Dawn of the Golden Promise (43 page)

“No, Billy,” said Mr. Whittaker, his voice infinitely gentle. “You are
not
alone. You have another family. You have m-me, and Mrs. Whittaker—and Miss Quinn. And don't forget Teddy and all the other b-boys at Whittaker House.” Mr. Whittaker removed his hand from Billy's shoulder and stroked the cat, whose purring grew louder. “And Finbar. He obviously loves you very m-much.” He paused and swallowed hard. “We all love you.”

As he spoke his hand moved to Billy's hair, and Quinn could sense the soothing effect his touch and his words were beginning to work on the sorrowful-eyed little boy.

“It seems to m-me, Billy, that you have quite a large family indeed, wouldn't you say?”

The boy hugged Finbar to his chest, and his eyes rose to meet Evan Whittaker's. Finally he nodded, slowly.

“And, Billy—I promise you, son,” Mr. Whittaker went on, “that we will never leave you. Perhaps your mother and brothers will return one day soon, b-but even if they don't, you will always have us. You have m-my word on it, Billy. And I do not break my word.”

The boy studied Evan Whittaker's face for another moment. Then, his expression solemn, he lifted his chin slightly and said, “Thank you, Mister Whittaker. I'll be very good, I promise. I'll try to make you proud.”

Quinn saw Sergeant Price's eyes mist and knew an instant of surprise. She wouldn't have believed the big hardheaded policeman capable of a tender thought.

Her own eyes clouded over as she watched the sergeant pick the boy up in his sturdy arms and hoist him, still holding the cat, onto his back.

“Why don't we just be giving you and Finbar a lift home, Billy?” he said cheerfully. “Hang on, now, and we'll be back at Whittaker House in a shake.”

As Quinn watched, the boy smiled wanly. Then, cradling the cat in one arm, he locked his other arm about the sergeant's neck and hitched both legs about the man's middle. An unfamiliar feeling caught her sharply off guard. Her heart seemed to vault to her throat as an enormous wave of tenderness swept over her. She felt herself drawn to the policeman's strength, yet moved beyond measure that this big, powerful bear of a man could be so easily gentled by a small boy's need.

Shaken, Quinn reminded herself that strength could just as quickly transform to cruelty, a most formidable weapon when turned upon the unsuspecting.

With a deliberate act of will, she suppressed the temporary softening of her heart. If and when she ever allowed herself a woman's affection for a man, he would need to be as gentle, as kind and tenderhearted as the poet behind her weekly letters: Daniel Kavanagh.

That man could not
be
Daniel Kavanagh, of course. But at the very least, he would have to be a great deal like him.

She avoided the sergeant's eyes as she reached to squeeze Billy's shoulder and reassure him. The boy gave her a smile, and Quinn smiled back, then quickly turned away before the policeman could catch her eye.

She set her face straight ahead, her eyes averted, as they started for Whittaker House. Deliberately, she avoided looking at Billy and the policeman during the long walk home.

32

Is God unjust? Not at all!
For he says to Moses,
“I will have mercy
on whom I have mercy,
and I will have compassion
on whom I have compassion.”

ROMANS 9:14-15

A
fter not finding Michael at the station later that afternoon, Denny Price decided to go by the Burke residence.

In truth the rambling old mansion on Thirty-fourth Street was the home of Mrs. Burke's grandmother, but Mike and his wife had moved in with the elderly Mrs. Platt right after their marriage.

As a rule, Denny would have felt out of place entirely in such grand surroundings, but Mike was his friend, not just his captain—and Mrs. Burke treated everyone the same, beggar or king. She was just as quick as Mike to make a body feel right at home, and it pleased him no end that she seemed to approve wholeheartedly of his and Mike's friendship.

As he crossed the street and started toward the house, Denny was aware that today he
needed
a friend. It had been a black day for the most part, capped by the incident with the poor little Hogan lad. Sure, it would do him good just to sit with Mike for a time and compare stories about each other's day.

As he closed the iron gate behind him and started up the walk, it began to rain, a light but steady drizzle, the kind likely to go on for hours. The thought of Billy Hogan pressed in on him again. The cowl of gloom that had set in when they found the boy alone in the deserted flat was still upon him, darker now than ever.

Denny had been a policeman since he was little more than a lad, yet he could still be astounded by the treachery of human beings. Were it not for decent Christian folks such as Evan Whittaker and his kind, only the dear Lord knew what would become of the city's innocent. Many were lost as it was, but the Whittakers and others like them had managed to rescue a few, God bless them.

He had lost count by now of just how many ragged boys filled the beds at Whittaker House, but he had no doubt but what all of them were treated as fine as if they were the Whittakers' own.
Family
, that's what they called themselves at Whittaker House.
God's
family.

There had been a time, when he was but a stripling with all the carefree notions of youth, that Denny had given little thought to the importance of family, his own or others. Back then his mind had been almost entirely occupied with becoming a man, becoming an American, and becoming a policeman…in that order.

But these days, now that he had accomplished some of his earlier goals, he found himself thinking more often about family. Not only about a family of his own, although that was a part of it, but about the importance of families everywhere. That's what America was, after all—a country of families, working the land, building the cities, raising their children. Children who would one day grow up and have families of their own.

He had almost begun to realize how empty two rooms could be when occupied alone. The truth was, he was tired of his solitary life. He had had his years of squiring the lasses, a different one on his arm every week, and it was grand, when he was younger. But he no longer wanted those idle days.

He knew in his heart the time had come for him to be a husband, a father. The time had come to find someone with whom to share his life.

Ah, but there was the rub. He
had
found her, had found just the girl.

Who would have thought it, though, that he would tumble for a razor-tongued slip of a lass who had trouble written all over her face? A lass who thought him as dumb as a tree stump.

There were countless fine-looking girls about the city who would be quick to give a man the attention and affection he craved. Fairer girls by far than the uppity Miss Quinn O'Shea, and with civil tongues in their heads as well.

And the lot of them might just as well not even exist, for all he noticed or cared…

As he walked up to the front door of the house, Denny wondered if Mike had ever considered his good fortune in having found, not one, but two women willing to give their hearts to him. Mike's first wife had died years ago, when their son, Tierney, was still a little boy. But apparently they had shared a good life together, albeit a brief one. And now he had his Sara. Sure, there was no mistaking the feelings between the two.

Denny drew a deep sigh, then shook the rain off his shoulders and knocked on the door. Perhaps a bit of their glow would rub off on him, at least enough to take the chill from the rain when he started back to his empty flat.

He found Mike in the library, grim-visaged and sitting alone by a cold fireplace.

Although he smiled when Denny entered, his expression sobered almost at once.

“Sara will be sorry to have missed you,” he said after they exchanged pleasantries.

Denny took the chair Mike offered across from his own and started right in to tell him about Billy Hogan and the events of the day.

“Poor little fellow,” Mike said, shaking his head. “We can be thankful he has Whittaker and the other boys. He'll make out all right with them, I expect.”

With a nod, Denny inquired after Mike's wife.

“I doubt she'll be down,” Mike replied somewhat glumly. “She's…indisposed just now.”

“She's not ill, I hope?”

Mike seemed to hesitate. “In truth,” he said, his eyes darting away from Denny, “I expect she's avoiding me. We had a bit of a, ah, row this morning, you see.”

He attempted a smile, but it faltered. “That's the reason I came home early this afternoon, in hopes of making things up with her.” He paused, his lower lip dropping even more. “It would seem, however, that she isn't quite ready to talk with me yet.”

Denny blinked, trying not to show his surprise. Why, he wouldn't have thought it of Mike and his Sara, could not conceive of them at odds with each other.

“Sara thinks I'm making big out of little over the Walsh incident,” Mike volunteered. “She says I'm like a dog with a bone, that I don't know when to give it over.”

Denny said nothing, sensing the wisdom of silence.

“She also seems to think I would rather have shot the scoundrel myself.”

Denny's eyes widened, but still he ventured no remark.

With a sigh, Mike looked away. “I expect she may be right.”

“Oh, I hardly think that's the case, Mike. Not you.”

The other locked his hands together over his chest, meeting Denny's gaze straight on. “As it happens, Sara knows me too well. The truth is, Denny, and it shames me to admit it, that I find myself wishing exactly that. Or at least that Walsh had suffered before he died.” He paused. “I did not realize I had such a brutal streak in me, but there it is. I can hardly blame Sara for being put off by it.”

Startled, but quick to take his friend's part, Denny leaned forward. “No doubt 'tis difficult for others to understand a copper's life, Mike. Our hearts tend to get hard over the years, no matter how we may try to protect them.”

As if he hadn't heard, Mike went on. “It was all too easy, the way he went. A snake like Walsh shouldn't have met his end so easily.”

He dropped his hands to the arms of the chair with another sigh. “Sara gets very impatient with this side of me, you see. She insists it's not for me to question the judgment meted out to a man. And she's right, of course. I can't argue otherwise.”

“For what it's worth,” Denny said, “I've felt the same about Walsh. It does seem the rogue got off too easy entirely.”

Mike lifted both eyebrows, this time managing a grimace of a smile. “Ah, well, Denny—the women would like us to be the good fellows they think they married. When we don't measure up, I expect it's disappointing.”

Silence fell between them for a time. More than once Denny was tempted to voice his own disappointments, but it was clear that Mike's thoughts were already troubled. It didn't seem right to burden him further.

Just when the stillness was beginning to feel awkward, Mike leaned forward, studying Denny with an interest that hadn't been there before. “If you don't mind my saying so, Denny, you don't seem quite yourself today. Is there something more on your mind, I wonder?”