Книга - The Wedding Journey

The Wedding Journey
Cheryl St.John


BOUND FOR BOSTON HARBORThe mysterious inheritance is the answer to a prayer. Now Irish lass Maeve Murphy and her sisters can come to America! She’s sure happiness awaits her, even if it won’t—can’t—come from widowed ship doctor Flynn Gallagher. Yes, he made her his assistant, but she’s not foolish enough to fall for the man all the eligible, wealthy female passengers admire.Flynn Gallagher may have his pick of ladies, but only one cares as he does for the sick and poor. Flynn vowed never to marry another woman who could break his heart. With Maeve, has his heart found safe harbor at last?Irish Brides: Adventure—and love—await these Irish sisters on the way to America…







Bound for Boston Harbor

The mysterious inheritance is the answer to a prayer. Now Irish lass Maeve Murphy and her sisters can come to America! She’s sure happiness awaits her, even if it won’t—can’t—come from widowed ship doctor Flynn Gallagher. Yes, he made her his assistant, but she’s not foolish enough to fall for the man all the eligible, wealthy female passengers admire.

Flynn Gallagher may have his pick of ladies, but only one cares as he does for the sick and poor. Flynn vowed never to marry another woman who could break his heart. With Maeve, has his heart found safe harbor at last?


CHERYL ST.JOHN

love for reading started as a child. She wrote her own stories, designed covers and stapled them into books. She credits many hours of creating scenarios for her paper dolls and Barbies as the start of her fascination with fictional characters. At one time, Westerns were her preferred reading—until she happened upon LaVyrle Spencer’s Hummingbird in her local store. After that, she couldn’t read enough romance, and the desire to create stories of hope and forgiveness was born.

Cheryl loves hearing from readers. Visit her web-site, http://www.cherylstjohn.net, or email her at SaintJohn@aol.com.

For a selection of collectable mini-bookcover cards, send a SASE to: BOX 390995, Omaha, NE 68139.




The Wedding Journey

Cheryl St. John







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble. Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.

—1 Peter 5–7


“My dream is of a place and a time

where America will once again be seen

as the last best hope of earth.”

—Abraham Lincoln


Contents

Chapter One (#u7bc81647-a16f-59e7-b396-ebac15ee0b71)

Chapter Two (#u8a22de5f-7ede-5010-a2fa-599aa83f9750)

Chapter Three (#ua9715d64-debe-510d-af2a-a643a0b4ea17)

Chapter Four (#udb83a10a-b56c-53e0-964b-eaa819f800c3)

Chapter Five (#ufa25306d-56cd-50e1-a7ac-98d2173339f8)

Chapter Six (#u02e9a8ed-f922-57dd-bc99-38ead6b7237d)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

June 1850, Castleville, Ireland

Lilting over the roar of the ocean, the haunting notes of a flute raised goose bumps on Maeve’s arms. There were no men in the Murphy family to carry the plain wooden box holding the remains of their father on their shoulders, so she and her two older sisters followed behind as the men of the village proceeded from the small stone church up a grassy incline to the cemetery.

The gathering reached the crest. Here the sound of thundering waves far below the cliffs grew to a crescendo, nature’s hymn as familiar as the expansive sky and the salty tang of the ocean.

Beside Maeve, her sister Bridget wept into her handkerchief. She’d worn a somber secondhand brown bonnet, fashionable some ten years ago, yet still serviceable. “What’s going to become of us without Da?”

Maeve comforted Bridget with an arm around her shoulders. “Shush now, ma milis,” she said, calling her sister my sweet in their native Gaelic tongue.

“We’ll come up with a plan.” The eldest of the three, Nora, always had a plan. The sisters were stair steps in height and age, Nora being tall, Bridget in between and Maeve petite.

Most of the simple graves were marked with stones, others with weathered wooden crosses. Goat’s-beard grew in thick patches throughout the grass, the yellow blooms a cheerful contrast to the mood. A hole had been dug in the rich black soil, and Maeve had only to glance about the crowd to note which of the young men’s hair was damp from exertion. She spotted two familiar heads of curly red hair. She would thank the Donnelly brothers later.

Reverend Larkin had prayed over members from every household represented at the graveside today. The famine that had taken its toll on their countrymen had spared no family. Hunger, sickness and poverty were all these people knew, but the believers of Castleville clung to their faith. Now the reverend stretched his hand toward the pine box as six farmers dressed in their Sunday clothing lowered it by ropes down into the earth.

“Jack Murphy, your daughters long for one more day spent at your side. When we lose someone we love, it seems that time stands still. What moves through us is a silence, a quiet sadness, a longing for one more day, one more word, one more touch.”

The ache in Maeve’s chest threatened to cut off her breath. Security had been whipped out from beneath her with the death of her father. The pain of never seeing him again, of never hearing his thick brogue, was almost more than she could bear. She worked to hold back the grief and fear bearing down on her—and to steady Bridget, who swayed on her feet.

Their female friends and neighbors wept softly into their handkerchiefs and shawls. The men stared at the ground and worried the brims of their hats as a red-billed chough flew in a lazy circle overhead.

“We may not understand why you left this earth so soon,” the reverend continued. “Or why you left before we were ready to say goodbye, but little by little we shall begin to remember not just that you died, but all the days that you lived. We will see you again some day, in a heavenly place where there is no hunger or sickness. No rocks in the fields. Now, Lord, bless the daughters of Jack Murphy. Keep them safe from harm and provide for them by Your bounteous grace and mercy.”

Reverend Larkin turned and nodded at Nora. “You first, dear.”

Maeve’s oldest sister seemed taller than her already admirable height while she kept her back straight and stepped forward. She wore her chestnut-brown hair fashioned as she always did, in a practical bun, so not even a single strand of hair caught in the breeze. Kneeling, she picked up a handful of earth and dropped it into the grave. The clods hit the coffin with a dull thump. Bridget followed, her dark wavy hair hidden by her bonnet, with Maeve going last.

She performed the task quickly, without thinking, without gazing upon the pine box, but still she imagined her father laid out in his frayed suit. He wasn’t in that lifeless body, she reminded herself again. He’d gone onto glory and was right this moment looking down from beside her dear mother. They were together now in a place where there were no potatoes to dig or mouths to feed.

Scully and Vaughan Donnelly rolled back their sleeves over beefy forearms and shoveled dirt upon the casket.

Maeve watched for a few minutes until Mrs. Donovan, who’d been a dear friend of her mother’s, pressed a coin into Maeve’s hand and hugged her soundly. “I’ll be prayin’ for ye, I will.”

Maeve swallowed the sob rising in her chest and pressed her fisted hands to her midriff. She accepted condolences and pennies from her neighbors. Her fellow countrymen were poor, so these modest offerings were sacrifices they couldn’t afford. Their gifts humbled her. The fact that so many had come to the funeral at all was enough to touch her heart.

It was a workday, as was every day in County Beary, except the Sabbath, and the landlord didn’t take kindly to a day off.

“I still be missin’ your beautiful mother,” a long-time friend told her and enveloped her in a warm hug. “Colleen and I were dreamers, we were, as girls, but these times steal a woman’s dreams. Don’t let anythin’ or anyone take your dreams, lassie.”

The woman joined her daughter and together they walked through the knee-high grass.

After extending their sympathies one at a time, the rest of the mourners headed back down the green hillside toward their homes and fields.

With the ocean pounding below, the Murphy sisters stood on the lush green crest above the village until they were the only ones remaining.

“Mr. Bantry already has someone waiting to move into the cottage, he does.” Nora spoke of their landlord. “We’d better go pack and clean.”

Maeve set her jaw. “I’ll not be cleanin’ the house that ill-mannered tyrant’s forcing us out of.”

“Our mother kept that cottage clean all the years she lived within its walls, and we’ll not be shaming her by leaving so much as a speck of dust.”

Nora was right, of course. She was always right.

“What’s to become of us, then?” Bridget asked.

“Mrs. Ennis said we could board with them temporarily.” Nora showed them the wrapped bundle she held. “She gave us a loaf of bread.”

“They have seven mouths to feed as it is.” Maeve took off down the hill and her sisters followed. A startled grouse flew out of the tall grass.

“Our neighbors gave me coins.” Bridget extended her hand.

The three of them compared what they’d received. The total was pathetically insufficient and would barely purchase a week’s food. Their cupboards were empty. That morning they’d shared two partridge eggs Maeve had found.

Maeve led the way around a field bordered by a low rock wall. They crossed a stone bridge over a creek and continued toward the only home they’d ever known. The stone cottage greeted them with a lifetime of memories. Their mother had died here ten years previous, during the worst of the influenza epidemic. Their father had repaired the thatched roof numerous times, and the newest foliage showed up distinctly against the old.

Inside, Nora set the bread on the scarred cutting table. Bridget removed her bonnet. The three of them gathered around and studied the golden brown loaf reverently. “The Ennises couldn’t afford to part with this,” Maeve said.

“Our neighbors are a generous lot, they are,” Nora agreed. “The Macrees brought bramble jam earlier. We could each have a slice with it now.”

Bridget shook her head. “We should save it. I’m not very hungry.”

“My stomach is tied in knots, as well,” Maeve agreed. “We’ll want it later. It will last us through tomorrow.”

Nora wrapped the bread in a clean square of toweling. She brushed her hands together. “Very well. We’ll pack.”

“Pack. Where shall we go?” Bridget asked.

Nora placed her hands on her hips. “We must each find a husband immediately.”

“And not marry for love?” Bridget asked with a horrified expression. She placed her hat on a hook by the bed they shared. “We should stay with the Ennises. We’d still be near the village and the young men we know.”

“No proposals have been forthcoming yet,” Nora reminded her. “All the men here are as poor as we are. None can afford to take a wife and work a piece of land on his own. Honora Monaghan married one of the Kenny brothers, and now she has to live with his whole family.”

“Perhaps Mr. Bantry will allow us to work this land ourselves,” Bridget suggested. “We’ve worked it alongside Da all these years. We’re as capable as any man.”

“Mr. Bantry has his own kinsmen waiting to occupy the land,” Nora replied.

Maeve picked up her mother’s Bible and touched the worn cover. “May God turn Bantry’s heart, and if He doesn’t turn his heart, may He turn Bantry’s ankle, so we’ll know him by his limping!”

“Mind your tongue, Maeve Eileen Murphy,” her eldest sister admonished. “And spoken while you’re holding our dear departed mother’s Holy Bible.”

“I learned the saying from her, I did.” Maeve laughed, the first sound of merriment in this house for many weeks. “We’ll simply have to find work,” she told them logically. “And you know as well as I there’s not a job to be had in all of County Beary. We must travel to County Galway.”

“We can use Mother’s trunk.” Nora removed an oil lamp from the top and pulled the trunk into the center of the room that served as their kitchen and living space. “We’ll have to sort out all the things we can’t take.”

They found a few neatly pressed and folded aprons, a piece each of their baby clothing, a bundle of letters and a few daguerreotypes, one in an aged frame.

Nora picked up the likeness of their beautiful mother and caressed the frame with farm-roughened fingers. “What would Mother have done? She was practical above all else.”

“Where did practicality get her?” Bridget asked. “She never had a day’s happiness.”

“Romantic notions won’t put food on the table.” Holding the frame too tightly, Nora’s fingers poked through the fabric backing. She turned over the frame and examined the hole. Peering more closely, she worked three folded pieces of paper from inside. “Whatever are these?”

The younger sisters crowded in close for a better look. The first paper Nora unfolded was a letter, the second some type of legal document and the last a pencil drawing of a house. “How odd.”

“Read the letter,” Bridget coaxed and reached to take the drawing.

“‘May 1824,’” Nora began. “‘My dearest Colleen, I know you have made your choice. My heart is broken, but I understand your decision. I’ve gone to America, to Faith Glen, the village in Massachusetts we spoke of so often. The town was founded by an Irishman. It is just ten miles from Boston, yet I have heard it is so much like Castleville, though, of course it is another world. I have purchased a small home for you—’”

“Who’s the letter from?” Maeve stepped in closer to have a better look at the handwriting.

Nora waved her away. “Let me finish. ‘I have purchased a small home for you on the water’s edge. Should you or your kin ever be in need of a place to go, know this house is yours. With undying love, Laird.’”

The three sisters stood in stunned silence for a full minute.

“I told you she whispered the name Laird with her last dyin’ breath.” Bridget looked up from the letter to Nora’s tense expression. “But the two of you insisted she was just trying to say love.”

“We didn’t know any Laird,” Maeve said.

“Until now.” Bridget gave a satisfied nod.

“What’s this mention of undying love?” Maeve asked.

“Dated a year before I was born, ’tis.” Nora turned her attention to the pencil drawing Bridget held, and the three of them studied the depiction of a home near the ocean. The artist had even drawn flowers blooming in gardens on two sides.

“Mother was in love with this man!” Bridget’s expression showed her shock. “He bought her a house in America, but she stayed and married Da? I can’t conceive of it.”

“There must be a logical explanation,” Nora said.

Bridget’s hazel eyes were bright with excitement. “The cottage sounds ideal. We should go there.”

“They say there’s so much land in America that anyone can own a share.” Maeve took the deed from Nora’s fingers and examined it. “The soil is rich and there’s plenty of rain. There are schools and jobs. Western men are hungry for wives.”

“That may be so, but it takes more than we have to purchase ship’s fare and travel there. Fanny Clellan sold both her cow and her mother’s brooch to buy a ticket. We don’t even have a cow.” Nora snatched the paper back. She pointed to the date. “This deed is over twenty-five years old, ’tis. The house is most likely occupied—or it could have been destroyed.”

Maeve went to the coffee tin and dumped out the contents on the kitchen table. Bridget added the coins they’d received that morning, and the two of them tallied the amount.

“This could get us to Galway,” Nora pointed out.

“But we’d have no food or lodging,” Maeve argued. “We have something we can sell to buy tickets to America.”

“Don’t even speak of it.” Nora gave Maeve a cautionary glare.

Maeve went back to the trunk. “Once we land we could find an inn and secure jobs. We can look for this house in Faith Glen and learn if it’s still there. Think of it! We might have a comfortable place to live just waitin’ for us.” She knelt and took out several objects that had been packed in fabric at the bottom.

Bridget unwrapped one and held up a silver sugar bowl, followed by the teapot. “I never saw Mama use these.”

“I never did, either.” Maeve unwrapped a creamer. “They’ve always been in the trunk.”

“They’ve been there as long as I can remember,” Nora said. “Da once told me Mama got them from a woman she worked for. He said she had saved them for a rainy day. Even when times were the worst, she held on to them.”

“This is the rainiest day I can think of,” Bridget commented.

Maeve gave her eldest sister a pleading look. “It would be a fresh start, Nora. We have nothing left here.”

Nora looked about the barren room, her concern clear, but her resolve crumbling. “Even selling that, the tickets would take every last penny.”

“Perhaps there are positions aboard one of the sailing vessels. None of us minds a good day’s work.” Excitement laced Bridget’s tone.

Nora refolded the papers and carefully tucked them inside the Bible. “I suppose it can’t hurt to go see how much the tickets actually cost and learn if it’s even possible for us to hire on.”

Bridget shot a delighted bright-eyed gaze to Maeve. A broad smile lit her sweet face. Reaching for Maeve’s hands, she squeezed them until Maeve winced. “We’re going to America! Can you conceive of it?”

“Only if we can afford to buy fare,” Nora reminded.

Maeve tried to hide the jitters weakening her knees. If they didn’t have enough, they’d have to find a way by the end of the week. They couldn’t remain here. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. What did three simple village girls know about traveling aboard a sailing ship? What if the deed truly was worthless and there was no place for them once they arrived?

The sense of hopelessness she’d lived with for months had lifted, however. They were taking action to change their situation. Even if the house was gone, anything was better than this. God had already seen them through difficult times. All they had to do now was trust Him.

“Into Your care we place ourselves, Lord,” she prayed aloud. “Show us the path You would have us take and bless us as we seek a new home and a new start. Thank You for hope.”


Chapter Two

Two weeks later, Minot’s Ledge, Port of Galway, Ireland

“Move aside!” A barrel-chested man carrying an enormous crate on his shoulder jostled passengers awaiting their turns to board the Annie McGee. Overhead, gulls with black-tipped wings cawed and swooped.

Maeve and her sisters backed out of the way. All of their earthly possessions had been whittled down to the trunk, which had been stored aboard earlier, a few crates, a donated bandbox and a battered satchel. The pungent smells of fish and brine burned Maeve’s nose.

The rude man set down his burden at the foot of the gangplank and headed back to a wooden cart, which interrupted the line of waiting passengers. The harnessed mule jumped nervously at the man’s approach, and the fellow picked up a switch and waved it in a threat.

The mule sidestepped, rocking the cart precariously.

“Stand still, you good for nothin’ bag o’ bones!” His accent plainly emphasized a lack of Irish heritage.

With a loud bray, the frightened animal kicked out with his hind feet, solidly connecting with the cart and tipping the entire thing backward.

Crates toppled onto the ground as a piercing cry rose.

“There’s a lad beneath the cart!” someone called.

High-pitched screams raised the hair on Maeve’s neck.

The burly man grumbled and, together with several bystanders, righted the cart back onto its wheels.

“Aren’t you the doctor’s assistant?” a gentleman in a black suit asked the grumbling bear of a man. His face showed noticeable concern. “The lad here’s bleeding.”

“Filthy urchin shouldn’t have been beggin’ on the wharf,” the big man snarled. He picked up one of the spilled crates and headed for the gangplank without a backward glance.

Maeve didn’t hesitate to set the satchel she held at Nora’s feet and rush to the fallen boy’s side. She’d seen more than her share of sickness and injuries over the past few years, and the lack of a proper village doctor had given her plenty of opportunities to pick up numerous nursing skills. She didn’t know if she could help, but she’d do whatever she could.

The scene was alarming. Blood flowed from the boy’s thigh at a steady rate. Thinking quickly, she untied the scarf from around her shoulders, twisted it into a rope and tied it about his leg.

“I have need of a stick,” she called.

“Will this do?” A nearby woman shoved an ivory comb into her hand.

Maeve tied the tails of the scarf around the comb and twisted until the makeshift tourniquet cinched tight and the flow of blood ceased. Certain the bleeding was stopped, she lifted her gaze to the frightened boy’s dirty face. Tears streaked the grime on his pale cheeks, and wide frightened brown eyes appealed to her.

“You’re going to be all right,” she assured him. She glanced into the crowd. “Has someone sent for the doctor?”

“Yes, miss,” a female bystander replied. “My husband alerted the sailors on the gangplank. One of ’em rushed aboard.”

“It won’t be long now,” Maeve assured the boy. “What’s your name, laddie?”

“Sean,” he replied, his lower lip trembling. “Sean McCorkle.”

“Is your family nearby?” she asked.

“Aye. Me two brothers. Emmett be right over there.”

Maeve glanced about and spotted the younger boy he’d indicated standing several feet away, wearing a terrified expression. Both of them appeared dirty and uncared for.

“’Tis the doctor comin’ now,” the woman called to Maeve.

Stepping around passengers, a tall man hurried forward. His chocolate-brown gaze analyzed the scene, taking in the patient, the improvised tourniquet and lastly Maeve. He leaned over the lad, looking into each eye, and then pressing long fingers to the boy’s sockless ankle above his battered shoe. The doctor’s black hair glistened in the morning sun as he bent to examine the wound.

The scent of sandalwood clung to his clothing and drifted to Maeve’s nostrils. His efficiency impressed her.

He raised his head, piercing Maeve with an unsmiling, yet admiring look. “That was mighty quick thinking, miss.”

“I did what I could.”

He knelt and effortlessly picked up the boy. Maeve stood as he did, keeping her grip on the twisted scarf and comb secure. “I’ll take him to the dispensary, where I can treat him.”

“His name is Sean McCorkle. Says he has brothers, but he didn’t mention parents.”

“It will be helpful if you hold the tourniquet in place while I carry him aboard.” He called to one of the sailors. “Find this lad’s family! McCorkle’s the name.”

As dirty as he was, Maeve couldn’t imagine his family or home. “Where’s your mother, Sean?”

“She be with Jesus, miss. Don’t have a da, neither.”

She exchanged a significant look with the doctor.

His contemptible assistant chose that moment to return for another armload. The doctor stabbed him with an angry dark gaze. “What happened here, Hegarty?”

“Filthy beggar got in the way. Shouldn’t be underfoot, that one.”

A man with coal-black hair sticking out from beneath his cap stepped forward. “Takin’ a switch to the mule, Hegarty was,” the man supplied. “Frightened the poor beast into tippin’ goods all about the wharf and spilt the cart right atop the laddie here.”

“Cruelty to animals and children isn’t acceptable behavior under my employ,” the doctor proclaimed, already walking away with the boy. “Pack your belongings and leave the ship immediately. You no longer have a job.”

Hegarty dropped the crate with a resounding crash and brushed his beefy hands together. “You can keep your measly wages. Too many smelly Irishmen aboard this vessel for my taste, anyhow.”

The doctor directed an undiscernable look at Maeve. It was apparent from his speech, he was every bit as Irish as she, though obviously from a higher social class and far more educated. In those brief seconds it didn’t matter. The obnoxious man had insulted the majority of people on the wharf.

“Are you boarding the Annie McGee?” At her nod, the doctor asked, “Can someone see to carrying your belongings?”

“Aye, my sisters.”

“Call to them, if you will, please. All of you can come aboard with me.”

Quickly, she turned and called out before the crowd had time to close in behind them. “Nora! Bridget! Bring everything and follow us!” She addressed the doctor again. “You’re taking him aboard the sailing vessel?”

“Can’t very well leave him here unattended, can I? We’ve no other choice.”

“He said he was with two brothers, but I saw only one, I did. A lad younger than this boy.”

“The crewman will search them out,” he replied. “I suspect if there are brothers, they’ve either sneaked on the ship already or will board as soon as they have the opportunity.”

Maeve left her last footprint on the soil of her native land and stepped onto the wooden gangplank.

Reaching the deck, she kept pace with the long-legged doctor, and they made their way to the companion ladder. He descended ahead of her, and she leaned as far forward as she dared without toppling over to keep hold of the tourniquet.

Once below deck, he led the way along a corridor until they reached a closed door. She had a free hand, so she opened it and stood back. The doctor was so tall, he had to bend to enter the room, but Maeve walked through upright. Her sisters followed, with Nora bending to fit under the doorway.

“Set your belongings inside the door,” he instructed. “I apologize for my lack of manners, ladies. I’m Dr. Flynn Gallagher.”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Nora objected. “You were involved with an emergency situation and could hardly have been expected to tip your hat.”

“He isn’t wearing a hat,” Bridget said with a grin.

Nora ignored her. “I’m Nora Murphy. This is Bridget, and your capable helper there is Maeve.”

He had already laid down the boy and was now washing his own hands in a basin. Beside it was a stack of folded towels and linens. The dispensary was impeccably clean.

“Will you assist me?” he asked Maeve.

Clearly he had no one else to help now. She couldn’t have imagined that Hegarty fellow would have been of much use anyway. The doctor took hold of the comb while she washed her hands as thoroughly as he had.

Dr. Gallagher’s brows rose in obvious appreciation for the care she took. On her return, he handed her a small brown bottle and a cloth folded into a square.

“What will happen if his brothers aren’t found?” she asked. She didn’t want to see this lad separated from his family.

“Where do you suppose your brothers are right now?” Dr. Gallagher asked Sean.

Sean didn’t meet his eyes. He was sweating from the pain.

“They’re stowing aboard, aren’t they? Was that what the three of you cooked up?”

“What would happen to them if they did?” he asked.

The doctor nodded at Maeve. “We’ll see them eventually. Go ahead.”

She uncapped the bottle, held it well away from her nose and caught a whiff to test its contents. Knowing full well what it was and what he intended it for, she poured a small amount on the cloth, capped the bottle and held the fabric over the child’s nose. “Close your eyes now, laddie. The doctor’s going to fix you up as good as new, he is.”

Dr. Gallagher cut away Sean’s trousers, covered him with toweling and doused the area with alcohol. The boy’s eyes were peacefully closed as he proceeded.

“I’ll need a good helper for this voyage. I’d like to hire you for the position of my assistant.”

“But…” Caught off guard, she looked up. His diligent attention was fastened on his task. “I have no formal training.”

“Experience and quick thinking are often worth more than book learning, Miss Murphy. You’ve already proven yourself more than competent.”

Maeve thought of all their neighbors and her own parents whom she’d treated and seen worsen and eventually die. Two weeks ago she hadn’t been able to save her own da. She didn’t know if she had the courage to take care of any more sick people. “I don’t know.”

The handsome doctor glanced toward Nora and Bridget as he took instruments from a small metal box and threaded a needle. “How shall I convince your sister to become my assistant?”

“May I step closer to speak with her?” Nora asked.

“Have you a weak stomach?”

“I’ll be averting my eyes, if that’s what you ask.”

He gestured for her to come forward. “Yes, come speak to her.”

Nora shot Bridget a glance and hurried to Maeve’s side, deliberately keeping her eyes averted from the surgery.

“This is a divine opportunity,” she whispered in Maeve’s ear. “Think on it. We spent nearly every last penny on tickets and have nothing left for emergencies or even lodging when we get to Boston, should our plans fall through. We tried in vain to seek positions before the ship sailed. And now this perfect opportunity is presented to you and you want to refuse it?”

“If it aids your decision,” the doctor interrupted. “I’ll secure positions for the three of you. The cook always needs help preparing meals for the crew, and only an hour ago one of the passenger families was inquiring about a governess.”

Maeve looked up into Nora’s pleading blue eyes. Her sisters needed her to agree to this. Previously they’d been turned away each time they’d sought work on the ship. They’d risked the voyage anyway, but their welfare depended on someone earning a wage.

“We accept your kind offer,” Maeve said with a surprising sense of anticipation. She prayed her abilities were enough that she would be a help. The thought of learning from a skilled physician buoyed her enthusiasm.

“Very well, then.” Within minutes, he had neatly sutured a punctured vein as well as the flesh on Sean’s leg. “Your quick thinking spared the lad’s life. He might have bled to death if you hadn’t fashioned that tourniquet.”

“I knew what to do and I did it.”

“I can finish up from here. The three of you should go get settled. Afterward, you can return and help me store the supplies. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss working arrangements once the ship is underway.”

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.

And he had no business thinking about her. He had no room in his life for complications, not even a beautiful, obviously compassionate and capable distraction.

Sean opened his eyes and blinked. “Am I dead?”

“You’re not dead, laddie. You’re stitched up and in my dispensary aboard the Annie McGee. You’ll be good as new in a few days.”

The boy’s face blanched even paler, and he raised his head off the pillow. “What of me brothers? Am I at sea all alone?”

“I sent someone to search, but he didn’t turn up any brothers.”

“Gavin and Emmett are surely worried by now.” Tears glistened in his eyes.

“I suspect you were planning to board the ship without paying passage.” He raised a brow. “Am I correct?”

Sean gave him a sheepish nod.

“It’s also my guess that your brothers found their way aboard. That both of them were nowhere to be found on the wharf is a good indication. Did you arrange a meeting place, the three of you?”

“Aye. On the foredeck at sundown.”

“I shall be there on your behalf.”

The boy’s expression turned to one of terror. “Will they be thrown overboard? I heard sharks follow the ships.”

“No one will be throwing children overboard,” Flynn assured him. “And this isn’t one of the coffin ships of years past.”

Flynn himself had lobbied for legislation to put an end to the overcrowded and filthy, disease-infested vessels. Now there were passenger limits and a doctor aboard each ship. He was putting in his own time to see that the plan was fulfilled.

“Lie down and rest now. I’m going to get you something to eat so you can build up your strength.”

“I have no way to be payin’ you for tendin’ my leg,” Sean said in a thick voice. “Or for food.”

Flynn got a knot in his chest. It took him a moment to speak, so he busied himself rolling a clean length of bandage. “If not for my fool assistant, you wouldn’t have been injured, so the responsibility lies with me. You owe me nothing.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep you in me prayers, I will.”

Flynn covered him with a blanket and at last met his brown eyes. Young as he was, those eyes had seen the worst side of life and known more misery than any child should. His mention of prayer caught Flynn off guard. Perhaps the lad had more sway with the Lord of heaven than he. He hoped so, for the boy’s sake. “You’re welcome. Now sleep.”

* * *

Bridget had gone off to meet with Mr. Atwater and acquaint herself with the family, so while Nora made up their bunks, Maeve headed up to locate the line for their daily allotment of food.

The topsails snapped in the wind that had swiftly carried the Annie McGee out to the ocean. The sharp cliffs of her homeland were still visible, and the sky was vivid blue. She paused at the rail to gaze out over the water and have another look at the receding cliffs. From here they all looked the same, so spotting Castleville was hopeless.

Was anyone she knew back home watching the ocean and seeing this ship on the horizon? She had spotted vessels many times, never dreaming she’d ever be aboard one.

The sun’s reflection on the water nearly blinded her. She blinked and refocused on the person beside her.

The tall woman wore a flounced dress and matching capelike jacket, with six inches of lace at her wrists. Requirements for boarding had specified no crinolines or hoops, so her layered skirts hung shapelessly and a little too long on the deck.

Maeve’s plain brown dress was far more practical, though poverty had driven her choice, not fashion or even practicality. The woman’s dark auburn hair was parted in the middle and severely drawn back. She stood gazing at the horizon, and appeared to be a few years older than Maeve’s mother had been when she’d died.

“I’m Maeve Murphy,” she said by way of introduction. A good many people were going to dwell in close quarters for the duration of the voyage; she might as well get to know a few of them.

The woman turned and glanced down at her, taking in her long red curls and plain dress.

Maeve felt at a distinct disadvantage, being petite and obviously from a different social station. She resisted the urge to smooth her worn skirts with a calloused hand. They were fellow countrymen, after all, embarking on a journey together. There was no reason they couldn’t be friends.

“This is all so exciting. I’ve never before been away from Castleville. Have you traveled aboard a ship before?”

The woman’s chin inched up until she was literally looking down her nose at Maeve. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and held it over her nose as though she smelled something odiferous. “Someone of your station should not be speaking to a lady, unless first addressed. You’ve obviously had extremely poor training. Where is your mistress?” She glanced around. “Shouldn’t you be seeing to her needs instead of bothering passengers?”

Maeve drew a blank. No words formed, and humiliation burned its way up her neck to her cheeks. She’d never been dressed down in such a rude manner, but then she’d never mingled with anyone other than the people of her village—simple people just like the Murphys. The doctor had been kind and mannerly, so this woman’s rude behavior caught her off guard. “I have no mistress. My sisters and I are taking this voyage to Massachusetts together.”

“Then it will serve you well to learn your place. Never address a lady unless spoken to. And I certainly have no intention of speaking to you again.” The fabric of the woman’s skirts swooshed as she gathered them and marched off as though she couldn’t get away fast enough.

Maeve stared at the two elaborately braided buns on the back of her head. The deliberate shun pierced her previously buoyant mood.

Maeve was from a poor family. The landowners and their families lived very different lives from hers, but she’d imagined that in a situation like this, the boundaries would be less severe. Apparently there was no escaping the attitudes of those with more money than humanity.

She gave the ocean one last look and made her way across the deck until she found the line for food supplies and stood at the end. The man ahead of her was dressed in a black suit and stylish hat. He glanced at her, but since her previous lesson still stung, she kept her silence.

Minutes later she was joined by a woman in a pretty white-on-tan silk dress with a flounced skirt and long puffed sleeves. Surreptitiously, she admired the woman’s pretty dark hair, and the way it gleamed in the sunlight and remained gathered within its confines, but quickly turned away.

The woman spoke from behind her. “Aren’t you the young lady who helped that boy on the wharf this morning?”

Surprised, Maeve turned to face her. “Yes, ma’am. The lad’s name is Sean McCorkle.”

“That was very quick thinking, indeed. I dare say the lad might not have survived had you not gone to his aid when you did.”

Pleased by the woman’s friendly manner, she warmed to her immediately. “Dr. Gallagher is a fine surgeon,” she replied. “Sean should be on his feet in no time.”

“Have you chosen a spot on deck for your evening fire yet?” the woman asked.

“Not yet.” A brisk gust of wind caught Maeve’s hair, and self-consciously, she quickly fashioned it into an unruly fat braid and tucked the end under her collar. She would find a bit of twine when she got back to the cabin.

“I’m Aideen Nolan. I’m traveling with my aunt, Mrs. Kennedy.”

“A pleasure to meet you, ’tis. I’m Maeve Murphy. My sisters and I are headed for Boston—well, a small village nearby called Faith Glen, actually.”

The woman glanced at the nearby passengers. “I suggest we reserve our spaces next to one another. That way we’ll be assured that at least one of our nearby supper companions will be familiar. Unless, of course, you have other plans. I’m probably being presumptuous.”

Maeve gave her a bright smile. “No, we hadn’t made plans yet. I’d very much like to find a place near yours. I’m confident my sisters will be glad for friendly company, as well. I’ve already had an encounter with a rather unpleasant woman who put me in my place for speaking to her.” Maeve glanced down at her clothing. “Thought I was someone’s maid, she did.”

“I’d wager that was Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” Aideen said. She leaned near and spoke quietly. “The gentleman just ahead is her manservant. I know her from the ladies’ league in Galway.” She took a brochure from the deep pocket of her skirt and flipped it open. “This list of preparations and rules for the journey instructs us to select the areas where we will be cooking our meals for the next several weeks.” She glanced at Maeve. “Are you familiar with cooking procedures?”

“Indeed I am,” Maeve replied with a sigh. “My sisters and I have been preparing meals since we were quite young.”

“I shall be forever indebted if you will show me how.”

Maeve had suspected from her dress and speech that Aideen was well-to-do, and her admission confirmed that thinking. “I’d be happy to tutor you, but you won’t be indebted. Communities help one another, and we’re going to be a community while we’re aboard. Like a village on the sea, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, I definitely would. My aunt and I had rooms in my grandparents’ home until recently, and they always had a cook. Neither of us have ever attempted our own meals.”

“My dear da passed on, only twelve days ago, God rest his soul. My mother’s been gone ten years now. We’ve had a lot of experience at creating meals from nearly nothing.”

“Next!”

Maeve turned to accept a burlap sack and a piece of chalk from a sailor whose face was coated with smoke and soot. “Daily allotment for three,” he said. “Find yer cook spot and mark it with yer name or yer mark. Respect yer neighbor’s planks and douse yer fire promptly at eight. Next!”

Maeve accepted a surprisingly heavy bag and a square of chalk, while the man recited the same instructions to Aideen. Together the two women headed away from the line in search of the fireplaces.

Along both sides of the foredeck, sections had been marked off with jagged stripes of black paint. For the most part, the areas were all the same size. The hands had obviously counted rows of deck planks in making the partitions. Each rectangular section held a curved brick cooking pit, partially open to one side, with three iron bars on the other to confine the coals.

They stood planning their strategy, hoping to predict which spot would be most protected from wind and weather. Praying they had it right, Maeve and Aideen wrote their surnames with chalk in side-by-side plots.

Setting down the bag, Maeve looked inside and found half a pound of rice, a small slab of bacon, flour and a tin of peaches. “My sister is a better cook than I am, but these are basic foods and there’s not a lot we can do with them. We should take them to our cabins now, and we’ll prepare them side by side this evening.”

“I look forward to meeting your sisters.” Aideen gave her a grateful smile. “I hope we’ll become fast friends.”

Maeve returned below deck, where she stored the food in their locker and gave Nora the key to wear around her neck. “I met a lovely young woman, and we saved our cooking areas beside each other. You will meet her and her aunt this evening. She was delightful, she was. From a rich family, I’m certain, but she struck up a conversation and wasn’t the least pretentious.

“Wait until you see her hair, Nora. It’s dark and sleek. I didn’t see it without her bonnet, of course, but I could imagine it’s nothing like these wild ringlets.”

“She sounds very nice, indeed.” Nora had finished making their beds in her efficient and tidy manner, with corners tucked and pillows fluffed. “On the doctor’s recommendation, I met with Mr. Mathers, and he assured me of a job with his staff. The galley is surprisingly roomy and clean. I’ll learn my duties tomorrow,” she said. “The others are men, but he said there would be another woman besides myself. The chores don’t look like anything I haven’t done a thousand times.”

“I hope he gives you a chance to show what you can do and doesn’t have you washing all the dishes. The crew would miss out if you couldn’t cook for them.”

“You’re a sweet lass. Biased, of course.”

“Dr. Gallagher is expecting me back in the dispensary to help organize supplies.” Maeve located a faded apron in her bag and slipped it on over her dress. “This will have to suffice for a uniform.”

“It’s clean and adequate,” Nora assured her. She rested her hand atop Maeve’s as her sister reached into her bag for her comb. “Thank you for accepting the doctor’s offer, Maeve. I know you worry you’re unqualified for a job with so many responsibilities, but you always did your best to help Mother and Da and our neighbors in Castleville. The local women declared you the most knowledgeable and dependable midwife in all of County Beary. I’ve no doubt you will be a benefit to the doctor.”

“I’m hoping to learn from him.” Maeve braided her hair as neatly as she could manage and secured it with a length of twine. For the first time she wondered what other passengers like that Fitzwilliam woman would think of her helping the doctor. Maybe they would simply see her as his servant, and find that acceptable. Was that how the doctor saw her? She surely didn’t look forward to any more encounters like the one with Mrs. Fitzwilliam.

“The three of us will have an income…all because you so bravely went to that boy’s aid.”

“Helping him was simply instinctive,” she replied. “Not heroic.”

“Tell that to the lad who is alive, thanks to you.”

“God provided the way for us,” Maeve told her eldest sister. “He used what could have been a tragedy to find us jobs and bring the boy onboard. It will be interesting to see what develops next with Sean.”

“Only you would find the silver lining in an otherwise cloudy situation.”

Maeve stretched to her fullest height to give Nora a peck on the cheek. Nora leaned forward to accept the kiss. She took Maeve’s face between her hands and looked into her eyes. “Mother always said you were like a bright star on a dark night. Even as a wee bairn, you saw everything differently than the rest of us. ’Tis a quality I admire.”

“Nothing would get done without your practical thinking and logical planning,” Maeve reminded her. “Sometimes I wish I was more like you.”

“You’re perfect just the way you are.” She released Maeve. “Now go about your duties at the dispensary.”

Maeve turned and headed for the door. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was looking forward to something.


Chapter Four

A knock sounded on the door. Flynn looked up as Maeve Murphy opened it and peered in. She had bound her wild red hair and donned a plain coarse apron in preparation for her duties. He liked that she was efficient and punctual, adding those qualities to her quick thinking and kind manner with the boy. So far he liked everything about her.

“Come in, Miss Murphy. I’ve only just opened the first of the supply boxes.” He gestured to the wooden crates lining the wall in the rectangular room.

She walked toward him, her bright blue gaze taking in her surroundings. In the morning’s confusion he hadn’t looked her over, and he did so now. She was a tiny thing, her flaming red hair creating ringlets that framed her cheeks, while the rest had been contained in a braid. Her skin appeared as fragile as porcelain, with healthy pink cheeks and a mouth like a China doll.

If a person judged on appearance, he’d think she was nothing more than a sweetly pretty girl, and overlook her wit and courage. Not many people had the knowledge or the compassion to jump to the McCorkle boy’s aid the way she had.

She glanced with keen interest at the sturdy cabinets with chicken wire instead of glass in the doors, where only a few bottles and tins stood. “If you’ll be so good as to acquaint me with your system, I’ll store the supplies.”

“We’ll both work on it.” He led her to the other room, where Sean lay sleeping on a low cot, a blanket pulled to his chin.

“How is the laddie doing?” she asked softly.

“Very well, indeed,” he replied. She smelled good, too, like clean linen and spring heather, and his reaction startled him. He hadn’t noticed a woman in that way for a long time. He took an unconscious step away.

Her inquisitive gaze took in her surroundings, fastening on the storage cabinets and workspaces. There were no rimless surfaces in his dispensary. Everything had been designed to accommodate the normal rock and sway of the ship or even a storm. He explained his mortar and pestle for grinding roots and seeds, the scale and weights for measuring ingredients, the piece of marble on which he prepared salves, sets of measures, dosage spoons and a plaster iron. The young woman listened with interest and apparent understanding. She asked surprisingly insightful questions. He was glad now that he’d learned of Hegarty’s true nature before the ship sailed. Maeve Murphy looked to be the better choice.

He described the contents of each crate as he carried and opened it. Between each ocean voyage, he spent weeks preparing bottles of saline draughts and barley water, jars of calves’ foot jelly and plasters. He saw to it that those who fell sick on a ship he worked received the best care possible. His meager pay didn’t begin to cover the cost of medicines, but he drew from his inheritances and vast investments.

He’d left his father’s practice over the objection of his family to make a difference and to forget. He truly believed it was his calling to help people so desperate to start new lives that they risked a journey like this. Everyone he encountered had a dream of a new beginning he didn’t share. He didn’t think about his future, only about the work he had to do today.

“I wish I’d had half as many cures when my friends and neighbors were ailing,” she said wistfully. “I may have been able to save more of them.” Tears shone in her wide blue eyes as she gazed at a bottle of vitriolic acid.

Uncomfortable with the intimate glimpse at her suffering, he placed the bottles he held inside the chest and withdrew from his pocket the key he carried at all times. “We’ll lock the mercury, laudanum and calomel in this chest under the case here.” He stood slowly.

“Truth be told I wouldn’t have known what to do with half of them.” She raised her gaze to his in an earnest plea. “I’d like to learn.”

He couldn’t ignore her sincerity. “It won’t be a bother to share their uses and common dosages,” he said. “You have a natural instinct, Miss Murphy. I might even learn a few things from you.”

He handed her his checklist and a pencil. As they worked he explained the contents of each bottle and their uses. She knew most of the more common medicines and was fascinated by others. He also took the opportunity to educate her a bit about ship life.

“They’re electing the council today,” he mentioned.

“What does that mean?”

“Each voyage the male passengers meet and select a group from among them to form a council. When problems arise—and they will—these men govern by representing the passengers.”

She couldn’t imagine what would come up that would require their government, but she trusted the process.

“Are you ever on the council?”

“No, I’m technically not a passenger. I’m part of the crew.”

When Sean woke up, Flynn’s new assistant efficiently saw to his needs, inquiring about food supplies and then making the boy a gruel of millet and rye flour. Though Flynn grimaced at the concoction, the boy lapped it up and lay back with a contented smile.

“You’re a blessing, you are, Miss Murphy,” Sean said to her, his dark eyes adoring. “I be grateful for your care.”

“You might well change your mind when I wash that head of hair of yours. It’s going to need a good scrubbin’. I’m going to fill a pail now, and you can lie right there with your head over the edge of the table.”

“I’ll catch me death of cold, I will,” the lad howled.

Flynn turned aside to hide a grin. “I have free access to the barrels of rainwater, Miss Murphy. Just ask a sailor for help toting buckets.”

Sean’s smeared face showed his concern. “I’d just worked up a good skin coverin’ afore the doctor began to scrub it away.”

“It’s June, not December,” she argued. “You’ll not catch cold. And it’s a good thing the doctor got a start on scrubbin’ off the filth, otherwise we may have mistaken you for a bit of firewood lying on the wharf. You’ll be washin’ your face and hands every mornin’ while you’re here.”

As she argued with the boy, her brogue got amusingly thicker. Flynn chuckled.

The room grew silent, and he turned to see the both of them staring at him. Perhaps his laugh had sounded as rusty to them as it had to him. “I don’t think you’re going to win this one, laddie. We’ll find you some clean clothing, as well.”

“Aye, sir,” Sean said, putting aside his bowl. “Thank you, Miss Murphy. ’Twas a delicious gruel.”

“I don’t know that it was delicious,” she said with a raised brow. “But it will build up your strength. Tomorrow I’ll make you a flavorful potato soup that will stick to your ribs.”

The boy beamed at her promise. “I’ll not fight you on a quick washin’ today. The doc’s already done me feet.”

She’d known just what to do with the meal to make it palatable, and Sean had eaten it as though it was fare fit for a king.

Flynn didn’t know Maeve’s background, but her clothing, while clean and pressed, indicated a lack of means. Her older sister had whispered how desperate they were to earn a wage. And Sean, an orphan, surviving in the village streets… Flynn had no concept of such poverty.

His privileged life had been glaringly different from the ones these two had lived. His family owned property in three countries, had a home in each and employed servants to do the work and the cooking. There was no such thing as a simple meal where he came from. Four courses served with silver utensils and gold-monogrammed china was the norm.

Even he himself owned land and a house in England and had purchased a home in Boston. His lifestyle was extravagant compared to those of his poor countrymen. But money didn’t mean happiness or contentment, he knew for a fact. It was heartwarming that Maeve seemed satisfied with next to nothing. It said a lot about her temperament…and her faith.

Flynn got called away several times that afternoon to tend passengers unaccustomed to the sea. Many lay on their bunks with heads swimming and stomachs roiling. There was nothing to be done for them, save bathe their heads in cool water. Since they weren’t ill or contagious, he assured each one they would feel better in a day or two and advised them to stay on deck, rather than below.

As the day waned, the doctor sent Maeve on her way. She felt good about her day’s work and confident she’d earned her wage. She passed a man with an easel set up at a good vantage point and paused to watch him sketch the horizon, with its craggy cliffs and white-crested waves. Minutes later, she joined her sisters on the foredeck. A piece of paper fluttered from beneath the edge of one of the bricks that made up their cooking pit. Nora reached for it and unfolded the note.

Immediately, she handed it to Maeve. “It’s for you.”

My dearest Miss Murphy, she read silently. My aunt and I have been invited to dine in the captain’s cabin this evening. Please accept our regrets, and we will look forward to meeting with you as soon as possible. Sincerely, Aideen Nolan.

Bridget, who’d been reading over her shoulder, found a small keg and perched on it. “The Atwaters were invited, as well. After this evening, I’ll be eating with them and their daughters most of the time. This dilemma never entered my mind. I don’t know the first thing about proper etiquette. I can’t let on and make mistakes or they’ll think I’m not an appropriate governess.”

“Nonsense.” Nora paused in piling wood in their brick hearth. “You’re a fine young woman, with the common sense God gave you and the convictions of your beliefs. You will make a wonderful role model for the children.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy this evening,” Maeve added. “They might be a help in teaching you proper etiquette, so you may in turn teach the children. Aideen is the friendliest person I’ve met so far, she is. Not haughty like some of the others.”

“The kitchen help are all quite nice,” Nora added. Together, she and Maeve started a fire and put on a pot of water for rice and tea. Nora cut their small ration of bacon into six slices. From the other nearby cooking pits came the mouthwatering smells of frying bacon. Maeve’s stomach growled.

She marveled as the heavens changed color. The smells were unfamiliar here. Of course the salty tang of the ocean was predominant, but there were no green scents. Grass, flowering bushes, heather had all been left behind, and she found she missed them. The smell of tar reached them from time to time, and always the smell of cooking food permeated the air.

As the sun set lower in the sky, the wind grew more chill. They bundled themselves in their shawls and unobtrusively glanced at the neighboring passengers.

“Tell us more about the Atwaters,” Nora said.

“There are three young daughters,” Bridget began. “Laurel is eleven. Hilary and Pamela are younger. When I arrived, Laurel actually looked at my dress and asked if I’d come to clean their stateroom.” She smoothed her hand over her skirt, as though the memory still stung.

After her encounter with Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Maeve could certainly understand.

Bridget glanced up. “Not that I wouldn’t have, mind you, had that been the duty assigned me.”

“They have a stateroom?” Nora asked. She had mixed ingredients and set the dough on a smooth clean brick beside the fire to rise. Once it was baked they would have bread for tomorrow morning.

“Aye. It’s well-appointed, with room for the girls to do lessons. Hilary has brought a canary aboard, and little Pamela has an array of China dolls like I’ve seen only in catalogues.”

“A canary?” Nora set out a small jar. “Our rations contain enough molasses to sweeten our tea. I should think it was unnecessary to bring a bird aboard a ship.”

Bridget shrugged. “Perhaps she simply enjoys the songs, and her parents indulge her. I glimpsed a life unfamiliar to anything we know. The girls bicker among themselves and argue over who gets the largest or best portions or whose shoes are prettier.”

“Mother would never have allowed us to behave in such a way,” Nora said.

“She was strict, but she disciplined us with love,” Bridget agreed.

They bowed their heads and held hands in a familiar circle.

“Father God, we come before You, grateful for this opportunity You’ve given us,” Maeve began. “We are thankful that we could buy tickets and amazed at Your provision in giving us jobs so quickly.”

“Thank You that we are not going hungry,” Nora added. “This is more than adequate food for Your humble servants.”

“And thank You,” Bridget added softly, “That none of us has the seasickness.”

“We ask that You heal Sean McCorkle’s leg now,” Maeve added. “And watch over his brothers, wherever they are. In Jesus’ name we pray…”

“Amen,” the sisters chorused and gave each other tired, but joyful smiles.

The wind had come up, so Nora tied a scarf over her hair before dishing the rice onto three tin plates. Bridget divided the bacon equally. This allotment of food was more than they were accustomed to, and Maeve truly did feel blessed. She vividly remembered many times when Nora had told them she’d already eaten and split pitiable amounts of potatoes between the two younger girls.

“There’s a can of peaches,” Maeve told Bridget, and her sister’s eyes lit up.

The boat rocked upon the waves. The wind tossed Bridget’s hair. Maeve looked upon each of her sisters with a fond smile, and hope buoyed her spirits. Thank You, Lord.

* * *

Flynn had been standing in the same spot for nearly half an hour. He’d glimpsed a shaggy-haired boy earlier, but the lad had slipped away before he could speak to him. So he waited.

Finally, a boy sitting on a coil of rope caught his attention. Flynn hurried over. “You Sean McCorkle’s brother?”

Smaller and even skinnier than Sean, the boy’s frightened brown gaze darted about as though seeking an escape. “Who are you?”

“I’m Dr. Gallagher. I have Sean in my dispensary. If you want to see him, come with me.”

The boy shot Flynn a cautious look. “What’re ye gonna do to us?”

“Put you to work to earn your passage. How does that suit you?”

“You’re not gonna make us walk the plank?”

Flynn chuckled. “I promised Sean I wouldn’t feed you to the sharks, and I’m a man of my word. Now get your brother and bring him back here.”

The boy scrambled to his feet and ran off, arms pinwheeling as he nearly toppled forward in his haste. A few minutes later, he returned with a young man of about eighteen in tow. “This here’s Gavin.”

“What’ve you done with Sean?” The tall lanky boy squinted with skepticism.

“Cleaned and sewed up his leg. The Murphy girl saved his life, you know. Has big plans for washing Sean’s hair. Can’t wait until she sees the two of you. Fresh water is rationed, but I get a larger portion for medical purposes. Come on.”

“Where you be takin’ us?”

“To the dispensary so you can see your brother. Have you had a meal today?”

“We ain’t hungry.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“How do we know you won’t get us down there and put us in stocks?”

“No stocks aboard the ship,” he replied. “Are you coming?”

The boy glanced at his little brother. “Aye.”

They followed Flynn down the ladder and along the passageway. Flynn opened the door and stood aside for them to enter. “He’s in the side room over there.”

The tall young man inspected his surroundings before moving to the door and peering into the other small room.

“Gavin!” came Sean’s gleeful shout. “Is Emmett with ye?”

“Aye, he’s right here, he is.”

The two boys crowded at Sean’s side and gave him awkward hugs. Emmett, the littlest one, pulled back with tears streaking his dirty cheeks. “We was afeared you be dead.”

“No, the redheaded Miss Murphy saved me life for sure. Her and the doctor here. They been real good to me, they ’ave. The doc said he’d give us jobs, so we can earn our fare.”

Flynn moved to stand closer. “You two will have to take baths. And we’ll find you clean clothes. Can’t have the captain catch you looking like that.”

“Can they sleep ’ere with me?” Sean asked. His desperate expression threatened to open a crack in the barrier around Flynn’s heart.

“I have a stateroom,” Flynn replied. “There’s plenty of room for pallets, so the three of you can be together.” He pinned Gavin with a probing look. “I’d appreciate your telling me why you were planning to stow aboard.”

It was plain Gavin didn’t fancy sharing his business. “We been stayin’ in the back room at Ferguson’s Livery. Old Mr. Ferguson left the door unlocked ’til we was in at night. But he died, and his missus sold the livery. The new owner shooed us out, so we was sleepin’ under wagons and in back o’ the millhouse. Sean here overheard stories of America. We came up with a plan to make our way there. I’m gonna find work and Sean and Emmett can go to school.”

“Well, that sounds like a fine plan. I admire men with foresight. What happened to your parents?” Flynn asked.

“We ain’t seen our da since Emmett was a wee babe. He just up and left, he did. Ma took care of us best she could, but then she took sick an’ died.”

Flynn wasn’t surprised to hear their story. Death and hunger had been part of everyone’s story over the past several years. The plight of the Irish had been grim for anyone not born into a wealthy family. “First things first,” Flynn said. “Let’s get you bathed.”

“Why are ye and Miss Murphy so firmly set on bath takin’?” Sean asked.

“Because cleanliness is important. You should bathe and wash your hands often to prevent disease.”

“What kind o’ disease gets on yer hands?” Gavin asked.

“I’ve studied epidemiology for most of my career.”

“Epi— What?” Gavin asked.

“Germs. Bacteria. Skeptics will say something you can’t see can’t hurt you, but that’s not true. And in truth you can see germs, just not with the naked eye. In fact, I’m sure I can show you something that will convince you to wash your hands.”

“What’s that?”

“Before we get you in the tub, I want both of you to scrape under one or two fingernails, and place the dirt on a glass slide. Then I’ll show you through my microscope what is living there.”

“Living?” Sean asked, with a squeak.

Flynn grinned. “But not for long. Let’s heat water.” Instinctively, he knew his new assistant was going to be pleased when she saw the McCorkle boys clean. He looked forward to her reaction.


Chapter Five

The following morning, the Murphy sisters shared bread in their cabin before going their separate ways. Maeve arrived just as Dr. Gallagher peered out from the dispensary.

“Thank you for being punctual. I’m going to go above deck to boil water and then carry it back.”

“I could do that for you,” she offered.

“I spent the night here with Sean. I’d like a few minutes of sun and fresh air, if you don’t mind. I’ll probably eat before I return.”

“Yes, of course! Take all the time you need. How is young Sean this morning?”

“Already talking about that potato soup you promised him. The galley help will provide you with anything you need for our patients. Simply introduce yourself as my assistant. You can make a trip to the galley after I return. I won’t be long.”

He headed away from the dispensary.

Maeve found Sean awake and obviously listening for her. “Mornin’, Miss Murphy!”

“Good morning, Sean. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes’m. Didn’t much notice the ship’s sway. This ’ere cot is comfortable and the doc found me brothers.”

“He did? My sisters and I prayed for them. And for you, too.”

“Yes, he did. He made ’em take baths and then he put ’em up in his stateroom. He stayed here with me all night, he did. He told me after I eat, he will carry me to lie on his very own bunk.”

She was glad to hear that the doctor was looking out for them. It was bad enough that Maeve and her sisters had been left with no family, but at least they were adults. The McCorkle lads were little more than babies. “Are you boys alone in the world?”

“Yes’m. We’re headed to America so Gavin can work and me an’ Emmett can go to school.”

“You look well today. How are your brothers faring?”

“They’re clean for sure. An’ the doc showed us germs what was livin’ under their fingernails!”

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yes’m, ’tis. You can be sure I’ll be washin’ me hands afore I eat from now on.”

“Well, it was an effective lesson, to be sure.”

A rap sounded at the door.

“I have to see to the caller,” she told Sean.

Two women stood in the corridor. The younger woman’s ebony hair had been brushed to a sheen and fashioned stylishly upon her head. She was strikingly lovely, with aristocratic cheekbones and dark winged brows over deep blue eyes. Her dress had been designed to fit her tall slender frame in the most flattering way, and she carried herself with confidence. Maeve had never laid eyes upon a more beautiful woman.

Maeve stepped back and gestured for the two to enter. Immediately, she hid her work-roughened hands behind her back and wished she’d had something nicer to wear, even though she was only coming to work. After the upbraiding she’d received the previous day, she said nothing.

The shorter woman was older, and obviously the younger one’s mother. She had the same black hair, though silver strands laced her temples and a shock of silver had been artfully drawn back from her face. Maeve had never seen a woman of her age without creases or lines in her face. Her hair and a few nearly imperceptible crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes were the only subtle clues to her age.

The older woman considered Maeve with disdain and dismissed her as though she wasn’t there. She guided the one Maeve assumed was her daughter into the dispensary.

Now Maeve was faced with a dilemma. She hadn’t intended to speak until spoken to, but she couldn’t very well let these two stand there without telling them Dr. Gallagher wasn’t in. She took a breath.

“Flynn?” the younger one called and glanced expectantly toward the back room.

Maeve released the air in her lungs. Flynn? “The doctor’s not here at the moment.” She glanced at the younger woman and then away. “He should arrive soon.”

The woman’s glance traveled from Maeve’s face and hair to her shoes and back up. She towered over Maeve by a good eight inches. She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t devise any designs for the doctor’s attentions.”

Maeve couldn’t have been more startled. No words came to her.

“Flynn’s family and mine are close. He and I are cut from the same cloth.” She let her gaze fall again, as though pointing out the world of difference in weaves of cloth.

Maeve resisted touching her skirt with a self-conscious hand.

“Our fathers have made arrangements, and Flynn and I have an understanding. So don’t imagine your undeveloped charms will hold any appeal to him when he has someone like me.”

Maeve remained speechless. What might she have said to that?

The dark-haired young woman turned her back and faced the other direction.

Perturbed at their rudeness, she tamped down growing irritation and went about her chores.

Several minutes later and not a second too soon, the doctor returned.

“It’s a pleasure to see you this morning, Kathleen. Mrs. Boyd, how are you faring?”

“I am well, thank you,” Mrs. Boyd replied.

“What brings you to the dispensary so early?”

“It’s Kathleen,” the older woman said. “She barely slept a wink last night. Her ears hurt severely.”

“Did you meet Miss Murphy?” he asked.

The two Boyd women didn’t look at Maeve.

“They only just got here,” Maeve answered. “We didn’t have an opportunity to chat.” She offered Mrs. Boyd a sweetly antagonizing smile, and immediately regretted it.

The woman’s nostrils fared.

“Miss Murphy has filled a position as my assistant. She’s as efficient and capable as they come. I can already tell she’s going to be my right hand during this voyage.”

Kathleen shot Maeve daggers. “How unfortunate for you, Flynn. I heard you had no choice but to hire someone off the dock.”

“And she’s already proven herself. Look how Hegarty turned out, and he had references. I wouldn’t have selected her if I hadn’t thought she possessed the skill required for the job. Miss Murphy, this is Miss Kathleen Boyd and her mother, Mrs. Estelle Boyd.”

Maeve gave a polite nod. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Let’s have a look at those ears,” he said and reached for Kathleen’s hand to help her up the wooden step to the examining table.

She stretched her long pretty neck to accommodate him and batted her thick lashes.

“You’ve traveled by sea before.” His words reiterated what Kathleen had revealed about their relationship. “Have you had problems in the past?”

“Yes, I felt this same way last time.”

“Are you experiencing any vertigo?”

“Why yes. Yes, I am.”

“That should go away in a day or so as your body grows accustomed to the ocean. Any queasiness or vomiting?”

“A little.”

“Excessive tiredness?”

“Yes, now that you mention it. But I can’t sleep.”

“How about a tingling in your feet?”

“Yes, the tingling definitely kept me awake most of the night.”

“I suggest you spend as much time above deck as possible. It helps. There’s nothing I can do for you. You might want to place a cold cloth on your forehead. Don’t drink any alcohol or eat apples.”

“Shall I bring her back for another consultation?” Mrs. Boyd asked.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you both,” he answered politely.

At a knock, Maeve crossed to usher in another young woman.

“I’m not feeling well,” she told Maeve. “I’d like to see the doctor.”

“He’ll be right with you.”

With his smile in place, Flynn ushered Kathleen and her mother out of the dispensary. In passing, Kathleen inspected the incoming patient with a frown of concern.

Once the door was closed, Dr. Flynn whispered to Maeve, “I made up the tingling feet part.”

Maeve raised her eyebrows in surprise. Kathleen had gone right along with his list of symptoms, making it obvious she’d only come to see the handsome young doctor—and perhaps to warn away his new assistant.

“What can I do for you this morning?” he asked the young woman who’d just arrived. Maeve already had a nagging suspicion that no matter what the complaint, this case would have a similar outcome.

“I fell against a doorpost when the ship tossed. I believe I’ve injured my shoulder.”

“Miss Murphy will help you slip one arm free, so I can examine your shoulder.” He turned away and washed his hands.

The young woman gave Maeve a disapproving glance.

Maeve gestured for her to sit upon the examining table. “What’s your name?”

She unfastened the back of the other woman’s rust-colored satin dress. The fabric was like nothing she’d ever felt, and the buttons were tiny carved ivory disks. Beneath it she wore a fine silk chemise.

Flynn dried his hands and joined them.

“I am Miss Ellnora Coulter. Having just finished school in London, I’m traveling to the States with my parents. My father has investments in Boston.”

Her English was proper with no hint of a brogue. Maeve glanced at Dr. Gallagher to gauge his reaction to the pretty young miss. He didn’t seem interested in anything but her shoulder as he moved close. “I don’t see any bruising. Help her back into her sleeve, Miss Murphy.”

Once her dress was in place, he probed the area with his fingertips. “Does this hurt?”

“Yes.”

“This?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s quite painful.”

Without a warning knock, the cabin door opened and Nora entered, stooping to accommodate her height. Her face was flushed, and she wore an expression of worry and concern Maeve had seen far too often. The surprising thing was that she cradled a bundled apron against her breast.

“Nora?” Maeve said, turning to meet her. “Whatever is…?”

“I was in the storage apartment, searching for a bag of salt, when I moved aside a sack and heard the oddest sound, like a mewling. I thought perhaps a kitten had been closed into the depot of provisions. Just look now what I discovered lying between the sacks of oatmeal, Maeve.”

Her sister lowered the apron to reveal what lay within its folds. Maeve stepped close, and her heart caught in her throat.

An infant, obviously no older than a few hours or possibly a day at most, lay with eyes pinched shut, fists at its face, turning its head this way and that with mouth wide open.

Maeve stared in astonishment.


Chapter Six

“A baby? Nora, you found a baby in a storage bin?”

“Not in a bin. Between bags of oatmeal, almost right out in the open and near the entrance to the apartment. Is the little grah mo chee all right?” After referring to the infant as sweetheart, she handed off the bundle to Maeve.

Maeve took the baby just as Dr. Gallagher joined them. Nora explained again where she’d found the child. “Someone had wrapped a flour sack around her and left her like that.”

He peeled the apron all the way back, revealing the pink infant’s froglike legs and several inches of umbilical cord still attached. Her skin still bore streaks of mucus and blood.

“She’s a newborn,” he said unnecessarily. He glanced at Maeve. She hadn’t seen him wear this look of discomfort before. “I haven’t had much experience with infants.” And he stepped away. “I’ll get a basin of warm water so you can bathe her, and then I’ll listen to her heart and lungs.”

“What about my shoulder?” Miss Coulter called from the examining table.

“Your shoulder will be fine,” Flynn told her. “I think it’s just a little bruising.”

“Perhaps you could call on me tomorrow to make sure I’ve improved.”

“Certainly,” he replied and saw her to the door.

Maeve exchanged a glance with her sister. “An unending stream of young ladies have sought medical attention since yesterday,” Maeve whispered. “The good doctor is obviously prime husband material.”

Nora only had eyes for the baby in Maeve’s arms. “Will she live, Maeve? She’s puny, is she not? You’ve seen a lot of babies born. What do you make of this one?”

“Let’s clean her up and look her over.” Maeve asked Nora to spread out towels on the examining table and proceeded to sponge the infant with clear warm water.

“All babies this young look puny,” she told her sister. “She’s average from what I can tell. She seems perfectly healthy and quite obviously hungry, the poor dear.”

Once the baby’s skin was clean and dry, Maeve made a diaper from the cotton bandages Flynn kept stacked nearby. Flynn opened a drawer on the other side of the room and offered a folded shirt.

Nora accepted the garment. She studied the intricate embroidery and monogram and asked a question with her expressive blue eyes.

“It’s just a shirt,” he said. “Cut it up to make her gowns. I have plenty more.”

Nora used his bandage scissors to cut off the collar, sleeves and buttons and crudely fashion a garment.

“She appears fine,” Maeve told her. “But we need to feed her.”

“Rice water?” Nora asked.

“No, milk is best.”

“It will have to be goat’s milk.” Flynn took a small tin container from inside a cabinet and headed for the door. “The sailors have a nanny aboard. I’ll be back with milk.”

Nora glanced about. “How will we feed it to her?”

Maeve handed her the now-squalling baby and searched in earnest for a feeding method. “We could soak towels…or gauze.”

She opened a cabinet and picked up a length of rubber tubing. “Better yet. We’ll use this.”

“That?” Nora asked, cuddling the infant.

“Aye. It’s pliable, see. We’ll puncture a couple of needle holes in it for the milk to come through and bend it like so. The baby will suck on it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Stick your finger in her mouth and see if she doesn’t latch onto anything.”

“I’ve just washed all the sailor’s breakfast dishes, so I expect my finger’s clean enough.” Nora offered the baby the tip of her index finger, and the crying stopped immediately. Nora got tears in her eyes. “The poor grah mo chee is so hungry.”

“We’ll have her fed in no time.” Maeve placed the tubing in a kettle of water. “I’m going on deck to boil this.”

Nora’s eyes widened. “And leave me here alone with her?”

“You’ll be fine,” Maeve assured her. “Just cuddle her, as you’re doing. She likes your warmth and the beat of your heart. If you’d like conversation, Sean McCorkle is lying in the next room.”

“Who would leave their newborn baby on sacks of meal, Maeve?” Nora looked into her sister’s eyes with a look of concern and disbelief. “She’s only just been born, wouldn’t you think? Aboard the ship…maybe right there in that storage apartment?”

“Seems likely, it does. But why her mother abandoned her is a mystery. If she’d died, someone would have found her body—or at the very least we’d have heard of a death.”

“Maybe her mother couldn’t care for her,” Nora suggested.

“Her mother was the one with milk to nourish her,” Maeve reminded her. “She could have cared for her better than we.”

“Perhaps something happened to her and she was unable to return. If she was a stowaway, like those boys, she may have been hiding in that storage depot.”

“We’ll do everything we can. Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

The situation did puzzle Maeve. Perhaps the woman would show up. Perhaps the infant had been left there by accident. Maybe she’d been taken from the mother. There were too many questions to think about, without any facts, so she set about doing what she could to help.

* * *

Flynn explained the situation to a couple of the sailors seated near their pens of chickens and only several feet from the goat’s enclosure. The men generously gave him a cup of milk and told him to come back any time he needed more.

The newborn’s presence knocked him a little off-kilter. Returning to the dispensary, he regarded the situation. He’d cared for children aboard ship, of course, but he hadn’t been in close proximity to a baby only hours old since his own son had been born. The thought caused him more pain than he could deal with now.

Two years ago he’d lost his young wife and tiny son to the deadly cholera that had spread through Galway and so much of Ireland. His countrymen referred to potato blight and epidemics as an Drochshaol, the bad times, which were still prevalent and still a threat to lives and livelihoods. He’d read that after thousands had died, nearly a quarter of the remaining people had fled to other countries.

An Drochshaol was personal to Flynn. Unbearable. He’d studied to learn how to treat people and heal them. He’d devoted his life to medicine and research…but when the shadow of death had come to his own door, he’d been unable to do anything to save his wife and child.

He’d cared for them feverishly, night and day for weeks. Jonathon had gone first. Sturdy and strapping though the boy had been, his eventual dehydration caused by vomiting and diarrhea had been more than Flynn could stave off.

Grief-stricken, he’d buried his son and turned his attention to his wife, only to lose the same battle. Once they were gone, he had avoided people—even his family. He hadn’t wanted to practice medicine, turning instead to research in an all-consuming drive to understand and eliminate the contamination that caused so many deaths.

He rarely let himself think about Jonathon or his failure to save him, but the memories of all he’d lost stalked him in the night, haunting his dreams and stealing any peace he hoped to find.

The risks to a newborn on this ship terrified him. And the dilemma of caring for a baby posed a problem, as well. Perhaps, if no mother was found, they could find a family to take in the infant for the duration of the journey.

He approached Maeve and Nora. “Boil everything that touches this baby,” he told them. “Boil the cups in which we carry the milk.” He glanced at the tubing. “You’re using that to feed her? Did you boil it? Good. Wash your hands thoroughly.” He handed Maeve the half-full cup. “Throw out any she doesn’t take and get fresh each feeding. I’ll notify the captain that she’s been found. A search to turn up her mother will come next, I have no doubt. Shall we find someone to care for her?”

Nora appeared stricken at the idea. “I can take care of her!”

“Nora, what about your kitchen duties?” Maeve asked.

“You and Bridget can help. We’ll share her care and feeding.” She gave her younger sister a pleading glance. “Please. She’s so tiny and alone. We know she’ll be safe with us—and under the doctor’s supervision. With someone else we can’t be sure they’ll care for her properly or give her the attention she needs.”

Maeve looked at the fragile little human being in Nora’s arms, now frantically sucking at the pinpricks they’d made in the tubing and swallowing in noisy gulps. “I have helped care for a good many newborns. ’Tis not such a hardship.”

She glanced at Flynn, and her compassionate blue gaze shot him through, touching a tiny crevice in his hardened heart. Thoroughly impractical though it may be to have an infant strapped to his assistant or a kitchen worker, the warm burst of admiration he felt at their earnest concern and willingness to take on this task couldn’t be denied.

He didn’t let himself look at the baby, but the sound of her sucking speared his heart. He gave Nora a stern look. “Clear your intent with Mr. Mathers. Assure me you have his approval and promise you’ll take no safety risks in the galley. If you’re to be near fire or water, you will give your turn over to one of your sisters.”

“Yes, of course,” Nora acknowledged quickly. “Thank you, Dr. Gallagher. God bless you.”

“I’m going to assign one of the McCorkle boys to run errands for you part of the day. Emmett is the youngest and most agile, so he will run for milk and carry messages between the three of you.” He looked at Maeve. “Thoroughly instruct him on sanitation.”

She nodded her understanding. “Certainly, doctor. I’m relatively sure he already comprehends hand washing. Sean filled me in on their lesson. It made quite an impression.”

Flynn asked Nora to place the baby on the examining table once she’d burped. “Let’s have a listen now.” He glanced up and then away. “The two of you may call me Flynn when there are no patients or other passengers present.”

Maeve gave him one of her stunning smiles. “Thank you, Flynn.”

A soot-faced cabin boy appeared then, extending a piece of paper. Flynn took it and read the hastily scrawled note. Seemed the captain had invited him to dinner in his cabin that evening. “Tell Captain Conley I’d be happy to join him and his wife.”

The lad nodded and hurried off.

Once Flynn had listened to the baby’s heart and lungs, he left Nora to diaper and dress her as best she could.

“Are we going to try to find the baby’s mother?” Maeve asked in a near whisper.

He gestured for her to follow him into the smaller room. “One of us can go to the captain while the other stays here.”

“I’ll go,” she offered.

He nodded his approval.

Maeve told Nora what she was doing and left to find the captain in the chart house. “May I have a moment to speak with you?” she asked.

Once she’d explained the situation, he removed his cap and scratched his head. “Never had this happen b’fore. Plenty o’ babies been born aboard, but none have been deserted.”

“I was thinking you could go over the ship’s manifest,” Maeve suggested. “See how many women of childbearing age are aboard and then question them.”

“Sounds like a logical plan. Come with me.”

She joined him in his cabin, where Mrs. Conley was cheerfully humming and scrubbing potatoes. Their cabin had a tiny kitchen area with hanging pots and pans that swayed with the ship’s movement.

The captain set the heavy manifest on the scarred table with a thump and opened to the last pages.

After hearing Maeve’s story, Martha Conley joined their efforts. She got a paper, pen and ink to make a list, then pushed them toward Maeve. “Your writin’s probably better’n mine, dearie.”

They came up with thirty-nine possibilities for someone who might have given birth.





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