Leaving Ireland

by Ann Moore

  He shook his head.

  “How many days?”

  He looked down and shrugged.

  “And do you have any water up there for washing?” She simply could not bear this. “Because you look just awful. Is that blood on your chin?” She smudged it with her thumb.

  “Are you angry with me, then?” His eyes filled with tears.

  “Ah, no, love.” She hugged him again. “I’m angry with myself, is the trouble. Just taking it out on you this morning. Sit down, and I’ll fetch you something to eat.”

  She stormed into the kitchen, smashing into Dugan, who stood around the corner checking his stock.

  “Slow down, girl! Too hot to be running all over the place,” he griped, then took a closer look at her face. “What’s wrong?”

  She wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Liam’s here. He’s hungry. He looks terrible. Been in a fight or something up there.”

  Dugan’s face grew stony. “You think that bastard’s beating on him?” His own hands curled into fists. “’Tis high time I went up there and killed that son of a bitch. Excuse my language.”

  “’Tis nothing I’ve not already thought.” Grace yanked over a loaf and angrily sliced off a piece. “But there’s nothing to be done. He hires that little boy out and makes a wage from him, keeps the old sot in drink—that’s all he cares about.”

  “Hires him out.” Dugan scowled. “You know where I found him last time? Out on the sidewalk hustling customers for a whore—she paid his da ten cents for every man Liam snagged. And I know he’s out there running with that wild lot, clubbing the dogs.”

  Grace peered out the door to the alley, as if she expected to see one coming even now. “What if he’s bit, or attacked? Those dogs are mad, half of them.”

  “That won’t stop ’em. Not when they get fifty cents a carcass. I hate to see it myself, those little boys running after any dog without a muzzle, screaming and whooping and bashing its brains out for the reward.” He shook his head. “Makes ’em as wild as the dog itself.”

  “He lookes terrible wrung out.” Grace carved off a piece of ham and put it on the bread. “Here ’tis July and he’s pale as winter, head full of lice, nose running, smells bad.” She slapped down the knife. “I tell you what, Dugan. I can hardly stand it. Bad enough I don’t know where my own boy is or what’s happening over there, I can’t even take care of this one!”

  “Ah, Grace.” His big face melted with concern. “I know you’re worried. And you never say a word about it. You been so good to my Tara, and I couldn’t run the place without you anymore we got so many coming in each night …” He stopped and reached into his pocket. “Made a little something in the betting last night. Here, you take half, buy something for the boy.”

  She looked at the money, then up at his face. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “Will you hire Liam with this money? He could work around the place, and we’ll pay his wage to his da. Sure and it’s more than he gets out of the boy in a week!”

  “That’s not a bad idea. We’re doing real well now, and he’s big enough to actually help me out.” He grinned. “That’s a great idea! That’s what we’ll do!”

  Grace hurried into the saloon, Dugan right behind. She set the plate down in front of Liam, watching as he tore into it.

  “Slow down, boy,” Dugan said gently. “There’s always a meal here for you.”

  Liam stopped and took a deep breath, nodding.

  “We got us an idea.” The big man straddled the next stool. “Grace and me, we’re thinking we could hire you to work around the place. Pay you a wage. Pay it to your da,” he amended.

  Liam’s eyebrows went up and he swallowed the chunk in his mouth. “Pay him to keep me here?” his voice squeaked.

  “I wouldn’t want to put it like that. More like you could make a better wage here than up on Orange Street, and we’d pay it to him direct each week.”

  “Would I still go back at night?”

  Dugan shook his head. “We need you to live in because the saloon closes late. What do you think?”

  His face lit up. “Aye! That’s great! That’s just great!” He threw his arms around Grace. “Thank you.”

  “Thank that one over there,” she chided. “He’s the one paying.”

  “Thank you, Dugan.” Liam squeezed the big man.

  “You’ll have to wash, though, boy,” Dugan said gruffly, moved. “Can’t have you driving the customers off with that smell.”

  Liam laughed. “Yes, sir. When do I start?”

  “Right now, so go on with Grace and talk to your da.”

  “Hurray!” Mary Kate threw up her hands and they all looked at her, then burst out laughing.

  Liam and Grace made their way through the heavy heat, watching out for mad dogs and loose pigs, crossing the street to stay in the shade as much as possible. No rain had fallen for weeks, and hard bricks of horse manure lay piled against the edges of the street. Each alley they passed emitted the dizzying smell of raw sewage; heat was no friend of the tenement dweller. Ropes of laundry stretched from side to side; wilted women in sleeveless vests and men in their undershirts sat on the stoops, smoking or talking. Maybe work, maybe not—the only hope for entertainment was a buggy accident in the street or a good fight with the neighbors. All but the very youngest children had already disappeared in search of water or shade.

  “Do you think he’s at home, then?” Grace asked as they started up Orange Street.

  “He’s always home,” Liam said grimly.

  They passed a gang of half-naked children, some of whom hailed Liam and disengaged themselves long enough to follow Grace down the pathway to the squalid barrack in the back.

  “Go on now,” she shooed, and all scattered screaming but two little girls who hung back shyly; Grace fished a penny out of her bag and handed it to the bigger one. “For ice cream,” she whispered. “Don’t tell.”

  They climbed the dark stairs, Liam leading the way and opening the door to number nine.

  “Where have you been?” his father cried, stumbling to his feet. “The rent man’s come and …” He saw Grace. “You. I’ve told you—you can’t have him. He belongs to me. He’s a Kelley.”

  Kelley was drunk and Grace in no mind to argue with him. She opened up her bag and poured the coins out on the top of his barrel. His eyes opened wide in surprise, then narrowed suspiciously.

  “I’m not selling him,” he growled.

  “No,” Grace said quickly. “Of course you’re not. I have a business deal for you, Mister Kelley.”

  He touched the coins with his dirty fingertip, pushed them around. “Go on.”

  “Whenever Liam comes, he does a few jobs around the place,” she lied, not daring to look at the boy. “He’s a good worker and Mister Ogue has offered him a job. It’ll pay that much every week,” she added.

  Kelley licked his lips, counting the money and thinking. “Every week, you say?”

  “Aye. But he’ll have to live in,” she said firmly. “It’s long hours and we can’t walk him back up here each night.”

  “Who’ll bring me the money?”

  “I will.”

  “How do I know you’re good for it?” He laid his hand over the coins.

  “I’ll pay ahead,” Grace explained. “This is the money Liam will earn next week. Each week, I’ll bring you the advance. That way, you can’t be cheated out of his wage.”

  Kelley eyed his son. “I suppose you want to do this?” He spat into the corner. “Seeing as how you can’t get enough of them down there.”

  “Aye, Da.” Liam stepped forward. “I’ll work hard, and you can have every penny.”

  “You taking his bed and board out this?”

  “No. We’ll feed him. It’s all yours, what he makes.” Grace resisted the urge to grab Liam and run. “Do we have a deal?”

  He scraped the coins off the barrel and pocketed them. “We do. Say good-bye to me, boy.”

  “’Bye, Da.” Liam put out his hand and his
father shook it.

  “Come and see me once in a while.”

  “I will.”

  “Don’t forget I done this for you.”

  “No, sir. I won’t, sir.” Liam looked at Grace.

  “Good-bye, Mister Kelley,” Grace said, suddenly sorry for the broken-down man. “I’ll see you next Saturday.”

  “Yeah, get out of here.” He turned his back on them and started coughing.

  Grace and Liam fairly flew the long blocks back home, and were met with whoops of joy from Dugan, who’d been waiting in the doorway, a rough towel over his shoulder, a bar of strong soap in his hand.

  “I knew the good Lord would see it our way,” he laughed. “Tub’s waiting in the kitchen. Nice cool water’ll feel good on a day like this!”

  Liam offered not a word of complaint, pausing only to tug Mary Kate’s hair playfully on his way back.

  “I’ve got to go back out for our supper,” Grace told her daughter, giving her a kiss. “Want to come along?”

  Mary Kate shook her head. “Too hot. And Liam’s here!”

  “I know.” Grace grinned. “Have fun, then.”

  Feeling better than she had in a long time, Grace decided to ride the omnibus down to the waterfront, where there was bound to be a breeze. She loved the bus; despite a reputation for reckless drivers, it was a fast, easy way to get around the city. She dropped her fare into a box lowered by the driver, who sat up on top, and when her destination approached, she pulled the rope attached to his leg, letting him know she wanted off.

  It was still a few blocks to the great wharves, and she walked them gladly, enjoying the brisk salty air in her face. Mister Hesselbaum would drive his cart down her street later in the day, but whenever she could, she liked coming herself and visiting Lily, who had become, if not a friend—for clearly she was a private person—at least a familiar face. Tara had introduced them, and in the beginning, Lily would never look directly at Grace, but off to one side. She’d brought Liam and Mary Kate along one morning, however, and that had broken the ice; Lily also had two, a boy and a girl—twins—and they talked about their children.

  Grace made her way around the knots of people on the dock, heading for Hesselbaum’s stall; as she got closer, she saw Lily talking earnestly with the only other customer. Grace approached hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt what was clearly an important conversation. She stood back a polite distance, waiting her turn, wondering at the familiarity of the man speaking to Lily. And then she realized who it was.

  “Captain Reinders?” she asked, stepping forward.

  He turned, startled, then removed his cap. “Missus Donnelly! What a surprise! What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I’m hoping to buy a nice piece of fish from my friend Lily Free.” Grace laughed. “Are you doing the same, then?”

  “No,” Reinders said at the same moment Lily nodded her head. There was an awkward silence. “Missus Free is an old friend of mine. I just stopped by to say hello,” he explained, then turned to Lily. “Missus Donnelly came all the way from Ireland on my ship.”

  “Heard about that.” Lily nodded. “Didn’t know it was your ship, though, Captain. She was looking pretty scrawny when she got here.”

  “Hard trip,” he said shortly, looking from one to the other. “Why am I not surprised that the two of you have found one another?” He laughed. “How are you then, Missus Donnelly? Fully recovered, I hope?”

  “I’m fine, Captain, just fine.” Grace shifted the basket to her other arm. “And how’s yourself, then? Home for a while, are you?”

  “Leaving tomorrow, actually. Tobacco run—quick and painless.” He glanced at Lily, who nodded imperceptibly. “I’ve been to see my mother, though, Missus Donnelly. Gave you full credit for the visit.”

  “And you weren’t persuaded to farming life, by the looks of you.”

  He laughed. “No. Nor did she try, even though times are still hard.” His face sobered. “It was the right thing, going to see her. She’s old and unwell, and I’m ashamed I didn’t do it sooner. Thank you.”

  “Ah, well, that’s fine,” she said.

  “How’s Liam?” He turned to block the sun from her eyes. “Did you ever find his father?”

  “I’m afraid so, but it wasn’t the best for him,” she confessed, then brightened. “Good news today, though.” She turned to include Lily. “We struck a bargain—Liam’s to work for Dugan at the saloon and turn his wage over to Seamus, who’s agreed to let him live with us.”

  “That’s good,” Lily said, picking out a piece of cod for Grace. “He’s a nice boy, and Mary Kate likes him so much.”

  “I’m glad it’s worked out.” Reinders turned his cap in his hand. “Does he ever talk about the ship?”

  “All the time.” Grace grinned. “To anyone who’ll listen and even if they won’t. You’re a giant of a man in his eyes.”

  “I’d better not go see him, then. The letdown might be too great.”

  “You come along anytime. He’d love to see you.”

  “I’d like to see him, too.” He paused. “You haven’t had any other trouble since we landed?”

  “None,” she assured him. “I’m just another Irish widow among thousands of Irish widows. But I can’t go back to Ireland. Not yet, anyway. Have you been?”

  “To Ireland?” He shook his head. “No. Nor will I. I never want to be responsible for that many people again as long as I live.”

  “I’m always hoping for news,” she said by way of explanation.

  “Your son,” he remembered. “Not arrived yet?”

  “Nor my da, nor have we had any word but one letter come from my friend Julia Martin.” Her eyes clouded. “They say things are bad in Cork and that’s where they are, the two of them.”

  “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “You could sail me back across the ocean,” she said, only half joking.

  “I wish I could. I would, if I could.”

  “I know.” She felt foolish for having asked. “They’ll be all right. They’re in God’s hands.”

  “As are we all, if I remember correctly,” he teased gently. “Missus Free shares the same sentiment, I believe.”

  “They big hands, Captain.” Lily handed the newspaper-wrapped fish to Grace. “I put in a couple of them shrimps,” she said.

  “Thanks, Lily.” Grace tucked it into her basket. “Sean loves those.”

  “Your brother?” Reinders asked.

  Grace nodded. “He’s quite the man about town, you know—speech-making for Ireland most of the time, though lately he’s become religious. That often happens to Sean,” she added wryly.

  “More religious than you?” Reinders pretended shock.

  She laughed. “Oh, aye—he’s joined these Latter-Day Saints. Do you know anything about them?”

  “Not really,” he admitted. “What’s the draw?”

  “A Miss Marcy Osgoode, to my way of thinking, but he claims spiritual stimulation.”

  “Ah,” Reinders said. “No comment.”

  “You must come to the Harp one night and let me give you a glass of real Irish ale—Dugan makes his own, you know.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “And maybe I’ll fix you a plate of supper, as well. By way of thanks.”

  “I don’t know if I could hold my own in a roomful of Irishmen,” he said doubtfully. “Don’t they frequently burst into ballads and jigs?”

  “Aye, and fight!” She laughed. “But I’ve no doubt you could hold your own, Captain, and I wouldn’t mind watching you have a go at a jig or two.” Her eyes danced merrily.

  He remembered those eyes, the color shifting even as he looked into them—blue to green to hazel to brown with flecks of gold—just the way the sun changed the color of the waves.

  “I might be tempted to dance if you’d join me,” he heard himself say, then stopped, color rising in his face. For crying out loud, Reinders, he chastised himself, is this your
sorry version of flirting? He glanced at Lily, who kept her head down.

  “I haven’t danced since my husband died,” Grace admitted. “But I know the day’ll come when ’tis time to try it again.”

  “I leave tomorrow,” he apologized. “But I will stop in when I get back … to see the boy.” He glanced at the ships, at the sailors roaming the wharves, and his tone changed to one of urgency. “You remember Marcus Boardham, the ship’s steward?”

  “How could I forget?” Grace asked gravely.

  “Right. I sailed up to Boston and dropped him there, but I have reason to believe he’s back in the city.” He hesitated. “One of my men—Tom Dean—turned up dead, and the description of the man who did it fit Boardham. If you ever see him, I want you to turn around and go the other way as fast as you can.”

  “I will,” she said absolutely. “What about that doctor?”

  “He won’t be a problem. We roughed him up a little, then let him off with a warning. Anyway, men like him aren’t in your neighborhood too often, but rats like Boardham are. No offense,” he added. “I don’t think he’d recognize you at any rate—you look different now.”

  “Do I?” She touched her face self-consciously.

  “You were awfully skinny.”

  “Yes, she was!” Lily spoke up, then pretended to busy herself at the other end of the stall.

  “Yes, you were,” he said. “Skinny and pale with dark circles under your eyes and always that shawl over your head. You look much better now.” He eyed her appreciatively, the full face scattered with freckles, the red in her dark hair. “Really. Much better. Your face and your …” His hands fluttered uncontrollably before his very eyes. “And you’ve really filled out.” Oh, God, Reinders, he said to himself, will you shut up?

  “Thank you.” Grace bit her lip, trying not to smile.

  The captain nodded, feeling like an idiot. He didn’t trust himself to say anything more, nor did he trust his traitorous hands, so he put them to work removing his hat, fiddling with the band, settling it firmly back on his head, all the while avoiding those eyes.

  “You must have a great deal to do yet to ready yourself for the voyage,” she said then, helping him out.