“I mean to regularly check with the people of this street to know if you’ve had trouble in this matter.” Captain Shaw turned to Ganor. “Who was it lost their building in this business?”
Ganor motioned with his head to Mr. Overton. “A barbershop was totally lost. The entire building fell in. Only by luck and the tenacity of a hastily formed bucket brigade did the adjacent buildings escape being engulfed as well.”
To Mr. Overton, Captain Shaw said, “I’d appreciate being shown the site. It’d be good for me to be familiar with what’s happened.”
The barber nodded and rose, accompanying the man charged with overseeing all the firefighting efforts in the entire metropolis. A man who was now on their side and willing to prevent another tragedy.
Vera felt more hopeful than she had since the day of the fire. She saw that same hope reflected in the faces of her neighbors.
“The fire brigade’ll be looking out for us,” Mr. Bianchi said. “That takes some of the wind out of the threat, don’t it?”
“A bit, leastwise,” Vera answered.
Ganor received words of thanks and firm handshakes. He received them all with the broad smile she’d seen so often since he’d first begun working at the shop, the one she’d grown so very fond of.
The neighbors hung about for a spell, slowly wandering out now that their planning meeting had come to its natural close. After a time, only Vera and Brogan remained.
“How is it you convinced Captain Shaw to take an interest in our tiny, poor corner of London?”
“The man owed me a favor,” he spoke rather mysteriously. “Seemed the right time to call it in.”
“The head of the London Fire Engine Establishment owes you a personal favor?”
“Let us just say m’ years in Dublin were . . . colorful.”
“I’d love to hear about it some time.”
The smile twinkled in his eyes, setting her heart to a pleasant sort of flutter. “Come to the flat for supper again tonight,” he said. “I’ll tell you a few tales, lass.”
Despite the heaviness of her mind, Vera brightened at the prospect. In the midst of uncertainty and deception, worries over lies and threats, she had found a refuge, someone she could rely on.
Vera?” Ganor’s voice seemed to come from quite a distance. “Vera?”
She shook herself into the present moment, realizing her thoughts had wandered far afield. Again. They’d left the shop after the neighborhood meeting and retreated to his flat for supper. His sister had indicated she had a few things to do in the kitchen and had shooed them out. To her embarrassment, Vera had heard very little of what Ganor had been saying since they’d settled into the sitting room.
“You’re full distracted, you are.” He turned to face her more fully, the two of them sitting on the settee. “I’ve a fair idea what’s weighing on your mind, but I’ve also a very good ear for listening.”
“You invited me here for an easy chat and some tale-telling. I cain’t imagine you’re yearning for troubles to be poured into your lap.”
“Two make the load lighter,” he said. “My parents always used to say that. ’Twas their way of reminding us that bearing a burden alone makes it heavier than it needs to be.”
It was a fine sentiment, but putting it into practice wasn’t so easy as one might hope. “You’d be every bit as reluctant to share troubles with me,” she said.
Far from pushed off his purpose, Ganor looked even more determined. “I’ll strike a deal with you, Miss Vera Sorokina. I’ll tell you something I’m struggling with, something I’ve not shared with many people. And, in return, you let me bear a little of your burden.”
Was he in earnest? Even her papa was often reluctant to share cares and concerns. She had thought only that evening what a refuge Ganor was. What a comfort. If anyone could be trusted to truly care, he could. She’d allow herself to trust this little bit more. She could do that much.
“What’s your trouble?” she asked.
Ganor looked utterly relieved. He not only seemed to be willing to open up to her and be willing to listen in return, he seemed eager to do so. “My sister and I left Dublin under less-than-upstanding circumstances. I’ll not go into detail, doing so’s not necessary for this particular problem. But I will say this: ’tisn’t safe for us to go back. And yet, Móirín misses Dublin. We talk about home sometimes, places we went and people we knew. Her eyes grow sad. Breaks m’heart.”
“Could you go back?” Vera said. “You told me once that your troubles in Dublin involved the police.”
“So I did.” He laughed lightly. “I seem to tell you more than I realize. Certainly more than I tell anyone else.”
She turned a bit on the settee, facing him more directly.
He leaned an arm on the back of the settee, resting his head against his upturned fist. “If Móirín thought for one moment she could go back to Dublin and be at all safe, she would. But if she went back, I would too. And we’d be in deep water soon enough.”
“So, you’re protecting the both of you by staying here where you’re safe even though she—and you, I suspect—very much wish you were in Ireland.”
He nodded.
“Why is it you’d go back with her if you know it’d be dangerous?”
“Because”—he took her hand and held her gaze—“‘two make the burden lighter.’ I’ll not leave her to bear her portion of it alone.”
“Instead, the two of you are here, making your current burden lighter.”
His smile was a visible sigh of relief. “What you’re tellin’ me is, rather than worry I’m failing her by not bearing together the burden of returning to Dublin, I ought to lighten the burden of having to stay away.”
“My papa has longed to return to St. Petersburg for sixteen years, and that yearning has eaten away at him. My mum constantly lamented being away from her homeland. There was no sharing the load. In the end, that burden tore them apart.”
He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “So, perhaps I’m not ruining m’sister’s life by failing to find a way of helping her go back?”
“If it ain’t possible, then finding joy in what is possible is a mercy.”
Ganor nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “I suspect you’re right.”
“I cain’t help it. I’m more or less a genius.”
She particularly liked how easily he laughed, that he recognized and seemed to thoroughly enjoy when she was being humorous. She liked to laugh but had done so far less often over the past years than she’d have preferred.