Heart of the Lonely Exile (27 page)

Until Daniel had come down with this awful illness, his intention had been to talk with Jess Dalton after Christmas about what he might do to help in the work of the Five Points mission. Now, he could not think beyond this room, this night—and Nora.

Shaky with exhaustion and at the edge of despair, Evan rubbed first one temple, then the other. He'd had one of his headaches most of the evening, vicious enough to make him sick to his stomach. No longer able to stand, he eased himself down on the chair beside the bed. Sara Farmington was seated in the only other chair in the room, a rickety wooden rocker near the door.

Michael Burke gave him a cursory look, then glanced away. Evan sighed, too weary to consider the Irish policeman's feelings about his being here. If Burke thought he'd stepped out of his place, well, then, let him. The man had no claim on Nora. At least not yet.

Unless Nora herself should tell him to leave, Evan would remain. The truth was, he was
afraid
to leave. Afraid she might simply…slip away.

He lost his breath at the thought. Squeezing his eyes shut, he swallowed hard. Did it show a lack of trust on his part, this obsessive need to stand guard over her? Was it his own fear or the Lord's urging that he continue to do battle for her in prayer?

Or…was it the fact that he loved her beyond all reason, that he could not bear the thought of being anywhere but close to her?

A breeze fanned the room when the door suddenly opened. Everyone turned to look as Pastor Dalton entered.

It seemed to Evan that whenever the tall, ruddy-faced pastor walked into a room, it somehow grew a bit brighter. It was almost as if the man wore a mantle of hope over his broad, sturdy shoulders.

No matter the circumstances, Jess Dalton had a way of bringing light to his surroundings. Even Michael Burke's bleak gaze warmed somewhat at the sight of the big pastor.

Dalton had visited both Daniel and Nora numerous times during their illness, but Evan would have not expected him to call at the hospital at so late an hour. If Lewis Farmington had sent for the pastor, perhaps Nora's condition was even worse than he feared. Evan tried to push the sickening thought out of his mind as the clergyman greeted Sara Farmington, then approached Nora's bed. “Any change?” he asked, including both Evan and Michael Burke in his nod of greeting.

The policeman shook his head. “They gave her more laudanum. She's been sleeping…a long time.”

Evan stood. As always, he felt both dwarfed by Dalton's size and cheered by his presence.

The pastor's eyes went to Nora, and his soft blue gaze filled with compassion. “She has suffered a great deal—and in so many ways. My wife would say that Nora's life has been one of heavy sorrow.”

As he spoke, he moved closer to the bed and clasped Nora's thin hand in his. The ghost of a sad smile went over his features as he continued to hold her hand and gaze down at her.

Finally he released her hand. Looking first at Evan, then toward the foot of the bed where Michael Burke was standing, he said, “You men look exhausted. I don't suppose I could convince either of you to get some rest?”

Burke merely shook his head.

“N-Not…yet,” Evan murmured.

The pastor nodded, then gestured for Sara Farmington to join them. “Let's pray together,” he said simply, motioning that they should join hands with him.

It was left for Evan to clasp the large, strong hand of Michael Burke as the four of them gathered round Nora's bed.

“Father, you know the love for Nora Kavanagh that abides in the hearts
gathered here in this room,” Dalton began. “Help us to remember, though, that Nora is Your child, that You love her more than we can even imagine. Lord, we pray with faith in that love, with total trust in the goodness and the wisdom of that love.”

As always, the pastor's gentle voice belied his intimidating size. “We understand that it is Your right to heal or not to heal, Father. But often, when you
don't
heal
,
we either doubt the quality of our faith or the reality of Your mercy.” Dalton paused, then went on. “Remind us of the truth, that Your sovereign will does not depend upon our faith, nor can Your mercy ever be understood by our finite minds. Our part is to trust Your mercy and acknowledge Your right to fulfill Your purposes—in Your own way, in Your own time. Surely we can do that much, Father. Surely we can trust the mercy…and the love…of a Lord who would die for us.
Surely we can trust the Lord of the Cross….
”

As Dalton prayed, the pain in Evan's heart slowly gave way to a warm, renewing peace. For the first time since the ugly disease had felled Nora, he was able to unreservedly surrender her to the Lord's mercy…to His perfect love.

For just an instant, he was even able to smile a little to himself at the irony of his hand, almost frail by comparison, clasped securely in the hard strength of Michael Burke's.

At the same time a dear, familiar hymn began to swell inside his spirit. On a long-ago golden autumn day, he had gone to South Place Chapel in London to worship. There he had heard, for the first time, a sweet and splendid hymn that had slipped into his heart and remained there ever since, like a gentle, shining gift of faith.

Never had the words sounded quite as clearly in his soul, never had they meant quite as much, as they did now.

“Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee, E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me….
”

Until the others joined their own voices, one at a time, with his, Evan had not realized that he'd begun to sing aloud. For a moment he was embarrassed. Yet he went on, the voices around him rising and growing stronger with his.

As Jess Dalton prayed, and as the hymn rose sweetly over Nora's hospital bed, Evan did think he could sense a gathering of angels in the room and a Fatherly embrace around them all.

27

When sleep, sorrow's tomb with her flowery wand sealing,
The soft pall of silence o'er Life's battle flings,
Then glimpses of Eden in visions revealing,
O'ershadow our rest with your sheltering wings….

RICHARD D'ALTON WILLIAMS (1822–1862)

L
ong past midnight, Jess Dalton trudged heavily upstairs. He had his hand on the doorknob of the master bedroom before remembering that it was temporarily occupied by Arthur Jackson. Quietly he turned, then tiptoed down the hall to the guest room.

He stopped just inside the door. Kerry was curled up beneath a quilt in the enormous upholstered rocking chair by the window. She looked childlike, and troubled.

“Kerry? Whatever are you doing up so late, love?”

“Waiting for you. I couldn't sleep.”

Shrugging out of his suit coat, Jess crossed the room. “And why
can't
you sleep?” Lifting her, he took her place in the rocker, then settled her snugly onto his lap.

As she often did, she replied to his question with one of her own. “How did you find the Kavanagh lad, Jess? And Nora?”

He hesitated, reluctant to distress her at such a late hour.

“Nora is worse, isn't she?” Kerry persisted.

Jess drew a deep, weary sigh, nodding. “Daniel is better. Much improved, in fact. But Nora—Nora isn't doing very well as yet.”

Kerry nodded as if she'd known what he was going to say. “I had almost
dozed off,” she said, “but all of a sudden didn't I find myself wide awake? And with a fierce need to be praying for Nora Kavanagh.”

Jess was accustomed to this sort of unpredictable behavior from his wife. Over the years, he had come to recognize her uncommon sensitivity to the urging of God's Spirit. He had learned to trust and respect what others might have deemed “coincidence.”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek, gathering her more closely against him. “Nora needs all of us praying for her tonight,” he said quietly. “In fact, I'm going back to the hospital. I only came home to leave a note in case you awakened, so you wouldn't worry.”

Drawing back, Kerry frowned at him. “But, Jess, you've been up since dawn! Couldn't you just rest a few hours?”

“No,” he said slowly, sorely tempted. “I think I'd best go back.”

Her eyes went over his face with an unspoken question.

Resting his head against the padded chair, Jess met her gaze. “She's very ill, Kerry.
Very
ill.”

Kerry's reply was to bury her face against his shoulder.

Neither of them spoke for the next few moments, but simply sat rocking slowly back and forth, thinking their own thoughts and taking comfort from each other. Finally, Jess stirred. Reluctantly, he set Kerry on her feet and got up. “If I sit here any longer, I'll fall asleep.”

She nodded, measuring his appearance with a worried frown. “All right, then. But could we pray together before you go, Jess? I haven't finished praying for Nora this night.”

In Evan Whittaker's cottage, Daniel woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed.

The sudden movement brought a fierce stab of pain to his head, then a wave of dizziness. Propping himself up on his elbows, he waited, listening.

For what?

His mother was in danger.

A cold touch of fear traced the back of his neck and traveled the length of his spine. He looked round the room. The candle had burned low, indeed was almost gone. In a rocking chair near the door Ginger sat, dozing. The
fire barely glowed in the small fireplace across the room. Daniel felt chilled clear through.

Mother. Where was she? What had happened?

Then he remembered. They had taken her to the hospital.

A wave of dread for his mother swelled inside him. Not wanting to wake Ginger, dreading the weakness that seized him every time his feet touched the floor, Daniel quietly got to his knees in the middle of Evan's big bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to pray.

Nora knew this was a dream. She understood that she was more spectator than participant, more asleep than awake.

And yet she was moving. No…'twas only that the bed seemed to move. She felt bound to it, one with it. When it first tilted and began to drift, she found she could not separate herself from it. It was as if she had no power of her own, no freedom of movement.

All was darkness and shadow. And silence. Not the silence of a quiet place, but the foreboding stillness of the unknown. And she was alone. Alone as she had never been before.

At first it was terrifying. She felt herself to be entirely at the mercy of the blackness around her, yet somehow knew it held…nothing. The darkness engulfing her was damp and cold, the air itself heavy and deadly still.

After what seemed an interminable time, she gradually became aware of a faint splashing sound, like water lapping against a rocky seawall.

She must be in a cave.

The bed suddenly tilted. Terrified of falling off into the vast darkness, Nora dug the fingers of both hands into the mattress.

She felt lightheaded, then sick. Again the bed rocked, plunging her even deeper into the cave. A fierce pounding started up inside her head, a relentless volley of crashing blows, one after another. The blood in her veins pulsed with the same furious rhythm, and her heart slammed madly against her chest.

Voices…somewhere around her, there were voices. Whisperings and murmurings. Or was it only the water splashing against the cavern walls?

Suddenly, in the distance, the wall of the cave seemed to open.

Slowly, ever so slowly, a small circle of light appeared. As Nora watched, the light rose and expanded, growing larger and brighter until finally it did seem to be a spray of stars.

Wondrous sight…

She tried to sit up, but instead found herself frozen in place. Still, the light spread, filling the far wall of the cave. It began to move toward her, and as it approached it swallowed the darkness.

Again Nora strained to move, this time reaching, groping toward the light, which was coming steadily closer. It seemed to beckon, to greet her.

The murmuring around her grew louder, then ebbed and faded until it was gone. Now there came a new sound, the slow, gentle rising of soft voices singing in the distance. An entire chorus of voices, each different, yet flowing and blending as one glorious instrument. The music swelled, the rhythm thundered, a thousand voices welcoming the light with a glory that filled the cave and filled Nora's mind and her heart as if to prepare her.

Prepare her for the approaching light…

Now there was no darkness. There was only the light and its warmth and the sound of singing.

Oh, beautiful, beautiful sounds of joy!

Nora could feel the warmth, the sweet glow of the light, knew it would enfold her any moment. Anxious for its embrace, she reached out her hands, straining to welcome it—and suddenly realized it was not the light that was moving, but she herself.

At the center of the dream, she walked, then ran, toward the light. The light was everything now, it was existence itself. There was nothing behind her, nothing around her, only the light. She was inside it. She lifted her face to let it spray on her, opened her arms to let it bathe her and gather her inside its glory—

Suddenly, there was a pause in the wonder.

The sound of singing waned. The light did not recede or fade, but seemed to take a soft breath. Without actually touching her, it somehow urged her forward.

She was led through the narrowest of valleys until it widened more, still more, opening onto a brilliant, sun-washed field.

Nora stood, breathless. The field filled up her vision, indeed, seemed to fill the entire universe. There were no mountains, no rivers—there was
not even a sky overhead! Only the field, mile after mile of verdant grass and boundless rows of flowers.
Eire
in all its high summer splendor had never been so lovely!

Flowers everywhere. Wild flowers of lace and delicate filigree. Exotic flowers, lush and rich blooms, heavy with fragrance. Tall garden flowers, waving, and small flowers, smiling and peeping through individual blades of grass.

And everywhere, all among the riot of colors frolicking in the field, children and grown-ups worked and played and danced among the flowers! Some were planting new seeds, others gathering bouquets. From the lips of the children spilled laughter and sparkling songs and happy sighs. Mature faces—mature, and yet fresh and young and sweetly innocent—smiled and offered a cherishing word or a touch of affection to one another as they worked and sang.

Nora was led closer, closer still. Her eyes widened with glad amazement.
Owen? Was it truly Owen, her husband?

He stooped to gather flowers, then straightened and passed them, a blossom at a time, to a small group of laughing children.

Her children
—
hers and Owen's!

Nora cupped her mouth with both hands, staring at the children. Oh, wasn't it Tahg himself? Her own firstborn! But see him now, Lord—just see him now! Tall and straight and strong again—strong as he had never been in his brief, fragile lifetime! With the bloom of youth on his cheeks and a harvest of flowers in his arms, which he was scattering in the path of a small black-haired girl—

Ellie!

Ellie, her baby girl! Tears spilled from Nora's eyes as she breathed the name of her youngest child, the sound of it like a caress on her lips. Sweet Ellie, with her thick, glossy black curls, her face round and shining as she bounced and danced among the flowers strewn at her feet by her father.

Nora cried out with yearning, lunged to run to them. But the light restrained her, gently cautioned her to wait.

Wait…

And so she waited, aching and longing to join Owen and the children, yet unable to disobey the constraining touch on her arm.

Then a man appeared, a straight, tall man with clean overalls and a lustrous white beard.
Old Dan!
The
grandfather, the old dear himself! He
came striding across the field, strong and vigorous, healthy, as if he were in his very prime again! On one broad shoulder he carried an infant, and in the crook of his arm another babe.

The tears flowed freely as Nora cried aloud. These were her babies, then. The poor wee things who had died during their birthing. Now plump and cheerful, they cooed and sighed like new baby doves in the old man's arms.

Old Dan turned, and for a moment Nora thought he had seen her! But, no, it was as if she did not exist for any one of them; even Owen seemed oblivious to her presence.

Oh, Lord…Lord! I want them to see me! I want to go to them, to be with them.

As Nora wept, her heart straining toward her loved ones, her arms aching to hold them, others came rushing through the flowers. Leaping and laughing, they sprayed color and fragrance all about the field.

Some she did not recognize, others she did. Many she had last seen lying dead in Killala's ditches, dead of the Hunger and the fever. Now they laughed and danced in a great field of star-flowers!