“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.”
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