The Wedding Journey

by Cheryl St. John

  “Put it away for now,” her aunt told her. “We can sew in the morning.”

  There was a rap at the door.

  “Is Miss Murphy here?”

  “There are three Miss Murphys here.” Aideen grinned at Sean McCorkle.

  “Miss Maeve,” he specified.

  Maeve walked to the door.

  “The doc asked for you. There be a passenger havin’ a baby, and he asked you to attend. I’ll be showin’ ye the way.”

  “Excuse me, ladies.”

  The others waved her on.

  The passenger was one Maeve had only seen in passing, but had never spoken with. On seeing her, she’d wondered when this baby was due to arrive. Maeve introduced herself.

  “Margret Madigan,” the woman managed. It was obvious she’d waited until birth was close at hand to send for help. She had prepared sheets and blankets.

  “Have you had other babies?” Maeve asked.

  “Aye. Three previously. One didn’t survive his first month. I had a poor supply of milk, I did.”

  “We’ll not let that happen again,” Maeve assured her. “We have plenty of provisions and I’ll see that you have a portion of goat’s milk for yourself.”

  The woman grimaced and gripped the sheet on her bunk with white-knuckled fists. She or someone else had laid out folded flannel and provided two buckets of water.

  “I’m going to wash in this one,” Maeve told her. “And I want anyone who has any contact with you or the baby to do the same.” She washed her already sore hands. “Are you feeling as though you have to push yet?”

  “Aye,” Margret replied.

  “Is it all right if I have a look before you do that?”

  “Let the whole crew have a gander if it moves this along any faster,” Margret replied.

  An older woman had remained in the cabin, and she and Maeve exchanged a look. The mature woman’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “Yours isn’t a familiar accent,” Maeve said as a distraction.

  “Scottish,” was Margret’s brusque reply.

  “Have you names selected, be this a lass or a laddie?”

  “I hoped not to jinx the babe’s fate,” the woman replied.

  Maeve wouldn’t have another funeral this day if she could help it.

  As the evening lengthened, Margret’s efforts became more and more focused. The other woman bathed her perspiring face with cool cloths and spoke softly in a language Maeve couldn’t understand. Her tone was soothing and encouraging.

  Margret emitted a sharp cry and bore down.

  “One or two more like that, and we’ll see this baby’s pretty face,” Maeve told her. “There ’tis. And a curly head of hair, this wee babe has. Rest easy now for the next big push. This next one will do it.”

  Margret’s next push expelled a good-size boy child into the world. Maeve quickly wiped his face and used her finger to clear his mouth. When he didn’t cry, she turned his head down and swatted his bottom. “There you go, laddie. That’s a fine healthy cry.”

  She handed the babe to the older woman, who cleaned him with the fresh water while Maeve attended to the new mother.

  “He’s a big one, he is,” Maeve told her.

  Margret didn’t take her eyes from the baby, waiting until he was wrapped in flannel and placed in her arms.

  She looked at his fingers and opened the wrap to examine his feet. She pressed her lips to his head and inhaled. Her eyes closed and a tear slid from under her lashes.

  “Shall I go fetch your husband?” Maeve asked.

  “My husband is waiting for us in Boston,” she answered. “I thought I’d make it until we arrived, but this little fellow wasn’t waiting.”

  “It’s fitting somehow that after a fine man went to heaven today, another has just come into the world, don’t you think?”

  “I was down here all day, but I heard about the Begg fellow’s untimely death,” she answered. “I’d be devastated if I lost my husband.”

  “He’s a handsome boy, Mrs. Madigan. Does he have a name now?”

  “I have a son named after me father and a daughter named after me husband’s mother. My father-in-law’s name isn’t fit for a child, so I’ll not be givin’ it to this boy.”

  “What is it?”

  “His name was Urquhart.”

  Maeve had to agree the name might be a burden.

  “What is your father’s name?”

  Maeve dried her hands. “His name was Jack. He was a fine, tall handsome man, with a heart as big as the sky.”

  “Jack is a very good name. Jack Madigan has a pleasant ring to it, does it not?”

  “Aye.”

  “My husband will like it, as well. Actually he’d like anything that wasn’t Urquhart.”

  Maeve laughed. “Let’s get you into some dry clothing. You must be hungry now. I’m going to get you a meal and a cup of milk. Drink plenty of water, too. We took on a fresh supply.”

  “I wish I could repay you,” Margret said, allowing Maeve to hand the infant to the other woman in order to help her change.

  “Your smile and that healthy little fellow are sufficient reward. Dr. Gallagher pays me to assist him, you know. He will come listen to Jack’s heart and look him over.”

  “Thank you.”

  Maeve tucked her into her bunk and handed the baby back to her. “Rest now.”

  “God bless ye, Miss Murphy.”

  * * *

  Flynn got the message Sean delivered from Maeve, and immediately went to examine the newborn. Mrs. Madigan’s strapping baby boy was as big as Baby Grace, yet two weeks younger. Flynn took the baby from her, laid him on a top bunk and listened to his rapidly beating heart. After looking him over from head to foot, he pronounced him healthy and gave him back to his mother.

  The woman had already eaten and had something to drink, as evidenced by the dishes on the nearby floor. “Maeve took good care of you, I see.”

  “An excellent midwife, she is,” Mrs. Madigan agreed. “And a fine young woman.”

  He could well imagine. As efficient and full of compassion as Maeve had proven herself, she was surely a blessing in assisting babies into the world.

  “I named him Jack. That was Miss Murphy’s da’s name.”

  “I like it.”

  Leaving baby and mother behind, Flynn went on deck and stood at the rail, looking out across the obsidian ocean. The moon was obliterated by clouds tonight, so the water was black and fathomless.

  It had been an exhausting and depressing day. Images danced in his mind. One of the most haunting had been the look on Maeve’s face and her condition when he’d found her alone in the dispensary. The most thought-provoking had been her questions.

  Her optimism and cheerful attitude had previously never waned in any situation, therefore her obvious devastation had been difficult to observe. She was feisty and painfully straightforward. So much so that she made him look inside himself and see things he didn’t want to expose or admit.

  He was looking now, and he didn’t like what he saw.

  He had much to consider as far as his feelings were concerned. Grief, regret and guilt weren’t easy to face. Nor was his attraction to Maeve.

  But consider he must.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Maeve had been right to confront him. He had no business kissing her without making his intentions clear. He wasn’t a man who toyed with others’ feelings.

  He’d told himself he was an honorable man, a widower still working his way past grief and unwilling to bring any more complicated feelings into the equation. But perhaps he should have given more thought to the feelings and expectations others had for him.

  According to Maeve, Kathleen had led her to believe there was more between them than there was.

  Thinking over the barbed words that had spilled from her lips as she had insulted the Murphy sisters, he guessed she wasn’t too proper or genteel to deliberately slur her fellow passengers, no matter how she disguised her claws—or
to spread rumors about a romantic relationship that did not exist outside of her own mind.

  And this was the woman he called a friend? Try as he might, he couldn’t think of one thing other than their long-time acquaintance that made her a friend. Her background explained a lot about her general sense of entitlement, but it couldn’t forgive her for being unkind.

  Now Maeve…there was a woman who’d be a good friend. But he didn’t think of her in that way. He thought of her differently. Reverently. Kindly. Warmly. He thought of kissing her.

  And if he was perfectly honest with himself, he wanted to think of being able to open up and love someone again. He just didn’t know how.

  It had been a long time since he’d let himself love anyone—even God. He was rusty at praying.

  But Maeve’s example inspired him. Perhaps opening his heart to the Lord could be the first step in opening his life to a chance at happiness again.

  “Lord, I’m thankful You haven’t forgotten me, even though I’ve neglected You. I have to admit I spent a lot of time wondering where You were and why You didn’t care.”

  He swallowed hard. “But You do care. It’s evidenced all around me. If You sent Maeve to shake me up and open my eyes to my self-pity, then help me not resent that. Or her.

  “If You sent her to point out my glaring flaws, then I thank You. I could use wisdom to make decisions and to let myself heal. I’d appreciate Your showing me the changes I need to make and where to go from here.

  “Sometimes I feel as though my future is as black and bottomless as this body of water. I can see into it no better than I can see the ocean’s floor.”

  A cloud parted just enough to let a glimmer of moonlight reflect off the water’s surface. He studied the heavens. How many times had he crossed the Atlantic now? Six times? Maybe eight? And he’d never taken time to simply stand here and behold a night sky laden with stars. Tonight they were hidden, and he wondered about the irony.

  He remembered the captain’s reading over Henry that day, and the scripture returned to him. “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?”

  Because of God’s mercy and redeeming grace, death was only cessation of life upon this earth. His Johanna…his Jonathon were inhabitants of an eternal kingdom. He’d always believed that. He knew the truth in his heart, but he had never had the courage to release them. He’d suffered their deaths every moment of each day since they’d been gone. “Come unto me, ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

  That rest had to mean peace. Had to mean laying aside those things he’d carried like sacks of boulders until the burden crippled him.

  Quite plainly now he saw that he must release those he loved in order to have any kind of peace in his heart. He wanted that rest.

  His heart thumped. He’d avoided thoughts of them for so long that allowing himself to remember them was frightening. He’d hidden that part of his past—that part of him away—and he didn’t know if he could change.

  Johanna first.

  He let himself remember her sweet face, surrounded by silky, fair hair. She’d been tall and slim and carried herself with grace and dignity. She’d been raised in a wealthy family and trained to run a household and servants, but she’d been generous and accepting. She had been devoted to him and their child.

  She would want him to be content. To move on.

  And his boy.

  Jonathon had possessed fair hair like his mother, but his eyes had been hazel—brown one moment, green the next. He’d been a fun-loving, active little fellow who’d run to his da at the end of the day. Flynn’s arms ached with overwhelming emptiness. This was why he hadn’t let himself think of them…why he guarded his thoughts so jealously.

  “Into Your care I give them, Lord Jesus.” He almost choked on the words, but he spoke them anyway. “Thank You for providing a way for them to dwell with You until we’re together again.”

  He sagged against the side and held himself upright with his fingers gripping the rail. “Lord, please give me good memories to sustain me, and erase the images that bring such unbearable pain.”

  Waves lapped against the side of the ship.

  He’d been running from this for so long.

  Words resonated in his heart—clear and unmistakable. Be still and know that I am God.

  In other words, stop running from the memories. He needed to let them overtake him. Anything less was a disservice to what he and Johanna had shared, and a betrayal to his son.

  He searched for a good memory, and it came to him. A day at a fair. Jonathon had loved the pony rides and begged to ride again and again. Flynn had patiently walked beside him in a field with a figure-eight path worn into it.

  The sun had warmed Johanna’s hair to rich gold that day. He’d purchased her a comb with ribbon streamers, and she’d worn it in her gilded tresses. They had shared laughter…and created memories.

  Memories to last a lifetime, he realized now. His lifetime.

  Nothing could take those away from him, but he’d thrown them away. He took them back now, tucked them safely into his heart. “Thank You, Lord. Thank You for the time we had together and the memories we created.”

  A stiff breeze ruffled his hair and buffeted clouds away from the moon. A handful of stars winked at him.

  There was something he needed to do. It was too late tonight, but tomorrow he had to speak with Kathleen.

  * * *

  Things were quiet at the dispensary when Flynn told Maeve he would be gone for a while and went in search of the Boyds.

  Estelle was in their stateroom, but she told him Kathleen had gone above for fresh air. “You’ve never come in search of my daughter before,” she said with a curious tone. “Is everything all right?”

  “I want a word with her,” was his only reply.

  Long, purposeful strides carried him along the starboard deck until he spotted her in a lavender dress and a hat with a matching ribbon trailing down her back.

  What surprised him was the man standing beside her.

  A wide-brimmed hat shaded his eyes from the sun, and he wore a plain shirt and trousers, which were tucked into tooled leather boots with inch-and-a-half heels. Flynn had met Western men on his travels, and had on more than one occasion listened to stories of Indian wars and cattle drives. Some of these men were ranchers, who owned huge parcels of land and raised horses for the army.

  At his approach, Kathleen spotted him and stepped slightly away from the cowboy. “Flynn! What a pleasant surprise to see you on deck this morning.”

  “I do seem to indulge my passion for work most of the time.” He extended a hand toward her companion. “Flynn Gallagher.”

  The man had strong work-roughened hands. “Judd Norton. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. The ship’s doctor, if I’m rememberin’ correctly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Norton purchased horses from somewhere near County Galway,” she told Flynn. “Waterford, wasn’t it? Now he’s on his way home.”

  “Heard of a gentleman who was sellin’ his stable of Irish draft horses,” he told Flynn. “They’re excellent cross-country animals and economical to keep. It didn’t take me long to figure out I wanted ’em, so I boarded a ship. I’m gonna breed ’em with my Spanish mares. I have high hopes for excellent riding horses.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “I have a spread in the Nebraska Territory.”

  Flynn thought a moment. “Quite a distance to travel before you ever got to the ocean.”

  The man agreed. “I’d never been that far east b’fore. I admit I’m hankerin’ for wide-open spaces that don’t include waves or sharks.”

  “Were you looking for me?” Kathleen asked, turning the conversation.

  “I don’t want to interrupt your visit.”

  “Not at all,” the American said. “I spend a lot of time right here and appreciate anyone who takes pity on my boredom. Miss Boyd made my mornin’ pass more quickly.” He to
uched the brim of his hat, but didn’t remove it. “Miss. Nice to meet you, doc.”

  He sauntered away.

  “What brings you out here?” Kathleen asked.

  “Would you like to sit or are you comfortable standing?”

  “I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”

  He took a place beside her, but not too close. He’d had a lot of time overnight to think about how he would say this. There’d be no wrapping what he had to say in sugar. “I’ve been self-evaluating. This trip has given me a lot to think about and stirred up some things that have lain buried.”

  “What makes this trip different?” she asked.

  “I’m not certain,” he answered, but he was pretty sure Maeve was the difference. She hadn’t allowed him to hide.

  “And what have you been thinking of that makes you look so serious?”

  “How long have we known each other?”

  A surprised look came over her face. “Fifteen, sixteen years, perhaps.”

  “You’re aware, I’m sure, that our parents formed an alliance at some point. They were hoping to take my mind off Johanna and Jonathon and spoke to me of marrying you.”

  Her dark eyes widened. The subject of his marriage and the family he’d lost had always been off-limits. “You’ve never before spoken their names in my presence.”

  “I deliberately put them from my thoughts. It hurt too much to think of them. I’ve devoted myself to research.”

  “And legal dealings to do with immigrant ships,” she agreed. “No one could blame you for that.”

  “The more I buried those feelings, the less sensitive I became to everything around me. I’m only beginning to see what I’ve done.” He glanced at the water and back at her. “I’ve determined I shall change that behavior now.”

  “I do hope that’s good news, Flynn. Are you ready for a change in your life? What did you promise your parents when they inquired?”

  “I told them you and I were only friends and nothing more. I told them there could never be more between us. Kathleen, I apologize for being insensitive and not realizing you might have thought there was hope for marriage.”