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  I looked up from combing Brazonhead at Trista Joyce. She cocked her head to one side. “I wonder if you’ve ever cared for a woman the way you care for that horse.”

  I expected her words to accompany a challenge in her eyes, but her look was naively curious. I returned to my task not bothering to answer. She didn't press for a response, just stood relaxed, arms rested on the wooden rail inhaling the scented flower I had bought her.

  When I finished brushing Brazonhead, he was considerably calmer. “I’ll be back this evening. We’ll go for a gallop then,” I assured him.

  “He doesn’t understand what you’re saying,” Trista scoffed.

  Brazonhead snorted. “You’re wrong,” I said. “He knows exactly what I’m saying.”

  Trista laughed and rolled her eyes skyward.

  Three days later, we stood on the pier again, this time awaiting the signal to board The White Lady.

  “This place has hardly changed in over thirty years,” Mother said. “The ships are bigger and made out of iron instead of wood, that’s all.”

  “Aye,” Seamus agreed. “It hasn’t changed, except there’s no half-dead Irish dropping on the shores.”

  A uniformed man came over and accompanied us on board. Deckhands carried our luggage as Seamus and Rengen pushed Mother in her wheelchair up the gangplank. On deck, Trista took over and wheeled Mother to our cabins. These were located on the upper deck and were more spacious than I expected. Mine was equipped with a narrow bed, a lounging chair, a chest of drawers beneath a small wardrobe, and a desk and chair for writing. Everything was anchored to the floor. A small water closet was located through an adjoining door.

  Mother’s cabin was larger. It included a detached compact kitchen and a large comfortable divan. An adjoining door led to a shared water closet and beyond it was a smaller cabin for Trista Joyce.

  “These accommodations are very different from the ones we had on our voyage here,” Mother said, looking around. The kitchen caught her eye. “The decks below were overcrowded—we had no cooking facilities other than a shared fire on deck that people fought over. I wish your father could see all this.” The sadness in her voice tore at my heart.

  When it came time to say goodbye to Dr. Thompson and Seamus and Rengen, it was every bit as difficult as I anticipated. I shook hands with Dr. Thompson and was pulled into a bear hug by Rengen, who seemed unable to speak. I was about to offer my hand to Seamus, but the little man threw his short arms around me. “Say hello to the old sod for me,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “I will,” I promised and then remembered the letter I had written to Dan and Mark. The longer I turned the conversation between Mother and Dr. Thompson over in my mind, the more convinced I became that my brothers should know Mother’s true motives for returning to Ireland. I finished the letter by telling them we were praying for a safe journey to Ireland. However, I didn’t disclose the conversation I had overheard between Dr. Endicott and Dr. Thompson. They had been having lunch in the hospital restaurant next to an open window and were absorbed in discussing Mother’s case. They didn’t know I was seated outside on a bench and could overhear every word.

  “Pray that Mrs. O’Donovan doesn’t contract some infection on the voyage that hastens her disease,” Dr. Endicott had confided. “Her family could better serve the patient by placing her in a sanitorium when the time comes that she requires extensive care. Are there such facilities in Ireland?”

  “Mrs. O’Donovan’s father was the Irish doctor, Dr. Victor Burke, whose extensive research on the treatment of consumption and other diseases are known worldwide,” Dr. Thompson said. “His other daughter, Sadie Burke, is the Mother Superior of St. Bridget’s convent in Galway and Head Matron at Mercy Hospital. She has conferred with top doctors there from the College of Surgeons to carry on her father’s research. I suspect Mrs. O’Donovan couldn’t be in more capable or caring hands.”

  “In that case,” Dr. Endicott concurred, “this plan may have more substance to it than first appears…”

  I hesitated briefly before shoving the envelope into Seamus’ hand. “Please give this letter to Dan,” I said.

  “I surely will,” Seamus said, clutching it tightly.

  The ship pulled away from the dock, horns sounding all round us. Rengen, Seamus and Dr. Thompson’s lonely figures stood solemnly on the quay among waving crowds shouting last goodbyes when the ship glided out of her berth and into the Hudson River. Their figures grew smaller as the ship sailed out of the harbor and into the bay. Mother had insisted we bring her on deck to have one last look at New York.

  “We were destitute when we arrived here so long ago,” she said. “We struggled to keep body and soul together. There was such filth and overcrowding in the city. We constantly worried about being afflicted with cholera or typhoid. And your brothers, just toddlers then, had barely a blade of grass to play on. We were determined to get away from here whatever the cost. We did that and more. It’s been a good life.” Her eyes glazed over with tears. “There’s a price to pay for so many joys.”

  “You're being superstitious, Mother,” I said. “No one’s keeping score of good and bad.”

  “You don’t understand yet, Ellis, about the crosses that people are forced to bear in their lives. Only God in Heaven knows that.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The days at sea blended into one another. They were filled with blue skies, which pleased the captain who predicted a smooth crossing. Water was rationed nonetheless; unexpected things happened at sea. There were other passengers besides us on our deck. Some were wealthy Irish returning to spend their fortunes in Ireland. Others were businessmen making the trip to check on their investments in various parts of Europe. One family I became acquainted with was going to Ireland for the steeplechases, then onward to London and later South Africa where they planned to meet up with friends and go on safari.

  Moving about the ship, I became aware that accommodation for the lower classes wasn’t nearly as plush as that provided on the preferred upper decks. Passengers who paid the minimum fare were offered only the bare necessities. One day, when I was taking a walk around the ship, the barrier separating the lower decks from the upper ones had been left slightly ajar, so I wandered down. People crammed the open spaces on these levels to escape the dreariness of their sleeping and living quarters that appeared bereft of any luxury. Some had even brought along their own food for the voyage. I observed one family splitting their supplies into portions as they counted the days they expected to be at sea.

  In the evenings, music floated up from below. When it was happy, it was often accompanied by dancing. One evening, while Mother rested, I stood at the rail outside her cabin listening to the music. I recognized some of the tunes as ones that had been played at Stonebridge. Trista joined me on deck and almost immediately began tapping her feet to the rhythm.

  “Let me show you the steps,” she offered. She was undergoing a change, becoming more cheerful and confident as we sailed closer to Ireland.

  “I—er—” I began. I had never been adept at learning Irish dance steps.

  Trista waved her skirts to and fro. “Com’ on.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me behind her. She climbed over the dividing barrier like a cat scaling a tree. I followed, but not as nimbly.

  The man directing the music was the one I had seen days earlier with his family dividing up their rations. He moved a bow effortlessly across the fiddle, his music celebrating whatever contentment he and his comrades knew in life.

  He smiled at Trista and me as she took my hand and led me into a ring of dancers. The steps were a series of numbers and turns. She moved her feet slowly and gave instructions so I could follow along with the movements. At one point, she was possessed by a tune and found a partner who matched her energy. They whirled around in a frenzy as I stood with other onlookers and clapped.

  But Mother was never far from Trista’s thoughts, and in just a short while, she bid her comrades goodnight. We r
eturned to the upper deck and before entering her cabin, she touched my cheek lightly, an impulse obviously brought on from the effect of the music.

  She slipped behind her door and closed it, before I could pursue her mood. The melodies drifting upward turned soft and slow, and I remained on deck watching the moonlight reflect off the water. The salt-air was mild and comforting and waves slapped gently against the bowels of the ship. Thoughts of what lay ahead slipped into my mind. There was no denying my feelings for Mother had undergone a change since her conversation with Dr. Thompson. Knowing that her actions were motivated solely by her love to protect us from distress reached deep inside the core of my heart.

  So far she had benefited from the voyage. She would spend short periods on deck every day and natural color had returned to her cheeks giving her face a glimmer of health.

  The following day, as we sat on deck quietly watching people move up and down the ship, her concern for my return must have been on her mind for she broached the subject suddenly.

  “After we reach Ireland and you’ve rested sufficiently, there’ll be no need for you to stay.”

  “Yes, Mother,” I agreed. I had already adopted a plan, but I was not about to force an argument. So I humored her by going along with whatever she said.

  “I’ll be in good hands with Sadie. And I can employ Trista’s help, so please don’t worry about me.”

  I desperately wanted to tell her I had no intention of disposing her to the care of others when we reached Ireland. Instead I said, “Let’s talk about this after you’re settled in Ireland.”

  She nodded agreeably, relieved that I wasn’t going to cause a fuss.

  We were three days out from land when the weather changed for the worse. Waters turned turbulent and the ship rocked from side to side. Blue skies vanished and gray misty clouds hung low and treacherous. I stepped out on deck and was about to knock on Mother’s cabin when the ship’s doctor joined me. He glanced at the salty squalls beating against the ship’s sides along with the crewmen scurrying along the deck yelling at each other to tie down everything mobile.

  “We’re in for a bit of bad weather, I’m afraid,” he said. “Best to stay inside the cabin until it’s over. I’ve come to instruct Nurse Joyce on your mother’s medication.”

  Trista looked worried when she answered my knock. “Dr. Fortney,” she said, acknowledging the doctor and motioning us both inside. “How bad will this weather get?”

  “No telling, until we’re in the thick of it,” the doctor said. “Let’s look at your patient.”

  Dr. Fortney opened his medical bag and I turned away while he examined Mother. “We’ll sedate you through most of this, Mrs. O’Donovan. This kind of turbulence is bad for your condition.”

  Mother nodded without protest.

  After he instructed Trista on Mother's medication, I accompanied him outside. The storm was gaining in intensity. “Stay with your mother and Nurse Joyce,” he directed, grabbing the deck rail. He moved cautiously forward, clinging to whatever he could as white foam crashed against the ship. I stepped back inside the cabin.

  Mother was comfortably settled on the divan and was telling Trista about the storm she and Father had weathered with Dan and Mark on their voyage from Ireland. She shared how they had huddled together for days while the ship tossed and swayed violently on the sea and how the masts shook and the timbers creaked and groaned like they were going to break apart. It took days to clean up the mess made by passengers who had vomited in the hold, leaving behind an awful stench after the storm was over.

  As this storm continued to gain intensity, Trista gave Mother medicine that relaxed her and made her sleep. I sat together with Trista on the floor beside the divan, at times fighting the urge to retch. By evening, the rain turned into a steady downpour and the wind dropped a few notches. I offered to sleep on the floor next to Mother, and Trista gratefully accepted. Trista retired to her cabin, after fetching bed covers for me.

  I slept on and off throughout the night, sometimes disturbed by a queasy stomach but mostly waking at intervals to check on Mother. By morning, I was surprised to find faltering sunlight shining through the porthole. I went outside where the ship was steadying once more. The air was strongly tinted with salt and the ship's crew was busy cleaning up debris strewn on board by the storm. Through all this, I smelled food, a timely reminder I had not eaten anything the previous day. I found a steward and ordered breakfast to be brought to the cabin.

  Mother awoke in a groggy haze, happy to find the storm over and the ship balanced once more at sea. Later that morning, I took her outside. The captain moved about the ship making note of the damage. He stopped to speak to us.

  “The storm threw us off course,” he said gruffly. “We’ve lost two days because of it. We’re five days out now, instead of three. I’ll report to you later on matters concerning your property. The vet monitored the animals on board. Your horse faired the storm well.”

  Later that day, I set off on a walk around the ship. I paused at the rail on the main deck where stewards still mopped floors; the smell of disinfectant lessened only by the warming sun. Voices drifted up from down below. I didn’t pay particular attention until I recognized one of them to be that of the fiddler. I leaned forward and could see he was talking to one of the pursers.

  “We don’t have enough rations for five days,” I heard him say. “And I can’t pay for food. We only have the exact sum to purchase our land in Ireland. I can’t spend any of that money. I’ll willingly work to feed my family if you’ll let me.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Kineely,” the purser replied. “I can only give you food if you pay for it. You can ask the Captain about work, but we have a full crew.” After that, I heard footsteps move away and everything went quiet.

  I contemplated the conversation as I continued my walk around the ship. Without conscious intention, I strayed toward the lower deck, stepping my way around the debris after passing through an opening in the barrier that had been damaged in the storm. I paused when I saw the fiddler and his family huddled together on a damp piece of cardboard. The woman was pale and strands of limp hair hung loose around the edges of her bonnet, her face streaked with tears. The fiddler stared at her through blank, dejected eyes. A young boy of about three looked on unhappily. An even younger child, only a baby, was wrapped in heavy overcoats and looked very pale.

  The woman caressed her husband’s cheek. “It’ll be all right, Kegan. We’ll manage somehow.” Her words carried on the wind to where I stood.

  “Is it worth dying for?” was his reply. “What use is the land if we starve to death?”

  “We won’t starve,” the woman said firmly. “We’ll survive. There’s water, and if that’s not sufficient, then we must use some of the money for food.”

  “Damn!” the man yelled.

  “Please Kegan—the boys,” the woman pleaded.

  The man picked up an instrument case that lay close by. “I’ll see if anyone’ll buy my fiddle.” He crossed to the other side of the deck where a group of men lounged.

  The unhappy family was so deep in their trouble they didn’t see me standing against the rail listening to their conversation. I decided to approach the captain and bring their plight to his attention.

  “Come in,” the captain called out in answer to my knock. I opened the cabin door. He pointed to a seat and offered me a drink. I declined and he poured himself one.

  He sat across from me. “Your father’s casket fared well in the storm, Mr. O’Donovan. I was just coming to report to you that the stewards checked the cargo area and nothing is amiss.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “And Brazonhead?”

  “The vet has seen to him. And the groom says he’s faring the voyage well.”

  I nodded. “Good. There is one other matter. You know the fiddler’s family in steerage—Mr.—er—?”

  “Kineely,” the captain finished looking at me curiously. “Makes a racket with all that fiddlin’ but he keeps th
e passengers happy. Hope he ain’t bothering you. I’ll have a strong word with him if he is. Scalawags, these peasants, no idea how to behave in the presence of genteel folk like yourself.”

  “No, no,” I said quickly. “He hasn’t bothered me. I’m here on his behalf. It appears he and his family may run out of food rations before we reach land.”

  “Happens all the time,” the captain said. “Kineely ought to fare better than most. Fought in the war between the States, so he did. Those lads saw no food plenty o’ times. Saved his money, I reckon, to buy a few acres o’ bogland in Ireland. Won’t let go o’ a penny, these stubborn paupers. They’ll go hungry first. No sense at all.”

  “What regiment?” I asked.

  “Regiment?” the captain repeated, puzzled.

  “You said he fought in the war. What regiment?”

  The captain took a swallow from his glass before answering. “How should I know? He blabs about his friends getting killed at Antietam and Fredericksburg. The 69th something or other.”

  “The New York 69th?”

  “Don't know. Don’t matter anyhow. Been better off, maybe, if he’d gotten killed with the rest of them vagrants.” He laughed maliciously. “I hate delivering dead bodies to the authorities. It’s not good for business, you see. It’s worse having to throw them overboard. Has to be done so they don’t get the stench.” He leaned over and lowered his voice. “Did that a lot when we transported them Irish in the famine years when they got cholera and died—had to stop the disease spreading. Death reeks. Not exactly a deserving burial for humans, but the priests prayed over them.”