The Wedding Journey

by Cheryl St. John

  Sean darted away.

  She took time to start their fire and make oatmeal and tea, which she carried below deck in a shallow crate.

  Kathleen was awake when she arrived at the stateroom. Flynn appeared tired, as expected. She relayed the news about Martha Conley, so he gathered his bag and left.

  “I’ve brought breakfast,” she said and rested the crate on a trunk. “Enough for you, too, Mrs. Boyd.”

  After spooning oatmeal into a dish, she carried it to Kathleen. “Are you able to feed yourself today?”

  The other young woman accepted the bowl. “I believe I am.”

  Maeve prepared Estelle a bowl and then sat with her own.

  “Mother told me how long you stayed with me,” Kathleen said.

  “You were alarmingly sick for a few days. Your mother was exhausted from worry and from caring for you.”

  “I owe you both a debt of gratitude.”

  “You owe me nothing,” Maeve assured her.

  “You can be indebted to me,” Estelle said to her daughter. “The fright took ten years off my life. I think I developed a wrinkle, as well.” She touched a pinkie to the corner of her eye. “Perhaps two.”

  Her remarks amused Maeve. “Does the doctor believe the danger has passed?”

  “Her eyes aren’t yellow today,” Estelle replied.

  Kathleen straightened the covers over her lap. “That must have been highly unbecoming.”

  After they’d finished their breakfast and their tea, Maeve helped Kathleen wash and dress. Kathleen tried to offer Maeve a pair of silver filigree combs for her hair, but Maeve wouldn’t accept them.

  “I should like to repay you for your kindness,” she said, and her expression was sincere. “Please take them. If you won’t wear them, give them to one of your sisters.”

  Bridget would love to have the lovely combs. That suggestion convinced her. “Thank you.”

  She slipped them into her apron pocket.

  “Flynn said I might take Kathleen on deck for fresh air this afternoon, if she’s feeling up to it.” Estelle’s relief was plain. “I’m remembering what you said and the Psalm about declaring the works of the Lord. I put my confidence in Him, and my daughter is recovered. God deserves the glory for this.”

  Maeve met Estelle’s eyes and smiled for the first time in days. “His mercy endures forever.”

  Tears formed in Estelle’s eyes.

  * * *

  Flynn wasn’t in the dispensary and there were no notes, so Maeve headed for the captain’s cabin and knocked. Flynn’s voice called out to enter and she found Martha Conley on her bed, the captain pacing the cramped space. “Got sick last night, she did.”

  Maeve joined Flynn beside Martha’s bed.

  “Hello, dear,” Martha told her. “Sorry to be a bother.”

  “You’re not a bother, now. I came to see if I could help. Does she have a fever?”

  “A mild one.”

  “’Er heart is beatin’ too fast, ’tis,” the captain said from behind them. “I’ve driven the poor woman to her grave.”

  Flynn ignored him. “She has a headache and is dizzy.”

  “Fell down twice, she did,” the captain said.

  Maeve touched Martha’s cheek, then rolled back her sleeve. “Her skin is hot and dry.”

  “What did you do yesterday, Mrs. Conley?” Flynn asked.

  “Hauled in the biggest nets of fish you ever did see. Even had nice big crabs in the catch, I did.”

  “I’d wager you didn’t drink much the entire time, and might not have even worn a hat.”

  “My hat blew overboard, and I couldn’t be bothered to go for another while the fishin’ was good.”

  Flynn stood. “I’m going to leave Maeve to assist you. You got too much sun, and didn’t take in enough water. If you aren’t cooled off, it could be dangerous.” He turned to Maeve. “Get her cool. Remove constrictive clothing, keep her skin wet, simulating perspiration. Fan her. And make her drink water. Lots and lots of water.”

  “I am so glad you travel with plenty of clean water,” she said to the captain.

  “’Ave no choice with this doctor aboard. Is she going to be all right?”

  “She should be fine. Let’s go and let Maeve take care of her now.”

  “You snap out of it, you ’ear, Martha?” her husband called to her. “I’ll not ’ave you passin’ on b’fore I’ve bought you a ’ouse with a garden.”

  “Is this what it took to get me house?” she asked.

  “Fool woman, fishin’ all day in the blisterin’ sun.” He followed Flynn out the door.

  “I don’t know how you’ve remained at sea all these years.” Maeve helped Martha out of her wrap. “Tell me where to find you some loose underclothes. Here? I’ve only been onboard these few weeks, and I can’t wait to get on solid land. I can’t think of a good enough reason to bring me back to the ocean.”

  “If you had a man who had the sea in his blood, you would follow ’im wherever he took you, you would. ’Tis only my affection for my husband that keeps me here. I fish to keep me sanity—and to be useful.”

  By evening, Mrs. Conley’s temperature had gone down, and she was feeling much better. Maeve cooked for the captain and his missus and left them alone together.

  * * *

  The following day was the Sabbath, and Flynn insisted Maeve attend services with her sisters. The captain read from his Bible, and Martha sat upon a trunk in the first row as usual. Maeve thought he gave her tender looks now and then. She smiled to herself, remembering the crusty remarks that didn’t begin to hide his concern.

  After the service, Mrs. Fitzwilliam took Maeve’s arm and led her aside. “I have truly lost my right mind.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I imagined I saw her again. I dream of young Mary at night, and then this morning I glimpsed her as I made my way here.”

  “A lot of young girls have black hair,” Maeve told her. “Didn’t you say she has black hair?”

  “She does.”

  “And she’s on your mind, so it’s only natural that you’d associate another girl’s appearance with your granddaughter’s. I told you I used to think I saw Da in the village. Once I swore I saw him in the field, and when I looked back, there was nothin’ there. Our minds play tricks on us. Do you know how to sew?”

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam seemed surprised by the question. “I do needlework, yes.”

  “Join us for our noon meal today. We are putting the finishing touches to dresses my sisters and I will wear when we dock.”

  “Are you sure it will be all right with your sisters?”

  “Goodness, yes.”

  “I don’t want to be a burden. I’m just a lonely old woman, Miss Murphy.”

  “You’re not a burden, and the way to alleviate loneliness is to make friends and volunteer your services.”

  She joined the sisters, along with Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy, for a meal of crab lobscouse, the crab and vegetables provided by Mrs. Conley.

  “This is quite good,” Aideen said. “But my mouth is watering for fried chicken.”

  “A slice of beef,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam added.

  “A lovely guinea fowl.” Nora rolled her eyes comically.

  “A real cake,” Mrs. Kennedy suggested. “With frosting.”

  “Strawberries,” Bridget contributed.

  Maeve tested the biscuits. “’Tis quite a feast you’ve dreamed up. I’m only glad that I don’t have to wash all the pots and pans.”

  The dishes only took a few minutes to wash and clear away. Nora laid out sheets to create a clean workspace. Now that the dresses had been put together, they took up a lot more space.

  Mrs. Kennedy enlisted Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s help with the hats, and the two of them struck up a conversation.

  Judd Norton, the cowboy from the place called Nebraska Territory, stopped to extend a greeting. Nora invited him to sit, and he thumbed back his hat and joined them.

  “Those are interestin
g boots, Mr. Norton,” Bridget observed.

  “They’re for riding. Pointed toes make it easy to get feet in the stirrups and the underslung heels hold ’em there. ’Course I’m not wearin’ my spurs onboard the ship. Riders wear spurs with blunt rowels to prod their horses.”

  “They’re so fancy,” Bridget said. “I don’t imagine everyone has such a fancy pair of boots.”

  “No. These are my Sunday boots. I have a pair o’ stovepipes I wear on the ranch. Good pair o’ boots costs a man half a month’s wages.”

  “I suppose your hat is practical, too,” Mrs. Kennedy said. Being a hat maker, she would take notice.

  “Yes, ma’am. The brim shades the eyes o’ course. Keeps my head cool. Protects my neck from rain and snow. Why, a good hat will protect you from thorns and low-hangin’ branches, carry water or grain, fan fires—and last for years.

  “You can tell a man by his hat. A plainsman is different from a sou’wester. Mexicans wear a sombrero, sometimes even made of straw.”

  “Will we see many men wearing this sort of clothing in Boston?” Aideen asked.

  “Not likely, miss. City fellas wear fancy coats and boots. Beaver hats.”

  “Beaver?” she asked, with raised brows.

  Judd chuckled. “Trappers sell all sorts of furs for clothing. Beaver is popular because it’s sleek and repels water.”

  “I’ve only just learned about all the rain and snow,” Maeve told him. “Do you see snow in Nebraska Territory?”

  “Snow piles so high we tie ropes from the house to the barns and privy so we don’t get lost and freeze to death.”

  “Methinks you joined the good doctor on his trip to kiss the Blarney Stone,” Nora told him, with a teasing grin. “That’s a tall tale.”

  “I assure you, miss, it’s the truth. In America we call what you’re talkin’ about spinnin’ a yarn, but snow isn’t a yarn, I guarantee you. An unexpected blizzard will freeze cattle where they’re huddled along a fence line.”

  “Are all the parts of the country like that?”

  “Down in the Southwest, it is dry as a bone, nothin’ but cactus and rocks as far as the eye can see.”

  “And what of Boston, Mr. Norton?” Aideen asked.

  “I’ve only visited in fair weather,” he told her. “Where in Ireland did you live?”

  She told him where she’d been born and raised.

  “Don’t reckon you’ll find weather as nice or land as green in Massachusetts. But you will find opportunities. Ladies own millin’ry shops and boardin’ houses.”

  “My aunt and I hope to buy a small establishment,” she told him. “We’ve brought supplies to get us started and once we’re settled, we’ll order more.”

  “If Boston has too much competition, you might want to consider cities farther west for that sort of shop. Might even be more profitable.”

  “How does one travel west?”

  “Rails are bein’ laid to major cities every day. Horses and wagons are leavin’ all the time.”

  “I suppose if we’ve endured a trip across the Atlantic, a few more miles won’t kill us.”

  The conversation had narrowed down to the two of them: Aideen and the cowboy. Maeve couldn’t help noticing the inflection in Aideen’s voice or the way Judd cast her an engaging smile. Maeve’s own heart fluttered at their sweet exchange.

  She met Bridget’s gaze. She and her sister shared silent recognition.

  “I should be movin’ on,” Judd said several minutes later. “Don’t want to wear out my welcome. I might want to come back another time. I do enjoy the company.”

  Aideen’s struggle with her expression was clear as day.

  Bridget jumped up. “Aideen and I will keep you company on your stroll, if you don’t mind.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

  Bridget reached for Aideen’s hand and pulled her to her feet. They’d only taken a few steps, when she stopped. “I almost forgot. It’s my turn to get milk for Grace.” She raised a hand and let it drop. “You two go on. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Judd touched the brim of his hat and extended his elbow for Aideen to take his arm.

  Bridget sat back down with a self-satisfied smile and picked up the length of ribbon she’d been assigned to stud with seed pearls for her hat.

  “Bridget Murphy.” Nora’s voice held that cautionary tone Maeve knew only too well. “You had better go milk that goat now. No daughter of Jack Murphy will be found tellin’ an outright lie—especially not on the Sabbath!”

  None of the others raised their gaze, and Maeve had a difficult time to keep from laughing.

  Bridget unwrapped a clean tin cup and marched away.

  “We’ll have a little milk for our tea,” Nora said once she was out of earshot.

  The others laughed then.

  Some time later, Mrs. Fitzwilliam thanked them and departed. Not long after the cowboy had returned Aideen, they were folding up their sewing because of the impending darkness when Flynn joined them.

  “How do the passengers fare this day?” Maeve asked him.

  “Quite well. Kathleen is much improved. You saw Mrs. Conley at service, of course. I treated a few sailors with minor injuries.” He glanced at the others, then back. “Why don’t we go talk shop somewhere else, so the others won’t be bored with our conversation? We can walk.”

  Maeve excused herself to join him, and they took a leisurely stroll. The passengers’ fireplaces they passed provided scenes of merriment, domestic chores and the occasional squabble.

  They came upon Mrs. Fitzwilliam and Stillman at her fire. To Maeve’s surprise and delight, all three McCorkle brothers sat with them, obviously enjoying biscuits.

  “Please join us! It will be a nice change to host the two of you at our fire,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam said.

  Stillman held out a tin plate of biscuits and they each took one.

  “Young Gavin here is the same age as my Mary,” the woman told them. “Here he is working and making something of himself. Why, even Sean and Emmett run errands for the captain. They have no family, did you know that?”

  “We did,” Flynn replied.

  “I’ll be buying a home when we reach Boston,” she said. “I have Stillman here, of course, but young helpers would be a benefit. I would like to offer you young men a place to live. I’m a lonely old woman, and I’d be happy to have your company.”

  Sean looked at Gavin.

  His shaggy-haired older brother appeared thoughtful. “I could work and pay you rent, I could.”

  “We’ll work something out,” the woman said.

  “We can help take care o’ you, like Stillman does,” Gavin added.

  “I’d be more than glad to pay for your help,” she answered.

  “We don’t want no pay,” Gavin insisted. “The Lord says a person should just do good without expectin’ nothin’.”

  “An’ you remind us of our granny what used to make us soup and bread when we was little.”

  Elizabeth Fitzwilliam dabbed the corners of her eyes.

  Flynn experienced an unfamiliar glow of hope. He’d taken Sean aboard and given the three of them jobs to prevent them from suffering the fate of stowaways, so he’d felt responsible for their welfare and had been concerned about what would become of them once they landed.

  The McCorkles had gone from being orphaned and homeless to having the promise of a good life. There were still a lot of things that could go wrong. The Irish were not welcome in many areas of America. It pained him to think any of these people could be turned away or spoken down to, but he wasn’t going to dwell on negative possibilities.

  He considered whether or not he should give them a warning, but in the end, he didn’t want to discourage them. He’d already mentioned it to Maeve.

  “I’ll visit whenever I have an opportunity to be in Boston,” Maeve told them.

  Flynn didn’t want to think about what he’d be doing after they landed this time. He’d had plenty of opportunity to
think about the things Maeve had said to him. He wanted to deny that he’d been punishing himself by coming on these voyages.

  Surviving the elements and risking contagion was like defying the fact that he’d been spared when Johanna and Jonathon had both died.

  Doing without and being alone were his punishment for letting his wife and son die.

  But since Maeve had forced him to recognize he wasn’t to blame, he could say he’d done his time aboard the ships. The laws were in place. He could step back and be confident immigrants were safer than they had ever been. Death counts were considerably lower than ever before.

  Was his work done, then?

  His self-sacrifice had filled his months and occupied his thinking. What would he do if not this? Go to Edinburgh and become one of the scientists who were so involved with their research that reality blurred in the background?

  Emmett showed Maeve a small wooden figure of a whale. He explained how one of the sailors had carved it for him. Maeve admired it appreciatively.

  She was good with children of all ages. She fed and changed Baby Grace as though it was the most natural thing in the world. And she interacted with Emmett in a manner that drew out the shy boy and encouraged him to speak. She was efficient and compassionate in everything she did. Maeve would make a fine mother one day. A fine wife. Some man would be fortunate to marry her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Flynn and Maeve thanked their hostess and resumed their walk. Before they’d gone very far, they came upon Mrs. Conley and the captain, seated on wooden folding chairs, admiring the sky.

  “How are you feeling this evening?” Flynn asked Martha.

  “My head has finally stopped throbbin’,” she answered. “I learned my lesson. I’ll not be fishin’ the entire day without proper headwear or plenty of water.”

  “I’ve learned me lesson, as well,” the captain said. “I was mighty fearful of losin’ her, I was. ’Tis not a proper home or occupation for a woman, bein’ aboard a ship all her livelong days. Loyal to the end, this one is, but I’ll not be carryin’ her back out to sea, unless o’ course she wants her house and garden to be in Ireland.”

  “You’re buying her a house?” Maeve asked, with delight in her voice.

  “And settlin’ down to till the ground and weed the vegetables in her garden. This shall be my final voyage as cap’n.”