Sons of an Ancient Glory

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Authors: BJ Hoff
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through weary years.
    J OHN B OYLE O’ R EILLY (1844-1890)
    I n the library, Morgan poked the logs in the great stone fireplace back to life, scowling at the unseasonable cold that seemed to permeate the house.
    Wheeling himself back to his desk, he idly shuffled through some papers for a moment, then slumped back in the wheelchair.
    He was heartsore and bone-weary, but it was not late enough to retire. He had enough trouble sleeping as it was, spending most of the early nighttime hours with his nose in a book, until his eyes and his mind grew numb with fatigue. Since the news about Little Tom had come, even those precious few hours when he normally slept were often interrupted with painful memories and unsettling dreams.
    He was greatly concerned for his niece, Johanna—the last remaining member of his brother’s family. Poor lass, she had more than her share of misfortune as it was, what with not being able to hear or speak. Her baby brother had been like a gift from heaven to her. From the beginning, she had doted on him like a little mother, caring for him, playing with him, hovering over him. What might the loss of wee Tom do to her?
    He sighed, wiping the dampness in his eyes with his sleeve as he sank even farther back in the wheelchair.
    To take his mind off Little Tom, Morgan deliberately turned his thoughts toward Tierney Burke. The lad should have showed up long before now.
    Michael’s letter about his son’s troubles and his passage to Ireland had come more than a week past. Ever since, Sandemon had been going to the docks daily in anticipation of the boy’s arrival. Then, just this past Friday he had learned that the ship had actually put in more than two weeks ago. Yet Tierney Burke was nowhere to be found.
    Upon receiving Michael’s letter with the news that his son would be coming to Ireland, Morgan had felt a mixture of eagerness and uncertainty. While he looked forward to meeting the son of his oldest friend, he could not help but wonder what sort of problems Tierney Burke might bring to Nelson Hall.
    Michael had been characteristically candid in his letters about the conflict between him and his son, occasioned—at least according to Michael—by the boy’s rebellious, hotheaded temperament. Throughout the years of their correspondence, Morgan had been unable to ignore the apparent similarities between Tierney Burke and
himself
. As a youth, he, too, had been frowned upon as being factious and rebellious. When they were boys back in Killala, Michael had often—and only partly in jest—accused him of chasing trouble as a hound did a hare.
    Morgan smiled faintly at the thought. What a bitter irony for the practical, sensible, reliable Michael to have a son who was apparently a mix of quicksilver and fire—much like the friend he had always found so exasperating.
    Imagining Michael’s frustration and pain, Morgan realized that
there
lay the difference between him and young Tierney Burke. His own father had been little troubled by Morgan’s rebellious ways. Aidan Fitzgerald’s fatherhood had been almost entirely characterized, if not by actual indifference, at the least by a kind of lethargy—even when sober, which was not often the case. Except in the area of education, Morgan and his older brother, Thomas, had virtually reared themselves. Their father’s lack of interest had allowed them an excessive amount of freedom while growing up, a freedom keenly envied by other youths in the village.
    Perhaps it was his own careless upbringing—as well as Michael’s faithfulness as a friend—that now made Morgan so determined to do his best by Tierney Burke, to provide the boy a home and whatever guidance he might allow. In time, he hoped they might even become friends.
    Unhappily, he seemed to have failed in his good intentions before ever laying eyes on the lad!
    He dragged his hands down both sides of his beard, closing his eyes for a

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