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.”
