Lying back down on his bed, he closed his eyes and tried to push the disturbing dream from his mind. He just wanted to be with her, wanted to protect her.
For an hour he lay in the darkness, unable to shake his troubled thoughts, unable to sleep. Eventually, he got up, dressed and did what he always did when his mind was troubled; he went outside, to nature.
The pitch-black which fell across the landscape at night was always dramatic, but something which Séamus found exhilarating, especially with the mass of Nephin Mor looming over everything - its brooding silhouette just visible against the blackened sky. A light rain fell, bringing the distinctive smell of the wet, peaty earth from the ground around him. There wasn’t a sound as he walked, with a small lantern to light his way, down the narrow track which led from his father’s cottage to the Holy Well. He hadn’t intended to go there but felt somehow drawn to prayer. He knelt, crossed himself and prayed for Maggie’s good health, and for all those she was travelling with.
He sat then in silence, staring up at the stars, imagining those same stars illuminating the sky above the vast Atlantic Ocean where Maggie would be sleeping now. He closed his eyes and thought about her, willing her, wherever she was, to hear his voice. ‘I’m coming,’ he said out loud into the silent, night air. ‘I’m coming Maggie.’
As Séamus prayed alone in the all-consuming darkness, his father took a last, rasping breath and the covers on the bed were still.
*
New York, 15th April, 1912
Catherine Kenny was glad of the spring sunshine as she made her way home from her day of work, the soft rays of light bringing some small degree of warmth against the distinct chill which still hovered above the New York skyscrapers.
As she walked down Fifth Avenue, passing elegant society ladies on their way to dinner appointments and dour domestics returning from cleaning the houses of the elegant society ladies so they could start work on their own, she caught snippets of conversation; well-dressed men in their suits and ties, discussing matters of industry and finance, the women fussing about the dreadful noise coming from the building sites nearby.
As she walked further away from the elegant avenue, she overheard the burly construction workers, shouting above the noise of their machinery, talking in a hundred different accents as they continued with the seemingly endless task of building more and more offices for the well-dressed men to occupy, going up higher and higher into the clouds above. The profound diversity and cruel contradictions of this city never ceased to both amaze and appal her.
She passed a few coins to a beggar sitting on the steps of a church, telling him strictly that he was not to buy ale. ‘Get yourself a cup of soup or some hot tea from the Army,’ she said, speaking to him quietly, yet firmly. ‘They will look after you.’
‘God bless you Miss,’ he replied, his accent unmistakeably Irish.
It saddened her to think that his story had no doubt followed the same path as so many other Irish she had encountered since arriving on these shores herself; travelling here in search of a better life on American shores and yet life having worsened somehow by crossing the Atlantic Ocean. She sighed, and gathered her thoughts to the business in hand.
She mentally ticked things off the list in her head as she walked from the Walker-Brown home; things she needed to do in final preparation for Katie’s arrival the next day. Her anticipation at seeing her sister was heightened by the excitement there had been in the Walker-Brown household earlier, when a telegram message from Vivienne and Robert was delivered.
‘Oh, look! It’s from the Marconi Company. It must be from Vivienne,’ Emily Walker-Brown had shrieked, bustling through the large entrance hall of their spacious apartment, the two small Pekinese dogs she kept, yapping at the hem of yet another new skirt.
Catherine was used to these showy displays from her employer and knew that she was required to continue with her dusting, as if not hearing the conversation between Emily and her sister who had called in for tea, but knowing that really much of what was said was purely for her benefit.
‘Listen Bea,’ Emily entreated, settling herself on the edge of the chaise-longue next to the large, ornate fireplace. ‘She says, ‘Dearest Mother. Had the most wonderful dinner with Captain Smith this evening – quite the occasion altogether. Mr Astor dined with us along with his new young wife. Robert is well and Edmund is enjoying the sea air. We will arrive Tuesday! Fondest affections. Vivienne.’ So they will arrive a day early,’ she continued, standing up and clapping her hands in glee. ‘They will arrive tomorrow! Goodness me, and there is still so much to do to prepare for their arrival.’