The Wedding Journey

by Cheryl St. John

  Bridget unwrapped one and held up a silver sugar bowl, followed by the teapot. “I never saw Mama use these.”

  “I never did, either.” Maeve unwrapped a creamer. “They’ve always been in the trunk.”

  “They’ve been there as long as I can remember,” Nora said. “Da once told me Mama got them from a woman she worked for. He said she had saved them for a rainy day. Even when times were the worst, she held on to them.”

  “This is the rainiest day I can think of,” Bridget commented.

  Maeve gave her eldest sister a pleading look. “It would be a fresh start, Nora. We have nothing left here.”

  Nora looked about the barren room, her concern clear, but her resolve crumbling. “Even selling that, the tickets would take every last penny.”

  “Perhaps there are positions aboard one of the sailing vessels. None of us minds a good day’s work.” Excitement laced Bridget’s tone.

  Nora refolded the papers and carefully tucked them inside the Bible. “I suppose it can’t hurt to go see how much the tickets actually cost and learn if it’s even possible for us to hire on.”

  Bridget shot a delighted bright-eyed gaze to Maeve. A broad smile lit her sweet face. Reaching for Maeve’s hands, she squeezed them until Maeve winced. “We’re going to America! Can you conceive of it?”

  “Only if we can afford to buy fare,” Nora reminded.

  Maeve tried to hide the jitters weakening her knees. If they didn’t have enough, they’d have to find a way by the end of the week. They couldn’t remain here. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. What did three simple village girls know about traveling aboard a sailing ship? What if the deed truly was worthless and there was no place for them once they arrived?

  The sense of hopelessness she’d lived with for months had lifted, however. They were taking action to change their situation. Even if the house was gone, anything was better than this. God had already seen them through difficult times. All they had to do now was trust Him.

  “Into Your care we place ourselves, Lord,” she prayed aloud. “Show us the path You would have us take and bless us as we seek a new home and a new start. Thank You for hope.”

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks later, Minot’s Ledge, Port of Galway, Ireland

  “Move aside!” A barrel-chested man carrying an enormous crate on his shoulder jostled passengers awaiting their turns to board the Annie McGee. Overhead, gulls with black-tipped wings cawed and swooped.

  Maeve and her sisters backed out of the way. All of their earthly possessions had been whittled down to the trunk, which had been stored aboard earlier, a few crates, a donated bandbox and a battered satchel. The pungent smells of fish and brine burned Maeve’s nose.

  The rude man set down his burden at the foot of the gangplank and headed back to a wooden cart, which interrupted the line of waiting passengers. The harnessed mule jumped nervously at the man’s approach, and the fellow picked up a switch and waved it in a threat.

  The mule sidestepped, rocking the cart precariously.

  “Stand still, you good for nothin’ bag o’ bones!” His accent plainly emphasized a lack of Irish heritage.

  With a loud bray, the frightened animal kicked out with his hind feet, solidly connecting with the cart and tipping the entire thing backward.

  Crates toppled onto the ground as a piercing cry rose.

  “There’s a lad beneath the cart!” someone called.

  High-pitched screams raised the hair on Maeve’s neck.

  The burly man grumbled and, together with several bystanders, righted the cart back onto its wheels.

  “Aren’t you the doctor’s assistant?” a gentleman in a black suit asked the grumbling bear of a man. His face showed noticeable concern. “The lad here’s bleeding.”

  “Filthy urchin shouldn’t have been beggin’ on the wharf,” the big man snarled. He picked up one of the spilled crates and headed for the gangplank without a backward glance.

  Maeve didn’t hesitate to set the satchel she held at Nora’s feet and rush to the fallen boy’s side. She’d seen more than her share of sickness and injuries over the past few years, and the lack of a proper village doctor had given her plenty of opportunities to pick up numerous nursing skills. She didn’t know if she could help, but she’d do whatever she could.

  The scene was alarming. Blood flowed from the boy’s thigh at a steady rate. Thinking quickly, she untied the scarf from around her shoulders, twisted it into a rope and tied it about his leg.

  “I have need of a stick,” she called.

  “Will this do?” A nearby woman shoved an ivory comb into her hand.

  Maeve tied the tails of the scarf around the comb and twisted until the makeshift tourniquet cinched tight and the flow of blood ceased. Certain the bleeding was stopped, she lifted her gaze to the frightened boy’s dirty face. Tears streaked the grime on his pale cheeks, and wide frightened brown eyes appealed to her.

  “You’re going to be all right,” she assured him. She glanced into the crowd. “Has someone sent for the doctor?”

  “Yes, miss,” a female bystander replied. “My husband alerted the sailors on the gangplank. One of ’em rushed aboard.”

  “It won’t be long now,” Maeve assured the boy. “What’s your name, laddie?”

  “Sean,” he replied, his lower lip trembling. “Sean McCorkle.”

  “Is your family nearby?” she asked.

  “Aye. Me two brothers. Emmett be right over there.”

  Maeve glanced about and spotted the younger boy he’d indicated standing several feet away, wearing a terrified expression. Both of them appeared dirty and uncared for.

  “’Tis the doctor comin’ now,” the woman called to Maeve.

  Stepping around passengers, a tall man hurried forward. His chocolate-brown gaze analyzed the scene, taking in the patient, the improvised tourniquet and lastly Maeve. He leaned over the lad, looking into each eye, and then pressing long fingers to the boy’s sockless ankle above his battered shoe. The doctor’s black hair glistened in the morning sun as he bent to examine the wound.

  The scent of sandalwood clung to his clothing and drifted to Maeve’s nostrils. His efficiency impressed her.

  He raised his head, piercing Maeve with an unsmiling, yet admiring look. “That was mighty quick thinking, miss.”

  “I did what I could.”

  He knelt and effortlessly picked up the boy. Maeve stood as he did, keeping her grip on the twisted scarf and comb secure. “I’ll take him to the dispensary, where I can treat him.”

  “His name is Sean McCorkle. Says he has brothers, but he didn’t mention parents.”

  “It will be helpful if you hold the tourniquet in place while I carry him aboard.” He called to one of the sailors. “Find this lad’s family! McCorkle’s the name.”

  As dirty as he was, Maeve couldn’t imagine his family or home. “Where’s your mother, Sean?”

  “She be with Jesus, miss. Don’t have a da, neither.”

  She exchanged a significant look with the doctor.

  His contemptible assistant chose that moment to return for another armload. The doctor stabbed him with an angry dark gaze. “What happened here, Hegarty?”

  “Filthy beggar got in the way. Shouldn’t be underfoot, that one.”

  A man with coal-black hair sticking out from beneath his cap stepped forward. “Takin’ a switch to the mule, Hegarty was,” the man supplied. “Frightened the poor beast into tippin’ goods all about the wharf and spilt the cart right atop the laddie here.”

  “Cruelty to animals and children isn’t acceptable behavior under my employ,” the doctor proclaimed, already walking away with the boy. “Pack your belongings and leave the ship immediately. You no longer have a job.”

  Hegarty dropped the crate with a resounding crash and brushed his beefy hands together. “You can keep your measly wages. Too many smelly Irishmen aboard this vessel for my taste, anyhow.”

  The doctor directed an undisc
ernable look at Maeve. It was apparent from his speech, he was every bit as Irish as she, though obviously from a higher social class and far more educated. In those brief seconds it didn’t matter. The obnoxious man had insulted the majority of people on the wharf.

  “Are you boarding the Annie McGee?” At her nod, the doctor asked, “Can someone see to carrying your belongings?”

  “Aye, my sisters.”

  “Call to them, if you will, please. All of you can come aboard with me.”

  Quickly, she turned and called out before the crowd had time to close in behind them. “Nora! Bridget! Bring everything and follow us!” She addressed the doctor again. “You’re taking him aboard the sailing vessel?”

  “Can’t very well leave him here unattended, can I? We’ve no other choice.”

  “He said he was with two brothers, but I saw only one, I did. A lad younger than this boy.”

  “The crewman will search them out,” he replied. “I suspect if there are brothers, they’ve either sneaked on the ship already or will board as soon as they have the opportunity.”

  Maeve left her last footprint on the soil of her native land and stepped onto the wooden gangplank.

  Reaching the deck, she kept pace with the long-legged doctor, and they made their way to the companion ladder. He descended ahead of her, and she leaned as far forward as she dared without toppling over to keep hold of the tourniquet.

  Once below deck, he led the way along a corridor until they reached a closed door. She had a free hand, so she opened it and stood back. The doctor was so tall, he had to bend to enter the room, but Maeve walked through upright. Her sisters followed, with Nora bending to fit under the doorway.

  “Set your belongings inside the door,” he instructed. “I apologize for my lack of manners, ladies. I’m Dr. Flynn Gallagher.”

  “Oh, goodness, no,” Nora objected. “You were involved with an emergency situation and could hardly have been expected to tip your hat.”

  “He isn’t wearing a hat,” Bridget said with a grin.

  Nora ignored her. “I’m Nora Murphy. This is Bridget, and your capable helper there is Maeve.”

  He had already laid down the boy and was now washing his own hands in a basin. Beside it was a stack of folded towels and linens. The dispensary was impeccably clean.

  “Will you assist me?” he asked Maeve.

  Clearly he had no one else to help now. She couldn’t have imagined that Hegarty fellow would have been of much use anyway. The doctor took hold of the comb while she washed her hands as thoroughly as he had.

  Dr. Gallagher’s brows rose in obvious appreciation for the care she took. On her return, he handed her a small brown bottle and a cloth folded into a square.

  “What will happen if his brothers aren’t found?” she asked. She didn’t want to see this lad separated from his family.

  “Where do you suppose your brothers are right now?” Dr. Gallagher asked Sean.

  Sean didn’t meet his eyes. He was sweating from the pain.

  “They’re stowing aboard, aren’t they? Was that what the three of you cooked up?”

  “What would happen to them if they did?” he asked.

  The doctor nodded at Maeve. “We’ll see them eventually. Go ahead.”

  She uncapped the bottle, held it well away from her nose and caught a whiff to test its contents. Knowing full well what it was and what he intended it for, she poured a small amount on the cloth, capped the bottle and held the fabric over the child’s nose. “Close your eyes now, laddie. The doctor’s going to fix you up as good as new, he is.”

  Dr. Gallagher cut away Sean’s trousers, covered him with toweling and doused the area with alcohol. The boy’s eyes were peacefully closed as he proceeded.

  “I’ll need a good helper for this voyage. I’d like to hire you for the position of my assistant.”

  “But…” Caught off guard, she looked up. His diligent attention was fastened on his task. “I have no formal training.”

  “Experience and quick thinking are often worth more than book learning, Miss Murphy. You’ve already proven yourself more than competent.”

  Maeve thought of all their neighbors and her own parents whom she’d treated and seen worsen and eventually die. Two weeks ago she hadn’t been able to save her own da. She didn’t know if she had the courage to take care of any more sick people. “I don’t know.”

  The handsome doctor glanced toward Nora and Bridget as he took instruments from a small metal box and threaded a needle. “How shall I convince your sister to become my assistant?”

  “May I step closer to speak with her?” Nora asked.

  “Have you a weak stomach?”

  “I’ll be averting my eyes, if that’s what you ask.”

  He gestured for her to come forward. “Yes, come speak to her.”

  Nora shot Bridget a glance and hurried to Maeve’s side, deliberately keeping her eyes averted from the surgery.

  “This is a divine opportunity,” she whispered in Maeve’s ear. “Think on it. We spent nearly every last penny on tickets and have nothing left for emergencies or even lodging when we get to Boston, should our plans fall through. We tried in vain to seek positions before the ship sailed. And now this perfect opportunity is presented to you and you want to refuse it?”

  “If it aids your decision,” the doctor interrupted. “I’ll secure positions for the three of you. The cook always needs help preparing meals for the crew, and only an hour ago one of the passenger families was inquiring about a governess.”

  Maeve looked up into Nora’s pleading blue eyes. Her sisters needed her to agree to this. Previously they’d been turned away each time they’d sought work on the ship. They’d risked the voyage anyway, but their welfare depended on someone earning a wage.

  “We accept your kind offer,” Maeve said with a surprising sense of anticipation. She prayed her abilities were enough that she would be a help. The thought of learning from a skilled physician buoyed her enthusiasm.

  “Very well, then.” Within minutes, he had neatly sutured a punctured vein as well as the flesh on Sean’s leg. “Your quick thinking spared the lad’s life. He might have bled to death if you hadn’t fashioned that tourniquet.”

  “I knew what to do and I did it.”

  “I can finish up from here. The three of you should go get settled. Afterward, you can return and help me store the supplies. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss working arrangements once the ship is underway.”

  He glanced at Nora. “Is one of you better with children than the other?”

  “That would be Bridget,” Nora replied. “I’ve had more experience in a kitchen.”

  “The family I spoke of are the Atwaters,” he said to Bridget. “They have three daughters with whom they need help on the voyage. Mr. Atwater believed he had a governess, but at the last moment, she disappeared with their silver spoons and the cobbler’s son. I’ll send a note of recommendation with you. You can inquire above about his present whereabouts.”

  The doctor cut away the remainder of Sean’s trousers and rolled them into a ball for the rubbish bin. “And I’ll let Mr. Mathers know he can expect you in the galley tomorrow bright and early,” he said to Nora.

  “We’re indebted to you, Dr. Gallagher,” she replied.

  “Not at all. I’m sure you’ll each make a valuable contribution to the voyage.” He inquired about their cabin number and gave them simple directions.

  Gathering their things, the sisters made their way back out to the corridor. Once the door closed behind them, Bridget grasped Maeve’s arm through her sleeve. “The angels surely blessed that man with staggering good looks.” She gave Maeve a grin. “I think he likes you.”

  “What a nonsensical dreamer you are,” Maeve replied. “He was as staid and solemn as a grave digger.”

  Perhaps that comparison had been thoughtless, so soon after burying their father, because Bridget got tears in her eyes. Maeve too often spoke without thinking.
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  Other passengers had begun boarding the ship, carrying their belongings and herding children. Nora led the way, turning a grateful smile on Maeve. “Thank you. This income sets my mind at ease.”

  “Now we’ll all feel more prepared to dock in America,” Maeve assured her.

  They’d been assigned a small cabin that housed twelve bunks anchored to the walls by chains. On either side of the door were lockers with padlocks. Several other women had already chosen lower bunks and stowed their things, so the sisters chose beds near each other, with Bridget above Nora and Maeve on the next top bunk. This would be the first time they’d slept in separate beds, so the closeness would be a comfort.

  Quickly, they stored their clothing and the food they’d brought, so they could hurry above.

  Back on deck, Bridget was first to the railing. Maeve and Nora stood on either side. A small crowd stood at the wharf, waving scarves and hats. Maeve didn’t recognize any of her countrymen, but she waved back. What a monumental moment this was. A life-changing day. To embed the scene in her memory, she took in every rich detail.

  “Weigh the anchor!” came a shout, and she turned to spy a bearded man she assumed was the captain. A tingle of expectancy shimmied up her spine. She held her breath.

  The anchor chain had become entangled with the cables of several fishing boats, so the moment lost momentum and her nerves jumped impatiently. At last, with much squeaking and creaking and dripping seaweed, the anchor chain was reeled in. The sound of men’s voices rose in a chant as the sailors unreefed the enormous topsails and the bleached canvas billowed against the vivid blue sky. The sails caught the wind and the ship glided into the bay.

  Goose bumps rose along Maeve’s arms and the thrill of expectancy increased her heart rate.

  In a matter of minutes, an expanse of water separated them from land, and the lush green coast with its majestic steplike cliffs came into view. She strained to see far enough to recognize the familiar outcroppings near her village, but of course the Murphy sisters had traveled a far piece to get to the ship, and it couldn’t be seen from here. Perhaps when they were farther out in the ocean.