Cheryl St.John - The Wedding Journey

He glanced at Nora. “Is one of you better with children than the other?”

“That would be Bridget,” Nora replied. “I’ve had more experience in a kitchen.”

“The family I spoke of are the Atwaters,” he said to Bridget. “They have three daughters with whom they need help on the voyage. Mr. Atwater believed he had a governess, but at the last moment, she disappeared with their silver spoons and the cobbler’s son. I’ll send a note of recommendation with you. You can inquire above about his present whereabouts.”

The doctor cut away the remainder of Sean’s trousers and rolled them into a ball for the rubbish bin. “And I’ll let Mr. Mathers know he can expect you in the galley tomorrow bright and early,” he said to Nora.

“We’re indebted to you, Dr. Gallagher,” she replied.

“Not at all. I’m sure you’ll each make a valuable contribution to the voyage.” He inquired about their cabin number and gave them simple directions.

Gathering their things, the sisters made their way back out to the corridor. Once the door closed behind them, Bridget grasped Maeve’s arm through her sleeve. “The angels surely blessed that man with staggering good looks.” She gave Maeve a grin. “I think he likes you.”

“What a nonsensical dreamer you are,” Maeve replied. “He was as staid and solemn as a grave digger.”

Perhaps that comparison had been thoughtless, so soon after burying their father, because Bridget got tears in her eyes. Maeve too often spoke without thinking.

Other passengers had begun boarding the ship, carrying their belongings and herding children. Nora led the way, turning a grateful smile on Maeve. “Thank you. This income sets my mind at ease.”

“Now we’ll all feel more prepared to dock in America,” Maeve assured her.

They’d been assigned a small cabin that housed twelve bunks anchored to the walls by chains. On either side of the door were lockers with padlocks. Several other women had already chosen lower bunks and stowed their things, so the sisters chose beds near each other, with Bridget above Nora and Maeve on the next top bunk. This would be the first time they’d slept in separate beds, so the closeness would be a comfort.

Quickly, they stored their clothing and the food they’d brought, so they could hurry above.

Back on deck, Bridget was first to the railing. Maeve and Nora stood on either side. A small crowd stood at the wharf, waving scarves and hats. Maeve didn’t recognize any of her countrymen, but she waved back. What a monumental moment this was. A life-changing day. To embed the scene in her memory, she took in every rich detail.

“Weigh the anchor!” came a shout, and she turned to spy a bearded man she assumed was the captain. A tingle of expectancy shimmied up her spine. She held her breath.

The anchor chain had become entangled with the cables of several fishing boats, so the moment lost momentum and her nerves jumped impatiently. At last, with much squeaking and creaking and dripping seaweed, the anchor chain was reeled in. The sound of men’s voices rose in a chant as the sailors unreefed the enormous topsails and the bleached canvas billowed against the vivid blue sky. The sails caught the wind and the ship glided into the bay.

Goose bumps rose along Maeve’s arms and the thrill of expectancy increased her heart rate.

In a matter of minutes, an expanse of water separated them from land, and the lush green coast with its majestic steplike cliffs came into view. She strained to see far enough to recognize the familiar outcroppings near her village, but of course the Murphy sisters had traveled a far piece to get to the ship, and it couldn’t be seen from here. Perhaps when they were farther out in the ocean.

Maeve glanced to find Nora’s face somber, her expression tense, as though concerned for their future. Between them, Bridget’s soft weeping caught her notice. Always sentimental, a friend to all, Bridget would miss their friends and the people of their village. Her love for their community had been tainted by that despicable Daniel McGrath leaving her brokenhearted at the altar, however. It gave Maeve a sense of satisfaction to know that Bridget was leaving him behind once and for all.

Maeve put her arm around Bridget’s shoulders and gave her a comforting hug. “’Tis a brand new start, ma milis.”

Bridget dabbed her eyes and nose with her plain white cotton handkerchief and gave her a tremulous smile. “I’m glad to start over. But I shall miss what used to be. Before Mother and Da died. Before the famine. But I know we have much to look forward to. In America we’ll solve the mystery of that letter and learn who Laird is. We’ll live in the lovely house by the ocean and plant flowers.”

Nora moved to stand on the other side of Bridget and wrapped her arm around her waist. “Don’t raise your hopes too high, just in case.”

“At the very least we can learn who that Laird fellow was to Mother,” Maeve said.

She turned from the diminishing view of their homeland as they cleared the breakers and left the lighthouse behind to face her sisters. “We’re headed for the land of opportunity.”

She didn’t know what the trip held in store, but she liked the way it had begun. The doctor had treated her—and her sisters—with dignity and respect. Bridget’s teasing comments flashed through her mind, but she quickly set them aside. Yes, Dr. Gallagher did possess startling good looks, no doubt about that. Looking at him nearly took her breath away. She would have to work on composure.

The last person he would ever find of interest was a simple farm girl away from home for the first time. Ignoring her own attraction meant her new job was going to be challenging in more ways than one.

Chapter Three

“Come in,” Flynn called at a rap on the closed door.

“Couldn’t find any of the boy’s kin around Minot’s Ledge,” a bearded sailor told him, setting down the last of the supply crates. “Inquired along the wharf, and learned he was beggin’ handouts from the passengers waitin’ in line. Villagers from nearby say he’s an orphan.”

“That goes along with his story. In which case I doubt anyone’s looking for him,” Flynn replied. “Soon as he’s on his feet, he can be my errand boy.”

“Looks mighty scrawny,” the man noted with skepticism. “Don’t know how much work you’ll be gettin’ out of ’im.”

“You’d be scrawny, too, if you’d never had a mother to put meals on the table.”

“I’m supposin’ you’re right about that, doc. My dear ma, God rest her soul, set out a feast every noon and evenin’. Miss her cooking somethin’ fierce, I do.”

Flynn thanked him for searching, and the man went back to his tasks.

Before Sean awoke, Flynn washed the boy’s grimy face, hands and bony arms. For sure, the lad needed a good scrubbing, so he did the best he could. After removing his ill-fitting shoes and seeing Sean’s dirty blistered feet, he got more clean water and soap, scrubbed, then treated and bandaged both.

It was obvious this boy had gone without proper clothing and food for some time. Bones protruded at his wrists and ankles, and his ribs stood out in sharp relief. What was wrong with the world that children starved in the streets? The signs of such clear poverty made him feel shame at the thought of his own life of wealth and privilege.

He thought of the petite little miss he’d hired as his assistant. He was used to ladies who never mussed their elegant dresses and who always had every hair in place. They were at home in drawing rooms and shone seated at elegantly appointed dining tables.

Maeve Murphy, on the other hand, he could picture running barefoot across a meadow or gathering flowers and wearing them in her hair. She was natural. Unaffected.