Dawn of the Golden Promise (51 page)

But surely this was an even greater event. She had crossed an entire ocean, after all!

Annie felt a brief pang of disappointment. She missed Fergus, longed for the nudging of his great wet nose in the palm of her hand. She wanted to show
him
the wonders of America. He was needed at Nelson Hall to protect Sister Louisa and Lucy, of course. But Annie wished desperately that they hadn't had to leave him behind. This morning was too important to savor in solitude. Such a morning should be shared.

She gazed wistfully at Gabriel, still sound asleep in the small trundle bed. Perhaps she could jostle him just a bit. On the other hand, he might be cross if she woke him before he was altogether rested. Bedtime had been late for them all the night before.

With a sigh, she decided to leave well enough alone. She swung her legs over her side of the bed and gave a huge stretch before stepping onto the floor. What luxury, feeling a soft, plushy rug under her toes first thing, rather than the cold, unfriendly planks in her bedchamber at Nelson Hall.

She reached to retrieve the soft rag doll she had slept with, then padded to the window in her bare feet. Yesterday had been filled with excited conversation, questions, and exchange of memories. This morning she would have a long, unhurried look at her surroundings.

Although the house did not appear so vast and rambling as Nelson Hall, the grounds seemed to have no end. Immense old trees towered near enough that she could have reached out and touched their branches. The grounds were precisely manicured, with even the shrubbery trimmed into interesting, ornate shapes. A stone lane ran the length of this side of the house, with an iron gate at both ends.

Annie went to the back window, from which she could see an enormous lawn with lush gardens and, at the far end, an odd-looking structure, roofed but open-sided, which resembled a small pavilion. She stood, hugging the doll to her as she looked out upon the gardens, still vibrant with late-blooming flowers, and allowed her thoughts to roam over the people she had met the day before.

Johanna she had liked almost instantly. They had struck a quick rapport, communicating quite well despite Johanna's deafness. Johanna's brother, Daniel, seemed very nice—and wasn't he a handsome boy as well? It was a grand thing, to meet Tierney Burke's American friend and comrade, even though he somehow seemed much older and far more serious than Tierney.

She found the Whittakers to be splendid people. Annie would never have let on to the
Seanchai
, of course, that she knew he and Mrs. Whittaker had once been sweethearts, back in their home village of Killala. She had learned this fascinating bit of information from Tierney Burke, who had sworn her to secrecy. Of course, she would not divulge the secret, but she did think it wonderfully romantic that the
Seanchai
and the sweetheart of his youth had remained great friends, even with an ocean between them.

The Burkes were grand, and great fun. Almost immediately they had invited her to call them “Aunt Sara” and “Uncle Michael,” which pleased her no end. Aunt Sara and her grandmother were true ladies, but clearly without airs. As for Uncle Michael, he had been a bit of a surprise. Having heard Tierney Burke grumble about his father every now and again, she had not quite known what to expect. But Uncle Michael had a hearty laugh, seemed quick to tease, and was actually rather handsome, for an old man. Annie had liked him immediately.

It was a wondrous thing entirely, to realize that he and the
Seanchai
, boyhood friends in Ireland, had remained close after twenty years or more. Annie wondered what it would be like to have a lifetime friend, and she suddenly found herself missing Tierney Burke and Jan Martova.

No doubt the two did not yet consider her a best friend, but they would come to, eventually. When she was older. Perhaps things would be the same for them as with the
Seanchai
and Uncle Michael and Nora. Perhaps the three of them would be friends forever: herself, Tierney Burke, and Jan Martova.

Both boys might even fall in love with her one day, and she would be forced to choose between them. She would choose Tierney Burke, of course. Jan Martova was darkly handsome and ever so gallant, but he was also years older—in truth a man, not a boy. No, she and Jan Martova would remain good friends, but nothing more. And he would understand. He would study her with his soft dark eyes, saddened that she did not love him as he did her, but he would be kindness itself and give his blessing to her and Tierney Burke.

Annie sighed, then put her thoughts of the future to rest as she came slowly, reluctantly, out of her reverie. Behind her, Gabriel stirred, and she turned to see him push himself up on his knees and give her a sleepy smile.

“An-ye?”

Crossing the room, she swept him off the bed and into her arms, spinning him and the rag doll all about the room.

He began to laugh, and Annie, unable to any longer contain her delight with this new adventure, laughed with him. “Wake up, wake up, little brother! Today we begin to discover America!”

In their bedroom, Sara came awake all at once to find her husband lying beside her, watching her with a studying smile.

“That is the most unnerving habit, Michael Burke—staring at me while I sleep.”

He smoothed a strand of hair away from her face and went on smiling. “It pleases me to watch you when your defenses are down, Sara
a gra
, that not being a common occurrence.”

“My defenses are
always
down with you.” She yawned and stretched. “I still can't believe you're actually taking a week off. Other than when we were married, I can't remember you ever being around the house more than one day at a time.”

She didn't say what she was thinking, that this was the way she had once imagined things would be between them. Before their marriage, she had dreamed of quiet evenings spent by the fire, golden mornings of waking up together, with plenty of time for talking and being close.

The reality was that her evenings were often spent alone with Grandy because Michael was either working or at a subcommission meeting. He frequently woke her when he came to bed long after midnight. As for the mornings, he was usually up and dressed before she awakened. The man seemed to run on almost no sleep at all, a trait that secretly irritated Sara, since she was little more than a slug with anything less than eight hours.

He drew her into his arms. “After this week, you will be ready to toss me out on my ear, no doubt.”

“No doubt.” She yawned again. “Seriously, Michael, I think it's wonderful that you're going to have some free time just to be with Morgan.”

“And you,” he added. He moved to kiss her, then stopped, rubbing a hand down the heavy stubble of his beard.

She noticed and pulled his head down to hers. “Gently,” she reminded him.

After he kissed her, Sara lay smiling, her head on his shoulder, immeasurably content to have this rare, unhurried morning hour alone with him. But after a moment a less pleasant thought struck her, and she turned to look at him. “You're terribly disappointed that Tierney didn't come, aren't you?”

His answer held a note of sadness. “I had hoped, right up to the last, that he might be with them, that is true. But even if he'd known about Walsh before he and the Gypsy took off on their jaunt, I can't help but wonder if he would have come.”

Sara remained silent, for she had wondered the same thing. “He'll come home soon, Michael. One day Tierney will come back, and when he does, things will be right between the two of you. I really believe that.”

“I couldn't help but think of him yesterday, when we met the others at the harbor,” he admitted. “What it would have been like to see him coming down that gangplank! And then later, watching Morgan with his teeny boy and Evan and Nora with theirs—ah, didn't that bring back the memories all in a rush?”

Sara ached for him. She knew that he not only missed Tierney, but also grieved because of the conflict that had clouded their relationship for years.

“I wish I could give you
another
son,” she said impulsively, clinging to him. “Oh, how I would like a little boy exactly like you!”

He held her, stroking her hair. “I wouldn't mind a little girl, you know—a bright and saucy little miss like her mama.”

Sara daydreamed for another minute about baby boys and girls, but said nothing more. Lately, she found that talking about babies only made her empty arms ache all the more.

“So,” she said, trying for a cheerful tone, “what are your plans for the day?”

Michael propped one arm behind his head. “Well, at Morgan's request, I'm arranging for Jess Dalton to stop by so they can meet. Morgan's anxious to talk with him about his publisher. And your grandmother suggested a meeting with Mr. Greeley as well. Morgan is set on getting that famine journal into print as soon as possible.”

“What about his appointment with Dr. Gunther?”

“It sounds to me as if he means to delay the examination until he ties up matters with the journal.”

Sara raised herself up on one arm to look at him. “It must be very worrisome to Finola, if Morgan's really more concerned with a publishing agreement than with his own physical well-being.”

He smiled wryly. “'Tis a grace for us men, fools that we are, that our women are willing to suffer our headstrong ways. I for one will be forever grateful for the patience of my good wife.”

“I should think so.” Sara sank back into his arms. “I hope he doesn't wait too long, Michael. Perhaps you could talk to him, convince him not to delay?”

“I think I know what he's doing,” Michael said quietly. “And I understand it, him being the man he is.”

He lay studying the ceiling for a moment. “Joseph Mahon's journal is important to Morgan. Not only because the priest was his good friend and spiritual father, but because Morgan believes a wide reading of it could make a real difference for Ireland. He says the truth, once revealed,
always
makes a difference. I think he intends to see the journal well on its way to publication first thing—in the event that something should go wrong with the surgery.” He stopped. “If indeed there is to
be
a surgery.”

“Oh, Michael—this is such a critical time for him, isn't it? Surgery could change his entire life!”

“The way Nicholas Grafton explained things to me,” Michael said, his voice strained, “this surgery will at the very least
endanger
Morgan's life.”

“But he's willing to take the risk.” Sara paused, thinking. “I believe you'd do the same.”

“What man wouldn't?” Michael said softly. “If there's even half a chance of getting his legs back…aye, Morgan will risk it.”

Unwilling to let him lapse into melancholy for what might be their only time alone today, Sara moved to change the subject. “Isn't Finola absolutely breathtaking?”

He smiled a little. “She's suited for Morgan, right enough. The lass looks like something right out of the storybooks. Like one of the enchanted princesses from the old legends.”

“She's beautiful,” Sara mused. “I don't believe I've ever seen a more beautiful woman than Finola Fitzgerald.”

He looked at her, then moved to gather her closer. “As I said, she suits Morgan. For myself, though, I am a man who has always been partial to a dark-haired woman with great, soft eyes.” He brought his face closer to hers. “A woman like yourself, Mrs. Burke, now that's the kind of woman that suits
me
.”

Tenderly, he kissed her. When he drew back, he smoothed her hair away from her face and searched her eyes, smiling at the flush she could feel creeping over her skin. Sara wanted to tell him she would be endlessly thankful that she suited him, but she could find no words to say what was in her heart.

Which was just as well, for Michael did not seem to want to talk.