Dawn of the Golden Promise (48 page)

“I'm sure they will,” Sara said, crossing the room to remove a stray pin in one of the draperies. “I'm more concerned that we've anticipated Morgan's needs. It must be difficult enough being confined to a wheelchair when you're in your own home and can adapt things accordingly. I'm sure there's no telling all the problems he must encounter when he travels. Michael helped me, and we tried to plan as carefully as possible, but I still worry that we might have forgotten something.”

It had been Michael's idea to install a ramp leading off the side entrance, and he himself had made some additions to the plumbing to compensate for his friend's disability. In deference to Morgan's size, they had even invested in a new, much larger bed for the guest room that he and his wife would share.

They seemed to have accomplished a great deal in only a few weeks, but Sara continued to fuss about details, anxious that nothing of any consequence be overlooked. “Michael says Morgan wouldn't want us to go to any trouble on their account, but we're both too excited about their visit to think of the preparations as ‘trouble.'”

Sara held on to her grandmother's arm as they walked out of the room into the hallway. “Grandy, I want to thank you again for inviting them to stay here. It will be so good for Michael. He's been so happy ever since we found out they're coming.”

Her grandmother stopped for a moment to adjust her cane. “I'm really quite excited about this visit, you know. It's an honor to entertain someone of Morgan Fitzgerald's caliber. The man is quite a dignitary, even if Michael does howl every time I say so.”

Her grandmother went on talking as they started down the hall. “As I told you and Michael, dear, I plan to enjoy their company immensely. Your grandfather and I used to have guests regularly, and I rather miss all the bustle and excitement. Besides,” she added, her eyes lighting with amusement, “I'm looking forward to some dinner conversation that includes something more than the exploits of cops and robbers. For now, though, if we don't want the poor man and his family stranded in the harbor, you'd best collect Michael and your father from the parlor and be on your way. I'm sure both of them are pacing the floor by now.”

Nora peered into the mirror of her vanity, trying to be objective about her appearance as she considered, somewhat reluctantly, how she might look to Morgan after so long a time.

Older
, that much was certain. Most of the hair at her temples had gone to silver, and there were faint lines at her mouth and the corners of her eyes that had not been there before.

Although she and Morgan were nearly the same age—thirty-six—Nora knew she looked older than her years. And what about Morgan? No doubt both of them had changed a great deal since their last parting.

It would be difficult, seeing him in the wheelchair. Even though she had eventually grown used to the idea, she still worried over how she would respond when faced with the reality.

How many changes they had been through since their childhood days in the village…Morgan, Michael, and herself.

Tragic changes, some of them. Even as a young man, Michael had lost a wife. And Morgan, in the prime of his manhood, had been crippled by an unknown assailant. He had been left almost entirely alone after the death of his brother, Thomas, then his niece, Katie, and nephew, Tom—both of whom had died after reaching America.

As for herself, Nora had known her own tragedies, her own losses. Her first husband, Owen, their wee daughter, Ellie, and soon after, Tahg, their eldest son. Her health had almost been destroyed by the famine and scarlet fever, her heart weakened, her strength depleted.

But for all the tragedy in their lives, they had not been left without joy. There had been gifts of love for each of them: new mates, children, and a very special and enduring friendship.

She wondered anxiously what it would be like for them today, when they were finally reunited after so long a time. Would they be strangers, unnatural and ill at ease with each other? Or would the tie that had somehow bound them throughout the years, even an ocean apart, prove to be as strong as she had long believed?

Evan walked in, rousing her from her thoughts as he came to stand behind her at the vanity. With a smile, he clasped her shoulder. “You look lovely,” he told her, leaning to kiss her cheek. “As always. But, Nora, are you quite sure you feel strong enough to go this m-morning?”

She nodded. “What does it take to convince you? 'Tis just as I've been telling you, Evan—I feel stronger and more fit than I have for an age; I have felt so for days now. You mustn't take on.”

“B-but you'll be careful not to overdo.”

“I'll be very careful, I promise you. But I want to be there today, with you and Michael. You do understand, don't you?”

He straightened, his hand still clinging to her shoulder. “Of course, I understand.” He studied her for a minute, as if he wanted to say something more but didn't quite know how.

“Evan?”

He shook his head. When he avoided her gaze in the mirror, Nora turned to face him. “Something is troubling you, Evan. What is it?”

Slowly he turned back to her. “I…feel ashamed to tell you,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I'm b-being altogether foolish, but as m-much as I'm looking forward to seeing Fitzgerald again—I can't help feeling somewhat…anxious.”

Nora frowned, unable to read his expression. “Anxious? Why would you feel anxious about Morgan? He admires you entirely.”

Again he looked away. “You—the two of you—once cared very d-deeply for each other. You loved each other…”

Nora stared at him in dismay, understanding finally dawning upon her. “Oh, Evan…surely you do not mean…you cannot think…”

She reached for his hand. “Oh, Evan…Evan! How can it be, that you are unsure of my love, after all this time? Can you really doubt me, after everything we've been to each other?”

He looked thoroughly miserable. Nora was grieved that he could feel anything less than total confidence in her love, yet she thought she understood. But before she could move to reassure him, he turned away from her.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “I would never question your faithfulness, Nora. Never. I suppose…it's m-myself I doubt. A m-man like Fitzgerald, after all—such a great man—even in a wheelchair, he surely overshadows m-most men. And you
did
love him. And he, you.”

With his back still turned to her, he touched his empty sleeve—an unthinking gesture, Nora suspected, but not an entirely meaningless one.

Slowly, she got to her feet and put a hand to his shoulder. “Evan…look at me,” she said quietly but firmly.

When he finally turned back to her, she stepped closer, gripping his hand with both of hers. Her eyes went over his face…that good, strong, kind face, with its polished spectacles and precisely trimmed beard and scrubbed cheeks.

Oh, how she did love this man!

It brought such pain to know he thought himself wanting in her eyes because of stature or a missing arm or his halting speech…or any of the other traits he seemed to view as weaknesses. In truth, those things only endeared him to her that much more. It even made her angry somehow, to realize how lightly he held himself in his own estimation.

“Evan—you foolish, foolish man!” she burst out, unable to stop the tears that spilled over with her words.

He blinked, looking altogether stunned. “Why, Nora, what did I—”

“
You
are my love, Evan Whittaker! You are my husband, my best friend—and my love! Don't you understand? Yes, Morgan
was
the love of my girlhood. He was my hero-lad, the love of my youth. But, Evan, you—
you
are the love of my
life
!”

She stepped back from him, bringing her hands to her face. “There is something I would tell you, Evan,” she said, dropping her voice to little more than a whisper. “It shames me to admit such a thing, a thing better left a secret, but I will tell you in spite of my shame…because you deserve to know the truth.”

With a deep shudder, she dropped her hands away to face him directly. “Not only do I love you more than I ever loved Morgan Fitzgerald, but in truth I love you more than I loved Owen—Owen Kavanagh, my husband…and Daniel's father. Do you hear me, Evan? Do you understand what I am saying to you? I…love…you…
more
! I have never loved
any
man as I love you, Evan Whittaker. And you must never dare to question my love again, after my telling you such a thing. Never!”

His features had gone slack, his skin chalk-white. With a stricken look, he reached to draw her to him. But Nora resisted, searching his eyes for something she could not quite define.

“Oh, Nora…dearest…can you forgive me? I'm so sorry! I
have
been foolish, and now look what it's cost you.” He stopped. “Nora—thank you! Thank you for telling me something so…private. You can't imagine how m-much it means to me, hearing those words from you.”

Nora saw what she was looking for, the quiet assurance that had not been there before. She took a step toward him, then stopped. “You must promise you will never again doubt my love for you, Evan.”

He extended his hand to her. His eyes behind the spectacles were bright, glistening with some new light of confidence. “I promise, Nora. I do.”

Nora felt spent, but strangely relieved to have finally spoken such a stark truth about her feelings. Warmed by the assurance her confession seemed to have inspired in Evan, she moved into his embrace.

For a moment they stood, saying nothing, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. “Nora?” Evan finally said. “Though I've promised never again to question how m-much you love me, I wonder…do you suppose you m-might just remind me every now and then?”

Nora smiled to herself, then lifted her face for his kiss.

Morgan and his entire entourage had been on deck for well over an hour, awaiting their first sight of the American shoreline.

All about them the water was polluted with debris, refuse thrown overboard from emigrant ships entering New York Harbor. Apparently this was a common practice.

Terrible things bobbed up and down with the current, forcing one to look away. Morgan could not help but cringe at the sight. He was accustomed to the clean waters of Ireland, had not imagined that his first look at the States would include the carelessly dumped garbage of her newest arrivals.

At least the ship on which they had crossed had strict regulations about such negligence. All round, the
Destiny
was a wondrous improvement over what he had been told about other vessels, especially the British emigrant ships on which bodies were herded together in steerage like cattle, doomed to pass the entire voyage in squalor and filth and disease.

The
Destiny
was a new vessel, reputedly the fastest of the Farmington line, and clean, with spacious quarters for all. Morgan had not been able to descend into steerage, but Sandemon had gone as his emissary and found the emigrant bunks more than adequate.

It would seem that Michael's father-in-law was a man of conscience. In the beginning, Morgan had found it difficult to accept Farmington's offer of free cabin passage on his newest packet. He had always assumed that if he ever made the crossing to America, he would make it as most of his people had before him: in the dank, mean quarters of steerage, suffering the same desperate conditions.