Leaving Ireland

by Ann Moore

  “Jay,” she scolded absentmindedly, hearing Mary Kate’s laughter from the kitchen, where she and the Ogues were being given a meal.

  “I’m quite serious, Grace. He’s a sailor, for Gods sake! Gone for months, who knows where—foreign lands, exotic women, rum smuggling—”

  “I thought you said he was stodgy and passionless?” She laughed.

  “You could’ve had me, you know,” he admonished lightly. “I just don’t understand it.”

  “Jay!” She looked at him. “You never wanted to marry me!”

  “Well, what if I did?” he argued. “What if I asked you now? Would you consider it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why ever not?” he demanded.

  “Well.” She paused. “Because we don’t love each other.”

  “Don’t we?” he asked petulantly. “Because I was sure at least one of us did. Oh, there you are.” His sister walked into the room. “She’s running off with Peter and I can’t talk her out of it.”

  “Good for you.” Florence winked at Grace.

  “I simply give up!” Jay stalked off to the desk in the corner, then lifted up a leather satchel. “This is your brother’s. O’Sullivan dropped it by earlier—papers mostly, and some mail. What am I supposed to do with it now?”

  “Well, it’s no good her taking it to San Francisco,” Florence told him. “Just keep it until Dugan hears from Sean, and then we’ll send it to him ourselves.”

  Jay shrugged and set down the satchel. “All right. But I simply can’t believe you’re doing this, Grace.”

  “I am, though.” Grace put Out her hand. “Good-bye, Jay.”

  “I never say good-bye, and besides, you’ll be back.”

  “Ready?” Florence asked, and Grace nodded, kissing Jay quickly on the cheek, then following his sister out into the kitchen.

  Everyone stood and Mary Kate held out her arms for her mother, who picked her up and went out the back door to the waiting carriage. The driver finished loading the trunks and then it was time. Grace set Mary Kate down and smoothed her dress, then turned to their friends.

  Tara held Caolon out. “He wants to say good-bye to his favorite wee girl.”

  Mary Kate kissed his little fists, then his round cheeks. “‘Bye, Caolon,” she whispered, rubbing her face against his.

  “You’ll see him again before you know it,” Tara assured her, but Mary Kate was resigned; she had said many farewells in her short life.

  Grace held and kissed the baby, then handed him back to Tara, hugging her, as well.

  “You send word now. Let us know what’s happening. And, Grace, you’ve always got a place with us, you know.”

  “Thank you, Tara. For everything.” The two women rested against one another.

  “That’s enough now, wife. Aren’t they late enough already? And it’s not forever, you know.” Dugan picked up Mary Kate, swallowing her whole in his mighty arms. “You be a good girl for your mam,” he said gruffly, and then his voice softened. “Ah, well, but aren’t you always? Too good to be true.” He kissed her and set her down, reached into his pocket, and brought out a little sack of candies. “For the trip. Share a few with Liam, now. When you see him.”

  “Aye, Dugan, thanks.” She took the sack, biting her lip just like her mother.

  “And give him this from Mister Marconi.” He handed her a small pocketknife, its handle smooth and new. “For mumblety-peg.”

  She nodded soberly and put it in her pocket.

  “All right, you.” He turned to Grace. “I got something here.” He handed her an old likeness of himself in his boxing togs, full head of dark hair, arms up in the fighting stance. “Don’t forget your old friend Mighty Ogue, now, will you?”

  Grace’s face ached with trying to hold all the emotion she felt. “Never,” she vowed. “Never, ever.”

  “I’ll be on the lookout for Sean’s letter, and I’ll let him know where you’ve gone. Good-bye then, girl.” He opened his arms.

  She laid her head against his mighty chest, listening to the beat of his strong, steady heart. “Thank you, Dugan.” She looked up into his eyes, both understanding what she meant. “Thank you for my life.”

  “’Twas you delivered our Caolon over there, and we’ll always love you for that.” He kissed her cheek. “Off with yourselves now. God be with you,” he pronounced, letting go. “We’ll see you again.”

  She nodded and gave him a trembling smile, then climbed into the carriage, Mary Kate next to her, Florence sitting across. Grace stuck her hand out the window, and Dugan took it one last time.

  “Go get him,” he whispered.

  The carriage pulled away and they watched until it had turned the corner, disappearing from sight, Dugan’s arm firmly around Tara, who held the baby close.

  “I love you,” she said, leaning against her husband.

  “And I love you,” he said and kissed her lovely mouth.

  From the upstairs window, Jay stood and watched the carriage go, then looked down and saw Dugan, his wife, and their child bathed in sunlight. And in that moment, he envied them more than he had ever envied anyone in his life.

  Forty-five

  “HE’S gone!” Lily cried out when she opened the door. “Lord Almighty, he left yesterday!”

  Grace stared, then started to collapse, Florence and Lily catching her before she hit the ground. Each woman got her under the arm, then led her into the house.

  “Sit her down,” Lily directed. “I’ll get you some tea. Mary!” Her daughter came in, wiping her hands on her apron. “We got company. Is there something we can give them to eat?”

  “Yes, Mama.” The girl smiled when she saw who it was.

  Florence patted Grace’s hand briskly and Lily fanned her with a piece of newspaper.

  “Stop.” Grace blinked and sat up. “I’m fine. Stop.” She looked around for Mary Kate and found her hovering anxiously by the chair; she pulled the child onto her lap and hugged her.

  “I just can’t believe it!” Lily sat back.

  “I knew we might be too late,” Grace finally said wretchedly. “I just didn’t want to think about it.”

  “He didn’t know you was coming or he would’ve waited. I know he would’ve waited.” Lily shook her head.

  “It’s not his fault. He asked me to come, but I said no. I told him I was going to my brother in Illinois.”

  Lily squinted at her. “You said no, but you love him?”

  “I don’t know how I feel,” she confessed. “I can’t trust that about myself. But I was willing to risk it. He has Liam, doesn’t he? And I think he truly loves me.”

  “He does.” Lily leaned forward. “And he’s mighty fond of that boy. You, too, Mary Kate. He said so.”

  “Are they gone, then?” Mary Kate asked, bewildered.

  The women looked at one another.

  “Aye,” Grace admitted, still not able to fully believe it. “We missed them.”

  Mary Kate’s mouth fell open and she burst into tears. Grace hugged her fiercely, fighting her own terrible disappointment.

  “Ah, now, girl, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. ’Tis my fault. But we’ll think of something. We’ll figure out what to do.” She looked at Florence for help, and then at Lily.

  “Ruth!” Lily called, and the shy girl Grace remembered appeared. “We got Mary Kate here to visit. Take her on out to the kitchen, will you, and show her the mama dog we got back there.”

  Mary Kate lifted her tear-streaked face at the mention of a dog, and allowed herself to be coaxed off her mother’s lap, then taken by the hand and led out of the room.

  “What are we to do then?” Grace asked in dismay. “I can’t go out to San Francisco alone, and I can’t go back to the city. I’ve not the least idea where Illinois is or how to find my brother once I get there.” She had to laugh, it sounded so hopeless.

  “You could stay here,” Lily offered. “You could stay with us a while. We can make room.”

  Grace bit her lip
. “Will I be able to earn my keep? Is there work?”

  “Plenty.” Lily got excited. “We got saloons and shops, factories, servant work … plenty of things you can do. You could even work with me and Jakob if you don’t mind the fish. We doing real well up here! I could ask him.”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” Florence nodded. “You wouldn’t have to decide anything right now. The Ogues will let you know when they hear from Sean”—Grace caught the note of sadness at the mention of her brother’s name—“and Peter will write when he reaches San Francisco. You can take a little time, you know,” she added gently. “Live peacefully for a while and rest. You’ve come so far already.”

  Grace took her hand, thinking about that.

  They sat late into the evening, these women who led such different outward lives, but inwardly were much the same—each one of them had loved and lost, and carried bravely on, understanding that at every turn, life begins again.

  When it was dark, Lily lit the lamps and took Grace to the room belonging to her daughters, the room they were happy to share with their mother’s Irish friend, the woman the captain loved.

  “You’re going to be all right,” Lily comforted her. “A lot of people, they care about you, Grace. They praying for you even now.”

  Grace’s eyes filled with tears, and Lily set the lamp down, then wrapped her strong arms around those stalwart shoulders. “You sleep now. You’ll know what to do come morning time.”

  Grace thanked her and kissed her, then crawled into bed and waited for Mary Kate, who came bounding in, face and hands clean, hair plaited, her little body swimming in one of Ruth’s nightgowns with the sleeves rolled up.

  “How are you?” Grace whispered.

  “Good.” Mary Kate snuggled in next to her. “They have puppies.”

  “Are they nice?”

  “Oh, aye,” the girl sighed. “Ruth says I can have one, but I said no.”

  “Don’t you want a puppy, then?” Grace smoothed her daughter’s bangs, smelling the child scent of her.

  “Aye.” Mary Kate turned to look at her mother in the dark. “But where do we live now?”

  Grace’s heart turned over and she wondered what to say to this child, who had traveled so far.

  “Do you remember our house in Ireland?”

  “’Twas big,” Mary Kate whispered. “But I liked Grandda’s more.”

  “Aye.” Grace saw the cabin clearly. “’Twas best there.”

  “Why did we come away?” Mary Kate’s finger traced her mother’s chin.

  “There was no food nor work to be had,” Grace told her. “We came here to find a new life.”

  “And did we?”

  Grace thought about that. “I think so. Almost.” Peters face drifted into her mind’s eye and she smiled. “Mary Kate,” she whispered. “We went west once, you and I. Shall we go west again?”

  “What does God say?” Mary Kate asked drowsily.

  “I’ve not asked Him yet,” her mother admitted. “Good night then, love.”

  Mary Kate was instantly asleep, but Grace lay awake the whole of the night, watching moonlight inch from corner to corner. Hours passed and finally she eased herself out of bed, dressed quickly, then crept down the stairs and out the front door, stepping into the fresh, windswept air, the gentle darkness that comes before dawn.

  She walked toward the harbor; it felt good to stretch her legs, to walk alone, her mind more clear with every step she took. At last, she came to the wharf and made her way carefully out to the very end of one of the docks, as far as she could go. Then she stood, peering at the horizon from which the sun was just beginning to emerge. East, she was looking east—to Ireland and all that had been left behind.

  Which way? she asked finally, and in that moment the sun broke free, boldly spreading its light like angel’s wings across the water, illuminating the world. It moved up through the sky—she watched its confident climb—and if she stood all day, it would turn her face from east to west, to all that lay before her, to all that was ahead.

  She took a deep breath and then another, the clean, salty air filling her body, making her strong. She turned and walked back up the dock, across the wharf and all the way home with long, sure strides, the sun rising, the wind at her back. She pushed open the gate and strode up the path, opened the door and listened; they were all up now, in the kitchen chattering away, and when she came in to them, they stopped and looked up expectantly.

  Mary Kate stood on her chair, biting her lip. “Jay’s come!” she announced, as Livingston rose from the table, his hair and clothing stiff with dust from the hard, fast ride.

  “This was in Sean’s bag.” He held out a battered letter. “It’s for you, Grace—from Julia Martin.”

  Grace could only stare.

  “I read it,” Jay said gently, coming forward and placing it in her hand. “He’s alive, your son. She has him.”

  “It’s true.” Florence touched Grace’s arm.

  Lily nodded, her own eyes bright, Mary’s hand in hers.

  Grace pulled the pages from the envelope and read, then clutched them to her heart, looking in amazement at the faces before her, seeking out the dearest—the little girl whose arms were already reaching for her. She swept up her daughter and held her tightly.

  “He’s alive,” she whispered. “Your brother’s alive.”

  “I came as fast as I could.” Jay grinned wearily. “Thank God you were still here.”

  “Aye.” Grace nodded in wonder.

  “Hooray!” Mary Kate exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air, and everyone cheered with her.

  Grace laughed and looked down into that lovely shining face; she covered it with kisses, then laughed again and danced her daughter round the room, the others close behind. Out the door they spilled, down the steps, over the grass, and into the middle of the beautiful garden, where flowers filled the air with sweetness and birds proclaimed the joy of life, where the sun shone down upon them all, and truly a new day had come.

  Turn the page to continue reading from the Gracelin O’Malley Trilogy

  One

  Hundreds of square-rigged vessels listed aimlessly in San Francisco Bay, eerie for the mist that swirled up and over their neglected decks, through the gaping holes punched port and starboard by lumber scavengers who took what they wanted, then deserted the ships a second time, leaving them half-submerged in murky waters. These ruined schooners, clippers, and whalers were not the only ships in the littered harbor—plenty more were battened down and well tended, safe at anchor—but it was the appearance of hasty, reckless abandonment that gave Gracelin O’Malley pause as her eyes scoured the bay for the proud masts of the Eliza J.

  It was the earliest of morning, barely dawn, and Grace told herself that the ship was in, the ship was there, only shrouded by fog, and that was why she could not see it from her place on the wharf. Even if she’d found it, she reminded herself, she had no boat with which to row out. And surely Peter and Liam would not be sleeping aboard anyway; they would be at home, in the house they shared with Peter’s partner, Lars Darmstadt, and Darmstadt’s wife, Detra, somewhere in the city on the hill that rose up behind her. She turned her back on the harbor now and considered the city, its streets unfamiliar and difficult to follow in the hazy light. It had been dark when she arrived last night; it was dark still, but she had written instructions, which she pulled out of her pocket and consulted.

  Tightening her grip on her young son’s hand, she towed the sleepy four-year-old away from the Jackson Street Wharf, up block after block, until she came to the opera house on Montgomery; from there she turned south on Montgomery until she found California Street, and then she began to search out the houses on a plaza surrounded by banks, warehouses, shipping offices, and import merchants. Slowly, she walked up the street, each structure emerging from the fog as if it were the only one in the world. Some had numbers, some had signs, others had nothing, but finally she arrived at the one she wanted—of course, it fac
ed the waterfront—and then she stopped abruptly, her eyes traveling the walkway, the entry, the first floor, the second, the third; it was bigger than she had imagined. Even though Grace realized that it housed Peter and Liam, Lars and Detra, and their servants, the address had given no clue as to the grandeur of the place itself. Swallowing hard, she looked down at Jack, straightened his cap and then her own bonnet, then determinedly pushed open the heavy iron gate.

  “Does the captain live here, Mam?” It was Jack’s turn to lift his eyes from the long dark windows on the first floor to the smaller windows on the second, and then to the tiny casements on the third.

  “I think so.” She led the way up the gravel path to the entrance, the crunch of their boot steps loud in her ears. “Watch yourself, now, son.” She supported him under the arms so that he could take the tall steps required to reach the front door.

  “Big.” He yawned when they’d gotten to the top.

  “Aye.” She smiled down at him and pointed to the bell. “Go on, now; have a pull.”

  They listened as it rang inside the house; when the echo faded, it was again deathly still, and they looked at one another, Jack shrugging his little shoulders. He had reached out to pull again when Grace put a hand on his arm; somewhere inside the house a door opened and closed, and then another, the slow tip-tap of footsteps growing louder. After what seemed an eternity, the front door was opened by a man holding a lamp that merely served to shed light on the fact that he’d been roused from his bed and forced to dress hastily. His frown deepened as he looked Grace up and down and saw the state of her own clothing—the muddy, stained cloak and battered hat, the dirty leather moccasins, her peeling sunburned face, the equally weather-beaten and bedraggled boy by her side—and then his eyes narrowed with intense disapproval as he realized that she was wearing what appeared to be men’s trousers.

  “Servants and tradesmen around back,” he directed scornfully and started to close the door.

  “I’m no servant,” Grace told him quickly before it was shut in her face. Mustering her confidence, she announced, “Missus Donnelly to see Captain Reinders, please.”