The Wedding Journey

by Cheryl St. John

  Maeve knelt down near Martha’s chair. “Where do you want to live?”

  “Ireland is no longer the land of my youth. The landlords have starved our people and burned them out so they can become richer. People like us can’t farm a piece of land without the tyrants takin’ the crops.” She shook her head sadly. “No, we’ll be findin’ us a place in America.”

  “They say Faith Glen is a lot like the villages back home,” Maeve told her. “Perhaps you’d like to live there.”

  “Wherever we are, ye can be certain that we will keep in touch, we will, Maeve Murphy.”

  Maeve stood and self-consciously blinked back tears. “I’ve become attached to so many during this journey. Parting will be as difficult as leaving home was. I feel as though I’ve known the two of you a lifetime. I shall miss you.”

  “You’re a sweet girl, you are.” Martha reached for Maeve’s hand and squeezed it.

  “This is likely the last Sabbath before we reach Boston Harbor,” Captain Conley told her. “Checked charts this morning, I did. We’ve had a good tailwind.”

  “I’ll be glad to arrive, but after making so many friends, it will be bittersweet.”

  By the time they’d made it all the way around the deck a couple of times, the night sky was dark and stars winked at them.

  “I thought of something when Mrs. Conley was so ill,” Flynn said at last. “Before I realized what was wrong with her.”

  “Thought of what?”

  “I thought about her wish for a home. If she hadn’t sought help—or if we hadn’t been able to bring down her body temperature and she had died—the captain would have had to live with his regrets. The rest of his days he’d have been sorry he put off buying her a house until it was too late. It’s easy to let things go.”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “I admire you, Maeve. You sometimes act before thinking, but you always act. You say the things that are on your mind. You tell people what you want them to know before it’s too late.”

  “Sometimes there aren’t second chances,” she told him. “It’s no shame to confess your feelings.”

  “Not everyone’s as brave as you.”

  “I’m not brave.”

  “You are.”

  She looked at him. “Is there anything you might regret not saying or doing if you don’t do it before we dock?”

  “There is.”

  Her heart fluttered. “Can you take care of it right now?”

  “I’m not sure.” He cleared his throat nervously and looked away.

  Maeve experienced disappointment. She didn’t know what she wanted him to say or do, and she’d resigned herself to the fact that he was still in love with his late wife, but there were things left unsaid between them.

  “I would regret never kissing you again.”

  The knowledge brought her joy—and disappointment at the same time. She, too, would regret parting ways. He would take a piece of her heart with him.

  “Well, I’ve said what I was thinking. But I don’t know that I feel any better for it.”

  “Likely you won’t feel better until you’ve actually done it.” She took a bold step forward.

  Flynn didn’t waste any time. He leaned forward until his warm lips covered hers in a soft, hesitant kiss. She hadn’t known kisses could send shivers along her spine or take her breath away, but this one did. The moment felt right, but it was dizzying at the same time. She grasped the front of his shirt and clung to the fabric to keep from falling.

  He wouldn’t have let her fall, however. He flattened his wide hands across the small of her back and gently held her in place.

  She’d given a lot of thought to their previous kisses, surely more thought than was appropriate. When she’d remembered, she’d wondered if their kisses had really been so good or if her memory had blown them out of proportion.

  Her memories were not inflated.

  Kissing Flynn made her feel feminine…and wanted…and disappointed. Disappointed because this was something she could get used to, but she wouldn’t have the chance. Disappointed because she’d only just discovered her feelings for him, and their time was drawing to a close.

  She released his shirt. He straightened, but kept his palms against her back. Maeve took the initiative to move away, just as she’d taken the initiative to welcome the kiss, and he dropped his hands away.

  The night air felt cooler than it had only minutes before. A chill ran across her shoulders and down her arms.

  Was he thinking of his beloved wife? Perhaps he compared the way she’d made him feel. Maeve couldn’t bear to fall short of his memories.

  Something leaped in the water beyond the side of the ship, bringing them out of their reverie. Maeve turned toward the sound. “It’s late,” she said finally.

  “Will you please let me walk you to your cabin?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He took her hand and led her toward the ladder. She led the way along the narrow companionway. “Rest well, Maeve.”

  “And you.”

  Even with all the troubles she’d had at home, Maeve had never had as much trouble sleeping as she had aboard the Annie McGee. Her problem was Flynn Gallagher, of course.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Maeve had let herself fall in love with the handsome doctor. Even though she’d known from the beginning that she wasn’t the sort a man like him could love, the inevitable had happened. From only the few mentions he’d made of his wife, it was obvious the woman had a similar background to his and had come from a well-to-do family.

  Johanna had probably gone all the way through a fancy school and had read stacks and stacks of books, about which the two of them conversed at length. Most likely, Johanna had been able to entertain guests with ease and knew all about fashion and good manners. She’d been the perfect wife for a man of his position.

  No wonder he’d had to bury those feelings so deeply. Losing one’s true love had to be the worst heartache of all.

  As she would soon learn.

  Considering Maeve had known from the first time she’d met him that they were not destined to become a couple, she questioned her wisdom in letting her feelings rule. There was a proverb that said wisdom was better than rubies. Another said, “Happy is the man who findeth wisdom.” She wanted to be wise. She wasn’t a foolish girl.

  Though she did act impetuously, it was true. She spoke before thinking and acted on instinct. It must only stand to reason then that she would fall in love headfirst and only recognize her mistake in retrospect.

  She wanted to be loved by Flynn. She wanted him to care for her as deeply as he had his wife. She wanted him to want her for his wife.

  What would a wise person do right now?

  Sleep, of course, but she was finding that impossible.

  There were only a few days until the Annie McGee docked in Boston Harbor. She rerouted her thoughts. She was a strong person. She could capture those wayward musings. Would she see any of the passengers who had come aboard that first week after they’d departed Ireland? The ones who’d fled the Wellington after a frightening fire on deck? Perhaps one of them might recognize her.

  More likely they’d recognize Flynn.

  Where would Captain and Mrs. Conley settle down? Maeve imagined all the years they’d been married, all the years Martha had traveled the ocean with her husband because she hadn’t wanted to be apart from him. Even if she’d had a house and remained behind, she would have been lonely with him at sea.

  Maeve’s thoughts traveled to her mother and Laird O’Malley. Her whole life she’d believed her parents enjoyed a fairy-tale love. Now she questioned if it had been as perfect as she’d imagined. It could still be true. Apparently, her mother had chosen between two men, if the letter was a true indication, and had chosen Jack Murphy for a good reason. Love?

  Praying for wisdom and sleep, she closed her eyes.

  Only a few more days.

  * * *

  Flynn deliberately gr
ew standoffish, placing much-needed distance between himself and Maeve. She made him look at too many things. She forced him to look inside himself.

  All his past months of service she called self- punishment. What was he punishing himself for? She’d pegged it: he’d blamed himself for living when Johanna and Jonathon had died. He never even got sick.

  In those early days he’d wished he’d died. Living was too painful. Remembering them was torture. It hadn’t taken long until the house tormented him with memories.

  He’d sold it.

  People tried to comfort him, talk about his wife and child.

  He’d fled from them.

  His father assured him the practice would be a comfort, that family would help him come to terms with his devastating losses.

  He’d quit and gone to England.

  Instead of practicing medicine he’d taken up a cause that consumed his thoughts, his time, his energy. He’d lost himself in research.

  He’d lost himself.

  Maeve Murphy, with her unassuming grace and unaffected generosity had made a crack in the wall of his fortress. And then she’d planted her dainty foot in that crevice and brought the whole thing crashing down around him.

  She made something happen that he’d deliberately protected against: he’d felt pain.

  But along with pain, he felt other things.

  Baby Grace inspired the same tender, protective feelings Sean had brought about—the same feelings he thought he’d lost. Watching the trio of Murphys care for her resurrected stirrings of compassion.

  The love between Maeve and her sisters made him admire them and long for something similar…long to be a part of it. They made him feel longing.

  Maeve’s unwavering faith in God both shamed and motivated him. Something came into play that hadn’t been active for a long time—hope. If she could have that peace of mind and spirit, maybe he could, too.

  When Maeve spoke of his work, he felt accomplishment. When he taught her something and she used the knowledge effectively, he experienced pride. When he learned from her—lessons like the most simple and basic principles of love—he felt humility.

  Sorting through all that, he came to a hard-fought conclusion: as much as all that confused and pained him—as long as it had been—he liked feeling.

  Feeling made him feel human.

  * * *

  Captain Conley passed the news that they would sail into Boston Harbor in two days. The relief that swept through the passengers was tangible. People sang and played union pipes on deck at all hours of the day. They hadn’t had any illnesses or accidents for two days, so Maeve helped Flynn take inventory of the remaining supplies and wrap glass bottles for storage.

  “We have most everything accomplished here,” he told her. “Go join your sisters and friends and enjoy the day. If I need you, I’ll send for you.”

  Kathleen was about and walking, and she and Estelle stopped by their fireplace. Bridget was helping the Atwaters pack, but Nora and Maeve were seated with Grace on her crate.

  “We’ve brought each of you a little parting gift.” Estelle opened the brocade bag she carried. “There are two bars for each of you—Bridget, too.”

  Maeve accepted the paper-wrapped rectangles. The scent reached her nose, and she knew immediately what lay within the wrap. “Face soap? Oh, ladies, this is so generous.”

  She placed a bar right under her nose and inhaled the lovely coconut fragrance.

  “Thank you,” Nora said. “Bridget will be grateful, as well.”

  “We just wanted you to know how much we appreciated your generosity.”

  Kathleen had been silent throughout the exchange. Her mother glanced at her expectantly. Finally, the dark-haired young woman looked at Maeve. “Perhaps when you visit Boston, you will come for tea.”

  “It will be nice to have so many friends in Boston,” Maeve replied.

  Once they’d moved on, Nora held the soap to her nose. “I shall save mine for special occasions.”

  “Not I.” Maeve grinned. “I’m going to use it every day until it’s gone.” She folded all the bars together and tucked them in their basket. “My fingers are still sore from the last of our sewing. I don’t know how Aideen does it day in and day out.”

  “She doesn’t prick herself every few minutes.”

  Maeve chuckled. “At least all the finishing touches are done and the dresses are ready. I’m going to feel like a princess.”

  The afternoon passed uneventfully. Bridget had taken it upon herself to invite Judd Norton to join them that night, so the cowboy sat at their fire and shared their lobscouse. “No offense to your fine cookin’ ladies, but I am sorely missin’ roast and ham. Even a buffalo steak would be a nice change right about now. The first place I go when we land will be to a restaurant with meat and gravy on the menu.”

  “I’ve seen drawings of buffalo,” Aideen told him.

  A visitor paused, taking them all by surprise. It was the gentleman who sat at his easel and painted each day. “Good evening, ladies. Gentleman. I hope I’m not intruding.”

  “Not at all. Please join us.”

  “I won’t be staying, thank you. I simply wanted to present this to you.”

  He turned the canvas around so they could see what he’d painted. Maeve’s heart stopped.

  It was a likeness of her and her two sisters in profile. He’d painted them in stair-step fashion, with the sky and the ocean meeting in the background, and the three of them looking out across the vast Atlantic with wistful expressions.

  Her heart beat again. Maeve studied the detail he’d given their hair, the turn of each mouth and the depth of their eyes. He’d captured how she felt about their voyage so instinctively and with such passion. In each face in the painting could be seen anticipation, uncertainty…hope.

  A tear edged from the outer corner of her eye and she wiped it away. “It’s absolutely breathtaking. I can feel the life in these people. In us.”

  Nora drew her gaze away to focus on the artist. “How did you do this? We never posed for you. At least I didn’t.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “You were here every day, and you are fascinating subjects. And I have a knack for remembering details.”

  “An uncanny knack,” Bridget agreed.

  Maeve experienced regret. “We have nothing to offer you.”

  “There’s nothing I need. If you enjoy it, that will be gift enough for me.”

  He was tall, so Maeve had difficulty giving him a hug, but he leaned forward to accommodate her.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said when he was gone. “What an incredible gift.”

  “We shall hang it in the cottage.” Bridget couldn’t stop admiring the painting.

  The instruments had all tuned up again, and men, women and children gathered to sing and dance. Bridget tugged Nora’s hand and beckoned Maeve and Aideen. “Let’s join them!”

  Cuddling Grace, Nora followed, and their little group joined the bigger gathering. It was a lively tune, and the sisters joined the singing. “‘As I got down to Turra market, Turra market for to fee. I fell in with a wealthy farmer, the barnyards of Delgaty. A linten addie toorin addie, linten addie toorin ae. Linten lowrin lowrin lowrin, the barnyards of Delgaty.’”

  Judd grinned at the nonsensical lyrics, but he tapped his foot and clapped.

  “‘He promised me the one best horse that e’er I set my eyes upon. When I got to the barnyards, there was nothing there but skin and bone.’”

  Maeve spotted the McCorkle boys with Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and they appeared to be having a jolly time. The brothers had all put on weight and looked clean and healthy. She hoped she got to see what became of them.

  Her gaze found Flynn. He stood beside Margret Madigan and her children, and he was holding the baby in the crook of his arm.

  Aideen laughed and clapped and finally grabbed Judd’s hand and pulled him toward the throng of foot-stomping dancers.

  “I don’t know how to dance a
jig,” he balked.

  “There’s nothing to it. You just move your feet.”

  Maeve had to laugh, because he looked so out of place among the immigrants in his hat and fancy boots.

  Seeing Flynn disturbed her. As much as she wanted to put him out of her mind, he was always there. She leaned into Nora. “I have to check on something.”

  Quickly, she moved away from the crowd of merrymakers, pausing only to check that their fire had died down to glowing embers, and moved along to the far end of the ship, where she could be alone.

  The stars had chosen this night to mockingly shine brightly and wink in the vast sky. It should have been the best night of the trip. She wanted to experience closure. She wanted to move forward into this new life with no regrets.

  Help me, Lord.

  “Maeve?”

  His voice startled her. She turned. “Did you finish the packing?”

  Flynn stood close and rested one hand on the side. “I don’t want to talk about packing or patients, Maeve.”

  “Oh. All right. Is something else on your mind?”

  “Aye. The same thing that’s been on my mind ever since this voyage began.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You.”

  “I didn’t mean to trouble ye.”

  “Trouble me is all you’ve done. Challenged me. Frightened me. I don’t believe you’ve spared me a thing.”

  “Whatever have I done?” His words disturbed her now.

  “You’re just you, and that’s enough. More than enough. You made me look at myself. You’re perceptive, and you never missed a chance to point our my self-defeating actions.”

  Maeve winced. “Mother always did say I had a tendency to lay things out in plain sight. I’m sorry if I overstepped. I meant no offense.”

  “Your plain truths were just what I needed. I was running away. From myself, from things I was too cowardly to deal with. I thought if I kept busy enough I’d never have to face things that were painful. It doesn’t work that way.”

  “And now you can talk about your wife and son,” she supplied.

  “Yes. And say their names. I hadn’t even spoken their names in years, Maeve.”