Song of the Silent Harp (49 page)

Both Lewis Farmington and the Burke lad started when the youth gave his name.

Sergeant Burke's son hesitated only an instant before lunging forward, thrusting himself into the melee, shouting the boy's name.
“Daniel! Daniel Kavanagh!”

The tall, curly-headed Irish boy whirled around, searching the sea of faces, his eyes quickly coming to rest on Tierney Burke, who had stopped only a few feet away.

The two youths stood staring at each other for a moment, then Tierney moved forward. The grin he shot at the Kavanagh lad brought a smile to Lewis Farmington's face as well, especially when he heard the boy's greeting.

“Pleased to meet you, Daniel Kavanagh! I'm your new bunk mate, Tierney Burke! Welcome to America!”

He paused for a moment, cocking his head. “Say, it's a relief to see all those girls aren't your sisters!”

Lewis Farmington wished he could have captured the gaping look of astonishment, then relief, that washed over Daniel Kavanaghs face. “You're Michael Burke's son? You came…to
meet
us?”

Tierney Burke nodded, and the Kavanagh lad looked for all the world as if he'd just been presented with the gift of a new brother!

Sara was beginning to panic. Her lame leg hindered her progress through the throng of pressing bodies, and only now was she beginning to realize the utter futility of trying to find one vague face among hundreds.

She decided she'd best thread her way out of the crowd and go in search of her father. She was really quite vexed with both him and the Burke boy—it would have been nice if at least one of them had stayed with
her.

Edging sideways, inward of the ship, her eyes skimmed over a heavy-jowled man wearing a crumpled cap who stood shouting angrily at an entire horde of confused-looking immigrants. At the front of the crowd stood a woman, holding a small boy in her arms, with two obviously frightened little girls just behind her. At her side stood a thin, somewhat ill-looking man with glasses, a beard…and an empty sleeve.

The woman appeared to be arguing violently with the nasty-looking man, with considerable input from the one-armed fellow at her side. Sara glanced away for a moment, peering closely into the ranks of the mob of immigrants milling around the deck.

Suddenly, a man whose badge identified him as a medical inspector parted the crowd. He wore an angry, authoritative expression, and Sara began to push forward to hear what he was saying. Seeing one of the city policemen now heading directly toward the inspector, Sara looked back to the woman with the child in her arms.

Her heart stopped, then skipped and raced.

A slip of a lass…hair the color of raven's wings…and huge sad eyes…
This woman looked faded and worn, not at all like the girl Michael Burke had described. Her dark hair, graying at the temples, was pulled back, and her cheekbones protruded from a drawn and sunken face.
Yet, she was the right size, and her eyes…

“Nora!
Nora Kavanagh?”

The woman's head snapped around, and enormous gray eyes anxiously searched the crowd. The one-armed man at her side pointed toward Sara.

Sara again called out to her, pushing strangers out of her way. Shoving forward, she ignored the pain in her leg as she attempted to close the distance between them.

Finally, she reached the dark-haired woman, who stood staring at her with a thoroughly stunned expression.

“You are Nora Kavanagh, aren't you?” Sara asked breathlessly.

The huge eyes studied Sara.

“Aye…aye, I am Nora Kavanagh,” she said in a soft, wondering voice. “But how is it you know—”

Hesitating only an instant, Sara put a hand to the woman's arm, wincing at the fragile bones beneath her fingers. She had no idea who the haggard-looking man with the empty sleeve might be, but he was obviously with Nora Kavanagh. Nodding briefly to him, Sara then turned back to the woman.

“Sergeant Burke gave me a wonderful description of you! My name is Sara Farmington, and I'm a friend of the sergeant's. I've come to take you to him.”

Nearly an hour later, with the entire Kavanagh family and the Fitzgerald children finally gathered together on the dock, along with the weary-looking Englishman called Whittaker, the Farmingtons stood watching the bizarre procession coming down the gangplank.

Three grim-faced policemen led Abidas Schell and the medical inspector onto the dock, while two others took charge of the little Chinese girls.

Last came two crew members with a stretcher, bearing the body of the surgeon, found dead by his own hand in his cabin.

Nobody spoke until the entire procession had disappeared into the crowd on the dock.

The Englishman finally broke the silence. “Miss Farmington?”

When Sara turned to him, she felt an instant's surprise at the kindness and the warmth she encountered in the man's eyes. She found herself wondering what the story was with this Evan Whittaker. Nora's introduction had been most peculiar, identifying him only as “our good friend, to whom we owe our lives.”

He was fumbling to pull something from his pocket as he spoke. “I've already showed this letter to one of the policemen who came with you. He said Sergeant Burke would want to read it also. If you and Nora would see that he gets it…”

Sara reached for the letter then stopped. “You take it, Nora.”

Nora looked at her, hesitated, then took the letter from Evan Whittaker, who turned and began talking with the boy, Daniel, and Tierney Burke.

When Sara felt Nora's hand on her arm, she turned, smiling at her.

“You
did
say that Michael will be all right?” Nora asked softly, her eyes still worried and fearful. “You are sure?”

“He's going to be just fine!” Sara assured her. Impulsively, she took the woman's thin hand and squeezed it gently. “Especially now that he has someone to help look after him. He's a stubborn man, your Sergeant Burke.”

Nora studied her with a searching gaze. “Yes,” she said uncertainly. “Yes, Michael was always…stubborn.” Hesitating, she ventured, “You—you are a good friend of Michael's, then?”

Their eyes met and held. “Yes, I am,” Sara answered quietly. “And I'd like very much to be your friend as well, Nora.”

44

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

W. B. Y
EATS
(1865–1939)

T
ierney Burke was determined to beat the others to the hospital.

The voyagers were on their way to the Farmington mansion to “freshen up” before going on to Bellevue, but Tierney had declined the invitation to accompany them. Instead, he set off at a dead run from the harbor. Leaping fences, ignoring the mud, he didn't slow down until he reached the hospital grounds.

Nora was pretty! She actually was! He couldn't wait to see Da's face when he got a look at her. Of course, she
did
look a bit older than he had pictured her—but little wonder, what with the famine and the long voyage.

And, of course, she would still be grieving for her eldest son, who had died before they ever set sail. Of all Nora's children, it seemed only Daniel was left.

At least
he
appeared to be fine. And he was sharp as a tack, that was certain! They were going to get along swell! Daniel Kavanagh must have dozens of tales to tell of Ireland and their trip across the Atlantic—and Tierney planned to hear them all!

Approaching the hospital entrance now, he slowed down to a trot. As soon as he cleared the door, though, he took off at a run down the hall, ignoring the angry squawk of a long-faced nurse who had to duck out of his way.

He started talking even before he was all the way into the room.

Nora glanced down over the clean gingham dress Sara Farmington was hastily adapting to the newcomer's thin frame.

She was still dazed from the incredible kindness of the Farmingtons. After rescuing Nora and the others at the dock, both Mr. Farmington and this fine-looking daughter had insisted on taking them all home for a bit before going to the hospital.

Home? The
place was a
castle!
Nora had never even seen the
outside
of such a house, could not possibly have imagined the luxury she encountered within. And now she stood in the middle of this sumptuous bedroom, staring at herself in a full-length looking glass while Sara Farmington pinned and tucked her own gingham dress to fit Nora. She had even helped Nora wrap her hair in a neat twist at the back of her neck.

While Nora was being readied for her meeting with Michael, the children were downstairs in the kitchen, being fed.

“They can stay here while you're at the hospital,” said Sara, standing at Nora's shoulder as she appraised the Irish lass in the mirror. “Father thinks your British friend, Mr. Whittaker, needs medical attention right away. He's sent for our physician.”

Nora turned, studying the young woman next to her. “How can we ever be thanking you for—”

“You can't,” Sara interrupted firmly, taking Nora by the arm and leading her from the bedroom. “Come along now. You look wonderful. We mustn't keep Sergeant Burke waiting any longer.”

Sara took her at once to the library, where they were met by another surprise. Sara's father had offered Whittaker a job.

Lewis Farmington stood in front of the elegantly carved mantel, his hands tucked inside his waistcoat pockets. “You'll never imagine, Sara!” he announced cheerfully as soon as they entered. “It seems I've found myself a personal secretary at last. Mr. Whittaker here has had years of experience in just that capacity. With an English lord, no less!”

“Why, that's wonderful, Father. But does Mr. Whittaker know how terribly disorganized you are?”

Farmington beamed. “He says he likes a challenge.”

Nora looked at Evan Whittaker, whose pale countenance was flushed with obvious pleasure. He met her gaze with a nod and a smile, and Nora could almost read his thoughts: God had, indeed, placed some of His people in this city.

Lewis Farmington had not quite finished taking charge. “As for you, Mrs. Kavanagh—”

“Nora—please call me Nora.”

“Nora,” he continued, “Sara and I would like it very much if you and the children would consent to stay with us for now. We've more than enough room, and our housekeeper desperately needs someone to share the responsibility of running this household.” He paused, smiling at his daughter, who was still holding on to Nora's arm. “Sara, you see, is entirely too busy with her projects to be of any use to Ginger. We need a dependable, capable woman like you around the place.”

Dumbfounded, Nora could only gape at the man as he went on. “Ginger—that's our housekeeper—will continue her duties, of course. What we'd like you to do, Nora, is to oversee some of the things she doesn't have time for. You might even want to help Sara with some of her projects, if you've a mind to interfere with other people's business.”

Unexpectedly, Nora felt her eyes fill with tears. “You're so kind…I…I don't know what to say…”

“Well, you can
say yes,
of course!” boomed Mr. Farmington.

“Father,” Sara said, turning to Nora, “it's a wonderful idea—”

“I thought so—”

“—but Nora and Sergeant Burke…well, I believe that he's hoping…”

Nora stared at the young woman beside her. Had Michael
confided
in her, then, about his proposal?

Again, Lewis Farmington took the situation in hand. “If Nora decides to make other plans later, we'll understand, of course. But that will take time; meanwhile, she and the children can visit with us. What do you think, Nora?”

The man's dark eyes were warm with a kind of…
knowing,
almost as if he understood Nora's confusion and inward conflict. Lewis Farmington was offering her shelter, Nora suddenly realized. A safe place…a resting place…until she could get on with her life.

Ignoring the tears that now spilled over from her eyes, Nora moistened her lips and said, “I…am most grateful, Mr. Farmington. The children and I would be happy to stay here. And I would like very much, I'm sure, to work for you.”

“Nora?”

Sara's soft voice helped Nora check her tears.

“I'll take you to Sergeant Burke now. I'm sure he's getting very anxious.”

Nora nodded, swallowing hard against a new surge of panic.

The Lord had been good…so good. He had affirmed His love in immeasurable ways this day, meeting their every question, their every fear, their every need, with infinite caring. Indeed, He had not abandoned them, after all, as Nora had feared. Today He had proven to her the reality of His presence in ways she could never have imagined.

But now…now, Michael was waiting. And Nora was suddenly frightened again.

Nora's legs quaked beneath her as she approached Michael's hospital room. She was certain she would fall on her face before she got through the door.

Glancing down over the dress Sara had loaned her, she knew an instant of dismay. She was nothing but bones! He would think her ugly…

“You look
lovely,
Nora.”

She turned wild eyes on Sara, who was very nearly holding her up.

“Everything's going to be all right,” Sara said quietly, smiling. “You'll see. Go on now. He's waiting.”

Just outside the door, she hesitated again, swallowing down the taste of her terror, fighting for a deep breath. Her stomach was knotted, her heart hammering like a wild thing. For a moment she did believe she was going to be ill!

Thank the dear Lord the others had not come with them. At least if she disgraced herself, there would be no one to see.

No one except Sara Farmington. And Michael.

Nora had never felt so foolish, so…vulnerable as she did at that moment. She had survived the Hunger and a nightmare ocean voyage, but she was suddenly quite certain she would not survive this meeting.

Sara Farmington pushed her through the doorway, then disappeared.

Michael sat on the edge of the bed, his hands braced at his sides.

He appeared to be having a serious discussion with his son in the chair across from him.

The boy shot to his feet at the sight of Nora.

She stood waiting, just inside the room, staring at the two of them with anxious eyes.

In his American clothes, a blue woolen shirt and dark blue trousers, this man seemed a stranger.

Then he looked up, and Nora's heart leaped to her throat.

He was older, but still Michael. The dark eyes had lost a bit of their mischief, perhaps, but they were just as kind. His thick hair was still the color of chestnuts, with touches of silver here and there. The chin was still arrogant, as if he would take on the world. And win.

Leaning on the arm of his son, he got to his feet. The broad shoulders were stooped as he stood there, watching her, and for an instant pain crossed his features.

The boy stayed in the room only long enough to look from one to the other, then again. Then, shooting Nora an encouraging grin, he slipped past her, through the door.

Nora dragged her eyes back to Michael. Seventeen years hung suspended between them. It seemed a lifetime.

Finally Michael reached out a hand to her. “So, Nora Ellen,” he said in a strangled voice, “you are here at last.”

Nora bit her lip, searched his eyes.

This was no stranger…

“Aye, Michael,” she said, taking a step toward him. “I am here at last.”