by Ann Moore
“It is not a cat!” he insisted.
“My point exactly.” She smiled and put down the fork. “Anyway, how was your morning, Father?”
“Lonely.” He eyed her pointedly. “I know you don’t hold much with convention, Julia, but most families do spend Christmas together.”
She blinked. “Oh, Father, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot!”
“I know,” he said sternly, but his eyes were warm with affection. “Off to that rag of a newspaper, I suppose. Was anyone even there on Christmas morning?”
“John, of course. They’re setting his piece on Sir Grey’s Crime and Outrage Bill, and you know he’s got to oversee every period and comma.”
Mister Martin smiled and poured them each a glass of wine. “Clarendon’s gone a bit mad with power—there’s no denying that. Any more arrests?”
“Too many to count.” Julia took her glass. “Every time there’s a murder—and you know how often that is—he immediately drafts a police force into the district and makes every man between the ages of sixteen and sixty join the hunt. If they refuse, it’s two years in prison.”
“Seems very hard.”
“It’s more than hard.” Julia’s eyes blazed with anger. “It’s an insult! And what’s more, after he sends his thugs into the district, he makes the villagers repay all costs of feeding and housing them! It’s ridiculous.” She shook her head in disgust. “No one’s allowed to bear arms without a special license, except gamekeepers and households needing protection—read English—so how the hell … excuse me, Father … how are the farmers supposed to protect their own homes or hunt to feed their own families?”
“I suppose you have written your own piece about this, Mister Freeman?” He paused in slicing the roast, eyebrows arched.
“It’ll be in next week’s Nation.”
“You and Mister Mitchel are neck-and-neck in the pursuit of English Aggravation, it seems. Pass me your plate, dear.”
“Aggravating the English is just a bonus—this is about Irish Emancipation, as well you know.” She took back her plate, sniffing the gray meat. “It’s cat, I tell you.”
“It’s not. Have some potatoes and pass them along.”
“Anyway, I think John’s just about had it at the Nation.” She tumbled a few potatoes onto her plate, then mashed them with a fork. “He and Duffy do nothing but argue these days. Repeal, repeal, repeal—Duffy says move slowly and cautiously, John says throw caution to the wind and attack.”
“Oh, my.” Mister Martin chewed his first bite of roast slowly, an odd look coming over his face. He swallowed, washing it down with a gulp of the claret. “Guess it’s been a while since we had meat on the table,” he said carefully. “Not used to the taste.”
“It’s not cat, Father,” Julia assured him. “It’s old mutton, actually. I got it myself yesterday from the butcher. I was only kidding.”
“Did you actually see him cut it up?” Mister Martin was not convinced. “Are you quite sure?”
“No, I didn’t see him, and yes, I’m sure. Watch.” She put a bite in her mouth and chewed vigorously. “Definitely mutton,” she confirmed. “Lovely old, chewy, dried-up mutton. Just the way you like it.”
He laughed. “It’s good to have the old Julia back again. I’ve missed you—bad jokes and all.”
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry if it’s been hard on you. I think it was just too much all at once—troops flooding the city, starving everywhere, all that illness.…”
“Morgan’s death,” he added gently.
She nodded.
“And then you took his widow all the way to Liverpool and put her on a ship to America and agreed to care for her infant and old father.” He shook his head. “So much weight for those young shoulders.”
“Not as much as she carries.” Julia sat back in her chair. “Please God she’s made it, and isn’t still out there on the winter sea.”
“Will you go down to Cork soon to see about the others?”
“As soon as I can get away. They’re bound to need more food and supplies. Morgan’s sister was running that convent single-handedly, and frankly I don’t trust Father Sheehan not to close the doors now there’s just a few of them left.”
“What would happen to the children?”
“Workhouse, most likely, or left to fend for themselves.” She sighed and pushed her plate away.
“I know it’s hard to sit in front of a good meal while others are starving,” he told her. “But you do them no good in wasting it, either. Now eat up, and maybe I’ve a little gift for you.”
“It’s not another lion, is it?”
“No, my dear,” he chuckled. “Actually …” He fished in his vest pocket, then handed her a small gold box. “Here. Merry Christmas, Julia dearest.”
She opened it carefully, then took out a delicate cross on a gold chain. “It’s Mother’S,” she said, and her eyes filled with tears.
“You know she nearly got us all excommunicated with those family-planning pamphlets of hers,” Mister Martin reminded. “But she was a deeply religious woman, nonetheless, and every morning she slipped this around her neck—‘putting on the armor of God,’ she called it.” He paused. “You’ve been through so very much, my dear,” he said gently. “I thought you could use a little extra armor.”
She came around to his side and knelt by his chair, her arms going round his waist.
“Now, now.” He smoothed her hair. “You’re so like her, you know. I’ve always admired the two of you tremendously.”
She looked up at him. “I’ve something for you, as well.” She put into his hand a framed miniature. “She had that done right before she died. It was to be a surprise for you, so she hid it in my drawer. I found it again after I came back from Liverpool.”
“Oh, Julia.” He could not take his eyes off it. “Look how very much alike the two of you are.”
Julia shook her head wistfully. “No, Father, don’t you remember how charmed everyone was by her? She was so very beautiful.”
“Exactly.” He held out the portrait, and for the first time, Julia really looked at the woman her mother had been, recognized the stubborn set of her jaw and the intelligent humor in her eyes, eyes that were exactly like Julia’s own.
“I miss her,” she said then.
“I miss her, as well, but oh, God, how grateful I am to have her daughter.” Mister Martin kissed Julia’s forehead. “Now get up and go finish your cat before it gets cold.”
She laughed and he laughed, and they finished their dinner, then sat by the fire for the whole of the afternoon, enjoying one another’s company and the rest of the claret, closing out—for a little while—the heavy weight of the world.
Sixteen
CAPTAIN Reinders found himself becoming very attached to the boy who now followed him everywhere, and he worried what would happen when they landed. Were orphans sent back to Ireland, he wondered, or taken to the asylum in the city, or simply left to fend for themselves? Reinders could not stand the thought of the boy locked away where he might languish for years unclaimed, nor could he bear to think of Liam begging for pennies on the corner of some low street, at the mercy of any thug who wanted to beat him out of his day’s earnings. Missus Donnelly had clearly taken him under her wing for now, but would she keep him when they landed? Would she be able? Widows, he knew, were rarely in charge of their own lives.
And so he began to consider what it would be like to have Liam remain with him, sail, and learn the trade. Was it a proper life for a boy, the logical solution? The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much he wanted to do this—logical or no, Liam Kelley had come to mean something to him.
He looked now to the corner of his cabin where Liam sat, finishing his lunch and looking at the charts on the map table.
“Can you go anywhere in the world with these, sir?” he asked in his excited way.
“You can go anywhere with or without them.” Reinders c
ame over and had a look over the boy’s shoulder. “But you might not always know where you are. Maps show you the lay of the land and the water around it; charts give you that and more—they show what the winds are like, how deep the water might be in a harbor or lagoon, which is the fastest route from one place to another.”
“Are there places not on the maps, then?” Liam looked up, bread crumbs clinging to his lower lip.
“Plenty of places not charted yet, but we know they’re out there.”
“Ah, Captain,” Liam breathed, his eyes wide. “That’s what I want to do when I’m old enough. I want to find those places and draw them on the maps for sailors.” He turned back to the intricate charts. “Aren’t they the most beautiful things, then, sir?”
Reinders smiled and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “They are. They really are.”
There was a knock. Then Boardham entered without waiting to be called. He eyed the tableau with such a lascivious sneer that Reinders let go of the boy’s shoulder and stepped in front of the map table to shield him.
“What is it?” he asked sharply.
“First-class passengers are wondering why there’s so little variety in their diet, sir.”
Reinders crossed his arms. “Because we’ve been at sea nearly two weeks longer than expected—you know that. They’re lucky to have any variety at all—most of steerage is down to stale water and hard tack.”
“I did tell them, sir, but they wonder why you never take your meals in the saloon.” He paused. “They feel very hard about the doctor,” he added, a note of agreement in his voice.
“I don’t give a damn how they feel about the doctor—he’s got patients below, and that’s where he stays until we land. As for my meals, I don’t have time to waste an evening with that gabby bunch.”
“Of course, sir.” Boardham gave a little bow, then continued with seeming reluctance. “If I might say, sir, they do comment on how often you’re with the boy there, and how you go below regular-like.”
“That’s no one’s business but my own,” Reinders said firmly.
“Oh, absolutely, sir, absolutely. Cabin boy’s a right nice comfort on a long voyage. We all know that.” Boardham winked.
Reinders crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the steward by the collar, and shoved him up against the wall. “You ever say that again, you bastard, I’ll throw you in the brig and forget all about you.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain.” Boardham squirmed. “I meant nothing by it.”
“Like hell you didn’t.” He let go, but muscled up close. “I’ve been watching you, Boardham, and I don’t like you—I don’t like the way you shirk your duties or the way you treat the passengers, especially the women. I don’t like the way you sneak around or the way you gamble with the men—you cheat, Boardham, and I hate cheaters. I don’t even like the way you look. If you don’t want to spend the rest of this voyage in the bowels of my ship, then you keep your filthy talk to yourself and follow my orders to the letter, starting with this one—get out.”
Red-faced, Boardham slunk out the door; Reinders found he could not look Liam in the eye, afraid the steward’s venom had poisoned the boy’s innocence and their friendship.
“I never did like him, either,” Liam offered then, and Reinders snorted, relieved.
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper. A good captain never lets scum get the best of him—remember that when you’ve got your own ship.”
Liam flushed with pleasure at the thought.
“And stay out of his way,” Reinders added, unable to shake the way Boardham had looked at the boy. “He’s bad news.”
Cold though it was, Reinders paced the main deck until he saw Grace come up to join the queue for the toilets. Boardham was nowhere in sight, which was too bad—Reinders would’ve liked an excuse to lock him away.
“Missus Donnelly.” He caught her before she went back down. “I was hoping to see you—may I have a word?”
“Aye, Captain.” Grace’s teeth chattered. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you, as well.”
“You’re freezing.” He had to raise his voice over the sound of the wind ripping across the deck. “Will you come to my cabin? I could give you some tea?”
Grace nodded, then followed him down to an unfamiliar door, which he held open for her. She passed through, glancing around quickly at the compact quarters, the mounted bunk and suspended lantern, map table secured to the floor, charts weighted with a flat stone, brass instruments lying to one side—some in their cases, some out—of the small desk, a trunk in one corner. He motioned for her to sit in the chair beside the trunk, then stuck his head back out into the hall.
“Fletcher,” he called. “Bring a pot of tea and two cups, right away.” He closed the door, then settled himself behind his desk. “I wanted to talk about Liam.”
“As do I,” Grace said, her shivering subsiding.
“Good. That’s good. We’re on the same course.” He paused, wondering what to say next. Better just to lay it on the table, he decided. “Missus Donnelly, I’d like to adopt Liam Kelley.”
“Captain!” Grace nearly fell off her chair. “That’s very kind of you, but isn’t he just nine years old, and what does a bachelor seaman like yourself know of nine-year-old boys?”
Reinders had expected this. “I was nine once,” he replied confidently. “And a boy, of course.”
“All right, then,” Grace teased. “You can have him.”
“I’m serious! The boy’s an orphan, and clearly he loves the sea. I know it’s not a traditional life, but I’d see that he got an education and I’d teach him everything there is to know about navigation. Can you imagine what a magnificent seaman he could become?”
“I’ve no doubt you’d do right by him, Captain, but he has a father—in America.” She paused, sorry for the hurt now on his face.
“He never mentioned a father.”
“Left the family over a year ago, and not a word from him since. Times being what they are in Ireland, the only thing for it was to come ahead.”
“Did they think they would just get off the ship and there he’d be, waiting for them?” Reinders asked, incredulous.
“There’s many think that. Family gone missing, and they’ve no idea how big America is. I don’t know myself, but I suspect a man can simply vanish in it, and maybe that’s the draw for some.”
“Maybe he’s dead.”
“Maybe he is,” she agreed. “Most likely he is. A drinking man by all accounts and not too reliable. But maybe sobered up, working, and waiting after all.”
“They wrote ahead?”
“Aye, some time ago. I’ve an address where to look.”
“What if you can’t find him?” Reinders could hardly believe this.
“I’ve turned it over myself, many times since his mother died, Captain,” Grace said, wearily. “I promised to watch over him, but will I be able to just take him off?”
“Are you related?”
“No,” she admitted. “Though I think of him as mine.”
Reinders smiled wryly. “Grows on a person, doesn’t he?” He thought for a moment. “Would you be able to keep him with you until we found out about his father?”
“Oh, aye.” She brightened. “I’m to live with my brother. He’s a good man and won’t mind one more. But will Liam be allowed to go with me?”
Reinders frowned. “I don’t know. He’d have to be handed over to the authorities, and probably from there to the orphan asylum.”
Grace shook her head. “Absolutely not, Captain.”
“I agree. That’d be terrible for him.”
The knob turned and Boardham stepped in bearing a tray.
“Your tea, sir.” He kept his eyes lowered, contritely. “Two cups, as requested. Anything else, Captain?” He glanced up quickly, his eyes flicking from the captain to Grace and down again.
“No,” Reinders said shortly, dismissing him.
“Will I say you’re not to be
disturbed, sir?” Boardham asked neutrally from the doorway.
“Yes.” Reinders felt his face grow hot. “No. Get on with your work,” he ordered.
“I don’t like that one much,” Grace said when the door was closed.
“No one does.” He poured out a cup and handed it to her, pushing away his irritation with the steward. “Here’s what I think,” he resumed. “You’re Liam’s relative. I’ll make a note of this on the passenger list and record in my log that on the day his mother died he was remanded to the custody of his aunt, Missus Gracelin Donnelly. Then, if any questions are asked upon landing, we’re covered.”
Grace set her tea down and looked at him. “Thank you, Captain. Ever so much. But is it against the rules?” She bit her lip. “Will you not get yourself in some trouble over this?”
“It’s not regulations,” he allowed. “A captain’s log is gospel and not to be tampered with in hindsight. But in a case like this, well—what does it matter to anyone where he goes?”
“It matters to you, Captain,” she said gently. “You made plans for him. Had it all worked out.”
He looked down into his cup for a moment. “I only want what’s best for the boy,” he said. “But I would ask you one thing—if his father’s dead and you find you can’t provide for him, would you let him come to me? Or even in the future, if he still loves the sea, he could always crew for me. I’d teach him everything.”
“He’s lucky to have such a one as yourself interested in him.”
“It’s settled then.” Reinders nodded. “We’ll stay in touch.”
“Might I ask you a question, Captain?” She leaned forward, cup resting on her knees. “Something about yourself?”
He eyed her, hesitant, then nodded.
“Have you any family of your own in this America?”
“My mother and brothers live on our farm in upstate New York,” he told her. “I thought I’d send Liam there for a while if he proved too young to live aboard ship, and I’d see him whenever I could.”
“Is it far, then?”
“A couple of days’ ride,” Reinders allowed. “But I haven’t been back there in quite a while. Fifteen years to be exact.” For the first time he felt how long that really was.
