Dawn of the Golden Promise (31 page)

Leaning forward, Morgan passed his hand over the letter several times to smooth it, while resting his head in his other hand to ease the dull ache that had only now begun. He had not shown the letter to Finola, unwilling to inflict the full impact of Gunther's discouraging tone upon her. But neither had he tried to minimize the risk.

Ever since he had first made her aware of the correspondence, she had insisted that the decision should be his. Yet, despite the unmistakable glint of fear in her eyes when they discussed the subject, he had known from the beginning she thought he ought to at least explore the possibilities.

He would not—could not—make such a decision alone. The consequences were too important to both of them. But she had steadfastly refused to try to influence him in any manner, insisting only that she would support him in whatever he chose to do.

“It is between you and our Lord, Morgan,” she had told him repeatedly. “I will understand, whatever you decide. But one thing—if you go to America, I shall go with you.”

There had been a note of resolve in her voice, a surprising firmness when she ignored his every attempt to dissuade her. “No, you will not do this alone. We shall go together, as a family. You and I…and the children. We shall take Gabriel and Aine with us. You should have your family with you at such a time.”

The truth was, of course, that he desperately
wanted
her with him. And so, after much discussion and agonizing and prayer, the decision had finally been made. He would at least subject himself to an examination by Jakob Gunther. He would go to America, and Finola would have her way—she would go with him, as would Annie and Gabriel.

Such a journey for all of them would mean a great deal of planning and organization before he could leave with an easy mind. His absence from the estate and the school for so long a time—not to mention arrangements for passage and lodging once they arrived in the States—would require much preparation. He had already taken the first steps—writing to Gunther, and then penning a request to Michael for help in locating lodging for an indefinite time.

In addition, he intended to have the edited manuscript for Father Joseph's diary completed and in hand when he arrived in America. Even if nothing else were accomplished by this journey, he was determined to arrange publication of the priest's record of the famine. This might be his best, perhaps his only, opportunity to get the truth about Ireland's tragedy across the sea.

He felt a sudden urgency to discuss it all with Finola, and he hurriedly wheeled himself out of the library. The house was uncommonly quiet as he started down the hall. Annie would be in her room, brooding, no doubt, and apparently Sister Louisa and Lucy Hoy had not yet returned from the city. As for Sandemon, he had gone across the stream earlier to help the lads with a final check of provisions for the journey.

He went on down the hall, fairly certain he knew where he would find Finola. At this time of day one of her favorite places was the sunroom that opened onto the west garden.

He stopped just inside the door. His wife and wee Gabriel were curled up together on the divan, asleep. Struck by the sight, he sat watching them, smiling at the picture they made. Finola lay with both arms wrapped securely about the tyke. The sun fell like a blessing over both golden heads, and Morgan could almost feel the warm silk of their hair between his fingers. Resisting the urge to approach and touch them, he instead left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

There would be time enough later to talk. In fact, he thought that tonight at dinner might be an auspicious time to announce the journey. Perhaps the anticipation of such an event would dispel Annie's gloom. The lass had been mourning her lack of adventure. A crossing to America should go far in restoring her enthusiasm for life.

How he wished it might do the same for him. He was, certainly, eager to see Nora and Michael again, and equally enthusiastic about the possibility of getting Joseph's journal published. But the prospect of the American journey engendered any number of conflicting emotions in him. And at the moment, apprehension outweighed them all.

23

Like shadows in the corners of the night,
elusive, deceptive,
whispering threats we cannot hear
of things the spirit cannot bear,
are dark forces who battle secretly with the light.

MORGAN FITZGERALD (1850)

A
nnie jolted awake, startled by the awareness of someone or something on the bed with her, prodding her arm.

Her eyes snapped open to see a small, rosy-cheeked face pressed almost nose to nose with her.

“Gabriel?” Still groggy, she took a moment more to gain her wits. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were downstairs—”

She sat bolt upright, pulling him onto her lap. “Where is Finola?” she asked him. “Where is your mama?”

His smile only brightened as he twisted to look over his shoulder. “Down!”

He chuckled as if he had made a grand announcement. Annie clasped both his chubby hands in hers. “Downstairs? Your mama is still asleep downstairs?”

He grinned at her. “Down!”

“Gabriel,” she demanded, “did you climb the steps alone?”

He beamed, and Annie knew he had done exactly that. A rush of fear swept through her at the thought of her baby brother on the steep main stairway by himself.

She pulled him close to her, as much to reassure herself as to keep him from tumbling off the bed.

“You are such a monkey,” she scolded, with no real exasperation. “You know you're not supposed to be on the stairs without someone watching after you.”

He was a climber, their Gabriel. Ever since he had begun to walk, he'd been able to reach all sorts of places a babe was not meant to go. He could haul himself up onto any of the adults' beds, could reach the biscuit tin in the pantry—had even been caught trying to climb the bookshelves in the
Seanchai
's library!

“Aye, you are a monkey,” she said again, still hugging him against her.

He squirmed, then reached up to pull at her braid. “Play,” he demanded. “An-ye play.”

Annie considered the invitation. “Let's go and see the horses,” she suggested. “Perhaps the
Seanchai
and Sand-Man will return while we're outside.”

He regarded her with a sober stare. “Orsies?”

“Horses,” she corrected, smiling at him. He was ever so bright for such a wee boy. He had walked long before he was a year old, and he knew a number of words already.

He gave her hair another tug. Annie felt pleased and proud to be one of her little brother's favorites. The
Seanchai
and Finola often remarked about Gabriel's affection for his “An-ye.”

Giving him another squeeze, she set him to the floor to wait while she put on her shoes.

“We must be careful not to wake your mama,” she told him, taking his hand and starting for the door. “We'll go down the kitchen stairs.”

Feeling more cheerful than she had most of the day, she led him quietly along the hall, to the back stairway.

“Down,” said Gabriel, trundling along beside her.

“Aye, down,” Annie agreed. “But this time you will hold on to my hand.”

Rook Mooney could scarcely contain his excitement.

When he saw the cripple go off in the wagon with the black man and the two Gypsies, he knew the time he'd been waiting for had finally come.

With the four of them gone, it should be easy. The wolfhound was also off somewhere, had set out with the nun and another woman earlier in the afternoon. There would never be a better time than tonight.

He scrambled to his knees and looked out the window of the loft. His eyes swept the surroundings from the small abandoned barn stable to his left, across the path leading to the west side of the Big House.

Then, crouching, he went to the window on his right, where he could look out and see the field across the stream.

They were gone right enough. Only one wagon remained. The black mare usually tethered nearby was nowhere in sight. There was not a sign of anyone about.

He looked up at the sky. The sun would be going down soon. But not soon enough to suit him. He would have to wait until it was completely dark to make his move.

Halfway down the ladder he looked over his shoulder and froze. From the sliding wooden windows above the great door, he saw the dark-haired girl, the lanky one with the braids, coming down the path from the back of the house. She had a tyke in hand, a boy with golden hair.

Mooney thought for a moment that the two were coming to the coach house, but instead they passed on by. He could hear them going round the side of the building, the little one babbling to the girl.

He took the last few rungs of the ladder quickly, hurrying to the back of the building. Cracking the door, he watched them cross the field to the stone stables and go inside.

He hadn't known there was a wee wane. He was little more than a babe. Did he belong to her, to the Innocent? Sure, with that cap of fair hair, he just might.

As he had before, he wondered about the girl with the braids. Not that he fancied the likes of her. He wanted a real woman, not a scrawny schoolgirl. Of course, if he happened to manage the time for both, why not?

After a moment he went back to the ladder, climbing just high enough that he could look out the windows above the door. Bracing himself halfway up, he studied the back of the Big House, particularly the second story amid the battlements. His eyes locked on the tall window—her bedchamber, he'd warrant.

Was she up there now, watching for him?

Heat blazed up in him, heat fueled more by fury than by need. Did she sense his presence, his rage? Was she cowering in the corner, filled with dread at what was to come?

He willed her to appear at the window, and when she didn't, he tried to picture her face, the fear that would overcome her when she saw him again. He imagined her trying to scream in that peculiar whisper of a voice, as she had before.

His mouth went dry, and he licked the jagged split at the corner of his lip. It had to be tonight. There might never be a chance like this again.

Finola awakened slowly. At first she couldn't think where she was. When she finally focused her eyes on the glass wall of the sunroom, she realized the day's light was almost gone.