Neither Kathleen nor I had slept much. We had sat there by the dying embers of the fire, talking in a way you can only talk to strangers you know you'll never meet again. When our conversation died, too, she went to lie down beside the little ones, her arms wrapped fiercely around them. I couldn't begin to imagine what she was going through right now. I pulled my shawl over me and tried to sleep, too, but my dozing was troubled by such terrible dreams that I chose the security of staying awake.
I must have nodded off just before dawn because I woke to find the little ones sitting up and Kathleen bustling around the room.
"There's the rest of that pie from last night if you're hungry." She pointed at the unappetizing remains on the table. "She'll have porridge going in the kitchen later but it's better maybe that she doesn't know you've been here."
I nodded and searched for my hairbrush in the bundle of possessions I'd hastily thrown together in my panic. Thank God I'd included it. I've always cared enough about my appearance that I wouldn't want to be seen with my hair like a rat's nest. The sin of vanity, my mother called it and made me confess it each week to the priest. I confessed it rightly enough, and said the three Hail Marys, but I couldn't say you'd notice any improvement. I was stuck with being vain.
"Come, Bridie," I said, showing the brush to her. "Let me make your hair pretty, too." The child had better get accustomed to my taking care of her. I hadn't really considered that aspect of it before. There had been too much to think of last night. But now it hit me--what if the children wouldn't go with me? I knew my own youngest brother and how he eyed strangers suspiciously. Would these two be willing to leave their own mother without a scene--and if they made a scene, we'd be found out pretty quickly.
Kathleen must have been thinking along similar lines. She took the child and led her over to me. "Let nice Miss Molly make your hair pretty for you, Bridie. She has a fine way with hair."
The little girl looked at me shyly, then let me run my brush through her straggly locks. I worked gently, careful not to tug. "My, but that's lovely hair you have," I told her. "They won't have seen a girl as pretty as you in America."
She giggled then, sensing that I was spinning the truth a little.
I glanced over her head at Kathleen, watching her with a look of hungry longing on her face. "Have you told them yet?" I asked. "Do they know what's happening today?"
"We're going on a ship," Seamus said confidently. "We're going to my daddy in America."
I continued to look at Kathleen. She kept silent.
"You have to tell them," I muttered as I leaned close to her on the pretense of helping myself to pie. "You can't spring it on them at the last minute."
"When the time is right," she muttered back. "I'm still thinking of the best way to tell them."
We dressed and packed up the remaining items, then we went out into the chill of the early morning. There was ice on the cobbles and our footsteps clattered, the sound echoing back, unnaturally loud, as we made our way along the alleyways. Our breath came out like dragon fire. You'd have thought the streets would be deserted that early in the morning, but there was hustle and bustle as we got closer to the docks. Workers were coming out of all those little houses, heading for the early shift at the factories. Women were already scrubbing steps. We passed into wider, grander streets and fine carriages and hansom cabs passed us, making for our ship, presumably.
Then there she was, the Majestic, with smoke coming out of both her funnels and people swarming around her like ants. A wave of excitement washed over me. In spite of all my worries and fears, this was, indeed, the kind of grand adventure I'd dreamed of during those long, silent days at the cottage in Ballykillin.
At the entrance to the docks a man was examining papers before letting people past. Kathleen pulled us aside, into the shadows, and rummaged in the bundle she was carrying. "Well, what do you know?" She managed a light laugh. "I've got tickets here for Seamus and Bridie, but I've gone and left my own ticket back home in Stabane. Isn't that just the stupidest thing you've ever heard of."
"Ma, how could you do that?" Seamus demanded. "Does that mean we'll not be going then?"
"I don't see why you two shouldn't go ahead," Kathleen said. "Miss Molly has her ticket. You can travel with her. She'll take care of you right enough and bring you safe to your daddy. And I'll just pop back home and catch up with you on the next boat."
I stared at her, but said nothing.
"But we want to be with you, Mama," Bridie said. "We'll come on the next boat with you."
"Indeed you won't," Kathleen said. "Not when your poor daddy's waiting for you, longing to put his arms around his little ones again. We'll not be unkind enough to make him wait any longer, will we now? And who knows--there might not be room for all three of us on the next boat, and we've a beautiful cabin ready and waiting on this fine ship. Miss Molly will take good care of you, won't you?"
"Of course I will," I said, playing along with her, although I wasn't very happy about the devious way she was doing it. Maybe she hadn't endured childhood beatings for not telling the truth as often as I had. "We'll have a grand time on the ship. Plenty of good food and games to play--and it's only a few days till we'll be in New York."
"There's only one thing," Kathleen said, beckoning the children close to her. "We have to play a little secret game."
The children were looking up with excited faces. "Miss Molly's cabin is away at the other end of the ship," Kathleen said. "She wouldn't be able to take care of you, being so far away. So I've suggested that she move in with you two and take my place instead. Only one thing--they have the name Kathleen O'Connor down for that cabin, so they wouldn't let Miss Molly in, would they now?"
The two little ones were looking confused now. "So what do you think we should do?" Kathleen asked.
"Ask them to change it?" Seamus asked. Kathleen shook her head. "Too late for that. I think we should pretend that Miss Molly is me. That would be a fine game, wouldn't it? A secret for just the three of you. No need to tell another soul--right?"
The little ones giggled and glanced up at me. I forced a grin too. "Our little secret," I whispered, and touched my finger to my lips.
"Time to go on board now," Kathleen said. "Seamus, my love, are you big enough to carry the bundle?"
"I can do it." He took the bundle from her. It was half as big as he was, but he staggered along manfully with it.
Kathleen handed me the tickets. "How are you with the readin' and writin'?" she asked.
"I do both just fine."
They'll ask you questions when you get to America," Kathleen said. "All the questions are on that sheet there--my maiden name and the village I came from and the date of my wedding. They might ask you any of those things, so make sure you learn them before you get there."
"Don't worry," I said. "Don't worry about a thing. Everything's going to be fine."
Bridie seemed to realize for the first time what was
happening. She clung to her mother's legs. "I don't want to go without you," she wailed. "I want to stay here with you, Mammy."
"Hush now," Kathleen said, stroking the child's head. "You can't stay with me, little one. You have to go with Miss Molly. It won't be for long. I'll be with you very soon, I promise."
"You hurry up and catch the next boat, Ma," Seamus said. "Daddy will be wanting to know what has happened to you."
"I'll come as quickly as I can." There was a catch in her voice and I watched her press her lips together for a moment. "The days will just fly by and you'll have such fun." She put her arms around the children and buried her face in Bridie's scarf. "Be good children," she said. "Remember what I've told you. Remember to say your prayers and make sure you mind what Miss Molly tells you."
They nodded, looking at her solemnly as if they sensed what was going on.
"Go on then. Get going," she said. "I won't come any farther. I'll watch you from here."
"We'll wave to you when we get up on deck, Ma," Seamus said. "I've got my handkerchief. You watch and you'll see something white waving and it will be me."
"And I'll wave my handkerchief back." Kathleen tried to smile. "Go on. Away with you or you'll miss the boat!"
She gave Seamus, then Bridie, a quick kiss, then put her hands on my shoulders. "God go with you," she said. "May the Blessed Mother watch over the three of you."
"And you, too."
We looked at each other for a moment and then she turned and ran away. I took Bridie by the hand. "Come on, then. Let's go and find our cabin."
The dock was now bustling with activity. Carriages were arriving and disgorging passengers. Luggage was being put on a belt to be taken up into the boat. As we passed onto the water front a woman ran up and grabbed my arm. "You look like a kind person. My boy Sean. I haven't heard from him in three years. If you come across him, ask him to write his old mother, dying of a broken heart until she hears from him." She shoved a piece of paper into my hand. It had Sean O'ationeil, formerly of Balymore, county
Antrim, written on it in childish printing. I didn't like to tell her that my chances of meeting her Sean were very small. I nodded solemnly. "I'll do what I can."
"I'm here for every ship," she said. "I'm sure that in the end someone will find him for me." Then she ran and melted back into the crowd.
There was a broad gangway, draped with the White Star Line banners, going up to a deck festooned with flags where a band was playing. I led the little ones toward it. An arm reached out and stopped me.
"Where do you think you're going, then?" A seaman demanded.
"On board. We have tickets."
"Steerage passengers embark down there." He jerked his head to another gangway at the far end of the ship. It wasn't going up onto one of the decks this time, but straight into the bowels. And there were no banners. A long line of scrawny, ragged people were making their way up it, bundles and suitcases balanced on their shoulders, little ones in their arms. From behind closed gates came the sounds of wailing. A crowd pressed against those gates, reaching out arms, holding up babies. Every now and then a voice would rise over the communal wail. "God go with you, Eileen! Conor, my boy. My darlin' boy! May the Blessed Mother bring us together in the next life, if not in this one." A hand reached out and tried to grab me. "If you meet my man, my Mick O'Shae, tell him that his Mary wants to know he's all right. Mick O'Shae--have you got that?"
Bridie grasped my hand tighter. As I led her to join that line up the gangway, I noticed two policemen, standing in the shadows, watching. I had almost forgotten that this wasn't an adventure-- it was a desperate flight. Another few yards and I'd be safely on that ship. I lifted Bridie into my arms, so that her little body hid my face from the police.
Another man was checking names off a list at the bottom of the gangway. "Kathleen O'Connor, son Seamus, and daughter Bridie," I said, loudly. "Here are the tickets."
He checked me off and we went up the gangway, into the ship.
It was dark inside there and the line of people swept us along into a sort of staging area. It smelled unpleasant--the same kind of boiled cabbage and
urine smell as the rooming house had, but with something added that I couldn't quite identify.
"Name?" A uniformed figure barked at me as we drew level with a desk.
"O'Connor. Kathleen, Seamus, Bridie."
"Just yourself and the two children, then?" "That's right."
"And your husband? Where is he?"
I was tempted to tell him it was none of his business. After all, we'd paid for the tickets, hadn't we? "He's in New York. Waiting for us."
"He'd better be," the man said. "If he doesn't come to collect you from Ellis Island, they'll just send you straight home again. They don't want women and children who'll be a burden on the state."
"He'll be there," I said. "It was he who sent us the tickets. Now if you'd please direct us to our cabin, so that we can leave our belongings and then get up on deck to wave good-bye."
The man turned to another who was standing in the shadows behind him. "Hark at her," he chuckled. "Who do you think you are--lady muck? Women's quarters are down that way. Find yourself a bunk. You can take any one that's not occupied. And as for going up on deck--steerage means steerage. Next."
I had been dismissed. The crowd behind me shoved us forward. There was nothing for it but to lead the children down the dimly lit passage. Bridie had begun to get scared. "I want to go back to Mammy," she wailed.
"Remember our little secret?" I whispered. "You have to call me Mammy until we get to New York."
"I want my real mammy."
I looked around, hoping that nobody was listening. The passage was lined with cubicles, half shut off with slatted wooden doors. Inside each cubicle I could dimly make out six bunks-- three on either side. Most of them seemed to be occupied by shadowy figures.
"Is there any space in here?" I demanded several times. At last someone replied, ungraciously. "Top bunk and you're welcome to it."
"Where do we sleep, then?" Seamus asked.
A hollow eyed-woman poked her head out from the bottom bunk. "The children have to share with us, unless the boy is over twelve."
"I'm eight," Seamus said.
"Well, then, he belongs in here," the woman said. "Send him up the ladder and he can lift up your belongings."
"Go on up, Seamus," I said. "Stay up there with our things and I'll go check to see if there's anywhere better."
With Bridie still draped around my neck and holding on for dear life, I went up and down the hallway until I was convinced that there were no better quarters lurking around any corner. I helped Bridie up the ladder and examined the bunk. There was a thin mattress, nothing more. No sheets, blankets, nothing. "Where do we get our bed linen?" I asked a neighbor.
"Bed linen?" Her chuckle ended in a rasping cough. "You're supposed to bring your own, dearie. Didn't they tell you that?"