The Wedding Journey. Cheryl St.JohnЧитать онлайн книгу.
now, and you can lie right there with your head over the edge of the table.”
“I’ll catch me death of cold, I will,” the lad howled.
Flynn turned aside to hide a grin. “I have free access to the barrels of rainwater, Miss Murphy. Just ask a sailor for help toting buckets.”
Sean’s smeared face showed his concern. “I’d just worked up a good skin coverin’ afore the doctor began to scrub it away.”
“It’s June, not December,” she argued. “You’ll not catch cold. And it’s a good thing the doctor got a start on scrubbin’ off the filth, otherwise we may have mistaken you for a bit of firewood lying on the wharf. You’ll be washin’ your face and hands every mornin’ while you’re here.”
As she argued with the boy, her brogue got amusingly thicker. Flynn chuckled.
The room grew silent, and he turned to see the both of them staring at him. Perhaps his laugh had sounded as rusty to them as it had to him. “I don’t think you’re going to win this one, laddie. We’ll find you some clean clothing, as well.”
“Aye, sir,” Sean said, putting aside his bowl. “Thank you, Miss Murphy. ’Twas a delicious gruel.”
“I don’t know that it was delicious,” she said with a raised brow. “But it will build up your strength. Tomorrow I’ll make you a flavorful potato soup that will stick to your ribs.”
The boy beamed at her promise. “I’ll not fight you on a quick washin’ today. The doc’s already done me feet.”
She’d known just what to do with the meal to make it palatable, and Sean had eaten it as though it was fare fit for a king.
Flynn didn’t know Maeve’s background, but her clothing, while clean and pressed, indicated a lack of means. Her older sister had whispered how desperate they were to earn a wage. And Sean, an orphan, surviving in the village streets… Flynn had no concept of such poverty.
His privileged life had been glaringly different from the ones these two had lived. His family owned property in three countries, had a home in each and employed servants to do the work and the cooking. There was no such thing as a simple meal where he came from. Four courses served with silver utensils and gold-monogrammed china was the norm.
Even he himself owned land and a house in England and had purchased a home in Boston. His lifestyle was extravagant compared to those of his poor countrymen. But money didn’t mean happiness or contentment, he knew for a fact. It was heartwarming that Maeve seemed satisfied with next to nothing. It said a lot about her temperament…and her faith.
Flynn got called away several times that afternoon to tend passengers unaccustomed to the sea. Many lay on their bunks with heads swimming and stomachs roiling. There was nothing to be done for them, save bathe their heads in cool water. Since they weren’t ill or contagious, he assured each one they would feel better in a day or two and advised them to stay on deck, rather than below.
As the day waned, the doctor sent Maeve on her way. She felt good about her day’s work and confident she’d earned her wage. She passed a man with an easel set up at a good vantage point and paused to watch him sketch the horizon, with its craggy cliffs and white-crested waves. Minutes later, she joined her sisters on the foredeck. A piece of paper fluttered from beneath the edge of one of the bricks that made up their cooking pit. Nora reached for it and unfolded the note.
Immediately, she handed it to Maeve. “It’s for you.”
My dearest Miss Murphy, she read silently. My aunt and I have been invited to dine in the captain’s cabin this evening. Please accept our regrets, and we will look forward to meeting with you as soon as possible. Sincerely, Aideen Nolan.
Bridget, who’d been reading over her shoulder, found a small keg and perched on it. “The Atwaters were invited, as well. After this evening, I’ll be eating with them and their daughters most of the time. This dilemma never entered my mind. I don’t know the first thing about proper etiquette. I can’t let on and make mistakes or they’ll think I’m not an appropriate governess.”
“Nonsense.” Nora paused in piling wood in their brick hearth. “You’re a fine young woman, with the common sense God gave you and the convictions of your beliefs. You will make a wonderful role model for the children.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet Aideen and Mrs. Kennedy this evening,” Maeve added. “They might be a help in teaching you proper etiquette, so you may in turn teach the children. Aideen is the friendliest person I’ve met so far, she is. Not haughty like some of the others.”
“The kitchen help are all quite nice,” Nora added. Together, she and Maeve started a fire and put on a pot of water for rice and tea. Nora cut their small ration of bacon into six slices. From the other nearby cooking pits came the mouthwatering smells of frying bacon. Maeve’s stomach growled.
She marveled as the heavens changed color. The smells were unfamiliar here. Of course the salty tang of the ocean was predominant, but there were no green scents. Grass, flowering bushes, heather had all been left behind, and she found she missed them. The smell of tar reached them from time to time, and always the smell of cooking food permeated the air.
As the sun set lower in the sky, the wind grew more chill. They bundled themselves in their shawls and unobtrusively glanced at the neighboring passengers.
“Tell us more about the Atwaters,” Nora said.
“There are three young daughters,” Bridget began. “Laurel is eleven. Hilary and Pamela are younger. When I arrived, Laurel actually looked at my dress and asked if I’d come to clean their stateroom.” She smoothed her hand over her skirt, as though the memory still stung.
After her encounter with Mrs. Fitzwilliam, Maeve could certainly understand.
Bridget glanced up. “Not that I wouldn’t have, mind you, had that been the duty assigned me.”
“They have a stateroom?” Nora asked. She had mixed ingredients and set the dough on a smooth clean brick beside the fire to rise. Once it was baked they would have bread for tomorrow morning.
“Aye. It’s well-appointed, with room for the girls to do lessons. Hilary has brought a canary aboard, and little Pamela has an array of China dolls like I’ve seen only in catalogues.”
“A canary?” Nora set out a small jar. “Our rations contain enough molasses to sweeten our tea. I should think it was unnecessary to bring a bird aboard a ship.”
Bridget shrugged. “Perhaps she simply enjoys the songs, and her parents indulge her. I glimpsed a life unfamiliar to anything we know. The girls bicker among themselves and argue over who gets the largest or best portions or whose shoes are prettier.”
“Mother would never have allowed us to behave in such a way,” Nora said.
“She was strict, but she disciplined us with love,” Bridget agreed.
They bowed their heads and held hands in a familiar circle.
“Father God, we come before You, grateful for this opportunity You’ve given us,” Maeve began. “We are thankful that we could buy tickets and amazed at Your provision in giving us jobs so quickly.”
“Thank You that we are not going hungry,” Nora added. “This is more than adequate food for Your humble servants.”
“And thank You,” Bridget added softly, “That none of us has the seasickness.”
“We ask that You heal Sean McCorkle’s leg now,” Maeve added. “And watch over his brothers, wherever they are. In Jesus’ name we pray…”
“Amen,” the sisters chorused and gave each other tired, but joyful smiles.
The wind had come up, so Nora tied a scarf over her hair before dishing the rice onto three tin plates. Bridget divided the bacon equally. This allotment of food