He nodded his understanding. “We have so much in common, Maeve. But you didn’t shut yourself off as I did. God showed me plain as day what I’d been doing by not letting myself remember my wife and child. Last night I welcomed the memories.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“There’s more.”
She studied him curiously. What more could there be? His realization and vow to change was monumental. She waited.
“When I left the dispensary this morning, I sought out Miss Boyd.”
“Kathleen?”
“Yes.”
“To share all this with her? I suppose that was fitting.”
“I only touched on these things. She wouldn’t have understood.”
Before she could digest his words, a sweeping breeze caught her bonnet, and sailed it up into the air and dropped it in the ocean. Maeve reached up to her tousled hair and belted out a surprised laugh.
She and Flynn watched her bonnet drift on the current, growing farther and farther away.
She laughed again as it finally sank into oblivion. “A fitting demise for the old girl,” she sputtered and pealed out yet another burst of laughter.
Flynn wore an expression of complete confusion. “What’s so funny? You’re not upset?”
She took the pins from her hair and let it fall about her shoulders and catch in the wind. “No, I’m not upset. It was at least ten years out of date and secondhand to boot.”
His dark gaze took in her wild hair. “I don’t think another woman exists who would laugh if her bonnet was carried off and dropped into the Atlantic.”
“Life’s too short to mope about headwear.”
He’d been wearing half a smile, but it disappeared with his next words. “I spoke with Kathleen about her mistaken beliefs.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“I told Kathleen I’d never had feelings for her.”
Maeve stared at him. “You told her that?”
“Not in those precise words, but yes.”
She pushed her hair away from her face and looked out at the ocean. Why had he told her this? In a short time they’d developed a relationship that completely puzzled her. Theirs was a relationship unlike any that she’d ever had with a family member or even a friend. She was comfortable talking to him about experiences and even many of her feelings—things she’d never told anyone before. She found herself wanting to know more about him. He’d confided a careful measure with her, but there was much more below the surface.
Talking about Kathleen seemed different somehow. Maeve had assumed he was fond of the woman—that he intended to marry her. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.
Maeve collected her thoughts. What exactly had she prayed? She’d asked for Flynn’s grief and guilt to be lifted and for Kathleen to see the truth. She’d meant the truth about God’s love for her and how He wanted her to treat others, but maybe Flynn seeing the truth about Kathleen was an answered prayer, too. You’re an amazing God.
“How do you feel today?”
“Relieved. Unburdened.”
“Well, then, I’m pleased for you.”
“I’m more than pleased, Maeve. I’m relieved and thankful—and actually anticipating any more changes God wants me to make. I’m able to remember my wife and our life together. I can think about my son now, and, even though it’s painful, it’s no longer more than I can bear.”
His revelations were a lot to take in. She went over everything he’d told her, absorbing these changes in his attitude.
After a minute he asked, “I didn’t even ask you how Mrs. Begg and Mrs. Madigan are.”
Maeve explained how her visits had gone. “And your call on Goldie?”
“I found her at her fire. She’s done a fine job keeping her dressings and bandages clean. She probably has several more weeks of healing, but as long as she’s as diligent as she has been, she’ll heal well. I warned her she may have discoloration, even once the skin renews itself.”
“I doubt she’ll care about that, as fortunate as she is to have not been more seriously burned.”
“Now that I’ve had occasion to speak with her when she’s not suffering, I’ve seen what a positive and spirited woman she is. Her husband is attentive, and I don’t think that’s just because of this accident.”
“I saw that, too. Remember how he didn’t want to leave her side for an instant?”
“I suppose we should return and see if anyone’s left messages. I want to make a fresh cotton paste for Goldie and leave it with her.”
Maeve accompanied him to the dispensary, and they resumed their tasks.
That evening, Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy had dinner with the captain, so the sisters cooked their supper and ate together with only the three of them gathered at the fire.
“This is a change,” Bridget remarked.
“I enjoy having the other ladies with us, but sometimes being alone is nice, too.” Nora uncovered the skillet cake she’d made. “I’ll let this cool.”
Maeve told them about the woman who’d given her her daughter’s clothing that day.
“I wish the dresses would fit me,” Bridget said. “I would dearly love so many new pieces of clothing. I’m perfectly green with envy.”
“You’re not envious,” Nora cautioned, like a mother.
“All right, I’m not envious. But I do wish someone my size would grow out of her clothing.”
“Why, you’ve always received my outgrown clothing,” Nora told her, feigning a serious expression.
“You know that’s not what I mean, and your dresses weren’t new when they fit you,” she lamented.
“You never had anyone to impress anyway,” Maeve teased her. “Vaughan Donnelly always thought you were beautiful, even barefoot and dressed in Nora’s hand-me-downs.”
“Vaughan Donnelly was a toad,” Bridget returned.
Maeve laughed.
“He helped Da mend our roof last year,” Nora reminded her. “And he and Scully dug Da’s grave, if you’ll remember.”
Bridget ate the last of the stirabout. “Maeve speaks of him as though he was a romantic interest. Nothing could be more ridiculous. He married someone else, if you’ll recall.”
“I merely pointed out that you’ve always been beautiful, even without expensive dresses.”
Bridget gave her a sidelong look that revealed her skepticism. “I might just wear those new dresses of yours anyway, even if the hems come to me knees and the cuffs bark me elbows.”
“I’m not that much shorter than you! You’re exaggerating.”
“I’ll be a leader in fashion when the ship docks. Soon all the American women will want skirts to their knees, so their knickers show.”
“Bridget Murphy,” Nora admonished. “Don’t be vulgar.”
Maeve and Bridget exchanged a mischievous look.
“Did I mention the dresses look like something a twelve-year-old would wear? They might suit your maturity level, after all.”
Bridget couldn’t hold back her amusement at that remark, and the two of them giggled like schoolgirls.
“Honestly, sister,” Maeve told her. “You may find some underpinnings that will suit you, but I dare say most will be too small. You’re welcome to whatever you want, however. You can even use the fabric if it strikes your fancy.”
“Some day I shall have a closet full of beautiful clothing,” Bridget told them. “Why, I won’t wear the same dress twice in a month.”
“I need a new bonnet,” Maeve told them and shared her tale.
“I believe we should toss all of them overboard before we get to Boston,” Bridget said.
Maeve sliced the flat cake that Nora had rested on the bricks to cool and prepared her next words. “Dr. Gallagher is not interested in marrying Kathleen Boyd.”
Now she had her sisters’ attention. “How do you know?” Nora asked.
“He told me so today. Last night I told him she had indicated their relationship was more serious, and this morning he told h
er there was no future for the two of them.”
“I had assumed they had an understanding,” Nora said. “I guess none of us realized it was one-sided.”
“How did she take it? Did he say?”
“He didn’t give details, no.”
Bridget got a gleam in her eye. She picked up a slice of cake and leaned forward. “Maeve, I dare say he’s sweet on you. It makes perfect sense now.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Of course it isn’t. It’s plain he admires you. He seeks your opinion and relies on you.”
“That’s merely part of our doctor-assistant relationship.”
“Tell me he hasn’t shared with you more than talk of poultices and warts.”
Maeve’s cheeks grew warm. “There have been no warts that I know of.”
“You two discuss more than rashes and coughs, now. Admit it’s true.”
She shrugged. “It’s true.”
“Aha!” Bridget took a bite of her cake. “This is a tasty sweet, Nora. Thank you.” She enjoyed her slice and brushed her fingers clean before returning her attention to Maeve. “Once the man saw you beside Miss Boyd, Maeve, his decision wasn’t difficult to make.”
“It wasn’t like that at all.”
“No, how was it, then?”
Maeve picked up their dishes. “God revealed some things to him.”
“Of course He did. And one of those things was that you’d be a far more suitable wife than Miss Boyd.”
“That’s quite an assumption,” Nora piped up. “But I have seen the way the man looks at you, Maeve. There may still be some things God hasn’t revealed to him.”
“Do you really think he likes me in that way?”
“I’ve only seen him with you when Miss Boyd was there, as well, so I can’t really say. But I did observe that he didn’t look at her the same way he looked at you.”
“He’s from a family of physicians,” Maeve said. “They own homes in three different countries. He’s been to university and studied in England. He’s met fascinating people. I’m only a simple farm girl who grew up barefoot and dirt-poor. What could a man like him possibly ever see in me?”
“The same things we see,” Nora told her. “A generous, compassionate, gifted and beautiful woman who has a lot of love to give.”
Maeve explained then how Flynn had lost his family and blamed himself for so long.
“And it took a simple farm girl who grew up barefoot and dirt-poor to show him he needn’t blame himself.” Nora stored away their cooking utensils.
Maeve smiled. “Perhaps.”
Bridget released a sigh. “It’s ever so exciting. A shipboard romance.”
“Don’t be putting the cart before the donkey,” Maeve warned her.
“If you’re to be marrying into the Gallagher family, you’d best be removing donkeys from your vocabulary.”
Maeve picked up the bonnet Bridget had discarded. She waved it above her head. “Stop with your matchmaking or I will pitch this over the side of the ship.”
“No, you won’t. You’re far too practical.”
“Watch me.”
“If you think I care, you’re mistaken.”
Maeve stood and marched away.
From behind she heard her sister leap to her feet, so she ran. Upon reaching the railing, she threw the bonnet as high as she could.
A minute later it was a blot on the surface of the glistening water.
Standing with both hands on the rail, Bridget leaned forward. “I wish it had been daylight, so I could have appreciated the sight of it swooping out over the waves. Perhaps a dolphin has it now.”
“And is taking it home to his dolphin wife.”
They laughed together.
“We can do Nora’s tomorrow.” Maeve’s tone was impish.
“We cannot.”
“Well, we can’t afford to lose any more of ours or we’ll burn in the sun.”
“You’re so right. Nora’s ’tis.”
* * *
Maeve barely slept for thinking of Flynn and her sisters’ disclosures about the way he looked at her. Considering him in a romantic way had been forbidden these past weeks. He was her employer. She’d believed he was courting another woman.
He would remain her employer for only another ten days or so. And now she was aware he had never been courting another woman. Kathleen Boyd was not his sweetheart.
Maeve had been a fine one to point out to him how he’d buried his own thoughts and feelings. She had pretended no interest in him whatsoever, while a deeply buried longing wished he would look at her twice.
He was a marvel. Handsome, mannerly, educated. He’d traveled the world and learned more than twenty Castleville villagers put together would ever know. He challenged her thinking. His nearness took her breath away, and sometimes, at the mere thought of him, butterflies fluttered in her belly.
She hadn’t dreamed she had a chance with a man as fine and smart as Flynn Gallagher. What could he possibly ever see in her? Nora had suggested he found her compassion, gifts and beauty appealing. She didn’t see herself like that, but he himself had said she was beautiful.
Maybe there was hope. Show me the way, Lord. Make it plain enough for a simple girl like me to see.
As the night drew out, she considered the married couples she’d known and tried to think of ways the pairs were different and yet compatible. Her parents’ relationship had always seemed ideal, but now that was in question, due to the curious letter from Laird O’Malley.
The gentleman who’d come to the dispensary with a cold and who had been on his way to visit sons in America had spoken reverently of his wife. Maeve remembered her name because of the way he’d said it. Corabeth.
Would a man ever say her name like that? Would Flynn?
She thought of the big McHugh man’s devotion to Goldie. She’d guess they shared a similar background, however. His dedication to his wife had been endearing.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam had been married to a man of her own station, too. A person could go mad from this kind of back-and-forth thinking. Maeve deliberately closed her eyes and forced herself to focus on something else. She thought of Grace and wondered how things would turn out when they landed. She thought of Mrs. Conley and her desire to settle on land and grow a garden. There was another devoted couple…
It was a long night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maeve was up before any of the others in their cabin. She washed in tepid water and wet her hair to control it. After gathering it in the most severe braid she could muster, she fastened it on the back of her head. A look in Bridget’s hand mirror showed her that it looked nothing like Kathleen’s sleek dark style.
After examining each of the dresses she’d hung the previous day, she selected one she thought would fit the best. The underskirt was a whole new experience, and she had to wear one of the hand-me-down chemises because of the dress’s square neckline.
“Bridget,” she whispered. “Wake up and fasten the back of this dress for me, please.”
Her sister blinked at her. “What day is it?”
“Thursday. Now please come help.”
Bridget wiped her eyes and climbed down from her bunk. She blinked at her sister. “Oh, my. It’s not so bad.”
Maeve presented her back.
The dress fit pretty well, with the exception of the bodice. There hadn’t been as much of Clara Mooney to stuff into this portion. Maeve wasn’t twelve, quite obviously.
But she exhaled and waited for Bridget to fasten the hooks.
“I expect you’ll not be takin’ a deep breath today,” her sister whispered from behind.
“But it looks pretty, does it not?”
“Aye. It looks lovely, it does.”
Nora roused and left Grace asleep on her bunk to stretch and dress.
Others were waking now, too.
“I’ll go start our fire for breakfast,” Maeve offered. “Shall I put on a pot of oatmeal?”
; “Aye, that would be nice, ma milis.” Several lamps had been lit, and Nora got a better look. “Look at you, Maeve Eileen Murphy. You’re a heartbreaker to be sure.”
Maeve escaped the cabin and made her way on deck.
* * *
First thing that morning, Flynn was summoned to the Boyds’ stateroom.
“She refused to let me send for you.” Estelle Boyd rinsed a cloth in a basin of cool water and placed it on Kathleen’s forehead. “She’s been feverish all night. Today, when she started vomiting, I told her I was sending for you and that was that.”
Flynn might have thought her illness was feigned, as it had been the last time—if she’d come seeking him. But the fact that she hadn’t wanted him calling on her today convinced him she was truly ill.
“Fever and vomiting,” he said. “Other symptoms?”
“I ache all over,” she told him. He’d never seen her without her hair fashioned in a stylish knot. Her face was pale. She wore a dressing gown and was lying on her bed with a sheet over her. Her mother had placed a bucket on the floor beside her. “I can’t bear to roll over. My back and hips hurt severely.”
“Have you done anything to injure your back?”
“Nothing. It’s not that kind of pain.”
He tested her pulse and listened to her heart. There hadn’t been any cases of influenza aboard, but her symptoms pointed to it as a definite possibility. “Are you eating and drinking?”
“Mother brings me small meals, and I eat a few bites, but since yesterday nothing stays down.”
“I’ll go make you a tincture for the vomiting, and I’ll check on you every few hours.”
“It’s not necessary to check on me.”
“Actually it is. I’m the ship’s doctor, and you’re quite ill.”
Kathleen waved him away.
Since he’d been called away from the dispensary so early, he hadn’t yet seen Maeve. Entering his work area, he drew up short at the sight of the diminutive woman wearing a plain apron over a fancy pleated dress with puffed sleeves. She’d fastened her hair so tightly upon her head, the only curls visible were the little corkscrews that framed her face.
“Maeve?”
The Wedding Journey Page 18
