Mary washed her hair and stayed in the tub until the water was tepid. She hated to get out but knew she would soon fall asleep if she didn’t. After drying off with a big green towel, Mary braided her hair, too tired to dry it. She put on her nightgown, unlocked the door in the room with the tub, and sank beneath the eyelet lace cover in what must be a featherbed. It was a dream—there was no other explanation. That was her last thought before opening her eyes to sunlight streaming through the curtains the next morning.
Peter surveyed the blackened capital as they sailed into St. John’s harbour. The whole landscape had certainly changed. From the water, the extent of the devastation was obvious, and as they neared the docks, he noticed most of the wharves were gone. He couldn’t believe it—even the wharves had burned. It was strange to see a number of ships moored at anchor, having no berth in this busy port.
With little wharf space, each vessel had to wait its turn. His patience had abandoned him. He was concerned for his son. He was tired and shaking because he had not been able to sleep since leaving John’s Pond the morning before. He stood near the gangway, ready to bolt from the deck once she docked at the makeshift wharf.
The Roman Catholic Cathedral on the horizon seemed like a singular beacon in the ashen mess. It looked unscarred in the massive ruins that littered the hillside. No roads or houses were visible as he tried to determine where his house would have been. The Anglican Cathedral was a stone’s throw from where he lived, and even that was roofless and ruined after succumbing to the fire.
How could anyone have survived? How could Eddy? Peter’s heart raced as he jumped to the wharf, not waiting for the steamer to finish tying up. He didn’t care about his bags—he was intent on finding Eddy. But how could he do that when he didn’t know where to start?
Some cleanup efforts had begun in the few days since the fire, even though smouldering mounds still seemed to be causing trouble. The general area where his house had been was annihilated and unreachable. He stood on Water Street looking up the hill and stared.
A constable on foot patrol stopped near Peter. He recognized the doctor.
“Dr. Nolan? I thought you’d be at the General.”
Peter shook his head to bring himself back to the present. He continued to stare at the rubble. “I was away—just got back. How many died? I’m looking for my son.”
“We don’t know for sure. So far we’ve accounted for three dead, and many more are missing simply because there’s nowhere to go to get a count,” the constable said. “There are people in Bannerman Park, people at the cathedral, and people at Quidi Vidi near the hospital. You might want to check there first. They could sure use your help.”
Peter thanked the constable, turned, and trotted toward the hospital. He clung to the hope that he’d see his son again, but with each step through the burned-out city, that hope was fading. Something had been telling him to let Eddy accompany him on the trip to John’s Pond, but he hadn’t listened to his gut. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for letting his foolish thoughts of marrying Mary come before his son. For finding that Eddy was gone and he hadn’t been there to save him. Never!
As he approached the hospital, he noticed makeshift tents on the grounds. He was out of breath when he finally reached the main entrance. The crowd surprised him. People were in the halls in cots or simply lying on the floors, which made him wonder what the wards must look like.
Peter Nolan had put his needs before those of his son and was sure he had paid for it dearly. If he’d buried Mary’s ghost when he’d buried his wife, maybe his son would still be alive.
Luxuriating in her surroundings, Mary marvelled at the chain-patterned silver wallpaper separating the lower dark-panelled walls and high ceiling, the exquisite polished furniture gleaming as daylight poured through the curtains, and the multicoloured hooked rugs placed strategically on the glistening hardwood. The dark oak was smooth and slightly cool beneath her bare feet—unlike the rough, wooden, hand-chopped planks upstairs at home in John’s Pond.
John’s Pond! She couldn’t believe she’d left there so easily. Meg might have been right when she’d said Mary had lost her senses.
A moment of sheer panic shook her to the core and almost overwhelmed her. What had she done? She didn’t really know Danol, although she readily trusted him. Would that trust be misplaced? She thought not. But Mary was going to a different country with a man she had recently met, to pursue a career that few women had ever done, in hopes of returning home to marry a man who left her nine years ago for another woman. Was she really that good a judge of character?
A slight tap on the bedroom door brought her back to herself. She had to make up her mind: either follow her heart, or go back to John’s Pond and live out her life alone in her parents’ house. One choice was safe, and, although lonely, it was what she knew and could live with. At least she thought she could. The other was a risk that held promise and possibility but no guarantees. She silently admonished herself. She had influence over her future and would brave the unknown—she wasn’t going back now.
Mary turned the key in the lock and opened the door to welcome Susan, who informed her breakfast was being served downstairs. Quickly donning her pale-blue plaid dress, she unplaited her braids and finger-combed her hair. Self-conscious of her appearance, she made her way down for the meal.
Surprisingly, Danol and the magistrate were already at the courthouse. She ate ham, eggs, toast, and tea while Susan went about the chores in the kitchen and parlour.
Mrs. O’Rielly kept her company, telling her the latest news of St. John’s. A fire relief committee had been established to distribute food and clothes and to begin to find employment for the many who had lost their livelihoods to the inferno. Foreign aid was already arriving from Halifax and Boston.
She also chatted about Placentia. Mary was surprised at the numbers of people who came through on vessels bound for the Grand Banks or for the States. The boats brought trade, but they also brought trouble.
“I’m worried about you, Miss Rourke,” Mrs. O’Rielly said.
“Mary, please,” she said. “Why?”
“I already had a discussion with Mr. Cooper this morning regarding your voyage. I really don’t think you should go dressed like that.”
Mary looked down at her worn dress and guessed that maybe it wasn’t good enough for travel. “It’s all I have,” she said, embarrassed that it was pointed out. “This, and a couple more. I’m sure when I get to Boston my sisters will help outfit me.”
“Mary, you don’t understand. I don’t mean your apparel, I mean you shouldn’t wear a dress on the boat. There are a lot of men on those ships, some of questionable character, and to have a girl parading around wouldn’t be good.”
“Really? I’m sure other women have travelled on the boats.”
“Yes, they have. Some are women who are not the most upright of society. But rarely do women travel unaccompanied by husbands or fathers, and especially on the freight ships.”
“But why’s that a problem?” Mary asked.
“Mary, my dear, you’re as innocent as Danol mentioned,” she said in a concerned tone. “Not all men are good and kind like the young man you’re travelling with. Some of them are more like that oaf he brought to the jail. You need to be careful and keep to your room for the four or five days on the water. I’m sure the captain will be as protective as he can. However, neither he nor Mr. Cooper can be with you all the time.”
Mrs. O’Rielly went on to explain how the freight boats were nothing like the passenger liners that would typically port in St. John’s. The freighters were not set up for the leisure travel associated with the liners but with bare necessities for working men. Additionally, some of the crewmen were people who were picked up in ports. They could be trying to escape the law for some reason or another. Some were harmless but were known to carouse with women of loose morals at t
he bars. Who knew what would happen if a bunch of men were drinking on the ship? “Let’s just say it’s not the best place for a young lady.”
“All right,” Mary said. “I’m sure you know what’s best.”
“I think you should consider wearing pants on your boat ride and keep your hair covered with a hat,” she continued. “That way, you won’t stick out so much.”
“Pants! Me?”
“I know, dear, I’ll have Susan dig out a few pairs of William Jr.’s trousers. He has long grown out of them. There’s not much need of them since the children have gone,” Mrs. O’Rielly said. “I’ve been meaning to give them to the church but haven’t gotten around to it. We’ll fit you out this afternoon, and by the time William and Danol get back from court, they won’t recognize you.”
Mary couldn’t fathom how she could go along with this concept. It was so foreign to her. But after a bit of urging and convincing from Mrs. O’Rielly, she agreed to at least try, on the condition that she could help Susan find the clothing.
With breakfast cleared away, she accompanied Susan to the attic and searched through several trunks before finding what they were looking for. A short time later, Mary was standing in a pair of wool pants while Susan and Mrs. O’Rielly loosely pinned the garment so it wouldn’t fall off and wouldn’t show curves. Mary insisted that she be the one doing the sewing. The young girl brought a needle and thread, and Mary sat by the window and began to work. With speed and efficiency, she began the needlework on a second pair of brown-coloured workpants.
She tried on a pair, the pant legs scratchy on her own. Mary felt odd not being in a dress. To top it off, she threw on one of several loose-fitting plaid flannel shirts. To keep her pants in place, they found a small leather belt, boring some extra holes to make it fit. Mrs. O’Rielly fetched a plain woollen cap for her head. Braiding her hair, she pinned it up, sticking the stray pieces beneath the brim. Mrs. O’Rielly and Susan both applauded the final ensemble.
“You look great—like a young boy,” Mrs. O’Rielly said.
“Are you sure I should be wearing this?” she asked.
She jumped when Danol spoke behind her.
“Yes, young lad. We’re sure you should be wearing this. Thank you, Mrs. O’Rielly. This is perfect,” Danol said, tousling her cap as he passed.
Mary looked at him. “So, you think it’s a good idea? Am I too much trouble?” she asked as an afterthought.
“Of course you’re not too much trouble,” he said. “And yes, it’s a good idea. We’re leaving tomorrow with a crew of twenty, and I don’t know any of them. The judge can vouch for the captain, but even the captain can’t keep an eye on his crew at all times.”
“So, we’re going tomorrow? What of Pearce?” she asked.
“As suspected, he has been ordered deported and will go to Boston with us on the Newfoundland and from there will be transported to New York for trial. The magistrate has booked passage for all three of us on the ship,” Danol said. “Two extra crew will be hired to guard the prisoner. Pearce will be locked in a cabin until we reach port in Boston.
“You and I’ll each have a secured compartment, since I’ll be travelling with a large amount of money and you’re obviously a female—although not so obvious anymore. Once we get to Boston and you see your sisters, I’ll take Pearce to New York, return the money, and I’ll be back in Boston in time to figure out college.”
Magistrate O’Rielly piped in. “You must use extreme caution. Word has gotten out since court that Danol is carrying a lot of money. Because you’re leaving on the morning tide, we may avoid trouble. But there is no accounting for what could happen on the boat. Be careful and keep your eyes open.”
Danol nodded, fully understanding the threat and intending to have his pistol on him at all times. He would keep watch over Mary and was willing to give his life to protect her. Disguising her was a smart move. The magistrate also gave him an undersized revolver for Mary. It had been confiscated from a rum-runner out of Saint Pierre and was small enough for her to conceal in her clothing.
After supper they retired early, preparing for a pre-dawn rise. Mary and Danol thanked the couple for being so good to them. Susan packed several dried meats and fruits for the trip.
Mrs. O’Rielly gave Mary several books, and Mary was content to read for the four days on the water. She would make herself as invisible as possible. Though this whole experience was new to her, she would do as Danol asked.
Still, tentacles of doubt continued to seep into her consciousness. She should be tending gardens and getting ready for work in the cannery, not having foolish notions that put her in a strange, unknown world. She shook her head to calm misgivings, but unfortunately they lingered. She still had to look after herself like she did at home. The difference being her surroundings—one familiar, one surreal and foreign—the only piece that tied it together was Danol and the faith she placed in his protection.
Sleep was elusive and fleeting.
14
The next morning, she dressed in the pants and shirt before Susan came to call her. Mrs. O’Rielly had a dark grey coat ready. It was lined with what looked like sheep’s wool. Danol mentioned it would be cold on the water, so she would do well to take it, and it would further disguise her appearance.
As they carefully walked to the wharf in the semi-darkness, Mary saw the outline of a massive boat in the distance. It had a mast in the front and a mast in the back and a house as big as hers in John’s Pond in the centre of the deck with a tall metal stack coming out the middle.
Both nervous and petrified, she resisted the urge to grab onto Danol’s hand. She took a deep breath, partially quelling those feelings, and found instead the courage and strength she needed to stay the course toward the dock.
They spotted two policemen ahead of them on the wharf with Pearce, so Danol and Mary held back until he was transported by dory to the ship and secured below. They could hear his oaths and threats in the stillness of the morning air as several crewmen took charge of him and pushed him below deck.
The dory returned for them. Danol shook hands with the captain, who then extended his hand to hers. Mary clasped it hard and firm to give herself a false sense of bravado. He was surprisingly well dressed and cleanly shaven. The captain hesitated before letting go of her hand and said, “I’m Captain John Ferguson. I understand you’ll be travelling with the prisoner and will be in charge of his care once we make port in Boston.”
“I’m Danol Cooper, and this is Martin Rourke. And yes, we’ll be accompanying the prisoner. I understand you have two cabins for us and that the magistrate has been in contact with you regarding payment.”
Mary kept her head down and didn’t make eye contact.
He regarded her for a moment and then nodded. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Cooper and Mr. Rourke.” He was well aware that Mary was not Martin but seemed willing to go along with their choice. In some ways it made it much easier for him to keep his crew in line on the voyage.
“I’ll personally escort you to your accommodations. I’ve informed my crew that you’re guests of mine and to interfere with either of you will be akin to interfering with me. I do not foresee any trouble on this trip.”
He led them through the boathouse and below deck. Their rooms were side by side beneath the stairwell, each with its own keys, which were already in the locks.
“I have the only other key to your rooms and will safeguard them on my person at all times. Nonetheless, you’d be wise to stay below deck, Miss Rourke,” he said quietly. “I’m willing to go along with your scheme to ensure we have the least amount of complications possible. If you need anything, have Mr. Cooper bring it to my attention.”
“I will,” Mary said and thanked him for his understanding. She removed the key from the keyhole. With her small canvas bag and the package provided by the O’Riellys, she entered the cabin and locked the thick wooden
door behind her.
Her quarters were small but functional. A porthole opened to allow fresh air and was situated above a sizable cot bolted to the wall. A small metal wash pan was secured behind a stool that was fastened to the floor opposite the bed. The lamp attached near the bunk was full of oil with a fold of matches tucked in between the base and the luminary. On the bed lay a heavy clay wash jar. Under the bunk she spied a covered white porcelain chamber pot and a small wooden chest with towels and cloths. These items had probably been placed there by the captain especially for her—Mary blushed at the thought.
How things had changed for her in the last couple of weeks—her life going from routine, repetitive tasks to something almost indescribable every single day. She was as much scared as nervous of her new surroundings and planned to stay put as her previous hostess had suggested. In a few days she would be with her sisters. She just had to stick it out and be brave for that long. Danol would keep her as safe as possible, but she also had to do her part so as not to put him in a tough situation.
Before having a chance to put away her few items and pick out a book, she heard a light knock.
“Martin, can I speak to you, please?” It was Danol.
She turned the key and opened the door to allow him in. He took a quick look around and told her to try and rest. He would bring her a bite to eat when the cook had prepared breakfast and they had left port. He figured it wouldn’t be long. Mary locked the door behind him.
Soon she could feel the vessel move beneath her. The slight rocking motion tugging at her body indicated they were on their way. The rising sun streamed through the portal when the boat cleared the view of the mountain on the right and turned into the bay. God help her, she was on her way to Boston.
Being Mary Ro Page 16