Flight of the Earls (43 page)

“But first,” he said with conviction, “there is something we must do.”

Chapter 40

Autumn Winds

It felt peculiar for Clare to actually be sitting at a table in McKinney's where so many times before she passed through on her way to and from work. Although Seamus and Pierce had felt at home here, Clare never liked the smell of a bar or being around people who were drunk.

Life had covered much ground since she first was introduced to Tressa and entered in Patrick Feagles's twisted world. It made her ill to think of how badly she fell to his ruse.

“They should be down soon,” Andrew said. “It's not too late for you to leave.”

“Oh no,” Clare said. “This is exactly where I want to be.”

The bartender was mopping the floor, taking advantage of the morning hour when the bar was typically most clear of patrons. “Sure you folks don't need a nip of something?” he asked, while cleaning under the table next to them.

Suddenly, shouts rang out and pounding noises could be heard coming down the stairs.

“You're going to break me arm, you filthy swine.”

Clare and Andrew rose, watching in pleasure as they saw Uncle Tomas emerging from the frame of the stairwell, struggling against the firm grasp of two constables.

Tressa was trailing behind in near hysteria. “Be careful! You're hurting him!”

A measured smile of contentment came over Clare when her uncle caught sight of her, and his rebellion faded to confusion.

“Have a seat here, Mr. Hanley.” Andrew pulled out a chair at the table. “You're welcome to join us.” He motioned for Tressa to a chair. He nodded toward the two constables who moved back a step but kept close and vigilant.

“What is all of this about?” Uncle Tomas said. “Clare. Are you behind this?”

“This is merely a courtesy visit,” Andrew said. “We wanted to provide you with some news before your fellow Irish citizens of the Five Points get their chance.” He pulled out a gold pocket watch. “In just a few minutes, by my estimation. Which is why we'll be short.”

Clare slapped a copy of the morning's
New York Daily
on the table and spun it square so her uncle could see it clearly. She reveled at the way his eyes traced to the headline in horror and as the arrogance drained from every pore of his being as he read the copy. His shoulders fell and his fingers dug frantically through his hair, his eyes darting back and forth. He was a cornered animal, sifting through his mind for any possible method of escape.

“It's lies,” Tressa said. “After all we did for you, Clare. How could you betray us?”

“Shut up, Tressa.” Uncle Tomas held out his hands in surrender to be bound. “I suppose you'll be arresting me.”

“Oh no,” Andrew said. “That would require more kindness than you deserve. We think it's much better that you're free . . . among your people when they learn the truth.”

“You can't do that,” Uncle Tomas said, his voice cracking. “I insist you bring me in.”

“Gentlemen,” Andrew said to the constables. “I believe you'll need to continue with your investigation. Certainly there are many more details that need to be assessed with such a complicated case.”

Andrew nodded to Clare, put his hat on his head, and together they rose from the table.

Clare needed to flee before hatred gave way to any sign of pity. But she had one more question. There was something that didn't make sense to her.

“So, Uncle,” she said, venom in her tone. “How exactly did you get Margaret to agree to it all? Marrying that miserable old creature for your gain? She was so strong.”

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. Uncle Tomas appeared old, broken, and pathetic in Clare's eyes. “Your sister wanted the world. Every drop she could taste. I found a way where her glass would be filled. Overflowing. I loved Maggie. But the tragedy was she would do anything for me.”

“Love? You'll never know love.”

Clare turned to Tressa, who was heaving with sobs. “There's a better place inside of you. I hope you'll find it.”

Andrew put his arm around Clare and they walked out of the tavern, pausing before they climbed up into their awaiting cab. There was a stirring in the air and they glanced toward the intersection at the end of the street.

“It's happening already,” Clare said to Andrew, surprised she felt no guilt.

There was finality in hearing their headline trumpeted by the newsboys, and they watched as people turned in their steps, grabbing for their own copy, with anger in their faces.

Clare looked back through the window of the tavern and saw her uncle pouring himself a drink.

The carriage was parked in front of The House of Refuge, which had long lines out front leading into the soup kitchen. The cab driver stroked the head of one of his horses as Andrew and Clare made their final arrangements.

“The packet ship leaves this evening,” Andrew said in a hurried manner. “Which means time is very short if we're going to be on it when it leaves. It's a cargo ship, mostly, but also the fastest in the fleet. We use the service every week to carry the
Daily
to Dublin and London, one of their best customers, you might say. So I was able to make arrangements for the two of us. It's no longer safe for you here, Clare.”

“Andrew.” She put her hands on his cheeks. “Sweet Andrew. You know you won't be able to come with me.”

“Everything will work out, Clare. All of it. But there isn't much time.”

“Andrew,” she said again. “You can't make the trip. Why you shouldn't have even gone to Blackwell's Island.”

He shook his head, his eyes glistening. “This is different, Clare. I have no choice. The fear of losing you is the only fear I have.” He kissed her on the forehead.

“Oh.” He reached into his vest, pulled out a small leather portfolio, and unwrapped the tie. “This is for you.” He opened it enough for her to see there were a stack of bills, all of them English pounds.

“Why are you giving me this now?” she said with apprehension. “Why don't you bring it with you?”

“Just take it.” He tied it up and then pressed her hands around it. “I promise you, I'll be there. You'll be on board first and you can get our places settled. The driver has all of the directions. He's a man I know and trust. Daphne is packing your clothes and she's preparing travel food. You're to stop there and proceed immediately to the harbor. You'll be safe as soon as you board.”

They embraced for the longest time, and it was painful for her to let go. She pulled her head back. He had removed his glasses and she peered into his warm, green eyes. She saw her own reflection, a woman deeply in love. She straightened his hair with her fingers and wondered what life would be without him.

“We must go,” he whispered.

Then Andrew turned and hurried toward the door of the mission. But before he could go inside, a woman flagged him down. She leaned heavily on a cane with one hand while struggling to hoist a toddler on her hip with the other. Andrew kneeled down, put his hand tenderly on the woman's shoulder, and listened to her needs.

Through the windows Clare could see all levels of The House of Refuge filled with the vibrant activity of his vision. From a window on the second floor, two small children pressed their faces and hands against the window and looked down at her.

Clare's stomach knotted with the thought of allowing Andrew to abandon his dream.

As she leaned over the edge of the ship's well-polished wooden banister, the breeze lifted Clare's hair, which now was well below her shoulders. The ship steward, who had assisted her in porting her bags on deck, had boasted she was aboard an American-made clipper ship.

“It'll get us to Dublin in less than four weeks,” the steward said as he gawked at the majestic sails and masts of the great ship.

Compared to her first voyage, this vessel would get to Ireland in short order, but Clare still feared she was too late. She couldn't know if Seamus had managed to send money home, but one thing was certain: Not a penny she sent had made it to them.

It pained Clare to imagine in what condition she might find them if her family's crop had failed in the spring, as she heard was the case with most farms on the west side of the tragedy-struck island.

Her anxiety only compounded as she had seen the hideously sunken faces and diseased bodies of her countrymen as they streamed in haunting processions off the ships unloading in the busy Hudson Bay Harbor.

But even these profound worries were eclipsed by the sinking dread she endured as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. The ship was due to pull away from the great city at any moment, and her angst soared as she witnessed the crews unhitching the massive ropes from the pier.

With the light diminishing, her eyes strained to recognize in the crowd the face she so longed to see again. She imagined with desperation that any moment, there would be a noise sounded, an arm raised, and he would come running at the last possible moment, and together they would share the rest of their lives.

She saw Andrew in every man, in every moment, and in every shadow. After the ship unmoored, there was a sudden pitch, and the tugboat's steam engine engaged its gears.

Clare knew it was ludicrous to expect him to be aboard with her. He had already demonstrated his love for her and the boundaries of heroism in accompanying her to Blackwell's Island, and she feared he nearly died in the effort.

Besides, Andrew belonged in the city, and the city needed him. This was his ministry. Manhattan was the place of his destiny.

Yet all of this sound reasoning, which she repeated over and over again, couldn't salve the cavernous wound of her heart.

She loved Andrew beyond everything else. Even more so now as the reality of a life apart from him became so tangible. Grandma Ella said she had prayed everyday for a man of his character to arrive in her granddaughter's life. Now Clare would pray for herself.

Please, God. I've never wanted anything more in this world. Bring him to me now. Do this and I will forgive You for all else.

The tug now had the ship firmly in its talons, and Clare felt her life slipping away as the people below erupted in cheers and waved to ones who were departing.

She couldn't bear to watch the joyful exchanges of greetings around her, and she felt painfully alone.

Across in the distance, Clare spied a figure leaning against a tree, staring directly at her as the ship pulled from the harbor. And though only visible as a hint of a shadow, she knew it was Andrew.

“Good-bye,” she whispered, and then retired to her room.

Chapter 41

Branded