Song of the Silent Harp (48 page)

Feeling the man's hand on his arm, Leary glanced down.

“How did this happen?” Whittaker rasped. “Morgan Fitzgerald would never have booked passage for his family on a coffin ship like this had he known!”

“I have no knowledge of any Fitzgerald!” Leary said, his eyes sweeping the crowd pressing in on them. “It's all done through brokers. Sometimes I act as a go-between for Schell, when the brokers are booking for Irish immigrants.”

The contempt blazing out from the Englishman's eyes seared Leary's skin. “In other words, you sell your own countrymen to the devil!
Why?
What could possibly make it worth your while to betray your own people—and with most of them already half dead at that?”

Leary averted his gaze from the disgust that filled Whittaker's countenance. “There is no more time,” he said gruffly. “Just guard the letter and the keys if you want to save some lives.”

Before the Englishman could hurl any further questions at him, the surgeon turned and began to push his way through the mass of confused immigrants that now filled the main deck. Consumed by his need for the bottle as much as his resolve to be done with his final voyage aboard the
Green Flag,
he pushed a number of bewildered passengers aside and stumbled almost blindly toward his cabin.

In New York that Saturday morning, Michael Burke was lying in his hospital bed, talking somewhat glumly with his son, Tierney, when Sara Farmington and her father walked in.

Stunned but pleased, he managed a stammering introduction to Tierney, who immediately gave up his chair to Miss Farmington. Stuck for words, Michael could only stare at his unexpected visitors with amazement, especially when they explained the reason for their visit and what they planned to do after they left.

“If it
was
the
Green Flag
that the
Yorkshire
passed just two days ago, Sergeant Burke,” Sara Farmington was saying, “the ship should be coming into the harbor at any hour now. It would be a great help if we at least knew what your friend Nora looks like. We need you to describe her for us as best as you can remember.”

Michael was surprised at how vivid his memories had remained. Describing Nora to the Farmingtons was no trouble at all—he could see her in his mind almost as clearly as he had the day he had kissed her goodbye and sailed for America.

“She's just a wee thing, a slip of a lass,” he told them. “Back then she had hair the color of a raven's wings and the loveliest gray eyes—huge eyes, like a little girl's—but sad. Nora always had such sorrowful eyes…” He spoke softly, his words drifting off to join his memories.

Preoccupied with her own troubled thoughts, Sara said little to her father as they drove away from the hospital.

Sergeant Burke had appeared so weak this morning, he almost seemed to be losing ground instead of getting better. Stopping in the hallway on the way out of his room, Sara had voiced her concern to the ward nurse—Harrison—but received nothing more than an impatient mumble about a “punctured lung taking time to heal.”

Sara wasn't so sure the sergeant's condition was entirely due to his injury. She thought she'd sensed an uncommon moroseness about the policeman, a dulling of the spirit that wasn't at all like him.

Ninny! Listen to yourself; you'd think you knew the man well! He's little more than a stranger to you!

Still, his frustration at being incapacitated might be slowing down his recovery. More than likely, the sergeant was used to being in control and was finding it difficult to deal with his present helplessness.

She could not shake the memory of the look that had settled over his face as he described his Nora.

How she wished for the day when a man would speak of her in the same lovely way! And with such a look in his eyes!

She sighed deeply. That man would not be Sergeant Burke. He was still in love with his Nora, no matter how many years lay between them.

Abruptly, she turned to look at her father, only to find him studying her with a troubled gaze. “Did you see his face when he spoke of her, Father? We must help him! We must help Sergeant Burke find his Nora with the raven hair and sorrowful eyes.”

Taking her hand, her father squeezed it gently. “And we shall, dear,” he said, still searching her face. “We shall. We'll stop at the Hall of Justice on the way and enlist the help of some of Sergeant Burke's fellow officers.” He paused. “Sara—are you all right, my dear?”

Sara met his gaze with a level one of her own. “Yes, Father, I'm quite all right. I'm simply feeling anxious about a friend. You understand that, don't you?”

Her father put an arm around her shoulders. “Yes, my dear. I understand very well. And I'm extremely proud of you.”

A thought kept nagging at Michael, worrying him, refusing to let go.

“Tierney?” He turned to look at his son, again seated on the chair next to his bed.

“Aye, Da?” The boy leaned forward.

Studying Tierney's lean, intent face, Michael silently questioned his judgment, yet felt the urgency inside him peak. “You used to haunt the docks regularly. You know them well, do you not?”

Frowning, Tierney nodded. “Sure, I do.”

His decision made, Michael pushed himself up a bit. “I want you to go after the Farmingtons, go with them to the harbor. I don't know why exactly, but I'd feel better if you went along.”

His son stared at him for a moment, then leaped off the chair and bolted from the room.

Long after Tierney had gone, Michael lay staring at the bleak ceiling of the ward.
He
should have been the one to go to the harbor, not his son. It seemed that everybody else was looking after
his
responsibilities these days.

As much as the thought rankled, and as worried as he was about Nora and the others, the knowledge that Tierney was standing in for him at the harbor gave Michael a certain amount of reassurance.

Why it should be so, he hadn't the faintest idea.

43

I turned my back
On the dream I had shaped,
And to this road before me
My face I turned.

P
ADRAIC
P
EARSE
(1879–1916)

T
he uniformed officer designated to pilot the
Green Flag
into port stood facing the wide-eyed immigrants, giving them their first glimpse of a real American.

Smart and wiry in his white uniform and peaked hat, he dazzled them with his smile and air of authority. Then, with the crew's assistance and Captain Schell's dark, hovering presence, he proceeded to pilot the ship expertly through the Narrows, the channel between Staten Island and Brooklyn.

This was his favorite part of the job.

Trying to look everywhere at once, Daniel craned his neck to take in the placid bay, the green hills, the fine houses in the distance. All around them in the water were other boats and ships: medical boats darting from one ship to another, longboats, anchored clippers. Hundreds of people thronged the dock, some dressed in odd, foreign-looking clothing, others decked out in fine apparel.

It nearly took his breath away! He was determined to commit to memory every splendid detail, for he intended to remember this day when he was a very old man!

He turned to his mother, who stood with Little Tom in her arms, tears coursing down her face. “We will be fine, Mother,” he said, raising his voice above the noise on deck. “God will put some people in the city for us, just as Mr. Whittaker and I asked. You will see.”

His mother dragged her eyes away from the harbor scene to study his face. “Do you truly believe that, Daniel John?” she asked in a choked voice. “That we will be all right, at last?”

“Aye, I do, Mother.” Even as he said the words, Daniel realized he
did
believe so. He had no idea what lay ahead, but somehow over the past hours an unshakable conviction had seized his heart, an assurance that the Kavanaghs and the Fitzgeralds—yes, and Evan Whittaker, too—had a future here in New York City.

“A future and a hope,” he said firmly to his mother. “That's what God is giving us. I believe that with all my heart, Mother, and you must believe it, too.”

Still she wept, and Daniel promised himself at that moment that he would do whatever he could in the days and weeks ahead to wipe away her tears, to make her smile again.

“Don't be afraid, Mother.”

She shook her head. “'Tis not fear. I was thinking of Tahg. And Thomas. Wishing they had made it this far, that they could have seen—” Her voice broke, and she made no attempt to finish her thought.

Daniel nodded to let her know he understood, but beyond that, he had no means of comforting her. Her loss was his as well, her sorrow his to share. What was to be said, after all? No words could make a difference. There was no changing the reality that Tahg was gone; Thomas, too. And the both of them would be sorely missed.

But those who remained must somehow go on, and going on, do more than simply survive. They must
live.

Over his mother's head, he met Evan Whittaker's eyes. Standing between Katie and Johanna, the Englishman looked frail and weak, his expression a blend of both hope and sadness.

“Well, then, Mr. Whittaker—we made it. We survived to see America!

Whittaker managed a smile. “We did indeed, Daniel. We survived.”

“Thanks be to God…”

Surprised, Daniel realized the soft words of praise had come from his mother.

Again his gaze locked with Whittaker's, and the Englishman nodded slightly, still smiling as he turned to Daniel's mother and echoed her words.

“Yes, thanks be to God.”

The harbor rang with the sounds from the ship—familiar sounds heard every day, yet somehow unique to each vessel. Dozens of immigrants fell to the deck and prayed. Others wept for the land and the loved ones left behind. Children shouted and laughed with excitement.

They
had
survived. They were here at last, in America. It was time to commit the past to yesterday, with all its suffering and sorrow and shattered dreams. It was time to go in search of new dreams, new hopes, new beginnings. Time to look forward, to start over.

In the confusion and noise blowing over the deck, nobody heard the gunshot that came from the direction of the surgeon's cabin.

Engulfed by excitement and his own turbulent emotions, Daniel very nearly forgot the keys he had tucked down inside his jacket pocket. Turning to shoot a meaningful look at Evan Whittaker, then assuring his mother and the Fitzgerald girls he would return straightaway, he quickly slipped backward into the crowd.

The deck was all chaos and clamor as he melted into the throng of immigrants lining the deck. His heart was pounding, his hands clammy, but nobody seemed to take notice of him.

He half expected a flock of children to come pouring out onto the deck the instant he turned the key in the first lock. When no one appeared after a moment, he stuck his head cautiously inside the door. With sick amazement, he saw half a dozen young Chinese girls huddled together in the corner, staring at him with terrified eyes.

Daniel motioned that they should follow him, but they didn't move. Frowning, he made his voice as urgent as he could, again gesturing frantically that they should leave the cabin. At last, one of the bigger girls got to her feet, taking a tentative step forward.

Daniel smiled at her, nodding encouragement.

Immediately, she stopped dead-still, her dark almond eyes measuring him with fear and distrust. Daniel made no move, no gesture whatsoever. Finally, the girl once more began to creep toward him, her eyes never leaving his face. At last the others got to their feet and followed behind her.

Gulping in a huge breath of relief, Daniel waited until they passed by him, then went to unlock the other cabin. He went through the same gesturing and posturing as before until another group of frightened young girls slipped silently past him, out the door.

After a number of awkward attempts to reassure them that he meant only to help, he started down the deck in search of the pilot, twelve girls trailing behind him.

By the time they came in sight of the white-uniformed American, it was too late for the dumbfounded Captain Schell at his side to do anything more than stare at Daniel with murder in his eyes.

Tierney had caught up with the Farmingtons not long after they drove away from the hospital. He rode in their stylish carriage only as far as the Hall of Justice. From there, he continued on to the harbor in a Black Maria, one of the horse-drawn patrol wagons used for transporting prisoners. Five policemen recruited by Lewis Farmington accompanied them.

Near the dock, a cluster of dandified runners quickly parted and scattered as the Black Maria pulled into their midst. Tierney and the five policemen jumped from the patrol wagon before it stopped, falling in behind Mr. Farmington and his daughter as they headed toward the gangplank.

Lewis Farmington was probably one of only half a dozen men in New York City who wielded enough power to board an immigrant vessel over the objections of two medical officers and an entire crew of sailors.

Board it he did, and, although he attempted to dissuade Sara, she was at his side. Behind them came Tierney Burke with an entourage of New York's finest.

The men headed directly for the quarterdeck. Sara fell back, immediately beginning to search the crowd for a small woman with black hair and enormous gray eyes.

As they converged on the pilot, Lewis Farmington's gaze went to the hard-looking, scar-faced man standing stiffly beside the white-uniformed navigator. A fury bordering on madness burned in the man's gaze. That and his cap identified him as the degenerate captain of the
Green Flag,
Abidas Schell.

As the policemen descended on the captain in a wave, Lewis Farmington and the Burke boy stopped just inside the ring of curious onlookers. Close to the American pilot, an immigrant boy stood like a sentry in front of a group of terrified Oriental girls. The lad was almost shouting, trying to make himself heard over all the commotion.

Two of the policemen moved to take charge of the frightened girls, at the same time ordering the immigrant boy to identify himself.