Grace's Pictures by Cindy Thomson Page A

edge of the crowd, fanning her pale face. She had been caught off guard just like Owen. As people congratulated him and asked to look at the silver-plated plaque he had been handed, he saw his mother and the hostess engaged in animated conversation near the swinging door the domestics used to bring in trays of champagne flutes. His mother waved herarms as she spoke. She never would have allowed the O’Tooles to give that speech if she’d known they were going to refer to her son as a servant. If Miss Amelia had previous knowledge of it, she must not have mentioned it to Mother.
    Mr. O’Toole pulled him aside. “Did we surprise you, son?”
    “Uh, yes, you did. This was very kind but not necessary.”
    “Of course it was necessary. I admire what you are doing out there.” He glanced down at the plaque. “Besides, you’ll pass the honor on to someone else next year and hopefully this will help encourage the honest cops out there.”
    Owen smiled. “I’m sure it will. It’s a fine honor.” He shifted his feet. “Sir, please know that I cannot replace your son. He was a great man.”
    “He was indeed. But you are your own man, Owen McNulty, and a good one too. Still got the watch?”
    Owen pulled it out to show him.
    “Good, good.”
    Owen pushed it toward him. “I think this should stay with the family.”
    “Absolutely not.” Mr. O’Toole placed his hand on Owen’s arm the way a father should, the way his father never did. “Not many men would walk into the path of an out-of-control trolley to save a wee child, even if such an opportunity arises again. You might, but whether or not you do is irrelevant. It’s the spirit you have, lad. You may have been born into the upper crust, but make no mistake, you were meant to be a policeman in the immigrant wards. And thank the good Lord you’ve found what you were born for. Know what I mean?”
    “I think I do.”
    He winked. “Now I’m off to lose this monkey jacket and get a pint at the pub.”
    Owen was leaving too. With his award and his watch and the confirmation he’d needed. He might be caught between two worlds as far as courtship was concerned. But he was in the right place, doing the job he’d been called to do.
    When he stepped outside, a familiar face met him. Owen, being a tall man himself, stood nose to nose with New York City’s police chief, Big Bill Devery.
    “Nice award, son.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Owen accepted the man’s handshake. When it was evident the man had nothing else to say, Owen scrambled down the front steps.
    Big Bill lumbered after him. “By the way, Officer McNulty, glad you weren’t badly hurt.”
    “Sir?”
    The man rubbed his large belly that stretched his tuxedo to the limit. “I hear you got roughed up a bit out there on your beat. A pipe to the knees?”
    Owen stiffened. “I’m surprised you hear about such common occurrences down in Lower Manhattan.”
    “Oh, you’d be surprised what I hear.” He leaned in close. “Every man on the force knows who’s in the game and who’s not. Roosevelt may have hired you, but you work for me now. Understand?”
    Owen forced a smile. “Of course. You are the chief. Good night, sir.”
    As Owen sat on the train, he debated what he should tell Nicholson. The captain was trying to keep his own head on his shoulders, after all. Owen knew deep down inside that God wanted him to be a New York City policeman. Mr. O’Toole’s encouragement was confirmation of what he already felt. And yet there was the matter of Owen’s father. Owen had better findout what ailed the man. As his father’s only son, he couldn’t let the business fail. Stuck between two worlds indeed.

    If Owen had thought receiving an award would make his beat more pleasant, he was wrong. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but word got out, Owen learned as he worked a rare morning shift. The precinct guys began calling him Most Excellent Officer. A few of the shopkeepers on the beat gave him the