The older man threw the mooring line to his friend,
who tied it to the dock with a trembling but joyous hand. Anne Scott
stepped off the boat, and mother and son embraced.
* * *
Mr. and Mrs. Michael Scott stood aboard the deck of the merchant brig
`Dauntless', watching with deep emotion the nearing coastline. It was
now nearly June, and they had been at sea for two months. A single
word resounded in both their hearts, as the burly captain approached
them, and clapped his fellow Highlander on the back.
"America," he said to them, "and God bless her. America."
When he had gone, Michael put one arm about his young wife's
shoulders, and drew her near. With the other hand he touched the
growing swell of her womb, as if to caress the unborn life inside it.
He looked at her with glowing eyes and said simply, truthfully.
"Now the work really begins."
For he knew that his mother had been right. The story never ends, it
only changes characters. They stood at the end of one road, and the
beginning of another, holding firmly to the roots of their past,
sending hopeful and determined branches into the future.
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