His eyes dropped to the flowers he had just planted.
“Those are for you, Miss O’Malley,” he said softly, and it gave him an odd sense of connection. He felt his cheeks warm. But he could not help himself from continuing—from changing his little statement. “For you—Kathleen.”
The name felt new and strange on his tongue, but somehow, in the saying of it, Donnigan felt a stirring of sweet possession.
Chapter Seven
Passage
The troubles on the Atlantic crossing began on their second day out. After the raucous celebrating by the band of women on board, a time of illness followed. Kathleen could have felt that it served them right, but as she observed their intense suffering, she could feel only pity for them as they held their heads and groaned with each roll of the ship. It kept both Erma and Kathleen running to empty the chamber vessels and wipe the brows with cool wet rags.
By the time the women were once again on their feet and ready to take to the decks for walks in the open air, the winds became brisk and the ship began to toss and roll. Even Kathleen had to take to her bunk. Erma was the only one in the little band who did not become seasick.
At long last the storm subsided and the women began to stir and search for fresh air. The cabins were so small—so crowded—that even on the good days the air became stale and close. But on the days of the illnesses, Kathleen had often wondered if she would be able to endure. She longed, at times, for the cold, damp streets of London, where she could at least draw a breath of fresh air.
Though she became acquainted with many of the women heading for America, she really only learned to know well those who shared her own cabin and her own dinner table. She soon discovered that even though they shared the same future destiny, they were varied and different in their personality, background, and outlook. Some of the opinions expressed shocked and horrified the young Kathleen. She found that more and more she chose to walk alone about the decks or share the time with Erma rather than be a part of the chatter of the other women.
Many of the women from the Continent she did not get to know at all. The fact that some of them spoke very little English was of course one factor—but there were other differences, though Kathleen wouldn’t have been able to put her finger on them.
“Some of them are farm women,” Erma had explained, “and shy.”
Kathleen had never lived in the country—at least since she had left Ireland at the age of two. Her father had spoken of the farm. To his dying day he did not cease to grieve that he had lost family property at the time he had fled his country. Always his dream had been to return—to reclaim; and though Kathleen knew nothing of the circumstances, she claimed his dream as her own after he had been taken from her.
“Sure now—and ye’re an O’Malley,” he used to tell her. “Ye’ve nothing to be ashamed of and plenty to be proud of, so hold yerself tall. And maybe someday—when God himself rights the wrongs in the world—ye’ll get back what truly belongs to an O’Malley.”
Kathleen wished later that she had asked more questions. Talked more to her father of his beloved homeland. Now, as the ship bore her to America, she reasoned that she would never have opportunity to see the land of her own roots again.
Perhaps other girls were grieving over lost homelands as well, for as the days passed, tempers became short and occasional disturbances erupted. One ended up in a hair-pulling duel, and two other girls were found rolling around on deck, skirts flying along with screams of obscenities. Kathleen had never seen anything like it—not even in the streets of London where such things were said to occur.
And then there was the girl from the Continent who changed her mind about going to America after taking up with one of the deckhands aboard ship. The whole incident was rather scandalous, to say the least, and Mr. Jenks had a good bit to say about it.
Kathleen waited impatiently for her appointment with Mr. Jenks. She noted that she was the last name on his posted list. It didn’t surprise her. After all, she had signed up very late.
However, she was not ignored. Several times during the voyage the man sought her out. Once he even invited her to his cabin to share his dinner. Kathleen was uneasy about the invitation and sent word that she was not feeling well—which, because of the tossing sea at the time, was no exaggeration.
Still he continued to seek her. It began to be noticed by the other women, and Kathleen found herself the butt of crude jokes. From henceforth she tried her hardest to avoid the man as much as possible.
As they neared the end of the journey, anticipation ran at fever pitch. Kathleen walked about the deck, enjoying the brisk wind that reddened her cheeks and whipped her hair. But even as she wished solitude, she felt drawn to the others as she heard their high-pitched, excited voices. She drew near to a noisy group in time to catch a comment.
“The marriage ceremony comes first,” a tall, bony-looking girl was declaring. “I’m not putting one foot in the door until I hear the words. No fallin’ into that trap. I’m not leaving it so he can show me the door again if it suits his fancy.”
“And I’m telling you, I won’t stand for one minute of tomfoolery,” a big girl named Mary added. “I didn’t come all this way to be somebody’s serving girl.”
A few girls hooted in agreement.
“An’ I don’t plan to be slopping pigs—even if I marry a farmer!” shouted another.
“No. Nor a milkmaid, either,” called Peg.
“I’ll cook—providing, of course, he gives me the makings,” said a brassy older woman with a painted face and tinted hair.
“I’m hoping for a man rich enough to provide a young wench or two to help with the house chores,” ventured a woman with blond hair piled haphazardly on the top of her head.
There was another shout of approval.
“Tell you one thing,” a short, stout redhead said as she lifted her skirt to hike up her hose. “If I don’t like what I find—I’ll not be stayin’ long.”
A chorus of agreement followed the comment.
“And what will you do, lovey?” asked another.
“Aye—don’t you worry none about Rosie. She can handle herself,” replied the redhead with a wink of her eye and a toss of her skirts.
Kathleen moved away. “Marriage is a permanent thing,” she argued to herself. “One doesn’t pull out just because there are a few more household chores than one had hoped there would be.” The whole conversation disturbed her.
Right then and there Kathleen made herself a pledge. She would stay with this arranged marriage no matter what it turned out to be. She would make it work. She would. She had agreed to it and would stick to her agreement.
She walked away from the shifting, chattering group and sought the stinging sea breezes to blow her discomfiture away.
She jumped at a touch on her arm, then saw that it was Erma who had joined her.
“Don’t pay no attention to ’em,” Erma said close to Kathleen’s ear so that the wind wouldn’t whip the words away. “It’s all just nerves and bravado. We’re all getting a little tight strung.”
Kathleen nodded. She was certainly tight strung.
“Most of ’em are good, clean, hard-working girls who’ve never been away from home before. They’re scared to death and that’s the way it really is.”
Erma moved closer to Kathleen and the smaller girl took comfort in her presence.
“Let’s walk around to lee side so we can talk out of this wind,” Erma suggested, and Kathleen followed with no hesitation.
They found a small bench sheltered from the wind and took refuge, wrapping their shawls tightly around their shoulders for warmth.