Sons of an Ancient Glory (60 page)

“So she claims, and Sara seems to think the lass is knowledgeable.”

Trying not to feel too eager, Evan chose his words carefully. “Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to at least talk with her. It would seem that an arrangement m-might be as beneficial to the girl as to us.”

“Sara said as much last night. She likes the lass.”

“What about the girl? D-does she seem interested in the position at all?” Evan asked, feeling more hopeful still.

Michael lifted an eyebrow. “Let's just say she seemed a bit dubious at first, that the English and the Irish could manage to live under the same roof without starting a war.” He grinned. “But Sara seems to think you and Nora can settle her doubts about that particular issue.”

Evan walked for a long time. He walked, and he prayed, letting his thoughts wander where they would.

He thought about Nora and the shadow that had recently fallen upon their life together, and he wondered if he would ever sleep an entire night through again, without waking up in fear for her.

Yet on the heels of that somber thought came the reminder of everything Nora had survived up until now. The famine in Ireland. The loss of her entire family, except for Daniel. The nightmare of the Atlantic crossing. The scarlet fever. Teddy's difficult birth.

Not to mention the fire last night
, he thought with a sigh.

He could not help but remember how she had looked the first time he ever saw her: a small, weary, half-starved woman with a world of sorrow in her eyes. God had brought her from that seemingly hopeless life all the way across the ocean, through danger and illness and threat of death, to meet the challenge of a new life in a new land with a new family.

Didn't Nora herself maintain that the Lord had been with her, at her side, through the very worst times in her life, through all the pain and the suffering she had endured?

What was it she had told him the night Teddy was born?…
“This much I do know and believe…I am closer to our Lord during those times than at any other moment of my life.”

Considering what God had done for Nora…for all of them…in the past, Evan felt he could do no less than trust His faithfulness for the future. His father's exhortation echoed in his mind:
“Be brave, and trust God.”

He walked on, only vaguely aware of the sharpness of the wind. As he walked, he seemed to feel the very heartbeat of the city, sensing its energy and agony all about him. He passed among people of countless nations, people of unknown tongues and exotic dress. America was rapidly becoming a nation of immigrants, a nation virtually built upon the dreams and sweat and suffering of all those coming to her shores in search of refuge.

It seemed a wonder and a glory to Evan that the God who had sustained Nora…and himself…through the shadowed valleys of their lives was also the God of all the thousands of immigrants who even now were building this new nation. How He could be in the midst of so many people, yet abide in the hearts of each, was a miracle that never ceased to amaze Evan.

For while it was true that there was suspicion and division, in some cases even hatred, among the peoples of these various nations, there was also a common bond of faith joining them all: faith in the same God upon whom the early colonists had founded their nation.

Thousands had already begun to push west, lured by the fortunes to be made in gold…and to the north, to the security of factories and industry…or to the heartland, where land was vast and rich and fertile. And they were taking their faith with them.

For over seventy years, God had been at the heart of the growing, struggling United States. And now, as they were about to enter a new decade—the 1850s—God was still at the heart of a surging, dynamic America, whose boundaries seemed limitless…and whose destiny appeared to be greatness.

For as long as God was at the heart of America, could America be anything
less
than great?

Walking more slowly now, Evan looked about at the omnibuses, the police wagons, the hackney cabs, the carriages. He wound his way among merchants and street vendors, organ grinders, businessmen and beggars.

And all along the way, the ever-present, often homeless, children darted in and out of alleys, playing their games or plying their trades, peddling paper flowers or candy, shining shoes or picking pockets. They were everywhere. Children with dirty faces and hungry eyes, timid smiles and tear-tracked cheeks. Clothed in rags or paper shoes, their bodies were often bruised, their gazes furtive. Some orphaned by circumstance, others discarded, like dirty rags…abandoned, forgotten, and alone.

America's children.

And it dawned upon Evan as he walked that something must be done for these little ones if America was to have a future. The country, this wonderful new nation, was failing her children! And if the country failed her children, her children would eventually fail the country.

The hope…the future…of any nation was its children. Something had to be done for the Billy Hogans of the United States. They needed a place to
go
, these outcast, abused little ones: a place where they could be safe and grow up knowing the peace and love of God and a family.

But where? Evan slowed his pace. A sense of desperation, a fathomless kind of
yearning
, like nothing he had ever known, swept over him. He was still dimly aware of his surroundings, but it was as though nothing existed except the swelling urgency inside him. He was no longer tuned to the clamor or the heartbreak of the city.

In that moment, even as he continued walking, he felt himself seized and held captive. He felt the cold, but not its sting—as if the Father had wrapped His arms about him and was holding him, carrying him…all the while whispering to him…

I will take care of Nora, Evan. Trust Me.

Heartened beyond measure, Evan pressed his muffler closer to his throat. “I know, Lord…I know You will.”

I will take care of Nora's needs…and yours. I will sustain you and your family, Evan. Trust Me.

It no longer mattered that he was in the middle of a busy city. Evan walked on, his steps lighter, his heart lighter, too, as he murmured a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Trust Me, Evan, to take care of you and those you love. And I will trust
you
to take care of My children.

Evan caught a breath and held it, his heart racing.

I have brought you to this place for a reason, Evan. I have blessed you along the way with family and friends. I have put people in this city for you, people to love you and encourage you and affirm you…and I have put
you
in the city for My people. For my children. I told you I would ask much of you.…

Evan stumbled, then stopped where he was, waiting. “Yes, Lord?”

As you entrust your loved ones to Me, I now entrust My children to you. Save the children, Evan. Trust Me…and save My children.

Trembling, Evan looked around. He was astonished to realize he had walked all the way to the Bowery. He was on Elizabeth Street, near Grand, in the midst of one of the largest German settlements in the city.

He stared out into the street, at shoppers and merchants making their way between the horse-drawn buggies and wagons coming and going. Turning, he scanned the buildings lining the street, most of them familiar. The bakery, the cooper shop, the sign maker's. Not an entirely disreputable neighborhood, by New York standards.

Unexpectedly, the sun came out, struggling through the low dense clouds of the November sky, casting a faint silver spray across the rooftops, illuminating one building just to his right.

Three stories high, it was a wide, sturdy-looking structure of dark brick that, although obviously not new, looked to have been reasonably well maintained. It appeared to be vacant—unusual in this neighborhood.

Evan started to walk away—he had already been gone from home far longer than he'd intended—but he found himself hesitating. As he stood there, his gaze traveling the length and breadth of the building as the sun hovered just overhead, he thought he heard…just for a moment…the sound of laughter and singing.

Children's laughter. Children's voices.

He glanced around. There were no children in sight.

His eyes went back to the building that had taken on a strangely cheerful, friendly appearance in the warm glow from the sun. He stood there a long time, staring at the vacant building.

At last he turned once more to leave.

And again, he heard the children. Happy, carefree, countless children.

I have brought you to this place, Evan…for the children.…

As if caught in a dream, Evan found himself approaching the building. Slowly, he walked up the stone steps to the massive double doors, where a sign had been posted:
For Sale or Lease. Inquire at Gartner's Bakery.

Evan stared at the sign for a long time before retracing his steps. In the street, he turned for one last lingering look at the stalwart brick building. Familiar, somehow, like an old friend.

As he stood there, he felt something stir, like a whisper, a murmuring in his spirit.

Whittaker House.

A place for the children.

Then, with the distant voices of children ringing in his heart and the early afternoon sun shining golden upon his back, Evan Whittaker turned away and started down the street, toward Gartner's Bakery.

The country's history and our own
Lie just beyond the portals of the Past.
Here we confront ourselves
In the echoing footsteps
Of all those who have gone before.

A
NONYMOUS

Dublin

Early December

T
he sky at noon was startlingly clear. December had made an unseasonably mild entrance, with a succession of almost balmy days and crisp nights.

Outside the Gypsy wagon, Sandemon, in his shirtsleeves, felt himself gripped by a restless, indefinable yearning more often associated with young hearts in the springtime of the year. He had been too long confined: almost five weeks in this wagon with the two youths. Five weeks of critical illness and the relentless strain of nursing. Five weeks of fending off the impatience and peevishness occasioned by such confinement.

Soon it would be over—a great relief! He threw the last of the contaminated cloths on the fire and stood watching the smoke wind its way slowly upward. He was missing Nelson Hall and the household, missing them grievously: the mercurial humor and companionship of the young master, the delight of the children, the shy kindness of Mistress Finola—and, of course, the peppery wit and wry good will of Sister Louisa.

His family.

Poking at the fire with a stick, his thoughts roamed to each of them, wondering how they had fared this past month. What sort of new mischief might young Annie have involved herself in by now? And the baby—ah, the golden son of Nelson Hall—he would be rounder still, and more alert. And the
Seanchai…

His mood sobered. He fretted much about the young giant, so very needful, yet so determined in his quest for independence—and so poignantly obvious in his love for his wife.