“I saw your note,” she said, turning. “There has only been one patient, and it was a sailor with a scrape I cleaned and bandaged. Reeked of smoked fish, he did. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could still smell it in here.”
“You’ve never worn such a lovely gown before. Is there a special occasion?”
Pleased that he’d noticed, her face grew warm with embarrassment. “Nothing at all. I simply wanted to wear something different.”
She was pretty no matter what she wore, but this color enhanced her skin and the blue of her eyes. He missed her usual tumble of corkscrews, however. Her unruly hair was part of her charm. “You look beautiful.”
Forcing his thoughts back to his patient, he explained about Kathleen’s condition and set about making a tincture to help her stomach ailment.
He returned to see the young woman several times. Her symptoms only worsened as the day progressed. Her condition concerned him, because he didn’t have a diagnosis that satisfied him.
“Will you accompany me to Kathleen’s stateroom?” he asked Maeve that afternoon. “You’ve seen a lot of influenza. I wouldn’t mind a second opinion.”
She gave him a wide-eyed stare. “My opinion?”
“Don’t depreciate your medical knowledge, Maeve. You have an instinctive sense about these things.”
She was obviously reluctant to go with him, but she agreed. She removed her apron, and the parts of the dress he hadn’t before seen came into view. A large square neckline trimmed with lace drew attention to her lovely face. Another woman would have worn a jeweled necklace in that open area—an emerald most likely—but Maeve was the jewel. She didn’t need adornment. He couldn’t allow his gaze to linger or move any lower.
She glanced down. “Is there something wrong with my dress?”
“Not a thing.”
He grabbed his leather bag and ushered her out of the dispensary.
* * *
“Why have you brought her?” Kathleen asked immediately.
“Miss Murphy is my assistant. You know that.”
“I don’t want her touching me. Poor people carry disease.”
Maeve, a shining beacon of grace under duress, showed no reaction to Kathleen’s caustic remark. She merely set Flynn’s bag on the foot of the bed and opened it. Her composure and dignity made her all the more beautiful.
There wasn’t a dress in all the world that could lend that much poise to Kathleen’s character.
“I shouldn’t need to point this out to you.” His tone was stern, but matter-of-fact. “You’re the one lying there sweating, and Maeve is the one who’s perfectly healthy, yet risking her own safety to be here.”
Her dark eyes flashed, and it was obvious Kathleen loathed lying there in her unglamorous and ineffectual state. “Ladies don’t sweat, and there’s no need to be vulgar.”
He held his tongue. Why had he ever considered himself friends with this person? “Describe your symptoms this afternoon, please.”
“I told you all that this morning.”
“Tell me again now.”
Exasperated, she tucked the sheet under her arms. “I’m feverish. My stomach is reeling. And now your boorish behavior has given me a headache.”
“She didn’t have a headache earlier,” he said to Maeve. Turning to address Mrs. Boyd, he asked, “Have you been on deck at all or eaten today? One of us will stay here with Kathleen so you may have an hour to yourself.”
The older woman’s expression showed deep concern, but also appreciation for the opportunity to leave the stateroom. “That’s very considerate of you, Flynn. I shall go stretch my limbs and have something to eat.”
“I’ll stay with her if you need to return to the dispensary,” Maeve offered.
Maeve was kinder than necessary, kinder than Kathleen deserved, and her stature grew more and more in his esteem. Kathleen treated her poorly, yet she was willing to sit by her sickbed.
“You’re not leaving her here with me,” Kathleen said, though her voice was weak.
“I am.”
“Look at her. She’s wearing a day dress a ten-year-old would wear to tea with her mother.”
At that point Estelle interrupted her daughter. Her face had turned bright red, and Flynn recognized her high color as stemming from Kathleen’s rudeness. “Mind your tongue, Kathleen!” Estelle said to her daughter, and her tone displayed her indignation. “The doctor and Miss Murphy are here to help you. Don’t be ungracious. It’s unbecoming of a lady.”
Too ill for further argument, Kathleen closed her eyes and ignored them. Again Mrs. Boyd thanked them for the respite. She left the stateroom.
“Go ahead, doctor,” Maeve told him. “I’ll come get you if her symptoms change.”
With a nod, he left her with the patient.
As the day passed, Flynn sutured a sailor’s head, removed another’s splinter and checked a child’s eyes and lungs after he’d been dangerously close to smoke erupting from his family’s cooking fire.
The first mate had discovered a sailor unconscious in one of the supply compartments, and Flynn had declared him inebriated and in need of several hours’ sleep.
When the day grew late, he again joined Maeve in Kathleen’s stateroom, and she reported the young woman’s condition the same. “She’s been quiet, sleeping mostly.”
One at a time he raised Kathleen’s lids and looked at her eyes. She roused only momentarily. Through the sheet, he palpated her abdomen.
Kathleen grunted in pain and swatted his hands away, then turned her face aside and slept again.
“I’ll come back later this evening,” he told Estelle.
“Thank you for your attention, Miss Murphy.” Her mouth was pinched as though she wished she didn’t owe either of them thanks, but she’d said the words nonetheless.
Maeve handed her a book. He assumed Estelle had lent it to her. “I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning, so you won’t have to cook for yourself.”
Estelle couldn’t meet Maeve’s eyes. After an awkward moment, she extended the book. “Please keep it. You can finish it at your leisure.”
Maeve accepted the gift. “Thank you. I don’t have any books of my own, except my Bible, of course, so I shall treasure this one. I can’t wait to see how it ends, but I’ll be disappointed once the story’s over. I can always read it again, though, can’t I? A book is a gift that keeps giving.”
Flynn thought Estelle was going to cry. He wanted to himself. He thought of the extensive libraries in two of his family’s homes. They owned duplicates of many books so there were the same editions wherever they were staying and they didn’t have to move them.
A good many of the immigrants he’d encountered couldn’t even read, but Maeve and her sisters did have that benefit. He imagined a life where every penny and effort was spent on daily survival. The Murphy sisters were women of character.
Estelle had quite obviously been affected by Maeve’s gratitude over such a simple offering, as well. She composed her features and returned to sit at her daughter’s side.
Kathleen had slept during the entire exchange, so they left without disturbing her.
“Did you feel anything in her abdomen?” Maeve asked once they were in the companionway.
“Perhaps some swelling in the area of her liver. Her pain is disturbing,” he said. “So many things could be causing the fever.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t want to guess. There are a lot of things it could be.”
“Such as?”
“Yellow fever. But she didn’t go ashore at the island, and it’s unlikely she caught it at sea.”
“But not impossible.”
“I don’t think so.”
She didn’t know much about yellow fever, but she knew it was most often fatal. “What else?”
“Puerperal fever is contagious between women who have given birth, doctors and midwives. Since no one else has the same symptoms, it can’t be that.”
Th
at one was unfamiliar to her.
“And there’s jaundice, but I don’t know how she’d have picked it up.”
“And again there haven’t been any other cases, and she didn’t go ashore at the island.”
“It’s puzzling to be sure. We will know for certain if the whites of her eyes turn yellow.”
“Or her skin,” she added. “But either way, there’s little we can do but wait. In the meantime, why don’t you come join me and my sisters for our supper?” she asked.
“Thank you. I’d like that.” He followed her up the ladder and across the deck.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bridget grinned from ear to ear when she saw the doctor accompanying Maeve. “However did we get so fortunate this evening?”
“Maeve generously invited me to join you. I often eat in the galley, but any time I receive an offer to dine with someone at their fire, I accept.”
“We’re pleased to share our supper with you,” Nora told him. “Sit now and join us. Don’t wait for Maeve to light in one place. She’ll be flittin’ about for a while yet.”
“Kathleen Boyd has taken ill,” Maeve told them. “It’s quite serious, so we must include her in our prayers this evening.”
“But of course we will. Is there anything we can do?” Nora asked.
“Perhaps one of you could make her some gruel like Maeve made for Sean. She’s not keeping down food.”
“Aye, that will give her strength,” Nora replied. “I’d be happy to do that.” She removed the sling that held the baby. “She’s just falling asleep. Would you mind?”
Her request caught Flynn off guard. He’d been self-conscious the last time he’d held Grace, with Kathleen eyeing him. He reached for the baby. It was a warm evening, almost balmy, so she was draped in a piece of lightweight flannel.
Her tiny mouth made sucking motions, and she cracked her eyes open and squinted, as though wanting to see who now held her. The hand that wasn’t tucked against his chest waved and trembled, so he took it gently in his grasp and stroked her tiny arm with his thumb. Her eyes closed once again.
Through his shirt, her rhythmic breathing was calming. He understood the sisters’ concern for one so tiny and helpless. He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on the situation before, because looking at her had stabbed him with such painful memories. Now he thought of his Jonathon. The dark-haired infant had been as loved and coddled as this one. He’d been a happy, chubby little fellow. He’d never had a day of want in his short life. He’d been accepted and loved. Adored.
Every child deserved to be wanted and loved. Every child deserved a chance to not simply survive, but to thrive.
His heart ached with loss.
He had so many wonderful memories. He closed his eyes and saw the first time he’d laid eyes upon his tiny child. He remembered holding him while fearful of breaking him. He thought of Jonathon lying on the bed between him and Johanna as they admired his sleeping profile. His wife had been happy. So proud and content. He’d loved her immeasurably.
“Are you all right, Flynn?”
He looked up into Maeve’s questioning blue eyes. “I am now. I was remembering my Jonathon when he was this small. He had dark hair with a touch of curl. I used to smooth it down, but Johanna would coax it back up atop his head. We laughed about that.”
The sisters had paused in their chores to listen.
“What month was Jonathon born?” Bridget asked.
“April.”
“A spring baby. How special and appropriate. Grace is a June baby, don’t we think?”
“Definitely,” he answered. “She was brand-new when your sister found her.”
Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy joined them then. “Are we interrupting?”
“Of course not,” Nora told Aideen. “The doctor has joined us for supper, and I’m making Miss Boyd a gruel. She’s taken ill.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Mrs. Kennedy said. “Is there anything we can do?”
“We could take turns checking on her tomorrow,” Bridget suggested. “I understand Maeve sat with her most of the day today. Most likely you missed your assistant at your side attending patients, doctor.”
“That’s generous, but until I’m certain exactly what she has contracted, it’s better if we don’t expose a lot of people to her.”
“Of course,” Bridget replied. “That’s wise.”
Mrs. Kennedy offered their bag of daily provisions. “It’s rice tonight. I know how to prepare it now. May I?”
Maeve opened their own sack. “I doubt you’ll hear a one of us decline that offer. While Nora is making the gruel, I’ll mix together batter for a flat cake.”
Bridget offered a small wrapped bundle. “Mr. Atwater’s mother gave me raisins today. Can you use them in the flat cake?”
Flynn was impressed with how they pooled their supplies and came up with a meal. No one seemed out of sorts that they didn’t have a table and chairs or fancy plates. If they’d have preferred a steaming roast with vegetables, no one spoke of it.
“You are the most contented lot of people with whom I’ve ever spent time.” He looked from one face to the next. “You share what you have. And you’re happy to do it. I can’t in a hundred years picture my sisters—or my mother—preparing their meal from the ship’s allotment and happily doing all this work.”
“We never prepared a meal before we came aboard,” Aideen admitted. “Neither of us knew the first thing about lighting a fire or cooking. The Murphys have shown us all we know.”
“And bright students you are,” Nora praised.
“To be honest, Dr. Gallagher,” Bridget said. “Our daily provision is more food than we had in two or three days at home. It had been that way for the past couple of years. We are grateful to have this much and more than happy to share.”
“I am humbled to be included.” His speech was husky with emotion.
Eventually the rice finished cooking. Maeve had added onions and bits of fried mackerel to make a tasty meal.
Nora prayed, including a petition for Kathleen’s healing and Flynn’s wisdom in knowing how to treat her. She took Grace from Flynn, so he could eat.
“I almost made a big mistake,” Flynn told them.
“What was that?” Bridget asked.
“I nearly allowed grief and discouragement to consume me. It was easy to avoid the things that hurt. I focused all my thoughts and energy on external conditions. Everything that meant something to me had been lost.”
The ladies gave him their full attention.
He didn’t know why he’d chosen to say this now. He had carried nearly three years of unacknowledged pain bottled up inside. Maybe it needed to come out.
Maybe he recognized their compassion and knew they would understand.
“Everyone deals with grief in their own way,” Nora said.
“Continuing as I was would have led to a colossal ruination of my life and peace of mind.”
Bridget and Aideen didn’t raise their gazes from their tin plates. Nora and Maeve exchanged a look.
Mrs. Kennedy spoke up. “I was married to a wonderful God-fearing man who was taken from this earth before his time, Doctor. I understand the hopelessness that comes with the cessation of all the dreams you shared with that person. The anguish is difficult to live with. You feel alone in the world, as if no one understands or really cares.”
He studied her, thoughtfully. He’d never spoken so openly with anyone, except Maeve. It felt good to talk with the others. “You do share my experience, ma’am. If you don’t mind my asking, what does that loss feel like now?”
Mrs. Kennedy appeared thoughtful for a moment. “I still think of my husband often, but sometimes it’s as though that part of my life didn’t really happen.”
“I don’t want that to happen. What I mean is, I’ve just recovered the memories. I don’t want to lose them.”
“You won’t lose them, young man. But they will fade. I never had another opportunity to marry. I think
I would have felt more productive and fulfilled if I had. Instead, I have remained a widow to this day.”
“Perhaps you’ll meet someone in Boston,” Bridget said.
Mrs. Kennedy only laughed. “And perhaps a gull will come flying overheard wearing your bonnet.”
Her jest lightened the mood and they all shared a hearty laugh.
“Maeve threw Bridget’s bonnet overboard,” Aideen told him.
He chuckled. “I should have liked to have seen that. The demise of Maeve’s own bonnet brought her much merriment.”
“We’ve plans to toss one of Nora’s. You are invited.”
“The two of you can fling your own headwear in the ocean if you like, but leave mine be,” their older sister warned. “I will still need protection from the elements when I arrive in Boston.”
“Speaking of arrival in Boston,” Aideen said. “We are ready for final fittings on your dresses before we add the trim and do the hems.”
“I can’t wait!” Bridget turned to him. “We’re making dresses. Beautiful dresses! Each of us will have a new one the day we dock. Our generous friends have provided everything—the fabric and trim, ribbon and thread. And each dress is unique.”
“Suited to each sister appropriately,” Aideen added.
“That will be a sight to behold,” he told them. “The young men of Boston will be falling over each other to carry your bags and assist you wherever you want to go.”
Bridget laughed, but it was plain she was delighted with his teasing prediction and flattery. “Do you really suppose so?”
“Indeed I do. Not that a one of you needs a beautiful dress to win a man’s heart. Your natural beauty is more than sufficient.”
“I would never have considered you a man to take risks,” Nora told him.
“Risks?” he asked.
“Seems, it does, you’ve risked life and limb a time or two to dangle from the parapet at Blarney Castle and kiss Mr. McCarthy’s stone.”
The others had a good laugh over her teasing remark.
“As a matter of fact, never have I kissed the Blarney Stone.” He feigned an indignant frown and pressed a hand to his shirt front. “Everythin’ I say comes straight from me heart.”
The Wedding Journey Page 19
