Alaina's Promise Part 1

Alaina's Promise.

by Meg Allison.

Dedication.

This story is dedicated to members of the Critiquing Bee, both past and present-for all they taught me along the way; To Mel and June Frederick, for always believing in me; To Steve-for never asking why I needed to write; And to those ancestors who blessed me with an Irish soul. Slainte.

Chapter One.

Aveleen Plantation, Virginia.

March, 1870.

The cold stillness of the house wrapped around Alaina, chilling her to the bone. She drew in a deep breath as she reached for the banister and climbed the curved staircase.

Her father was dying.

She froze midway up the steps, knuckles white as she gripped the smooth wood in an effort to still shaking fingers. Fear snaked around her heart and reached down further into her soul. She squeezed her eyes shut as she fought to dispel the panic. It would do no good for him to see her like this.

"Be strong," she commanded herself aloud.

Alaina grasped at the inner strength she had forged from years of trial-years spent rebuilding a world that had crumbled around her. Then she continued upward though each step stabbed at her heart.

The echoes of laughter, music, quiet whispers and chiding reproofs seemed to reverberate in the empty halls. Voices of the master, his family and the slaves, dinner bells and calls to arm-all combined in a gentle yet penetrating hum that haunted the plantation house.

Shaking her head to banish the ghosts, she turned to the right at the top of the landing. With quiet steps she pa.s.sed several doors until she reached the one at the end of the hall.

Alaina took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy oak door. Within the dim chamber a small fire glowed in the hearth, the only other light came from the row of four windows facing east.

The windows were shaded, the heavy flowered draperies drawn together to cover the panes. A gathering storm had darkened the sky until only the faintest glow seeped through the material. For a moment, she stood in the doorway as her gaze adjusted to the gloom. The acrid smell of wood smoke mingled with alcohol and illness, stinging her nostrils as she drew in a breath. Her eyes burned.

"Alaina, love," her father's weakened voice called from across the room. "Come here, child."

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a faint click. As she crossed the room to his bed, she felt a sense of dread rising within but managed to feign a smile. She hid her shaking hands in the deep folds of her red calico dress.

Alaina couldn't let him see her fear. He must feel at peace in his final hours.

"I'm here." She sank down on the large bed beside him. "There's a storm coming. Do you want me to open the window a bit so you can hear the thunder?"

He always loved a good rain since it reminded him of his homeland. She rose but he grasped her hand in his and drew her back to the bed.

"No, darlin'," he murmured. She could see him more clearly now as firelight danced on the tears in his eyes. "Sit here a minute first. I want to have a good look at you."

Try as she might, Alaina could not meet his gaze, but only stared at the hand which held hers. She remembered his hands as they had been when she was still a little girl. They had always seemed so large and strong to her. When he had held her small hand in his, she had felt as if nothing in the world could ever hurt her. Now, the same hands were thin and frail. War had taken its toll.

"I'm not sorry, love," he said as she glanced up into his tear-stained face. "I've lived long enough. I'm content to move on. My only regret is leavin' you. If only I knew you would not be alone."

She shushed him and pressed her lips to his hand before she rose to walk to the window. As she pulled open the curtains, a soft, greenish-gray light poured into the room. She pushed open the sash. A breeze sweet with lilac, honeysuckle and the smell of spring rain rushed inside. Thunder echoed against the surrounding trees. It drew ever closer, the wind picking up force.

"How's that?" she asked with a smile. "A nice downpour, just what the Irishman ordered."

He patted the bed. "Come back to me, sweet Alaina. There are many things that need to be said-things you need to know."

Without hesitation she obeyed, and waited. Tears burned in her throat. For a moment, his mind seemed to wander as he stared past her to the churning sky.

"I always loved the rain," he murmured. "I'd go out in my old fishin' boat and a storm would swirl across the sky. Michael O'Brien thought I was daft. 'Get you to sh.o.r.e, Patrick!' he'd scold, like a mother hen squawkin' away.

"But I'd go further out to the islands instead. Ah, so peaceful they were! The storm would rage and bellow around me but I felt safe there in the shelter of some old castle or in Boru's cottage. Then, when the sun broke through the next morn or sometimes by the light of the full moon, I'd sail home again. The cliffs risin' above me-so powerful, so comfortin'.

"They'll stand there forever. Long after we've gone from this old earth, the Cliffs of Moher will rise up from the sea. They'd guide me home and I'd walk upon them again, dreamin' of faraway places where my feet itched to travel. I could almost see those sh.o.r.es in the distance."

He sighed and Alaina felt her heart twist from the pain in that small sound. "Now, I'm lookin' back the other way, Alaina. Lookin' back and regrettin'."

The flicker in his tired eyes came from long ago, when his young heart dreamed of travel and his soul embraced a wanderl.u.s.t Alaina envied. Patrick focused once more in the present as his gaze rested on her.

"You have been the greatest blessing of my life, sweet Alaina. G.o.d blessed me many times, but when you came into this world, the angels sang as never before."

She shook her head, fighting the tears that threatened to pour down her cheeks. "Really, you'll have me canonized soon if you go on like that."

"Ah, iniondaughterI have better things in mind for you than sainthood." Patrick struggled against the pillows.

"Please stop, Daddy! Don't move around so."

"I'm all right. As long as I'm alive, I'll move this tired body all I can. La.s.s, there's some things I need settled before 'tis too late. I've a lot to ask and you've got to be patient and listen 'til the end. Understand?"

She nodded.

"I want to go home to Ireland. 'Tis where my heart stayed when I left. I want my body to rest there as well."

Alaina squeezed her eyes shut for moment, swallowing back the pain. "But Daddy, it's such a long voyage."

"I don't care, darlin'," he said. "'Tis been arranged, and I want you to accompany me."

She stared at him in shock. "But, what if...?"

"Then they'll give me a proper burial at sea, but I'm a stubborn man, Alaina. I won't be kickin' up my heels 'til I've made my peace with the world."

"Daddy, are you sure?" she asked, heartsick worry almost choking the breath from her.

"Yes, I'm sure. I still have friends there. I need to say goodbye, do you understand? I need this, darlin'. Promise you'll take me home."

He stared at her, his expression so earnest, so hopeful that she could do little else but agree. "All right, Daddy. We'll go home again."

"Good, and we'll be leaving as soon as possible. I'll take no more chances, la.s.s. There are few left to take."

The resounding thunder seemed to agree.

Galway Bay, Ireland.

May, 1870.

Relief washed over her. She'd kept her promise and brought her father home.

The voyage had been a difficult one. Many a night, she'd been sure he wouldn't last another hour as he lay there in bed, retching up what little food he'd eaten as wave upon wave rocked the ship. Yet, the closer they drew to the waters of Ireland, the stronger her father seemed to become. Hope, Alaina knew, kept him alive.

She stared into the heavy mist as the Northern Star skimmed across the water toward the mouth of Galway Bay, her gaze focused on the hazy sh.o.r.eline some miles off the starboard side. The round, metal rail felt cold beneath her fingers. The crisp air rustled through the folds of her traveling dress, and pulled at the loose tendrils of her hair as it whipped across her cheeks.

She watched the shadowy outline of the sh.o.r.e become sharper, more distinct, until land burst up from the foaming sea before her. Her fingers tightened around the rail, her heart pounding in time with the waves that crashed against the base of the sheer cliffs.

Free. This is where I belong.

A crewman hurried by, breaking the spell. She turned and held a hand up to stop him. "Are these the Cliffs of Moher?" she asked.

"No, Miss, this here's one of the Aran Islands," he replied. "You'll be seein' Ireland herself once we pa.s.s them."

She thanked him and he scurried away. The image of her father in his healthier, younger days came to mind. She could see his pale blue eyes, glistening with longing as he spoke of the islands on which he'd sought refuge during storms.

Alaina always found it difficult to picture Patrick Ryan with his long legs tucked up inside a small fishing boat, the sea breeze brushing through his thick red hair. He had always been such a vibrant, energetic person-his spirit sparked like a fire trying to break free of the hearth. But now he seemed just a sh.e.l.l of a man, almost as if he'd already pa.s.sed on.

With that thought, the pain returned. It crept up like a cloud covering the sun. Alaina pushed it away, blinking back tears. Her hands ached from the death grip with which they held the railing. She must be strong. He'd made it this far and that had to mean something.

"Miss Alaina?"

She jumped, spinning about toward the deep voice.

"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you." The captain's weathered features were creased with a slight smile. "I wanted to let you know that your things are all on deck. Antonio and the other men will take everything to the dock once we've secured the ship."

"Thank you, Captain Marshall," she said. "All of you have been so kind and patient with us. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough."

He shook his head. "It's the least I could do for Patrick and his girl."

"I know my brother will be very relieved to hear how well we've been treated."

The man raised both hands in protest. "It's no more than a lady as yourself deserves, Miss Alaina. I hope your father's health improves once he's on land."

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and attempted a smile. She knew it fell short.

"I'd best be on my way," he said with a bow of his head. "Take care, Miss."

"G.o.dspeed, Captain."

Alone again, she turned back to the sea. A small tremor of fear coursed through her body but she straightened her shoulders. She could do what had to be done. She must.

Watching the sun rise higher above the dark, sapphire waters, she took in a slow deep breath of sea air. The morning light burned away the remnant of cool vapor as they cleared the islands, and she saw her destination along the western sh.o.r.e where sheer stone jutted up from the ocean and reached for the sky.

"You're home, Daddy," she whispered. It was a pity he couldn't enjoy his homecoming more.

They were just as he had described-the Cliffs of Moher. Alaina felt the flutter of antic.i.p.ation in her breast. Her first promise had been fulfilled, but the second made after their journey had begun would be more difficult. If she had only known the devious plans made by her father and his old friend, Michael O'Brien, she might have refused his request to accompany him home. If she'd known what he expected of her, hoped for her, she might have convinced her brother to do his bidding instead.

The ship's steward appeared at her side and Alaina dragged her gaze from the view. His smile had become a welcome sight over the past three weeks.

"Senorita Ryan, is there anything you need before we dock? One of the men is bringing your father above deck now." His dark eyes studied her intently. Alaina, at five feet nine inches, could look most men square in the eye if she had the desire to do so. Fear caused her to avoid such attention instead. Yet the young steward's kindness during the voyage across the Atlantic had given her reason to trust him more than she trusted any man but her father.

"No, thank you, Antonio," she replied, her mouth curving into a heartfelt smile. "I wanted to thank you kindly for all you have done for us. You made this voyage much more pleasant than it might have been."

"Ah, Senorita," Antonio exclaimed. "It has been my pleasure. Senor Ryan is a good friend and I am proud to have served him and his daughter.

"Please, if you will excuse me now, I must return to my post."

Watching him walk away, Alaina wondered anew how she could keep her other promise. It took over a week of patient, careful attention before Antonio had been able to approach her without igniting the fear which hovered just beneath the surface. If her father knew of the terror that dwelt there, he might not have insisted on this journey. But he didn't and could never, ever know. It would break his heart and Alaina would rather die than see him hurt again.

She turned to the ocean as a small fishing boat slipped noiselessly through the water. A lone gull swooped overhead, its dispirited call swallowed by the sound of waves rushing beneath the hull of the ship. Heart aching as she stared up at the bird, she wondered how everything about her seemed to echo the lonely emptiness of her soul.

A glance over her shoulder made her stomach flip as she caught sight of a dark, stocky man staring in her direction. Him again. Over the last two weeks she had overcome the seasickness that plagued her since leaving Virginia and had ventured on deck frequently. Many times she found this particular man watching her.

At first Alaina had chided herself for such foolish imaginings, but eventually his attentions became unmistakable. She thought of mentioning it to either the captain or Antonio. Yet she didn't want to cause trouble. Perhaps he only found her attractive and meant no harm. Rudeness, after all, was not a crime. So she had said nothing, but avoided him and kept close to the steward or other pa.s.sengers outside her cabin.

The small deck became a blur of activity as the sh.o.r.eline drew ever closer. Alaina could see the pier in detail and she watched the figures move about it. Several fishermen unloaded their catch at one end. Three brawny men hauled a stack of wooden crates from another vessel to the pier at the other. As she watched their progress, she noticed a man standing motionless near the cargo.

He stood at least a head taller than the others on the dock. His dark hair glinted with red like strands of copper caught in the sunlight. A black coat emphasized the breadth of his broad chest and shoulders as he stood, feet apart, staring at the vessel with his hands pushed deep into the pockets.

Sunlight and shadow played off his strong, handsome features. Alaina's heart fluttered like a bird caught in a snare. She blinked. The very air around the stranger seemed to vibrate with energy.

A sudden chill coursed down her spine, her shoulders stiffening beneath the heavy material of her cloak. Was he staring at her? She swallowed hard and gave her head a quick shake. It must be her imagination.

"Alaina?"

She jerked her head around at the sound of her father's voice. He smiled a little as he gazed up at her from his wheelchair. His skin looked thin and pale, his brow creased from years of worry. Would his old friends even recognize him?

"Are you ready, darlin'?"

Alaina bit her lip to keep it from trembling and glanced back at the dock. This constant unease never left her at peace, even so far from where it all began.

"Yes, everything is prepared, daddy." Her gaze moved over the pier and she sighed in relief. The man had vanished. "You'll soon be back on Irish soil."