The Wedding Journey
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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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