by BJ Hoff
On this afternoon, too, there was something else on her mind, something that carried with it its own pall of gloom. With Maylee gone and Vangie back to her old self, there was really no need for Renny to stay on with the MacGoverns now. She had already stayed past the time she’d committed to work for them, delaying her departure as long as she could out of sheer reluctance to leave.
As crowded as things were in the small MacGovern house, more than likely they would be relieved to see her go. What with her having used their Aidan’s passage to come across and then him later lost at sea, she couldn’t fault them for any hard feelings toward her, though if such resentment existed among them, she’d seen no sign of it.
Even so, they no longer seemed to need her help as much as before, and there was really nothing to hold her here any longer. Nothing except her feelings for them all. And they wouldn’t be knowing about that—or caring, even if they did.
Renny glanced at Emma, who was trying to get her wee brother’s attention by shaking a baby rattle in his face. The baby, however, seemed more interested in what Renny was doing as she set the iron on its heel atop the stove.
He was a cute little fella, with those funny ears and the thatch of strawberry-blond hair on top of his head. It was a relief to see Vangie now so wrapped up in the new baby that she hesitated to let anyone else tend to him. Once Renny had overcome her initial nervousness, she’d discovered she actually enjoyed holding him now and again. And when he clutched at her shirt front with his wee fingers and studied her up close, as if he found her highly fascinating—well, she liked it well enough, she had to admit. On occasion she even fantasized about what it would be like to have a baby brother of her own, not that there was any chance of that ever coming to pass.
For another moment, Renny stood watching a squirrel scurry down the oak tree outside the kitchen window. Then she turned, gathered wee William up in his basket, and took Emma by the hand.
“Let’s go change your baby brother’s didy,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the little girl to coax a smile. “Everyone will be in for supper soon, and we can’t have him disgracing himself, now can we?”
It seemed to Renny that Conn MacGovern and Vangie were acting strangely over supper tonight. For that matter, Nell Grace also appeared to have something on her mind. There was much glancing back and forth across the table—long, meaningful looks accompanied by a smile or even a giggle now and then—and the twins were more rambunctious than usual. Their da had to quiet their whisperings and foolishness more than once.
When Renny scraped her chair back from the table after the meal and asked to be excused, she was caught unawares entirely by Conn MacGovern’s reply. “Not just yet, lass. We’ve been wanting to talk with you, and now would seem as good a time as any.”
Something shattered inside Renny. So it had come, then. They were going to ask her to leave before she could make the decision herself. She ought to have expected it. She should have been steeled for it. But she wasn’t. She had all she could do to keep from blubbering like a wee tyke as she scooted her chair back up to the table and glanced around at the faces that were now all turned toward her, watching her.
Conn MacGovern cleared his throat—always a sure sign that he had a serious topic on his mind. Renny sat up a little straighter, forcing herself to look him straight in the eye.
“No doubt you’ll recall that when we agreed to bring you across with us, we had an agreement,” he began.
Renny nodded, and he went on. “You were to earn the price of your passage by working for us no less than six months after we arrived. Do you recall that?”
“Aye,” said Renny, her mouth so dry she could scarcely get the word out.
“Well, then, as I’m sure you’re aware, you’ve fulfilled your commitment and then some.”
Again, Renny nodded. Say it. Just say it, won’t you? Let’s have it over with. She wanted to run from the room screaming. She wanted to be alone so they wouldn’t see her pain. She wanted to shut her ears entirely and pretend this wasn’t happening…
“Well, we’ve been thinking, lass, that although your work has been exemplary—”
Conn MacGovern did love his big words, Renny thought bitterly, squeezing her arms around her middle to keep the pain from stealing her breath.
“—and in truth we have no complaints, none at all, with the arrangement as it is—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Conn!”
Renny darted a look at Vangie, who was wiping her hands on her apron and frowning at her husband. She turned to Renny, her frown giving way to a smile. “What the man is trying to say, Renny—though why he’s having so much trouble getting it out, I can’t think—is that we’ve talked with Mr. Emmanuel, who knows about these things. And he’s agreed to help us go through the proper channels—if you’re willing, that is—to adopt you.”
Renny gaped at her, then at Conn MacGovern, who was grinning like a fox. To her dismay and utter humiliation, she felt her face begin to crumple. She blinked furiously, knotting her hands beneath the table so their shaking couldn’t be seen.
“Adopt me?” she croaked, sniffing a bit to keep her nose from dripping.
“Yes, Renny,” Vangie said quietly, still smiling. “We’d like it very much if you were to be our daughter. How would you feel about that?”
How would she feel about it? She would feel as though the angels were dancing on her shoulders—that’s how she’d feel!
“You—you don’t want me to leave, then?”
“Leave?” Conn MacGovern and Vangie and Nell Grace all voiced the word in unison. It was Vangie who answered her first.
“Oh, Renny! Of course, we don’t want you to leave! You’re one of the family!”
“You’re like a sister to me, Renny,” said Nell Grace. Emma clapped her hands and squealed, “Sister! Renny my sister, too!” The twins nodded their agreement. Then Johnny poked James and James punched his arm in retaliation—and Vangie shot them one of her looks.
Renny turned then to Conn MacGovern, who, slightly red-faced, glanced around the table at his family, then lifted his tumbler of water high, inclining his head toward her. “We all agree that you’re as much a part of our family as is any one of us, lass, and we wouldn’t like to think of your leaving. We’ll do whatever it takes to make it official for you to be our daughter, Vangie’s and mine—and sister to the rest of these rascals.”
He paused, his expression gentling as he locked eyes with Renny. “So, what say you, Renny Magee?” he said softly. “Will you have us?”
There had been a time when Renny would have countered with a cheeky, impudent reply as a way of masking any trace of sentiment or her true feelings. But at this particular moment, she could think of nothing to say. It seemed that every broken thing in her was coming together and being made whole…that every cold, lonely place inside her that had never known the security of acceptance or the warmth of affection suddenly seemed aglow…that every wound, every empty space, in her heart of hearts began to heal and fill to overflowing.
She took a swipe at her eyes to blot the dampness, then lifted her face to Conn MacGovern. “Aye,” she said, her voice hoarse but strong. “And it’s proud I am to be asked. There’s nothing I’d rather be than a MacGovern.”
“Well said,” proclaimed the head of the family.
The letter arrived the next day. The twins brought in the post, tossing the few pieces of mail on the table and immediately running back outside. Vangie called after them, as she always did, to stay clear of the creek.
She went to the table and thumbed through the mail. Her eyes came to rest on the envelope at the bottom, and she pulled it free for closer inspection. In that instant her pulse set up a roar in her ears that sounded like thunder, and her heart threatened to explode inside her chest.
Too stunned to cry out, she could only stand and stare at the writing on the envelope. Aidan’s handwriting—but how? Had there been a terrible mistake? Was he alive after all?
&nbs
p; Excitement flooded her. The questions came arrowing in on her like jagged bolts of lightning. Finally she managed to get to the kitchen door and then to the porch, where she began to scream for Conn.
At the sound of Vangie’s screams, Conn MacGovern ran as fast as he could toward the house. Something must have happened to one of the children, something bad. The baby was hurt…or wee Emma…or Vangie herself.
Oh, merciful Lord, what now, what now?
The instant he reached the porch, Vangie threw herself against him. She had a letter in her hand and was waving it in the air, shrieking something about Aidan, but Conn could make no sense of what she was trying to tell him.
He managed to get her inside to the kitchen, where he helped her onto a chair.
“You open it, Conn,” she said, thrusting the letter in his face. “I can’t.”
“Vangie, what—”
He took the letter from her, then saw for himself why she was raving. It was Aidan’s handwriting on the envelope.
Hope flared in Conn as he ripped the letter open. After all this time, could it be? Was it possible?
His eyes went to the top of the page, where the date was written—and his hopes collapsed and died.
“It was—he must have written it just before he left,” he said, his voice shaking, his hand trembling as he reached to touch her.
Vangie moaned as her own hopes came crashing down.
She reached for the letter, but he stopped her. “Wait.” He scanned down the page, and his heart slammed in shock, then began to race as he read on.
“Read it to me, Conn,” Vangie said, her voice little more than a whisper.
Conn had reached the end of the letter. His throat was so swollen he didn’t know if he could read it to her. His emotions rioted, pain warring with a growing wonder, even a bittersweet kind of joy.
“Conn—”
He scraped a chair up close to hers and faced her. “Our Aidan wrote this just before he left Ireland,” he explained. “Probably posted it on his way to the harbor. All right, love, here’s what he says.” And he began to read:
Dear Da and Mother,
I know this will come as an enormous shock to the two of you, and I’m sorry for that. I planned to tell you myself when I arrived in America, but then I got to thinking perhaps I ought to write and tell you now, just in the unlikely event that something might happen to me during the crossing. Once you read this, I am sure you’ll understand why I would rather be telling you these things in person. On the other hand, I don’t want to take any chances on something happening to me and you not knowing about this.
What I’m trying to say, and I might just as well say it, is that I am a married man. I wed my Riona O’Donnell nearly four months past—you’ll remember Riona from her family’s booth at the Summer-fest, sure. We have just learned she is carrying my child. Although we’ve known each other a long time as friends, we were surprised to finally realize we wanted to be more to each other.
And that’s a part of the reason for my delay in coming, you see. I was trying to raise the money for our passage. As it turned out, I’ll be coming alone, for we simply couldn’t manage the funds we’d need for both of us to make the crossing. We also feared that the crossing might be too difficult in her delicate condition, after all, so she must stay with her family in Enniskerry.
I plan to find a position right away and save everything I earn to bring Riona and our child across as soon as possible. I don’t know how well you’ll remember Riona, but I do know you’ll both love her. She is beautiful and courageous, like Mother, and has an unshakable faith, also like Mother. I’d give anything if she were coming with me—I can’t think how I’m going to bear being without her, I love her so. But I will be working hard, and I will have you and the rest of the family to keep me company until I can send for her, so that will help to get me through, I’m sure.
I beg you both to forgive me for putting this in a letter, but I also beg you to be happy for me. There’s one thing I must ask of you. If something should happen and I don’t make it to America, please, out of your love for me, please contact Riona and bring her and our child to you and give them a home. I want you to know my beloved and her to know you. And I want my child raised as a part of the grand family I belong to.
I love you all, and I can’t wait to see you.
Until we’re together again.
Your devoted son,
Aidan MacGovern
By the time Conn had finished reading the letter, he and Vangie were both sobbing.
“Do you think he knew?” Vangie said. “Do you think he might have had a…a warning or the like?”
Conn thought about it, then shook his head. “Don’t you hear the happiness in him, love? He was full of joy when he wrote this letter, not the kind of joy a man would know if he were afraid of dying. He was just being right smart, taking precautions, you see.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Vangie said, lifting the hem of her apron to dry her eyes. “Oh, Conn, think of it—our Aidan married to Riona O’Donnell—and with a child. Our son has a child.”
A child he’ll never see, Conn thought, the taste of sorrow almost choking him.
But then something else struck him. He looked at Vangie and saw her watching him. “You know what we have to do, of course?” he said.
Slowly, she nodded. “We must find Aidan’s wife…Riona…and bring her here. Of course, if she’s too far along with the child, she may have to wait until after it’s born. But we must bring her to us. It’s what Aidan wanted.”
Conn put aside the letter and took both her hands in his. “And isn’t it what we want as well, love? To have our son’s wife here—and his child—where we can give them a proper life and look after them?”
Her eyes still glistening with tears, Vangie squeezed his hands. “Oh, yes, Conn! It will be almost like having Aidan with us.” She paused. “Conn, have you realized? We’ll have two babies in the house! We’re going to be grandparents!”
He stared at her, then got to his feet, tugging her along with him and gathering her into his arms. “Aye, so we are, love. But I must tell you, Evangeline Mary Catherine MacGovern, that you don’t look like any grandmother I’ve ever seen.”
She lifted her head and smiled through her tears at him. “We’re going to be all right now, aren’t we, Conn?”
He cupped her chin with his hand and kissed her gently on the forehead. “We are definitely going to be all right, love. And not just for now. With God and our family, we will always be all right.”
Epilogue
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA!
Let music swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees
Sweet freedom’s song.
SAMUEL F. SMITH
July 4, 1876
For this one occasion, Susanna was pleased to be a member of the audience instead of a part of the performance.
Tonight she wanted to see not the backs of the orchestra members, but the faces gathered in community. She wanted to feel the thrill, the surge of excitement that she knew would energize the crowd at any moment.
That excitement had already begun to permeate the vast gathering of spectators waiting for Michael and the orchestra to appear. Indeed, Susanna had never seen such heightened anticipation among so many. She could actually feel the expectation stirring throughout the park, as if all there sensed that something that had never happened before was about to take place.
Susanna could scarcely control her own eagerness. After all these months of working with Michael and assisting him in a dozen different ways with the music—playing parts, sorting through page after page of notation, or at times simply supplying an opinion—she had yet to hear the entire suite orchestrated and in full.
The American Anthem had taken its toll on Michael. Some days she had almost feared he would have to give it up altogether, so frustrated was he with its progress and drained of his own physical energy. He had gone without sleep, even lost weight. But
something had kept him going.
No, not something, she amended. Someone.
She believed that with all her heart.
Michael himself was convinced that this was not just another score, not merely another work to be performed, but a kind of divine commission. And Susanna had heard enough to be just as strongly convicted that what she was about to hear was the offering of a man anointed by God’s Spirit, a vision fulfilled by His guidance and grace.
As a child, Michael had been given only a glimpse of what he would one day undertake as a musician. As a man, he had finally realized that vision, but only after overcoming obstacles that might have felled one less driven, less dedicated to the Lord of his life.
Central Park seemed ready to welcome the event. In the early dusk, lanterns glowed like fiery stars throughout the entire area, even on the hillside rising above the park itself. A special bandstand had been erected to accommodate the full orchestra, and here, too, lanterns cast their twinkling lights among the red, white, and blue bunting and countless flowers woven through the trellises framing the platform. Gas lamps highlighted the American flag raised just beyond the bandstand. In the distance, the elegant Bow Bridge had been decorated as well.
Earlier in the day, families had gathered in the area for picnics and games, speeches, and other Centennial events. But now adults and children alike had come together to wait in smaller, more intimate groups, their voices lowered, their laughter subdued.
Suddenly, the drone of a bagpipe was heard. A piper in full regalia marched slowly across the field, approaching the bandstand with great dignity and solemnity as he intoned the melody to a work Susanna recognized as a part of Michael’s Anthem.
A riotous burst of applause followed, and the audience of thousands rose to their feet as Michael and the members of the orchestra approached from the other side of the bandstand and began to file up the steps to the platform.
