Cinders to Satin

by Fern Michaels

  TO EMIGRANTS

  CHOLERA!

  CHOLERA having made its appearance on board several Passenger Ships proceeding from the United Kingdom to the United States of America, and having, in some instances, been very fatal, Her Majesty’s Colonial Land and Emigrations Commissioners feel it their duty to recommend to the Parents of Families in which there are many young children, and to all persons in weak health who may be contemplating Emigration, to postpone their departure until a milder season. There can be no doubt that the seasickness consequent on the rough weather, which Ships must encounter at this Season, joined to the cold and damp of a sea voyage, will render persons who are not strong more susceptible to the attacks of this disease.

  To those who may Emigrate at this season the Commissioners strongly recommend that they should provide themselves with as much warm clothing as they can, and especially with flannel, to be worn next to the Skin; that they should have both their clothes and their persons quite clean before embarking, and should be careful to keep them so during the voyage, and that they should provide themselves with as much solid and wholesome food as they can procure, in addition to the Ship’s allowance to be used on the voyage. It would, of course, be desirable, if they can arrange it, that such persons should not go in a Ship that is much crowded, or that is not provided with a Medical Man.

  By Order of the Board

  S. WALCOTT,

  Secretary (sic)

  Someone was making a bad joke, Callie frowned. Clean clothing, extra food, uncrowded ships! Whoever S. Walcott was, he evidently had no idea of the circumstances of the people in Liverpool. Take poverty, add cholera, and you’ve got disaster.

  Closing her eyes momentarily, Callie fought back the rush of terror that had been picking at her bones ever since she’d left Dublin. In her thoughts, she could see Peggy at the stove, lifting the kettle onto the hob, little Joseph asleep in his cradle. The golden heads of Hallie and Georgie and the clever child-play of the twins. And it was her father’s sweet tenor voice she heard singing a gay tune while he stropped his razor before shaving.

  A tear of loneliness coursed down the side of her nose, and she quickly brushed it away. What’s done is done, she told herself firmly. There’s nothing to do but get on with it. God willing, she’d be able to send money home to Peggy and Thomas very soon. Cousin Owen, they said, was an accomplished man who would help her find work and look after her.

  Paddy squirmed, whimpered in his sleep and then quieted. Callie smoothed his hair tenderly. His head had cooled to the touch and a fine beading of perspiration dampened his hairline. “Dear God,” she murmured, raising her clear, bright gaze heavenward, “help this little child.” Unaware, she was mimicking Peggy’s intonations whenever one of the children was sick. “And help me too, Lord, I’m so scared. I suppose You think this is just punishment for what I did, but You should have known I was only trying to help the little ones.” The heaviness in her chest blossomed to a throbbing ache. She was angry, angry at the injustice of it all. “And don’t think you’re foolin’ me, Lord. This is hell. Liverpool is the real hell.”

  Strong white teeth bit into her full lower lip. The salty taste of her own blood did nothing to appease her fright or her anger.

  Early twilight gave way to darkness and still her two charges slept. There was no sign of Patrick Thatcher and Callie knew a thrill of apprehension. She’d been out on the streets and knew the dangers. What if someone had slit his gullet and stolen his wallet? Worse, what if Mr. Thatcher decided he didn’t want the responsibility of a wife and child? It would be so easy for a man to board ship and sail away. It had been done, she knew from gossip she’d overheard outside the common house where posters were hung inquiring as to the whereabouts of this man or that.

  Not six yards away a card game started up with five men. Callie tried not to watch. Just this very morning she had witnessed a card game, and when money ran out, so did tempers. There were accusations of cheating, and all that remained of that particular game was a sticky pool of blood. It was the winner’s blood that soaked the planks on the wharf. It was obvious to Callie that there were no winners in Liverpool. That was where she had come by the knife. It had been lying off to the side, still stained with the dead man’s blood, unnoticed by the gaping crowd. It had been so easy to pick it up and hide it under her shawl. She hadn’t known why she had wanted it except that she felt so defenseless in this lawless city. Now she was glad she’d taken it and tied it to her leg. It had given her authority when those two louts had tried to steal the Thatcher’s baggage.

  The sounds from the card game awakened Beth, and she struggled to a sitting position. Her eyes looked about wildly and calmed immediately when she saw her son nestled in Callie’s arms. The sweetest of smiles touched her lips, and her eyes regarded her new little friend warmly. “Paddy slipped off just after you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t sleep most of the night.”

  Smoothing her thick, dark hair and pushing it into a coil at the back of her head, Beth asked anxiously, “Did my husband return?”

  Callie shook her head. “There’s so much to see, and everywhere you go the crowds are so thick. And if Mr. Thatcher has gone to the ticket broker’s, there’s no telling how long it will be. People are in line there from early morning through most of the day. Mr. Thatcher wouldn’t have gotten there till late in the afternoon, would he?”

  “No. He’d only just left before you came to help us.” Beth’s tired eyes thanked Callie. She knew there was nothing she could do but wait. “I’ll take Paddy now. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Callie lifted the child and placed him in his mother’s arms. “If I’m to sleep, perhaps you’d better keep this handy,” she whispered. She reached for the knife strapped to her leg. Beth’s eyes widened in shock. Now she knew why the two ruffians hadn’t pursued the baggage.

  Reaching for the knife with trembling fingers, Beth asked, “You don’t think anything has happened to Patrick, do you?”

  Callie forced conviction into her voice. “Of course not. He’ll be here soon, you’ll see.”

  That she should rely so completely on this young girl’s opinion was a puzzlement to Beth. Yet Callie seemed so able to take care of herself. She was younger than Beth by at least five years, yet she seemed to know so much and seemed so in control.

  “You’re right, Callie,” Beth said with forced brightness. “I’m just being silly. It’s just that Patrick means the world to me. I’m certain nothing’s happened to him. Pat is so smart and so strong.”

  Callie wondered if the word “selfish” also applied to Mr. Thatcher. It was unforgivable of him to be gone so long. What if she hadn’t been there to help Beth and Paddy? What then?

  “He’s so good, Callie,” Beth said with undisguised adoration. “I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’ll like you, Callie, and he’ll be forever grateful for what you’ve done for us.”

  This talk about the absent Mr. Thatcher was making Callie uneasy. Beth was so much like Peggy extolling Thomas’s virtues. Attempting to change the subject, she asked, “What ship are you sailing?”

  “The Yorkshire. Patrick says she’s the fastest ship in the Black Ball fleet, and her commander, Captain Bailey, has a reputation for kindness and attention to his passengers. He’s taken the Yorkshire across the Atlantic in sixteen days!”

  “I’m sailing the Yorkshire, too,” Callie told her. It would be good to know someone aboard ship. The knowledge calmed some of her fears, and she smiled at Beth with genuine cheer.

  “You’re frightened too, aren’t you.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Mum says we’re always frightened of the unknown,” Callie soothed.

  “Patrick says we should look upon this as an adventure.” Beth said this with more confidence than she felt. “Going to America is his dream. For years, even before we were married, he’s been talking about it. Now, with the way things are in Ireland, the choice wa
s made for us. It’s all he ever talks about, a new life, a new beginning for us. He’ll make it happen, Callie, I know he will. It wasn’t his fault that we lost the farm. You can’t stop Patrick Thatcher. If he says he’s going to do something, he does it.”

  It seemed to Callie that the only time life sparkled in Beth’s eyes was when she spoke of her husband. She prayed she wasn’t a fool about the man as so many women were, her mum included. “He sounds wonderful. A loving man,” Callie said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as skeptical as she felt.

  Patrick Willard Thatcher arrived with the dawn, his eyes shining like newly minted copper. The relief on Beth’s face wounded him. He shouldn’t have stayed away so long, but there had been so much to see, so many people to talk to. His glance went to Paddy sleeping in the arms of a strange young girl. Beth nodded to show that it was all right.

  Sitting down beside his wife, Patrick spoke in a rush, trying to tell her everything he’d seen and done since leaving her. “We’ve our tickets confirmed for the Yorkshire,” he told her. “That took half the night; the lines at the broker’s office were that long. Beth, I tell you, Liverpool is beyond imagining. It’s a carnival; something is happening every minute. Aren’t you excited, Beth?”

  Callie woke at the sound of his voice. Just like a man to ask such a stupid question. Did he really expect her to dance a jig after sleeping on the floor all night? Not to mention worrying about Paddy’s health and being with child to boot! Callie had no illusions about a woman’s role in life, nor about her worries or her heartbreaks. Her lessons were learned early at Peggy’s knee.

  Callie sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Quickly Beth introduced Patrick, relating to him the help Callie had been to her. Patrick gravely thanked her and upon learning that Callie was also to sail on the Yorkshire, quickly offered his protection.

  Paddy woke, stretching his thin arms. Spying his father, he squealed his delight and immediately said he had to pee. Patrick laughed, calling him a big boy to keep his pants clean and swung the child onto his shoulders to take him outside.

  “We’ll meet you back here, Patrick,” Beth was saying. “I think Callie and I need a wash and a comb oursleves.”

  “There’s a public outbuilding through those doors,” Callie pointed to the rear of the warehouse they were in. She looked from Patrick to the stacked baggage, but he didn’t seem to be aware that if he didn’t take a few bundles with him, she and Beth would have to carry it all themselves.

  “I’ll meet you back here, then,” Patrick told them. “C’mon, Paddy boy, hold on for another minute, won’t you?” Off he strode with Paddy riding high on his shoulders, all the baggage left to Beth and Callie.

  Slinging two pokes over her shoulder and carrying another in each hand, Callie left the lightest ones for Beth. “I’m afraid Patrick isn’t the most practical of men,” Beth apologized. “I’m certain he never gave a second thought to the baggage.”

  The rain had ceased, leaving huge lakes of muddy water along the paths and walkways. The lines outside the public privy were long, and Callie knew Beth was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. At last their turn came, but to their dismay there was no pump for clean water with which to wash. The stench of sewage from the cesspool was an abomination. Quickly they skipped over the puddles, trying to keep their shoes dry, and went back to the corner of the warehouse where they’d spent the night.

  Callie settled down and removed a comb from the drawstring bag she carried. “I’ll comb your hair, Beth, and you comb mine.” Beth took the pins out of her long dark hair, allowing it to fall freely down her back, the bright auburn glints highlighting it like the sleek flanks of a roan pony. Callie, too, pulled the combs and pins from her hair, running her fingers through her chestnut tresses. She would have Beth braid it for her; it would stay neater that way and be less of a problem.

  “Patrick says he loves my hair,” Beth told her shyly. “Men,” she said impishly, “love to run their fingers through a woman’s hair. I suppose it’s because their own is kept so short.” Callie laughed aloud as Beth braided her hair into a long thick rope that hung down her back. “The Lord alone knows how ugly I’d be without my hair,” Beth confided. “I do believe it’s what made Patrick notice me out of all the girls in the village who were smitten with him. Even when we were children he loved to pull it. He’s even said it was the reason he married me,” she laughed happily. Callie thought about it and decided the man she would marry had better want her for more than her hair.

  When Patrick returned he brought them each a large, round biscuit and a paper filled with bits of ham trimmings. He offered the food to Beth as if he were offering a gift to a queen. “Look! One of the spirit vaults, that’s what they call taverns here in Liverpool, is handing out food for the hungry,” he said. “The barmaid took a liking to Paddy and handed him an extra biscuit! Isn’t that right, son?”

  Paddy beamed, shyly handing his biscuit to Beth. “No, you eat it, dear,” she told him lovingly. “That’s a good boy.”

  “Yesterday I had the opportunity to talk with a ticket broker,” Patrick told them between mouthfuls. “Weather permitting, the Yorkshire should make the journey in under three weeks. Think of it, Beth, in less than a month we’ll be in New York!” Paddy clapped his hands in glee, infected with his father’s excitement. “The agent also told me that each passenger on the Yorkshire is allotted two pounds of fatback and five pounds of biscuit flour each week. There are stoves for the passengers.” Patrick sounded confident and pleased with what he’d learned. It was as though he were going on a pleasure cruise, Callie thought.

  “Two pounds of fatback, Patrick. It hardly seems enough,” Beth said hesitantly.

  “It’s more than enough! Two pounds each for me and you and Paddy. Added with Callie’s two pounds, that makes for eight pounds altogether. Whenever did we eat eight pounds of fatback in a week?”

  Beth shrugged, still doubtful. “Did the agent tell you anything else?”

  “Oh, just some nonense about taking along some stomach medicine and herb teas. And he mentioned peppermint for the digestion. And, of course, we all have to go to the medical examiner to have our tickets stamped.” This last he said hurriedly, rushing through his words, trying not to make his concern for Paddy’s health obvious. They must go to America. They must! Instinctively, his hand went to his breast pocket where his father’s silver watch was hidden. It was all he had, and he had been holding onto it for an extreme emergency. Bribing one of the doctors might just be that crisis.

  As Patrick’s hand went to his breast pocket so did Callie’s hand go to the little pouch pinned to the inside of her bodice. In it rested eight shillings, given to her by Aunt Sara. With it she was to purchase coffee beans, dried peas, and tea to fortify her during the crossing. Along with the ship’s allotment, it would be more than ample, Aunt Sara had told her. She had come by her knowledge first hand from a customer at their dry goods store who had made the voyage several times.

  “When does the Yorkshire sail?” Callie asked.

  “Any time now. You know she won’t sail until she carries a full load of cargo. We’re to watch the posters outside the broker’s exchange.”

  Callie repeated what Aunt Sara told her about bringing extra provisions. “I’ve eight shillings,” she told Patrick, “and since my cousin Owen will be meeting me when I land, I won’t be needing to put anything by for when I reach the other side. Have you seen a place where I can buy what I need at cheap prices?”

  “Eight shillings! That’s a princely sum!” Patrick whistled. “I’ve less than that, and there’s three of us! We can’t afford to indulge ourselves now, we’ve got to save what we have for New York.”

  “Patrick,” Beth said softly, “perhaps just a pound of coffee or just some tea. Think of Paddy, won’t you?” Worry lines creased Beth’s fair brow.

  “Beth, my darlin’, I am thinking of Paddy. Now, don’t worry. The ship’s allotment will be more than enough.”

  Once
their simple meal was finished, Patrick settled himself with Paddy in his arms. The child was almost instantly asleep, the alarming spots of red flushing his cheekbones. “He’ll be fine once we get to America, Beth. Trust me, won’t you? It’s going to be the answer to our prayers. We’ll thrive, and Paddy will grow fat and jolly. We’ll have to work hard, but we aren’t afraid of hard work, are we, Beth?”

  Callie looked away from them. She had never seen such naked devotion in anyone’s eyes as when Beth smiled at Patrick.

  Chapter Five

  The lines seemed endless to Callie as she and the Thatchers waited their turn to move one step nearer the government health offices. Hundreds of emigrants, thousands it seemed, waited, the close press of unwashed bodies and mildewed clothing making it difficult to breathe. Patience had never been one of Callie’s virtues, and she shifted from one foot to the other and then danced a little jig, much to Paddy’s delight.

  How like the twins he was when a smile could be coaxed from him. Poor tyke, so quiet, staring out from behind his wide, solemn eyes. He should be running and chasing with the other children who were playing a rough game of tag. The slight blue tinge around his mouth, along with the spots of vermilion on his cheeks, made Callie say a prayer that the little boy would pass the physical examination.