Rescuing Mr. Gracey (19 page)

“His past affects my future.” Frustration, irritation, and a need to leave charged the air. “I will not protect my father’s nameless sin while risking Mary Smyth’s safety.”

Her hand stilled him. “If elected as an MP, you will have the power to influence the laws, assist all the natives, change their lives, stop the Twelfth march. Perhaps that would be a greater gift to the Smyths.” She straightened a disheveled wave off his forehead. “You need the earl to accomplish this.”

Caged, his hands tight behind his back, Alec shuddered. “I know I must end the acquaintance. Tonight seems as likely a night as any.”

~ 13 ~

“‘Begone, begone, you Papist dogs,

 
we’ll conquer or we’ll die.’”

“We’ve come to ask for a wee bit of floor,” Bridget O’Donnell, the eldest Smyth sibling, tearfully explained. “We’ve nowhere else to go.”

Her husband, Colin, bitterly added, “
An
Gorta Mór
struck us, sir. We’ve no income without the potato fields. The crop looked healthy, it did. Thought we were goin’ t’ be fine.” He looked up at his audience, defeat lining his tired face. “But one morn, I woke to the worst stench. The leaves looked healthy the night before, but when I dug under…” He swallowed hard. As if doubting what he’d witnessed, Colin shook his head. “The ground ’twas nothin’ but black mush.” His head hung; his eyes squeezed shut. “So, the owner, he tumbled our house. Says he’s gonna use the land for grazin’ his fat cattle. Says the law forces him to pay for our support, and he ain’t gonna feed worthless natives.”

Joseph embraced his daughter’s shoulders. “You must stay. Mary will put up next to the hearth. ’Twill be fine.”

Colin rubbed callused hands together. “Two days only. We know ya have little to share, and we hate to burden ya with our worries.” He shrugged. “We’ve no choice, and for that I am sorry.”

A light rap on the door startled the family. Mary rose in a rush. “Oh, ’tis Mr. Jordan come to escort me.” She darted a look at the door, then back into the room. “Should I send him away?”

Joseph waved an assurance. “
An Drochshaol
. We’ve sorrows near every day. Alec knows what we suffer.”

Mary unbolted the door. Though she tried to smile, Mr. Jordan’s worried brow indicated that she did not fool him.

“Come in. Come in, Alec,” Joseph said, waving his hand. “I’d like to introduce you to my daughter Bridget and her husband, Colin O’Donnell. And this is my son Patrick, newly arrived to accept a position at the Gracey mill. This is Alexander Jordan, the gentleman who helped prepare the field and plant the flax.”

Mr. Jordan ducked beneath the low doorframe. “I am happy to have your acquaintance, sir, madam,” he said with a nod. He stretched his hand toward Patrick.

Colin smiled. “If only I’d listened to Joseph before doin’ me own plantin’—
patate
miadh
…”

A mournful, silent moment absorbed everyone’s thoughts before Colin, head hung, repeated a story too often told in Ireland. “When the crop failed, I worked on the relief project, but they only give eight pennies for a full day, and Lord knows, I couldn’t feed the both of us on that. I’ve tried seeking work elsewhere, but there’s none to be had unless ya profess another faith. We sold everythin’ to the Gombeen man.”

“Ah, dearest Lord,” Maureen Smyth wailed. “Why cannot anyone see what is happening?”

Joseph sullenly shook his head. “As long as the fine mansions have oats and barley and beef from Ireland’s fields, the world will not look about.” As he lowered his voice, his gaze gently touched his family. “Truth be told, I don’t believe most Protestants even know we’re starving, except the Americans who send money for their Irish relatives. Someday the world will see the suffering and repent of its blindness.”

“Aye, but ’twill not be this day,” Patrick retorted angrily. “And ’twas not in time to save Colin and Bridget from losing their land.”

“Patrick. Do you think there is work in Belfast for Colin?” Mary asked.

Patrick shook his head. “As it was, most days, Michael and I walked away without any work. When we did manage to find a day job, being Catholic and all…’twas not fit for a man.” His blue eyes skipped over the room, then down again, avoiding further inquisition. He folded his arms against his thin chest as if to hold back a terrible memory. “If the mill job had not arrived when it did, I had plans to travel to America.”

“God forbid, by all that is holy. Every day,
Éirinn
bleeds her natives into deathtraps bound for America.” Maureen moaned. “I could never bear to have my own child on one of those floating coffins.”

Bridget unexpectedly broke into racking tears. “Oh, Mam. We’ve spent every coin for passage to America.” Tears rolled in great, desperate drops as she confessed their plan. “But the ship out of Newcastle looks too weak to sail to Scotland, much less to the Americas.” She choked, her undernourished frame rocking back and forth, her face white beneath unhealthy shadows. “And it smells like death…all moldy and seeping rot. Da, what’s to become of us? We’ve no relatives in America…and…”

Colin rushed to his distraught wife, his own face etched with pain. Flicking an apology toward the stranger, he said, “Please forgive us for upsetting your evening, sir.”

Bridget tried to bury her wails. “I’m fearful,
Mamai
. The ship stuffs five passengers into a cot made for one.” Her heaving chest struggled for air. “And the Lord is sending us a child.”

Shock echoed, shaking the room with silent tremors of fear.

Mr. Jordan shuffled uncomfortably as Maureen rose to comfort her daughter. “Hush, darlin’, the Lord knows what he’s doing. He’ll keep your family safe.”

“Bridget’s inclined to be more fearful, given the baby’s comin’.” Colin choked back his own tears “’Tis much to bear.”

“Perhaps you should stay with us,” Mary suggested. “We could use some of our planted flax for food instead of linen. The grain makes good bread, I hear.”

The silence in the room confirmed that Joseph’s small plot of land could not support the family through the winter should they use the crop for food.

“Speaking of bread,” Mr. Jordan interrupted, holding up a cloth satchel. “Would anyone share this loaf of bread and some warmed cider?”

A surprised gasp escaped Bridget and Colin, but the rest of the group smiled and nodded. Alec had been bringing these kinds of treats every day this week.

Joseph slapped his hand upon the warped table before rising. “I’m thinking we need an American wake to help us say farewell to our daughter and her husband while celebrating the hopeful journey in the new land. Sad news is deflated with a full stomach, I always say.”

“Aye,” Mr. Jordan added, “and sweetened with a jar of honey.”

“Ohhh. Me honey,” said little Joe. The home broke into laughter, lightening the mood immediately.

“I’ve a bit of ale to add to the feast,” said Joseph, reaching above the fireplace and pulling down the jug. “Let us resolve to make it a celebration of new life in America.”

“Da. I must be off to the deliveries,” Mary said hesitantly.

“What say, Alec?” Joseph countered with a wink. “Do we not have time to make deliveries a wee bit late this eve?”

His one-sided smile confirmed the notion. “Aye. Plenty of time.” Scooting over a vacant chair, Alec urged Mary to sit. Thick slabs of bread and healthy dollops of honey were shared first with Bridget and then Colin.

“Maureen, ya heard the man. Cuppas all around,” Joseph commanded. “The youngsters may drink of the cider provided by Alec while the rest may enjoy a wee dash of ale to soothe the sorrows.” Joseph waited until each member raised their cups. “May the frost of trouble brought on by the blight be melted by abundant hope in a land that knows how to kick the English in their pretentious rear end.”

All laughed before tilting their cups to drink.

Maureen offered, “To our first grandchild growing safely inside our eldest daughter. May the good Lord keep the babe strong, healthy, and beautiful, and may it thrive in America, where religious freedom is protected.” Again, they all tilted their cups.

Drink and food warmed their cold bellies, and soon all frowns dissolved.

“May you someday return to Ireland, where your heart and family will forever be,” Agnes said.

“Me miss Bridget,” said little Joe.

“I’ll drink to that,” said Bridget. Once again, they tilted the drink and silently ate the bread.

“May you have many Protestant servants waiting on ya hand and foot,” said Patrick. Everyone laughed heartily, and the cups were emptied.

Mary quietly added, “Don’t let the child forget her kin across the ocean. I fear that I shall be a very lonely aunt who will daily wish to hug her wee niece.”

Seven-year-old Brian offered, “Mary, the babe, ’tis a boy. I’m sure of it. And someday, he’ll grow up to be the president of the United States.”

The room laughed again. Ruffling Brian’s hair, Joseph said, “Well, an Irish Catholic president would be a miracle indeed, Brian. Yet, in America, all things seem possible, don’t they?”

Emerging from the quiet, Mr. Jordan cleared his throat. “Mr. O’Donnell, I wonder if you may benefit from an idea.”

“Call me Colin, please.”

“Colin, I know a captain who sails a clean and respectable ship to Canada. He owes me a favor for a past debt. If you would allow, I could approach him about passage for you and your wife.”

Colin stiffened, his green eyes narrowing. “I canno’ pay ya, sir. We’ve spent our last coin. Nor can I accept such a hefty act of charity.”

Mr. Jordan shrugged. “The debt to me is nothing. The captain sails one of his ships every fortnight during the summer months because he trades heavily in the Americas. Usually, he does not take passengers, and accommodations will be small but clean.”

Bridget’s bright blue eyes enlarged, but Colin shook his head.

Mr. Jordan glanced from one to the other before adding, “I have every confidence the captain will agree to carry you to Canada. From there, you may work your way to America if you wish.”

“I’m most firm on me refusal, sir. We still have our pride, even if all else has been stolen from us.”

Maureen moaned. “Colin. Why not? Think of Bridget. Her being with child and locked in with rats and filth and hardly any food to keep a poor soul alive.” Her voice carried a higher, strained pitch. “Do you know how many die each day trying to make it over to America?”

“Last month, the captain didn’t bother docking,” Patrick added. “His boat had not supplied properly, and so many died, he didn’t want to be caught at the dock. He threw the poor beggars overboard and let them swim ashore. Most died trying to get to land, being too sick and weak.”

“I know all this,” Colin shouted as he stood. Hands clenched, he lowered his head. “’Tis a fortune I canno’ repay.”

“Sir, I assure you there would be no debt to me, nor will I suffer from the exchange.”

Joseph leaned close, his hands braced upon his thighs. “Colin.” He paused until his son-in-law met his eyes. “We Irish are so often kicked and trampled upon, we naturally grow a tough prideful attitude. ’Tis self-defense. However, there are times when we must shove it aside as foolishness. This is one of those times, Colin.” Joseph allowed the statement to penetrate through layers of male pride. “Mr. Jordan’s offer may be a gift from the good Lord and an answer to fervent prayers and should not be so easily refused.”

Mary bit her lip, praying to the Holy Mother to convince Colin. Though she, like everyone there, knew Alec’s offer did not come without a financial cost. She didn’t care. All present held their breath.

Bridget’s gentle hand touched her husband’s arm with silent encouragement. Colin closed his eyes and blew out air. “I know enough that the captain will charge something for us… Food alone will cost the man.”

“I’m sure we could work out labor in exchange for that…”

Colin sighed as one who was rescued from drowning. “Mark me words. I’ll find a way to repay the kindness.” His trembling hand stretched toward Mr. Jordan. “Me wife, child, and I will be eternally grateful, sir.”

Maureen’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes misted. “You’re sent from heaven, Mr. Jordan. How can we ever repay you for helping my Joseph and assuring Mary’s safety? Now this kindness for Bridget has made my mother’s heart overflow with gratitude.”

Mr. Jordan bowed, briefly touching his hat. “The pleasure of knowing your family has been all mine.”

Mary’s chest swelled as she raised her head to meet the eyes of her escort, giving him her brightest smile. Clearing his throat, he shuffled, then nodded a farewell to the room. “We best be off, then, Miss Smyth,” he said, holding out her frayed cloak.

“Have a lovely walk, Mary,” Bridget teasingly called.

Mr. Jordan extended his arm, as was his habit. She took it with the confidence of one who knew it belonged there. Though her cheeks flushed, she defied her own embarrassment and winked to her sister. “I plan to, Mrs. O’Donnell.”

Though they had left the hut in companionable silence, Mr. Jordan’s continued silence began to edge into Mary’s comfort. Had her family’s never-ending problems finally deteriorated his interest? “You seem to be preoccupied this night. Is anything wrong, Mr. Jordan?”

“If it does not offend, do you think we may use our Christian names? It would please me to have you call me Alec.”