Читать книгу The Parting Glass - Emilie Richards - Страница 11

So far, Megan had survived. Rooney’s appearance at her side had been a gift. She had never expected to walk down the aisle on her father’s arm, and that small miracle had gotten her to the front, where the man she loved waited to hold her up. Niccolo’s smile and Father Brady’s patient prompting got her through the service.

Now, hopefully, champagne and Guinness would get her through the rest of the reception.

“My car’s missing,” Niccolo shouted in her ear.

For a moment she didn’t understand. The Civic was nearly new. If the engine was missing, that was a bad omen.

“I think somebody took it to decorate it,” he elaborated.

She felt herself turning shades of mottled pink, the curse of a redhead. After the reception, she and Niccolo were leaving for a relative’s cottage on Michigan’s Drummond Island. She had envisioned anonymity and absolute peace on the drive.

“We’re stopping at the first car wash,” she warned.

He grinned. She couldn’t recall ever seeing Niccolo look happier. She wondered what she had done to deserve him, this man who had stood by her through all her doubts, fears and general neuroses.

“I’d like to outrun this storm,” Niccolo said, “but I think we’ll be driving right into it.”

“It’s raining again? Maybe we won’t need a car wash.”

“Pouring. I’m used to odd weather, but this takes the cake.”

Casey pushed through the crowd with a full plate of food and handed it to Megan. “You haven’t eaten a bite. This is fabulous. Both the Andreanis and the Donaghues outdid themselves.”

Megan realized she was starving. “Nick?” But she needn’t have worried. She saw that Jon was hauling him to the bar to fill his own plate. Niccolo’s brother Marco was helping.

“Having fun?” Casey said.

Megan dug into the best manicotti she’d ever tasted. She wondered if Mrs. Andreani would share the recipe. It was probably too soon in their relationship to ask, considering that until just hours ago Niccolo’s mother hadn’t wanted to acknowledge her existence.

“Is this supposed to be fun?” Megan said.

“You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

A cousin with a full tray of Guinness stopped, and Megan took a pint, suffering a hug while she was at it. “How do I eat and hold this?”

“I’ll hold it.” Casey took the Guinness.

“I’m doing okay,” Megan admitted.

“Everyone’s so happy you married Nick.”

Megan had never realized the Donaghue clan had such remarkable taste. “Nick tells me his car is missing?” She watched her sister’s face. “Casey? I don’t think I like your expression.”

“What did Nick say, exactly?”

“That somebody had probably taken it away to decorate it.”

“That’s the kind of thing people do for weddings, right?”

“You know more than you’re saying.”

“There are good times and bad times to discuss surprises.”

“And there are good and bad surprises.” The band started a chorus of “Cockles and Mussels,” and over her head, drifts of white tulle swayed frantically when someone opened the front door. “This had better not be one of the bad ones,” she continued in a louder voice. “Just tell me that whatever damage you did to the car, soap on the windows, shoes on the bumper, whatever, can be quickly dispensed with once we’re out of sight.”

Peggy arrived with Kieran in her arms. “What’s out of sight?”

Megan’s heart squeezed painfully as it always did when she saw her nephew. “Hey, kiddo.”

She tried to keep her voice low, although that made it inaudible. Kieran responded badly to noise and confusion of any sort, and now, in the center of the raucous crowd, he was eyeing her as if she were a stranger, although Megan had fed and rocked and changed him as often as anyone else in the world.

Kieran had seemed perfectly normal at birth. When he was still an infant, Peggy had started medical school, and Kieran had been lovingly passed among family members who were thrilled by the chance to care for the little boy while Peggy attended classes and studied. But no matter how much time they spent with him, Kieran had never seemed to remember them.

Peggy brushed his auburn curls with her fingertips. “Try saying hi,” she told Megan.

“Hi,” Megan said warmly.

Kieran stared at her, his cherubic face expressionless, then he focused his gaze just behind her. Megan turned to see what had interested him and saw a reflection of the swaying tulle in the bar mirror.

“Hi,” Megan repeated.

Kieran didn’t look at her. He seemed hypnotized by the movement. Just as she started to change the subject, he gave a lopsided smile, then reached toward the mirror. “Hi. Hi. Hi.”

Peggy looked disappointed. “Better than nothing.”

“He’s not quite two,” Casey pointed out. “Boys don’t talk as early as girls.”

“But most boys know the difference between reflections dancing in a mirror and their favorite aunts.” Peggy sounded matter-of-fact. “Well, that’s going to change. When you see him again, you’re going to be surprised at the improvement.”

Megan wanted to argue. She wanted to shake some sense into her sister. When Peggy had learned Kieran’s diagnosis, she’d quit medical school, perhaps forever, divorcing herself from a lifelong dream in order to devote herself to her son. Now she was taking Kieran all the way to Ireland to live with a distant cousin the family hadn’t even known about until two months ago. All so that she could somehow turn him into a “normal” child.

Unfortunately, Peggy was the only Donaghue who believed this was the right course to follow.

“He seems pretty perky, considering all the chaos in here,” Casey said.

Megan knew Casey was trying to divert the conversation and supposed it was just as well. Peggy’s mind was made up, and all the discussion in the world wasn’t going to change it.

“I think I’ll see if I can get him to eat something, then I’m going to take him upstairs for some quiet time. We’ll be back for cake.”

Megan and Casey watched Peggy wind her way to the bar.

“I still can’t believe she’s moving to Ireland,” Megan said.

“Finish your food, Megan. The band’s gearing up for some set dancing, and you’ll be expected to give it a try.”

Megan groaned. “You couldn’t head them off?”

“They’re playing for free. Remember?”

“Hand me the Guinness, would you?”

Upstairs, Peggy settled Kieran on the living room rug with a quilt and a menagerie of stuffed toys. The apartment was plain but serviceable. Best of all, the modest rent came out of her share of the saloon’s profits. The Whiskey Island Saloon had been in the Donaghue family since its construction more than a century before. The three sisters were equal partners, and although nowadays Megan kept the food hot and the liquor flowing, both Peggy and Casey had pulled their share of Guinness along the way.

“Tomorrow we’re going on a plane,” she told her son.

He didn’t look up at her words. For months, before the battery of tests that had pinpointed Kieran’s problem, she had worried that his hearing was impaired. She hadn’t expected autism, so she hadn’t been prepared.

The day she got the diagnosis would be etched forever in her mind.

“Autistic disorder,” the specialist had said matter-of-factly, as if he were diagnosing a head cold. “Moderate, we think, although that’s not as easy to pinpoint as it might seem. It’s really a spectrum, Miss Donaghue. Generally those who suffer with it have problems understanding the emotions of others. They have difficulties with language and conversation, and they often fixate on one subject or activity. The prognosis depends on many things. Early intervention is key, but I’ll warn you, the cost, both in time and money, can be enormous.”

Now Peggy dropped to the floor and sat cross-legged beside Kieran. “We’ll go high in the air, right up into the clouds. And I’ll be with you the whole time. Just Mommy and Kieran.”

He picked at the felt eyes of a teddy bear. He never held or cuddled his toy animals. He found something to pick apart, and he could work at it for long stretches of time, only pausing to rock himself when he tired.

“Then we’ll be in Ireland,” she said. “And Mommy will set up a classroom for you at Cousin Irene’s. We’ll have toys and games, and you’ll learn so much, Kieran. I know you will. And when we come back to Cleveland, you’ll be able to speak and make eye contact and…”

He looked up. The living room curtain rustled and caught his attention. “Hi. Hi.”

She gathered him close, although he whimpered at her touch. “You’re going to have every chance I can give you,” she said fiercely. “If I have to fly to Mars and back to make sure of it.”

Four of the Brick kids found an untouched tray of Guinness and took it into the storeroom for their own private party. Casey spotted them before Niccolo could and confiscated their hard-won treasure.

Marco, his wife Paula and their two young daughters staged a slide show on one of the saloon walls of photos of Niccolo as a little boy. Not to be outdone, Uncle Den enthralled a group of admirers with story after story of the three sisters as children.

“Please, God, let the toasts begin,” Megan said. “I won’t survive much more of this.”

“Hold your head up,” Peggy said. “You’re only getting married once.”

“Can’t you get Kieran and Aunt Dee and bring them down? All of you have to be here when we cut the cake.” Peggy had settled Kieran upstairs in the apartment an hour before. Now Deirdre was sitting with him and saying her goodbyes.

“Do you really think it’s time?”

Niccolo joined them. “You know, if we’d ever put all these Andreanis and Donaghues in the same room, we probably would have been too scared to merge our genes. Can you believe our children will have both sets?” He shook his head.

Megan couldn’t imagine a child of theirs at all. She knew Niccolo wanted children right away. She’d tentatively agreed to have them someday, but not on his timetable. Marriage itself was going to take enough trial and error.

“Will you start herding everybody to the back of the room?” she pleaded. “I don’t think I’ll live through much more of this.”

“You’re having a ball.” He leaned down and kissed her, and people began to clap.

“I would like to get away sometime before dark,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Don’t look now, but it’s been dark all afternoon.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll herd. But don’t expect this to end any time soon.”

“They can party until the wee hours, but you and I are leaving once the cake’s been served.”

“Promises, promises.” He winked at Peggy before he left to begin edging people toward the wedding cake.

Megan watched as Niccolo made remarkable progress. At her suggestion, the cake had been set up in the back of the saloon. She had tried to get into the kitchen to make sure everything was ready for cutting and serving it, but she’d been outmaneuvered. There had been a conspiracy all day to keep her as far away from the kitchen as possible.

As if she would try to take over her own reception.

Casey joined them. “That time already? Will you be able to bring Kieran down now?” she asked Peggy.

“Maybe now that he’s had some quiet time. I can’t guarantee he’ll be tantrum free.”

“All two-year-olds have tantrums,” Megan said. “You certainly had your share.”

“You’ve got to get used to the idea that he’s not just any two-year-old, Megan,” Peggy said. “It’s the only way we can help him.”

Megan knew Peggy was right. At first Peggy, too, had struggled to accept her son’s disability, but at last she had made the adjustment. Megan was still rooted firmly in denial. “I love him. I love you. I don’t want to lose either of you.”

Peggy kissed her cheek. “You won’t. Now let me get him.”

“And I’ll help Nick,” Casey said. “He’s managed to get everybody moving. Which was the key to getting them into the back of the room faster, do you think? Cake or champagne?”

Megan was only yards away from Niccolo when the building began to shake. For a moment she thought the band had turned up their amplifiers to grab everyone’s attention. But the sound was more freight train than feedback.

The saloon shook again. A woman screamed, and Megan registered alarm on the faces closest to her. Then, as she saw Niccolo struggling through the crowd in her direction, the building shook once more, the roar grew deafening, and the front facade of the saloon collapsed inward.

The building shook again as more screams erupted. Glassware at the bar shattered and fell to the floor, and a hole the size of a child’s wading pool opened to the left of her head. Debris rained down, followed closely by water. Then both the cacophony and the tremors ceased.

“Megan!” Niccolo reached and grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her. “Are you okay?”

“What—” She realized she couldn’t breathe. She struggled, but her lungs wouldn’t inflate. Her legs felt like rubber bands, and she clung to him and fought for air. People were pushing past her, heading away from the destruction.

“Take it easy. It’s okay.” He smoothed her hair, but his hand trembled.

She caught a breath at last. “What—”

“Tornado,” he said. “It sucked up part of the roof. Damn, we’re idiots. Nobody was listening for tornado warnings. I—”

“Nick!” Casey reached them. “Where’s Jon?”

Niccolo released Megan. “He was in the very back. I’ve got to see what kind of damage was done. I’ve got to find my family.”

Megan started after him. She knew his real mission was to see if anyone had lagged behind and been caught in the collapse. The sight that greeted her nearly tore the breath from her lungs again. The roof over the front quarter of the building had fallen to seal off the entrance completely. What rubble she could see beneath it was waist-high. “Oh, God!”

Casey grabbed her. “Stay away, Megan. For Pete’s sake, don’t get near—”

Jon reached them. “Get in the back with everybody else. Please. It’s safer.”

“What if somebody—” Megan couldn’t finish that thought.

“Most everybody was in the back milling around the cake. If we’re lucky…Just help us get everybody else back there now. We’ll do head counts. Start, would you?”

Megan knew he was right. Thick dust choked the room, and her vision was obscured. But nothing she could see indicated that anyone had been in the extreme front when the wall collapsed.

Casey was already helping people move farther toward the back. Megan saw one of the Brick kids holding his head, but he was walking unaided. One of Marco’s daughters had a scratch on her cheek, but the bleeding didn’t look serious. Niccolo’s mother had her arm around his grandfather and was helping him walk. Megan turned to see Peggy struggling with the door to the apartment, and she remembered that Kieran was upstairs with their aunt.

As she watched, Peggy wrenched open the door, despite the crush of frantic guests, and disappeared into the stairwell. The back of the building seemed secure, but what if the second story wasn’t? What if the upstairs, which camel backed the saloon, had been blown away? The apartment only ran across the back, but what if…

She stumbled forward, helping a great-uncle who seemed unable to find his way. Once she was sure he was heading in the right direction, she made it to the door and started up the stairs.

“Peggy?” She called her sister’s name as she climbed. The stairs seemed secure. Above her, everything looked the way it always did. “Peggy! Aunt Dee!”

The door at the head of the stairwell was open. She made it to the top without incident and found Peggy and her aunt clasped together in a bear hug, Kieran screaming between them.

“Thank God.” She joined them.

“The bedroom’s wrecked,” Deirdre said calmly. “The window exploded. There’s glass everywhere, but Kieran and I were in here.”

“Let’s get downstairs. We can exit through the kitchen door. The front’s a nightmare.”

“No, we can’t get out that way,” Peggy said. “The back door’s blocked.”

Megan knew she wasn’t thinking clearly, but now she was particularly confused. “How do you know? You came straight up here.”

“A tree fell in front of the back door this morning, Megan. Right on top of Nick’s car. We’d pulled his Civic out behind the kitchen door to decorate it, and that old maple toppled right onto his roof. Nobody wanted to tell you until we had to. We didn’t want to spoil—”

“I guess you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Peggy said.

The loss of a car seemed inconsequential at the moment. “Nick’s won’t be the only car in Cleveland to suffer storm damage. Kieran’s okay?”

“Just scared. We’re all scared.” Peggy kissed Kieran’s hair.

“Aunt Dee?”

Deirdre drew herself up straight. “Let’s get downstairs. Did you see your uncle?”

Megan tried to remember if she had seen Uncle Frank. “I didn’t, I’m sorry. But I didn’t see any serious injuries.” She thought of the roof sitting at the front of the saloon and what might be under it. “Nick and Jon were checking when I came upstairs.”

“I think we need to go down right away.” Deirdre no longer sounded calm, and Megan knew reality was setting in.

They started for the stairs. Megan went first, with Peggy and Kieran right behind her and their aunt bringing up the rear.

Niccolo was waiting at the bottom, and at the sight of them, he looked relieved. “I don’t think anyone was buried in the rubble,” he said in a low voice. “There’s no sign anybody was that close. Some people were hit by flying debris. There’s some blood and some bruises, but none of the injuries are life-threatening. We’re doing a head count now.”

“Nick, there’s no exit.” Megan stepped aside to let Peggy and her aunt by. “There’s a tree blocking the kitchen door.”

“Jon told me.”

“Maybe it’s better if we stay inside until the fire department can get to us. Outside must be as bad as in. Wires must be down, trees are down. If nobody’s seriously hurt here—”

“Megan, a couple of people claim they smell gas.”

She couldn’t breathe again. She was angry at herself for succumbing to fear, but anger was not inflating her lungs.

“Take it easy,” he said, spotting her dilemma. “Let yourself go limp. Don’t think about breathing….”

She obeyed as well as she could. In a moment the light-headedness passed and air was moving again. “What’s wrong with us?” she gasped. “Why didn’t we have the radio on? Why didn’t somebody warn us?”

He ignored her question and began to catalogue their options. “We can’t get out through the front. The roof is precarious. If we start moving debris, more of it could fall, and somebody could be injured or killed.”

“We put a steel door in the kitchen two years ago after that carjacking. There’s no way we’ll be able to break it down, not with a car and a tree in front of it.”

“Are there other exits? Anything I don’t know about?”

She tried to think. There were no windows on the sides of the building. “Kitchen window?”

“Too small for most of us, and blocked besides. The tree did a lot of damage.”

Now she understood why no one had allowed her near the kitchen.

“We might be able to get the smaller children out that way if we have to,” he continued.

Megan had often fantasized about a picture window over the side work counter. She had told herself she would put one in someday, even if the view was mediocre and she had to add bars for security. “The fire department must be on the way,” she said.

“I don’t think we can count on them coming quickly. I’m sure we’re not the only casualty.”

“There’s a hole in the roof.”

“No help.”

“The gas won’t build up, will it? Even if there’s a leak, it’ll dissipate.”

“I’d rather not find out.”

“Are the phones—”

“Dead. And so far nobody’s gotten a cell phone working. The local tower might be down, or the system could be flooded with calls.”

Jon arrived. “Rooney’s missing.”

Megan looked at Niccolo, searching his eyes. “Did you see him recently? Do you remember? The last time I saw him, Aunt Dee had him tucked under her wing, but she was upstairs with Kieran when the tornado hit.”

“He was with your uncle Frank,” Jon said.

“Is Uncle Frank—”

“Fine. But he lost Rooney after the tornado.”

“Were they in the front?”

“No, in the back. He should be safe, but he’s disappeared.”

“Anyone else missing?” Niccolo asked.

“Not that we’ve discovered. Unless somebody was here alone with no one to vouch for them.”

Megan frantically tried to think. “Where could Rooney be?”

“Upstairs?” Jon asked.

“No, we were just up there. Maybe he’s hiding. In the kitchen or behind the bar?”

“We checked.”

“Storeroom?”

“Checked it.”

“The cellar,” Megan said. “Did anybody check the cellar?”

The cellar door was located—inefficiently—inside the kitchen pantry. The cellar itself was tiny, damp and unpleasant, and only used for storing kegs or a temporary overflow of canned goods.

“I can’t imagine he’d go down there,” Jon said. “Will he even remember the cellar’s there? I didn’t.”

“It’s hard to tell what he remembers. But for a long time the saloon was his life. He knows every nook and cranny.”

“I’ll check.” Jon turned away, but Megan stopped him.

“No, let me.”

“I’ll come with you,” Niccolo said.

“Shouldn’t you and Jon stay up here and try to figure out what to do?”

“It will only take a moment.”

They started through the throng of guests toward the kitchen. Megan was impressed with everyone’s calm. She heard weeping, and coughing from the dust, but order had been maintained. She comforted people as best she could and promised they would know what to do shortly. When she reached the kitchen, she saw the old maple tree lying in front of the window, heavy branches like arms lifted imploringly toward the sky. Greta and another kitchen staff member were waiting for them.

“I don’t know why this window’s still in one piece, but it is,” Greta said. “Do you want us to knock out the glass?”

“Not yet,” Megan said. She couldn’t imagine anyone escaping that way. Perhaps a small child would fit, but no one could know what awaited a child outside. For the moment it was better to keep everyone together. “Greta, have you been here the whole time? Since the tornado hit?”

“I ran out into the saloon right afterwards. We all did. To see what happened.”

“You didn’t see Rooney come in here, did you?”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” Greta sounded contrite, as if she should somehow have had her wits completely about her during the crisis.

Megan was fighting panic. “I smell gas,” she said. “Very faint, but noticeable.”

“The stove is off,” Greta said. “And I blew out the pilot light. That was the first thing I checked when I came back in here.”

“We’ll check the furnace when we go downstairs, but it’s fairly new, isn’t it?” Niccolo asked.

“Last winter,” Megan said.

“Then it should have a safety shutoff. That’s probably not the problem.”

“Let’s find Rooney. One thing at a time.” She put a hand on Greta’s shoulder. “Hold the fort, okay?”

“We’ve got clean towels, and we still have water. We’ll help people clean up as best we can.”

Megan headed for the pantry. The cellar was so rarely used that boxes of supplies partially blocked the doorway, taking advantage of every inch of room. The saloon had always needed more storage area. Now it would need so much more than that.

“I guess he could have gotten through without moving anything. If he stepped over these, opened the door a crack and squeezed through,” she said, pointing to the boxes.

“The electricity’s off, so there’s no light down there.”

“We’ve always kept a couple of flashlights on a rack in the stairwell. I never go down without one. I’m afraid I’ll end up in the dark if there’s a power failure.”

“We’ll take a quick look.”

“I was going to increase our property insurance,” she said as he helped her shove boxes aside so the door would open wider. “I just never seemed to find the time for a consultation with our agent.”

“Don’t think about that now.”

“When you vowed for better or worse, I bet you weren’t thinking the big guy upstairs might take you up on that last part so soon.”

“Megan, this is the better part. It’s a miracle no one was killed. If the twister hit us directly, it would have taken the whole building and everyone in it. We probably caught the tip of the tail.”

That wasn’t lost on Megan. Miracle was not too strong a word, particularly if help arrived quickly and cleared an exit.

She edged in front of him. “Better let me go first. I know the layout. I can feel around for a flashlight.”

“I see light down below.” He stepped aside.

Megan felt a rush of gratitude. Light meant Rooney was downstairs. Now she was only afraid they might find him in a state of terror.

She felt along the wall to the rack where the flashlights were kept and found only one, snapping it on to illuminate the path. “Rooney,” she called. “Don’t be afraid. Nick and I are coming to get you.”

She started down, shining her light just in front of her so that Niccolo could find his way, as well. Halfway there she saw her father below them, banging ineffectually on a paneled wall with his palms. He was a slight man and—she noted—paler than usual. She wondered if he really believed that his meager weight was any match for the saloon foundation.

“He must have panicked,” she said so that only Niccolo would hear. She moved faster and hoped that her new husband could still see well enough to keep up. At the bottom she started toward Rooney.

“Hey, Rooney, it’s okay. The fire department will get here soon. And they’ll get us out. But you need to come upstairs with Nick and me. You shouldn’t be alone down here.”

Rooney turned to examine her. He did not look panicked. He looked, in fact, disturbed by the interruption. “Here somewhere.”

She was often puzzled by her father’s attempts to communicate. There had been a time when almost everything he’d said was a mystery. More recently, though, all the other changes in his life had led to clearer, more precise exchanges. They’d had real conversations where both of them were heard and understood. She was afraid this wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Yes, you’re here,” she said. “But it would be better if you were upstairs.”

He gazed at her as if she were a little girl again. “No way out.”

“Maybe not this minute, but the fire department—”

“No way out there.” He shook his head and pointed above him. He looked annoyed, as if Megan just didn’t understand.

“No, but there will be.”

He turned around and began banging his palms on the wall again. Megan imagined that prisoners pounded cell walls the same way. “Rooney, that’s not going to help. Come on upstairs with me, okay?”

“Are you looking for something?” Niccolo asked him.

Megan wished Niccolo would stay out of the exchange. She was afraid Rooney was going to become even more distracted. “Nick, I—”

“Here someplace.” Rooney moved down an arm’s length and continued pounding.

“Megan, he’s not upset. He’s looking for something,” Niccolo told her. “Do you know what it might be?”

“I don’t think—”

“Listen…” Rooney stopped pounding a moment, then started up again.

She was growing more disturbed. She didn’t like being away from the others. Maybe someone had gotten through to the fire department. She wanted to know if help was on the way. She wanted to figure out strategy. She wanted to see to her guests. “Rooney, I don’t hear anything! Please come up.”

“It sounds hollow.” Niccolo took her arm. “Do what he says and listen.”

“So what if it’s hollow? Who can tell why…” But she fell silent, aware that nothing she could say was going to turn the tide.

“What’s behind there, Rooney?” Niccolo asked.

Rooney grinned. “Jail time.”

Megan caught Niccolo’s eye and shook her head. Niccolo was expecting too much.

“Jail time?” Niccolo asked. “Jail for who?”

Rooney was picking at a sheet of paneling now, trying to pry it loose with fingernails that weren’t up to the task.

“For who?” Niccolo repeated.

Rooney stepped back, obviously frustrated. “Tools. Hammer might do.”

“What will we find if we pry the panel loose?” Niccolo asked.

“Nick, please don’t continue this,” Megan pleaded.

“Jail time,” Rooney said. He paused. “For bootleggers.”

Megan faced her father, Niccolo’s part in the conversation forgotten. “Bootleggers?”

Rooney smiled. “I wasn’t born.”

“Megan, do you know what he’s talking about?” Niccolo asked.

She was ashamed. She had been so sure Rooney was just talking crazy. “When I was a little girl the grown-ups talked about tunnels down here. Not when they thought we could hear them, of course. We weren’t really supposed to know. It was a family secret. But I haven’t thought about that for years. I thought the tunnels were probably just a story, a Donaghue fairy tale.”

“Bootleggers?” Niccolo asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but if there are tunnels, maybe they were built to smuggle in bootleg whiskey during Prohibition. There’s another bar on the West Side that claims they have tunnels that lead all the way to the water.”

“The Shoreway would make that impossible here.”

“It wouldn’t have then, because the Shoreway wasn’t there in the twenties. Besides, if there are tunnels under the saloon, maybe they led out to a road on Whiskey Island where liquor was brought in from the water. I do know Cleveland had its share of rum runners. Canada’s right across the lake, and Canada never bought into Prohibition.”

“So if it’s true, the tunnels might still be here?”

“Could be, although in what kind of shape, I don’t know. If they exist, they’ve been walled away my whole life. I guess it depends on how sturdy they were to start with.”

“Sturdy enough, I bet. If they were built for bootleggers, they wouldn’t have taken any chances. Liquor was a profitable business.”

“Yeah, for people like Al Capone. This is Cleveland.”

“Elliot Ness came here after Prohibition to clean up the city,” Niccolo said. “There must have been some business here to draw him.”

Obviously he’d been listening to Jon, for whom Cleveland history was a favorite subject. “Are you thinking we might tear out this wall and see what’s here?” she said.

“Rooney, does the tunnel lead outside?” Niccolo put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Can we get out this way?”

Rooney gave a slight nod.

That was enough affirmation for Niccolo. The possibility existed. “Can you get my kids and get us some tools?” he asked Megan. “And more flashlights, if you have them?”

“The kids?”

“Do you know anybody more talented at destruction?”

She left the two men below and raced up the stairs. In the saloon, she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Has anybody been able to reach the fire department?”

Nobody had. Sirens had been heard in the distance, and shouting somewhere down the block.

She explained quickly what Rooney had found and what they planned to do. Jon and Casey had organized people into small groups. One was tearing towels into makeshift bandages to supplement the small first aid kit. Another had stationed themselves as close to the front as possible to yell for help. Another was washing and doctoring cuts and bruises. One group was making attempts to comfort and entertain the children.

Barry the bartender kept a crowbar behind the bar for security. He gave it to Winston, who headed straight for the kitchen. The other kids followed with whatever they were handed. Megan pulled a toolkit and more flashlights out of the storeroom, Greta gave Josh a mallet she used for pounding round steak. Peggy, trying to manage a struggling Kieran, volunteered to go upstairs and look in the apartment for more flashlights, but that effort was vetoed as too dangerous.

Megan promised she would come back with news the minute she knew if the tunnels existed and if they led to safety.

“They exist.” Deirdre grabbed her arm as she was heading back into the kitchen. “Your father’s not imagining this.”

“Do you know where they lead?”

Deirdre shook her head. “We weren’t supposed to know. I think my father’s generation was afraid we’d find a way to get inside and someone would get hurt. Do you want me to go down and help?”

“Stay here and help Peggy with Kieran, will you?” Megan could hear her nephew wailing. The crowd, the noise and the confusion were bad enough for a normal child.

She left Casey and Jon in charge, confident they could keep chaos at bay. Downstairs, she saw the boys at work and marveled. The tornado had nothing on the Brick kids for destruction.

Someone had wanted the tunnels sealed for all time. Five minutes into the pounding and prying, that someone was thwarted.

“Step back,” Niccolo commanded, and the kids did so without argument. He kicked away the last remnants of the paneling and shined his flashlight inside.

“What do you see?”

“I’m going to have to go inside to find out.”

She didn’t want him to go. Even if the tunnels had been safe at one time, they had been sealed off for decades. But what choice did they have? The saloon wasn’t safe, either, with a quarter of the roof on the floor and gas seeping from God knew where.

“I’m coming, too,” she said. “Two lights are better than one.”

“Please don’t,” Niccolo said. “Not until I’ve checked it out a little.”

“I’m coming.”

He knew better than to argue, especially in front of the young men, who seemed entranced at the possibility of marital discord so soon after the wedding. “Okay, but step carefully.”

“Really? I thought we could do an Irish jig or two on the way through.” She winked at Josh. Now that the fun part was over, the kids were beginning to look uneasy. “We’ll be right back,” she promised. “One of you run upstairs and see if anybody’s had any luck calling the fire department.”

Nobody moved. “Or not,” she said. She watched Niccolo step through the ersatz doorway into the tunnel. Rooney, who had stayed to watch the demolition, stepped in after him.

“Rooney,” she called. “Please don’t do that.” Her plea was ignored. She followed, stepping into the space and shining her light all around. Niccolo and Rooney were just ahead.

She hadn’t had time to think about what they might find in the little time that had passed since they found Rooney beating on the cellar wall. She’d formed a fuzzy mental image of a narrow dirt passageway filled with debris, bats and cobwebs. She had not expected a tunnel wide enough for three people to walk abreast. She hadn’t expected massive, roughly-hewn ceiling beams or dirty plastered walls. She caught up to her husband and father.

“Look at this.” Niccolo aimed his light to the right.

She followed the beam and saw a storage cellar similar to the one they’d just left. It was piled with boxes, and the shelves lining it held old glass canning jars, some of which were still filled with garden produce.

She whistled softly. “I had no idea. Look at this place.”

“Let’s keep moving.”

“Where do you think it comes out?”

“It goes down from here. There are steps ahead.” Niccolo shined his flashlight.

“When they built the Shoreway, they must have buried the entrance,” Megan said. “We’re going to find a dead end.”

“No,” Rooney said.

She had new respect for Rooney’s grasp of their situation. She followed, trailing her flashlight along the walls.

The steps were steep, ten of them, each so narrow they had to walk single file, and the ceiling grew lower until she was stooping. They halted abruptly at a small flagstone-surfaced platform. Stones layered the wall, too. Her heart sank. Then Rooney stooped and began to jiggle a stone near the top.

She saw light.

“Nick?”

But Niccolo was already helping his father-in-law move the stone. With every inch, more light streamed into the tunnel. “Get the kids,” he told her. “Then go upstairs. If the fire department isn’t on its way, bring everyone down here. Tell them to be careful. But this is our way out, Megan, and we’d be fools not to take it.”