The Wedding Journey. Cheryl St.John

few of them.

       The woman turned and glanced down at her, taking in her long red curls and plain dress.

       Maeve felt at a distinct disadvantage, being petite and obviously from a different social station. She resisted the urge to smooth her worn skirts with a calloused hand. They were fellow countrymen, after all, embarking on a journey together. There was no reason they couldn’t be friends.

       “This is all so exciting. I’ve never before been away from Castleville. Have you traveled aboard a ship before?”

       The woman’s chin inched up until she was literally looking down her nose at Maeve. She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and held it over her nose as though she smelled something odiferous. “Someone of your station should not be speaking to a lady, unless first addressed. You’ve obviously had extremely poor training. Where is your mistress?” She glanced around. “Shouldn’t you be seeing to her needs instead of bothering passengers?”

       Maeve drew a blank. No words formed, and humiliation burned its way up her neck to her cheeks. She’d never been dressed down in such a rude manner, but then she’d never mingled with anyone other than the people of her village—simple people just like the Murphys. The doctor had been kind and mannerly, so this woman’s rude behavior caught her off guard. “I have no mistress. My sisters and I are taking this voyage to Massachusetts together.”

       “Then it will serve you well to learn your place. Never address a lady unless spoken to. And I certainly have no intention of speaking to you again.” The fabric of the woman’s skirts swooshed as she gathered them and marched off as though she couldn’t get away fast enough.

       Maeve stared at the two elaborately braided buns on the back of her head. The deliberate shun pierced her previously buoyant mood.

       Maeve was from a poor family. The landowners and their families lived very different lives from hers, but she’d imagined that in a situation like this, the boundaries would be less severe. Apparently there was no escaping the attitudes of those with more money than humanity.

       She gave the ocean one last look and made her way across the deck until she found the line for food supplies and stood at the end. The man ahead of her was dressed in a black suit and stylish hat. He glanced at her, but since her previous lesson still stung, she kept her silence.

       Minutes later she was joined by a woman in a pretty white-on-tan silk dress with a flounced skirt and long puffed sleeves. Surreptitiously, she admired the woman’s pretty dark hair, and the way it gleamed in the sunlight and remained gathered within its confines, but quickly turned away.

       The woman spoke from behind her. “Aren’t you the young lady who helped that boy on the wharf this morning?”

       Surprised, Maeve turned to face her. “Yes, ma’am. The lad’s name is Sean McCorkle.”

       “That was very quick thinking, indeed. I dare say the lad might not have survived had you not gone to his aid when you did.”

       Pleased by the woman’s friendly manner, she warmed to her immediately. “Dr. Gallagher is a fine surgeon,” she replied. “Sean should be on his feet in no time.”

       “Have you chosen a spot on deck for your evening fire yet?” the woman asked.

       “Not yet.” A brisk gust of wind caught Maeve’s hair, and self-consciously, she quickly fashioned it into an unruly fat braid and tucked the end under her collar. She would find a bit of twine when she got back to the cabin.

       “I’m Aideen Nolan. I’m traveling with my aunt, Mrs. Kennedy.”

       “A pleasure to meet you, ’tis. I’m Maeve Murphy. My sisters and I are headed for Boston—well, a small village nearby called Faith Glen, actually.”

       The woman glanced at the nearby passengers. “I suggest we reserve our spaces next to one another. That way we’ll be assured that at least one of our nearby supper companions will be familiar. Unless, of course, you have other plans. I’m probably being presumptuous.”

       Maeve gave her a bright smile. “No, we hadn’t made plans yet. I’d very much like to find a place near yours. I’m confident my sisters will be glad for friendly company, as well. I’ve already had an encounter with a rather unpleasant woman who put me in my place for speaking to her.” Maeve glanced down at her clothing. “Thought I was someone’s maid, she did.”

       “I’d wager that was Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” Aideen said. She leaned near and spoke quietly. “The gentleman just ahead is her manservant. I know her from the ladies’ league in Galway.” She took a brochure from the deep pocket of her skirt and flipped it open. “This list of preparations and rules for the journey instructs us to select the areas where we will be cooking our meals for the next several weeks.” She glanced at Maeve. “Are you familiar with cooking procedures?”

       “Indeed I am,” Maeve replied with a sigh. “My sisters and I have been preparing meals since we were quite young.”

       “I shall be forever indebted if you will show me how.”

       Maeve had suspected from her dress and speech that Aideen was well-to-do, and her admission confirmed that thinking. “I’d be happy to tutor you, but you won’t be indebted. Communities help one another, and we’re going to be a community while we’re aboard. Like a village on the sea, wouldn’t you say?”

       “Yes, I definitely would. My aunt and I had rooms in my grandparents’ home until recently, and they always had a cook. Neither of us have ever attempted our own meals.”

       “My dear da passed on, only twelve days ago, God rest his soul. My mother’s been gone ten years now. We’ve had a lot of experience at creating meals from nearly nothing.”

       “Next!”

       Maeve turned to accept a burlap sack and a piece of chalk from a sailor whose face was coated with smoke and soot. “Daily allotment for three,” he said. “Find yer cook spot and mark it with yer name or yer mark. Respect yer neighbor’s planks and douse yer fire promptly at eight. Next!”

       Maeve accepted a surprisingly heavy bag and a square of chalk, while the man recited the same instructions to Aideen. Together the two women headed away from the line in search of the fireplaces.

       Along both sides of the foredeck, sections had been marked off with jagged stripes of black paint. For the most part, the areas were all the same size. The hands had obviously counted rows of deck planks in making the partitions. Each rectangular section held a curved brick cooking pit, partially open to one side, with three iron bars on the other to confine the coals.

       They stood planning their strategy, hoping to predict which spot would be most protected from wind and weather. Praying they had it right, Maeve and Aideen wrote their surnames with chalk in side-by-side plots.

       Setting down the bag, Maeve looked inside and found half a pound of rice, a small slab of bacon, flour and a tin of peaches. “My sister is a better cook than I am, but these are basic foods and there’s not a lot we can do with them. We should take them to our cabins now, and we’ll prepare them side by side this evening.”

       “I look forward to meeting your sisters.” Aideen gave her a grateful smile. “I hope we’ll become fast friends.”

       Maeve returned below deck, where she stored the food in their locker and gave Nora the key to wear around her neck. “I met a lovely young woman, and we saved our cooking areas beside each other. You will meet her and her aunt this evening. She was delightful, she was. From a rich family, I’m certain, but she struck up a conversation and wasn’t the least pretentious.

       “Wait until you see her hair, Nora. It’s dark and sleek. I didn’t see it without her bonnet, of course, but I could imagine it’s nothing like these wild ringlets.”

       “She sounds very nice, indeed.” Nora had finished making their beds in her efficient and tidy manner, with corners tucked and pillows fluffed. “On the doctor’s recommendation, I met with Mr. Mathers, and