Beverly Byrne

COME SUNRISE

By
Beverly Byrne
:

She
loved him with all her soul-but he was destined to be a priest.

She
had no choice  but to turn to another. . .

COME
LOVE. The exquisite Amy Norman is only seventeen when her parents are
killed-and her life is changed forever. She can never go home again. She must
stay in New York with friends of her family, people she has never met....

COME
DESTINY. From the moment Amy moves in with the Westermans, she is attracted to
the handsome, blond Luke- but-their love will always be out of reach. When he
enters the priesthood, she turns to his brother Tommy, whose jealousy over her
love for Luke torments his soul....

COME
LIFE. But Luke is always in her thoughts, in her heart, when she is with
Tommy-a fact that he never lets her forget, not in New York, where they are a part
of glittering society, and not in rustic New Mexico, where they move to begin a
new life....

A
sweeping tale of love and betrayal, of adventure and glittering romance

ENTER
THE WORLD OF

WHERE
LOVE CAN NOT ALWAVS ENDURE THE LIGHT OF DAY ••••

AMY 
NORMAN. A beautiful innocent, she was cast away from her home and  family, only
to find a great love In the one man she could never have …

(MORE)

LUKE
WESTERMAN. Blond and charismatic, he returned Amy's love-but his heart and soul
already belonged to God and the priest-hood…

TOMMY
WESTERMAN. As dark as his brother was fair, he wanted Amy for his own –even if
he was the second choice…

BEATRIZ
ORTEGA. Strong and statuesque, she would keep her New Mexico range-at any cost…

RICARDO
IBANEZ. A handsome doctor, he could only love the married Amy from afar- until
his passion grew too strong to deny…

ROSA
MADAGCO. A woluptuous beauy, she wanted the good life-and she would become
Tommy's mistress to get It…

DONALD
VARLEY. As Amy'guardian, he was to look after her best Interests. But was he
everything he seemed to be?

Fawcett
Gold Medal Books

By
Beverly Byrne
:

COME SUNRISE

FIERY
SPLENDOR

JASON'S
PEOPLE

JEMMA

WOMEN'S
RITES

A
Fawcett Gold Medal Book

Published
by Ballantine Books

Copyright
© 1987 by

All
rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House,
Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited,
Toronto.

Library
of Congress Catalog Card Number: 87-90770

ISBN
0-449-13230-7

All
the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to persons
living or dead is purely coincidental.

Manufactured
in the United States of America

First
Edition: July 1987

Prologue

ON
THE SEVENTH OF MAY, 1915 TWO MEN STARED IN disbelief at a clattering teletype
machine. Its staccato clicks and clacks and bells bespoke urgency in an
otherwise silent and deserted room.

Outside
twilight made blue gray the New York streets. It was after 8:00 P.M. and most
of Tenth Avenue's warehouses and offices were deserted. A few wharfs sheltered
ships. They seemed lifeless and still, suspended in that moment between night
and day. Dusk blurred to dark and a light winked here and there.

In
the Cunard office the older clerk wrenched himself into motion. He stretched
out a hand and tore the message from the machine.

Lusitania
sunk off Irish coast by German U-Boat . . . this day fourteen-fifteen GMT ...
search and rescue underway . . . few survivors ...

"Jesus
Christ," the second man said. "There must have been two thousand
people on that ship."

"Twelve
hundred and fifty passengers," his companion said tonelessly. "About
six hundred crew. Eighteen, maybe nineteen hundred."

"Jesus,"
the other one repeated.

"Bloody
bastards. Goddamn Huns." The curses were spoken softly, respectful of the
power of death. "A passenger ship, nobody on board but civilians. Oh, my
God!" A rising note of hysteria crept into his voice. He fought it off and
crossed to his desk, still holding the teletype message. Other, more senior,
employees of the company must be notified. He had no desire to carry the
responsibility for this ghastly news.

The
younger clerk stared into the darkness beyond the window. "Do you remember
a few days back, when she sailed?" he asked. "First real day of
spring. Aren't they lucky, I thought. Going to England on a lovely day like
this. Wish it was me." He shivered and said nothing more.

BOOK
ONE

1915-16

1

"THE
LUSITANIA WENT DOWN IN FORTY-FIVE MINutes, my dear. I'm so very sorry,"
Donald Varley said.

"But
it's only two days." Amy Norman looked at the man, uncomprehending.
"We may get more news. My parents may have been rescued ...."

The
headmistress of Miss Taylor's School for Young Ladies moved from behind her
desk and laid her hands on Amy's rigid shoulders.

"My
dear child, you mustn't deceive yourself with false hope. We waited until now
to inform you for just that reason. All the survivors are accounted for. There
were very few, and your dear parents were not among them."

Amy
raised her brown eyes and stared at the woman. "You can't be sure,"
she said stubbornly.

 "I'm
afraid I can," Miss Taylor insisted. "Believe me, I wish desperately
that I were not."

"Miss
Norman-Amy-I do know how you feel. My sister and her husband were aboard too,
you know. They didn't survive either." Varley fumbled with the briefcase
on his lap, as if preparing to produce evidence to support that fact.

"Uncle
Charles and Aunt Cecily too," Amy whispered. "Oh, God ... " She
hunched the spine she'd previously kept deliberately straight, as if to clasp
close the pain of loss.

Miss
Taylor hugged the girl and stroked her hair. Amy had black hair. Usually it was
tied back with a grosgrain ribbon. Now the ribbon had come loose, and the
shining hair hung forward over the girl's face. "Go ahead and cry,
dear," the headmistress whispered. "It's best to face grief at such
times."

Amy
pulled free of the woman's embrace and stood up. "Thank you for coming to
Boston to see me, Mr. Varley," she said woodenly. "If you don't mind,
I'd like to go to my room now." Without waiting for permission she left
the office.

Miss
Taylor turned to the lawyer. "I think it best if Miss Norman is left alone
for a bit," she said. "I'll go up to her presently. She needs time to
assimilate the shock."

"Yes,
of course." This time he did reach into his briefcase and withdrew a sheet
of paper. "I believe you should have this. It's an extract from Mr.
Charles Westerman's will. As you will see, I'm named as executor for the estate
of my late brother-in-law."

"Yes,"
she took the proffered document. "But I don't see ..."

"According
to the terms of Roland Norman's will, Charles was to be Amy's guardian in the
event of her parents' death. Since both the Normans and the Westermans died
simultaneously, in law at any rate, I am now Miss Norman's guardian. Until
she's twenty-one. "

"I
understand. And what do you wish me to do, Mr. Varley? Are we to keep Amy
here?"

"Yes,
of course. For the present at least. The way things are there's certainly no
question of her returning to the family home in Africa. And she must not be
alone. "

"Good,
I think that a wise decision. One further thing Mr. Varley. Is there to be a
funeral? I know the bodies have not been recovered." She swallowed hard.
"But perhaps . . ."

Varley
frowned. He was an exceedingly handsome man. The frown settled over his features
like a mask donned by a superior actor. His clear gray eyes expressed troubled
concern. "I'm afraid I'm at a loss to know what to do about poor Roland
and Jessie in this regard. They weren't members of any church you see. As far
as I know they had no religious beliefs at all. And there is no family apart
from the child. My sister and brother-in-law were closer to them than anyone
else. I only knew the Normans slightly."

"May
I ask what your intentions are with respect to Mr. and Mrs. Westerman."

"There's
to be a memorial mass at St. Ignatius' Church tomorrow.

We're
a Catholic family, so it's rather different.

Miss
Taylor nodded her perfectly coifed gray head. Catholics had rules to guide them
in situations of this sort. It was one thing she found to admire about them.
"I believe the Westermans leave survivors apart from yourself?"

Varley
managed a small smile. "Quite a few. There are two sons and a large
assortment of other relations. We're a sizable clan."

And
an influential one, Miss Taylor thought. She pursed her lips and looked
speculative. "Perhaps I should suggest that Amy return with you to New
York for the service," she ventured. Then, when Varley looked like
agreeing with her, she added, "But I do not advise it. I don't know Amy as
well as I might, she's been with us less than a year, but I know young girls.
Amy is naturally in shock. I think it best if she remain here in familiar
surroundings."

"I'll
abide by your decision in the matter," Varley said, rising. "I'm a
bachelor myself. I don't claim to know anything about children, certainly not
girls."

Miss
Taylor extended her hand. "Please allow me to offer my sympathy for your
own loss, and to thank you for coming."

He
left her his address and telephone number and proceeded to South Station to
catch the Yankee Clipper to New York.

**
*

Miss
Taylor went to Amy's room within half an hour of saying goodbye to Donald
Varley.She knocked softly, then let herself in. Amy sat in a stiff chair by the
window. She didn't turn her head when the head-mistress entered.

There
was a jumble of boxes and ribbons on the bed. A bunch of long stem roses lay
wilting on the floor. Miss Taylor looked at the things and remembered that
today was Amy's seventeenth birthday. The presents must have arrived just a
short time ago.

She
stooped and rescued the roses. A vase stood by the washstand already full of
water. Amy must have been preparing to arrange the flowers before she was
summoned to meet Mr. Varley.

"I'll
just put these here for now," Miss Taylor said. Then she picked up the
crumpled wrapping paper and neatly folded the discarded ribbons. A framed
picture caught her eye. It was done in watercolors and showed a huge sprawling
house surrounded by verdant greenery. A pony stood in the foreground. "Is
this your home in Africa?" she asked softly.

Amy
turned and acknowledged the woman's presence for the first time. "Yes,
that's Jericho. Mummy painted it. She liked making watercolors of the house.
This one's always been my favorite. That's why she sent it to me for my
birthday."

"And
is this your horse?"

"My
pony, Sheba. I've had her since I was six." There was a flicker of
animation on the girl's face.

"She
must miss you," Miss Taylor said, then bit her lip. "Oh, look,"
she added hastily, "here's a present you haven't opened." She held it
out, but Amy didn't take it.

Miss
Taylor opened the small box. A diamond ring winked up from a velvet cushion.
"Oh, Amy, it's exquisite. You must look."

The
girl finally stretched out her hand, and Miss Taylor slipped the ring on her
finger. Amy looked at it in silence, then she said, "This was the first
stone my father found in Africa. He always promised I'd have it for my
seventeenth birthday. It's not very large, only two carats." She spoke as
though she were repeating a lesson learned by rote. "It's perfect though.
A perfect blue-white stone. They arranged all the presents before they sailed.
They made sure the things would be delivered today."

She
stopped speaking and stared at the older woman. Then she looked around the
simple bedroom with its schoolgirl decor and its single window looking out on
unfamiliar, unloved Boston. Her tears began as a silent flood, but soon became
wrenching sobs that shook her small frame and made the curtain of black hair
tremble around her white face.

Amy
spent a few days in the infirmary, then returned to her classes and the normal
routine of the school. But looking at her, as she frequently did, Miss Taylor
recognized the taut control for what it was, a thread being pulled tighter and
tighter. Eventually it must snap, and what would be Amy's hold on reality then?

The
girl's only outward sign of mourning was the black serge dress she wore. More
poignant was her zombielike behavior. She had never been an enthusiastic
student, nor had she made close friends among the other girls. At first Miss
Taylor put it down to Amy's exotic background. Now she gave up hoping that time
would make the girl more like her classmates, or give her a share in their
world. In early June she rang Donald Varley in New York.

"As
you know," she told him, "I had arranged with Mr. and Mrs. Norman for
Amy to spend this summer at a camp in Maine. We thought she'd enjoy the outdoor
life. I'm no longer sure that's a wise plan." She went on to try and
explain her concerns. "Amy needs people to whom she feels close, Mr.
Varley. People with whom she can express her feelings. I fear that she'll do
herself great damage keeping everything locked inside this way."

Varley
had no suggestions to offer. "I'll think about it and call you back,"
he told Miss Taylor.

There
was no return phone call, but a letter came a few days later. Varley had
discussed the problem with other members of the family. Perhaps Amy would like
to join them at their summer home in Cross River. Both Luke and Tommy Westerman
would be there. Amy might take solace from being with the boys. They had, after
all, sustained an identical loss.

"Where
is Cross River?" Amy asked when Miss Taylor told her of the plan.

"In
Westchester County, New York. A charming town. I was there once many years ago.
Do you know the Westerman boys well, Amy?"

The
girl shook her head. She'd taken to wearing her  black hair in a severe bun,
and it accentuated her high cheekbones and her piquant heart-shaped face. The
brown eyes looked enormous now that she was so thin. "Not well," she
answered. "We've met a few times over the years, and I saw them last
summer with ..." She stumbled, then went on. "With Mummy and Daddy.
There are a lot of Westermans. I don't really know who all the others
are."

Miss
Taylor glanced at Varley's letter. "Your hostess would be Miss Lil
Westerman, the late Mr. Charles Westerman's sister. She and her brother are
also spending the summer in Cross River. It would all be quite correct, my dear.
I think you should go."

"Can't
I just go home?" Amy asked. She sounded as if she knew what the answer
must be.

"I'm
afraid that's impossible," MissTaylor said softly. "At least until
this wretched war is over and you're a bit older. Won't you consider accepting
this very kind invitation?"

"Whatever
you say," Amy agreed. "It doesn't matter."