Land of a Thousand Dreams (65 page)

41

Sons and Heirs

Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God!

1 JOHN 3:1 (
NKJV
)

A
rthur Jackson was buried on Good Friday. Because he had helped to save the life of a New York City police captain, he was given a hero's funeral, along with Officer Bill Scanlan, who had also perished in the warehouse fire.

As Daniel Kavanagh stood at the graveside with Evan Whittaker and the boys' choir from Five Points, other deaths—too many others—passed with wrenching clarity before him. He closed his eyes against the pain, remembering….

So many partings,
his heart whispered, so
many goodbyes.
His father's face, strong and good, rose in his memory. Then Ellie, his little sister, dead of the famine fever before her seventh year. Tahg, his gentle-natured older brother, buried at sea before their ship of escape ever left Ireland. And Katie, his childhood sweetheart…dead, after only a few months in America. Thomas, her father, Catherine, her mother. Gone. All of them gone.

And now Arthur. A runaway slave. A boy whose only dream had been to live free, to live like a human being instead of an animal. Also gone, just like the others.

Daniel opened his eyes, scanning the other mourners at the grave. With a fresh twinge of sadness, it occurred to him that Arthur would have been more than a little surprised at the mixed crowd who had gathered to pay their last respects to him.

People like Bhima and his friends from the Bowery—the Strong Man and a dwarf named Plug. Lewis Farmington and Evan's Aunt Winifred. A small band of black laborers from the pipe factory. Mrs. Walsh. Miss Sara. Uncle Mike. Even Tierney.

And what looked to be the entire New York City police department.

Daniel's throat tightened, and tears scalded his eyes as a kilted piper from the police force, standing on a gently sloping green hill nearby, began to play.

After a moment, the boys' choir, of which Arthur had been such a proud and loyal member, added their voices to the wail of the pipes….

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me!

I once was lost, but now am found—

Was blind, but now I see.

Through many dangers, toils, and snares,

I have already come;

'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home.

When the last words of the hymn died away, Evan Whittaker stepped back to stand with his boys, between Daniel and Casey-Fitz.

For a moment, his mind went to Nora, who waited at home for him.

Thank God for Nora…the light of his heart, the joy of his life. When everything else seemed darkened by shadows, Nora's love still came shining through to warm his world. Even now, in the midst of another tragedy, her love buoyed him on….

He glanced at the little fellow at the end of the row. Billy Hogan was crying openly for his friend. The sorrow of the day only deepened in Evan as he saw yet another new bruise on the boy's cheek.

He must not…he would not…let this child end up as one more tragedy. As soon as possible, he would talk with Michael Burke about his suspicions. Somehow, he was going to help that little boy, or, God forbid, he might end up like Arthur Jackson…another statistic, another child in despair…or worse
….

Evan looked at Jess Dalton, standing at the head of the burial plot, his wife weeping quietly at his side. The Daltons, he realized with some consolation, had, at least for a brief time, been the light—and the joy—of young Arthur Jackson's life. They had given the homeless boy refuge, provided him with a greater sense of freedom than he'd ever known in his short lifetime, filled the emptiness of his world with love and caring.

For a time, however fleeting, Arthur Jackson had known the shelter, the haven, of a home.

And now he would know the eternal security of a heavenly home…

“Arthur Jackson has gone home….”

Jess Dalton's resonant voice soared above the graveside like a trumpet call. Surprisingly steady in spite of his own private pain, the big pastor's words brought Evan's heart an unexpected gift of hope and comfort, reminding him that in two days it would be Resurrection Sunday….

“I am the Resurrection and the Life; he who believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live….”

The pastor went on, his voice growing stronger as his words echoed across the springtime afternoon….

“God says that once He has put the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, we are no longer slaves—but sons. We are sons and heirs of the Father Himself, through Jesus Christ.

“Arthur Jackson was born a slave, but he dreamed of freedom. He ran away from the only home he'd ever known to come here…to New York City…in search of his dream, in search of freedom.”

Tears fell freely down the big pastor's face as he lifted both arms toward heaven. In a voice that rang, not with grief, but with exultation, he proclaimed:

“Arthur Jackson is no longer a slave! He is a son, beloved heir of the Father. And he has found the freedom of which he dreamed. Arthur is free…free at last!”

Evan bowed his head and, with an aching heart, began to pray…
Lord, let this boy's death not be in vain…let it be a new beginning, for all of us…from this time forth, let us strive all the more to bind up the wounds, to bridge the differences, to tear down the walls. Oh, Lord…make Your people one in You….

Early Saturday morning, Tierney Burke stood with his father and Sara on the docks, waiting to board one of Lewis Farmington's new packets, the
Land of Canaan.

Until today, he would not have believed that the thought of sailing for Ireland could bring him anything but sheer joy. Instead, his heart seemed caught up in a storm of conflicting emotions, not the least of which was the unexpected pain brought on by the thought of leaving his father.

“You have the letter for Morgan?” Da asked again.

Tierney had lost count of how many times he had repeated the question. Touching his shirt pocket, he said, “I do, Da. It's right here.”

His father's face was tight and strained, and when he chanced to meet Tierney's gaze, he quickly looked away. “Aye…well, I'll be sending him a letter as well. Right away.”

Tierney nodded, not knowing what to say.

The three of them jumped when the ship's horn blasted.

“Well, then,” his father said awkwardly, “you'll be leaving soon. Here it is…your dream at last.”

Again Tierney nodded. He glanced at Sara, shaken by the depth of kindness and understanding in her eyes. He had her to thank for getting him passage so quickly. Her, and her father.

“Sara,” he said, his voice sounding thin and unnatural in his ears, “thank you again. For everything.”

She smiled at him, and Tierney was dumbfounded to see tears in her eyes.

“You've already thanked me, Tierney. Just…take care. And write to us. You
will
write?”

He nodded, unable to meet her gaze any longer. “Da….”

“This is what you always wanted,” his father broke in, repeating the same words he had said often throughout the morning. “You've waited a long time for this day.”

“I…that's true…but I hadn't thought it would be like this….”

“Aye…but it would seem the only way now,” said his father gruffly.

It seemed to Tierney that Da looked older this morning than he had ever seen him. Older and sad and strangely unsure of himself.

“By now Walsh knows about your freeing the girls,” his father was saying. “And how you came back to help the others. There's no telling what he'll try.” He paused, then added in a slightly stronger tone, “Especially if he learns you've filled us in on all his illegal—businesses.”

“I hope I gave you enough to help, Da.”

“Everything helps. The time will come when there's enough,” his father said grimly. “It will come.”

Again the three of them stood, not speaking, each glancing about the docks as if they hadn't already inspected the entire harbor several times during the past hour.

“I expect we'll miss you!” his father suddenly blurted out.

Tierney turned a startled look on him. The hurt in Da's eyes arrowed right to his heart, and for one terrible moment he thought he would burst into childish tears.

He would miss him, too.
Oh, Da…I will miss you more than you would dream, more than I would have believed, until now.

As if he had read his thoughts, Da suddenly reached for him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. Tierney's voice strangled on the unshed tears caught in his throat. He heard Sara give a small sob, which only made it harder.

“Tierney…” Da choked out, his arms still wrapped tightly about him, “I hope you find what you're looking for. I hope Ireland doesn't disappoint you.”

Knowing in another moment he would fly apart entirely, Tierney eased himself back, out of his father's arms. Forcing a weak semblance of a smile, he said, “It'll be grand, Da. I've no doubt about it. Ireland's for me, all right.”

His father glanced down at his hands, as if wondering what to do with them. “Well…but you know you can always come home. I'll get things fixed up here in no time at all, so you won't have to worry about coming back when you're ready.”

“Oh, I know, Da. I know you will. And I'll be back….
”

He could not bear another moment of this, could not endure his father's anguished gaze. “Well…I expect I should go aboard now, don't you?” he muttered, looking neither at his father nor at Sara.

Without another word, he turned his back on the two of them…and New York…and, slinging his jacket over his shoulder, started up the gangplank.

When he reached the deck, he went to the rail. They were still standing there, watching him. Sara waved, then Da.

Tierney lifted his hand to wave. There was enough distance between them now that they couldn't see the tears he could hold back no longer. His vision blurred as he smiled and waved goodbye.

And so at last, he was on his way to Ireland.