by BJ Hoff
Renny brought the whistle to her lips and began to play. Maylee was fond of the hornpipes and the jigs, and by the time Renny leaped into the latter she was dancing to the sound of her own music and her friend’s chiming laugh. The kitten, however, had gone skittering across the room to hide under the chest of drawers.
At the sound of Renny Magee’s tin whistle and Maylee’s laughter, Michael smiled and stopped just short of the door to listen.
What a treasure young Renny had been to the ailing Maylee. With her music, her lively antics, her attempts to bring the outdoors inside—and her friendship—the Irish orphan girl had enriched Maylee’s life and brought a note of joy to a child who presumably had known little before now.
Michael had quickly grown fond of both girls, appreciative of the youthful cheerfulness they’d brought to Bantry Hill.
As for Renny Magee, he had already concluded that the girl was musically gifted. She could do some extraordinary things with a common tin whistle, and the rhythmic stomps that punctuated the lively tune confirmed what Susanna had told him—that the girl had “flying feet” when it came to the old Irish dances.
According to Conn MacGovern, who had brought the girl with him when he and his family came to work on Michel’s estate, Renny was inclined to be “saucy” and perhaps “too clever by far.” But Michael had heard the note of affection in the big man’s voice when he spoke of the girl and wasn’t fooled by the feigned criticism. Conn MacGovern was fond of Renny Magee, even if he did disdain to show it. And according to Susanna, Mrs. MacGovern had more than once declared the girl a “fine helper” and a “good child at heart.”
As he stood listening to the music of her tin whistle, it struck Michael that he just might be able to use the talents of this mercurial “good child” to his own ends—or, more accurately, for the purpose of his American Anthem’s first performance. That would happen this summer, during a concert at Central Park celebrating the country’s one hundredth birthday.
He wondered how open Miss Renny Magee, former street busker and vagrant entertainer, might be to performing in front of a far larger audience—say that of a few thousand people gathered to celebrate the centennial of the United States of America.
6
A DECEPTIVE CONTENTMENT
Blessed are the souls that solve
The paradox of Pain,
And find the path that, piercing it,
Leads through to Peace again.
G. A. STUDDERT KENNEDY
Vangie MacGovern was enjoying a rare afternoon of peace and quiet.
As she sat in the sturdy, padded rocking chair at the open window of the bedroom, letting out hems on the twins’ trousers, she caught herself whispering the same prayer over and over: a prayer of thanks for bringing them to this place called Bantry Hill, a place that only their Lord could have provided for them.
The day was uncommonly warm, one of those disarming afternoons when the trees were dotted with the first few speckles of blossoms soon to open and the air held a tempting hint of springtime. Had it not been for the nagging headache and the discomfort of her swollen limbs, she might have been lulled into a nap.
The house was completely quiet, a rare occurrence indeed. Nell Grace had taken Emma for a walk, and Vangie’s husband, Conn, had taken the twins with him to clear some of the brambles and weeds from the fence line. Of course there was no telling Renny Magee’s whereabouts, but most likely she had gone to the Big House for a visit with her friend Maylee.
Vangie leaned back, for the moment giving in to the aching heaviness in her abdomen and legs. Despite her increasing discomfort during the last weeks of her pregnancy, she lived with a sense of quiet joy these days. Indeed, were it not for the ongoing concern about Aidan, her eldest son, and when he might arrive in America, things would have been near perfect.
But surely Aidan would come soon, hopefully before the new babe arrived. How grateful Vangie was that her Conn had finally swallowed his pride and written Aidan, asking him to join them in America—and that Aidan had swallowed his own pride and accepted. What a gift it would be to have their firstborn under roof with their newborn at the same time—and her two grown menfolk finally at peace with each other.
She put a hand to her middle, thinking about the babe due to be born in just a few weeks. This child would be born into a real home, not a foul-smelling basement in the Liberties of Dublin or a tumbledown shanty off an alley in New York, but in a snug, clean house on a lovely piece of land where the only things one could see for miles were rich, fertile fields, the mighty river, and rugged mountains covered with forests. The younger children loved it here and she knew Aidan would love it, too.
Their house was small but cozy and nicely furnished with everything she and Conn needed to make a comfortable home for their family. She smiled at the thought of her husband. At last Conn had a job he loved, working for Mr. Emmanuel, taking care of the grounds and the horses and other livestock.
The children were thriving, the twins growing like healthy young colts, going to school and helping their father about the place. Little Emma, their youngest, had grown into a happy, spirited little tyke who scampered all over the place, especially delighting in chasing the chickens and playing with the cats in the barn. She was well out of didies by now, and that would be a help when the new wee one arrived. As for Nell Grace, the girl seemed to be content, though lately she’d had to assume more and more of the household tasks in Vangie’s place.
Vangie couldn’t think what she would ever do without the girl—or without Renny Magee as well. That one never ceased to surprise her. Renny seemed to be everywhere at once. When she wasn’t working in the stables with Conn, she might be found helping Mr. Dempsey about the grounds. Other times she would go roaming through the woods or up on the hill, “exploring,” or collecting items to take to the poor ailing child, Maylee, who lived in the Big House.
Only in the evenings, when the family had settled in for nightfall, were Renny’s whereabouts predictable. Then she could almost always be found hunched over the table, removed from the rest of them as she pored over one of Conn’s newspapers or yet another book lent to her by Maylee.
It was as if the girl could not get enough of the books. Nell Grace had been the first among them to realize that Renny couldn’t read. Vangie still felt ashamed that she’d been too involved to notice. But what with the harrowing crossing, James’s illness aboard ship, and the ongoing struggle just to survive once they arrived in New York, there had been no time to notice, no time for anything except for work and more work. When Nell Grace finally called Vangie’s attention to her discovery, the child, Maylee, had already undertaken the task of teaching Renny Magee to read.
They had become fast friends, those two. Strange friends. One would have thought that Renny—the older—with her all her restless energy and gumption, might have seen fit to lord it over the younger Maylee. But in many ways, the more fragile Maylee seemed the elder of the pair. Vangie had not been around the ill child all that much, but she found it a bit surprising how Renny Magee, who was as stubborn as she was independent, invariably gave in to her.
Vangie ached for the girl, yet sensed that Maylee would abhor her pity. And sure, it was nothing like pity that Renny Magee brought to the friendship. Miss Susanna had remarked more than once on how well the two got on together, and Vangie had seen for herself that they gave each other something that might have otherwise gone lacking. In a way that perhaps only the Lord could understand, they blessed each other.
Almost lightheaded from drowsiness now, her vision clouding as it was wont to do lately, Vangie set the sewing aside and closed her eyes. She would rest, she decided, but only for a moment.
The house was quiet, the deep, heavy shadows of late afternoon drawing in when Renny Magee returned from her visit with Maylee.
She found it odd that she would be the first one home at the end of the day. Most often Nell Grace and wee Emma were in the kitchen when Renny walked in. She looked arou
nd, then went to the sink and pumped a cup of water, downing half of it before realizing something else was amiss. Her gaze went to the cookstove. It was cold. No potatoes cooking, no stew simmering, no water heating for tea.
A glance at the sink and the table showed no sign of preparations for supper.
All this and an uncommon silence…
Renny slammed her cup down, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and hurried out of the room, toward the back of the house.
She found Vangie dozing, slumped forward in the rocking chair by the bedroom window, her sewing bag on the floor.
Should she wake her? Vangie hadn’t been sleeping well lately. She was too uncomfortable, she said. Still, she would be upset if the family came back to a cold stove and an empty table. Even now, when she was heavy with child and not feeling well, Vangie MacGovern took her responsibilities as woman of the house very seriously.
It seemed strange that Nell Grace hadn’t started the supper. But then Vangie usually got things going and let Nell Grace tend to the rest.
Renny stood there, trying to think what to do. Finally she spoke Vangie’s name. When there was no reply, she crossed the room and stopped in front of Vangie, whose arms were wrapped tightly around her abdomen.
Renny spoke her name again, louder this time, and Vangie raised her head. Her face was puffy and red, her features drawn. She stared at Renny with hollow eyes, as if she didn’t really see her.
Fear squeezed Renny’s spine like an icy hand. “Vangie? Are you all right?”
For an instant Vangie’s eyes seemed to clear. She opened her mouth as if to speak but gasped and threw her head back against the chair. “Renny—get Conn! Tell him to…come!”
Renny saw the blood then. It was thin and watery, but it was blood all right, trickling down Vangie’s legs and turning to a pool at her feet.
She began to shake. Oh, she was cold—she’d never been so cold! She stared at Vangie, unwilling to leave her alone, yet not having a thought of what to do. Her head felt like mud, her legs like useless sticks beneath her.
Vangie reached out with one hand as if to push her. “Go!”
Renny whirled and ran. She shook so hard as she charged through the house, she thought her bones would surely shatter like glass. Her chest was on fire, for she had no breath. She bolted out the door and onto the lawn—stumbling, nearly falling, straightening, and screaming for MacGovern as she went. Screaming for anyone who would come.
Nell Grace heard her before she saw her. Renny Magee, running straight at her and Emma, shrieking like a wild thing.
Nell scooped Emma into her arms and began running as well.
“What is it, Renny? What’s wrong? Is it Mum?”
Renny stopped, nodding and gasping for breath, her thin chest heaving. “There’s blood! I think she’s in terrible pain! She said your da should come right away. Oh, she’s bad, Nell Grace. She’s in a bad way and no mistake!”
Nell Grace didn’t hesitate but drew Emma tightly against her. “I’ll go to Mum,” she said, breaking into a run. “You go get Da!” she called back over her shoulder. “He and the boys are at the fence down by the creek. Go as fast as you can, Renny! Tell Da to come at once!”
Renny was already on the way. She had caught her second wind now, and her legs took on new strength as she ran. She seemed scarcely to touch ground as she went flying over the field and down the hill toward the fence line, calling out to Conn MacGovern as she went. She couldn’t shake the image of Vangie clutching at herself, as if she were trying to hold herself together, the pain racking her face, the blood…
She took a furious swipe at her eyes and kept on running, willing herself not to think about the blood, not to think about anything but reaching Conn MacGovern.
7
AT THE EDGE OF THE STORM
I hear all night as through a storm
Hoarse voices calling, calling
My name upon the wind—
JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN
Vangie thrashed her arms and legs, struggling to stay afloat as one red wave after another pounded her and pulled her under. Fierce pain gripped her, but more frightening than the pain was the angry, unknown sea in which she found herself.
Flashes of lightning, jagged and razor sharp, pierced the water, illuminating the raging current that swept her away from shore. She was caught up in a vortex, an undertow that threatened to drag her below even as the storm whipped her about, tossing her over the waves like an empty fish basket.
Between rolls of thunder, she heard her name called and looked back toward shore to see Conn and Nell Grace crying out to her. Miss Susanna from the Big House was there, too, with Mrs. Dempsey, the housekeeper, right beside her.
But where were the children? Wee Emma and the twins?
She reached out for Conn, as if he could somehow pull her back to the safety of land. But even as she thrust out her arm, she knew she was too far out for rescue.
She turned away, gasping when a babe suddenly appeared in view, bobbing and rocking as if he were riding the waves. A tiny infant, wrinkled and red, with only a wisp of hair but with great, sad eyes, his little arms and hands beckoned her forward, coaxing her to come now, come away from that other place, away from those calling her name—
An enormous wave slammed at her, hurled her up and over, as if she were but a weightless thing. As the sea dropped her again, Vangie glanced back toward the shore one more time. Conn’s face was contorted with what appeared to be fear—or grief—as he continued to cry her name over and over again. Nell Grace was sobbing, her hands covering her face.
There were other voices, some she knew and others she didn’t recognize. She thought they might be praying, but they were soon lost when a tremendous roll of thunder came barreling in on her.
Her legs felt so heavy, her arms as well. Any moment now she would surely be dragged to the ocean floor or flung wildly into the storm and lost at sea.
She ceased her efforts to turn back to shore, her strength too far gone to fight her way through the relentless fury of the storm. Besides, the babe with the sorrowful eyes seemed to be pleading with her to come to him. Aye, him—sure, the infant was a boy! And he so tiny and helpless! He needed her more than the others, his eyes seemed to say, more than those she was leaving behind.
Susanna took one look at Vangie MacGovern and wanted to run from the room. The woman was obviously in excruciating pain. She didn’t even appear to be conscious. At best, she was out of her head. Her usually lovely features were swollen almost beyond recognition, her eyes open but unfocused and so shadowed they looked to be bruised. She lay moaning and muttering, sometimes calling out or shrieking.
She looked as if she might be dying.
Was this what childbirth was like?
Susanna jumped when a clap of thunder shook the small house and a wicked bolt of lightning arced outside the window. For once, Susanna was thankful to have Moira Dempsey nearby. She felt helpless entirely, but the irascible housekeeper had already begun snapping orders to Mr. MacGovern and Nell Grace, sending them from the room while she turned back to examine Vangie with a confidence born of experience.
“Ach, this one needs more help than I can give, and soon!” she said, straightening and turning to Susanna. “Her waters have broke, and the babe’s tryin’ to come. And somethin’s bad wrong.”
“But the baby’s not yet due.”
“Due or not, it means to be born. Tell my man to go for a doctor. Someone should have sent long before now.”
Susanna tried to think. “Dr. Kent is the closest, but he’s never recovered from his stroke. There’s no one else nearby.”
Moira cast a look at the woman writhing on the bed, then turned back to Susanna. “I fear this babe will not be born at all, at least not alive, without a doctor.” She paused. “I’ll do what I can, but she’s in for a long, hard time of it. I’ve never helped with such a birth, but I’ll warrant the babe is turned wrong to begin with. And she has the look of one with the poison runnin
’ through her.”
Susanna had no idea what the older woman meant about “the poison,” but the look in Moira’s eyes sent fear hurtling through her like a splash of icy water.
“What—how can I help?”
Occupied with elevating Vangie’s upper body, Moira scarcely glanced at Susanna. “You shouldn’t be in here at all,” she said. “You’re naught but a maiden. No need for you to watch this.”
Susanna really didn’t want to “watch this,” but she’d be no help to Vangie MacGovern by playing the coward. “No, I’ll stay. There might be something I can do.”
The housekeeper turned now, her sharp gaze raking Susanna’s face. “‘Be keepin’ those children out of here, then. And the man as well. They shouldn’t see her so.”
Another slam of thunder struck just then. Vangie cried out, and Moira turned back to her, tossing instructions over her shoulder. “We’ll be needin’ plenty of hot water and towels. And if you think they’ll come, send my man to the city after those doctor friends of yours. They’ll never get here in time, but even so, we ought to try.”
Susanna couldn’t help but think that if someone had only sent for them sooner, Bethany Cole and Andrew Carmichael would have been well on their way by now. She knew they would come, for they were friends as well as physicians. Andrew had come in the middle of the night, after all, when Caterina was so terribly ill with the croup. But it would take hours for them to get here from the city. And watching Vangie MacGovern, she had a sick thought that neither Vangie nor her baby could wait for hours.
Ashamed of her own cravenness, Susanna knew she had to get out of the room or be ill. “I’ll—have Nell Grace fetch some water and towels. Then I’ll go and find Mr. Dempsey. There’s that new telegraph office at Tarrytown. Perhaps he could get a wire off to Dr. Carmichael. That would save a great deal of time.”
