Kilpara (17 page)

“
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.”

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 returned 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 the 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.”