The Wedding Journey

by Cheryl St. John

  Maeve wasn’t worldly or experienced, but she recognized a wolf in sheep’s clothing when she saw one. She liked to give people the benefit of the doubt but, as Bridget had predicted, she couldn’t come up with any redeeming qualities to tag on the woman.

  It had been apparent that Mrs. Boyd was pushing for Flynn to marry her daughter. At one time Maeve had believed the match was a wise one—they were from the same social class, moved in the same circles. But now…now she tried to picture the doctor cleaving to a woman so proud and haughty, and the imaginings made her feel sick.

  She thought of what Flynn had been through, losing his family. He deserved someone kind.

  “Lord,” she prayed. “Give Flynn wisdom to make decisions. Send Your Spirit, the Comforter to heal his grieving heart. Your Word says You heal the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds, so Lord, I ask You to bind up Flynn’s wounds of grief and guilt. Lord Jesus, be a healing balm to his heart and his mind. Show him You’re holding him close and loving him. Take away the pain that’s eating at him like a sickness. In the mighty name of Jesus, amen.”

  She rolled to her side and another thought came to her. She couldn’t cast it aside. “And, Lord, I forgive Kathleen for being rude and haughty. She must be an awfully unhappy person to treat others so unkindly. Help Bridget be merciful. Help me be generous and kindhearted, Lord. Show Kathleen the truth of Your way, which is to love others. And if she’s the wife You have planned for Flynn, please, please, please change her heart.”

  The cabin was stuffy that night. She threw off her sheet and tried to get comfortable.

  “Are you all right, Maeve?” came the soft voice from the bed at the head of hers.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Are you?”

  “Yes,” Bridget replied. “You’re beautiful, you know. Inside and out, just like mother used to tell us.”

  “As are you,” Maeve returned.

  “Ssshh,” came Nora’s censure from below.

  Maeve smiled and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following day they treated several patients for stomach complaints. “As many times as I tell people not to buy food from the islanders, they eat it anyway.”

  Flynn mixed peppermint oil with water and dosed it out most of the morning.

  During a lull in the stream of patients, he said to Maeve, “I’d like to apologize for Kathleen’s comments last night.”

  “It’s not your place,” she said.

  “All the same, you and your sisters are gracious. Kathleen’s barbs are uncalled for.”

  “She does have a tongue that would clip a hedge,” Maeve replied. She should keep her questions and thoughts to herself. “Are you planning to marry again?”

  He seemed surprised by her straightforward question. Would she never learn? After a moment he replied, “Why is everyone focused on getting me married?”

  “Don’t you want to marry?”

  It was obvious that he struggled to reply. “It’s the natural way of things, to marry, to make a home and a family,” he said finally.

  She paused in rolling a strip of bandage torn from a worn sheet. “You didn’t really answer my question. You merely stated a fact, like the sky is blue or cows give milk.”

  “Are you always this direct?”

  “I guess so. My life hasn’t been given over to small talk, and skirting around issues doesn’t solve anything.”

  “And you’re convinced I have problems to solve.”

  “You’re avoiding your feelings. I’m praying for you,” she answered. “I know God has a plan for you. The Bible says it’s a plan for good and not for evil. He wants you to experience the fullness of life He offers. He’s given us so much.

  “It’s hard to understand why things happen, why we lose our loved ones. There are a lot of things I can’t explain. But I do know God wants only the best for us. He loves us.”

  He opened a palm in question. “How is it so easy for you to trust Him after all you’ve lived through?”

  “Because He’s the One who saw me through those things and brought me out on the other side. He’s still bringing me through, with this move to a new land.”

  At that moment Gavin McCorkle showed up bleeding from a cut above his eye. He’d been hit by a padlock a fisherman had used as a weight on his fishing net.

  “You can’t barely see three feet before you,” he told Maeve as Flynn cleaned the gash. “The fog is downright eerie, ’tis. But the fish are crowding each other out to get into our nets.”

  She hadn’t been on deck yet. “Is Mrs. Conley up there with her net?”

  “Aye. Has the biggest haul of all, she does. The cap’n’s even helpin’ her haul ’em in. We’re near another island, but Cap’n Conley doesn’t want to risk the reefs with such poor visibility.”

  “We took on plenty of fresh water already,” Flynn agreed.

  Flynn put in one suture to hold the cut closed.

  A tremendous peal of thunder startled the three of them, and Maeve dropped the scissors she’d been holding. Her heart beat at an excessive rate.

  Gavin jumped down from the table. “Orders are to double-reef the topsail if a storm comes upon us!”

  He shot out the door.

  Another roll of thunder encompassed them.

  “I’m going topside to have a look,” Flynn said.

  Maeve set the supplies aside and followed him.

  The fog Gavin had spoken of had lifted, but the sky had grown black as night. The day was as eerie as Gavin had declared. A violent gale arose as they stood near the ladder. Maeve held down her skirt hem, which threatened to fly upward.

  Those who’d been at their cook fires extinguished them, gathered all their belongings and headed below deck for shelter. Sailors busied themselves securing sails and lines. Forked lightning zigzagged down from the heavens.

  An angry storm at sea was a terrifying and majestic thing to see. Maeve would remember this sight all her days.

  Rain descended in torrents, and they turned and climbed down the ladder as fast as they could. Flynn paused to maneuver a heavy door, one Maeve had never noticed before, over the opening.

  “Be careful as you make your way to your berth,” he told her. “Tell the others to tie themselves to their bunks for safety’s sake. And stay calm.”

  One end of the ship rose as though on an angry billow, and Flynn caught her before she struck the wall. The next moment, the same end of the vessel plunged downward. “Here. I’ll see you to your cabin.”

  He took her securely by the upper arm and led her through the passageways until they reached her destination.

  Cries of the terrified women greeted her upon entering. Untethered bandboxes and clothing lay strewn about the floor. Nora and Bridget had been waiting for her. Nora comforted the fussing baby. Bridget flung herself at Maeve. Her body trembled so forcefully, her teeth chattered.

  “Dr. Gallagher said we must lash ourselves to our beds!” she said loud enough for the others to hear. “Do so quickly now and stay calm.”

  The females used sheets and blankets to tie themselves by their waists to the frames of their beds.

  Successive peals of thunder drew shrieks, and the constant plunging of the ship had more than one woman losing the contents of her stomach.

  Maeve’s belly felt queasy, but she had a strong constitution and prayed her way through the fear.

  The cabin grew stuffy, and the smell of vomit reeked throughout. Grace let out a tremulous wail and cried pitifully.

  “Sing, why don’t you, Nora?” Maeve called down.

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Everyone enjoyed your lullaby.”

  Nora cleared her throat. The first few notes were shaky. “‘The primrose in the sheltered nook. The crystal stream the babbling brook. All these things God’s hands have made for very love of thee.’”

  The ship still rocked upon the ocean, but those who’d been crying quieted to listen.

  “‘Twilight and shadows fal
l. Peace to His children all. Angels are guarding and they watch o’er thee as you sleep. May angels watch over and may they guard o’er thee.’”

  Grace had quieted, too. Perhaps Nora’s voice had comforted her when she’d begun to sing. At any rate, her song had brought a measure of comfort to the baby and their fellow passengers.

  Soon after, the rocking of the brig lessened as the wind and waves abated. The sound of thunder moved off into the distance.

  Still they waited to be sure the worst of the storm had passed. Half an hour later, Maeve loosened her bindings and hopped down. “Are all of you all right? Is anyone hurt?”

  “I bumped my head on the bunk,” an older woman said and rubbed the area.

  “Let me have a look.” Others were making their way out of their beds now and a few rolled up their soiled linens. Maeve probed the woman’s skull. “You might have a headache, but you’re fine.”

  She turned to the others. “No one will object to an additional wash day, so you may wash out your bedding, ladies. I’ll ask a mate to string the lines as soon as the sky is clear.” She turned to her sisters. “I’d better go straightaway to the dispensary in case anyone was hurt.”

  “I want to make sure the Atwater girls fared well,” Bridget told her. She worked her hair into a braid and hurried off.

  On deck, the leaden clouds had parted, and as though in defiance of the contending elements, the late-afternoon sun made an appearance.

  The dark sodden deck shone in the light. Overhead, canvas sails snapped in the breeze as they were unfurled. Maeve should have gone below, but something held her in place. She felt as though she was waiting for something, though she wasn’t sure what. She listened and waited.

  Searching the sky, she was treated to a view of the changing color and departing darkness. As the last remaining clouds scuttled out of view, the reason she’d lingered manifested itself, stretching wide across the sky.

  The most magnificent rainbow she’d ever witnessed confirmed God’s promise to the ages and His people. Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age, she heard as plain as day.

  A tear trailed down her cheek. Swiping it away, she smiled through blurred vision. God was good. His promises endured. He was going to see them to America safely. He would provide them with a home and security, and meet their needs. Anything less than solid trust and devotion was foolishness.

  The affirmation of His enduring love buoyed her spirits. She caught herself wishing Flynn was here to see it, and then in a split second, she shot down the ladder and dashed along the corridor.

  He’d arrived at the dispensary and was picking up the few supplies they’d abandoned when the storm hit.

  “Come now!” she shouted.

  He dropped something he held and ran after her. Up the ladder they scrambled, and came out on deck. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Who’s injured?”

  “No one. Look!”

  A line creased his brow, but he shifted his attention to where she pointed. His expression softened.

  Maeve said nothing. He’d as much as accused her of talking too much, of asking too many personal questions, and admittedly she was guilty of those things. So for once she held her tongue. She let God do the talking this time.

  Again Maeve appreciated the majesty of the rainbow, but her interest was in Flynn’s reaction. Emotions played across his finely chiseled face. His brows were as black as his hair, his nose straight and well-formed. He had a solid jaw and an expressive mouth. His eyes, fringed by black lashes, were dark and fathomless. When his face relaxed and lines of concern smoothed away, she realized what a handsome man he was.

  Gradually, life resumed its natural rhythm around them. A few hardy souls came out and cleaned their cooking areas of debris. Riggers called to one another from above.

  Huge birds flew overhead, as large as geese, pure white with jet black-tipped wings. Maeve supposed they were residents of the nearby island, which was now visible, but behind them.

  Finally, Flynn turned to her and spoke: “Thank you.”

  She wasn’t sure exactly what had taken place during that interlude, but she was glad she’d been prompted to go get him. She simply nodded.

  “Let’s get back to work,” he said.

  * * *

  That evening they were treated to a splendid sunset, the colorful likes to which none other during their trip could compare. Bridget didn’t join them for their evening meal, as she was dining with the Atwaters in the captain’s cabin.

  “I wish I had your fearlessness,” Maeve said to Aideen, in a mocking singsong tone. “To stuff yourself on that mackerel and not care a whit.”

  Aideen, who had been told all about Kathleen’s barbed compliments, chuckled and popped another bite in her mouth. She chewed with her eyes closed as though the smoked fish was smooth ambrosia.

  “Maeve,” Nora warned in her matronly, older-sister tone.

  “Oh, I forgave her,” Maeve told her. “I’m just going to laugh about it now. You know you want to laugh, too.”

  A tall man in a black suit approached them, and Maeve recognized him as the man who worked for Mrs. Fitzwilliam.

  “My mistress asked that you accompany me to her stateroom,” he said.

  “Is she sick?”

  “She is requesting your presence, miss. That’s all I know.”

  Maeve set down her plate and brushed her hands together. “Well, let’s go, then.”

  He led the way down the ladder and to a door on the opposite side of the lower level from where Maeve and her sisters slept. After rapping on the door, he opened it.

  A set of mother-of-pearl inlaid folding screens shielded the room from view. She supposed it was a good solution to spare the woman’s privacy when her servant was a man. It did set up a dramatic effect.

  “Have you brought her, Stillman?” came a woman’s voice from beyond.

  “Yes, ma’am. Miss Murphy has arrived.”

  “Send her in.”

  “Mrs. Fitzwilliam will see you now.” He gestured for her to proceed around the screen.

  She had certainly met the most interesting people on this voyage. Maeve skirted the screens.

  Lying atop a bed dressed with elegant satin draping and huge tasseled pillows was the woman who’d dressed her down the first day on the Annie McGee. She wore a silk dressing gown in a luscious shade of mauve and a pair of matching slippers with rhinestone embellishment.

  “Are you feeling poorly, Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”

  “I think I shall not make it through the night.”

  “Was it the storm? Perhaps some peppermint oil will settle your stomach. You had a rough go, I’d wager.”

  “It was not the storm, although that was an experience I do not wish to endure on any future occasion.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “I fear it’s my heart.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’d better send for Dr. Gallagher, then. I’m not a physician, you know.”

  “I don’t want that man here.”

  “Why not? He’s a fine surgeon.”

  “Because he looks like my dear departed Walter in his youth, and I couldn’t bear for him to turn those eyes on me today of all days.”

  “But he’s better equipped than I to treat a heart condition.”

  “I fear my heart is broken, and I doubt there’s anything he can do about that.”

  The woman could add more drama to a conversation than even Bridget.

  Maeve tugged an easy chair closer to the woman’s bed. The contents of the bedside table were on the floor, apparently tossed there during the storm, so she knelt and set them back in place. Among jars and a leather-bound journal was a daguerrotype of a dashing, dark-haired man in a finely cut suit. A watch chain draped from inside his vest to a pocket, and he seemed to study the camera with a look of annoyance. Maeve placed it upright on the table.

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam covered her face with a flowered handkerchief. “I dream of him nearly every nigh
t. Mr. Fitzwilliam was industrious and always full of ideas. He could make even the drabbest day come to life. I never lived a dull moment in all our married years. We were going to travel abroad once he found an assistant he trusted with his business affairs. That just never seemed to happen, so our voyages were always business related.”

  Maeve settled on the chair and spoke softly. “You must miss him very much. When a person so full of life, like your husband, is gone, it sometimes feels as though a candle has been extinguished and the whole world is dreary without them.”

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam slowly tugged the handkerchief away from her eyes. She looked at Maeve. “That’s it exactly. How do you know this?”

  “That’s how I felt when my mother went to glory. Even though we were poor and she and my father worked hard every day, she always found ways to make the most simple meal entertaining. She sang so beautifully, her voice could lift anyone’s mood. Even in a work dress and apron she carried herself like a queen.

  “My father adored her, and my sisters and I learned so much about life from her. For the longest time after she died it felt as though the spark had gone out of our family. But then, little by little, I would see things about my sister Bridget that reminded me of Mother. Or I’d hear Nora say something my mother said. Only today, as the boat was pitching and the thunder was crashing, Nora sang a lullaby in the same lilting voice as Mother.

  “She left us a legacy of her beautiful spirit, her wisdom and her kindness. She’s no longer of this earth, but she lives in our hearts.”

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s eyes shimmered with tears that spilled over. She blotted her nose with the handkerchief. “He does live on in my heart. And in my dreams. Sometimes they’re so real, I wake up thinking he’s still here and I will see his head on the pillow beside me.

  “Sadly, we never had any children of our own. I was Walter’s second wife, you see, and he had a daughter. He indulged her, much to my dismay. She grew into a selfish young woman without a lick of sense. Her offspring is a foolish spoiled snip of a girl, whom I was attempting to raise on my own after her mother left her in my care to chase after a French artist.”