"Erin, Harry, are you ready?" Sorcha closed the clasps on her suitcase. Listening for their answers, she moved out into the hallway between the bedrooms and the kitchen. The clock in the parlor struck nine, the bells echoing. She remembered counting them when she was in labor with both her children. Amazing how time dragged or sped by in a blink, never consistent. The old time piece her father left them lied.

"Finished packing my bag." Erin dragged her carpet bag with her. "Are we really going to get Papa?"

"We are. We're meeting his ship in Dublin. It will take us a whole day to get there on the train."

Sorcha didn't have the heart to tell them what came in the letter from Germany. Her husband was a lucky man. Alive, but maimed by the injury left untreated when he was captured. His left arm gone at the elbow. His letter sounded good after he explained that a nurse wrote it for him in the hospital at the British army camp. But Ronan always sounded positive, even in the face of dire calamity. He was left handed. So was Harry.

'Mama, I can't get my case closed."

Harry's call was muffled. He moved into the attic with his crystals and his Grandda was teaching him about wands. The whittled wood shaving as Harry tried to fashion his own wand, were better up there. A small fireplace helped to keep him warm during the winter rains. A small smile of pride flickered across her face. Harry was far ahead of where a nine-year-old child should be. He was out stripping his older cousins.

"Port it to the sofa downstairs. I'll help you with it there. Get dressed and come down for breakfast. You Uncle Ian will drive us to the train station after we finish eating and cleaning up."

Sorcha pursed her lips as she considered how odd her instructions would sound in a normal house.

She waited patiently as Erin went around the corner into the front parlor and put her bag down beside the door. Her own suitcase was already there. The pop of Harry's suitcase dropping onto the couch never ceased to startle her. She really need to mend the hasps, but the work around with a leather straps worked. Brass clasps cost too much when every penny counted.

She wondered what stroke of luck covered the price of the train tickets to Dublin. And Harry's letter assured her, the trip home was covered as well.

"Mama, can I take Erin with me and we'll cast a protect on our house."

"May I, and yes you may. Grandda Robbie said you are strong enough. It's been years since Ronan last said the words. Do you remember them, Harry?"

"Every word. I have my own now. Grandda said each witch starts with the ones that are known to all, and the then we learn to listen to our soul."

Her son's eyes were glimmering, shining like Ronan's did when he saw the future. Harry's irises were nearly the same shade of impossible shamrock green too.

As she put the dishes away and wiped the last traces of breakfast from the table, she felt the comforting prickle of Harry's spell. Erin's voice echoed his through the open window. At least they had a clear fresh day for traveling. The Goddess blessed them with a perfect spring day.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Harry clambered up to balance on the railing of the pier where they stood with other families anxiously awaiting their returning soldiers. His mother's gasp made him smile, but the broad board atop the sturdy posts took his slight weight easily and his balance was keen in spite of the brisk breeze.

He growled to himself as the military band played God Save the King, but his peaceful nature won out. As Grandda Robbie said, fighting was always the last resort. It was an immense waste of energy. He had to agree and counted on his swift feet to elude the boys at school.

The ship wasn't like the pictures in the newspaper his mother brought home from the pub. This was was scarred. He could see the patchwork of repaired holes under the bow, and more halfway down the side where big gun barrels poked over the bulwarks. This one was a survivor.

"Harry, get down."

"No, I can't see from down there. I'm too short."

He gave in to the fear in her hissed words and grabbed her shoulder as she wrapped an arm around his legs. Erin stood against Mama's side. His sister was just tall enough to see over the railing. It was good to be in the front of the crowd.

Harry squinted against the glare of sunshine. The sea was almost calm with tiny wavelets reflecting rays like the prisms of clear quartz he kept hanging in the round gable windows of his attic bedroom. Scanning the rows of soldiers standing on the deck of the ship, he wondered if he would recognize his father. He remembered his second birthday, and the stiffly starched uniform his father wore, but his face was fuzzy in his mind.

Now, almost halfway to his tenth birthday, he wondered if his father's arms would still be the safest place in the world. There, was that him. The tall thin man close to the end of the first row? His uniform looked right, but the left sleeve was tucked into his pocket. As a tiny cloud passed over the sun, he caught the man's eyes. His own stared back at him and he knew.

"Papa, Papa!"

His high boy's voice cut through the din of hundreds of voices. Harry squeezed his mother and pointed.

"There he is!"

Harry raised his arm, pointing so his mother and sister would see.

He felt a quick shudder run through her. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear.

"No matter what, he's still Papa."

"Mama, his arm. What's wrong?"

Erin's horrified question brought pitying glances from other women standing with their children.

"Make way, make way!" The command of a sailor pushing through the crowd caught Harry's attention.

"You'll have to get down son. They want to extend the gangway. Your father will be the first one down. He's a very special man."

The man wore a blue-white uniform, and his steel grey hair glimmered with silver highlights.

"How do you know who my father is?" Harry asked as the man lifted him down.

"We took the time to find out everything about Ronan O'Connor. But we'll honor him now, and he will tell you the stories when he can."

The man saluted his mother, and the gave her a half bow.

"Ma'am, if you would stand with me, we'll begin deboarding. I'm Admiral William Boyle, at your service."

Harry's skin crawled with prickles up and down his arms. Papa was a hero. He could hear it in the tone of the man's words. The price was steep. He made himself a promise. No matter what, he wouldn't use his magic for anything but good. His papa would be proud of him. Harry would make sure of it.

He watched the tears slide down his mother's cheeks as the lines of men aboard cheered. His father came down the bouncing plank like there was nothing wrong in his world.

"Sorcha, mo gra."

Harry tugged Erin out from between his mother and father as they kissed.

"Let them be, he'll see us soon enough."

"Don't be a dolt, Harry. I know. Mama will be whole again now. Grammie told me about how they fell in love. You said yuck and went outside to gather eggs,"

Ronan O'Conner tore himself away from his wife and turned to salute the officer in white.

Admiral Boyle turned him toward his children and Papa crouched down, opening his arms. Erin threw herself into his arm, but Harry lifted his right arm and saluted. Everything about his father demanded his respect.

The Admiral nodded, and said, "You have the right of it. Everyone here should salute your father. His heroics and the information he discovered, have saved many lives."

Ronan turned his daughter toward Sorcha and returned Harry's salute.

"Come here son."

Harry stepped forward, hesitant. Papa crouched again, pulling him into his good arm, and then he felt the full warmth of his hug as the stump pulled free of his pocket. Loneliness faded, and Harry knew things would be right in his world. Papa's embrace was still the safest place in the world.