Wings of a Dove

    He stepped into the light, and happiness burst within Allie. She threw herself against him, holding him close. "I knew you couldn't leave without saying good-bye! I ached without you, Delaney. The ache wouldn't stop, no matter what I tried."

    Delaney's eyes were blazing. "Damn it all, you've made me a cripple! I don't feel whole without you, and I don't like it!"

    Allie could feel him trembling, and warmth kindled inside her. She wanted to hold him. She wanted" Oh, Delaney, you're part of me, just like I'm part of you," she breathed.

    "Do you want me to kiss you, Allie?"

    Allie's heart fluttered. "Yes."

    Delaney's lips touched hers, and the joy of all that was Delaney swept over her, filled her. An incredible exhilaration came alive inside her…

    Allie jumped back with a gasp, dodging the flailing fists of the two young fellows who barreled past her, locked in a furious struggle. Her eyes widened as the boys fell to the deck with a loud crack, scattering other passengers of the
Isaac Newton
as they continued to exchange hard, pounding blows.

    "Fight! Fight!"

    Allie retreated, backing up against the boat's rail as excited members of their group of travelling orphans and street children circled the combatants, showing no clear favorite as they cheered them on. Her heart pounding, she realized Mr. Smith had gone to attend to last minute details of their journey to Albany before the boat got under way and was nowhere to be seen. Someone must stop them!

    Allie gasped. Blood! The darker-haired boy's mouth was bleeding. A familiar taste of bile rose to her throat. She remembered blood trickling from the corner of Mama's mouth like that, but this boy was not weak and pale as Mama had been. He was tall and strong, his face flushed from violent exertion.

    Appearing suddenly behind the boisterous group, Mr. Smith pushed his way into the centre of the circle and separated the boys with harsh words of admonishment. The dark-haired boy's startling light eyes were hot with fury as Mr. Smith stood resolutely between him and his adversary. His response to the older man's words rose over the excited babble around them.

    "I don't care! He got what he had coming!"

    "That's not the attitude I had hoped to see you display as a part of our company, Delaney." Turning to include the lighter-haired fellow in his reprimand, Mr. Smith continued sternly, "We are embarking on a serious venture that will affect not only the futures of the children present, but the futures of those who follow. Yet, this vessel has not left the dock and you are already behaving intemperately. We did not embark upon this Endeavour to make a spectacle of ourselves. Whatever the cause of your dispute, I tell you now to put it aside for the general good of our company. This is only the first leg of our journey. If you cannot agree to get along peacefully with each other, both of you are free to return from whence you came. You, Sam, to the streets, and you, Delaney, to"

    Mr. Smith paused, his brow creasing as he chose not to complete his statement. His keen eyes moved between the two boys once more. "Well, what is your decision?"

    Not a word was spoken in the attentive circle of children surrounding the two young offenders. The dark-haired boy, Delaney, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. His hard eyes intent on the other boy's face, he finally spoke. "All right. Whatever you say."

    Mr. Smith's narrowed gaze revealed his momentary suspicion of the young fellow's abrupt about-face. Turning toward the other, he cast an inquiring glance, which was met with a brief, concurring shrug of the boy's shoulders. Mr. Smith's relief was apparent.

    "It's over and done, then. Fine. I suggest you both brush yourselves off. We want to present as respectable an appearance as possible when we meet the captain."

    The two boys followed his directions, and Mr. Smith turned toward the silent circle around him.

    "All right, children, line up. That's right, in twos. Follow me."

    Stepping obediently into her place in line, Allie did not miss the quick heated glance the boy called Delaney darted in his     adversary's direction. Her heart skipped a beat. She was old enough and wise enough to know what it meant. All was not yet settled between the two of them.

    Allie took a deep, shuddering breath and straightened her shoulders in an attempt to disguise her anxiety. Her apprehension had soared the moment the boat got under way an hour earlier. They had been summoned to the upper saloon by the captain, and now standing with the other children, she cast a glance toward Mr. Smith. His thin figure erect, he stood beside the youngsters from their group who held the attention of the other passengers gathered there with their lively recitations. But their youthful voices grew faint in her ears as she attempted to recall the short speech Mr. Smith had delivered prior to boarding.

    "You will depart on the most important journey of your young lives today, children. You'll travel west to new homes, new families, and surroundings more generous than the streets of New York. Hold tight to your Bibles and your blankets, and keep your chins up. And smile, children smile!"

    But Allie did not feel like smiling as she assessed her surroundings again with a brief glance. The group, forty-six children in all, had boarded the
Isaac Newton
, bound for Albany and, eventually, for new homes in Michigan. Allie had not had a peaceful moment since. In all of her ten years, she had never been outside the city of New York; and despite the misery and uncertainty of the last few months, she found herself thoroughly undecided about leaving behind her last link with the past.

    The past. The past was one person. Mama.

    An aching heat burned under Allie's eyelids and she took a deep breath. With great firmness she blinked it away. She was finished with crying. She had cried when Mama lost her position as Mrs. Van
Houten's
personal maid because of accusations, which Mama swore were not true. Her tears had fallen again when Mama was unable to find another position and when their funds slipped so low that they were forced to move to one of the immigrant neighborhoods of New York. She had tried to ignore the nasty children who called her names because she did not have a father. She had not believed their vicious taunts.

    She had restrained her tears and used all her strength to take care of Mama after she fell ill. Then she had been strangely unable to cry when pneumonia quickly snuffed out Mama's life.

    After her mother's death, she had found her way to the orphan asylum that had been her home for the past few months. In all that time, pride had not allowed her to cry. She had been out of place among the children there, who were all so wise in ways she had not yet begun to understand. She had learned the hard way to use caution in her dealings with them, and the memory of their cruel taunts had prevented her from forming any close bonds.

    Her physical appearance had done little to ease her situation. Undersized for her age, she had always been thin; and in the time since her mother's death, she had grown thinner still. She remembered Mama's annoyance when Mrs. Van
Houten
had commented on her ''sickly appearance." Later, in the privacy of their room, Mama had reassured her that she was not the least bit frail. It was true, for she was seldom ill, but that knowledge had done little to ease her distress.

    She had asked Mama then why her hair was so fine and pale, and not dark and shining like hers, why her skin was so light and colorless when Mama's was so bright and clear, why her own eyes were brown instead of Mama's brilliant blue, and why she was plain when Mama was so beautiful.

    Mama had not laughed at her questions. Instead, her eyes had misted as she whispered in a slightly shaky voice, "You look like your papa, Allie, and you should be happy about that, not sad, because your father was very handsome. He was tall and blond, with loving brown eyes. Some day, when you become a woman, you'll be very beautiful. I know it, and you must believe it, too. And anyway, it's the beauty in your heart that really matters." Mama had kissed her lightly then and whispered, "You're already beautiful there."

    Allie had brought those words back to mind many times since Mama died, and although she knew she was still small and plain on the outside, she had tried to remain beautiful inside. It was not easy.

    She had learned much after coming to the orphanage, but the greatest lesson she had learned was that she must not cry. To cry was to be weak, and she was determined to be strong, at   least on the outside. She would not allow the others to think her upbringing had been lacking in any way.

    So Allie had hidden her fear and uncertainty behind an unblinking facade and, dry-eyed, had stared down her tormentors. It was a pretense, a deception she still practiced, and it had earned her the respect of the others. But she had cried inside. She had not wanted to be there, in that cold, unfamiliar place. She had wanted to go
homebut
she had no home to go to.

    Allie recalled the day the children began to whisper about the man who had come to the asylum. "Placing
out"she
remembered the speculation those words had caused. The man was going to select some children between the ages of seven and fifteen to take west to new homes where they could work and be part of a family that wanted them.

    Mary Louise was eleven. She had shuddered and had vigorously shaken her head when she was asked to join the group. Slavery she had whispered that they would all be sold into slavery.

    Maggie, who was ten, the same age as Allie, had hissed that they would be taken away to a strange place and left with people who would work them from morning to night and starve them. She had said they would never be seen or heard of again.

    Stella was fourteen, and she had just smirked and shaken her head, saying she knew what that man wanted to do with girls like her, and she wasn't about to slip back into that life again.

    Mrs. Sutton had calmly accepted those girls' refusal to go, but when it was Allie's turn, the soft-spoken matron had been patient and untiring in her effort to persuade her to join the Reverend Mr. Brace's group.

    "You mustn't be afraid to go, Allie. Reverend Brace will see that you find a good home. You can't stay here forever, and this may be the best chance you have for a good life, just as your mother would have wanted for you. You'll have no problem finding someone to take you in. You can read and cipher and you speak well. The people who take you must sign a paper stating they agree to continue your education and treat you like one of their own family. As a part of the agreement, we must hear from you by letter, personally, twice a year. If they don't keep to the terms of the contract, you can just write us and you'll be free to come back."

    Fear surged anew as the echo of Mrs. Sutton's words whirled inside Allie's mind, mixing with the memory of Stella's harsh laughter and the frightening, confusing comments she had made about Allie's "lily-white" skin. The lump in Allie's throat tightened painfully and she swallowed firmly against it. She looked to the young faces around her and saw not a trace of fear in their eager expressions.

    Allie raised her chin a notch higher. She could not conquer her fear, but she was resolved.
She would not cry.

    Instead, Allie forced her attention back to the children as they listened intently to one boy's lively recitation of the circumstances that had brought him to the
Isaac Newton
as a part of their group. It was obvious that William's spirits were high; like the rest of the group, he considered their journey to the West a great adventure. It was also obvious that he was enjoying the attention he was receiving as he regaled everyone with amusing stories of life on the streets, and the great things he would do once he was settled in the West and had a horse of his own.