by Ann Moore
“You’ve made something of yourself in every place you’ve ever lived, Missus Donnelly, so why should San Francisco be any different?” Reinders smiled at her affectionately, noticing again those incredible sea-colored eyes, that lively mouth. “I’ve missed you, Grace. It’s good to be with you again.”
“I’ve missed you, as well.” She left her chair to sit on the edge of his; he was so thin, there was more than enough room for two.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, so that she rested against his chest, her head beneath his chin.
“Grace,” he whispered in her ear. “Have you come to marry me?”
She stiffened for a moment, then turned her head and kissed him, feeling the tension in his body as his fingers slid into her hair and held her there, until she drew away to collect herself.
“Yes,” she told him, looking into his eyes. “As soon as you’re well, as soon as you see the children, meet Jack, and—”
Reinders kissed her again, stopping the flow of words, halting the invasion of the real world into this fragile and delicate moment. Gracefully and with practiced ease, he shifted his own body and then hers so that she was completely enfolded in his arms. His embrace intensified, his hands moving over her body, and she found herself responding, remembering now the passion that lay just beneath his composed veneer. But suddenly he stopped and leaned back, dizzy and short of air.
“Peter! You’re white as a ghost!” She laid her hand against the side of his face, his forehead, feeling now the cool clamminess of his skin. His shirt was damp to the touch and clung to his chest and shoulders. “Close your eyes, now,” she urged. “Take a deep breath.”
She got up and quickly fetched a glass of water from the decanter on the sideboard, then watched with concern as he drank it all down. Slowly, his color began to return and his breathing became more regular. Feeling better, he patted the seat beside him as if intending to take up where they’d left off.
“Are you daft, then, Peter?” she chided gently. “Because there won’t be any more lovemaking, I can tell you that. Not until you’re better.”
“That’s quite an incentive.” He smiled wanly, then closed his eyes again and exhaled.
“The place for you is back in bed. Alone,” she added sternly. “Though a hot brick might be good company.”
He didn’t argue, and that caused Grace even greater concern. She helped him up to his room, pulled off his boots, and left him dozing on the bed, though it was difficult not to remain by his side. On her way out, she spoke to the butler and made sure he understood that Captain Reinders must be looked in upon regularly, then attended to when he awoke. She would come back the next day, she had promised, for a brief call, but wouldn’t bring the children until he was up to such a visit.
Once home, Grace changed out of her better clothes and into her everyday dress and apron, talking to the children as she did so. They were eager to hear all about the captain and Liam, though Grace could only tell them that Reinders had been terribly ill and was still recovering, and that she’d not yet seen Liam, who was working aboard the ship.
There was a great deal of work to be done in the kitchen, so Grace was kept busy throughout the long afternoon, stopping only to serve afternoon coffee to the doctor in his study. Wakefield, too, was very interested in the outcome of Grace’s visit to Reinders, and finally asked her outright if she planned on leaving them now. Grace assured him that she would remain, at least through the Christmas holidays, as the captain had been weakened by malaria and would need a great deal of time to get back on his feet; certainly, he didn’t need the stress of a household with children during the holidays. Wakefield seemed relieved to hear that Grace would continue working, and thanked her profusely; she was surprised herself at how relieved she felt that her life would not take yet another sudden change, but one that would be made gradually.
At table that evening, she fielded questions from Hopkins, not wanting to discuss her personal life with the obnoxious woman, but she did let Enid and George know that she and the children would remain with the Wakefields into the New Year, and perhaps longer, depending upon the captain’s progress. Talk turned then to Christmas, and the forthcoming preparations, when suddenly there was a loud knock on the back door and all conversation halted. Litton rose immediately to his feet.
“I’ll see to it,” the stableman said gruffly and picked up a lamp to light his way into the mudroom.
The rest of the diners sat still, straining to hear as Litton inquired after the purpose of their backdoor visitor. A moment later, he was back.
“It’s a young man, Missus Donnelly. Name of …”
“Liam!” Mary Kate burst from the table and threw herself into the open arms of the young man who had followed Litton into the room.
“Hello, little girl!” Liam grinned from ear to ear as he picked her up and twirled her, then kissed her cheek. “Hello, big girl!” He set her down. “And where’s me mam, then?”
Tears of joy sprung into Grace’s eyes as she hurried around the side of the table to embrace him. He clung tightly to her for a moment, though now it was her head that rested against his shoulder instead of the other way around.
“Thank God you made it.” He kissed her cheek with a loud smack. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“And I, you.” She returned his kiss, then stepped back to have a good look at this person who’d left her as a boy of nearly twelve and was now a young man of fifteen. “You’re a giant, Liam Kelley!” she exclaimed, wiping her eyes. “Life at sea agrees with you, then!”
“Oh, aye.” He laughed. “’Tis a great life. You look well,” he told her, then put his hand on Mary Kate’s head. “Both of you. But where’s young Jack? Hiding behind your mam’s skirts, are you? C’mon, now, boy, let’s have a look at you!”
Jack came around the side of his mother shyly, though unable to take his eyes off the strapping young man. “Are you Liam who went to sea? Because I already know about you.”
“I know about you, too.” Liam bent down and offered his hand, which Jack shook solemnly. “Nice to make your acquaintance at last, young Jack. Your exploits are famous aboard the Eliza J.”
“What’s ‘exploits’?” Jack asked warily.
“Adventures,” Liam explained. “All the things you’ve done in your life so far that’s grand.”
“Like I came out here in a covered wagon?”
“Oh, aye,” Liam acknowledged soberly. “Though I’ve not yet heard the tale of that one. You’ll have to tell it to me one night.”
“What a surprise, Missus Donnelly.” Hopkins stood stiffly at the table. “And who would the father of this one be, pray tell?”
“This is Liam Kelley, son of Seamus and Alice Kelley,” Grace told her evenly. “We made the crossing together, and he lived with us in New York after his family perished. He’s my adopted son and the ward of Captain Reinders.”
“How do you do?” Enid dropped a little curtsy.
“This is Enid Hopkins, Liam,” Grace introduced. “She and her mother over there work for Doctor Wakefield, as well. And by the door is our own Mister Litton, stable master and groundskeeper.”
Liam tipped his head respectfully to the ladies and shook hands with Litton, then put his arm around Grace’s shoulders again.
“Pleased to meet you all,” he said warmly. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of one another as long as me mam is working here.”
“How nice for you.” Hopkins turned to her daughter. “Come, Enid. Time for evening rounds.” And then she left the kitchen without so much as a backward glance, but Enid managed to offer them all an apologetic smile as she hurried out behind her mother.
Mister Litton mumbled something about the horses, nodded toward Liam, then grabbed his cap and disappeared out into the dark yard. With everyone else gone now, Grace settled Liam at the table and got him a plate of dinner, watching with motherly satisfaction as he ate every mouthful.
“Oh, that’s gr
and, then!” he pronounced with a hearty sigh. “Everything tastes the same at the Darmstadts’. Even our cook on board is better than the one we’ve got at home, and he only knows three dishes—boiled fish, fried fish, and fish stew!”
Grace and the children laughed, all crowded around him at the table.
“You know you’re welcome here anytime, agra,” Grace told him. “Always a place for you with us.”
“Will you not be coming down the hill, then?” Liam pulled the napkin out of his collar and put it on the table. “To live, I mean, when you and the captain marry?”
Jack and Mary Kate held perfectly still, only their eyes shifting from one face to the other in anticipation of the answer.
“Sure we will,” Grace allowed. “Though not ’til he’s had time to recover himself again. He didn’t look well, Liam, and I was worried for him.”
Liam nodded. “Aye, he was the worst I’d ever seen. Me and Mack were afraid for a while there we’d have to bury him on that island, and I was beside myself over it.”
Grace’s heart fell at the thought of Peter dead, along with all the others she loved.
“He told us to go on without him, but all of us, the entire crew, were agreed—we weren’t leaving him down there in that jungle.”
“Were there savages?” Jack asked breathlessly.
“No. Only Indians. But insects as big as your hand.” Liam stretched his fingers out to show the length. “And snakes, long as from here to the stable out back!”
Jack’s eyes were wide with horror. “Could they eat you?”
“I never hung round long enough to find out,” the young man admitted. “Mister Darmstadt has a collection at home—butterflies, moths, insects, and the like. All in a glass case. The captain brings them back for him. Snakeskins, as well, and we have a parrot in a cage.”
“A parrot!” exclaimed the children excitedly.
“Aye, and it talks.” Liam grinned. “You’ll see it when you come.” He turned to Grace. “Will the doctor let you off to have dinner with us tomorrow night?”
“I’m sure he will. He’s very good to us, and he knows we’ve been waiting all this time for the two of you to return.”
“That’s grand, then. The captain’ll be pleased. He was cursing himself for not being in better form when you came this morning.” Liam laughed. “I better get back, then, and let Missus Darmstadt know about tomorrow night.” He kissed Grace on the cheek and stood up. “Can Mary Kathleen walk me round to the front, do you think?”
“Please, Mam?” Mary Kate asked, her eyes shining.
“Well, and why not?” Grace patted her daughter’s cheek. “Get your cloak is all, as it’s turned cold out there. Jack, you give me a hand with the dishes, eh, son?”
“Aw, Mam.” He knocked the toe of his boot against the table leg.
“We’ll have a man’s day out soon enough, young Jack,” Liam promised the boy. “I’ll give you the grand tour of the ship that carried your mam and Mary Kate to America. And me, as well.”
“I’ve never been on a real ship,” Jack confessed wistfully.
“And how is it you got to this country, then, son?” Grace teased.
The little boy scowled. “Doesn’t count if I can’t remember it,” he told her.
Grace sighed affectionately. “Say good night to him now. He’ll be back, I promise you.”
Jack said good night reluctantly, then began to clear the dishes as Mary Kate and Liam slipped out the back door. Once outside, Mary Kate wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and put up her hood.
“Cold.” Liam looked up at the star-scattered sky, his breath hanging in the damp night air. “Beautiful, though. ’Tis better than Kansas, or not?”
Mary Kate thought about it for a moment. “In Kansas, you could see for miles and miles. There was more sky,” she decided. “But no harbor.”
“Landlocked.” He pretended to shudder. “Horrible, then.”
“Not horrible. Just different.” She smiled and took his hand. “This way.” She led him around the far side of the house, along the path that wound down toward the driveway.
There were no lamps on in the front rooms of the house, so the night was even deeper and they could see more clearly the city that fell away below them, the small sea of flickering lights that gave way to the darkened harbor.
“I love it here,” Liam admitted shyly. “Reminds me of Dublin. Only without the green.” He laughed. “Do you remember anything of Ireland, a’tall, Mary Kate? Do you ever think of it?”
Mary Kate nodded. “I remember the folk—Granna at our cabin. And Grandda at the convent when Jack was born. There’s a smell reminds me sometimes, when peat’s burning, I think, or ’tis damp, or the sea.” She paused. “Mostly, though, my stomach hurts when I think of Ireland, so I don’t too often.”
“Mine, too. Dublin was terrible. Folk lying in the alleyways, dead or dying. Me mam was desperate to get us out. I was scared a lot of the time.” He kept his eyes on the city below. “Were you?”
“I had me mam,” Mary Kate said simply.
“Aye, you did.” He let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders instead. “Captain says she’s the bravest woman he ever knew. He didn’t like to think of her stuck in Kansas, though. Too hard a life, he said; too much work for a woman alone.”
“She was tired all the time,” Mary Kate confided. “And sad, as well. ’Twas onions, she said, but who peels onions in the middle of the night? I was glad when we decided to come away.”
Liam gave her shoulders an affectionate squeeze. “It’s all going to be fine now,” he reassured her. “She’ll marry the captain and he’ll build you all a grand house up north.”
“Up north?” Mary Kate looked up at him, puzzled.
“Aye, the captain’s bought a general store and some land up the coast in New Whatcom. He wants to make the harbor there his home port and move you all up.”
“Will you be living with us?”
He shook his head. “I’m keeping my room at the Darmstadts’, but I’ll be seeing you whenever we make a run up.”
Mary Kate frowned, her eyes wide in the dark. “But I don’t want to go off again! We only just got here, and I like it.” She thought of Mister Hewitt and then of Rose Mulhoney. “I have a teacher here, and a friend. I have a friend.” Her eyes searched his face, then filled with tears. “And you, you’re …”
“You’re crying!” Liam was aghast at what he’d caused and hugged her immediately. “Ah, don’t listen to me, girl. What do I know anyway? Nothing. Nothing a’tall.” His arms tightened around her. “You’re the first one ever said I could make something of myself, and now I have and wanted you to see it, and instead I made you cry! Please don’t cry,” he begged.
As they stood there, Liam remembered the night after they’d buried his mother and sister at sea, when he’d lain down on his bunk, exhausted and numb, willing himself to die along with them. At that lowest moment, Mary Kate had crawled in next to him, put her head against his chest—just like now—until his arms had gone around her and he’d realized he had something to hang on to. She had willed him to live, and her will had been strongest, for here they both were—alive and well, half a world away from where they’d begun.
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised her then. “You’re not to worry anymore, now, Mary Kate, do you hear me?”
She nodded, then pulled away from him, dried her eyes with the heels of her hands, and reached deep into her skirt pocket.
“I have something of yours.” She handed him a bundled handkerchief, then watched as he carefully unwrapped it. “I didn’t send them in the mail, because things get lost,” she said soberly. “And, anyway, I knew I’d see you one day.”
“’Tis Mam’s hair comb.” He looked at it in wonder. “And Siobahn’s wee sock. How did you come by these?”
“The day you left for your da’s, remember? You told me to keep them safe as you’d be coming home for them.”
Liam’s
thoughts flew back to that terrible summer in New York, back to Seamus and the filthy slum in which he lived—Seamus, who’d deserted Liam’s mother and sister, Seamus the drunk, Seamus, who’d taken Liam away from the very people he’d come to love … Seamus, who’d made up for it all in the end by giving his own life for Liam’s.
“I do.” He touched the scar on his cheek, the one left by Boardham’s knife, then looked at the meager possessions in his hand again, all that was left of his mother, his sister. “You saved them all this time?”
“And this.” Mary Kate handed him a mumblety-peg knife out of her other pocket. “Mister Marconi said I was to give it to you, but he thought ’twould be in Boston. Most likely, you’re too old for it now.”
“I used to call him an old garlic eater.” Liam was embarrassed now at the thought; he took the small knife and turned it over in his hand, then frowned as if in pain. “He was good to me, Mister Marconi. I didn’t deserve how good he was.”
“Yes, you did.”
Liam looked at the things in his hands, then at Mary Kate. “Thank you,” he whispered, hugging her again. “Thank you, Mary Kathleen.” He let go and wiped his eyes. “All right, we’re even now—couple of old saps. Funny, isn’t it? The Eliza J brought us all the way across to America, and there she sits tonight—out there in the harbor—with you and me on this hill, peering out at her. I don’t know quite what to make of it all.”
“It’s the plan.” She nodded quietly. “Mam says we’re meant to be here. We don’t always have to know why.”
“But what if the plan’s meant to take you up north?” he asked. “Would you go?”
“No.” Mary Kate was positive. “We’re to stay here. I know it. I’m always going to live here. For my whole life.”
Liam looked at her, at the way she met his gaze. “Me, too,” he said.
They stood a moment longer, the young girl and the boy to whom she was heart-bound, arms around each other as they looked down upon the youthful city, each on the verge of becoming. Their eyes shifted from the glittering sky to the glowing city to the moonlit harbor and back again, and they breathed in the cold winter air, while upon their shoulders rested the hands of a thousand Irish ancestors, steadying them for the work of the future, for the dream that was America, the land of the free; for America, home of the brave.