Rengen, who seemed unable to speak. I was about to
offer my hand to Seamus, but the little man threw his short arms
around me. “Say hello to the old sod for me,” he said, his voice
cracking with emotion.

“
I will,” I promised and then
remembered the letter I had written to Dan and Mark. The longer I
turned the conversation between Mother and Dr. Thompson over in my
mind, the more convinced I became that my brothers should know
Mother’s true motives for returning to Ireland. I finished the
letter by telling them we were praying for a safe journey to
Ireland. However, I didn’t disclose the conversation I had
overheard between Dr. Endicott and Dr. Thompson. They had been
having lunch in the hospital restaurant next to an open window and
were absorbed in discussing Mother’s case. They didn’t know I was
seated outside on a bench and could overhear every word.

“
Pray that Mrs. O’Donovan doesn’t
contract some infection on the voyage that hastens her disease,”
Dr. Endicott had confided. “Her family could better serve the
patient by placing her in a sanitorium when the time comes that she
requires extensive care. Are there such facilities in
Ireland?”