Sons of an Ancient Glory (19 page)

Even now, after repeated reassurances from Dr. Grafton that both Nora and the child seemed to be doing nicely, Evan could do nothing but sit and stare in numb amazement at them both.

In the bedroom, her new son nursing contentedly at her breast, Nora watched Evan with eyes that refused to stay open for more than seconds at a time.

Surely she had never been so depleted in her life. The births of her other children had all been long and never easy. Yet none had wreaked such havoc on her body as this wee boy-child in her arms. But, oh, wasn't it worth it all, to hold a new, fresh-faced babe at her breast and see the dazed look of happiness in Evan's eyes!

“You are quite sure he is healthy?” she asked again, as if she had not already heard the answer more than once.

Clutching her hand, Evan nodded. “You've c-counted his t-toes and fingers yourself, dear…how m-many times now?”

“There's more to it than fingers and toes,” Nora said, surprised at the effort it took simply to speak. “I never told you, Evan, but from the beginning, when I first learned I was with child—I was frightened. Frightened that perhaps the Hunger or the scarlet fever might cause something to go wrong with the babe.”

She saw a change in his expression, just for an instant. “Well…I, ah, I admit that I wasn't without m-my own fears at times,” he said, his voice low. “But you c-can see for yourself,” he added, his eyes clearing, “that he is quite p-perfect.”

Nora nodded, straining not to fall asleep. She didn't want to miss a moment of this special time with her husband and their new son. “And don't I thank the Lord for that?” She sighed deeply. “I'm so glad it's a boy, Evan. For you. And for Johanna.”

Evan frowned. “Johanna?”

“She misses wee Tom so. She still grieves for him, as do I.” Nora's joy faded, and for a moment she said nothing. Even now, as she held her new son next to her heart, the thought of Little Tom's drowning brought a shudder of sadness.

Instinctively, she touched her hand to her son's small, downy head in a reassuring caress. “Perhaps now,” she finally went on, “Johanna will begin to let go of Tom, at least a little.” She looked at Evan. “You don't think I was wrong, to let her stay through the birth? She was with Catherine, you see, when Little Tom was born.”

Evan squeezed her hand. “I think you d-did just the right thing,” he said firmly. “And it helped me to know Johanna was with you. I…I wanted to stay, you know. I didn't w-want to leave you alone.”

Surprised, Nora searched his face. “Why, I wasn't alone, Evan.”

Lifting his head, he looked at her closely.

Nora smiled and nodded. “I wasn't alone at all. Oh, Evan—it was really quite wonderful! Truly.”

He leaned forward still more, his hand tightening on hers. “But…you were in such pain.”

Again Nora turned her gaze to the delicately formed little head snuggled against her breast.
He was so perfect!
He was the most beautiful of babies, this new son! “Well, now, there's no having a baby without the pain, and that's the truth. But isn't it worth whatever it takes?”

“Of course,” Evan conceded. “But…
wonderful
? I d-don't understand.”

Nora thought for a moment, struggling to find just the right words to explain something she suspected might be beyond explanation.
A mystery
.

“You are the one who's good with words, Evan, not I,” she said, smiling faintly. “It's just that…something happens…not always, but sometimes…amid the pain…”

Again she paused, studying him. His face was drawn, even haggard, reflecting the long, arduous night. But Nora sensed that this was important to him, and so, in spite of her own exhaustion, she weighed her reply with great care.

“'Tis a difficult thing to explain, you see. When the other children were born, and when I had the scarlet fever—and then again tonight—it's as if I'm in the very center of the pain, and yet, in a way, I'm not a part of it at all. It almost seems as if—”

She stopped, turning to look toward the window. The baby sighed, warming her breast with his sweet breath, and Nora suddenly felt such a peace, a contentment. For a moment, the room didn't exist for her. Her thoughts wandered.

She was remembering, remembering the excruciating pain…but more than that, she remembered the Other: the sense of something else…no,
Someone
else, Someone whose presence made the pain seem small, even insignificant. She remembered the warmth, enfolding her, holding her…protecting her.…

She turned toward Evan. His expression was intent, his eyes locked on her face. “This is what it's like, Evan, as near as I can give words to the feelings. It's as if the Lord Himself comes to me and scoops me up in His arms and somehow carries me through the pain. And when it happens, when I realize who is holding me, it does seem for all the world that everything—even the pain—is nothing at all but a glory.”

She stopped. “This much I do know and believe, Evan: that I am closer to our Lord during those times than at any other moment of my life.”

She felt his hand tremble in hers. For a long time, neither of them spoke, and Nora felt herself drifting off to sleep. With an effort, she forced her eyes open to find him studying her with a tearful gaze.

“Evan…Evan, you
are
pleased? About the baby?”

Leaning forward, he brought her hand to his lips. “What a qu-question for you to ask!” His voice sounded gruff with emotion. “Of course, I'm pleased! I am…I'm
overwhelmed
!”

Nora smiled at him. Her head was spinning with weakness, but she could not take her eyes off her husband and her tiny newborn boy, now sound asleep. “I have given you a son at last, Evan. A beautiful, healthy son, thanks be to God.”

“Yes…thanks b-be to God,” he echoed quietly, and Nora wondered at the trembling in his voice.

“What shall we be calling him, Evan?”

“Why, I thought we had already d-decided on his name, dear!”

“Yes,” Nora said, marveling anew at the baby's fine dusting of sand-colored hair, the tiny ears so amazingly perfect. “But what shall we
call
him? Sure, such a big name is too much for the wee wane to carry until he's older.”

Evan seemed to consider her words a moment. “Teddy,” he finally said, nodding slowly. “Why don't we call him Teddy?”

“Teddy,” Nora repeated thickly, feeling herself fast losing the battle to stay awake. “Aye, then…we shall call our son Teddy. Teddy is a fine name.…”

Men of the same soil placed in hostile array,
Prepared to encounter in deadly affray.

R
OBERT
Y
OUNG
(1800-c. 1870)

S
imon Dabney's Fourth of July parties had been a society event for the past five years. State senators, congressmen, city aldermen, and other notables were among the illustrious guests who never failed to make an appearance—in addition to select members of the police force.

Tonight's affair promised to be the largest and most lavish to date. The ballroom of the Dabney mansion was ablaze with light. Throughout the spacious hall, crystal chandeliers glittered like diamonds dancing in fire, while hundreds of candles fluttered in the soft summer breeze drifting through the open windows.

Sara's dress was a triumph of emerald satin and silk, triple-skirted with deep flounces. Only on rare occasions did she wear her mother's jewelry, but she had deemed tonight a special enough event for a diamond pendant. Such finery, topped off with a sprig of summer flowers tucked into her hair, made her feel positively elegant.

But it was the open approval in her husband's eyes that accounted for the giddiness that swept over her every few moments. Tonight, sitting across from her father and Winifred, with Michael at her side, Sara thought she must be the most fortunate woman in the room—indeed, in New York City! She had a wonderful family, a good, good life—and a handsome husband who still looked at her with undisguised admiration, still paid her court with his gallantry and attentions.

“Did you wear that gown just for me, Sara
a gra
?” Michael's voice was low, his words meant only for her, but when Sara glanced over at her father and Winnie, she saw that it really didn't matter. The two of them were altogether engrossed in each other, too absorbed to take note of anyone's conversation but their own.

Sara smiled. “Then you approve?”

“You know it's my favorite.” He squeezed her hand, his dark eyes going over her face with a warmth that made her heart leap. “You are,” he said, his voice still low, “quite the loveliest woman in the room. I am one lucky Irishman, I'm thinking.”

After six months of marriage, he could still make her blush with one of his lingering looks or murmured endearments. “This setting would be flattering to any woman,” Sara pointed out to mask her quick flush of pleasure. “It's like being in the middle of an entire sea of candlelight.”

Michael glanced around, his expression dryly amused. “Quite a bash just to throw some politicians together, wouldn't you say?”

Sara's father dragged his gaze away from Winifred long enough to make an observation of his own. “You'll find that Simon never does anything halfway. Least of all a party. It's planned to impress—and I expect it does.”

Still studying the dance floor and the crowded tables around the ballroom, Michael shook his head. “I'll warrant half the police force is here.”

Sara's father nodded. “Mostly the captains, I should think. Simon's interest in law enforcement extends only to the boys with the clout.”

“Clout or corruption?” Michael returned, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Most of the brass have their hands so deep in the till they can't find their elbows.”

“Still, they're the pillars of the local party.”

Michael scowled. “More like puppets, I'm thinking, than pillars.” He paused. “I'm not sure I understand why
we
were invited. Except for your friendship with Dabney, of course.”

Sara's father shook his head. “You're here because Simon intends to add you to his political camp. Surely you know that by now. He's hardly subtle.”

Michael's scowl only deepened as he answered. “He means to
buy
me, you mean.”

Sara had heard most of this conversation before tonight. Apparently, there was no disputing the fact that a number of the local police, many of them captains, were snug in the pockets of the Tammany bosses, but she couldn't believe they were
all
corrupt. Michael had managed to avoid being seduced by the politicians and the crime bosses, after all; certainly, there must be others like him.

“No, I don't think Simon has too many illusions about you, Michael,” her father replied. “Jaded as he is, I believe he can distinguish between a man with integrity and those with none. No,” he repeated, toying with his watch fob, “it seems to me that Simon is genuinely trying to attract you to the political arena by making it seem…respectable—and far more attractive than it really is.”

Sara was taken by surprise at the surge of relief that washed over her when she heard Michael's reply. “I've no real interest in politics. At least not at the present.”