Leaving Ireland

by Ann Moore

  “I’ll take it upstairs, Missus Jenkins, thanks.”

  The house was dark with the windows covered and the furniture draped, but it still felt good to be home and he took the stairs two at a time. His rooms were also closed, but he immediately pulled back the curtains and opened the window wide. It was stifling up here, hot already even for early morning. If the weather stayed like this, they’d be asking every man in the city to volunteer for fire duty, especially in the tenement districts, where those wooden rookeries went up like kindling, taking most of their occupants with them, unfortunately. He was glad Lily and the children were out of there and happily ensconced in Boston with Florence’s friends. Lily was again selling fish on the wharf with—Reinders still got a kick out of this—Jakob Hesselbaum; the peddler had followed her up as soon as he heard the story and now they were full partners, with Solomon and Mary working alongside, Samuel and Ruth attending the Quaker school. Better than New York City in the summertime, he told himself, wishing for the sting of a salty breeze.

  He went over to his desk and looked at the mail, shrugging off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. Sure enough, a packet from Lars. He slit it open and poured out all the information Darmstadt had gathered on timber transporting. It was a lot. The letter alone ran into pages, just like the others, urging his partner to hurry up, close out their accounts, and bring the ship around—there was a fortune to be made running timber up and down the coast. Reinders was two steps ahead this time—ready to sail in one week out of Boston with the finest handpicked crew he could muster, Mackley included. He couldn’t wait to get out on the open sea again; it would be a new beginning, and he was ready.

  But it was also an ending, and he leaned back in his chair, thinking about Liam. He had seen the boy as often as he could, whenever he’d been in town. Grace had brought him to Reinders on more than one occasion, leaving the boy for long afternoons. Grace had told the captain about losing her son and her father, and Liam had confided later that she’d been very sick. He’d been afraid she might die and what would happen, he’d asked the captain, if she did—would he return to his father? Reinders had asked if that was what Liam wanted and the boy had said no; he cared for his da and didn’t mind seeing him now and then, but not to live. The captain had reassured him that Grace would not die, but if something ever happened and the Ogues did not claim him first, he could always come live aboard the ship. Liam had beamed all afternoon, more happy with the knowledge of that than with the sight of the circus elephants lumbering down the street. Reinders had mentioned this to Grace and she’d been grateful, had told the captain he meant the world to Liam.

  Reinders had felt his way along cautiously with Grace; she seemed changed now, older than when he’d left her at Christmas, but they didn’t talk of her illness. Nor did they talk about her relationship with Jay Livingston; Grace never brought it up, and he just couldn’t. He found himself refusing dinner invitations from Florence for fear the sight of Grace with Jay would break the fragile bond he had managed to forge. It was good and he knew it, knew he needed to make a real life for himself. He would see them one more time, and then he would say good-bye with a promise to write the boy. It was the only thing that made sense.

  He looked out the window at the early-morning sun on the rooftops. Off in the distance, he heard the fire bell clang as a wagon careened down the street. It was a good time to leave, he told himself; summer in the city was sure to be merciless.

  Sean eyed the angry crowd from inside the courthouse, then glanced back over his shoulder at Mister Osgoode, who had posted his bail with the money Sean had delivered, and was now collecting his hat and coat.

  Things had not gone well at the hearing and Osgoode would stand trial for fraud, for attempting to bilk innocent families out of their life savings in the name of religious freedom. It was just another example of the persecution they suffered, Osgoode declared, brought about by angry families who didn’t understand the commitment their relatives had made; another reason why they must go west, build their own community, their own self-governing country. But first he had to get out of jail.

  Sean brought the money from Osgoode’s safe as directed, reassuring Marcy that he’d be home soon with her father. She’d been packing since dawn; she and her father would leave immediately for Nauvoo, then try to catch the wagon train going west, and Sean … Marcy had begged him with tears in her eyes to come with them, to start a new life, and he’d loved her so much in that moment, loved her for loving him and wanting him with her. But Grace would never go, would never even consider it, and he had promised to never leave her. No, he’d told Marcy. He could not. But given time, he’d find a way.

  Now all he wanted was to find a way through that crowd. They stood jeering, fists in the air, waving signs that read SAINTS OR SWINDLERS? and OSGOODE’S A CROOK! Sean looked again at Mister Osgoode, who’d joined him at the door, pale and shaken.

  “There’s Tom Bishop over there.” Sean pointed to the carriage at the outer edge of the crowd. “He’s got Richard and Harold with him. The minute we start out, those two will push their way in to us and lead us to the carriage.”

  “All right.” Osgoode wiped the sweat off his forehead, then moved closer to Sean and lowered his voice. “Did you bring it?”

  Sean opened his jacket just enough for Osgoode to see the butt of the pistol he’d retrieved from the safe along with the cash.

  “Ready, then?”

  “I’ll go first.” Sean moved out in front. “Stay right with me.”

  He pushed open the door and was hit with a blast of angry noise, the crowd surging forward as the culprits came down the stairs. Just before he descended into the mob, Sean looked out over the top and saw big Harold marshaling his way through, all elbows and jabs.

  “Hang on!” Sean yelled above the shouts, and Osgoode grabbed hold of his jacket, pulling it back.

  “Get him!” a man shouted, and the crowd closed in.

  Sean’s clothes were ripped as hands clawed at him, slapped and punched him. He took a blow to the face, which knocked his glasses off, and now he saw only angry blurs. He felt a hand at his waist, closing around the pistol, pulling it out—Sean reached down and grabbed the man’s wrist, holding it tightly.

  “Watch out!” someone screamed, and then it went off.

  The crowd fell back, momentarily stunned, a man down and the pistol in Sean’s hand. As one, they looked at the bleeding man, then back at Sean, behind whom Osgoode cowered. In the instant before they pounced, Richard and Harold scooped them up, driving them through the crowd to the waiting carriage. And then they were in, Tom whipping the horses until they galloped down the street, leaving the angry mob behind.

  “By God, we were nearly killed!” Osgoode panted. “And the police! They just stood inside, watching the whole thing!”

  “They saw me, then.” Sean slumped with the realization. “They saw me shoot him. They know who I am.”

  The other men were silent.

  “You’ll have to come with us,” Osgoode decided. “There’s just no other way. If you stay, they’ll arrest you for murder, and you see what prejudice there is against us. You wouldn’t have a chance.”

  Sean looked at Harold, at Richard, and then at Mister Osgoode. “I can’t,” he said simply. “I won’t leave my sister.”

  Grace pounded on the Osgoodes’ door, pounded and pounded until at last it opened just a crack and Marcy’s tear-stained face appeared.

  “Where is he?”

  “Quickly.” Marcy pulled her in and shut the door, locking it firmly. “Back here,” she said and Grace was left to follow her down the hall, and then into the study, where clothing, books, and papers were piled precariously, in a state of disorganized packing.

  “What’s going on? The police have been to the saloon, Marcy. I want to hear it from you.” Grace grabbed the young woman’s shoulder and turned her around.

  “We’re leaving,” Marcy blurted, her eyes red and frantic. “It’s only the hou
sekeeper and me. I’m going to the Bishops’ tonight, and leaving with Tom in the morning.”

  Grace’s heart stopped. “Where’s Sean, Marcy?”

  The girl hesitated until Grace stepped closer as if to do her harm.

  “He’s with my father. They left hours ago. The police were here!” Her hands flew to her mouth in alarm. “They searched the house!”

  “They searched our place, as well,” Grace said grimly. “Are they hiding somewhere in the city, then?”

  Marcy stared at her, wide-eyed, paralyzed.

  “He’s my brother. I’ll not be telling the police, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “You never wanted him to go with us!”

  “Nor do I want him in jail,” Grace replied, exasperated. “Pull yourself together now, girl, and tell me where he is. I’ve brought his things.” She shifted the basket on her arm.

  Marcy shook her head. “He’s gone, Grace,” she confessed. “They’re riding to Illinois, and from there—I don’t know. Father and I are going on to Utah. We’re going to try to catch up with the wagon train. But Sean …” She hesitated. “He said to tell you he’d wait in Nauvoo if it was safe. He’d stop and write to you from there.”

  Grace examined the face of the girl before her, heard in her voice a tone of ownership.

  Marcy straightened her shoulders. “I love Sean,” she declared. “And he loves me. We want to be a part of the new life out there. He wouldn’t before, because he wouldn’t leave you and he knew you’d never come. But he can’t stay here anymore, can he?” She put her hands on her hips.

  “No,” Grace admitted. “He cannot.”

  “This is God’s plan!” Marcy was defiant now. “God wanted this to happen so we could be together!”

  “Well, I doubt the good Lord planned on shooting a man so you could run off to Utah with my brother. But I understand what you’re trying to say.”

  Marcy softened just a little, her hands fell to her sides. “He refused to leave the city without seeing you first.”

  “Did he?” Grace felt as though her heart would break.

  “They must’ve seen the police. And couldn’t risk it.”

  “No, I’m glad he got away.” She picked up the basket and held it out. “Will you take this to him? There’s a brace he wears at night. He’ll need that. And a clean shirt.”

  Marcy looked at it a moment, then took the handle.

  “And will you tell him I love him, and that”—Grace hesitated, biting her lip—“I’ll do whatever he says. Whatever he wants.”

  “I’ll tell him, Grace.” The young woman offered a tentative smile. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  “See that you do,” Grace said, and then she left the house.

  Forty-one

  REINDERS realized that Missus Jenkins was either not at home or not answering the door, so he crept down the stairs and peeked out the side window.

  “Grace!” He started buttoning his shirt, tucking in the tail.

  “Forgive me, Captain. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

  “Is it Liam?” He stepped aside so she could enter. “Is he in trouble again?”

  “’Tis Sean,” she said, still in shock. “’Twas a riot down at the courthouse today and a man shot. Police come by our place looking for him.”

  “Oh, my God.” Reinders stared. “Do you know where he is?”

  “I’ve been to the Osgoodes’. Marcy’s packing. Sean and her father left hours ago for Illinois. She’s leaving tomorrow and they’ll catch up to the group heading for Utah.”

  “Is Sean going, too?”

  “I don’t know. I think maybe he is.” Grace paced the entry hall. “He’s been working for Mister Osgoode, you see, handling the money for the wagon train folk, selling off their properties and the like for cash. Which all goes to the church,” she said.

  “I see.”

  “People complained, and Mister Osgoode was arrested. Sean went to pay his bail, but there was a mob waiting when they tried to leave.”

  “And a man was killed?”

  She nodded.

  “Did Sean do it?”

  “The police say he did.”

  Reinders sat down on the bottom step of the grand staircase. “This is pretty bad. What are you going to do?”

  Grace sat down next to him. “Marcy says he’ll stop long enough in Illinois to write me.”

  “And then?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I don’t even know where Illinois is.” She buried her face in her hands.

  He looked at her for a moment, then stood up. “We need a drink,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. He started into the drawing room, then considered how hot and musty it was in there, the decanters empty. “The house is closed up,” he apologized. “Lars and Detra are in San Francisco, so I stay mainly in my rooms upstairs. It’s nice, though,” he offered. “There’s a breeze coming through the window and I’ve got a fresh bottle of whiskey.”

  “I don’t make a habit of drink in the afternoon.” She bit her lip. “But the good Lord knows I’m about to fall over from trying to work this one out.”

  “Come on.” He put out his hand.

  “All right, then.” She allowed herself to be led up the long staircase to his rooms, which were right off the landing.

  He was right, it was nice in here, she thought, looking around at the orderly study, the charts and papers on the desk, two comfortable chairs, and through an archway, his bedchamber.

  “You’ve more room here than on board,” she commented.

  “Yes, but I love that little cabin. Have a seat.” He went to a sideboard and got out the whiskey, pouring a generous amount into each glass. “Drink it down,” he ordered, handing it to her. “You’ll feel better.”

  She did as she was told and felt, almost instantly, the effect on her empty stomach. “Are you only just home?” She settled back in her chair. “Or getting ready to go out again?”

  “Out.” He sat down, wondering if this was the time to tell her, then deciding he’d better. “Lars has set up a timber venture out in San Francisco. He wants me to bring the ship and a good crew.”

  Grace’s mouth opened in surprise. “You’re leaving for good, then, are you?”

  “No, just for a year or two.” He took a long drink. “It’s going to take me quite a while to get there, and then we’ll see how it goes.”

  Already shaky, Grace had no resistance left and didn’t even try to hide how she felt. “Well, we’re going to miss you, Captain. Liam’ll miss you. We’ll have no one left.”

  Reinders eyed her over the rim of his glass, puzzled. “You’ll have the Livingstons,” he reminded her pointedly.

  “Oh, aye, they’ve been good to us, true enough. But aren’t they really Sean’s friends? I don’t think we’ll be seeing too much of them now he’s gone.” She took another swallow, then closed her eyes and let her head fall against the back of the chair. “Maybe I should take the children to Illinois,” she speculated miserably.

  “But what about Jay?” He couldn’t help asking.

  Grace opened her eyes and looked at him. “Jay Livingston? What’s he got to do with going to Illinois?”

  “Well, aren’t you …” He frowned, unsure now. “I thought the two of you were …” He finished off his drink in one gulp. “Aren’t you with Jay?”

  Grace’s lips began to twitch. “How d’you mean with?”

  “Well, you know.” Reinders was horribly uncomfortable now. “Together. A couple. Engaged.”

  “Have you lost your mind completely then, Captain?” She had to laugh. “Can you imagine someone like Jay Livingston ever marrying the likes of me?”

  “Yes,” he said helplessly, admiring her lovely face. “I can.”

  “Well, you’re daft then, a right eejit.” She finished off her drink, then frowned into the bottom of the empty glass. “And besides, I’d never marry a man like Jay. You old bachelors are the worst,” she declared,
“so stubborn and set in your ways.”

  “And you’re not?” he asked, hurt.

  “Aye.” Grace laughed again. “I suppose I am. But why in the world would you ever think that about Jay and myself?”

  Reinders shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” he lied. “And he talks about you all the time. And he’s taken to drinking Irish whiskey.”

  “So have you.” She eyed the bottle on the sideboard. “And maybe we’ve drunk all we should.”

  “Or not enough.” He refilled his glass, his mind spinning: she was here, she didn’t love Jay Livingston, she was probably going to Illinois, he was definitely going to San Francisco. He made up his mind and downed his drink. “Come with me,” he urged. “Come with me out west. The children, too.”

  She stared at him. “What in God’s name are you saying to me now, Captain? I can’t just pick up and go off to sea!” She jumped to her feet and started to pace. “What about Liam’s da, then—seedy, aye, but still the boy’s father and he’d never agree to it nor should he! Liam likes to see him on Saturdays now, though he’d not want to live there and how could I ever leave him?” She stopped. “And what of my brother?”

  “He’s going west, too, you said.”

  “Well, but I don’t know that for sure! I don’t know where he’s going or what’s going to happen! I know he can’t come back here.…” She shook her head. “And how could I ever leave Dugan and Tara, after all they’ve done for us—they saved my life, you know! And now they need me round there, and don’t I owe them a boatload of money?”

  “Ship,” he corrected, drunkenly. “And I’ve got money—you could have it. All of it. Give it all to them. Do anything you like with it. I don’t care.” He got to his feet, slightly off balance. “Just say you’ll come. Please, Grace.”

  “Ah, Captain.” Her mouth trembled and her eyes filled with tears. “I never could.”