He kept a firm grasp on Danny’s hand as they rounded the
corner of the great brick building. A bitter wind assaulted
him and nearly snatched his hat from his head. He had no
idea what day it was, or what time, except that it was
night. Small frozen pellets grazed his cheeks, falling from
the inky black sky. Tears stung Brady’s eyes. “Aye, your Ma
would have loved this, Daniel. She’d have looked on it as a
great adventure.” He clamped his arm around his son’s neck
and drew him to his side. “This is what she wanted most for
you, Daniel.”
“Is this what you wanted, too, Da?”
His son’s bright blue eyes—the color of his mother’s—
looked up at him in child-like wonder. How could he tell
him that what he wished for most wasn’t possible? “It was a
dream we shared, Daniel, and I shall to my last breath,
make it come true for you—for us.”
Daniel stared at his father as though pondering his
answer. He smiled, the way a child does when they know
their parent is struggling inside.
“Where is Uncle Stephen?” Daniel asked with ease,
changing the subject.
Brady regarded his son’s strength with pride. He
swallowed back a lump in his throat and searched above the
crowd for a man with a large sign. “He said he would meet
us at the corner.” Brady scanned the sea of humanity
huddled together, pressing forward against the bitter wind.
Did they all have family waiting for them?
“Say here, chap. Can you retrieve our bags here and take
them to our carriage? It’s right over there.”
Brady heard the man and pulled Daniel closer as he
searched for Uncle Stephen.
“Excuse me, young man, but I’m speaking to you.”
Brady felt a tap on his shoulder and glanced back. “I’m
sorry, I’m not a porter—”
His weary gaze landed on the face of an angel who
studied him with blue-violet eyes, the same color as her
refined wool cape. For a moment, Brady lost his ability to
think, much less to speak. He blinked, realizing he had
been staring at her. His gaze darted to the elderly
gentleman standing beside her.
“Father, it is clear that this gentleman and his son are
not peddlers looking for work,” she said, holding Brady
spellbound with her beautiful eyes.
“My apologies.” The older man tipped his derby and
turned his attention to finding a dock porter.
“Have you just arrived in America?” His angel regarded
him with a pleasant smile.
Brady nodded automatically.
“Do you speak English?” Her voice held the clarity of
one accustomed to fine linens and expensive china.
A tug on his arm broke him from his odd trance. “My son
and I have just arrived—yes.” As an afterthought, he tore
the boy’s cap off his head and his own in one quick sweep,
suddenly self-conscious about his thick brogue. The angel
turned her attention to Daniel, her deep blue cape swirling
as she leaned down to address him.
“And do you celebrate Christmas where you come from?”
Her hands were tucked in a white fur muff and, for
reasons he could not explain, he envisioned placing his
warm palms over her rosy cold cheeks.
Daniel stared up at him as though he’d lost his
mind. “Da?”
“Pardon, Miss. We’re here to meet relatives. Just the
same, if you’re needin’ some help, my son and I would be
happy to oblige.”
She straightened, pinning him with a curious look and a
slight tip of her dainty head.
“That would be most kind of you, Mr.…?”
“McCormick, Miss. Brady McCormick. And this is my son,
Daniel.”
She pulled her small hand from the fur and boldly held
it out to Daniel.
“My name is Saran. Saran Reichardt and this is my
father, Mr. William Reichardt.”
So she wasn’t married, Brady thought, and quickly shoved
the wayward thought from his mind. “Come along, Daniel.
Let’s help the Reichardt’s with their things.”