Land of a Thousand Dreams (8 page)

As Annie stood there appraising the wolfhound, a thought struck her. Could this wretched beast just possibly be the answer to the
TROUBLESOME NUN? Could he be the Lord's response to her unspoken prayer?

The wolfhound grinned, and Annie grinned back as she thought about a possible encounter between the beast and Sister Louisa. Sure, and wouldn't the ungainly brute quickly take the starch out of the nun's habit?

Of course, the
Seanchai
would at first resist the very thought of harboring such a huge, untidy creature. Yet, Annie knew his great heart to be tender for strays. He had taken her in, after all! Remembering her own state the day she'd arrived at Nelson Hall—her soiled clothing and raggedy hair and smelly shoes—she decided that there was indeed hope for the wolfhound.

Besides, she thought she knew how to assure the beast a home at Nelson Hall. It was all in how he was presented, that was the thing.

Growing more confident by the moment, she decided to give the wolfhound a name right away. A worthy name by which to introduce him to the
Seanchai.

Searching her mind, she dismissed a number of possibilities as too grand or not quite grand enough. Finally, it came to her. She would call him by the noble name of
Fergus
! Fergus, son of Roy, hero of Ulster!

“Aye, that is it, then! You shall be called Fergus! The
Seanchai
will respect you for your name until he learns to appreciate you for yourself!”

Fergus's introduction to the
Seanchai
did not go quite as Annie had planned. With the intention of making the dog more presentable for his first meeting with the
Seanchai,
she set about giving him a quick bath and a much-needed grooming. She soon discovered that the wolfhound was not of a mind to cooperate.

After heating the water so the beast would not freeze, she set to work in earnest on his disreputable appearance. A clash of wills developed over the washtub, and an hour later, Annie was near despair, having demanded and cajoled, threatened and shoved—all to no avail.

When she finally managed to coerce the dog into the tub, he refused to stand and let her scrub him. Instead, he turned playful, the result being that Annie was quickly drenched, wetter by far than the wolfhound.

“You are an ugly, cantankerous
beast!
” she bellowed at the dog, shivering from the water that by now had soaked through her own coat. “An
eejit
and a
disgrace!
Sure, no one will be of a mind to take you in and give you a home
unless you have a proper bath! Now, then—if you don't obey me this instant, I shall cast you out of the stables and you can starve in the streets, for all I care!”

Still grappling with the animal, Annie let fly with a string of choice, forbidden curse words, relics from her former life in the Belfast slums. The dog perked up his ears and gave her his undivided attention, as if to indicate that here was a language he understood.

Just as Annie had hopes of getting him under control, she heard a voice from the doorway:
“What wicked, wicked child is in this stable?”

With one foot in the washtub and the other braced upon the wolfhound's back, Annie shot a startled look toward the stable door. There, hands splayed on his hips, stood an angry Sandemon, nostrils flaring, wide mouth thinned to a displeased line.

All Annie's confidence fled, and she cringed at the thought of the words she had just uttered. She was a Christian now, after all, and she had promised her Lord Jesus—and her friend Sandemon—to be done with the language of the streets.

Worst of all, at Sandemon's side, in the wheelchair, sat the
Seanchai.
A narrow-eyed, tight-jawed, white-knuckled
Seanchai!

Clearly, they were both outraged and furious with her. Annie wondered, fleetingly, which sin would draw the worst of their wrath: the ugly, forbidden dog—or the ugly, forbidden curse words.

Either way, she acknowledged with a sigh, it would seem she was in trouble. Again.

As Annie stood groping for a word of defense, Fergus preened, grinning at the sight of new faces. With a mighty leap, he cleared the tub and took off at a gallop.

He stopped only when he reached Sandemon and the
Seanchai,
giving a vigorous shake to dislodge the soapy water from his coat.

The
Seanchai
's face turned as fiery as his hair, and Sandemon's nostrils flared like wings.

Suppressing a moan, Annie turned a bright, hopeful smile on them both.

“He is for you,
Seanchai!”
Annie exclaimed. “A gift!”

The
Seanchai
peered over the wolfhound's lathered shoulder as Fergus stood on his hind legs and embraced him.

Annie had all she could do not to wilt under the fire blazing out from those green eyes. Fergus's great head only partially muffled the unintelligible roar.

Annie pulled herself up with feigned confidence.
“Fergus!
Bad dog! Down!”

To her great amazement, the wolfhound dropped his huge paws from the
Seanchai
's shoulders. Cocking his head to the right, he regarded the man in the wheelchair with solemn interest, then turned his eyes on Sandemon.

Annie blinked, her hopes rising a notch. “Good, Fergus,” she managed. Daring a smile, she said, “Isn't he grand? He's very well trained, as you can see.”

Sandemon shot her a formidable glare, then took a step toward the dog. Instinctively, Annie moved toward Fergus at the same time. As if sensing an invitation, the wolfhound began to circle them both with frenzied swoops. Cutting in and out between their feet, he forced Sandemon to perform a light-footed dance to avoid losing his balance. When he righted himself, the normally unflappable black man loomed over Annie with a terrible scowl.

She again managed to calm the dog with a sharp command, but Sandemon seemed altogether unimpressed. Jabbing a warning finger at Annie, he demanded, “Where did this—
animal
—come from?”

“And what,” broke in the
Seanchai,
taking up where Sandemon left off, “did you mean about his being a ‘gift'?”

Taking heed of Sandemon's stone visage and the
Seanchai
's strangled tone of voice, Annie knew she had only seconds to redeem the situation—and save the wolfhound.

Lowering her head and folding her hands in front of her, she said in a very small voice, “He was meant as a gift to you,
Seanchai.
I thought you would be pleased.”

“And what is the occasion for this…
gift,
might I ask?” he rasped in a scathing whisper. “Is it Christmas? My birthday? Have I missed an event of some importance?”

Relieved, Annie heard the faint shift in his tone from anger to acid. With deliberate hesitation, she raised her gaze to his, then lifted a hand to brush away an offending strand of hair. “Sure, and there is no special event,
Seanchai.
Didn't I think a fine animal such as this would be a help and a comfort to you? Why, he can fetch and guard the stables and hunt a bit.” She paused to catch a breath, then hurriedly added, “And he's quite fierce enough to frighten off any intruders!”

“We do not
have
intruders,” snapped the
Seanchai.

“So far as we
know,”
Annie pointed out.

Sandemon rolled his eyes toward the heavens, and Fergus whined.

“Where did he
come
from?” asked the
Seanchai.

Annie shook her head. “Sure, and didn't he simply…
appear,
from out of the forest? 'Twas almost as if he came looking for us, as if he knew our need for a strong, noble watchdog such as himself.”

Scrupulously averting her gaze, Annie pretended not to hear Sandemon's low sound of disgust.

“I'm truly sorry,
Seanchai
,” she went on in a thin little voice. “I thought you would be pleased. Why, haven't I worked most of the morning, grooming him so you would be able to see his fine appearance? Having read about the bond between gentlemen and their hounds, I had thought to make you a gift you'd treasure entirely!”

Finally, she dared a glance in his direction. Her hopes soared as she saw him regarding Fergus with a critical but not unkind eye. “He's large for a wolfhound,” he said doubtfully.

“No doubt he's of fine, sturdy stock,” offered Annie.

“And no doubt he will eat as much as a pony,” Sandemon said mildly.

“Perhaps,” Annie admitted, dropping to her knees and wrapping her arms about the wolfhound's great neck. “But he will more than earn his keep, hunting game and standing guard.”

After a calculated pause, Annie got to her feet. She beamed a radiant smile at both men in preparation for her final thrust. “I should think,” she pointed out piously, “that with a child and a helpless nun to consider, you would want some means of protection on the premises.”

Still smiling, Annie waited. The
Seanchai
turned slightly in the wheelchair to look up at Sandemon. The black man again lifted his eyes heavenward.

Holding her breath, Annie watched as Fergus padded with dignity to the wheelchair. He hesitated only an instant before laying his scruffy head in the
Seanchai
's lap, nuzzling as close to him as he could possibly manage.

Annie silently applauded the wolfhound's instincts.

After a moment, one large hand began to scratch the dog's soggy ears.

Looking on with a beatific smile, Annie gleefully envisioned the first meeting between Fergus and Sister Louisa.

5

The Dark Side of the Soul

The dooms of men,
Are in God's hidden place.

W.B. YEATS (1865–1939)

New York City
Early November

T
ierney Burke knew the docks of New York Harbor nearly as well as he knew his own neighborhood. Nevertheless, he did not relish creeping about them at night. Especially on a
Saturday
night, when he could just as easily have been spending time with Connie Hawkes.

Patrick Walsh had acted as if tonight's job were some sort of a great favor, as if Tierney should be flattered at having been singled out in such a manner.

For his part, Tierney considered the assignment little more than snooping. Spying on two of Walsh's unscrupulous runners seemed a meaningless pursuit, not to mention a risky one at that.