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“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.
