Free Westward the Dream by Tracie Peterson, Judith Pella

little doubt that should she ask for his assistance, he would come to her aid.
    Looking back to see what the fat man’s response would be, she found him gone. Smiling to herself, she searched the crowds again for some sign of those who had come to meet her. She actually had no idea whom to expect. No idea whatsoever. Maybe no one would come. Maybe the letter had never arrived to announce her journey to America. And even if it had arrived, maybe no one would care.
    She started to feel a tightening in the pit of her stomach. Even if someone had been sent to retrieve her, how would they ever find her? Kiernan had as much idea of what she looked like as she did him. They were strangers, though brother and sister. If anyone did come, would they know the process of immigration? Did they know about the place called Castle Garden?
    â€œCaitlan O’Connor!” a voice called loudly.
    She jerked her head toward the sound, then elbowed her way forward through the crowd, struggling to ease by a woman and her five children—four of whom were crying.
    â€œCaitlan O’Connor!”
    â€œHere!” she cried out, still unable to find the source. What if she couldn’t be heard above the din?
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œOver here!” she called back and waved one arm in the air while clutching her things with the other.
    Finally she saw him. He stood precariously balanced atop a roped pyramid of barrels. He took her breath away. He looked so serious—almost worried as he searched the crowd. Who was he?
    His tan suit of cotton broadcloth was obviously tailored to fit his lean, trim frame. Both the cut and style revealed the expense of the piece, reminding Caitlan once again that she had come from one world and was about to be plunged into yet another. She had heard tales of her sister-in-law’s rich family and how her brother had married into money. They used to sit around and imagine what it might be like to have great wealth. Kiernan had written, telling them of a pillared mansion in Baltimore, carriages with fine leather upholstery, and clothes so rich and wondrous that one gown would keep a peasant family in Ireland fed for half a year. They had marveled, dreamed, tried to imagine what it might be like—but always it was an ocean away.
    â€œCaitlan O’Connor, where are you?” he called, cupping his hand to his mouth.
    And a lovely mouth it was, she decided, still watching him silently. He looked terribly young, though—maybe as young as her own seventeen years. His gold wire-rimmed glasses made him appear studious and intelligent, but the way he swayed and practically danced to keep his balance made it clear that he was out of his element when it came to physical activities. He seemed gangly and awkward, but it somehow endeared him all the more to Caitlan.
    â€œCaitlan O’Connor!” he called again.
    â€œHere!” she finally answered, taking pity on him.
    He looked down at her, an expression of surprise on his face. “Truly?”
    Caitlan laughed self-consciously. “Aye, I’m Caitlan.” She was suddenly aware of her shabby, travel-worn appearance. Her curly copper-colored hair was hopelessly tangled, and she was certain her skin must be smudged with the ship’s filth. Her dress was too short, for she’d had a growth spurt before leaving home and could not afford new clothes to fit her healthy and rounded five-foot-six frame. She ran a hand uselessly over the wrinkled garment.
    The man jumped down from the barrels, losing his balance and nearly tumbling right into Caitlan’s arms. But he caught a post, and by the time he took hold of her arm, he had, much to Caitlan’s disappointment, steadied himself. “I didn’t think we’d ever find you. It was all I could do to keep Jordana from climbing to the rooftops to catch sight of you.”
    â€œWho’s Jordana?” she asked rather breathlessly.
    â€œMy sister. I’m