Page 3 of The Banker's Bride

She sobbed as she cradled his body to her, wishing she could turn back time, wishing that things could have worked out differently.

Finally, some men came and tried to pry his body loose from her arms.

“Miss, let him go,” one man cooed. “We have to get the body out of the street… take it to the morgue—”

“Where were ye when I called fer help?” Megan pulled away from them, clutching her brother’s lifeless body. “Where? I called fer help, but no one came! But ye come now that me brother’s dead!”

The man sighed. “Sorry, lass, but no one wants to get involved.”

She gestured over her brother’s body. “Well, take a good look! This is what happens when no one wants to git involved!”

“Miss.” Another man’s kind voice was low behind her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. “Let me take you home.”

She pulled away and leaned down to pick up her shawl, covered in blood, lying by her brother’s lifeless body. She bit her lower lip as she brushed her hand across his cheek one last time. “I promise,” she whispered. The man gently touched her shoulders, but she shrugged away as she rose to her feet. Then she picked up her pillowcase and her brother’s containing their worldly possessions, lifting her chin with pride. “I can walk meself, thank ye.”

The man nodded. “Where can we find you… for your brother?”

Megan thought for a moment. There was no way that she was going to give these men her address. “I’ll meet ye at the morgue.”

She took a closer look at the man, but the look in his eyes seemed different. He was wearing a cowboy hat, unlike the derbies so fashionable with the other men in New York. “I’ll take you home, miss. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Megan looked into his eyes. He appeared trustworthy enough and she was tired. “Okay, but don’t ye be trying any funny business.”

One corner of his lips almost smiled, looking at her with pity. “No funny business. I’ll just walk with you… to make sure you get there safely.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and then looked at her brother’s lifeless body. The other men lifted him and placed him in a black carriage used for this purpose… to carry off the dead from the street. She bit her upper lip, stifling another wave of tears, relenting. As she and the man walked away, she looked into his kind eyes. He seemed different than the other men she had encountered that night.

“What’s your name?”

“Trent Jericho.”

They walked in silence through the streets of New York until they reached the morgue.

True to his word, Trent Jericho had been a perfect gentleman and had even stayed with her at the morgue while she made the arrangements. Since she had very little money, her brother was buried in a pine box. But instead of burying him in a pauper’s cemetery, Trent had insisted on paying for a lovely plot under an oak tree in a Catholic cemetery. She had tried to object, but Trent had insisted.

After the arrangements were made, Trent walked with her to her door. “I’ll be back tomorrow to escort you… to his funeral.”

She smiled in appreciation. “Thank ye, but ye’ve done enough.”

“No, I insist. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.” He bit his lower lip and released it. “What happened to your brother was….” Trent let out a deep breath, leaving the thought unfinished. “Please, do me this honor.”

She tried to smile, but she’d had been through too much. “Thank ye, Mr. Jerricho. I would be delighted if ye would accompany me tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here in the morning.” Concern filled his eyes. “Will you be okay tonight, miss?”

“Yes, I will.”

He paused for an awkward moment. “Well, good night, then.”

“Mr. Jericho,” Megan stopped him. He turned around, his eyebrows raised. “Thank ye so much… fer everything.”

Trent forced a smile, tipping his hat to her. “I’m so very sorry for your loss, ma’am.” He started to walk away, but then turned back. “I just wish I had arrived sooner.”

Megan wished he had, too. It was nice to see that there were still good people left in the world. After he was gone, she walked into the house and closed the door behind her.

“Where have ye been?” Mrs. O’Malley blocked the entryway with her hands on her hips. “And where is that brother of yers?” Obviously, the woman was upset over something, which was nothing new.

“He’s dead.”

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