by Bonnie Dee
The woman’s eyes lit up at the sight of a familiar face. “Mein Kind muss bleiben. Bitte hilf uns.” She grasped Dieter’s shoulder and pushed him toward Jody. “Bring ihn zu seinem Vater.”
Jody understood nothing but the “please,” and an uneasy feeling made him start to inch away.
“Father,” she repeated in English. “America.”
Dieter cried “Nein,” and threw his arms around his mother’s waist.
A knife twisted in Jody’s gut at the pathetic tableau. He wished he hadn’t left the queue.
Mrs. Mueller kissed the top of her boy’s head, then turned her tear-streaked face to Jody. “You take to Father.” She fished a worn bit of folded paper from her pocket and thrusted it at him.
“Ah Christ!” Jody growled.
“Bitte, Mein Herr. Bitte.” Those mournful eyes would haunt him the rest of his days if he refused her desperate request.
Jody took the paper and glanced at the penciled address.
“Who are you? A relative?” the medic asked.
Jody shook off his dismay and spoke with authority. “My name is Richard Mayhew. I’m an acquaintance of the Muellers.” He drew a breath and made a vow. “I promise to make certain the boy safely reaches his destination.”
Mrs. Mueller nodded. “Ja. America es ist am besten für seine Zukunft.”
The very large attendant apparently understood German. “She says it’s best for his future.”
The weary official shook his head. “Very well. Mr. Dundee, escort this woman to the consumptive unit, and find the boy—and this fellow—beds for the night. It is too late for them to go ashore today.”
The attendant guided Mrs. Mueller and Dieter away from the crowd and toward the quarantine unit. Jody hoisted his heavy satchel and fell into step beside them.
When they reached the point of parting, Jody averted his gaze while the sobbing pair clung to each other. Mrs. Mueller whispered, and Dieter shook his head and plaintively repeated, “Nein.”
Jody could see this was shaping up to be a battle to part the little boy from his mother. He did not want the attendant to physically tear them from each other’s arms, so he dropped to his knees beside Dieter. “You understand English?”
The child glanced at him with tear-swollen eyes. “Jah.”
“Be brave. For Mama. She is doing what’s best. Now, let her go.”
The lad wiped his nose on his sleeve and clenched his jaw, then reluctantly stepped away from his mother’s arms.
Mrs. Mueller covered her mouth to suppress another sob. She looked deep into Jody’s eyes. “Danke. Du bist ein gutter Mann.” She haltingly repeated in English. “Good man.”
Well, he’d never been called that before. Goddamn if his throat wasn’t swelled so tight, he could scarcely breathe. Jody nodded curtly. “Dieter will be fine. Don’t worry.”
A nurse emerged from the infirmary to escort Mrs. Mueller inside. Dieter’s face crumpled as the door closed behind them. Jody panicked. He had no idea how to calm a distraught child. But the little fellow squared his shoulders and marched grimly as the attendant guided them forward.
When they reached the men’s dormitory, they were assigned cots and directed to the dining hall, where hot food awaited at last. Jody attacked. He always had an appetite. He thought the boy might be too upset to eat, but Dieter also devoured every morsel on his plate.
Later, lying in darkness on a wafer-thin mattress, he listened to the rustles, sighs, farts, and snores coming from twenty-odd beds around him. The occupants were as restless as Jody felt.
Half of him continued to mourn the loss of Cyril, but the rest of his thoughts were occupied with what the hell he was going to do if he couldn’t find Dieter’s father. At least this gave him something other than heartache to focus on. He would move heaven and earth to reunite father with son. After all, it was what Cyril would do.
It was what a “good” man would do, and Jody had every intention of becoming that elusive thing.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Lord Cyril Belmont, I presume. I am Doctor Edward Morton, here to review your case.” A pleasant fellow greeted Cyril the next morning soon after breakfast. Morton adjusted half-moon spectacles to read Cyril’s shipboard report. “A seizure, hm? Well, that doesn’t sound too pleasant. Can you tell me about it?” He addressed Cyril like a friend who’d stopped by for a chat, rather than a physician in the sterile environment of a hospital unit.
“As I explained to the doctors on the ship, I have been diagnosed with epilepsy. There is no need for me to be here.”
“Why don’t I just take a little listen to your heart and lungs?”
Cyril unbuttoned his shirtfront and the doctor placed a cold stethoscope disc upon it.
After moving the disc to several different spots and looking into Cyril’s ears, eyes, and throat with a lighted device, Morton grunted in satisfaction and made a note on his clipboard. “Your heart and lungs are sound, and your temperature is normal. I do believe you’re in the peak of health. Are you here on a visit or planning to stay awhile?”
“I hope to become a naturalized citizen in time.”
“Well, good for you. Give me a moment to confirm your health report.” He signed and stamped a paper, then handed it to Cyril. “Welcome to America, Lord Belmont.”
Cyril accepted the precious document he could easily have secured onboard yesterday. His outrageous dramatics now seemed pointless as they had not brought him any closer to reuniting with Jody and may, in fact, have prevented him from finding him on the wharf. He must do something to make this excursion worthwhile. “Is there a list of yesterday’s immigrants? I should like to know if an acquaintance I made on the voyage has been approved.”
The doctor raised one thick eyebrow. “Naturally, there are lists every day, but I don’t have ready access to such information. New York high society is rather tight-knit, Lord Belmont. No doubt you’ll meet your new friend again at some gala or other. Good luck.” He bustled on to the next patient before Cyril could ask anything else.
There was nothing more he could do besides wait to push through the final red tape and walk from the immigration hospital as an approved visitor of the United States of America. Outside, Cyril inhaled a bracing draught of fresh air. A chill wind whipped across the harbor, bringing the odor of fish and garbage. He and several others walked the pathway to the dock.
He’d been told his baggage would be awaiting him once he reached shore. No doubt, the case of orchids would be dead from lack of light. Certainly it would be a miracle if the fragile things survived.
Before crossing the gangplank to the ferry, Cyril cast a last look at the immigration center. He might as well face the fact he would not see Jody again. Even if he searched the city, it would take a miracle to find him.
With that glum realization in mind, he again stood at the boat’s rail, shoulder to shoulder with others who had been cleared to travel. The green shore of Battery Park grew larger as they approached the wharf. Seagulls looped and screeched, and the distant voices of people on shore floated across the water. An assortment of pathways and trees were dwarfed by the dominating feature of the park; Castle Clinton, a circular sandstone fort which had once protected the harbor, thus earning the park’s designation of “battery.”
Unprompted, the fellow beside Cyril shared this historical fact. “Used to be the immigration center for a while. Now, there’s an aquarium inside. I’ve been to New York before. This is the first time I was flagged for health reasons.” The man shook his head in annoyance. “Bureaucracy.”
The ferry docked, and passengers disembarked and were reunited with their possessions. Around Cyril, his fellow passengers were greeted by waiting relatives, were whisked away in cabs, or strode off with a purpose. Cyril remained in place, searching the crowd for the one beloved face he craved. He watched a family enter the aquarium, children skipping at their parents’ sides, and wished he had not a care in the world but to enjoy a holiday outing. Facing a
new world without a friend was utterly daunting.
Someone jostled past him, and Cyril recalled Jody’s instruction about guarding against pickpockets. He clapped his hand to his coat pocket while looking for the person who had pushed past him. The boy’s nearly white hair was instantly recognizable. “Dieter?”
The lad glanced at him, eyes widening in surprise, before he darted off.
“Dieter!” Cyril followed him. The child had run off from his mother yet again. No doubt she was searching for him, beside herself with worry.
“Dieter, come back here, you bleedin’ tosser!”
Cyril spun around at the shout from a familiar voice. Only a few yards away, Jody charged through the crowd, pushing people out of his way as he ran after Dieter.
“Jody,” Cyril murmured—then “Jody!” he yelled and pursued the man he had convinced himself he would never see again.
***
The sound of his name stopped Jody in his tracks. He forgot all about keeping Dieter in sight and skidded to a halt. He wrenched his neck in his haste to look toward the source of the call. “Cyril!”
The breeze whipped Cyril’s hair into wild swirls that danced around his head. His brown eyes were saucer-huge and his grin as wide as the ocean as he ran toward Jody. An angel descending from heaven couldn’t have been a more shocking or beautiful sight. Jody froze, absolutely transfixed.
Cyril stopped short of Jody with his arms spread as if he were a breath away from enfolding him in a hug. “You’re here! Right here. I had hoped you might be, but couldn’t imagine I would truly find you again.” He dropped his arms to his sides but continued to beam his joy. “But I did. I found you!”
Jody gaped and shook his head. “I—I—” He recalled his mission. “I have to catch Dieter. Will you help me?”
“Of course.” Cyril fell in beside him and together they raced across the park toward the dandelion fluff that bobbed ahead of them.
“Where the hell does he think he’s going?” Jody didn’t have long to wonder, for Dieter ran up to a woman wearing a long blue dress and patterned headscarf.
“Mutter?” He grasped a handful of her skirt and rounded her ample backside to stare up into her face.
Jody stopped hurrying now that the boy had stopped. He shook his head. “The poor little shite.”
“Why? What’s happened?” Cyril asked.
“Lad’s mum didn’t make it. Bad lungs. They’re sending her back.”
“Why is he here, then?”
“I’m to take him to his father at the address she gave me.”
“That’s very generous of you to take on the responsibility.”
The approval in Cyril’s voice made Jody glad he had interceded. He gazed into Cyril’s concerned eyes and realized if he hadn’t left that queue yesterday to help the Muellers, he would not have been here at precisely the right moment to encounter Cyril again. Perhaps acts of charity could pay off in unexpected ways.
“You…” Jody began. “I…” Words failed him. He had too many things he wanted to say. “We can’t talk right now. I’ve got to rescue this little wretch.”
He approached the boy and the woman stooping to talk to him.
With her angular face, she looked not the slightest bit like Mrs. Mueller. She glanced at Jody. “Is he yours?”
“Yes.”
“Off you go, then. Go with your father.”
The child glared at Jody as if he had personally stolen him away from his mother.
“I don’t know. He does not look happy to see you?” The woman looked doubtfully back and forth between Dieter and Jody. “And he looks nothing like you.”
“I’m escorting him to his father,” Jody explained. “He’s lost his mother.”
Dieter looked as if he would like to stalk away. But where could he go? With a sullen frown, he ambled over to Jody.
Cyril crouched to the child’s level. “I am sorry to hear about your mother, Dieter. You know she loves you and wants the best for you.” He repeated the words in German.
The lad’s fury abated at Cyril’s calming tone. No wonder, for the man spoke sweetly enough to honey an angry soul. He’d won Jody’s heart with that voice. When Cyril rose and offered his hand, Dieter took it.
“Seems to like you better than me. Want to come with us?” Jody asked. Why couldn’t he stop acting nonchalant when he wanted to grab hold of Cyril and hug him tight, or, since they were in public, at least tell him how overjoyed he was to see him? He couldn’t seem to find any words big enough to encompass what he truly felt.
“I should be happy to accompany you to place the boy safely in his father’s care.” Cyril’s words were equally stilted. “But I’ve left my luggage at the dock and, it appears, so have you.”
“Likely they’re stolen by now,” Jody said gloomily. But when they returned to the waterfront, they found their trunks and satchels as they’d left them.
“Unbelievable that we were on the same transport and didn’t see one another. If not for Dieter running off, I might have missed you entirely.” Once more, Cyril’s smile illuminated Jody from the inside out with a glow that made sunlight seem weak. “I believe Fate meant us to find each other again, don’t you?”
This was his opportunity to express himself. Jody took a deep breath. “I think… I think we can’t carry all this luggage. Maybe send it ahead to a hotel. Do you have a place in mind?”
“Oh.” Cyril’s smile dimmed. “A fellow at the hospital recommended an inn. Perhaps it will do.”
“What hospital?” Jody asked.
Cyril jerked a thumb toward the harbor. “At the immigration center. I, er, feigned an illness so I’d be taken there, because I wanted to…” He ducked his head. “This is rather embarrassing. I hoped to find you there.”
Jody blinked, peered at the distant buildings across the water, stared at Dieter sitting on one of Cyril’s trunks and kicking at the ground, then looked at Cyril again. “You failed your medical exam on purpose? Are you mad?”
“I’ve been told so,” Cyril said dryly. “It was rather an insane effort, but it brought me here at exactly the right moment, so I suppose it was worth the gambl—”
Jody lunged forward. Passersby be damned, he seized Cyril in his arms and hugged him so hard that Cyril let out a little oof of breath. Only when the embrace went on too long and began to draw attention did Jody finally let go and step back.
He wiped at his damp eyes with his sleeve and drew a long, shuddering breath. “You are one mad fool. What symptoms did you fake?”
The smile was back in full force, melting Jody’s knees into jelly. “Oh, you would have been proud of the act I put on. I dropped to the floor in an epileptic fit. But enough about that. Tell me how things were for you. Did anyone question your forged papers?”
“No. Things went smooth other than picking up my little traveling companion.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Listen. I have so much more to say to you, but it should be someplace private when we’re alone. For now—”
“Dieter must be our first priority, of course. What we wish to say to each other will keep. We have all the time in the world ahead of us, don’t we?”
Jody nodded. “I believe we do.”
Chapter Twenty-three
While Cyril arranged hotel accommodations and delivery of their luggage, Jody spoke with the proprietor of a nearby newsstand about how to find their way to a particular tenement on the lower east side of Manhattan. They took an elevated train to their destination, and Dieter moved from stoic silence to wide-eyed awe as he knelt on the seat, eyes glued to the scenery flashing past. This gave Jody and Cyril time to converse.
“I want to apologize for what happened with Longbow and for behaving so coldly when we parted,” Jody said. “I knew I had disappointed you, betrayed you once again. And then, well, it seemed best not to show you how much I cared since there could be no future for us.”
Cyril’s leg jostled against Jody’s as the train rounded a bend. That slight tou
ch was like a caress sending tendrils of lust winding their way to his groin. Jody wished he could place his hand on Cyril’s to tether them together.
“You owe me no apologies,” Cyril said. “I’m sorry if I displayed any judgment for what you believed you must do to protect us—although I do wish you had spoken with me first. I know you meant well. Secondly, why would you think we could not be together?”
“Because of who you are and what I am,” Jody replied. “I have no doubt you will find a good life in this country. You will rise to the top, which is your natural place, and have success and companions suitable to your position. I would not interfere with that by dragging you down to my level. We both know I’m a worthless scoundrel.”
“Stop it! I will not hear you speak ill of yourself.” Cyril’s eyes blazed. “You are of great value to me, and I do not intend to move forward in life without you by my side. Is that clear?”
Dieter tore his gaze from the window to watch their argument.
Jody stared back at the boy for a moment before he replied to Cyril. “I think your estimation of me is unrealistic. I truly am a rogue and likely to disappoint you again if you were to throw in your lot with mine.”
“That is my decision to make. Look at me,” Cyril ordered as Jody dropped his gaze to watch a bug crawl across the floor.
Jody obeyed.
“I am not out to reform you. I don’t expect perfection, but I do demand honesty. I expect we shall continue to learn things about each other as we go on, and sometimes it may be difficult to remain together, but I, for one, am willing to try. Are you?”
Where will we live? What will we do? How are we to get on together when we’re from such different worlds? Jody wanted to ask. But those were much bigger questions for another time. For now, he simply answered, “Yes.”
There was no time to ponder the miracle that had just occurred as the train jerked to a stop. Dieter’s temporary distraction from mourning ended, and he must be the sole object of their attention as they searched for his father in a jungle of tenement buildings through streets choked with traffic, pedestrians, and pushcarts by the score.
