1863 Saratoga Summer Read online

  “Con, take me. I’ll behave, I promise. Take me with you.” Egan grinned up at his brother, who seemed to ignore him. He moved in closer to face him. “What’s the matter, Con? Afraid I’ll take the sweet widow-woman away from you?”

  “Who cares?” Suddenly, Connor let a big, booming laugh erupt into the room. The sound of it reverberated against the stone of the fireplace but stopped abruptly as he made up his mind to include his brother. He spoke directly to Egan. “Why not? Aye, I’ll take you with me, Egan. I’ve heard America’s big—a scary place—but with lots of room. I hate to be going alone someplace I know little about. The two of us together...?” Connor flung his arm over Egan’s shoulders then gave him a hug fit to break the younger man’s ribs. “But, little brother, you’ll be listening to every word I tell you.”

  “Och, for sure, Con,” Egan said with a smirk, while shaking his head in agreement…

  Chapter Two

  Late May—Ireland

  Knowing he falsified the circumstances of his story, Finn O’Malley felt ill about sending two of his five sons to a place called New York, a place where crass strangers ruled. Only the good Lord above knew what went on in such a barbaric place. What he feared most was one of his boyos going off alone and being left to the monsters he envisioned lived in America.

  Even worse, he was sickened and ashamed by the lie he was compelled to relate, but, for some inexplicable reason, he was hesitant to tell them the truth or to remind them of the tragedy that happened twenty years before. At the time, he prayed their young minds would forget the sorrow of the days following the tragedy of death. Now, on a continual basis, he prayed his Mary would forgive his lying.

  He wasted several weeks, hoping something might occur to change his decision to send them. One week passed then another before Finn finally gathered Connor and Egan close for a manly talk. Not only was he faced with losing one son; he was to lose two, both going far from home.

  Perhaps, it was better this way, he thought, pacing to a window and back. Finn knew there was little for his sons in Ireland, with memories of the famine and the cruelty of the English still setting neighbor against neighbor at the strangest times. All his sons should go, not stay in a struggling Ireland where the Irish had so little respect from those who tried so hard to rule them.

  Connor and Egan would keep each other company, so he spoke to them quietly. “Connor, make sure yer marriage is properly consummated and yer bride has the child safely in her custody, with no one wanting to take it away from her.” Finn made note of Connor’s grim face and his heart grew heavy. “Lads, ye don’t have to stay in that foreign place forever, ye know.”

  Connor nodded at his father’s words but Finn could see the lad still felt uneasy about the reasons for doing this. Finn understood something in Connor’s demeanor gave credence to the idea he’d heard a lie. Finn knew his boys recognized the fact.

  Nevertheless, Finn went on. “Once everything’s settled proper-like, ye’ll be free to bring yer new family back here. Yer horses will still be where ye raised them, and ye’ll be back in the home ye love. Think on it, boyo.”

  Connor nodded and Egan patted him on the back.

  “Boyos, I want ye to keep this old country and its proper behavior uppermost in yer minds. Keep yer religion close to ye. There’ll be folks who’ll want ye to stray but the faith will bolster yer senses and keep ye well.”

  “Aye, Da,” Connor mumbled, his dark eyes saddened with burdensome grief.

  “Aye, Da,” Egan said, his green eyes dancing with glee.

  Finn studied both Connor and Egan. They were good sons. Each and every one of his sons were fine, fine men. He was as proud of them as any man could be. He breathed a sad sigh at losing any of them to another world beyond the confines of their small breeding farm.

  With regret uppermost in his thoughts, he raised himself to his full height, standing straighter and taller than he had since getting the packet. “Well, boyos, ‘tis off to the priest we go.”

  He turned back for a moment. “Connor, take the papers from that table by the fireplace. They’re in the top drawer. We need to take them with us for the priest. We’ll have a ceremony all fine and legal. Signed and sealed by Father William.”

  Egan rushed to the table before Connor. He dragged open the drawer and was about to take the papers out when his brother’s large hand encircled his wrist.

  “I’ll get them. Don’t be getting a head of yourself, little brother. I’ll be wanting to do this myself.”

  “Aye,” came the soft answer.

  Finn smiled and started for the door. “Och, I think the widow’s name is somewhere on one of those papers.”

  Connor opened the drawer and took the papers out. He studied the top one then shuffled through them all until he found what he was looking for. A name. “Sinead Cavanaugh, soon to be Sinead O’Malley.”

  Finn’s smile widened. This would work.

  ~*~

  July11, 1863—New York City

  The day dawned hot and sulky without a breath of wind to cool the troubled times Bowes Brennan knew were heading for the city of New York. He could feel the horrors of everyone’s reactions to the Conscription laws permeating the air. Things were too quiet around his boarding house and the area where he lived, too subdued and peaceful not to matter.

  He sighed, wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and settled his two matching grays into their places at the front of the open carriage. Once finished with the last belting of the harness straps, he climbed up onto the driver’s seat, took the reins in his hands and clucked to the horses to move forward down the street.

  Rounding the corner into a main thoroughfare, the hasty movements of pedestrians and carriages caught his eye. An endless river of people, each pursuing his or her own destiny, marched steadily for the business districts of the city.

  Bowes figured the lottery drawing for the draft had already begun at the Conscription offices on Third Avenue and Forty-sixth Street. Rumors were that the authorities intended to start in areas of vacant lots and isolated buildings—so as not to upset the more vocal populace in heavily crowded areas. But he knew the draft would be a clash of race, classes, religions and nationalities, a jam of unrest and tumultuous desires. That was New York, a dissonant chorus, a city of hurried and sparkling waters, a city of spires and masts.

  He pushed such incongruous thoughts from his mind. It was time to pick up his daughter, Sinead, and go with her to meet her new husband. Ablaze with plans and possibilities for her, he had coerced her into participating in one of his schemes. He had wanted a good man for her and was surprised he was able to talk her into marrying one, just by her taking her da’s word for everything. His heart would break with grief if she and little Robbie couldn’t make a fresh start in life. It would be his fault.

  Bowes vaguely remembered young Connor as being a stalwart youngster, but twenty years passed since he’s seen him. Now, he needed to make sure the man was worthy of his daughter, that Connor had grown into the kind of man she could admire and respect.

  ~*~

  Sinead Cavanaugh stood staring at her empty room. She was mentally exhausted, physically nauseous, and frightened. Disgusted with herself beyond any belief of past actions, she had done the unimaginable. Stupidly done it. And not for the first time in her life.

  Whenever she followed one of her da’s schemes, the pit of her stomach housed the same sick feeling. The man had a million ideas for the future since arriving in America. None of them were remotely successful.

  This time, her da’s scheme seemed right to her, even honorable, until the sorry excitement of this morning dawned. But, as usual, her da’s plot, along with the enervating heat she hated, made a mess of her thoughts, her nerves. Now, she wished she had more time to enjoy the last hours of her freedom.

  The entire city of New York lay under the siege of an unexpected and oppressive early summer heat wave. Coupled with the people’s escalating opposition to the Conscripti
on Act, tension reigned throughout the city’s boundaries and beyond. The very thought of what might come in the next few days succeeded in making Sinead short of breath and ill.

  The wet, stifling hot air refused to move and its torment didn’t help her frame of mind. The overbearing humidity settled on her head, her shoulders and clung to her narrow frame. With a deep sigh, she longed for cooler places, less-confining garments and no tension.

  Moisture gathered on her brow and slithered down the side of her face. She brushed at it with one hand then pushed unruly hair back up into the tightly coiled back loop where it belonged. The quick swipe of her forehead didn’t stop a rivulet of moisture traveling down her neck. A drop of wetness trickled into the valley between her breasts. She grabbed a soft, lacey cloth from inside her sleeve, dabbed her face and shoved the cloth between her breasts and her far too-tight corset, hoping her dress wouldn’t show a stain. It was important to keep up appearances.

  The heat and her inability to accept a second marriage conspired to make her more nervous, with an edginess that wouldn’t go away. Her new husband, a man she’d never met, was to arrive from Ireland today. Worse yet, she was to meet him then bring him here to the Dewitt’s household. How could she bring a man she didn’t know, here, to this grand but empty wasteland?

  She scanned her surroundings. Not a particle of dust marred the wood floors. No warm, colorful carpets covered the wide-boards. No soft drapes hung from the windows. No bright, lively pictures graced the walls. There was little charm or warmth to enhance the dull gray of the suite. The lofty rooms sparkled with such bare cleanliness they gave off a sterile purity. A deep sigh, sounding more like a groan to her ears, escaped Sinead’s mouth.

  Often shy, sometimes bewildered, Sinead knew she was only a simple girl with simple tastes and few airs above her lowly, Irish station. Dewitt House was too grand, too elaborate for her and too devoid of any type of character, except for the stultifying atmosphere perpetrated by Dewitts in their often futile attempts to enter the city’s ranks of high society. Sinead slammed her fisted hand down on the tall dresser and pulled out a drawer to destroy the symmetry of the room.

  Startled by another elongated sigh, her unhappiness grew, as it had with every moment since the proxy wedding. “I’m not ready to greet a husband,” she said aloud. “And I won’t bring him here to live.”

  Despite the intense heat, Sinead stalked to the windows and looked out on the street. Staying with Robbie was the one thing she didn’t regret since her deathbed promise to Robert Cavanaugh. She mumbled to herself. “Where else can I bring him? I have nothing of my own.”

  The tap of heels on the wooden steps of the main staircase caught her attention. Adelaide DeWitt, Robert Cavanaugh’s mother-in-law, called out from the landing, her tone unpleasant. “Jane, you’d best hurry. The ship will arrive long before you get to the wharf.”

  Adelaide’s voice was high-pitched, reedy, cold, with a sharp edge to it. The very tone indicated her usual inability to wait for whatever she wanted.

  In response, Sinead’s temper rose. She reverted to the feisty Irish lass she was before she was moved, under duress, into this house. Mimicking Adelaide’s voice, she answered in a sweet but false way. “Remember, the ship might be delayed and not even arrive this day. The wharves might be filled, the berth’s closed, unable to handle another ship.”

  The moment she made the statement, she hoped the ship would never arrive at all but added with a touch of spite, “Why, Adelaide, I’d not be missing the first sight of young Robbie’s new father for anything in the world.” She let the words hang in the air and peeked out the door of her suite of rooms to see the reaction.

  Mrs. Adelaide DeWitt stood mid-way on the stairs, waiting, her foot tapping a slow rhythm. She made impatient, fussy gestures at herself in the huge, ornate mirror secured to the wall of the landing, and fiddled with her even more ornate hat, trying to pin its cloth bird in a secure spot.

  The heat of midday, plus Sinead’s generalized apprehension, threatened to bowl her over. Her corset was too tight. It scraped her ribs, and she could barely catch her breath. Her knees threatened to give out on her. She grabbed a doily from the dresser, wiped her brow then fanned herself with the cloth.

  Her heart beat too fast, with an irregular beat. She took a deep breath and forced herself to stand tall before stepping from the small comfort of her suite.

  She walked down the long corridor of the second floor, stopping by another ornate mirror to take a quick look. Her curly, blush-blond hair curled in the heat and fell out of its bun, leaving tendrils to frame the sides of her face. She spit into her hand, pushed the long, wiry strands up and slapped her shallow lace-trimmed bonnet onto her head. With a free hand, she secured it to her piled up locks with a long pin, blew the remaining hairs off her face and tried to tuck them behind her ears.

  She angled her body slightly to watch in the mirror. Mrs. DeWitt and her maid, Tibia, a tiny, sprightly Dutch girl, stood on the landing. Each had a foot poised on the next step and were swaying like two cats ready to pounce. Sinead wheeled around to face in their direction. She hid her bothersome thoughts with a pained smile. “There. See, I’m ready after all.”

  “And you look your usual charming self, Jane,” Mrs. DeWitt said, with emphasis on the ‘usual.’ She turned and smiled at her maid, whom she called Tibby when not fussed at her. “Come Tibby. Lead the way.”

  Sinead stopped and looked from one to the other. “I don’t under…”

  Mrs. Dewitt straightened and moved onto the next step of the landing. “My dear, certainly, you are not planning on going to the docks by yourself. No one else in the house seemed prepared to accompany you, so I just…” She paused and clucked her tongue. “It would be distasteful for you to go alone.”

  “I’ve been to the docks before… before I lived here,” Sinead stammered.

  She stared at the floor, knowing the lecture coming next. There would be no point in arguing, yet she tried. “As a girl I went—“

  “How often must I tell you? You are no longer that girl. As young Robert’s nursemaid, you now have a position to maintain, dear.”

  Sinead looked up, ready to argue that she was Robbie’s mother, but could barely contain the giggle rising in her throat. The fashionable bonnet Adelaide wore, perched on the side of her head with the bird nestled on top, began to droop. When she spoke, the bird tilted to one side, its beak near her ear.

  Adelaide seemed not to notice. She stiffened and gave a curt reminder to Sinead. “You are living in a grand home and must abide by its customs. You will not be seen on the streets of New York without a proper chaperone. As you can tell from my clothing, I shall accompany you myself. Remember, dear Jane, you haven’t seen this gentleman before, if what your father has told my husband was correct.”

  Her pronunciation of ‘father’ showed her bias toward Sinead’s da, Bowes, and made Sinead bristle in defense. She drew in a deep breath, grimaced and stood taller than before.

  Adelaide did not recognize Sinead’s preparation for battle and continued on. “You might not even recognize your husband, dear, from the puny description he sent you in the short note he wrote.”

  Both Adelaide and Tibia smiled, with almost identical facial expressions. Sinead’s heart skipped a beat. What Mrs. Dewitt said was true. She had no idea what her new husband looked like, only that he was tall and had brown hair.

  The two clipped, but respectful letters from Laird O’Malley, basically indicated her future husband’s deep and fervent interest in horses, an animal she hated since watching her mum struck down by one. Fear predominated and made Sinead less anxious to confront the man she was to live with forever. Horsemen are a hard lot, she thought.

  Totally unsure of whom she would find waiting for her at the docks, she was positive the man was no more anxious to marry a stranger than she. Nor was he interested in coming to America, if the subtle indications in the notes he included in his da’s letters were true.

&nb
sp; Would O’Malley harbor resentment over being forced to marry? No doubt, she would have to live the rest of her life through another loveless marriage built on gratitude and her own usefulness to a man.

  Adelaide tapped her foot again, this time with a stronger beat. She cleared her throat several times and mumbled something to herself or to Tibia.

  Sinead, lost in thought, looked up. She couldn’t think of the right words to get Adelaide to stay home. “Och, I do not wish to trouble…discommode ye.” The words tripped from her mouth in a series of slurred consonants and vowels. “I’ll take someone with me. Perhaps, Robbie’s governess.”

  “Robbie? Robert. And who would care for the child while you were both gone? He’s far too active. You know that boy is difficult for me to handle by myself and there’s…”

  “I’ll take Robbie with me. He’ll…”

  “His name is Robert, my dear Jane. Surely you don’t want to confuse him with pet names. Right Tibby…” Mrs. Dewitt turned back to reexamine herself in the mirror. She readjusted the hat, which slid again when she turned back to Sinead. “Besides, Robert doesn’t need to mingle with the riff-raff, who call the docks their home. And your going there without a member of the family is totally unsuitable.”

  “I wouldn’t let Robert out of my sight. I’d hold his hand every second.”

  Tibby stepped back and turned her head, smiling, a hand to her pursed mouth. She coughed delicately.

  Mrs. Dewitt drew herself up, as if preparing to create a grand scene. “As I said before, dear, it’s unsuitable without a member of your family.”

  “Then I’ll ask my da to accompany me.”

  “He is totally unsuitable all together,” Adelaide shrieked. “I will go with you and Tibby will accompany us. I hired a coach for the occasion. I’m sure the driver will keep us from harm—that is, if he wants to be paid for his services.”