The pride in his voice touched Maeve.
She gestured for him to sit and carried over a basin of water and a soapy sponge. “And what does a rigger do?”
“I inspect the rigging and report ropes and sails what need fixed.”
“The task does sound important.” She washed his hands and he hissed between his teeth. She got an uncomfortable feeling from his explanation. “Where do you do this inspecting?”
“Why, on the masts, o’ course.”
She’d observed the sailors and apprentices who climbed the masts like wiry monkeys, and her heart dropped every time. It sounded like a risky thing to do, especially for one so untested. “The doctor allowed you to take this position?”
“I don’t recollect he knows about it just yet.”
“Are they feeding you well?”
“Aye, more food than I can eat. Fish at every meal. The captain’s wife gives us mackerel she’s cured to take with us. As much as we like. I share with Emmett. He don’t eat much.”
“I don’t know that it’s a wise idea for an inexperienced young fellow like yourself to be swinging about on the sails.” She pierced blisters that hadn’t yet broken, dabbed them dry and applied ointment.
“I like me job, Miss Murphy. I’m earnin’ money so we don’t have to live in the alleys and beg food when we get to Boston.”
“I don’t believe Dr. Gallagher would let you live in the streets,” she assured him. “And neither would I.”
“You and Dr. Gallagher are the kindest people I ever did meet. The way this turned out was like God was makin’ a way for us to get to America and have a new home.”
“God didn’t put Sean under that cart. That was that despicable Hegarty fellow.”
“I know that, miss. But God used somethin’ bad to change our future. A man still has to earn his own way.”
She secured a bandage around both hands and looked him square in the face. The hairs on his chin were soft and as yet unshaved. He was a mere lad. But a lad with pride and integrity. She admired that about him. She wondered if she’d ever know how any of these boys fared once they landed. “You have to keep these bandages on and keep those areas clean, so they don’t get infected.”
“Aye, miss.”
“Do you have a pair of gloves?”
He shook his head. “The other apprentices would laugh me right off the rigging.”
He was a handsome young fellow, this one, with brown eyes that would someday set some lucky young girl’s heart aflutter. He wasn’t afraid to work, and he was determined to make a better life for himself and his brothers. The McCorkles’ story paralleled that of the Murphy sisters in an uncanny manner.
She sent him on his way, and left the dispensary to have a word with the captain. She found Captain Conley on deck, his slouch cap shading his eyes and an ivory meerschaum stuck between his teeth, smoke curling upward. The area of beard and mustache around his mouth was stained from his habit.
“Gavin McCorkle is climbing the rigging, his first time on a ship,” she told him.
“And a fine rigger, he is,” Captain Conley replied.
“Is it your habit to place these young boys in dangerous positions?”
“Simon, my first mate, is the best instructor of the bunch,” he assured her. “We’ve only had one accident in all my days as captain of this ship.”
She studied him and noted no deception in his gaze.
“And the lad wants t’ learn, Miss Murphy. He’s an eager young fellow. ’Tis far safer to have the young ones up there than the others, I assure you. Simon wouldn’t have picked him for the job if he hadn’t known the lad was capable.”
“I’ve treated his hands for blisters,” she said.
He nodded sagely. “’Tis a common malady until their skin is seasoned.”
The man was obviously convinced Gavin could handle himself. Without a doubt, hundreds had done the job before him—it just seemed more frightening when the person up there was of one’s acquaintance. “I shall hold you responsible for his safety,” she said at last. “I want him to sail into Boston Harbor whole and sound.”
“As do I, Miss Murphy.”
She reached to shake his hand, as though affirming their understanding, then turned and walked away.
Nora arrived at the dispensary midmorning. “I have cooking to do around the fire. Will this be a convenient time for you to take Grace?”
“This will be a fine time.” Maeve accepted the improvised sling and adjusted it to fit her much smaller frame to hold the infant close against her, with her hands free. “Grace will be my little helper, won’t you, grah mo chee?”
The baby blinked sleepily and then closed her eyes.
“She just ate,” Nora said. “She should be good for an hour or two.”
Flynn arrived a short time later. He barely gave Grace a glance and set about his work. Maeve explained Gavin’s injuries and her talk with the captain. Flynn’s quickly disguised amusement didn’t escape notice.
The next patient to arrive was a gentleman wearing a pressed linen shirt and a jacket. He had a lanky frame and a face with craggy, yet aristocratic features. “Before I was delicate in health, I was a strapping man, would you believe?”
“Aye, I can tell you had all the lassies followin’ you about, you did,” Maeve teased. It amused Flynn how her brogue grew thicker when she jested or when she was provoked.
“I had eyes only for my Corabeth,” the man told her. “She was an Irish beauty, she was. She had hair like yours.” His eyes glistened and he took a moment to continue. “Gave me three fine sons, she did.”
Maeve didn’t want to ask about his sons and cause the man any more grief. Too many people had lost their loved ones, and she suspected this man had experienced loss.
“She and my Daniel, they died the same week,” he told her. “Knowin’ they are together was my only comfort.”
Maeve nodded her understanding.
“Robbie and John ran off to America, they did. Found themselves wives and jobs. I’m goin’ to meet my granddaughter. Don’t let me die before I get there.”
Maeve’s heart went out to the man.
Flynn had led him to the table and listened to his heart. “You’re not going to die on my watch, sir. I think you picked up a bit of a cold in that drizzle yesterday. Stay warm and drink a lot of fluids, and you’ll be feeling fine in no time.”
“How does his throat look?” Maeve asked.
Flynn asked their patient to open his mouth. “Somewhat red.”
“I suspected as much from the sound of his voice. A wool sock filled with salt and heated on the bricks beside your fire will make that feel better.” She went to a crock and scooped a portion of salt into a small bag. “This should be enough.”
“That’s just what my Corabeth used to do for our boys,” he said and accepted the salt with a smile. “Is that your baby there?”
Maeve glanced down and patted Grace’s bottom through the sling. The baby still slept soundly. “The little one was found abandoned aboard ship. My sisters and I are caring for her temporarily. We call her Grace.”
“Might I just touch her fair head?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.” Maeve lifted the baby and adjusted her so the old man could better see her.
He touched her hair and rested a long finger against her cheek. At the sight of his spotted and wrinkled hands alongside Grace’s pure fair skin, Maeve got tears in her eyes.
“I remember when my babies were this tiny,” he said. “It’s one of the many times I’ve seen God’s hand as plain as day. So innocent and unblemished is a new baby. Sent straight from heaven to a mother’s arms.”
“Are you a poet, sir?”
He chuckled. “Hardly. A cobbler. You take care of that little one now.”
Their patient left and Maeve closed the door behind him.
“You are good with people,” Flynn told her.
She glanced at him.
“Exceptionally good.”
>
“Thank you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe a sock filled with salt will cure him?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but the treatment feels good, and it’s familiar and comforting. I have found that sometimes comfort and confidence are the keys to healing.”
“I thought as much.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Not at all.” He let his gaze fall to the sling she settled back into place. “Is the baby doing well?”
Maeve nodded. “Grace is a contented little dear.”
“I didn’t know you’d named her.”
“Yes, that’s what Nora calls her.”
“Are you concerned your sister might get too attached?”
“I’m concerned we’ll all get too attached. What do you think will happen when we arrive if no family is found and we never learn where she came from?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do we have a hope of keeping her?”
“Do you want to keep her?”
“I don’t think any of us want her to go to a foundling home. We do know something about little girls in this family.”
“I’ll put in a good word for you,” he assured her. “But keep in mind that someone might eventually claim her.”
“If they showed no care for her until then, that someone wouldn’t deserve her.”
He wanted to reach out and touch her hair…rest a hand upon her arm or her shoulder to reassure her. She never hid her feelings. She wasn’t ashamed to show how much she cared about people. It was a quality that drew him in, made him want to be one of the people she loved and cared for so honestly and openly.
The thought caught him off guard. Everything about her unnerved him. She still studied the baby, so her long lashes were in sharp relief against her porcelain cheek. When she looked up, she pierced him with that guileless look he’d come to find so very attractive.
Every other woman looked at him with a predatory gleam or a glimmer of appeal. This one always met his eyes with honest concern or open friendliness, with nothing motivating her desire to speak with him, except her wish to ask an opinion—or express a concern. And in addition to her honesty and beauty, she was as bright as any student he’d ever known, with a natural instinct for making people feel safe and cared for.
The thought of her being hurt if the baby’s parents claimed her disturbed him. “Remember, she has family somewhere,” he warned.
“I remember,” was all she said.
* * *
The following day was the Sabbath. The Murphy sisters dressed in their best dresses, which were still drab and plain in comparison to many of the other women’s, and joined the others in the hold for prayers and singing.
There were two services for worshippers among the passengers—one for those who spoke only Gaelic and one for those who spoke English. While the sisters understood their native language, they had decided to join the English-speaking service in preparation for their new lives.
The men stood and the ladies seated themselves upon rows of trunks and small kegs. As Flynn entered the hold with Kathleen Boyd and her mother, Maeve followed her sisters and took a seat on the center aisle.
Quite naturally, the people separated themselves into another division as they gathered: the well-dressed, well-to-do passengers on one side and the working class on the other.
Maeve didn’t miss the interaction as Kathleen spoke to Flynn and gave him a smile before seating herself on a keg as though it was a plush armchair in a grand parlor. With a self-satisfied expression, she arranged her voluminous skirts before scanning the nearby passengers as though they were her competition.
She didn’t bother looking across the aisle at the poor faction.
A waving hand caught Maeve’s attention, and she glanced over a row to see Sean McCorkle sitting with his brothers. Pleased to see him doing well, she gave him a warm smile.
Captain Conley strode to the front and opened the Bible, from which he read a chapter from the book of James. “‘Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above and cometh down from the Father of lights, with Whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.’”
Maeve glanced at Nora. Baby Grace had grasped on to her index finger, and Nora looked upon her as though the act was unique. Nora met Maeve’s gaze and smiled sheepishly. She turned her attention to the reading.
Maeve was having a little trouble concentrating, too, but it wasn’t the baby distracting her. Her thoughts kept going back to Flynn arriving with Miss Boyd. Perhaps they’d met in the corridor, and their arrival together had been mere coincidence. It was no business of hers, but she had her finger on the pulse of these husband-hunting maidens aboard the Annie McGee.
Determinedly, she shook off her unkind thoughts. Hadn’t she and her sisters discussed their need to find husbands only a few weeks before? Their situation wasn’t that much different. Yes, all the female attention was laughable because of the young ladies’ obvious flirtations, but she stood in no place to judge. However, a more straightforward approach might better serve them. Flynn deserved better than a woman who viewed him as a prize to be won.
The captain took a seat beside his missus. The gathering of worshippers observed several minutes of silent prayers.
In the silence, Grace sucked her fingers energetically, and Maeve smiled to herself.
A commotion interrupted the peace. Maeve looked over her shoulder to locate the source. Mrs. Fitzwilliam, dressed in a royal-blue sateen dress and a feathered hat, stood and pulled her skirts aside. “There’s an animal!” she shrieked. “I felt it against my skirts.”
Chapter Ten
One of the sailor apprentices darted about the edge of the gathering, searching. Maeve imagined a rat and shuddered. She’d heard rodents got onboard ships and lived off the provisions, but as of yet she hadn’t seen one of the critters.
A few of the women actually climbed atop the trunks and kegs in fright and another dashed from the room, hysterical.
A movement startled Maeve, and she had to overcome her hesitancy to look more closely. At the corner of a trunk, a black cat, with a white underbelly and white paws, peered from its hiding place.
Maeve stood and hurried the few rows back, passing Mrs. Fitzwilliam, who now stood in the aisle, fanning herself with a silk fan, and knelt to scoop up the frightened feline. “I think this may have been what you felt against your skirts.”
“Surely there are rules prohibiting animals running wild aboard this vessel,” the woman said in a scornful tone.
“Cats keep down the rodent population, ma’am,” Captain Conley replied. “Thank you, Miss Murphy. Seems you’re always rescuin’ wee ones.” He motioned to someone toward the front of the hold. “Roddy, take the cat above.”
“Yessir.” The young fellow hurried to do the captain’s bidding. Maeve handed over the animal, and resumed her seat.
Men assisted the ladies in their awkward skirts back down to the floor.
Nora and Bridget were trying not to laugh when Maeve joined them. After that it was more difficult than ever to concentrate in the quiet, and the captain called the service to an end with a song.
Being the Sabbath, nearly everyone gathered around their fireplaces, and even the sailors were scarce that day, many taking coffee in the forecastle. The sisters donned their hats to protect their eyes and skin from the sun. There wasn’t much of a breeze, so they made little progress sailing upon the bosom of the broad Atlantic.
Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy joined them at their fire, and Nora showed them how to bake a two-inch flat cake between two cast-iron skillets above the flames. Maeve had seen plenty of burnt cakes she suspected were raw in the middle, and listened to Nora’s explanation for preventing a similarly poor outcome.
She plucked Baby Grace from the crate that had become her bed and held her in the crook of her arm, without the sling. The infant’s eyes were open, but she squinted against the sunlight. Maeve adjusted herself so Grace was sh
adowed by her upper body. Grace still frowned, but she studied Maeve with her delicate mouth in an O.
“Did I see you with a bag of sewing?” Mrs. Kennedy asked Nora.
“Yes, I’m working on a few pieces for the baby.”
“We would love to help you sew for the wee one,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “It’s the very least we can do to repay you for your kindness in sparing us from eating our own cooking.”
The women laughed together. “You’re learning,” Nora told her.
“I am a sempstress,” Aideen reminded her. “In fact, I have a trunk aboard with fabric and ribbon and lace. Most of it is special pieces I couldn’t bear to leave behind. Do let me make Grace something lovely and feminine.”
Until now the baby had worn pieces of Dr. Gallagher’s shirt fashioned into makeshift clothing and a couple of hand-me-down gowns a generous passenger had offered.
“She could wear it the day we dock,” Bridget said excitedly.
Nora’s expression grew somber, and Maeve suspected it was because of her concern about Grace’s fate once they were in Boston.
“We have time to make each of you a dress for that day,” Aideen suggested.
“We could never accept such an extravagant offer,” Nora said with a shake of her head.
Bridget’s face fell. It was obvious she would have loved a new dress, something pretty and feminine, but she wouldn’t argue with her older sister in front of the other women and embarrass all of them.
“My material and skill at sewing are the same as your preserved eggs and ability to cook,” Aideen said softly. “It’s all I have to offer.”
Nora’s face grew pink under the brim of her straw hat. The way Aideen had presented her case made it seem that Nora would be rebuffing her gift if she didn’t accept. Nora glanced at Bridget, and the two exchanged a look. “I didn’t mean to imply your gift wasn’t special,” Nora told her. “I was embarrassed that we don’t have anything of equal value to offer.”
“How did you ladies understand that verse in James this morning?” Maeve asked. “‘Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above and cometh down from the Father of lights, with Whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.’ I think James was saying that God doesn’t change or choose favorites. His gifts are for everyone.”
The Wedding Journey Page 9