4
GABE FOLLOWED RYLAN into the heart of the 42nd Street fire station and fought to keep his jaw from dropping at the sheer size of the space. In the main bay, several men polished the gleaming chrome on two fire trucks. Rows of hooks housed helmets, overcoats, and other firefighting gear. Large boots sat underneath a bench in neat formation, ready for wear at a moment’s notice. It was obvious the captain of this crew ran an organized ship. If only Gabe could find a way to spend some time here, he could learn how an American fire station operated.
“Rylan! What brings you here on this fine morning?” The loud male voice boomed out over the bustle of the room. A burly man strode toward them, grinning at Gabe’s brother.
“Good morning, Oliver.” Rylan moved to shake the large man’s hand. “I’d like you to meet my brother, Gabriel, visiting from home. Gabe, this is Chief Oliver Witherspoon.”
His bushy brows rose. “Home? As in Ireland?”
“Aye.” Gabe tried not to wince as the chief gripped his hand and pumped hard.
The big man’s eyes actually misted over. “Ah, I miss home something fierce. Twenty years I’ve been here, but I can still smell the green grass on a rainy day.”
“I know the scent well.”
“Gabe is a firefighter back home. He asked if I could arrange a tour of the station while he’s here.”
“For a fellow countryman? I’d be honored.”
Rylan stayed for the first few minutes of the tour, but once Chief Witherspoon headed to the firemen’s quarters above the slick brass poles, Rylan bid them good-bye. Gabe, already feeling right at home with the friendly Irishman, was pleased to stay longer and view every last nook and cranny of the station.
As the tour came to an end, they passed a large portrait of a serious-looking gent sporting a large mustache and dressed in a well-cut suit and bowler hat. With the picture claiming an obvious place of prominence, Gabe wondered what connection this man had to firefighting.
“That’s Arthur Hastings.” Chief Witherspoon answered his unspoken question. “He owns the Hastings Bank and Loan. Arthur donated enough to get us our first motorized engine.” He jabbed a finger toward one of the vehicles.
Gabe whistled. “She’s a beauty. I’d love to have the chance to ride on her while I’m here.” He clamped his lips shut, realizing how presumptuous he’d sounded.
Chief Witherspoon laughed. “All the men fought to see who’d be the first to ride her. I’m sure one of them will be happy to take you out for a demonstration one day.”
Over a cup of coffee, the two discussed fire-dousing techniques, hoses, and problems with water pressure. Gabe learned of the difficulties the department faced servicing the tall buildings in the city, since the ladders often weren’t able to reach higher than the sixth story.
Over their second cup of coffee—a remarkably palatable beverage for a fire station—the conversation turned to Ireland.
“Is it true what I’ve been hearing?” the chief asked. “That civil war is brewing back home?”
Gabe’s stomach clenched at the reminder of what he was missing. The fact that the unrest might have heated up even further in his absence, that he might not be there to join in the fighting, ate at Gabe’s peace of mind. “It’s true. To be honest, it’s why I hated to leave. If there’s a war, I want to be the first to sign up to fight for my homeland.”
Gabe expected the man to heartily agree with him; however, the chief’s ruddy cheeks sagged. “I guess I’ve been away too long. My wish is simply for peace. The only family I have left is a brother, who’s happy to stay on his farm and not take sides in the cause.”
“There’ll be no peace until the English are out of Ireland.” Gabe pressed his lips into a grim line to keep from further comment. He’d learned to be cautious about sharing his political views.
Chief Witherspoon rose from his chair. “Well, let’s hope the problems will all die down and life can go on in peace.”
Gabe bit back a retort. Peace could never be if things were left to die down. Not with the English holding all the power. But he held his tongue and swallowed the last dregs of coffee, summoning the courage to ask the question he’d been holding back since he’d first stepped through the double doors. “Chief, I don’t suppose you’d be needing any help at the moment?”
A wide grin split Chief Witherspoon’s weathered face. “A man with your experience? We’d never turn down that kind of expertise. And when there’s no fire to fight, we’ll have you buffing engines or polishing boots.”
Gabe pushed to his feet on a giddy rush. Anything to keep occupied and help speed along the time away from home. He shook Chief Witherspoon’s hand. “I’d gladly do any chores you have for me. After seven days on a boat, I’m itching to get to work.”
The chief’s eyes twinkled. “I hear you, lad. Not to worry, we won’t let you sit idle. See you bright and early tomorrow, then.”
Maggie craned her neck to stare up at the high spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, which towered over the other nearby buildings on Fifth Avenue. Never in her life had she seen such a magnificent example of architecture. She could scarcely imagine what the interior might look like.
A stiff breeze whipped Maggie’s skirts around her ankles, urging her to action. Today she would take concrete measures toward carving out her future here in America. She’d told Rylan and Colleen she wanted to do some sightseeing on her own, and she’d had to fight a prickly battle with her brother to let her go. Thank goodness he’d promised to take Gabe to the fire station or he would have insisted on accompanying her. The fact that her main destination was the cathedral had finally made Rylan relent.
Taking a breath to combat the flutter of nerves in her stomach, Maggie crossed the street and climbed the cathedral’s steps. The sculpted-brass doors opened easily under her hand. On reverent feet, she moved into the sacred space, the vastness of the interior causing her jaw to drop. Massive columns lined the aisles all the way to the front altar. Her tiny church at home could fit in one alcove of this mighty worship area.
She exhaled softly, moving over the gleaming floors to the center of the church. Vaulted ceilings and ornate carvings captured her attention, but still she didn’t see the item she sought. Grateful to note that a mere handful of people dotted the pews, she turned in a slow circle and looked up toward the rear balcony. Her heart leapt in her chest. The telltale cylinders of the pipe organ rose straight to the ceiling. She had to get nearer, to run her fingers over the beautiful instrument.
Fighting the urge to dash to the back in search of a staircase, Maggie paused to admire the statues and paintings, as well as the amazing stained-glass windows along the outer walls. At last, she made her way to the rear vestibule, where she found a small door, behind which rose a narrow, circular staircase. With breathless anticipation, she climbed the curved steps to the upper balcony. There, alone and unguarded, sat the magnificent organ.
Maggie clasped her hands together and moved slowly toward her target. It was ever so much larger than the one she’d learned on in St. Colman’s Cathedral back home. What would it sound like? She ran reverent fingers over the wood and, before she could stop herself, slid onto the bench. Obviously a tall person played this instrument, for the height of the seat meant her feet barely skimmed the pedals below. Awed, she scanned the rise of immense pipes above her, and then finally, unable to resist, she ran her fingers over the keys. She startled when the full sound emerged, echoing through the space. Her heart pounded as she waited for someone to appear and scold her for touching the piece, but after several seconds with no activity, she dared play on.
A thrill of pure pleasure shot through her as her fingers worked the rows of keys. She pulled out a few of the stops, and the swell of the music filled her soul. At last, she reluctantly slowed to a halt on a sigh of delight.
“I wondered who was playing my organ.”
Maggie swiveled on the bench to find a man watching her, arms crossed over his chest. She swallowed and got slowly to her feet. “I couldn’t resist trying the keys. It’s so much grander than anything I’ve ever played on.”
He stepped closer, and the slight lift of his lips helped her relax.
“Not a problem, my dear. My name is Frederick Unger. I’m the organist here. And who might you be?” The man’s English was flawless save for a hint of a European accent.
“I’m Maggie Montgomery, visiting from Ireland.” She gave a shy smile. “I’ve missed playing since I left home.”
He came closer still, and she saw his hair contained a great deal of gray, his eyes a merry twinkle. “Do you play for your church?”
She shook her head. “Our parish is far too small to warrant an organ. But sometimes when I’m in the city, I play the one in the cathedral. The organist at St. Colman’s taught me a few bits and pieces, and the rest I learned on my own. It wasn’t much different from the piano.”
One gray brow rose. “I’d say there’s a huge difference. You must have an innate musical ability to pick up the organ like that.”
Her laugh echoed in the cavernous space. “So my mum always tells me.” She moved toward the exit, and Mr. Unger fell in beside her.
She snuck a sideways glance at the man. “I was hoping to speak to someone about possible employment. Would you happen to know if any churches in the area might be in need of an organist?” The thumping of her heart belied the casual inquiry.
“Are you looking for work here in New York?”
She paused at the top of the stairs. “I am. I’d love to stay in America, but to do so I’d need a job.”
He regarded her thoughtfully. “I don’t know of anything at the moment. Where could I reach you if I hear of something?”
She bit her bottom lip. Rylan would have her head on a platter if he knew she was talking to a strange man, let alone telling him where she was staying. But her instincts told her Mr. Unger was a God-fearing gentleman. “You could contact my brother, Rylan Montgomery, at St. Rita’s Orphan Asylum. He’s the director there and can get a message to me.”
Mr. Unger held out his hand. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss Montgomery. Perhaps we’ll see each other again.”
She shook his hand, calloused from constant practice at the keys, no doubt. “Thank you, Mr. Unger. It was a pleasure indeed to play your organ. I hope I get the chance to do so again.”
Instead of going right back to Rylan’s, Maggie’s elation carried her farther up Fifth Avenue to the entrance of Central Park. The sight of some familiar greenery for the first time since leaving Cork drew her in, yet at the same time caused a clutch of homesickness that tightened her throat muscles. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the smell of grass and the sounds of nature. Mum’s garden would be in full bloom right now, and every morning she’d be out tending it. All alone. Without Maggie’s help.
She pushed aside the brief tug of melancholy and turned her focus to the beauty that surrounded her, strolling down the maze of paths until she came to a bench in a more secluded area. She sat down, content to breathe in the comforting scents of grass and budding roses while the sun warmed her face. Overhead, a pair of sparrows darted in and out of the branches, almost as though playing hide-and-seek.
“Hello, Maggie.”
For a moment, she thought her visions of home had conjured up the familiar voice. She turned her head slowly, her heart beginning a slow chug in her chest.
The very man she’d come to America to avoid stood on the walkway before her. Instead of his usual simple shirt and trousers, he wore what looked like an expensive suit and tie. His hazel eyes, reddish-brown hair, and the distinct scar on his chin were the only features that made him still recognizable.
A million thoughts swirled through her muddled mind as she rose from the bench. “Neill? What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”
He took a tentative step forward. “I came to find you.”
“Whatever for? I thought I made myself plain enough the last time we talked.”
He gestured toward the bench. “Could we sit for a minute so I can explain?”
Maggie could only nod as she sat back down. Never would she have believed that Neill would leave their town. He’d ridiculed her desire to travel and see other parts of the world, saying she was a dreamer and needed to learn to live in the real world. Yet here he was. She clasped her trembling hands together on her lap and waited for him to speak.
Neill joined her on the bench. He removed his hat and fingered the brim. “I owe you an apology, Maggie, for the way I handled our . . . disagreement. I let my temper get the best of me and for that I’m truly sorry.” His eyes shone with sincerity.
Maggie had no doubt he actually regretted his burst of rage and the words he’d hurled at her. He was always sorry after their fights, but it never stopped him from repeating the behavior the next time they argued.
She inclined her head. “I accept your apology, though I’m having a hard time believing you’d cross an ocean to give it.”
A fierce expression animated his face. “I love you, Maggie. Can’t you believe that? I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to prove it.” He threw out his arm. “Even sail around the world.”
Words of response scrambled in Maggie’s brain. She’d learned the last time she’d tried to rebuff him that being blunt only served to trigger his anger.
He reached out to take one of her hands in his, caressing it with his thumb. “I didn’t appreciate how much traveling meant to you. When I learned you’d gone, I decided to come here myself and share your journey with you.”
Maggie couldn’t bring herself to tell him that her journey didn’t include returning to Ireland. She wasn’t ready to reveal that to anyone just yet.
“Neill, I thank you for your apology. It means a lot that you’re willing to understand my point of view.”
A spark of hope lit his eyes.
“But,” she continued softly, “I haven’t changed my mind . . . about us.”
When his jaw tensed, she braced for him to raise his voice.
But instead of shouting, he seemed to sag. “You love me, too, Maggie. I know it. If you’ll just give me another chance, I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”
Part of her wished it could be that easy. That she could resume their engagement and continue their former plans for the future. But it had never been her future. Never her dream. The only thing that had mattered to Neill was working in his father’s pub and one day taking over for him. Maggie’s teaching, her love of music—none of that mattered to him. When he’d told her she’d have to quit teaching after the wedding and work in the kitchen of the pub until the babes came along, that had been the final death knell on their relationship.
“Nothing’s changed, Neill,” she said firmly. “I won’t give up my music or my teaching, and I certainly have no desire to work in a pub.” Especially not The Jaded Shamrock, a rather bawdy place where the men harassed her any time she went in.
His eyes darkened, the first sign of his temper slipping. “A wife is supposed to support her husband and work by his side as a helpmate.”
Maggie curled her fingers into the material of her skirt, inhaling to control her emotions. “What about a husband supporting his wife? Wanting her to be happy?” The sharpness of her tone split the air. All the resentment of the last few weeks in Ireland bubbled back to the surface.
He opened his mouth, then quickly clamped it shut. Yet the anger in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Neill had not changed, not one bit. It was pride, not love, that governed his actions. His pride could not handle losing her.
“I can learn to compromise, Maggie. But you have to be willing, as well. Marriage is about give and take.”
Gently but firmly, she extracted her hand. “That it is. And one day when I marry, I will be happy to compromise.” She paused, shifting slightly away on the bench. “The problem is that I don’t wish to marry you.”
Neill’s eyes glazed over. A chill raced up Maggie’s spine, and she jerked to her feet, clutching her handbag in front of her. She scanned the area, thankful to find a couple strolling toward them. Neill wouldn’t dare unleash his temper on her in public.
Sure enough, he got to his feet, seeming to collect himself. He straightened his vest and his tie. “Well, it looks like I have my work cut out for me. But make no mistake, Maggie, I will win you back. By the time we set sail for home, you’ll be mine once again.”
Maggie fought for calm she didn’t feel. “You’re wasting your time. I’ve no wish to see you again.”
Before he could argue further, Maggie fell in step behind the couple as they passed and followed them out of the park. She dared not look back, lest it give Neill the slightest bit of encouragement.
A chill of unease stayed with her all the way home, leading Maggie to fear she might not be rid of Neill that easily.