Leaving Ireland

by Ann Moore

  She embraced Grace one last time, the words pouring out of her. “I’m sorry we didn’t keep Morgan safe, that he died … that he never saw his son. Ah, God, I’m sorry. I pray you’ll forgive us. Me. Forgive me.”

  Grace pressed her cheek against Julia’s. “I never blamed you,” she whispered. “Never.”

  “I thought so highly of myself,” Julia rushed on. “My brilliant mind, my brilliant work, blah, blah, blah.” She shook her head in self-disgust. “But I’m ashamed of myself, Grace. I’m nothing next to you. You’re the finest woman I’ve ever known—kind and strong and brave and honest.…”

  “Ah, now, next you’ll be asking me to buy you a drink,” Grace teased through her own tears.

  Julia laughed, fighting off the hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm her, clinging to Grace until the group behind them had had enough and pushed forward, separating them once and for all.

  “We’ll see you again,” Grace shouted from the top, holding Mary Kate’s hand, both now waving their arms.

  “Aye!” Julia yelled and blew them a kiss. “God willing,” she said quietly to herself, and stood there in the freezing rain until the ship was long gone out to sea.

  “I’ll see the captain, then,” Grace insisted, pushing down the panic in her voice. “He’ll right this, if you cannot.”

  Marcus Boardham’s dark eyes narrowed, but he ran his finger down the list again, tapping it with finality halfway down the sheet.

  “No cabin in that name,” the steward said shortly. “Missus Bram Donnelly and child, two bunks steerage.”

  “We’ve paid for a private cabin. It’s right here on the ticket.” She held his gaze, ignoring the irritation he made no effort to disguise, and at last he sent someone to find the captain.

  “Go below.” He waved her off.

  “No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I’ll wait right here.”

  The steward stepped past her, forcing Mary Kate and her up against the wall of the small passageway, quickly engaging himself with another group looking for their cabin—a group meant to have private accommodations, according to his list, and therefore rightfully deserving of his attention. They were English, all of them, and Grace gritted her teeth, refusing to be intimidated.

  “Problem, Mister Boardham?”

  Startled by the commanding voice, Grace found herself looking over Boardham’s shoulder and into imposing blue eyes that meant nothing if not business.

  “Captain Reinders.” Holding firmly to Mary Kate’s hand, she pushed past the steward. “A private cabin was booked well in advance for my daughter and myself, but your man here says it’s not to be.”

  “Well?” The captain looked over her head at Boardham.

  “There’s no ‘Missus Donnelly’ in first class, Captain. Only steerage.”

  “You examined her papers?”

  Boardham sidestepped Grace to be closer to the captain, whom he turned slightly so that they faced away from her hearing.

  “Tickets are marked first,” he admitted reluctantly in a low voice. “But first is full. Passenger list says steerage.” He held out the proof.

  Reinders swore under his breath, jaw clenched.

  Damn those thieving bastards to Hell, he silently fumed. He saw instantly what had happened. The directors had put their American medical man and his family in first, probably in partial payment for his services; Missus Donnelly and her little Irish daughter had been dumped to steerage. He glanced at the passenger list again; all of the others would be settled by now; no one was going to voluntarily give up their cabin. It didn’t escape his notice that the only Irish passenger among them would have been Missus Donnelly. Damn them, he thought again, but there was nothing for it. Boardham pissed him off, as well—another one of the directors’ stipulations though who in God’s name knew why. There was something irritating about the man, a ratty smugness. Reinders shouldered him out of the way and turned to face the woman and her daughter.

  “There has indeed been a mistake, Missus Donnelly. You are most certainly correct in that, and I apologize most humbly, as does my steward, Mister Boardham.” He shot the man a warning look.

  Boardham dipped his head, but there was nothing sincere or apologetic in the gesture.

  “I’m sorry to say there’s no way to remedy this situation unless you wish to disembark immediately and rebook passage on another vessel.”

  Grace’s heart skipped a beat. “No, Captain, I will not.” She looked him in the eye. “’Tis not the ship I paid for, but your reputation for sailing her. Did you not bring her into port despite a nasty storm and the loss of half your crew? I’ve heard tell you did. I’ve heard you’re an honorable man. God has led me to put my life and that of my daughter in your hands, Captain Reinders, and until He tells me otherwise I’m staying aboard.”

  Surprised by this speech, he regarded her more closely, seeing now beyond the timidity he associated with most women—and the gaunt frailty of this one in particular—to the determined set of her jaw and the quick light in her eyes. Were they gray or blue or green? he found himself wondering. And then he knew—they were the perfect changeable color of the sea. He made a decision.

  “Are you willing to travel steerage, ma’am?”

  “Have I any other choice, Captain?”

  “No, Missus Donnelly, I’m afraid you don’t.” He glanced at the child beside her, equally still and pale, but silently trusting.

  “You will, of course, be reimbursed for your entire passage, and I will do everything in my power to make sure you are comfortable.” He turned to the steward. “Missus Donnelly and her daughter are to be given the two lower bunks nearest the door, which are to be curtained off for greater privacy. I want this done right away. You are to see to it personally, Boardham. Missus Donnelly, you will, of course, take your meals with the first-class passengers in the saloon.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Better food for the child.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Grace squeezed Mary Kate’s hand. “I’ll be no more trouble to you, then.”

  “You’ve been no trouble, Missus Donnelly. Please ask for me if there’s anything else I can do.” He nodded curtly, then tossed a sharp glance at the steward before striding back down the hall.

  Stung by the captain’s attitude, Boardham barked at a young sailor, who quickly heaved Grace’s trunk to his shoulder and headed off to the narrow stairwell. Grace and Mary Kate followed, falling farther behind as they picked their way carefully down.

  The stairwell opened directly onto a great room divided into three sections with narrow walkways in between. Tiers of wooden slats three deep ran the length of the room, and there was no light save the smoky flicker of wall-mounted oil lamps. The ship rolled slightly as the sea sloshed against her; her timbers groaned and creaked. Grace felt the press of tense bodies before she saw their shapes huddled on bunks or sitting on battered trunks, guarding what little they had left, children included. Their eyes were furtive, their talk hushed.

  “You there, you’ll have to move.” The sailor spoke gruffly to two older men who’d claimed the bunks by the door.

  “Why’s that, then?” the one asked, suspiciously.

  “Set aside for this woman and her child,” came the smart answer. “Move along now, Captain’s orders.”

  “And if we don’t?” The other spoke now in a low, menacing voice.

  “You’ll be put off the ship,” the crewman warned. “Tossed overboard most likely. Captain Reinders never asks twice. He’s American.”

  Cursing the American captain and his smart-mouthed crew, the two men gathered the bundle of cloth that constituted their worldly belongings and moved off toward the back of the hold, shouldering past Grace more roughly than necessary.

  The murmuring in the hold had ceased as the other passengers listened carefully to the exchange. They eyed Grace warily, unsure if the captain’s attention to her made her someone worth knowing or someone to fear.

  “Thank you for your help,” Grace said qui
etly as the young sailor settled her trunk next to the bottom bunk.

  “No problem, missus,” he replied jauntily. “I’ll be back shortly to rig a curtain for you.”

  Grace surveyed the scene and made her decision quickly. “No need for that.” She spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “Aren’t I a girl from the lane, then, well used to the good company of my neighbors? Never you mind a curtain.”

  The sailor cocked his head at her, puzzled. “It’s Captain’s orders, missus,” he insisted. “I have to bring it down.” He glanced around at the wary figures on their bunks. “But I guess I can just give it to you, and you can do whatever you like.”

  “Sure enough, I will.” Grace gave him a quick wink.

  It took him just a minute to understand, but then he returned the wink, nodded, and whistled up the stairs, leaving her with the others.

  She removed her bonnet, then untied the ribbons of Mary Kate’s, running her fingers through the child’s short curls, warming the little red cheeks between gloved hands as the girl gazed up at her watchfully.

  “’Twill be all right, agra,” she soothed. “We’ve come aboard this fine ship safely and here we are, a bed apiece, the promise of meals, a big adventure ahead. Why, we’ll be seeing your uncle Sean in no time a’tall, and won’t he be surprised at how very big you’ve grown?”

  “Will he?” Mary Kate wondered, touching her mother’s cheek.

  “Oh, aye,” Grace assured her. “He’ll see me first, and then he’ll look all around, asking, ‘Where’s my wee Mary Kate, and who’s this giant of a person come all the way across the sea with you now?’ He’ll glower at you with his arms crossed, looking all fierce the way he tries, and demand to know what you’ve done with his favorite girl.”

  “Say I swallowed her.” Mary Kate giggled, then covered her mouth.

  Grace laughed as well, just to see her, and suddenly neither could stop. They gave in to it, laughing and laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks, and the taste of salt was upon their tongues, Grace pulling Mary Kate onto the bunk and tickling the life out of her. Those near them froze with uncertainty, then stole glances at one another as the infectious giggling continued, shaking their heads in pity for the poor lunatic friends of the American captain. But soon enough, their own lips began to twitch and the mirth that was so natural to them escaped from its confinement, so contagious was the giggling of the wee girl and the whoops of glee from her mother.

  Laughter rippled slowly to the very back of the hold, to the last bunk in the darkest corner, giddiness a relief to those who felt sure their hearts would burst with the strain of leaving—it spread and grew until it reached the captain’s ears on deck.

  He cocked his head, listening, thinking it the scream of trailing gulls, but then recognizing its human quality. Laughter. Laughter from that desperate, ragged mass below. What on earth could they find so amusing about being packed like slaves in a dark, dank hold for a risky voyage across an endless, fickle sea to an unknown country?

  “They really are crazy,” he muttered and shook his head. But as the sound grew louder, his own lips began to twitch and a smile defeated the tension that lined his face, the unease in his heart began to give way, and he tasted again the confidence that had eluded him these many long weeks. The Eliza J felt solid beneath his feet, above his head her full sails pulled the ship through a bracing sea, in his face the wind was stinging and clean. He was master and commander, and the exhilaration that coursed through his veins burst forth in such bold laughter that every crewman on deck paused in his work and turned to look.

  Spent, Mary Kate had fallen directly from laughter into sleep and Grace, too, had drowsed with her daughter in her arms. When she came fully awake the atmosphere in the hold had changed and she was surrounded by a hum of conversation as her fellow passengers settled into the place that was to be their home for the next month.

  She eased her arm out from underneath Mary Kate, then sat up and straightened her clothing, glancing around in the flickering, smudgy light at unfamiliar faces. Now and then a baby cried, the sound followed by a mother’s quick shushing and the rustle of cloth as the child was put to breast. Grace’s own breasts still quickened at this sound, but the ache was less with each passing day. She saw that the sailor had returned during her sleep; a folded square of canvas had been left on her trunk along with a length of rope. As much as she longed to rig a curtain and hide behind it, she did not. Quietly, not wanting to wake Mary Kate, she slipped off the side of the hard bunk, realizing with sudden clarity that there would be no additional bedding and that the canvas might come in handy after all, providing an extra cushion between the bare boards, thin mat, and her back. She stretched and looked around more openly now, stepping into the main aisle that ran the length of the hold. As much as she hoped to see someone she knew, her freedom depended upon anonymity and already enough attention had been drawn.

  She turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs and watched as Boardham, attended by a lantern bearer, entered the hold. He stood for a moment, then knocked his gaff loudly against the wall.

  “Attention.” His voice boomed in the uneasy silence. “The cargo hold has been rid of stowaways, such as have been put off the ship and are now in the charge of the magistrate.” He looked around boldly, daring anyone to dispute this action.

  Some of those stowing away were bound to have friends or family aboard, Grace thought, though no one would dare own them now for fear of joining them in jail.

  “We’ve left the mouth of the river and are now at sea,” he announced smugly. “Secure your belongings and come up in an orderly fashion to the main deck, where Captain Reinders will address you.”

  The passengers instinctively surged forward, and Boardham banged the wall again forcefully.

  “One at a time, now, one at a time,” he barked. “Secure your belongings first!”

  He glared at them and then was gone, the light that followed him leaving deeper shadows in its wake. Grace sat down again and gently shook Mary Kate until her eyes opened.

  “Are we there?” Her voice was high and hoarse.

  “Ah, no, wee girl!” Grace smiled. “’Tis a long way yet. But now the captain himself wants to see us all, so here’s your bonnet and off we go!” She forced enthusiasm into her voice, resolving to speak always as if this were great fun and everything as it should be.

  They were among the first on deck, but steadily others made their way up until they were surrounded by a sea of faces. As the ship surged across the waves, many passengers, unused to the motion, stumbled into neighbors barely able to keep balanced themselves.

  “Stand like this.” Grace spread her feet wide on the deck. “Let your body sway against the roll of the ship. Don’t fight it,” she added. “Just brace yourself.”

  Mary Kate did as she was told and others followed their example until their small space in the middle of the group was fairly secured. Grace turned her face into the wind, squinted, and breathed the fresh air.

  “Welcome aboard the Eliza J.” The authoritative voice captured everyone’s attention. “I am Captain Reinders. This is Mister Mackley, my first mate.” He indicated a wiry, fierce-looking man to his right. “And this is Mister Dean, second mate.” Dean was powerfully built with massive shoulders; his face, Grace thought, was kind. “You’ve all met Mister Boardham, ship’s steward. And this is Doctor Draper, who will see to your medical needs should any arise.” The overdressed doctor stood off to the side, examining his fingernails; he barely acknowledged the introduction.

  Reinders frowned slightly, then continued. “There are rules aboard any ship—the Eliza J is no exception. You will follow these rules to the letter, or find yourself crossing the Atlantic in a small cell in the cargo hold.” He placed one hand on his hip, edging his jacket back just enough to reveal the butt of a pistol.

  “Number one. No drink. If you have any, get rid of it now. Number two—no weapons. Bring your pistols, knives, and clubs to Mister Mackl
ey for safekeeping, to be returned when you disembark. Number three—no fire in the hold. This means no cooking, no smoking, no candles. You must police yourselves or suffer the consequence of being trapped aboard a burning ship in the middle of the ocean.” He let the full weight of those words sink in. “And finally, there will be no fighting. Bring your disputes to Mister Boardham and he will settle them. His word is final.”

  “Please, sir,” a woman asked. “How will we cook our food, then?”

  “There are four cabooses up here on the main deck.” Reinders pointed to the small fireplaces. “They will be lit each morning. You will come up in groups to cook once each day. Only once. So plan for this.” He paused. “You will be given rations for the week tonight, then seven days hence. You must make this last seven days. No more before then. Water is allotted each morning. When Mister Mackley rings the bell, bring your pots and line up. This is your water for cooking, drinking, washing. Understood?” He eyed the group carefully.

  They looked around at one another, nodding hesitantly.

  “The privies are located on deck,” Reinders continued. “You must take turns, so be hasty. Do not, under any circumstance, relieve yourselves anywhere else on this ship—even in buckets that you intend to clean out—or we risk the spread of disease.”

  This was going well, he told himself, pleased. No problems so far.

  “The saloon on the main deck is for first-class passengers only, as is the foredeck. You may cook, clean up, and take the air aft. You may also smoke a pipe there.”

  He glanced at Mackley in case he’d overlooked anything; the first mate tipped his head discreetly toward the hold.

  “Right. No one is allowed in the cargo hold. If you require something from that area, please see Mister Mackley, who will be in charge of it until we land.” Mackley nodded curtly. “All right. These are the rules. They will be posted where all can see them. If you keep to them, it will go well for you. In all good weather we should reach New York City in thirty days. Thank you.”

  He turned briskly and strode up to the helm, Mackley close behind. Dean crossed to where two sailors were picking apart old ropes for the oakum, while Boardham slipped across the deck and into the first-class saloon to brief the passengers who waited for him there.