Far Away Home by Susan Denning Page A

friend to her father.
Knowing the police took up collections when one of their members died, she
expected the envelope to contain money.
    Aislynn pulled
out a bill for the funeral amounting to the sum of sixty-four dollars. She
blinked and shook her head.  This must be a mistake.
    Pulling on her
shawl, she dashed to the Commissioner’s Office on Mulberry Street. A solid
stone arch etched with the words “Police Brigade” formed a portico on the front
of the granite building and shaded the entryway. It felt degrees colder as she
mounted the steps and pushed open the thick wooden door. Inside, the vaulted
stone ceiling amplified the sound. There were about a dozen people casually
milling and talking, but it sounded like an unruly crowd.
    Aislynn
approached an officer seated alone at a desk and asked to see Sergeant James.
Her anxiety waned as James appeared and extended his arms to embrace Aislynn.
“May I please speak to you privately?” she inquired.
    James led her to
a seat in a quiet corner. Aislynn produced the bill and asked if there were
some mistake. “Oh, no. The brigade made the arrangements, but they would never
pay for the funeral; that is a privilege reserved for officers.”
    “But sixty-four
dollars, where would I get that kind of money?”
    “I wouldn’t
know, but if you’d like, I could take up a collection. We do that for the
needy.”
    Aislynn had
never considered herself among the ranks of the poor. With her seven years of
Catholic education, few nice clothes and three-room flat, she considered
herself above those wretched souls packed into slums. Feeling her status had
devolved a notch, she felt the need to redeem her place. Straightening, she
spoke in a cool, businesslike tone, “No thank you, sir.” James bowed his head
and apologized for his suggestion.
    She threw her
head back and held her chin up, “Officer James, I must also inquire about the
annuity the Brigade extends to orphans.”
    “That, too, is
only offered to officers’ children, and they must be under the age of sixteen.”
    Aislynn met the
news without reaction. The words sank in, but she would not allow him to see
her disappointment. “Thank you for your time, Sergeant. I appreciate you
sharing this information.” She rose gracefully and strode across the broad
stones paving the floor with her head held high, balancing her station in life
on the tip of her nose.
    Panic rose from
her belly, and she could feel it tingling in her limbs as she rushed through
the slick streets to return home. She threw the door open and flew into her
bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she faced the dresser she and her
father had shared. Opening his top drawer, she started to fling its contents on
the bed. Lying under the clothes, she found a tiny pistol. Examining it, she
considered the reasons why Brendan might own a gun. He must have acquired it
while running from the law in Ireland . It seemed useless to her. She placed
it next to a small pile of bullets and disregarded it. Slamming the drawer
closed, she attacked the one below. Tucked on one side she discovered an
envelope with her name on it. Thank God, he has left me something.
    With a deep
breath, she calmed herself and gently slipped her finger under the seal and
broke it.
     
    To My Dearest Daughter
Aislynn,
     
    If you’re
reading this I must be dead or close to it. Tim has consented to be your
guardian; it seemed most fitting. I can trust him to always guide you to do
what is right.
    Your mother
and I are sorry to have left you at such a young age, but it was not in our
power to stay. We will watch over you while you travel through your earthly
life, and we wait to see you again. Until that time, know you have all of our
love, and in some way, we are with you.
     
    Your loving and devoted
Father.
     
    Aislynn gently
ran her finger over the letter and folded it carefully. After a moment of
thought, she slapped it on the dresser and looked up to heaven and shouted,
“You gave me