The Wedding Journey
Page 14
“So you do have some family?”
“I treated my husband’s granddaughter as my own. I gave her everything a young girl could ask for—singing lessons, clothing, a parlor all her own in which to entertain her friends.”
“Where is she now?”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam flattened a fleshy hand against her breast as though she was in pain. “The foolish child ran off six months ago. She met a ruffian of poor character, and when I refused to allow her to see him, she packed a bag and sailed off to Boston with him.”
“So, you’re going after her?”
“Of course I am. I can’t let Mary fall to ruin when she has a perfectly good home and someone to care for her.”
“Of course not. How old is Mary?”
“Eighteen now. Her birthday was only last month.” She sniffled into her hankie. “I fear I’m losing my mind, Miss Murphy.”
“Why do you say that?”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam finally roused herself upward to sit on the edge of the bed. “Have you ever glimpsed someone who looks so much like the person you lost that your heart catches? When you look more closely, it’s not them at all.”
“Aye,” Maeve replied. “I could have sworn I saw my da on the dock when we were boarding, but it was just a silver-haired fellow in a homespun shirt. When he looked my way, he looked nothing like Da.”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam nodded. “I used to think I spotted my Walter, too. And twice recently, I thought I saw Mary. Both times I glimpsed a girl with the same black hair, but when I looked again there was no one there. Do you think that means Mary is dead, like Walter?”
“No, of course not. You know better than that. She’s on your mind is all.”
“Does it mean I’ll be placed in a sanitarium soon?”
“Certainly not. You’ve had a lot of concerns on your mind, is all. Sometimes our mind plays tricks on us. A woman in my village lost her baby at birth. Every night for months she awoke to the sound of a baby crying, until she was on the verge of hysteria.”
“The poor woman.”
“I’ll be glad to help you find Mary when we get to Boston. I’ll help in any way I can.”
The older woman met her gaze directly. Her dark auburn hair had come loose from its fancy bun, and those blue eyes didn’t appear quite as cold as they once had. “That’s kind of you, Miss Murphy. Thank you.”
“Call me Maeve.”
“You may call me Elizabeth.”
“Shall I help you dress your hair now?”
She pointed to a case on the floor. “My brush and comb are in there.”
Maeve gathered the items and returned.
“How is the young boy faring? The one whose leg you saved?”
“Sean is quite well. He’s running errands for the captain now. There are three McCorkle brothers. Seems they came up with a plan to escape a workhouse and board the ship. Things went awry when young Sean got hurt.
“Gavin is a rigger. I saw him overhead today. Little Emmett is caring for the sailors’ chickens and goat. Mrs. Conley won’t let them eat in the galley with the crew. She feeds those boys like kings, she does.”
“Should they need anything—a place to stay, clothing…you come to me. Do you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I can’t do this as intricately as you, but I can give you a serviceable bun. My sister Bridget could fashion it more stylishly.”
“It will suffice, Maeve. Thank you.” She gave her a sheepish look. “I just needed someone to talk to who could understand my distress. You seem like a kind and understanding person.”
“We all need that. It’s perfectly normal.”
“I don’t really have anyone, except Stillman. He was my husband’s valet. Since Walter’s been gone, he’s been with me, as I didn’t have the heart to let him go, but he is a man, after all.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“Foolish.”
Maeve ignored that. “I mean your chest. Any pain?”
“Nothing time won’t heal.”
“Very well.” Maeve paused. She didn’t want to leave without one last offer. Finally, she decided if it was rebuffed, she wouldn’t care. “Would you care to join me and my sisters at our fire tomorrow evening and share a meal?”
The invitation seemed to toss the woman into a wave. She floundered for a moment, but then caught herself. “I would love to join you. Thank you for the invitation. I’m sure Stillman will appreciate a night off.”
“All right. We’ll see you then.”
Her opinion of the woman had changed a hundred percent. Immediately she recalled her prayer, asking for God’s help in being generous and kindhearted. She’d directed that request toward her feelings about Kathleen, but quite obviously God thought she needed to treat everyone the same way.
She still didn’t see herself inviting Kathleen to their fire any time soon, but stranger things had happened. She wasn’t going to count anything out just yet.
Wait until her sisters learned who would be joining them the next evening.
* * *
Mrs. Fitzwilliam was an entertaining dinner companion. In her younger days, she’d traveled with her husband on business. She shared stories of India, Japan and even Africa.
“I am most likely the only person here who has ever ridden an elephant,” she said at one point.
“I’ve ridden a donkey,” Bridget said, and they shared a laugh that drew attention from their neighbors.
“Everyone has ridden a donkey,” Maeve admonished her.
“I haven’t,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam proclaimed. And again they laughed heartily.
The Murphys had included Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy in their dinner plans and combined resourses.
“The fish is exceptional,” their guest said.
Everyone was growing weary of mackerel, but no one spoke of it. Plenty of fish was not a hardship in any way, shape or form. Their countrymen back home would love to haul in a catch like this and put it on the table for their families.
In a way Maeve felt bad for leaving so many people behind to fend for themselves, but on the other hand, she felt fortunate to have escaped the poverty and oppression.
Nora had outdone herself with a kettle of rice pudding.
Mrs. Kennedy was holding Baby Grace, so she asked Nora to save her a serving.
“I do so admire your courage for eating that pudding,” Bridget said to Maeve. “You’re so brave to blow yourself up like a puffer fish and not care a whit that your drab, ill-fitting dresses no longer fit.”
“Bridget,” Nora cautioned, but her voice had no true censure behind it. In fact, she quickly hid a grin.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam looked taken aback by Bridget’s teasing, so Nora shared how a particularly rude passenger had behaved at the captain’s table.
“Oh, dear,” Maeve said to her oldest sister. “You haven’t dressed for dinner. I’ll make your excuses while you run along and change. Don’t worry yourself if it’s a rag. No one on this vessel has any fashion sense. They’ll never know.”
Nora did laugh at that.
“I am amazed at what some people consider a suitable dinner dress,” Aideen told them, sipping her tea with her pinkie in the air. She turned to her aunt. “Why look at your hair! How generous of you to employ a blind maid.”
They laughed over that, and even Mrs. Fitzwilliam got into the spirit, once she was convinced they weren’t making sport of her. “I hope I never sounded like that,” she said, turning a repentant gaze on Maeve. “I do apologize for anything unkind I said to you in the past.”
“All is forgiven,” Maeve assured her.
“But truly,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said to Maeve. “That’s an interesting lace collar you’re wearing. Did the mice get to it?”
Nora choked on her tea, and Bridget patted her on the back until she stopped coughing.
They were enjoying themselves so thoroughly, no one noticed the couple strolling nearby until they were practically on top of them.
“You ladies are certainl
y enjoying your evening,” Flynn noted. “What is all this merriment about?”
Beside him stood Kathleen, her shiny dark hair in place, a paisley silk shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
“Nora did something incredible with this rice pudding,” Maeve replied. “It seems we have enough to feed the crew. Would you care for some?”
Flynn glanced at Kathleen, and it was plain he wanted to accept. “That sounds nice,” he said and led Kathleen forward.
The ladies scooted closer together to make room for two more. It wasn’t a problem, since they had Aideen and her aunt’s space to use. Maeve got a stool for Kathleen and sat on a mat.
Kathleen sat with her skirts tucked aside as though she didn’t want to soil them by allowing them to touch one of the other women.
Nora placed a serving of rice pudding in a clean dish and handed it to Kathleen.
Everyone grew silent, waiting for her refusal.
The sound of the waves against the side of the ship was loud in the ensuing silence.
As though she sensed every eye upon her, the young woman glanced from person to person. Apparently refusing the offering in front of so many was too rude even for her, because she accepted the bowl and a spoon. “Thank you.”
Flynn took his with a smile and tasted it. “Mmm. Indeed, this is the best rice pudding I’ve ever eaten in my life. And I’m partial to rice pudding.”
“Evenin’, Dr. Gallagher,” their neighbors called over.
Flynn greeted them.
Kathleen took a bite.
“So what were you sharing such a hearty laugh over?” Flynn asked.
“Well…” Maeve studied the starlit sky.
“I’m afraid their amusement was at my expense,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said, surprising Maeve by coming to her rescue. “I was bragging about having ridden an elephant in India. They could not picture it. I wasn’t quite as full-figured as I am now.”
The baby fussed, and Nora got up.
“Let me,” Bridget said. “I’ll go.” She grabbed a tin cup and headed across the deck in the moonlight.
Maeve took the baby from Mrs. Kennedy and changed her nappy.
“Where did she go for milk?” Kathleen asked.
“To milk the goat,” Nora replied. “The sailors generously let us milk her whenever we need to, day or night.”
“Why don’t you just gather a whole bucket at once and save yourself the additional trouble?” she asked.
“Because it would be contaminated in the hours it was left exposed.” Flynn’s tone revealed his aggravation at the question.
Maeve stood and carried Grace over to their guests and extended her toward Kathleen. “You’re welcome to hold her.”
Kathleen just looked at Maeve with a blank expression, so Maeve placed Grace in her arms and stepped back.
The young woman looked as though someone had dropped a mud pie in her lap. She grimaced and held Grace as far from her as possible, without letting go. The baby fussed at the awkward position.
“Oh, here, like this.” To Maeve’s utter amazement, Flynn took the infant and nestled her into the crook of his arm. Grace immediately settled in and opened her eyes wide in the darkness.
“She’s such a sweet little thing,” Nora said.
“Still no idea how she came to be abandoned?” Mrs. Fitzwilliam asked.
Nora shook her head. “’Tis a mystery, it is.”
“Quite obviously someone didn’t want to get up and milk a goat three or four times a night,” Kathleen remarked.
“Her own mother wouldn’t have had to milk a goat,” Maeve pointed out. “Nature takes care of that detail rather ingeniously.”
“Oh.” Kathleen pulled her shawl around her.
Bridget returned and Nora filled the glass nursing bottle.
“Do you wash it between feedings?” Flynn asked.
“Yes, doctor,” Nora replied with a grin. “The nipple, too. Do you want to feed her?”
Flynn didn’t reply for a moment, but then he nodded and took the bottle. Grace knew better than he what was required and latched on hungrily.
Seven women watched the only male in their midst, a tall broad-shouldered man, as he held and fed the tiny infant, a babe not even as long as his forearm. It was one of those moments that doesn’t require comment, because it’s so pure and beautiful on its own.
Maeve couldn’t help wondering what he thought as he held Grace, truly acknowledging her for the first time, and not distancing himself. He must be thinking of his Jonathon, of the wife he loved and lost. He must be thinking how fleeting and fragile life is—and, in the face of a newborn baby, how beautiful.
Chapter Sixteen
When Grace was finished, Nora took the bottle. “Put her on your shoulder to work up a bubble now.”
He did as instructed, propping Grace on his shoulder and patting her gently. She emitted a very unladylike sound and he chuckled. “Right on cue.”
“I should take her to bed.” Nora reached for the baby.
“Bridget and I will do the dishes,” Maeve assured her.
Aideen got up. “I’ll help.”
“We should be going.” Kathleen stood. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“You’re quite welcome. It was our pleasure,” Maeve said.
“Yes, do come back,” Bridget added, as though they’d just had someone into their parlor for a tea party.
Flynn thanked them, as well, and the couple strolled away.
“That was interesting,” Aideen remarked.
“I don’t know what I’d have done if she’d refused the dessert,” Maeve said.
They busied themselves with the dishes.
This week on the Sabbath, the boundaries in the hold were nearly obliterated. Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy, along with Elizabeth Fitzwilliam, sat with the Murphy sisters for Captain Conley’s Bible reading and during silent prayer.
The McCorkle brothers sat directly behind them, and were the most boisterous singers in the room. When the service ended, Mrs. Fitzwilliam turned around and spoke to each lad.
After lunch, serious work began on the dresses. The Murphy sisters gathered in the other ladies’ stateroom, where all the supplies were handy, and applied their efforts to cutting the fabric.
“I’m terrified of making a mistake,” Nora said, the scissors trembling in her hand.
Mrs. Kennedy took the shears from her and all of them watched in fascination as a loud snip snip snip sounded and the fabric parted in perfect precision. Aideen wielded her own impressive pair of scissors to cut facing and bias strips.
“What about underclothing?” She glanced up. “Do you ladies have proper underslips and pantaloons? What about chemises?”
Nora’s complexion turned pink. “No one will see our underclothing.”
“It has nothing to do with who will see them and everything to do with how beautiful and self-confident you feel.”
“And pantaloons will make me feel self-confident?” Maeve’s eldest sister challenged.
“Yes,” Aideen replied emphatically. “We shall fashion several sets, and you will not set foot on that gangplank without a proper ensemble beneath your dress.”
Bridget smiled from ear to ear.
Nora acquiesced with a pretty shrug. “If you feel that strongly about it.”
Maeve sat with Baby Grace in her lap and watched her sisters with their new friends. “When we’re living in Faith Glen, we shall travel to Boston to visit you. And you’re welcome at our cottage any time.”
“Oh, I would love that,” Aideen told her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such pleasurable company.”
They went on deck for a quick afternoon meal, and Maeve boiled water. “We were running low, so I purchased some lovely tea from one of the ladies I met.”
“Thank you, Maeve,” Nora said. “Afternoon tea sounds delightful.”
Bridget agreed and added, “I do wish we had biscuits.”
“Or those sweet little lemon cookies we once enjoyed a
t a wedding,” Maeve added.
“You’re making my mouth water.” Mrs. Kennedy closed her eyes. “Let’s pretend.”
A scuffle broke out several fires away. The occasional argument was common, but this was beyond a verbal disagreement. The women sat in stunned silence as two men shouted and took punches at each other.
“Oh, my.” Bridget rested a hand on her cheek.
One man chased the other across the deck, his boots making a loud racket on the planks. The man being chased carried a lumpy bag, and when he got to the side of the ship he paused, heaved it upward and threw it overboard.
Quite obviously incensed, the man in pursuit lunged forward with a loud growl. The sisters had seen the Donnelly brothers fistfight on rare occasion, but this didn’t seem like a spat between rowdy brothers. Tight-fisted hits were met with grunts. They grappled to the deck, stood and circled each other with bent knees.
A flash of steel glimmered in the sunlight.
Both men stilled.
The first lunged.
The second slid to the planks, a crimson stain spreading across his shirt front.
The other, the one who’d thrown the bag overboard, wiped his bloodied dagger on the leg of the injured man, sheathed it and ran.
“After him!” someone shouted.
Already on her feet, Maeve shouted for someone to go for Dr. Gallagher, and darted to the bleeding passenger on the deck. She fell to her knees beside him.
The bearded man’s eyes were already glassy. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Still conscious, he rolled his eyes toward her. Attempting speech, he choked instead.
She tore open his shirt to find a deep wound that had obviously pierced vital organs. She tore off her shawl, rolled it and pressed the wad against the wound. She knew of nothing to do for him. He was rapidly bleeding to death. “If you need to make peace with God, I am believing this is your last chance.”
He turned his head aside, spat and gasped, “Pray.”
“You want me to pray with you?”
He nodded, grimacing so wide his bared teeth shone in the sunlight.
Heart racing now, Maeve leaned close to the dying man and asked God to forgive him of any trespasses and take him to glory.
He nodded as though agreeing with her prayer, but his eyelids fluttered.