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?”
