Into the Storm by Avi Page A

asked Mr. Shagwell.
    â€œNo, sir. But he impressed me with a sense of its urgency. And, sir” — the captain offered up a shrewd, knowing look —” the letter was addressed to Sir Albert Kirkle.”
    The doctor looked around. “Did you say Kirkle , sir?”
    â€œI did.”
    â€œDo you know the name?” the doctor asked Mr. Shagwell.
    The American shook his head.
    â€œOne of the most important names in Her Majesty’s government.”
    Mr. Shagwell could not help but smile. “What you have said pleases me, Doctor,” he allowed. “It confirms my understanding of the man. Very much so. Gentlemen, I will make the best use of this information. I thank you.”

 
    H aving slept fully clothed, Maura groped in the darkness for her shawl only to discover that Bridy had managed to wrap it around herself. She gave a brief tug, then decided to leave it with the child.
    Maura tried to see through the cold, dank gloom of the steerage deck. Her feelings of claustrophobia had grown greater. Everyone reeked with the sour stench of sweat, filth, and tobacco. Maura sighed. Hadn’t someone said there were at least thirty more days to sail?
    As quietly as possible, she lowered herself to the floor. The wood planking chilled her bare feet. When she stepped into the central aisle — clotted with people’s possessions — she sensed other people stirring. Sure enough, women and girls were making their way to the steps that would take them to the main deck and then the forecastle deck above it. Since the privies afforded so little privacy, the women preferred to use them at night or just before dawn. They lined up silently, avoiding one another’s eyes.
    On deck, the ship’s bell rang twice, sounding hollow and bleak. Lanterns, one on the forecastle deck, another at the stern by the wheelhouse, provided the only dull light. The two small safety lamps on the ratlines on either side of the ship were useless. Here and there icicles hung from the lines. The only hint of the day to come was a thin yellow streak of sky in the east.
    Maura looked across the dark ceaseless waves. Though they had already met one ship — and, apparently, even exchanged letters — the empty vastness of the sea frightened her. She often worried if they would truly get to land again.
    Aloft, she saw the shadowy forms of sailors going about their work amid spars and sails, chipping away the ice. They seemed to Maura like ghosts among the clouds. Others were stoking up the steerage fireplace on the forecastle.
    Maura craned her neck to see if the privy line was moving, only then realizing that the woman just before her was Bridy’s mother. Not since she had placed her daughter on their platform had the two spoken.
    Feeling the need to talk, Maura reached out and touched the woman’s shoulder. “Morning to you, mother,” she whispered.
    The woman made a half turn, saw who it was, and nodded. “And to you,” she said curtly.
    Refusing to be put off, Maura said, “I need to be saying your daughter’s no trouble at all. She’s as sweet a soul as ever was.”
    â€œYou’re kind to say so,” the woman replied, softening. “And hasn’t she been telling me you share provisions with her. May the blessing of the Holy Spirit be upon your kindness.” The woman crossed herself.
    â€œKindness is never extra,” Maura replied.
    â€œIt’s the saintly way,” the woman agreed. Then, after a moment, she said, “Perhaps, mistress, it’s an apology I should be making to you. I’d no intention of being harsh when we first set her in your berth. Begorra, it was all I could do to keep my wits. It’s not just the girl, but her brothers too. And my husband, poor soul, is ailing.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear it,” Maura said.
    â€œOur name is Faherty, you know,” the woman said. “From Blarney, not all that far