“Nothing would get done without your practical thinking and logical planning,” Maeve reminded her. “Sometimes I wish I was more like you.”
“You’re perfect just the way you are.” She released Maeve. “Now go about your duties at the dispensary.”
Maeve turned and headed for the door. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was looking forward to something.
Chapter Four
A knock sounded on the door. Flynn looked up as Maeve Murphy opened it and peered in. She had bound her wild red hair and donned a plain coarse apron in preparation for her duties. He liked that she was efficient and punctual, adding those qualities to her quick thinking and kind manner with the boy. So far he liked everything about her.
“Come in, Miss Murphy. I’ve only just opened the first of the supply boxes.” He gestured to the wooden crates lining the wall in the rectangular room.
She walked toward him, her bright blue gaze taking in her surroundings. In the morning’s confusion he hadn’t looked her over, and he did so now. She was a tiny thing, her flaming red hair creating ringlets that framed her cheeks, while the rest had been contained in a braid. Her skin appeared as fragile as porcelain, with healthy pink cheeks and a mouth like a China doll.
If a person judged on appearance, he’d think she was nothing more than a sweetly pretty girl, and overlook her wit and courage. Not many people had the knowledge or the compassion to jump to the McCorkle boy’s aid the way she had.
She glanced with keen interest at the sturdy cabinets with chicken wire instead of glass in the doors, where only a few bottles and tins stood. “If you’ll be so good as to acquaint me with your system, I’ll store the supplies.”
“We’ll both work on it.” He led her to the other room, where Sean lay sleeping on a low cot, a blanket pulled to his chin.
“How is the laddie doing?” she asked softly.
“Very well, indeed,” he replied. She smelled good, too, like clean linen and spring heather, and his reaction startled him. He hadn’t noticed a woman in that way for a long time. He took an unconscious step away.
Her inquisitive gaze took in her surroundings, fastening on the storage cabinets and workspaces. There were no rimless surfaces in his dispensary. Everything had been designed to accommodate the normal rock and sway of the ship or even a storm. He explained his mortar and pestle for grinding roots and seeds, the scale and weights for measuring ingredients, the piece of marble on which he prepared salves, sets of measures, dosage spoons and a plaster iron. The young woman listened with interest and apparent understanding. She asked surprisingly insightful questions. He was glad now that he’d learned of Hegarty’s true nature before the ship sailed. Maeve Murphy looked to be the better choice.
He described the contents of each crate as he carried and opened it. Between each ocean voyage, he spent weeks preparing bottles of saline draughts and barley water, jars of calves’ foot jelly and plasters. He saw to it that those who fell sick on a ship he worked received the best care possible. His meager pay didn’t begin to cover the cost of medicines, but he drew from his inheritances and vast investments.
He’d left his father’s practice over the objection of his family to make a difference and to forget. He truly believed it was his calling to help people so desperate to start new lives that they risked a journey like this. Everyone he encountered had a dream of a new beginning he didn’t share. He didn’t think about his future, only about the work he had to do today.
“I wish I’d had half as many cures when my friends and neighbors were ailing,” she said wistfully. “I may have been able to save more of them.” Tears shone in her wide blue eyes as she gazed at a bottle of vitriolic acid.
Uncomfortable with the intimate glimpse at her suffering, he placed the bottles he held inside the chest and withdrew from his pocket the key he carried at all times. “We’ll lock the mercury, laudanum and calomel in this chest under the case here.” He stood slowly.
“Truth be told I wouldn’t have known what to do with half of them.” She raised her gaze to his in an earnest plea. “I’d like to learn.”
He couldn’t ignore her sincerity. “It won’t be a bother to share their uses and common dosages,” he said. “You have a natural instinct, Miss Murphy. I might even learn a few things from you.”
He handed her his checklist and a pencil. As they worked he explained the contents of each bottle and their uses. She knew most of the more common medicines and was fascinated by others. He also took the opportunity to educate her a bit about ship life.
“They’re electing the council today,” he mentioned.
“What does that mean?”
“Each voyage the male passengers meet and select a group from among them to form a council. When problems arise—and they will—these men govern by representing the passengers.”
She couldn’t imagine what would come up that would require their government, but she trusted the process.
“Are you ever on the council?”
“No, I’m technically not a passenger. I’m part of the crew.”
When Sean woke up, Flynn’s new assistant efficiently saw to his needs, inquiring about food supplies and then making the boy a gruel of millet and rye flour. Though Flynn grimaced at the concoction, the boy lapped it up and lay back with a contented smile.
“You’re a blessing, you are, Miss Murphy,” Sean said to her, his dark eyes adoring. “I be grateful for your care.”
“You might well change your mind when I wash that head of hair of yours. It’s going to need a good scrubbin’. I’m going to fill a pail now, and you can lie right there with your head over the edge of the table.”
“I’ll catch me death of cold, I will,” the lad howled.
Flynn turned aside to hide a grin. “I have free access to the barrels of rainwater, Miss Murphy. Just ask a sailor for help toting buckets.”
Sean’s smeared face showed his concern. “I’d just worked up a good skin coverin’ afore the doctor began to scrub it away.”
“It’s June, not December,” she argued. “You’ll not catch cold. And it’s a good thing the doctor got a start on scrubbin’ off the filth, otherwise we may have mistaken you for a bit of firewood lying on the wharf. You’ll be washin’ your face and hands every mornin’ while you’re here.”
As she argued with the boy, her brogue got amusingly thicker. Flynn chuckled.
The room grew silent, and he turned to see the both of them staring at him. Perhaps his laugh had sounded as rusty to them as it had to him. “I don’t think you’re going to win this one, laddie. We’ll find you some clean clothing, as well.”
“Aye, sir,” Sean said, putting aside his bowl. “Thank you, Miss Murphy. ’Twas a delicious gruel.”
“I don’t know that it was delicious,” she said with a raised brow. “But it will build up your strength. Tomorrow I’ll make you a flavorful potato soup that will stick to your ribs.”
The boy beamed at her promise. “I’ll not fight you on a quick washin’ today. The doc’s already done me feet.”
She’d known just what to do with the meal to make it palatable, and Sean had eaten it as though it was fare fit for a king.
Flynn didn’t know Maeve’s background, but her clothing, while clean and pressed, indicated a lack of means. Her older sister had whispered how desperate they were to earn a wage. And Sean, an orphan, surviving in the village streets… Flynn had no concept of such poverty.
His privileged life had been glaringly different from the ones these two had lived. His family owned property in three countries, had a home in each and employed servants to do the work and the cooking. There was no such thing as a simple meal where he came from. Four courses served with silver utensils and gold-monogrammed china was the norm.
Even he himself owned land and a house in England and had purchased a home in Boston. His lifestyle was extravagant compared to those of his poor countrymen. But money didn’t mean happiness or contentment, h
e knew for a fact. It was heartwarming that Maeve seemed satisfied with next to nothing. It said a lot about her temperament…and her faith.
Flynn got called away several times that afternoon to tend passengers unaccustomed to the sea. Many lay on their bunks with heads swimming and stomachs roiling. There was nothing to be done for them, save bathe their heads in cool water. Since they weren’t ill or contagious, he assured each one they would feel better in a day or two and advised them to stay on deck, rather than below.
As the day waned, the doctor sent Maeve on her way. She felt good about her day’s work and confident she’d earned her wage. She passed a man with an easel set up at a good vantage point and paused to watch him sketch the horizon, with its craggy cliffs and white-crested waves. Minutes later, she joined her sisters on the foredeck. A piece of paper fluttered from beneath the edge of one of the bricks that made up their cooking pit. Nora reached for it and unfolded the note.
Immediately, she handed it to Maeve. “It’s for you.”
My dearest Miss Murphy, she read silently. My aunt and I have been invited to dine in the captain’s cabin this evening. Please accept our regrets, and we will look forward to meeting with you as soon as possible. Sincerely, Aideen Nolan.
Bridget, who’d been reading over her shoulder, found a small keg and perched on it. “The Atwaters were invited, as well. After this evening, I’ll be eating with them and their daughters most of the time. This dilemma never entered my mind. I don’t know the first thing about proper etiquette. I can’t let on and make mistakes or they’ll think I’m not an appropriate governess.”
“Nonsense.” Nora paused in piling wood in their brick hearth. “You’re a fine young woman, with the common sense God gave you and the convictions of your beliefs. You will make a wonderful role model for the children.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy this evening,” Maeve added. “They might be a help in teaching you proper etiquette, so you may in turn teach the children. Aideen is the friendliest person I’ve met so far, she is. Not haughty like some of the others.”
“The kitchen help are all quite nice,” Nora added. Together, she and Maeve started a fire and put on a pot of water for rice and tea. Nora cut their small ration of bacon into six slices. From the other nearby cooking pits came the mouthwatering smells of frying bacon. Maeve’s stomach growled.
She marveled as the heavens changed color. The smells were unfamiliar here. Of course the salty tang of the ocean was predominant, but there were no green scents. Grass, flowering bushes, heather had all been left behind, and she found she missed them. The smell of tar reached them from time to time, and always the smell of cooking food permeated the air.
As the sun set lower in the sky, the wind grew more chill. They bundled themselves in their shawls and unobtrusively glanced at the neighboring passengers.
“Tell us more about the Atwaters,” Nora said.
“There are three young daughters,” Bridget began. “Laurel is eleven. Hilary and Pamela are younger. When I arrived, Laurel actually looked at my dress and asked if I’d come to clean their stateroom.” She smoothed her hand over her skirt, as though the memory still stung.
After her encounter with Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Maeve could certainly understand.
Bridget glanced up. “Not that I wouldn’t have, mind you, had that been the duty assigned me.”
“They have a stateroom?” Nora asked. She had mixed ingredients and set the dough on a smooth clean brick beside the fire to rise. Once it was baked they would have bread for tomorrow morning.
“Aye. It’s well-appointed, with room for the girls to do lessons. Hilary has brought a canary aboard, and little Pamela has an array of China dolls like I’ve seen only in catalogues.”
“A canary?” Nora set out a small jar. “Our rations contain enough molasses to sweeten our tea. I should think it was unnecessary to bring a bird aboard a ship.”
Bridget shrugged. “Perhaps she simply enjoys the songs, and her parents indulge her. I glimpsed a life unfamiliar to anything we know. The girls bicker among themselves and argue over who gets the largest or best portions or whose shoes are prettier.”
“Mother would never have allowed us to behave in such a way,” Nora said.
“She was strict, but she disciplined us with love,” Bridget agreed.
They bowed their heads and held hands in a familiar circle.
“Father God, we come before You, grateful for this opportunity You’ve given us,” Maeve began. “We are thankful that we could buy tickets and amazed at Your provision in giving us jobs so quickly.”
“Thank You that we are not going hungry,” Nora added. “This is more than adequate food for Your humble servants.”
“And thank You,” Bridget added softly, “That none of us has the seasickness.”
“We ask that You heal Sean McCorkle’s leg now,” Maeve added. “And watch over his brothers, wherever they are. In Jesus’ name we pray…”
“Amen,” the sisters chorused and gave each other tired, but joyful smiles.
The wind had come up, so Nora tied a scarf over her hair before dishing the rice onto three tin plates. Bridget divided the bacon equally. This allotment of food was more than they were accustomed to, and Maeve truly did feel blessed. She vividly remembered many times when Nora had told them she’d already eaten and split pitiable amounts of potatoes between the two younger girls.
“There’s a can of peaches,” Maeve told Bridget, and her sister’s eyes lit up.
The boat rocked upon the waves. The wind tossed Bridget’s hair. Maeve looked upon each of her sisters with a fond smile, and hope buoyed her spirits. Thank You, Lord.
* * *
Flynn had been standing in the same spot for nearly half an hour. He’d glimpsed a shaggy-haired boy earlier, but the lad had slipped away before he could speak to him. So he waited.
Finally, a boy sitting on a coil of rope caught his attention. Flynn hurried over. “You Sean McCorkle’s brother?”
Smaller and even skinnier than Sean, the boy’s frightened brown gaze darted about as though seeking an escape. “Who are you?”
“I’m Dr. Gallagher. I have Sean in my dispensary. If you want to see him, come with me.”
The boy shot Flynn a cautious look. “What’re ye gonna do to us?”
“Put you to work to earn your passage. How does that suit you?”
“You’re not gonna make us walk the plank?”
Flynn chuckled. “I promised Sean I wouldn’t feed you to the sharks, and I’m a man of my word. Now get your brother and bring him back here.”
The boy scrambled to his feet and ran off, arms pinwheeling as he nearly toppled forward in his haste. A few minutes later, he returned with a young man of about eighteen in tow. “This here’s Gavin.”
“What’ve you done with Sean?” The tall lanky boy squinted with skepticism.
“Cleaned and sewed up his leg. The Murphy girl saved his life, you know. Has big plans for washing Sean’s hair. Can’t wait until she sees the two of you. Fresh water is rationed, but I get a larger portion for medical purposes. Come on.”
“Where you be takin’ us?”
“To the dispensary so you can see your brother. Have you had a meal today?”
“We ain’t hungry.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“How do we know you won’t get us down there and put us in stocks?”
“No stocks aboard the ship,” he replied. “Are you coming?”
The boy glanced at his little brother. “Aye.”
They followed Flynn down the ladder and along the passageway. Flynn opened the door and stood aside for them to enter. “He’s in the side room over there.”
The tall young man inspected his surroundings before moving to the door and peering into the other small room.
“Gavin!” came Sean’s gleeful shout. “Is Emmett with ye?”
“Aye, he’s right here, he is.”
The two boys crowded at Sean’s side and gave him awkward hugs. Emmett, the littlest one, pulled back with tears streaking his dirty cheeks. “We was afeared you be dead.”
“No, the redheaded Miss Murphy saved me life for sure. Her and the doctor here. They been real good to me, they ’ave. The doc said he’d give us jobs, so we can earn our fare.”
Flynn moved to stand closer. “You two will have to take baths. And we’ll find you clean clothes. Can’t have the captain catch you looking like that.”
“Can they sleep ’ere with me?” Sean asked. His desperate expression threatened to open a crack in the barrier around Flynn’s heart.
“I have a stateroom,” Flynn replied. “There’s plenty of room for pallets, so the three of you can be together.” He pinned Gavin with a probing look. “I’d appreciate your telling me why you were planning to stow aboard.”
It was plain Gavin didn’t fancy sharing his business. “We been stayin’ in the back room at Ferguson’s Livery. Old Mr. Ferguson left the door unlocked ’til we was in at night. But he died, and his missus sold the livery. The new owner shooed us out, so we was sleepin’ under wagons and in back o’ the millhouse. Sean here overheard stories of America. We came up with a plan to make our way there. I’m gonna find work and Sean and Emmett can go to school.”
“Well, that sounds like a fine plan. I admire men with foresight. What happened to your parents?” Flynn asked.
“We ain’t seen our da since Emmett was a wee babe. He just up and left, he did. Ma took care of us best she could, but then she took sick an’ died.”
Flynn wasn’t surprised to hear their story. Death and hunger had been part of everyone’s story over the past several years. The plight of the Irish had been grim for anyone not born into a wealthy family. “First things first,” Flynn said. “Let’s get you bathed.”
“Why are ye and Miss Murphy so firmly set on bath takin’?” Sean asked.
“Because cleanliness is important. You should bathe and wash your hands often to prevent disease.”
The Wedding Journey Page 4