The Wedding Journey. Cheryl St.John

if no mother was found, they could find a family to take in the infant for the duration of the journey.

       He approached Maeve and Nora. “Boil everything that touches this baby,” he told them. “Boil the cups in which we carry the milk.” He glanced at the tubing. “You’re using that to feed her? Did you boil it? Good. Wash your hands thoroughly.” He handed Maeve the half-full cup. “Throw out any she doesn’t take and get fresh each feeding. I’ll notify the captain that she’s been found. A search to turn up her mother will come next, I have no doubt. Shall we find someone to care for her?”

       Nora appeared stricken at the idea. “I can take care of her!”

       “Nora, what about your kitchen duties?” Maeve asked.

       “You and Bridget can help. We’ll share her care and feeding.” She gave her younger sister a pleading glance. “Please. She’s so tiny and alone. We know she’ll be safe with us—and under the doctor’s supervision. With someone else we can’t be sure they’ll care for her properly or give her the attention she needs.”

       Maeve looked at the fragile little human being in Nora’s arms, now frantically sucking at the pinpricks they’d made in the tubing and swallowing in noisy gulps. “I have helped care for a good many newborns. ’Tis not such a hardship.”

       She glanced at Flynn, and her compassionate blue gaze shot him through, touching a tiny crevice in his hardened heart. Thoroughly impractical though it may be to have an infant strapped to his assistant or a kitchen worker, the warm burst of admiration he felt at their earnest concern and willingness to take on this task couldn’t be denied.

       He didn’t let himself look at the baby, but the sound of her sucking speared his heart. He gave Nora a stern look. “Clear your intent with Mr. Mathers. Assure me you have his approval and promise you’ll take no safety risks in the galley. If you’re to be near fire or water, you will give your turn over to one of your sisters.”

       “Yes, of course,” Nora acknowledged quickly. “Thank you, Dr. Gallagher. God bless you.”

       “I’m going to assign one of the McCorkle boys to run errands for you part of the day. Emmett is the youngest and most agile, so he will run for milk and carry messages between the three of you.” He looked at Maeve. “Thoroughly instruct him on sanitation.”

       She nodded her understanding. “Certainly, doctor. I’m relatively sure he already comprehends hand washing. Sean filled me in on their lesson. It made quite an impression.”

       Flynn asked Nora to place the baby on the examining table once she’d burped. “Let’s have a listen now.” He glanced up and then away. “The two of you may call me Flynn when there are no patients or other passengers present.”

       Maeve gave him one of her stunning smiles. “Thank you, Flynn.”

       A soot-faced cabin boy appeared then, extending a piece of paper. Flynn took it and read the hastily scrawled note. Seemed the captain had invited him to dinner in his cabin that evening. “Tell Captain Conley I’d be happy to join him and his wife.”

       The lad nodded and hurried off.

       Once Flynn had listened to the baby’s heart and lungs, he left Nora to diaper and dress her as best she could.

       “Are we going to try to find the baby’s mother?” Maeve asked in a near whisper.

       He gestured for her to follow him into the smaller room. “One of us can go to the captain while the other stays here.”

       “I’ll go,” she offered.

       He nodded his approval.

       Maeve told Nora what she was doing and left to find the captain in the chart house. “May I have a moment to speak with you?” she asked.

       Once she’d explained the situation, he removed his cap and scratched his head. “Never had this happen b’fore. Plenty o’ babies been born aboard, but none have been deserted.”

       “I was thinking you could go over the ship’s manifest,” Maeve suggested. “See how many women of childbearing age are aboard and then question them.”

       “Sounds like a logical plan. Come with me.”

       She joined him in his cabin, where Mrs. Conley was cheerfully humming and scrubbing potatoes. Their cabin had a tiny kitchen area with hanging pots and pans that swayed with the ship’s movement.

       The captain set the heavy manifest on the scarred table with a thump and opened to the last pages.

       After hearing Maeve’s story, Martha Conley joined their efforts. She got a paper, pen and ink to make a list, then pushed them toward Maeve. “Your writin’s probably better’n mine, dearie.”

       They came up with thirty-nine possibilities for someone who might have given birth.