Cinders to Satin. Fern Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ would not come to Peggy. This was not the way she meant to break the news. “You’re going to America, Callie.”

      Once Peggy’s mind had been set, no power on earth could change it. Not Granda’s intercession, not Thomas’s disapproval heartily voiced, not the cries of the younger children, nor the anguish of Callie’s tears. Through her fear that Callie should be caught in some misdeed and suffer the justice of the law, she had seized upon an opportunity that had suddenly presented itself.

      Young, impetuous Colleen, at the end of a previous and unsuccessful romance before meeting her young English corporal, had taken to writing cousin Owen in America, telling him of her desire to emigrate. Owen had presumed to send her a passage ticket on a packet boat leaving from Liverpool. When learning of her pregnancy and being assured of the affability of the unborn child’s father, Colleen had confided in Sara who, in turn, confided in Peggy. To Peggy, the passage ticket was heaven sent, a sign from God Himself.

      “The girl’s only sixteen!” Thomas pleaded to Peggy, finding her for once impervious to his charm. “Surely that’s too young an age to be sent away from home, much less to America. Have ye no heart, Peg me love? Wasn’t Callie always your best loved?”

      “Aye, and that’s the reason she’s to go! You may be able to close your eyes to what’s been going on these past months, but not me, Thomas. Would you rather see her off to cousin Owen or finding her just rewards at the hands of the law?” This was the closest Peggy could come to admitting to Thomas that he’d often filled his belly with the proceeds from Callie’s thievery. “She’s a good girl, love,” her tone softened, “and she’ll find her way, no doubt about it.”

      “But so far away! And what do we really know of Owen? It’s been years since ye’ve seen him.”

      “Enough to know that he could afford to send a ticket to Colleen. The man must have some sort of employment. Besides, darlin’, the man is family.”

      Thomas’s shoulders slumped. There would be no changing Peg’s mind. During these past days there had been a renewal of closeness between Callie and himself. She was depending on him to talk sense to her mother. Again he had failed her. He would spend the next fortnight listening to the girl’s anguished tears all through the long nights.

      September 19 arrived in a flood of rain. It was as though heaven itself was crying against tearing Callie away from all she knew and loved. The children were out of bed before the crack of dawn, rubbing at their red noses and hanging onto Peg’s apron, wailing that Callie should not leave. Choking back tears, Peggy brushed the children away from her skirts, dutifully attending to the baby Joseph. How much like her firstborn this babe was. The same curling brown hair, and already his eyes were that clear, bright blue fringed with thick, curling lashes. Joseph, more than any of the children, was like Callie, and each day she held him in her arms or gazed into his sleeping face, Peggy would remember her first child.

      Granda went about the small house shuffling, shoulders stooped, repeatedly blowing into his handkerchief. “Ah, Peg, yer takin’ the heart right out of me,” he moaned. “Have heart, girl.”

      “If you’re goin’ down to the D & L dock with us, Granda, you’d better get ready. And dress warm. That’s a punishing rain outside.” Peggy tried to keep the grief out of her voice. Callie’s one hope, she constantly assured herself, was for her to be strong and not waiver. How simple it would be to tell the child that she needn’t go, that her family needed her here. But that would be an act of selfishness and went against her every instinct. If Callie were to have a chance, she would not find it here in Ireland. No, America was the place for opportunity.

      Callie appeared in the tiny kitchen, dressed in several layers of clothing that gave an unnatural bulk to her slim figure. Her face was deathly white, and her huge blue eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Peggy pretended not to notice. “Here’s your tea, darlin’. Drink it down while it’s hot. It’s a terrible morning.”

      Callie sat obediently, blowing on the steaming brew before bringing it to her lips. Her words to Peggy these past ten days had been few and far between. This strange silence was breaking Peggy’s heart. She knew she might never see her child again in this lifetime, and there was so much to say, so much love to express.

      “Have you everything packed in that oilskin bag your Uncle Jack was nice enough to give you? Not to mention the ten-shillings fare on the steamboat to Liverpool. Where is it, child? Have you kept it handy?”

      “Yes, Mum.” That was all she would say. She was being sent away, and in many ways it was sadder and harder to bear than if the grocer had caught her that first night when she stole the basket.

      “When you’ve finished your tea, then we’ll be leaving. Sara says the lines at the D & L are longer than Moses’ staff. If we get there early, we’ll be able to stand beneath the tarpaulin out of the rain. Fortunate that Uncle Jack saw to it that you’d have advance booking. You’ll go straight to the head of the line.”

      Dodging in and out of doorways, suffering the pelting of a drenching rain, the James family formed a caravan through the streets and down to the dock. Peggy carried little Joseph, and Thomas held the twins’ hands. Hallie and Georgie ran ahead, waiting beneath awnings and trees still thick with summer leaves. There was no gaiety in their running, no sense of frolic on their little faces. They were losing Callie.

      Granda walked as fast as he could, tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. He knew without a doubt that he would never again hold Callie in his arms or hear her soft, tuneful humming about the house. She would be gone, out of his life, and the pain of it was not for the bearing.

      Peggy kept her eyes straight ahead. Joseph wriggled in her arms. The family walked in a line, heads down against the rain and the tears, like a funeral cortege, until they reached the end of Bayard Street and could see the mottled green tarpaulin. A milling throng lined the rickety wooden fence along the wharf. A long line of people: women, men, families snaked back and forth upon itself. It would appear that all of Dublin had turned out either to leave or say goodbye. Emigrants held their numbered passes aloft, lining up numerically.

      Under the tarpaulin the Jameses had relative shelter, the rain teeming into splashing puddles near their feet. “I’ve promised to stop my wickedness, Mum,” Callie pleaded. “I’ve a fear I’ll never see you again. Don’t do this to me, Mum. Don’t do this.”

      Peggy stiffened her back; her arms ached to hold her daughter. “It’s a fine thing that you know your letters, Callie. I’ll be expectin’ you to write as often as you can. I’ll do my best to answer.” Her voice was low, almost harsh, with the force of holding back her emotions. It would be so easy to tell Callie not to go. But she knew her child, knew her devotion to her family, even at the risk of her own neck. “You be a good girl, Callie. Remember what you’ve been taught. I’ll expect you to go to church on Sundays, circumstances allowin’. Now kiss your Da and the children.”

      The next moments were a blur, a confusion of motion and a struggle for air. Callie tried to commit to memory the exact shade of her father’s eyes; the sweet, clean, milky smell of the baby; the strength in Granda’s arms; the outpouring of love from the twins and Hallie and Georgie. But most of all she wanted to remember forever the sound of her mother’s voice when she called her name.

      A voice called the number on her card, “Number one-oh-seven! One-oh-seven! Please to the back of the deck!”

      Peg’s hand on her shoulder, pushing her forward. A last kiss from Da. Then she was in the mainstream of passengers boarding the crowded steamer, prodded like cattle to the rear decks. There was no shelter from the weather, and СКАЧАТЬ