Song of Erin

by BJ Hoff

  Bronson. Always Bronson. Would she never be free of him? How long would he continue to exert his influence over her—even from the grave?

  Samantha looked up, suddenly aware that Jack Kane was watching her with a questioning frown. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m afraid I’m more tired than I realized. What were you saying?”

  His look of concern seemed genuine. “Perhaps I should leave. You’ve already given me more time than I asked. I can come back later in the week—”

  He half rose in the chair, but Samantha gestured that he should remain. Most of her initial aversion to Kane seemed to have passed. And she was going to need a job, she reminded herself grimly.

  “No, please go on,” she told him. “You made the effort to come here, after all. The least I can do is listen. Besides, I…just go on. It’s all right.”

  He looked pleased, which puzzled Samantha. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why a man like Kane would care one way or the other whether she accepted his offer. But as he went on to give her what seemed to be a carefully thought-out, concise description of the position he had in mind, her bewilderment only increased—as did her interest in the job.

  Watching him, listening to him speak in that distinctive, rich rumble of a voice, she realized with some surprise that this was a man who obviously loved his work—thrived on it, perhaps even lived for it. His hard, sardonic features underwent a dramatic transformation as he spoke. The almost black eyes danced with boyish enthusiasm as he told her a little about his plans for the Vanguard, in particular his desire to broaden the scope of the paper and heighten its appeal for the entire city—including the immigrant population.

  “Actually,” Kane said, smiling, “I have young Sheridan to thank for reminding me that readers are far more eager to learn about people than politics, that they’re likely to care more about a poor mother in the workhouse than a meeting at the White House.” He paused, leaning forward to clasp his large hands on his knees. “I could use your instincts in that regard, Mrs. Harte.”

  Still uncertain as to what he wanted from her, Samantha reserved her questions for the time being. She was intrigued by Kane’s account of his brother’s assignment to Ireland and why he thought that assignment would benefit the newspaper. She noticed that he was careful to give Cavan Sheridan full credit for the novel idea of crafting individual stories and even eventually bringing the subjects of those stories to America. Would other men in Kane’s position be so generous, she wondered?

  “What a splendid idea!” she finally blurted out, unable to mask her own enthusiasm.

  Kane nodded. “It is, isn’t it? I ragged the lad a bit about spending my money, but in truth I think he’s onto something.”

  He explained then that they would need someone to help the immigrants get settled, should the plan become feasible. “Preferably someone who already has some experience in that area,” he said. “I think we could work that in with your other responsibilities nicely. And as I told you,” he added, “your wages would reflect the additional work.”

  In spite of the excitement that seemed to fairly crackle about Kane as he discussed his ideas with her—and her somewhat revised impression of the man—Samantha couldn’t help but question where his real motives might lie. Altruistic was not a word she had heard used in relation to Black Jack Kane.

  “I thought you might have particular interest in this part of the job, Mrs. Harte,” he was saying, “assuming that your work with the immigrants stems from a genuine desire to bring about better conditions for them.”

  “I can’t think of any other reason,” Samantha said dryly. “Obviously, the financial compensation wouldn’t be much of an incentive.”

  “Yet you don’t quite strike me as just another ordinary Polly-Do-Good.”

  If the remark was meant to provoke her, it didn’t. Samantha thought she had a fairly clear idea as to his opinion of her. No doubt in his eyes she was just another bored, discontented widow who used benevolence work as a means of adding purpose to an otherwise uneventful life.

  It didn’t matter what he thought, of course. Besides, she could hardly expect him to understand her situation when her own family remained baffled by her choices.

  She found his silent scrutiny increasingly unsettling, almost…invasive. She deliberately looked away as she framed her reply. “There really aren’t that many positions available to women, Mr. Kane. I do what I must to make a living, that’s all. My needs are fairly simple. I do what I do, at least so far as my work in the immigrant settlements is concerned, because it supplements my income and because I enjoy it. I like the people.”

  When she turned back to him, he was regarding her with something akin to approval. He gave a small nod then, almost as if he had made a judgment about her, which only unnerved Samantha even more.

  To deflect his discomfiting stare, she decided to ask a question of her own. “I’m curious about your interest in the immigrants, Mr. Kane,” she ventured. “Oh, I understand that if you can make the Vanguard more accessible to the immigrant population—give it more appeal for them—you can expect to sell more newspapers. But mightn’t there be a simpler way to add to your readership?” She paused. “Frankly, I can’t help but wonder why a man like yourself would be…concerned about these people.”

  His eyes suddenly hardened to cold black marble, and she saw his hands tighten on his knees. “But I am one of those people, Mrs. Harte.”

  His words came slowly and deliberately, laced with a distinct Irish overtone. Of course, she had known that Kane was an immigrant himself—an Irish immigrant, though hardly a typical one. But, then, she doubted there was much of anything typical about the man who sat staring at her with such fierce intensity.

  Unexpectedly, his dark brows lifted with a sardonic smile. “To answer your question, Mrs. Harte, I definitely expect to sell more newspapers. Aside from that, however, I doubt that you’d understand the full extent of my interest, even if I tried to explain.”

  Samantha felt her face heat with embarrassment, but he continued on as smoothly as if he’d already forgotten her blunder. “If you’ll indulge me for another moment,” he said, “I’ll explain that, what with breaking in Cavan Sheridan and perhaps another new reporter or two, I expect I’m going to need a more experienced editorial eye for a time. That being the case, the position will be a higher-salaried one than that of a proofreader. And there’s one more thing: I’d be offering you a bit extra if you would be willing to keep a close eye on young Sheridan’s education.”

  Samantha frowned. “I don’t understand. I’m already working with Cavan here at the night school twice a week.”

  With a nod, he drew himself up from the chair and went to stand at the only window in the classroom. “The lad fancies himself a reporter,” he said, his back to her, “and I’m inclined to believe he just may have the makings of a good one.” He swung around to face her. “I don’t actually have enough top-notch reporters, you see, especially with my brother, Brady, out of the country. Now Cavan’s instincts are keen, that’s certain. And it seems to me the lad has a fine mind, wouldn’t you say?”

  Samantha nodded. She was intrigued by Kane’s intention to test Cavan Sheridan by allowing him to work with some of the copy his brother would be sending from Ireland.

  “Depending on how well he does with Brady’s material,” he went on, “I’ll eventually let him try his hand at some local news, see how he manages.”

  He paused. “No doubt you know better than I that Sheridan’s grammar is still a bit too—Irish,” Kane said with a grin. “And he also has an excessive amount of idealism for a reporter—he’s still very young, after all. But he’s sharp—sharp as they come, I’ll wager, and he’s absolutely desperate for knowledge. The lad gobbles up books like a starving man at a banquet. He doesn’t think I know it, of course, but many’s the time he drives the carriage with one hand and holds a book in the other.”

  Samantha couldn’t help but smile at the image. S
he could almost see Cavan Sheridan doing just that.

  “He really can’t afford anything more in the way of schooling—the lad has no extra funds, as you may have gathered,” Kane continued. “I pay him a decent enough wage, but I think he socks away every penny in hopes of bringing his younger sister across.”

  Samantha wasn’t aware that Cavan Sheridan even had a sister, but she could easily imagine him being that conscientious.

  “Sheridan needn’t know that I’m paying the bills,” Kane said. “What I want you to do is give him the finest education you can manage in as short a time as possible—without making him suspicious as to what—or who—is behind it.”

  Had Samantha not been so intrigued by Kane’s obvious desire to help Cavan Sheridan, she might have taken offense at the way he seemed to be ordering her around, as if she had already accepted the position. As it was, she dismissed a prickle of irritation at his presumption.

  “The lad is quick,” Kane said. “He’ll soak up your teaching in a flash. I doubt that it will require all that much extra effort on your part, but whatever it takes—within reason, of course—I’ll see that you’re compensated.” He paused, then added, almost defensively, Samantha thought, “I happen to believe Sheridan is worth it.”

  It was all too much for Samantha to take in—Kane’s showing up as he had, completely without warning, not to mention the fact that he was nothing—nothing—like what she would have expected him to be. She had imagined a dragon but had instead encountered a rogue knight. Instead of flaunting his wealth and power, he seemed more concerned about an immigrant employee’s future. And as to the job he was offering her, she thought she could not have custom designed a more suitable position—or a more desirable one—for herself.

  Her head was already spinning with confusion and a host of conflicting emotions when Kane named a salary figure that literally stunned her. “Oh…no, I couldn’t possibly—”

  “I wouldn’t hire you for less,” he said, his tone making it clear he meant it.

  “But you don’t even know me—”

  “And you don’t know me, Mrs. Harte. Obviously, I’d be taking a risk. But I’m sure your family and friends would feel that you’re taking a much bigger one.”

  Samantha squirmed a little at the meaning implicit in his statement. Obviously, he had recognized her suspicions, her initial hostility. But how could he know that she was already speculating on the reaction of her few friends—Bronson’s friends, really—and her family? What would they make of her working for the infamous Jack Kane? Oh, dear heavens, her mother would be livid!

  “However, you wouldn’t regret the risk, Mrs. Harte. I think I can promise you that.”

  Samantha was struck by an irrational urge to laugh. The idea of placing any value at all in a promise from a man like Kane should have seemed outrageous. Yet as she stood, debating over whether or not she was mad to even consider his proposition, something told her she could trust his word.

  But wouldn’t it only make things worse for Cavan Sheridan, what with his infatuation with her?

  “Even if I were inclined to accept—and I’m not saying I am—I’m not sure I ought to spend any…additional time with Cavan—Mr. Sheridan.”

  Kane made a dismissing motion with one hand. “Young men often fancy themselves in love with the schoolteacher. Especially such an attractive one,” he said lightly with a smile. “It will pass in time, I expect. He’ll recover.”

  Samantha was fairly certain that Kane was right, though she felt a trifle miffed at the offhanded way he relegated the problem to a place of no importance. She was also determined not to respond too hastily.

  “I won’t deny that I find your offer…appealing, Mr. Kane. But I would have to take a few days to think it over.”

  “No,” he said, astonishing her with his abruptness. “If you wait, you’ll talk yourself out of it. I’ll need your answer tonight.”

  “Really—” Even as Samantha drew herself up in protest, she recognized the possible truth behind his statement. The longer she delayed, the more likely it was that she would reject his offer, if for no other reason than Kane himself. But how could he possibly know that?

  “You can think it over while I drive you home,” he said smoothly, shrugging into his coat, then reaching for hers.

  “Oh, no, I told you, that won’t be necessary—”

  “I gave young Sheridan my word,” he said, holding her coat, waiting for her to slip into it. “Surely you’ll not be responsible for my disappointing your protégé, now will you?”

  Once into her coat, Samantha turned to face him, intending to meet his barb with a firm objection that Cavan Sheridan was not—at least as yet—her “protégé.”

  The quick smile that broke over his dark features made it clear he had anticipated her. “And if you’re concerned about my seeing you home,” he said with mocking gravity, “you’ll be quite safe, I assure you. My driver, Ransom, is very respectable.” He paused. “Even if I am not.”

  To Samantha’s great surprise, Kane remained silent during the entire drive to her flat. Even so, she found it nearly impossible to think. She stared out the window of the carriage into the night, trying to ignore his dark presence at her side. More than once she was aware of his gaze on her, but she kept her face turned resolutely toward the window, making at least a pretense of concentration.

  Finally, she did manage to think through Kane’s offer in some detail, weighing the merits of the job with the possible pitfalls—the most obvious of which was, of course, Kane himself. Yet despite his dubious reputation and her own conflicting emotions about the man, Samantha thought she would be wise to base her decision not on her prospective employer but on the opportunities presented by the position.

  If she really were to lose the part-time job with Stein—and she had no reason to doubt Kane’s story—she would be reduced to living on her teaching salary until she could locate something else. That or accept help from her parents, an option she didn’t even like to consider.

  The increase in wages would afford her more security. It might mean a few extras in her life—perhaps even her own buggy eventually, the only real convenience she could honestly say she missed. Oddly enough, though, the money wasn’t the greater appeal. It was the work itself, as Kane envisioned it, that excited her.

  The two things she thought she could accept unequivocally from Kane’s discourse were his desire to help Cavan Sheridan attain his goals and his interest in appealing to a wider segment of the immigrant population. While she understood how she might be helpful in the former, Samantha wasn’t at all certain she would be of any real assistance in the latter—though Kane obviously thought otherwise.

  It disturbed her to think that by working more closely with Cavan she might only make things more difficult for him. Yet here, too, she suspected that Jack Kane was right. Cavan was a bright, good-looking young man. Whatever appeal she held for him would likely pass with the first pretty girl who came along to turn his head.

  All things considered, it seemed to Samantha that the positives greatly outweighed the negatives. Except for the most obvious hindrance of all—the man for whom she would be working. There was no getting around the fact that she would have a most difficult time of it, convincing her parents and acquaintances that she had not sold her soul to the devil himself by accepting a salary from such a notorious infidel.

  She reminded herself that after Bronson’s death, once she had resolved to establish a life of her own independent of her family’s standards and strangleholds, she had faced an overwhelming amount of criticism, even censure, from all sides. Even now she endured her share of subtle—and some not-so-subtle—allusions to the sins of pride and willfulness. But she had weathered the denunciation and reproach, had managed to care less about the disapproval than about finding God’s place for her, and she had never been sorry. It occurred to her now that if she must, she could do the same thing all over again. The realization surprised her and at the same time str
angely comforted her.

  In the end, she was able to retreat into the quiet place where even Jack Kane’s probing gaze could not intrude. Silently, she closed her eyes and offered up the entire decision to the only One whose opinion really mattered.

  By the time the carriage pulled up to her apartment building, Samantha had her answer.

  Kane was watching her, his dark features taut with speculation, when Samantha turned to him. “Here is what I will do, Mr. Kane,” she said quietly, “and I will commit to nothing else. I will try the position for three months, with the understanding that if I’m not comfortable with it by the end of that time—for any reason—you will pay me one month’s severance pay and make no protest to my resignation.”

  He regarded her with a steady, measuring stare, his black eyes snapping in the faint light from the street lamp. He had removed his gloves and now sat tapping one against the palm of his hand. His tone was as solemn as Samantha’s as he stated his reply. “Agreed. So long as your work is satisfactory, of course,” he added wryly.

  One of his gloves slipped out of his hands, and he bent to retrieve it. When his dark head snapped up, he was wearing a wickedly smug smile, much like that of a pirate raising his colors aboard a conquered vessel.

  —BOOK ONE—

  Cloth of Heaven

  PART TWO

  IN THE CRUCIBLE

  The crucible for silver and the furnace for gold, but the Lord tests the heart.

  PROVERBS 17:3, NIV

  20

  DIFFERENT KINDS OF MEN

  I turned my back on the dream I had shaped,

  And to this road before me

  My face I turned.

  PADRAIC PEARSE

  THE CLADDAGH, IRELAND, LATE APRIL