“I heard that,” exclaimed a striking woman, her grey-white hair still showing traces of its former flame colour. “Typical.” Her face was wreathed in a broad smile as she advanced into the room. “James, you allow Theo to frighten these boys before they even have a chance to introduce themselves. I am shocked, I truly am.”
“Niamh, my dear.” The man she had addressed as Theo grinned. “You malign me. Allow me to introduce our guests. This is Harry, your however many greats uncle, Ferghal, the man behind the models, and Danny, whose music you have heard.”
“Harry, I think I would have known you anywhere,” she exclaimed glancing from Harry to the tall figure of the Commodore and seeing the likeness. She embraced him enthusiastically. “Thank you so much for the letters you have sent us. It is so refreshing to read something so beautifully descriptive. And your sketches are wonderful. Theo has made an album of them, which he proudly foists on all our visitors. Your parents would be so very proud of you.” Releasing him, she moved to Ferghal and took both his hands in hers. “And you must be Ferghal O’Connor. What a journey you have made. Your models are amazing, young man, but I dare say that you have other skills as well. Are you happy in your new life and role?” she asked, her head tilted to one side.
“Aye, ma’am.” Ferghal blushed. “We’re doing well.”
Giving him a kiss on the cheek, she said, “So I am told—and I’ve heard that you’re a friend who takes care of his friends.” Releasing him, she looked at Danny and grinned. “Ah yes, the musical one! Well, young man, you’re in the right house for music. Have you ever played the harp?”
“No, ma’am,” said Danny seriously. “But Ferghal has taught me the Ceilidh fiddle and the bodrum, and the band master taught me to read the music and the keyboard,” he finished proudly.
“Has he now?” she said, glancing at Ferghal. “Well, later we shall have to hear you both.” She stooped and hugged the slightly disconcerted boy, then straightening, said, “Welcome home to you all. Boys, this is your home now.” She looked at Commodore Heron. “Is that not so, James?”
He smiled and said, “Well, I think the lads may want a say in it.” Winking at Harry, he added, “And Harry here might have a better claim to this house than either of us has.”
She gave a tinkling laugh. “Of course it’s Harry’s house, and home to Ferghal and Danny as well. Well, Harry, Ferghal? And what about you, Danny? Do you object? I thought not!” She looked at their grinning faces and poked her tongue at the Commodore in true big sister fashion. “There, you great stuffed shirt. There’s your answer.” To the trio she said, “Welcome home!” She almost danced out of the room and into her kitchen, the domestic android only just avoiding her as they passed in the doorway.
“Well, that’s put me in my place,” said the Commodore with a smile, accepting a drink from the android. “Sisters!”
Theo laughed, and the boys had to suppress their urge to laugh as well, remembering that he was still the Commodore.
THE EVENING SLIPPED BY with the three young men relaxing into the easy ways of a home, something they had not known for some considerable time. It was enlivened by the production of a meal that contained at least three dishes the boys vaguely recognised, and there was a great deal of laughter over the fact that tripe served in an onion sauce had never been a favourite with any of them! Then had come the revelation that Niamh L’ Estrange was an accomplished player of the Irish harp and her husband a violinist. Within a very short time, a musical entertainment ensued with harp, fiddle, pipe and drum exploring rhythms ancient and more recent. It was very late before the participants found their respective bedrooms, the three young men falling asleep with the ease of youth.
Harry dreamed. The dream had a strange quality, not unlike the display in the Flag Command Centre aboard the Vanguard. He saw himself walking in a strange landscape, familiar and yet not. He turned as he heard the sound of a horse walking, the thud of the hooves suggesting a large beast, and it was.
Huge and brilliantly white, it nickered at him, tossing its magnificent mane as it walked confidently toward him, each step marked by a thud as its hooves struck the ground. Reaching him, it stopped, its nostrils flaring as it took his scent, then, as he reached out to stroke the handsome nose, it stepped back, turned gently and trotted away.
He woke as the receding horse gathered itself and leapt.
For several minutes, he lay still, staring into the darkness, and then he smiled with remembrance. The horse! His father had mentioned it once, long ago, with a very different meaning, but now it seemed the great white charger had welcomed him home.
THEO, NIAMH AND JAMES HERON SAT A WHILE LONGER over a glass of fragrant Irish whiskey, discussing the future the three faced. “A remarkable trio,” said Theo. He peered at the golden amber liquid in his tumbler then at James Heron. “I’ll consider the fee paid in full!”
James laughed. “Generous of you, Chief Justice. Congratulations on your elevation by the way. Harry and Ferghal seem to have fitted into the Fleet routine far more readily than I would have thought possible.” He sipped his whiskey appreciatively. “Remarkable when you consider how much they have had to learn and endure.” He eyed his companions. “And I must thank you for responding to Harry’s letters. You can have no idea how much that has helped him—especially after his abduction.”
“That experience must have been horrendous,” murmured Niamh. “There was something in one of his letters that touched on it—but he seemed almost to brush it aside.” She shuddered. “I feel violated just thinking about it. How can any human being even consider doing that to another?”
“History is full of such atrocities, my dear,” remarked Theo. “One never has to look far into the past to find an example.”
“True.” The Commodore nodded. “But I rather think Harry has left a mark on everyone involved in that episode. And Ferghal certainly made his feelings clear when a supporter opposed their escape.” He paused to sip his drink. “Have you considered my suggestion for young Danny?”
“We certainly have,” said Niamh. “Now that we have also met the young man, my mind is made up. If he would like to live with us until he is ready to pursue his career, we will be delighted to give him a place in our home.” She squeezed her husband’s hand as he smiled and nodded. “Harry and Ferghal too, should they need one beside this.”
“HARRY, I HAVE MANAGED TO TRACK DOWN SOMETHING I think you will recognise.” Niamh strode into the room, smiling. “I remembered seeing it as a child on a visit to a distant relative, and it’s taken me some time to trace it.” Placing the bulky package on the coffee table, she took a seat. “When I first saw your letters to us and the watercolours you enclosed, I thought there was something familiar about them, but it wasn’t until a couple of months ago that I finally made the connection.”
His curiosity aroused, Harry stared at the package. Wrapped in thick paper and tied with some evidently very old cord, it looked out of place on the table. Faded writing on the wrapping was illegible from where he sat, and an attached label had no visible script on the exposed face. “A good surprise, I hope?” he asked.
“I hope so.” Niamh untied the binding. Opening the package, she lifted out a thick leather bound volume. “Your father had this volume bound. It was the journal you kept as a midshipman and what looks like all of your letters home and the sketches and paintings. Your brother James inherited it, and it must have passed to one of his children and then on down. I saw it years ago at an aunt’s home in Armagh, and when she died, it and several other things vanished.” She pushed the book toward him. “And now it’s come back to you.”
His eyes fixed on the book, Harry felt his heart race. “My journal? My letters to my family?” He swallowed. “My father had them bound?” He reached out slowly, his fingers caressing the leather cover. Carefully, he pulled the book toward him. Opening it, he gently turned the pages, his emotions churning. Closing it again, he sat silent for several second
s, his fingers idly stroking the leather of the back cover. “Thank you,” he whispered. Clearing his throat, he said more firmly, “I am not sure how you achieved this, Aunt Niamh. You cannot know what this means....”
“Finding it was easier than I expected. Aunt Bridget’s estate passed to her daughter, but there was a lot of stuff they didn’t want to keep, so they put it into storage and forgot about it. I’ve done that myself a time or two with various belongings when the urge to do a cleaning spree has come over me!” She laughed. “When Theo reminded me, I contacted them, and they were more than willing to hand it all over to me.”
“I’m astounded it survived, Aunt, and I am overwhelmed to find myself holding it.” Harry frowned. His fingers detected something in the binding. He opened the back cover and probed the leather near the spine.
“What is it, Harry?” Niamh asked. “What have you found?”
“I am not sure...there is something inside the leather. I think it is a folded paper.”
“Wait a moment.” She searched in a drawer and found a small manicure set. Handing him the tweezers, she said, “Use these. See if you can extract it.”
Taking the tweezers, Harry probed gently, frowning in concentration. “There, I have it now.” The stained and folded paper slid from its hiding place. He laid it flat and unfolded it with care, his heart racing as he recognised the handwriting. “This is my father’s hand!”
“Take care—the paper will be incredibly fragile.” Niamh was practically holding her breath with anticipation. “Perhaps we should make a copy of it.” Harry shot her a glance, his face a mix of emotions. He wasn’t ready to hand over the precious letter so soon after discovering it.
Reading his expression, she said, “I think you need some time alone. I’ll bring some tea when you’re ready.”
Not trusting his voice, Harry nodded, his eyes already reading the salutation:
My dearest son,
I write this in the knowledge you may never read it. Your removal from this world in a manner that is inexplicable by all known measures has left your fellow shipmates and officers on the Spartan puzzled and distressed. Having myself visited the ship and spoken to Captain Blackwood and others witness to the event, I can see no reason to hope to see you again in this life. I write this letter to you for my own peace of mind and in the hope that you will, by some miracle, be restored to us and receive your letters and journal from my own or your mother’s hand.
His eyes stinging with tears, Harry read how his father had pursued every possible line of enquiry, visited the Spartan, met with Captain Blackwood, and even spoken to some of the men who’d witnessed Harry and the boys’ disappearance. He read of the dreams of the great white stallion, and finally how his father believed that he and Ferghal had survived.
If you do find this letter some day when I am long gone, I leave you with the words I shared with you the day you first stepped aboard the Bellerophon to embark on your journey as a midshipman: We are citizens of the world, my boy, and maybe of a greater realm than this. Like the wild geese, we go where the wind and the notion take us, and none shall stop us. Only the great creator God knows who we truly are and what we will eventually become. For now we must all travel the road we have been given, and journey in hope, with honesty, respect and courtesy our constant companions.
And so, my son, though I do not know where you may be or what life you now lead, I know that you will always be the fine son your mother and I knew from the day of your birth—dutiful, considerate and faithful to yourself and to those you love. Have a care, my son, and should you, by some miracle, ever receive this missive, know that we, your parents, your brother and sister, hold you close in our hearts, and pray daily for your restoration to our home.
Your loving father,
Papa
Harry had to search quickly for the handkerchief he usually kept neatly folded in his pocket to wipe his eyes and nose. Fumbling in frustration, he gave up and covered his face with his hands as the sobs wracked his body. As they subsided, he felt a new feeling welling up inside him. Lifting his head, he wiped his eyes, and a crooked smile formed. “I’m home, Papa, Mama.” He drew in a deep breath. “We are home—Ferghal and me, and our friend Danny. We are late again—very late. But we are home.”
Wiping his eyes again on the back of his hand, he looked round as he heard the door open. “Aunt Niamh, thank you for this gift. You cannot know what it means to me.”
She smiled, noting the redness of his eyes, and pushed a box of tissues toward him. “There’s nothing to thank me for, Harry. Your parents loved you very deeply, and evidently believed you would come home one day. I have had your sea chest taken to your suite.”
Handing her the letter, Harry said, “My Papa’s letter explains much, and he welcomes me home. I think he knew this day would come, if not in his lifetime, in another.” His smile widened. “Though, were he here, I should get such a scolding for being so long delayed.”
Accepting the ancient letter, Niamh laid it carefully aside then enfolded Harry in an embrace. “You are home, Harry. All three of you are home. And we are so glad you’re here.”
Sensing Harry’s embarrassment at being hugged, though she knew he had needed it, she said with a brisk change in tone, “Well! You should have seen Ferghal’s expression when he found that his box contained the ship model he left on the Spartan.” Her smile widened and her eyes twinkled. “It’s a little battered and in need of repair—it seems some of your brother’s descendants enjoyed playing with it—but he is already at work on it. Maybe you could go upstairs and join him now.”
Harry grinned. “I’ll do that, Aunt Niamh.” Feeling somehow rejuvenated, he had to restrain himself from taking the stairs two at a time. Now that he had read his father’s letter and said a proper goodbye to him, he was ready to face the future like never before. He thrust open the door to Ferghal’s room and struck an orator’s pose. “The future beckons, and so we begin, my friend. There is so much to see and learn. Out of our time we may be, but now it is our time!”
Ferghal looked up from his study of his long lost model, and grinned. “Found the Leprechaun’s gold, have we? Or maybe ye’ve stolen his pocket watch!” Laughing at Harry’s expression, he added, “Our time it is, my friend, but if ye stand so much longer, we’ll be proposing for ye to stand for Parliament!”
Harry laughed. “Oh, I have bigger dreams than that, Fergie. You’ve seen what lies beyond the sky. The universe is ours. It waits to be explored, and we are just the men to do it!”
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Harry Heron: Into the Unknown Page 36
