The Wedding Journey

by Cheryl St. John

  She seemed to absorb his words. “I believed you only needed time. I suspect you’re about to tell me something entirely different.”

  Her tone held a surprising edge.

  He nodded. “I’m sorry if this pains you, but there will never be more between us.”

  This would be the time to tell her she was special and desirable and another man would be lucky to earn her favor, but the words wouldn’t come. Eventually she would make some man’s life a living nightmare. Flynn was fortunate it wouldn’t be him.

  “Mother and I left everything behind,” she told him. “She sold our property and a home that had been in our family for three generations to follow you to America.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. I’ve actually spent a very small portion of time in America and most of my time in Edinburgh. I never encouraged you to sell your property.”

  “You never encouraged me on any count.”

  “Thank you for seeing that.” She knew. She wasn’t a fool. “Your mother wanted to leave Ireland ever since your father died, did she not? I still don’t know where I’m going to settle.”

  “But you have a home in Boston.”

  “It’s a convenient place to stay between trips. You’re still welcome to use it until you find somewhere to live.”

  “How generous of you.”

  “It was never my intention to lead you on.” She was probably expecting him to say they would remain friends, but he didn’t see that happening. He didn’t want to be friends with someone who could treat others so unkindly.

  “This is for the best,” she told him. “I can see that.”

  He nodded, though he didn’t understand.

  She gathered her voluminous skirt that dragged on the deck without whatever feminine frippery she couldn’t wear aboard ship and headed away from him, her posture stiff.

  “The fortunate thing about this,” she said pausing in her exit, “is how utterly forgettable you will be.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  That morning, for the first time during a voyage he regretted leaving the sunshine behind to go below. Flynn felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The reason for his ease was more than setting the record straight with Kathleen. Last night he’d faced his pain and allowed God to begin a healing process. Like any healing, it might take time, but he’d sought the Great Physician, and His power and love were unfailing.

  He wanted to tell Maeve all that had taken place, but their last conversation had left things between them uncomfortable, and all morning she’d been cool.

  At noon he took a stroll along the port side and discovered Martha Conley casting a net over the side of the ship.

  “Would you miss the sea if the captain were to agree to settle down on land?” he asked her.

  “Not for a minute. I do this to keep my sanity and feel productive. Rather be tendin’ a garden, I would. I’ve eaten enough fish to last all me live long days. Green things, that’s what I long for.”

  “But you’ve come along with him all these years.”

  “The sea’s his mistress,” she told him. “He loves her and I love him, so here I be.”

  The next person he spotted was a man sitting at an easel. The fellow wore a paint-spattered smock and a wide-brimmed straw hat. Fully expecting to find a seascape, Flynn approached the painting.

  Instead, the man was painting a portrait of a woman. Glancing about, Flynn had spotted no one posing who looked like this person. “Who is she?” he asked.

  “Her name is Sharon.”

  “An Irish lass?”

  “Romanian. A traveler.”

  Flynn had heard of the clans that roamed the countrysides of Europe. The artist’s voice held regret.

  “But you’re headed for America.”

  “I’m not her kind. Travelers don’t marry outside their own people.”

  “And you paint her from memory.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a knack I possess. But she is an indelible image on my heart.”

  “It’s a wonderful painting. She’s a beautiful young woman. I thought I would see a painting of the sea on your easel.”

  “My stateroom is full of them. B-19. Please come select one.”

  “I’ll buy one from you.”

  “I need only paint and canvas to exist, so they’re not expensive.”

  “Later this evening, perhaps.”

  Back in the dispensary, Emmett McCorkle was standing not far from the door.

  “Young Emmett waited for you,” Maeve told him. “I offered to help, but he wouldn’t even tell me what brought him.”

  “Well, why don’t we go into the other room back here, and you can tell me what brings you down here on such a fine day.”

  He ushered the boy into the room and closed the door. A few minutes later, he returned for water, rags and a scalpel.

  “May I be of assistance?” she asked.

  “It’s a personal matter,” he replied. “Go on upside for air. We won’t be long.”

  A moment later Emmett cried out. Maeve left the dispensary. She found Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy at their fire and joined them for a cup of tea.

  “A woman inquired about you only a few minutes ago,” Aideen told her. “She mentioned the number of her stateroom and asked you to call on her.”

  “Was it an emergency? Why didn’t she come to the dispensary?”

  “I have no idea. She didn’t say.”

  “Thank you for the tea. I needed the refreshment.”

  She made her way to the stateroom Aideen had mentioned and rapped on the door. A woman opened it and invited her in with a smile.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re fine, Miss Murphy. I have noticed you from time to time. My daughter and I beg you to take a few things off our hands.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Come this way.” The room was sectioned off with freestanding folding screens, and behind them were trunks and hatboxes and chests of every size and shape. “I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Beth Mooney, and this is my daughter, Clara.”

  Clara was probably about twelve or thirteen, with sleek dark hair and an olive complexion.

  Beth urged Maeve forward. “Clara has undergone a growth period recently, and though we’ve packed all these dresses and underthings, it’s obvious she will no longer be able to wear them once we arrive. It seems she will need practically a whole new wardrobe.”

  Maeve still hadn’t figured out what Clara’s exceeding height had to do with her. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what it is you want from me.”

  “We were hoping you would try on a sampling and see if you might get wear out of them. They’re well made and still quite fashionable.”

  Now Maeve understood. The Mooney woman wanted to pass along clothing from her daughter and thought Maeve would be a suitable size to inherit. “Oh. I see.”

  “Here’s what we’ll do,” Beth told her. “The screens adjust like so, and you just step behind there and try on something. This one is nice.” She stuffed a voluminous green dress into Maeve’s arms. “Go ahead. I’ll unfasten your buttons for you. Don’t be shy.”

  Maeve reluctantly tried on the emerald dress. It was fashioned with pleats in the skirt and lace at the neck and each wrist. Never had she worn fabric so elegant or fine.

  Beth urged her to come stand before their full-length mirror and fastened the back closed. She plucked the large pins from Maeve’s hair and the ringlets sprang free and draped her shoulders. Though the style was definitely suitable for a younger girl, the vivid garment enhanced her hair and skin.

  “I had no idea this color would be suited to you, but it’s striking.”

  Maeve couldn’t disagree. “I could never accept such a generous offer,” she said with a shake of her head. “The things are too nice to give away.”

  “Give them away I will. I’ll offer them to charity once we land if you don’t want them.” />
  “I’m afraid I don’t have room to store them. We share our cabin with several women.”

  “Take a few now and leave the rest here until we land. There’s a pretty dressing gown and a nightdress Clara just discovered have grown too short, as well. Surely you can use those.”

  “It’s generous of you. Thank you.”

  The woman made a stack and offered to carry more for her, but Maeve assured her a few items were plenty for now.

  “Well, you come get them if you want something else before we dock.”

  Maeve carried the clothing to her cabin. Mrs. Mooney had noticed her. Noticed her shoddy clothing? Noticed her small stature? While she was thankful and the woman had been generous and thoughtful, it stung to know others perceived her as needy.

  She hung the dresses on the hooks near their bunks and folded the nightclothes into the trunk she shared with her sisters. She could hear Bridget now, exclaiming over the clothing.

  She met Emmett in the companionway, walking rather stiffly for one so young and agile. The lad had filled out and the sun had kissed his skin and encouraged freckles. He looked far healthier than he had the first time she’d laid eyes on him. He ducked around a corner and was gone before she could speak.

  The doctor was sterilizing a scalpel when she entered.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Lovely.”

  “The laddie had a boil thrice the size of a Norse silver penny on his backside,” he explained. “I doubt the boy has been able to sit for a week. Finally told his brother, and Gavin made him come to me.”

  “That explains why he wouldn’t let me ’ave a look.”

  “No lad wants to show a pretty lady his bum,” he agreed with a grin.

  She wiped down the counters.

  “It’s a good day when no one is sick aboard a ship this size,” he said.

  “I was thinking about visiting a few people,” she told him. “If I have your permission, that is. I am wondering how Goldie is getting along and if she needs any additional ointments for those burns.”

  “Why don’t I do that while you call on Henry’s wife and Mrs. Madigan and her baby? That way we’ll both be attending patients and will finish up twice as quickly. It would be nice to enjoy the weather on deck this afternoon. And I’d like to talk with you.”

  “Very well. I’ll be on my way.”

  “Meet me under the forecastle when you’ve finished.”

  Henry Begg’s widow and her five children shared a cabin with one other woman who had several children and her mother traveling with her.

  “Is your daily allotment sufficient for your growing children?” Maeve asked.

  The woman nodded. “Our countrymen have shared with us, as well.”

  It was common, just as when Maeve’s father had died, for neighbors to share their own provisions.

  “And you?” she asked the widow. “Are you eating? Sleeping?”

  “Don’t have much of an appetite, but I want to sleep all the time.”

  Maeve stayed and talked with her awhile longer. “Take the little ones for walks on deck,” she told Mrs. Begg. “They need the exercise and the fresh air will help you.”

  The visit with Margret Madigan was far easier. Maeve found the mother and her little ones seated at their fire. She and the baby were flourishing, and her two other children, though small, were good company for her and adored their new brother, Jack.

  Flynn waited for her where he’d indicated. “The day was too nice to spend the entire time below deck.”

  His new attitude surprised her. “You’re different today.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I am.” He guided her on a leisurely stroll. “I left a note on the door of the dispensary. In case there’s an emergency, everyone will know we can be found up here.”

  Maeve had stopped for a bonnet before stepping up into the sun again. It shaded her face, but she couldn’t bring herself to tie it under her chin, so she let the ribbons dangle. A gathering at the rail caught her attention and she joined them to see what was of interest.

  The top fins of two enormous whales could be seen cutting through the surface of the water. “I’ve seen whales from a distance, while standing on the cliffs above the village, but never this close or from this vantage point. They are magnificent.”

  “I’ve never been to Castleville,” he told her. “What’s it like?”

  Together they moved away from the others and walked a little farther. “The shoreline below the cliffs is trimmed with golden sands and rocky outcroppings. When we were children, we used to walk an hour or more to make our way to the bottom. We felt safe because the Donnelly brothers, Scully and Vaughan, came with us. Adventurous and strong boys, they were. There are caves to the north, but Da warned us of the dangers, and we never dared explore them.”

  “Your childhood sounds happy.”

  “We didn’t have much, but we didn’t realize it. Things were good before the famine. Before the sicknesses came.”

  “They get snow in America,” he told her. “Have you ever seen snow?”

  “No, never. Da saw snow in the mountains as a lad.”

  “There are extremes of weather, because the ocean isn’t absorbing heat. So winter is cold and summer is hot. Once it snowed when I was in the city. It’s pretty, but it’s also an inconvenience. Shopowners must remove it from in front of their doors, and it makes the streets more difficult to travel. You and your sisters will need coats and winter boots.”

  “I don’t know that I’ll like that.”

  He chuckled. “We Irishmen are indeed spoiled by ideal weather.”

  “What was it like to grow up rich?”

  No one had ever asked him that before. He had to think about it. “Like you, I knew nothing different. Not until I was older and understood the struggles of those going hungry after the blight and farmers losing their homes. For us the blight was inconvenient, but not a major problem. We simply ate more fowl and lamb. For others it was life and death.”

  “And on top of the hunger came disease,” Maeve said.

  “Money didn’t draw a line there,” he told her. “My father is a surgeon. I went to the finest school in England to become a physician. We had no tools or medicine to fight cholera or relapsing fever. No one was spared.”

  She agreed and nodded her understanding.

  He rested a hand on her shoulder and led her to the side of the ship, where he dropped his hand and studied her. “You spoke to me as no one ever has, when you suggested I should face my feelings.”

  “I shouldn’t have—”

  “Yes, you should have.” He was nervous to tell her what he’d done. He took a deep breath.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Last night God showed me some things. Plain as day. I can’t deny His guidance.”

  Maeve glanced across the water and then back at his face, waiting patiently for him to continue. He’d never started a conversation like this before—not one that included God. Her curiosity was piqued.

  “You are perceptive, and you were right. I’d been hiding from my feelings. I had buried every emotion that remotely reminded me of my former life—all the memories, the bad and the good, as well.”

  “You were simply protecting yourself. It’s understandable. It’s human nature to shield a wound.”

  “But I was missing so much by denying even the pain. I couldn’t bear to live with it, so I never let myself think about it. I still have to deal with feeling as though I failed my wife and son…but I’m no longer ignoring the guilt, so now I can finally learn how to deal with it.”

  She understood the regret. There was always the question of whether or not she could have done something differently that would have changed the outcome for others. She lived with the burden of having let them down, even though she knew she’d done all she knew to do. How much worse must it be for him—a man who studied and had the finest medicine and equipment at hand—to helplessly stand by and lose the two people
he loved most in all the world?

  “I do understand,” she assured him. “Truly I do. But there’s no known cause and no cure for cholera, Flynn. You are not responsible for letting them die.”

  “The cause is so close to being discovered,” he said. “I know with certainty the spread has something to do with drinking water or waste or other contamination. I have funded all my own research. I searched for a partner to join me, but was unsuccessful. My efforts are too late for Johanna and Jonathon, of course, but not for future victims.”

  “Perhaps you’ll have more of an impact in America and your colleagues will listen. Is there as much cholera in America?”

  “New York experienced outbreaks in the early thirties and late forties. Most say the ’32 epidemic spread from London. New York was and is squeezed into overcrowded wards by an influx of immigrants.”

  “What about Ontario and Quebec City? I’ve heard many people left County Galway bound for northern areas.”

  “The worst of the coffin ships landed there,” he told her. “They developed quarantine stations on an island, anchored ships and kept passengers secluded until health officers allowed them into the country. Hundreds and hundreds died right on the ships.”

  “Those are the ship’s conditions you devoted yourself to improving.”

  “Something needed to be done. The only businesses flourishing along the coast were coffin makers and undertakers. Now if shipowners don’t comply and still overcrowd or don’t supply adequate clean water, they are fined so heavily they can’t continue to operate.”

  “And you know that the death of your wife and child are no more your fault than those of all the other people, while your measures meant that untold lives have been saved.”

  “I know. But I have trouble accepting that I’m a physician and I was helpless to save them.”

  “I understand, Flynn. I felt helpless, too, when my neighbors grew sick and died. When my own father caught influenza and didn’t recover. Nothing I did made any difference. I thought if I’d had more knowledge, if I’d had better medicines, they wouldn’t have suffered the way they did. They would still be alive and life wouldn’t have had to change. I have longed for those days before the blight, before death came knocking at every door in our village.”