Leaving Ireland

by Ann Moore

  “I’m sick with it,” he confessed. “It’s all I think of night and day. The weather’s been so bad, early snow and all, and her out there in it somewhere. Her and the little one.”

  “Is there nothing I can do?” She placed her hand surreptitiously on his arm, out of view of the others. “You know I’d like to help, Sean.”

  He shook his head. “There’s nothing for it but to wait.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting her, this great sister of yours.” She gave his arm a tender squeeze, then let go. “You must bring her to one of my afternoons as soon as she’s settled in.”

  “Oh, aye. She’ll like that.” He glanced at the window, whose heavy curtains did little to muffle the sound of driving rain against the glass.

  “Don’t offer him any comfort, Florence,” Jay chided his sister good-naturedly from across the table. “He’s nothing but doom and gloom these days. Look here, my good man, ships sail safely from Ireland to this shore all the time and there’s no reason to think your sister’s won’t. Now have some wine and tell us the news. No one’s as entertaining as you on the subject of budding democracy.”

  Sean opened his mouth in an attempt to oblige, but his mind was a blank. He stood then, and bowed to his host and hostess. “Will you please forgive me, Jay, Miss Livingston? I’m in rare bad form tonight, and should not have wasted the prized place at your table.”

  “Oh, Sean, come on now,” Jay complained. “Don’t go.”

  The other guests had stopped talking and were watching the scene with interest. The Livingstons cultivated an interesting crowd at table, but this latest addition of the crippled Irishman had baffled most. And here he was, showing himself to be the boor they had suspected all along.

  “Well, then, let me walk you out,” Jay offered, quickly assessing the situation. He rose and came around, took Sean’s arm companionably, and led him out into the great hall. “Really, O’Malley, this is most unlike you! I invited those people in there because of their checkbooks, just for you and your favorite cause.”

  “I don’t know if I believe in the cause anymore.” Sean allowed the butler to help him into his coat. “I don’t know if there’s a cause worth believing in.”

  “What!” Jay threw up his arms in disgust. “What about ‘Ireland for the Irish?’ What about ‘Education for All’ and ‘Every Man a Voter?’” He eyed his friend suspiciously. “What about ‘Freedom for the Freedom Fighters’—like your great pal, McDonagh, and that Lord Evans? Have you forgotten all about them?”

  “McDonagh’s dead,” Sean said simply. “And Evans.” His eyes searched Livingston’s face. “Good night.”

  “For God’s sake, O’Malley!” Jay grabbed Sean’s good arm, shocked. “I hadn’t heard. I didn’t know. Dear God, no wonder you’re so upset. I’m so sorry,” he said, calming down. “Please don’t leave like this. Come into the library. Let me give you a drink.”

  Sean shook his head. “I can’t. One drink leads to the whole bottle for me these days. I’ve had to lay off.”

  “And your sister. You’ll have to tell her. He was her friend, too, wasn’t he?” Jay saw the anguish on his friends face. “There’s something else. You can tell me, Sean. I won’t breathe a word, I swear.”

  The two men looked at one another.

  “He was her husband,” Sean revealed. “I don’t know how—just that they married and she bore a son. A son she’s had to leave behind.”

  “Why?”

  “I think he must’ve been too weak, and she had to get out right away.” Again, he hesitated. “She’s wanted for murder, Jay.”

  Livingston drew back, shocked.

  “She killed a guard. I’m sure ’twas self-defense, but they’d hang her anyway. And if they know she’s Morgan’s wife—and my sister …” He slumped, defeated. “I can’t imagine how she’s surviving this.”

  Jay took his arm, marching him firmly into the library and closing the doors behind them. He went straight to the sideboard and poured two very long drinks. “Here.” He thrust a glass into Sean’s hand. “Finish the bottle. I don’t care. Finish all the damn bottles in the whole damn house, in the whole damn city for all I care.”

  He downed his in two gulps, waiting while Sean did the same, then poured out another measure for them both.

  “My grandmother was Irish,” Jay announced, eyes wet with the fire of the drink. “By God, my grandmother was Irish! Toughest old woman I ever knew. Boxed my ears for thinking too highly of myself and then lectured me for hours about who I was and how I should think more highly of myself.” He laughed, and took another drink. “I know one thing, O’Malley, one thing.…”

  Sean nodded, his own eyes wet.

  “If your sister is half the woman my grandmother was”—Jay eyed his friend, swaying slightly—“and I believe she is, being your sister, a contentious O’Malley—then not only will she survive this loss and this voyage, but she will triumph! Do you hear me, O’Malley? She will triumph!” He raised his second drink and downed it. “By God, I’m half in love with her already!”

  Sean laughed then, and the bands around his heart eased just a little. Florence told them both in the morning that she’d had to usher the guests out past the unbridled, passionate singing emanating from behind the library doors as if she heard nothing at all, and she’d thank them to be more discreet in future. But when she heard Sean’s news, and was told the whole of the story, she quit her scolding, put her arms around him, and held him for a long time.

  Thirteen

  GRACE kept her arm around Alice’s waist throughout the short service and the long lowering of thirty-five bodies into the sea, tightening her grip when Siobahn’s turn came near the end. Liam stood on the other side of his mother, holding her hand, his face creased with bewilderment and disbelief—how could they have been robbed like this and who was the thief? Mary Kate clung tightly to Grace’s skirt with both hands, the regular tugs as the ship rolled reassuring to Grace, who thanked God with every breath that her child was alive and standing beside her.

  Captain Reinders read in a clear, strong voice that belied the fatigue in his eyes; no one saw his hand tremble as he turned the page, his proud, broad shoulders braced against the icy wind. Finally, he closed the book and stepped aside for the old priest, who had robed himself and donned a large crucifix; when he kissed it and lifted it before the crowd of passengers, everyone sank silently to their knees and prayed with him for the mercy and forgiveness of their Father and for a quick passage to Heaven for their dead. The sight of this wretched group on their knees, heads bowed before their Lord and Savior, moved Captain Reinders and he turned his eyes away to rest them upon the endless sea.

  When the priest had finished, Reinders again stepped forward and began reading out the names of the dead, pronouncing each full name clearly as the body to which it had belonged was hoisted carefully by his men, then lowered into the sea. As the priest blessed each one and made the sign of the cross over them, many of the passengers surrendered to their grief and began to weep openly. The list was long, but Reinders forced himself to go slowly, giving each name its moment of remembrance, looking up only once after Siobahn Kelley to search out the boy’s eyes, red-rimmed and angry, and meet them with what he hoped was a measure of compassion.

  The sun had not yet set when the last body was laid to rest, but the passengers lingered until dark and bitter cold drove them below. Grace and Liam helped Alice back down the narrow stairwell into the damp hold, pausing as their eyes adjusted to the fitful, sputtering light of the oil lamps. The hold had been washed down, but the stink of dying remained. Grace felt the limpness and despair in Alice’s body, saw nothing of life left in her eyes, and was afraid for her—she could not survive the fever that was surely upon her now if she had no will to live.

  “Come now,” Grace murmured, guiding Alice firmly the few steps to her own bunk. “You’re to lie here now. They’ve taken away Siobahn’s mattress, and you can’t rest on bare boards.”

&
nbsp; Alice did not reply, but closed her eyes the minute she laid her head down. Grace sat beside, touching her face, her hands. Warm. Very warm. Sweat glistening on her brow. Tomorrow morning then, Grace would move her to where the sick were now kept, but tonight Alice would remain with them.

  There’d be no trouble from the doctor; he only looked busy when the captain or first mate appeared. Reinders had come down twice in the course of the long day to speak to all of them and say what would happen in the way of a burial. He had introduced Doctor Draper, pulling the man forward gruffly, reassuring them all that they could count upon medical attention around the clock until the fever had run its course. The second time, he asked them to reorganize their belongings so that the sick were together in a kind of ward in one quarter of the hold to ensure better attention from the doctor, and to spare the healthy. Grace and another fellow, a fisherman from Galway, had come forward at that moment and agreed to take over setting up the small hospital.

  Once they’d begun the actual move, it went smoothly, many hands looking for work to take their minds off the fear that they too might die aboard this ship and never reach the promised land. It was agreed to move as many remaining mattresses as possible over to the ward so that the ill might be made more comfortable; there was grumbling, as well, and some who were afraid to lie among the sick, as though it were a sentence of death, but overall they had done as they were asked and by the time Mister Mackley announced the burial service on deck, the sick lay in one corner of the hold separated from the healthy by two rows of ominously empty bunks.

  Grace looked up and saw that Liam now stood beside her, reeling from the strain, worried eyes on his mother’s still face. She reached out and took his small hand.

  “She’s only sleeping,” Grace promised. “Hasn’t she been up day and night with Siobahn until there’s nothing left to her? She’ll be better in the morning, you’ll see.”

  The eyes he wrenched away from Alice and turned toward hers were like his mother’s in that they held out little hope, but were willing to be persuaded for now. She stood and put her arms around his stiff shoulders, pulling him to her, kissing his mess of salty hair. She felt his arms go round her waist, the weight of him leaning in against her.

  “You must lay yourself down now, Liam, and try to rest,” she insisted gently.

  “What if she needs something in the night?” he asked, forlorn. “I’m all she has now.”

  “Are you forgetting the rest of us, then?” Grace scolded. “It’s not up to you alone, you know.”

  His face was so very pale, she thought, and glanced down at her own little daughter standing off to one side, returning her gaze, bearing everything silently as though she understood the mysteries of life and death better than all of them.

  “Mary Kate’s so very tired,” Grace whispered in Liam’s ear. “Would you he with her until she’s asleep? I worry she’ll roll off from up there, and I’ve something yet to do.”

  He nodded against her chest; he would do that for her. Moving away from her warmth, he hoisted himself up to the bunk above his mother, reaching over the edge as Grace lifted up Mary Kate. When the child had settled herself under the thin blanket, he curled up behind her, one arm wrapped protectively across her body, her soft hair nestled just under his chin, the way he had lain beside Siobahn nearly every night of his life. Mary Kate seemed to know that this brought him comfort and she snuggled close, gave a deep sigh, and closed her eyes. Grace prayed with them and said good night, pretending for Liam’s sake not to see the tears he struggled to hide.

  No fiddlers played tonight and no dancers danced, everyone too exhausted and desperate for dreams. As Grace made her way between the narrow bunks, she heard the groans of men shifting in their sleep, cramped and uncomfortable on hard boards, helpless to do anything for their wives and children. She saw a woman, alone now, sitting, rocking on the edge of her bunk, skirt bunched in fisted hands, shoved against her mouth to muffle the sobs. Grace rested a hand upon her head in passing. She listened for, and heard, the sound of mewling infants, the soft cluck of their tired mother’s, and the satisfied suckling that followed—not all the babies had been lost, and this gave her heart. She moved carefully through the shadows and back into the dim light of the area where the sick lay and where the doctor stood, somewhat apart, squinting at his pocket watch.

  “Evening, Doctor Draper.” Her voice startled him and he jumped. “Will you be going up to your own family then, soon? After such a long day as this?”

  “I will not!” Frustration burst the dam of his resolve not to engage in conversation with these beggars. “I dare not! I have now been thoroughly exposed to whatever it is you people have carried aboard, and I certainly cannot go back to my cabin, where young, innocent children sleep with their trusting mother!” He stared defiantly as if this were all her fault.

  “’Tis a shame, that,” she consoled.

  “Shame is the least of it! Captain Reinders clearly understood the implications of ordering me to remain in this … hole. But he didn’t hesitate to consider the inconvenience, let alone risk, to my own family! What kind of man behaves that way?”

  “Well, now, I’m sure I don’t know,” Grace answered, thoughtfully. “Captain Reinders seems a decent man, a man who cares about everyone on his ship.”

  Draper stuffed the watch back into his vest pocket, glaring down his nose at her. “What is it you want? Why are you bothering me? If you’re sick, go lie down and I’ll see to you later.”

  “Ah, no, I’m not sick, thanks for asking,” Grace said, feigning thickheadedness. “But I’m wondering what it is you do for them that are. Can you cure them?” She glanced at the two leather medical bags lying partially open on an empty bunk. “Is there a remedy?”

  He followed her eyes, then narrowed his own. “Why?”

  Grace shrugged her shoulders in what she hoped was a casual manner. “Curious is all I am. My gran was a great one for cures; she made all sorts of remedies from what she gathered in the fields and from the wood around our cabin.”

  “A midwife,” Draper dismissed.

  “Ah, no! She didn’t bring on the babies, just tended the sick or them with injuries. Folk medicine is all, but I used to help her some and I was wondering, is all.”

  The doctor refused to engage.

  “You must know everything about healing,” she flattered. “Been to university and all. Worked in the great hospitals in London and America. I’ll bet there isn’t anything you don’t know.”

  His face reflected the struggle of conceit and stubbornness, finally giving way to pride, the compromised winner. He eyed Grace again, then flicked his finger in a gesture that gave her permission to follow him at a respectful distance.

  “As you seem to have some base interest in medicine, I will grant you a look at my surgery.” Draper opened the first bag with such flourish that all Grace saw at first was a flash of silver. He lifted each instrument out as he spoke. “Forceps for difficult deliveries, saws and knives for amputating, of course. A Hey’s saw, tourniquets …” He smiled condescendingly as the color drained from Grace’s face. “I’m sure your old granny hadn’t anything so modern as this. Used an old ax, I suppose, straight off the woodpile. Stitched with a quilting needle, most likely, leftover thread.”

  Warming to the show, he reached deeper into the bag and withdrew a smaller case of tooled leather, releasing its clasp and laying it open.

  “This is a pocket dressing kit,” he explained, overenunciating each word as if for a slow child. “Scalpel, gum lancet, tenaculum, scissors … This is called a bistoury.” He held up a small, slender knife, turning it to catch the light. “Very sharp,” he added, touching the tip gently, looking for her reaction. “Slices right through flesh and muscle.”

  Grace glanced at the row of curved needles, arranged by size, each held in place by tiny strips of leather.

  “Stitching.” He trailed a finger lovingly across them. “No wound too large or small. Very useful kit. One
can manage all sorts of surgeries very successfully with only this. A good physician goes nowhere without it. Certainly I don’t.”

  “Nor would I.” Grace swallowed visibly, her mouth dry. “And … and in the other?”

  “Prescriptives,” he said importantly, pulling open the second bag and lifting out an assortment of small jars, thick bottles, tins, and paper twists. “Balsam of Capiri, castor oil, cream of tartar, calomel—for worms.” He glanced at her, then continued, lifting up first one thing and then another. “Spirit of hartshorn, jalap in powder—a wonderful purgative; friar’s balsam, Epsom salts, rhubarb in powder, peppermint, laudanum …” He paused, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Familiar with laudanum, are you?”

  “Ah, no,” Grace said innocently, though she’d marked the blue bottle. “What’s it for, then?”

  “Toothache,” he offered. “Nasty stuff, though. Makes one nauseous and delusional, but I fear I am plagued with toothache, and so must always carry a bottle for when the pain becomes unbearable.”

  “Sure and that’s wise,” Grace commended. “Can’t have the doctor going out of his head, now, and all of us depending upon his wisdom. And what of that jar of pills just there?” She pointed to the last bottle.

  “Ah!” Draper’s eyes lit up. “Blue Pills! An example of modern medicine at its finest,” he said warmly. “An excellent cure-all, and one that comes highly recommended by the physician to the royal family. My most popular remedy.” He picked up the bottle lovingly.

  “Is that what you give the ones with fever, then?” Grace matched his excited tone. “Blue Pills?”

  The doctor quickly moderated any exuberance, tightening his grip possessively on the bottle. “Well—um, no. I mean, not always. Not unless they really need it.”

  “And how will you know, Doctor?”

  “It requires precise assessment,” he responded, puffing himself up all over again. “If patients are only slightly symptomatic, then they don’t need it, and of course, if they are in the process of succumbing, then it will do them no good.”