prayer held more exasperation than appeal. He’d ridden, by hired horse and stagecoach, from the Northwest territories to Boston in the last month, hoping to reunite with family after news of Frank’s death a year ago had reached him, courtesy of an old family friend. Though Frank was beyond Clay’s help, he had considered it his duty to ensure his brother’s widow was well provided for. But he’d met failure on all sides. The one task where he’d thought he could still succeed was to convince Allegra to return to Boston where she would be safe. Now even that seemed to be denied him.
But he’d never been one to give up without a fight.
His purpose, as he saw it, was to protect Frank’s wife and child. He’d never be a family man like Frank, steady, reliable, but he could at least make sure Allegra and Gillian had a solid future. If they refused to return to Boston where they belonged, then he had only one way to accomplish his goal. He had to return west in any event.
I know it may be crazy, Lord, but surely this is what You’d want me to do.
He shoved his hat down on his head a little farther and waited in the shadow of the crates as the last of the women filed up the gangway. The purser glanced through his notes with a frown, as if he thought he must be missing someone. Then he shrugged and climbed aboard, as well. As soon as the way was clear, Clay strolled up the gangway and onto the ship.
No one stopped him, ordered him to produce his ticket. With his satchel in his hand, he probably looked like a typical passenger, even if he wasn’t one of Mercer’s maidens. As it was, the crew and officers were far too busy preparing to sail to pay him any mind.
And the crowds were even denser on the deck than they had been on the pier. He was surprised to see several families aboard, older husbands with wives and children in tow, brothers escorting what were clearly sisters by the similarity of their features. People milled about, looks ranging from excitement to terror. At least some of them knew what they were leaving behind. Going from one coast to the other happened once in a lifetime for most people.
Clay moved among them, keeping an eye out for Allie and Gillian. Even with all the passengers on deck, it shouldn’t have been that hard to find them. As far as he could see, the entire ship was about as long as the Howard mansion in Boston but only half as wide.
The main deck circled the ship, with an upper deck above one of the blocky buildings. Though the black funnel sticking up in the center of the deck sputtered a cloud from the steam engine, two masts rose higher into the air. It seemed the Continental could sail under wind power, as well. The three buildings along the deck would house the wheel, the captain’s quarters and the officers’ mess, and the first-class accommodations, Clay guessed. The stairs running down beside them would likely take the passengers belowdecks, where they’d find another salon and staterooms for the ordinary passengers.
And there, just about where the first mast towered over the deck, Allegra stood with some of the other women, faces set resolutely toward the mouth of the North River.
Just then, the horn bellowed, and little Gillian cried out, arms reaching for her mother. Allegra gathered her close, bent her head as if to murmur reassurances. Something hot pressed against Clay’s eyes.
That little girl has lost so much, Father. I didn’t have a say in the matter, but now that I know about her, I can’t see her hurt further.
Neither could Allegra. That much was obvious. She raised the little girl’s chin with one finger, smiled at her, lips moving as if she promised a bright future.
How could he take that future from them?
He pushed his way through the crowds to their sides. Allegra looked up, then straightened at the sight of him, eyes widening.
“What are you doing?” she cried. “We’re about to sail!”
As if to prove her point, two of the crew began to haul in the gangway.
Clay glanced over his shoulder at the gangway, then back at Allegra. “It seems you’re set on going, Mrs. Howard. And that means I’m going with you.”
* * *
“What are you talking about?” Allie cried. He couldn’t be coming with them. Surely he wasn’t part of Mercer’s expedition. She’d never heard his name mentioned, hadn’t seen him at the hotel with the others. If she had, she might not be here now.
But before he could answer, the ship groaned, heaving away from the pier. Everyone around her rushed to the railing, carrying her and Gillian along with them, and for a moment, she lost sight of Clay.
The sight below them was compelling enough. From the pier, dozens of people waved and cheered. Boys threw their hats in the air. Women fluttered handkerchiefs. After the reception Mercer’s belles had received in the New England papers, Allie found it hard to believe so many New Yorkers would stand in the cold to watch them set sail. It was as if she and her friends were making history.
Those on the Continental were even more excited. Maddie was blowing kisses to the crowd below. Other passengers raised clasped hands over their heads in a show of victory. Even Catherine unbent sufficiently to give a regal wave. No one seemed bereft at what they were leaving behind. Hope pushed the ship down the bay. Hope brightened every countenance. Even the air tasted sweeter.
Perhaps that was why it was so very painful when hope was snatched away.
“Attention! Attention, please!” Mr. Debro hopped up on one of the wooden chests that dotted the deck and waved his hands as if to ensure everyone saw him. “We’ll be stopping shortly at quarantine near Staten Island. Everyone to the lower salon on the orders of Captain Windsor. This way!”
Allie and Maddie exchanged glances, and she saw worry darken her friend’s gaze.
“Very likely it’s nothing to concern us,” Catherine said as if she’d seen the look, as well. “The captain probably wishes to address the passengers before we reach the ocean.”
“Of course,” Allie agreed, but the frown on Maddie’s face said she wasn’t so sure. Allie took Gillian’s hand, and Catherine and Maddie fell in beside them as they headed for the salon.
It was a simple room, with a long wooden table scarred from frequent use. Around it, smaller tables and chairs made of sturdy wood hugged the white-paneled walls under the glow of brass lanterns. At one end, doors opposite each other led up to the deck, with another opening amidships that must lead to the upper salon. Other doors recessed along the way appeared to open onto staterooms. Across the back, a wide window and narrow door gave access to the galley where copper pans glinted in the glow from the fire in the massive black iron stove.
Already the room was crowded, but there seemed to be fewer women than Allie had expected. She’d heard that the expedition was to include as many as seven hundred female emigrants, yet she estimated at most sixty flitting from one group to another. And still she caught not a glimpse of Asa Mercer.
Catherine excused herself a moment to go speak to Mr. Debro, who was frantically shuffling his papers.
Gillian tugged on Allie’s skirts. “Where’s our new room, Mother?”
Mother. The formal word always reminded Allie of how she’d nearly failed her daughter. Gillian’s first word had been Mama, her second Papa. Allie had spent most of her time with her baby daughter, marveling over each change as Gillian grew
