by BJ Hoff
With the cast, it was nearly impossible to identify the location of such vague feelings, if indeed the feelings existed at all. There was also the fact that he had imagined sensation in his legs on numerous occasions after the shooting, long before there had even been a thought of surgery.
God alone knew what it meant, just as He alone knew what the coming weeks would bring. And at this point in time, Morgan thought he should be grateful for that. He was facing a rigorous struggle, the culmination of which could not be predicted. What man would be strong enough to persevere if he already knew that at the close of his efforts nothing waited but the end of a dream?
A few minutes later, Sandemon entered the room.
“So then—is there any news from Dr. Gunther today?” he asked, smoothing the bed linens and straightening the table beside the bed.
Morgan looked at him. “Our esteemed surgeon actually laughed,” he said, holding his larger announcement for the moment. “Aloud, can you believe it?”
Sandemon’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “An amazing thing, surely.”
Morgan saw his thoughtful expression. “What? I know that look. You have had an idea.”
Sandemon smiled. “I am wondering if we may not eventually learn that this surgery was not entirely for you.”
Puzzled, Morgan frowned. “What do you mean?”
Sandemon shrugged lightly. “I think Dr. Gunther may also benefit from this acquaintanceship. He is growing to like and respect you, that much is obvious. Perhaps you can have a gentling influence on him. Our Lord might even use you to soften the surgeon’s heart.”
Morgan gave a slight wave of the hand in dismissal of such a notion. “The man is hopeless.”
“No man is hopeless,” Sandemon said easily.
“That one is, I assure you. Besides, we will be gone, on our way back to Ireland, long before even the smallest seed of influence could penetrate that stubborn head.”
“Nevertheless, a seed planted…” Sandemon let his words drift off, but his meaning was clear.
Morgan merely uttered a short sound of disbelief, then said, “He will remove the cast on Monday.”
The other’s dark eyes searched his. “At last,” he said softly.
“Aye, at last. But we still have a long road to travel.”
Sandemon nodded. “Remember that you do not walk the way alone.”
Morgan looked at him and managed a tight smile. “Pray that I walk it at all, mo chara. Pray that, if you will.”
45
These Bright and Shining Gifts
He’ll meet the soul which comes in love
and deal it joy on joy—
as once He dealt out star and star
to garrison the sky,
to stand there over rains and snows
and deck the dark of night—
so, God will deal the soul, like stars,
delight upon delight.
ROBERT FARREN (1909–1984)
Christmas Eve, 1850
Quinn? Could I have a moment, please?”
Quinn O’Shea stopped, eyeing Daniel Kavanagh with caution as he descended the stairway. She still felt awkward with him, almost as if she had failed him somehow. He was just as ill at ease with her, she knew. Ever since he’d learned about her and Denny, he had avoided her. Yet he was never anything but polite, if remote.
Occasionally, Quinn still caught him watching her with wounded eyes. It seemed that he had not completely given over his infatuation. She wondered if the Whittakers had made Daniel aware of her past. There was no reason to expect them not to tell him, of course, but it was difficult all the same to think of him knowing.
His family had been kindness itself when she finally told them the truth. Denny had gone with her, and although that hadn’t made it any easier, his presence had at least supported her through the ordeal.
Quinn had detected no change in their demeanor with her since then, but there was no reason to assume it would be the same with Daniel. Still, he was smiling just now as he came toward her.
He stopped a comfortable distance away and stood, one hand at his side, the other behind his back. He looked uncertain, as if now that he’d approached her he might change his mind and walk away.
Finally he spoke. “I just wanted to tell you—to thank you, that is—both you and Sergeant Price—for offering to stay with the boys tonight, so my family could spend Christmas Eve at the Burkes. It was very kind of you—and the sergeant.”
He seemed to stumble over Denny’s name, as if it stuck slightly in his throat.
“Why…it’s no trouble at all,” Quinn replied, still somewhat guarded as to his intentions. “It’s our pleasure, to be sure.”
When he said nothing more, but simply stood there, looking altogether uncomfortable, Quinn moved to ease the stiffness between them. “Your friend, Mr. Fitzgerald—how is he? Has there been any change?”
Daniel shook his head. “None, I’m afraid. Oh, he seems to be feeling a bit stronger, but he can’t—he still has to use the wheelchair.”
Again there was an uneasy silence between them. After a moment he brought his hand from behind his back, holding out to Quinn a small, finely wrapped gift.
“This is for you,” he said, watching her.
Quinn looked at him, then at the package in his hand.
He inclined his head toward the gift. “You can open it now if you like. But there’s something I’d like to say first.”
Quinn lowered her eyes before his steady gaze, troubled at the thought that he might still have feelings for her. She valued Daniel’s friendship, had hoped for an end to the stilted formality between them. After another instant’s hesitation, she took the gift, at the same time bracing herself for whatever it was he had to say.
A thin line of perspiration banded his forehead as he clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. “I just want to tell you—” He cleared his throat before going on. “I’m awfully glad, for you and Sergeant Price, that is. He’s a fine man. My folks think the world and everything of him, and I like him a lot, too. You’re—you’re a wonderful girl, Quinn, and you deserve the best.” He paused. “That’s all I wanted to say. You can open your gift now, if you want.”
Dumbstruck, Quinn stared at him. He knew. He knew the truth, she was sure of it. And this was his way of telling her he thought no less of her for it. Like his family, he was accepting her just as she was.
To her dismay, she thought she might burst into tears. She bit her lip, then attempted a smile. “Why, what a nice thing for you to say, Daniel Kavanagh.”
A light flush crept over his features, and he glanced away for a second or two. “Aren’t you going to open your gift, then?”
“My gift…oh yes, of course!” Her eyes widened with amazement as she withdrew a small, narrow box. With one finger, she tipped open the lid. Inside was a pair of delicately fashioned reading glasses.
Quinn gaped at the glasses with disbelief. “Oh…oh, Daniel!” She let out a long breath, staring at the spectacles. “Oh, my! These—these are for me?”
“Put them on, why don’t you? Let’s see if they’re right for your eyes.”
No longer could Quinn hold her tears in check. Indeed, she could scarcely see at all for a moment as she carefully picked up the eyeglasses and slid them on.
“Here,” Daniel said, reaching into his vest pocket and handing her a small card. “Read this.”
Quinn drew in a sharp breath as her eyes scanned the small, precise printing on the card. “Oh, isn’t it clear entirely?” she burst out. “‘Nicholas A. Grafton, M.D.,’ it says!”
She looked up. “Daniel Kavanagh,” she choked out, “never have I had such a fine gift! But how—how did you know I needed eyeglasses?”
“How—” Daniel blinked. “Well, I expect I assumed as much when I saw how you pressed your nose into the spine of the book at our grammar lessons.” He paused. “Good Christmas, Quinn O’Shea. And—tell Sergeant Price the same for me, if you will.”
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Quinn thought he might have looked a bit wistful as he turned and went back upstairs. Perhaps not, though. Perhaps it was only that she could see his expression so much more clearly now, with her new spectacles.
In their bedroom, Nora pinned up the sleeve of Evan’s jacket while he sat beside her on the bed. “Isn’t it lovely of Sara and her family to have all of us for Christmas Eve? And planning a late supper, so we could have our worship and treats with the boys before we go.”
“Sara could give almost anyone we know lessons in thoughtfulness,” Evan said, smiling. “Certainly, this should b-be a special Christmas for all of us.”
Nora stood, waiting to help him with the jacket. “Aye,” she said as he rose from the bed and slipped it on, “and let us pray that it will be special indeed.”
She moved behind him to check the back of his collar. “Next year,” she said after a long sigh, “Daniel John will be away at university, thanks to Aunt Winnie and Mr. Farmington.” She gripped his shoulders. “Wasn’t it grand of them to offer their support for his tuition?”
Evan nodded. “Aunt Winifred can be very persuasive, in case you hadn’t noticed. And the money from the music will help, too.”
“Daniel John will realize his dream at last,” Nora sighed. “A great gift from God—and the Farmingtons. A great gift.” She paused, and her voice turned wistful. “But he will be gone, Evan. And Morgan and his family will go back to Ireland. Who knows how we may be scattered before another Christmas?”
She lifted a hand to smooth his lapels, but Evan caught it. “I am quite certain that Daniel will come home for Christmas, darling. And perhaps one day soon, we m-might even make a trip to Ireland, to visit the Fitzgeralds. Who can say?”
Nora raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And shall we be taking all our little boys with us, then, when we make this journey back to Ireland?”
Evan chuckled. “Only if we c-can afford to hire an entire staff of help for the duration.” He studied her for a moment. “Wouldn’t you like to go b-back at some time, Nora? To see your home again?”
She had thought about it, of course. “I expect I would, just to visit. Ireland is, after all, my home.” She paused, considering. “But my life here is so full—I am content, Evan.”
Nora smiled at him. “There now. And don’t you look positively grand in your new coat, Mr. Whittaker?” she teased, kissing him on the cheek.
“Do I?” He stole a glance at himself in the vanity mirror, then turned toward her. “Well, if I m-may say so, you look extraordinarily lovely yourself tonight, Mrs. Whittaker.”
“It must be my new brooch.” Nora touched the small garnet stone, set in the shape of a heart, at her throat. “Though I still think it’s much too extravagant, Evan.”
“Nonsense. Why, I c-can scarcely see it unless I’m nose-to-nose with you,” he said, pulling her close and smiling into her eyes. After a moment he eased her away from him, just enough to study her face. “Tell m-me something, darling. Do you feel even half as well as you look tonight? I declare, you’re actually glowing!”
“I do feel well, Evan, and that’s the truth. Which reminds me, I have some news from the tests Dr. Mandel ran earlier in the week. He stopped by for a moment while you were with the boys this afternoon.”
A stricken look crossed Evan’s face, and Nora hurried to reassure him. “Good news, Evan, not bad! My, how you do fret! Dr. Mandel seems quite pleased with my progress. He thinks I’m doing very nicely. He said I can be up and about for longer periods of time now. He’s even decreasing the medication a bit.”
“Oh, Nora, that’s splendid! Why—that’s the b-best Christmas g-gift I could possibly imagine.”
Nora laughed at his obvious relief. The man did take on over her.
And wasn’t she blessed that he did?
Nora raised her face to his, locking her hands behind his neck. “And you, Evan Whittaker,” she said softly, “you are my own treasure, my special gift from God.” She paused, an unexpected heaviness stealing over her.
Ever sensitive to her feelings, Evan searched her eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Nora shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong. I was just…wishing that God would share some of the healing He’s given me with Morgan as well. The last time we saw him—he was trying to be so cheerful, but underneath the pretense, he seemed worried.”
Evan nodded. “Who wouldn’t be anxious, after going through so m-much with not even the slightest hint of change? But we mustn’t give up, Nora. Morgan hasn’t. He is alive and getting stronger. Perhaps that is God’s answer to our prayers.”
“Yes,” Nora said softly. She knew Evan was right. But she could not help but wish that God had answered in a more tangible way.
At the last minute before going downstairs, Sara stood, her back to Michael, as he fastened the clasp of her mother’s emerald necklace.
His hands settled lightly on her shoulders for a moment, and Sara smiled to herself, imagining his response to the Christmas gift she was about to give him. She shivered when he pressed his lips to the back of her neck, then turned her around to look at her.
He drew in a long breath, his dark eyes glinting. “Lovely,” he said softly. “I declare, Sara a gra, you are positively radiant tonight. You make even your mother’s emeralds look dull.”
Sara smiled at him, thinking, as she always did, that the man was simply too handsome.
“You said you had something to tell me,” she reminded him. She was increasingly anxious to give him his gift, but she didn’t want to take away from whatever news he had been keeping.
“Did I?” He looked at her blankly.
“Michael—don’t tease! We have to go down in a minute. Tell me now!”
His hands circled her waist. “Actually, I want to ask you something, rather than tell you.”
“Don’t play coy with me, Michael Burke. Tell me at once!”
His expression gradually sobered. “Very well, then,” he said, searching her eyes. “I’ve been wondering how you would feel if I were to leave the force.”
Whatever Sara had expected to hear, it wasn’t this. “Leave the force? Michael, are you serious?”
He nodded. “I believe I am, yes. Simon Dabney has approached me again, about the alderman slot. I’m tempted to make a try for it, Sara.”
She studied him. “You would actually leave the police department? Leave your men, your work? It’s been a part of your life for so long.”
“Perhaps too long,” he said, letting out a long breath. “I’m growing tired of the violence, the corruption—and the long hours. I know how you worry about me—and you do worry, don’t think I haven’t noticed. In truth, I sometimes worry about myself. Being a cop can make you—hard,” he said. “Eventually, it can even callous your soul. I don’t want that to happen to me.”
Sara studied him frankly, with some concern. “Michael, I won’t deny that I’d be relieved. Even though I know you’re quite wonderful at what you do, you’re right: I do worry about you. But—are you sure? Are you sure you can leave, and still be happy?”
His hands tightened on her waist. “I won’t know that until I try, now will I? Besides,” he said, his face drawing into a somewhat peevish expression, “there is the fact that I’m not getting any younger. I’ll soon be too old to go chasing after hooligans, you know. I’d like to get out before I’m too old and used up to be good for anything else.”
Sara’s eyes went over his handsome face—still decidedly youthful for a man who groused about his age as much as Michael did—and she couldn’t stop a faint smile.
“Well? What do you think?”
“I think,” she said deliberately, “that a man who is soon to become a new father is anything but old and used up.”
Michael’s entire face went slack. He looked positively ashen as he gaped at her. “I’m not!” he blurted out.
“Oh, but you are, darling,” Sara said, laughing at his astonishment. “Really, you are.”
His eyes glistened, and his voice went soft. “You are quite certain?”
“Beyond any doubt.” She paused. “That’s my Christmas gift to you, Michael.”
He made a strangling sound, and then he began to laugh. He swept Sara off her feet and swung her around and around, until she warned him she would surely faint.
As if suddenly remembering her condition, Michael set her gently to her feet and clasped both her hands in his. “Sara…ah, Sara…what a gift you are to me! And what a gift you have given me this night! I cannot wait to tell everyone!”
“Michael!” Sara felt a wave of color creep up her face. “You can’t tell anyone. Not in public. It simply isn’t done.”
He reared back. “You can’t mean you expect me to keep silent about such a thing? I will not! I cannot! I will tell everyone in the house, and I will tell them tonight!” He beamed at Sara. “And then I will go out into the street and tell the neighborhood. And the city—perhaps I will tell the entire city. What do you think of that, Sara a gra?”
“I think you are mad,” Sara answered, laughing in spite of herself at his boyish excitement.
He kissed her soundly on the forehead, then each cheek, then the tip of her nose. “Indeed I am,” he agreed, his eyes glinting. “I am mad entirely. Mad about my wife, the mother of my child.”
His expression sobered as he set her slightly away from him so he could look at her. “Sara, promise you will help me to be a better father to our child than I ever was to Tierney.”
Sara stared at him. “Oh, Michael! You were a good father to Tierney! And one day he’ll realize just how much you mean to him. He’ll come home, Michael, you’ll see. Tierney will come home again.”
Even as Sara spoke the words, she somehow knew that she was right, that Tierney would come home again. She believed in the unbroken circle of a family’s love. She believed in the power of God to heal the wounds that even in the closest of families could cause division. And she believed in Tierney, for she had seen the love in his eyes for his father the day they parted.
