Song of the Silent Harp

by BJ Hoff

  As Evan watched, a slow, wondering light seemed to soften and gentle the big man’s face, a light so faint Evan almost thought he might be imagining it. But, no, the warmth rose in Fitzgerald’s eyes, a glow that somehow hinted of approval. And without ever questioning why this brash Irishman’s affirmation should matter in the slightest, Evan found himself basking in its warmth.

  “By all that is holy,” Fitzgerald said quietly, his great leonine head thrown back as the rain slashed his face, “it would seem that I have found myself an Englishman with a noble heart. Now, there is a wonder for us all.”

  Evan flushed. He knew himself to have been saluted by this great tower of a man, and he savored it.

  “All right, then, Whittaker,” Fitzgerald said, still examining Evan as if he were some sort of a rare oddity, “let us get on with it. We have much to do, and from the looks of you we’ll need to do it quickly before you catch your death. First, though, we need a plan as to how we can hold off Cotter’s thugs until I can get some of my lads and an extra horse or two down from the hills.”

  “I’m still the official emissary of their landlord,” Evan pointed out. “I should think I’m more than capable of managing those roughnecks.” Even as he spoke, he was hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

  Fitzgerald permitted himself a ghost of a smile. “Aye, somehow I think you can.”

  “Before anything else, though,” Evan said urgently, “we must get young Daniel hidden away.”

  Fitzgerald nodded. “He can go with Thomas for now.”

  “Good. But I’m afraid Mrs. Kavanagh needs to come with us. Things may get unpleasant if Cotter’s toughs show up, but with her help I believe I can get rid of them.”

  “Give me a moment,” Fitzgerald said with a short nod. Turning, he walked off, tossing out a stream of Gaelic to the others as he approached.

  Not long after he reached them, the Kavanagh lad shot a look of disbelief in Evan’s direction, while the woman’s face went white with visible alarm. Only the tall, haggard-looking man next to her appeared unshaken as Fitzgerald went to him and, gripping his shoulders, began to speak. Seeing the two men together, Evan immediately noted the resemblance. Evidently, this gaunt, sad-eyed man was the brother he had been ordered to evict. Feeling suddenly ill, he was struck by a fresh blow of guilt for his years of association with Roger Gilpin, and renewed shame for himself and his country.

  The woman and the boy continued to stare, first at Fitzgerald, then at Evan, with incredulous, frightened eyes. He attempted a lame smile of reassurance, but his face quickly froze in the effort. Seized by a sudden wave of uncertainty, he fought down a surge of panic. These people despised him, as well as everything he stood for; in their eyes, he was the enemy, a man to be feared and shunned. What had ever possessed him to think he could gain their trust, especially within such a short period of time? There was no earthly reason, even if they were to accept his willingness to help, that they should trust his ability to help. For that matter, there was no earthly reason why he should trust himself.

  Still, it wasn’t himself he was trusting, any more than it had been an earthly reason that had brought him this far. “Trust God,” his father had said. “Trust God, and be brave.”

  Less than an hour later, Nora sat rigidly on a chair in her kitchen, struggling to accept the fact that her entire life was about to change.

  The whirlwind in which she found herself seemed to be gathering strength. What had started when they encountered the Englishman on the way back from the graveyard had continued to build until she thought she would go mad from fear and confusion.

  First, Morgan had sent Daniel John rushing off with Thomas, offering no more than a hurried explanation about getting the boy “out of Cotter’s reach,” and a reminder to “use the space beneath the cabin if it’s needed”—whatever that meant.

  Scarcely a heartbeat later, he scooped Nora up and set her squarely on the horse with the Englishman, ordering them to take the back road around the village to her cottage, that he would meet them there “in a shake.”

  All the way down the road the Englishman mumbled what sounded like words of apology and reassurance, but Nora had been far too distraught and bewildered to catch more than a few bits and pieces of his British blather. The only thing she had understood was that Cotter meant to abduct Daniel John, and this was enough to take her to the very edge of hysteria.

  By the time they reached the cottage, she was trembling so violently she thought she would fly to pieces before Whittaker could get her off the horse. She went through the motions of tending to Tahg, doing her best not to let him see her terror, but she was aware of the lad watching her with uneasy eyes, as if he sensed something was wrong. When she mumbled a hurried, awkward explanation about Whittaker being a “friend of Morgan’s,” the boy stared at her incredulously but offered no argument.

  During the entire time she busied herself with Tahg, Whittaker hovered nearby, peering at her through those odd little spectacles of his as if he feared that any moment she might run screaming from the cottage. As soon as Morgan arrived, the two of them closeted themselves in a corner of the kitchen, doing a great deal of muttering and nodding, virtually ignoring her.

  Now, leaving Whittaker in the back of the cottage, Morgan crossed the room to pull up a chair and sit down, facing her. Nora had all she could do not to shout at him. For a moment he simply searched her eyes, saying nothing. Then, drawing a deep sigh, he reached for her hand, seemingly mindless of the way she immediately knotted it into a tight, unrelenting fist.

  “Nora, I am sorry,” he said, studying her. “I would not have yanked you about as I did had there been more time.”

  Nora stiffened, glaring at him. “Why are you listening to that Englishman, Morgan? What is he doing here, in my cottage, telling us what to do?” She was aware that her voice was shaking as hard as the rest of her. “Does he not work for the landlord himself?”

  Morgan was still in his cloak, and with his free hand he reached now to shrug it off, letting it fall over the back of the chair. “Believe it or not,” he said, sliding his harp off his shoulder and placing it carefully on the table, “he is trying to help us. In truth, he means to save our lives.”

  “You are cracked!” Nora exploded. She heard the shrillness of her voice, tasted the fear that caused it, but she could not stop. “And since when do you heed the words of an Englishman, Morgan Fitzgerald?”

  Morgan smiled grimly and nodded. “Aye, it is an incredible thing, I admit. Still, I believe the man, Nora. He is risking a great deal to help us. But listen to me, now,” he said, his expression sobering, “there is more that you must know, much more than I had time to explain before. Did Whittaker tell you anything at all,” he asked quietly, “about the evictions?”

  “Evictions?” His expression was inscrutable, but something in the way he watched her made Nora sit stock-still, unable to breathe. “What evictions?”

  Dragging in a long breath, Morgan enfolded both her hands between his. “Nora,” he said gently, “you will have to be very strong. What I have to say is not easy.”

  Squeezing her hands, he seemed to choose his words with great care. He spoke in a quiet, level voice of the horrors to come—of their imminent homelessness and what Nora could only view as their approaching doom.

  When he was done, she began to rock back and forth, trying mindlessly to still the shaking of her body. “God help us,” she whispered, and then again, “God help us, what are we to do?”

  “We are going to get you and Tahg out of here as quickly as possible,” Morgan said grimly. “You and the boys will stay at Thomas’s cabin for a few hours. Later tonight, I will take you to a place in the hills where you will be safe until the ship for America comes.”

  Nora felt her face crumble with fear and disbelief. “Are you daft? Tahg cannot leave the cottage!”

  He gripped her hands even more tightly. “He must leave, lass. There is no other way.”

  Nora twiste
d, trying to tug her hands free, but he held her. “No! No, you are mad!” she burst out. “It would kill him to be taken out in this weather, after all this time and him so ill. Sure, and you must see that, Morgan—Tahg would die!”

  In spite of his hands gripping hers, she managed to pull herself up off the chair, still wrenching in vain to twist free. Morgan, too, shot to his feet, catching her by the shoulders. “Nora, listen to me!” he shouted, his eyes burning into hers as he held her. “There is nothing else we can do! They will tumble the place down around your head if you resist. Then what will become of Tahg? You can’t think he would survive that!”

  Nora stopped struggling, her mind finally beginning to register the awful truth in his words.

  His grip on her shoulders relaxed only slightly. “Hush, now, and hear me out, ma girsha,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, soothing tone. “There is a way out of this, after all. But you must mind what I say.”

  She shook her head in hopeless protest. “Do not try to deceive me, Morgan,” she choked out brokenly, no longer even trying to stop the tears. “You know as well as I that nothing can save us now! ’Tis the road for us…oh, God help us, how will we manage? What am I to do with Tahg?”

  “Stop that!” His voice cracked like a whip, and he shook her soundly. “You must not give way, do you hear me? I will do all I can, but you must keep your wits while I am gone.”

  “Gone?” The word struck her like a blow.

  He nodded, watching her closely. “Only for a short time—an hour, perhaps two. I’m going to bring some of my men down from the hills, with extra horses. They will help us to get away.”

  “But Tahg—”

  He slid his hands down her shoulders to grip her forearms. “There’s a cabin where we’re going. Tahg will be warm and safe until the ship arrives.”

  Nora gaped at him. “But what of Cotter’s men while you’re gone? What if they turn us out before you get back?”

  His hands tightened on her arms. “You’ll be all right until I return with the lads. Whittaker is going to make certain of that. In the meantime, you must get some things together for you and the boys. Pack only what you need—no more. When I come back, you must have Tahg ready to leave, and yourself as well. Can you do that, Nora? Whittaker will help you.”

  When she hesitated, trembling, he pulled her to him. Dipping his head to make her meet his relentless gaze, he cupped her face between his hands. “You will be all right, lass, I promise you. I will let no harm come to you or your sons, but you must do your part. And you must not give in to your fear.”

  Nora closed her eyes. Her head was pounding, her mind reeling. “Nora? Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes, slowly dragging her gaze to lock with his. Still framing her face with his hands, he again spoke her name. “Nora . . you used to trust me, do you remember, lass?”

  Nora could not answer, but merely nodded, all the while allowing his eyes to hold her captive.

  “Can’t you trust me again, ma girsha? At least once more? For the sake of your life, and that of your sons, Nora? Please?”

  She searched his eyes, still unable to allow herself to hope. Yet he seemed so determined…so sure.

  “Nora?”

  Slowly, she nodded, unable to wrest her eyes from his.

  “There’s my good lass,” he said, his voice softening to a hoarse whisper, his gaze brimming with an old, familiar fondness. “It will be all right. You will see.”

  At the unexpected touch of his lips on her forehead, Nora caught her breath sharply. She stood unmoving as he tipped her face up to look at him. “I will go now,” he said, his eyes searching hers, “and fetch our English hero. First, though, you must promise me that you will do whatever he might ask of you while I am gone.”

  When she would have protested, he touched a finger to her lips. “Nora, impossible as it may be to comprehend, I know in my heart that Evan Whittaker is a good man, an honorable man. And a clever one as well, if I’m any judge. For now, we will simply have to trust him.”

  He held her gaze until she finally gave him a small, uncertain nod of assent. Then, with seeming reluctance, he released her, picked up his cloak and harp, and hurried out of the room.

  Moments later, behind the cottage, Evan watched the small mare Cotter had given him to ride sag as Fitzgerald swung himself up on her back.

  “How long will it t-take you?” he asked, convinced the little black mare could not carry so heavy a burden for very long.

  “Two hours at the most—one is more likely,” Fitzgerald replied, raking Evan with a measuring stare. “It’s not far, but I’ll be stopping at my brother’s on the way out of town. To make sure Daniel John is safely hidden, and to have a word with Thomas about what to do should Cotter’s thugs decide to come calling.”

  Evan was uncomfortably aware that he was being appraised. He sensed that Fitzgerald, if not actually having second thoughts about his trustworthiness, was at least making one last attempt to reassure himself.

  “You saw how frail she is?” he asked Evan abruptly.

  “Mrs. Kavanagh? Yes, I did. I told you, I shall help her however I c-can. If she w-will allow me to help her, that is,” he amended.

  Still delaying, Fitzgerald glanced up at the rain-heavy clouds. “We will need bedding for Tahg—several layers, if she has it. I’ll try to borrow one or two cloaks from my lads as well.” He paused. “You are absolutely certain you can turn away Cotter’s men?”

  Hooding his coat over his head, Evan fidgeted impatiently. He was going to have the most ghastly chest cold after all this came to an end—if indeed it ever did come to an end. “Yes, yes, of c-course, I’m certain,” he reassured Fitzgerald, ignoring the immediate twist of doubt that followed his words. “You really m-must go now! You dare not be caught here!”

  “Aye, I am going,” the other man answered, starting to turn the horse.

  Both of them jumped at the distant sound of hoofbeats. Fitzgerald whipped around, shooting a startled look first toward the road, then back to Evan. “It’s too soon! What are they doing back in town—”

  Panicked, the blood pounding in his ears, Evan stared at him. “Get out of here!”

  Fitzgerald slanted him one last warning look as he yanked the mare around. “If anything happens to her or her sons,” he bit out in a murderous voice, “you are a dead man!” Hauling up sharply on the reins, he tore off in a frenzy across the field, throwing rocks and splattering mud as he went.

  At that moment, Evan knew with absolute certainty what he had only suspected before: Fitzgerald was in love with the Kavanagh woman!

  His mouth went dry. Pressing the knuckles of one hand to his forehead, he groaned aloud. Fitzgerald was not the kind of man to make idle threats; of that, Evan had no doubt. And now that he was aware of the real motivation behind the big Irishman’s actions, he knew with chilling conviction that his own life depended on his being able to save Nora Kavanagh and her sons.

  The drumming sound of approaching horses was growing louder by the second. Evan watched Fitzgerald’s back for an instant more before hurrying around the side of the cottage, cringing as the deep, sludge-filled ruts sucked his feet down and filled his boots with cold, muddy water.

  He shuddered, more from desperation than cold, and went back inside. As yet he had no idea what he was going to do to turn Cotter’s bully-boys away.

  But he must do something. There was too much at stake for him to fail. Lives were at stake.

  Lord, I don’t know where to start…Please show me the next step to take. Help me not to fail these people. Lord…help me not to fail You.

  20

  The Wind Is Risen

  Many times man lives and dies

  Between his two eternities,

  That of race and that of soul.

  W. B. YEATS (1865-1939)

  The Fitzgerald cabin was cold and dank. There was plenty of wood left from Morgan’s recent trip to the hills, but Thomas had ordered them not to light a fire.
“We’ll not be wanting to call attention to ourselves in any way,” he explained. “We will keep warm by packing for the journey. There is much to do this night.”

  Daniel admired Thomas for the way he had risen to this most recent crisis. Many of the villagers considered Morgan’s brother a dull, plodding man, albeit a kindhearted, honorable one. Through the years-long friendship between their families, however, Daniel had come to know Thomas Fitzgerald as a quiet, orderly individual, unswervingly devoted to his God, his family, and his friends, in that order.

  The two brothers were more alike than was usually perceived, especially in their mutual love for the land. While Morgan’s passion was more inclined toward Ireland’s culture, her history, and her always questionable destiny, Thomas found his fulfillment in working the land itself, coaxing it to yield its maximum bounty. Despite their differences, both men shared a basic bond with all that was Irish and a common instinct to preserve it.

  At the moment, Thomas was showing keener instincts than most of the townspeople would have credited him with. As soon as he shoved Daniel safely inside the cabin, he set him and the children, including Little Tom, to preparing for their forthcoming “adventure.” Deliberately fueling their excitement about the voyage to America, he assigned each of them specific jobs, encouraging their efforts with occasional words of approval. In the midst of a dilemma that might well spell ruin for them all, he still managed to convey a sense of expectation to his children for what lay ahead, reminding them that God was very much a part of this, as He was in all things.

  While the silent Johanna and wee Tom helped their father to pack the most essential of their meager belongings, Daniel and Katie worked hurriedly to collect the few remaining bottles of Catherine’s homemade medications and herb ointments. Opening the wooden box that held her midwifery instruments, they emptied its contents onto the kitchen table, replacing them with precious containers of medicine, as well as vinegar, soap, needles, and dressings.