Dawn of the Golden Promise (24 page)

Jess shook his head as if to clear it. “We didn't expect anything like this. Not after so long a time. I'm not sure
what
to do.”

He still could not believe what was happening. Only this morning at breakfast he and Kerry had been making plans with Casey-Fitz for him to take the larger guest room as his own so they could redecorate the smaller bedroom for Amanda. The three of them had discussed color choices and appropriate furnishings for the little girl's bedroom as seriously as if they had been deciding on a potential suitor for her.

But now…now there might never be a little girl's bedroom…

“You love that child as if she were your own, Jess,” Nicholas said quietly. “You told me so yourself.”

“Yes,” Jess answered, staring at his hands. “Yes, of course, I do. And Kerry—” He stopped, swallowing hard. Looking up, he met Nicholas's gaze. “Do you really think we'd still have a chance for adoption? Blood almost always wins out in matters like this. I can't think we have any real hope of keeping Amanda.”

“There's always hope, Jess. Forgive me for sounding like a physician, but until the last breath is drawn there is always hope.”

The doctor paused, giving Jess an intense look. “Do you know what they call you around town, by the way?”

“Call me?”

Nicholas nodded, smiling faintly. “Around the Bowery and Five Points, they call you the ‘Fighting Parson.'”

Jess frowned. “What?”

“Oh, it's meant with respect,” his friend assured him. “A number of the fellows down here like to boast that their preacher is ‘a real man—a fighting man,' when the circumstances call for it.”

Jess groaned. “That's hardly a compliment to a man who considers himself a pacifist, Nicholas. Where did they get such an idea?”

“They mean well, Jess. You've won their respect—and that's no small accomplishment, I'd say. At any rate, they're not talking about fisticuffs. You're known as a man who's not afraid to fight for what's right—for what you believe in.” He paused. “And I'd be the first to agree. That's why I know you won't simply give up Amanda without a fight. You'd be sending her off to another country with a man she's never laid eyes on—a man you know absolutely nothing about.”

Jess looked at him for another moment, then got up. Going to the narrow-paned, clouded window, he stood, hands in his pockets, staring out onto the brick wall of the junk dealer's shed next door.

“I believe strongly in
family
, Nicholas. If Colin Winston is determined to take Amanda back to England, I'm not sure I have the right to try to prevent it. He's a blood relative—and the only family left to her.”

There was silence for a moment. When the reply came, it was quiet but firm. “Blood doesn't make family, Jess. Love makes family. Love and commitment.”

The words rang in Jess's ears, striking his heart like a bell. He turned around and met his friend's gaze. After a moment, he finally nodded. “You're right.”

“Not always, but on occasion.”

Still Jess hesitated. “Will you help us?”

Nicholas Grafton's eyes glinted. “In any way I can.”

Outside, on the dusty street, Ruth Marriot stood with her shoulders hunched and her eyes lowered, trying to avoid the curious stares of passersby.

The heat was oppressive. The putrid smell of rotting garbage and horse droppings hung like a vile shroud over the street. Her stomach churned. She felt feverish and had to fight off wave after wave of dizzying nausea.

The sickening assault of Patrick's betrayal, combined with her physical condition, threatened to prostrate her in the middle of the street. She fought down a vicious swell of queasiness, at the same time groping for some semblance of reason.

She was on her own now. There was no longer any hope of help from Patrick. She had only herself…and the baby. No one else.

Below the surface of her anxiety rode an undercurrent of fear. She had never felt so isolated, so entirely alone, in her life.

She had no one to turn to, no one to count on. She would soon have no job, ultimately not even a place to live. And if her health continued to falter, she might not even be able to care for the baby without help.

At the fringes of her mind whispered what seemed to be her last remaining shred of hope. She had fought the idea from the beginning, disgusted with herself for even considering the possibility. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

But now it seemed the only thing she
could
do. She had to try…for the sake of her baby.

After a moment, she lifted her face and squared her shoulders. Bracing herself against the heat and the stench of decay, she finally mustered the nerve to ask a middle-aged man with a kindly countenance directions to the Staten Island Ferry.

16

Let me press thee closer still,
A gradh geal mo chroidhe;
To this scathed, bleeding heart,
Beloved as thou art,
for too soon, too soon we part,
A gradh geal mo chroidhe!

JOHN WALSH (1835–1881)

J
ess Dalton didn't have to think twice before accepting Nicholas Grafton's offer to go home with him that afternoon.

He dreaded telling Kerry about Colin Winston, and when Nicholas offered to accompany him, he was immeasurably relieved. Until that moment he hadn't realized just how anxious he was about what this turn of events might do to Kerry.

She was the most precious thing in life to him, and he was about to break her heart.

As the buggy slowed and drew to a stop in front of the house, he exchanged a long look with Nicholas. “I'd rather face almost anything than the pain this will cause her.”

The physician nodded. “I know.” He reached for his medical bag and stepped out of the buggy. “I'll take this along, just in case,” he said, avoiding Jess's eyes.

This unexpected act of caution unnerved Jess even more.

They found Kerry at the kitchen table with Amanda. Kerry's hair was in disarray, and the pinafore apron over her dress appeared slightly rumpled. From the looks of things, the two had been having a late luncheon.

Kerry looked up in surprise as the men entered. “Why Nicholas Grafton! And isn't it past time you were paying us a visit! But, Jess, whatever are you doing home at this time of day?”

She looked from one to the other. Jess saw the light of welcome in her eyes flicker and change to uncertainty. He went to kiss her, bracing himself for the ordeal ahead.

“Something's wrong. What is it?” Her voice suddenly sounded very young and small. She lifted a hand to her hair and began to tug at one stray ringlet.

By now Amanda was reaching for Jess, her face, smudged with potatoes, eager and bright. “Da!” she cried, thrusting her plump little arms toward him.

Kerry's hand went around the child's shoulder in a protective gesture. “Yes, love, it's Da.” Her gaze searched Jess's face. “But you must finish your potatoes, like the good girl.”

Even as she spoke, Kerry's eyes never left Jess's face. He saw her go pale and longed to deflect her questions, if only for a little while.

“Jess?”

He opened his mouth, but the words froze in his throat. Nicholas finally bridged the way to the bad news.

“I'm afraid we have something rather…difficult to tell you, Kerry.” He stopped, then went on, his words coming more quickly than before. “But be assured that Jess and I are already taking steps to redeem the situation.”

With that, he reached for Amanda, who went to him cheerfully. “Dokka Nick!” she cooed. She studied him for a moment, then giggled and pressed a chubby thumb over each lens of his eyeglasses.

Nicholas hoisted the child to his shoulder, smiling at her. “Why don't I take you to Molly, young lady? We're going to have to get rid of those potatoes around your nose before they take root.”

He started for the door with the child in his arms, then turned. “I'll be right back.”

When Jess finally forced himself to face his wife, her searching green eyes held an unmistakable glint of alarm. “It's about Amanda, isn't it?” she said.

Jess pulled up a chair beside her. “I'm afraid it is.”

She went ashen.

“Kerry…”

“I shan't listen!” The words burst out unexpectedly, and she shook her head, refusing to look at him: “Whatever it is, I don't want to know!”

Jess stared at her in dismay, not quite knowing how to go on. “Kerry…love, I'm afraid you
must
know. Amanda's uncle…it seems that he's come for her. He's here, in New York, right now. He wants to take Amanda back to England with him.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Kerry continued to shake her head in denial. She looked like a child herself now, especially when a solitary tear escaped, slowly tracking down one side of her face.

Jess moved to gather her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest, rocking her against him as he attempted to console her—and himself. At first she was rigid and unyielding, dazed, he suspected, with shock and grief. But finally he felt her go limp against him. Burying her face against his shoulder, she collapsed into a quiet, despairing weeping that rent his heart.

In that moment Jess vowed that, blood relative or not, Colin Winston would not have Amanda. He would do whatever he had to do, fight the man however he must, to keep their little curly-top with them…where she belonged. Unless God Himself tore Amanda from their arms, they would not give her up.

Late that afternoon, Kerry took Amanda upstairs for a rest. She faltered at the landing at the top of the stairway, but both Jess and Nicholas were standing below, watching with concern, so she went on, taking slow but steady steps all the way down the hall.

Beside her, one small hand clutching Kerry's, Amanda trundled along, chortling happily. Somehow Kerry managed to murmur the appropriate replies to the little girl's cheerful prattle. But her heart felt like lead, and an anxiety bordering on hysteria hovered just at the edge of her emotions.

Rather than taking Amanda to her own room, Kerry led her to the master bedroom. Amanda seemed only slightly surprised at this departure in routine, scarcely pausing in her chatter as Kerry settled the two of them in the rocking chair by the window.