the ship, after she’d left the safety of her homeland.
All his careful planning, all the research he’d done to avoid making another mistake, and for what? Another woman was dead because of him.
* * *
Bridget watched a complicated array of emotions cross Will’s face. He was no longer stoic, or unreadable. He was distressed. Visibly so.
That terrible look of despair, that awful pain in his eyes. She’d done that to him.
Her heart constricted with sympathy. It wasn’t in her to watch such suffering. She desperately wanted to erase the worry from his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Will, I mean…Mr. Black,” she corrected, knowing it was best to keep their relationship formal, at least at the moment. “I’m very sorry.”
He blinked down at her, his eyes unfocused, as though he’d forgotten she was still standing beside him. In the next instant his troubled gaze darted up the gangplank, then across the wharf, then back to her again. “Are you certain the woman was Bridget Collins?”
“I… No.” A moment of doubt whipped through her. “No, I’m not certain at all. From what I understand there was some initial confusion over her identity. She looked enough like me for the ship’s doctor to believe it was me that had died.” Oh, please, Lord, please, let me be wrong. For this man’s sake.
“Then you will excuse me?” He looked over his shoulder, heaved a hard pull of air into his lungs. “I must check with the ship’s officials to determine if this unfortunate news is, indeed, true.”
Of course he would want to verify the information she’d just given him. “I think that’s a very wise idea. I could very well be incorrect.” Oh, please, please.
“Let us hope that you are.” His words were abrupt, but not unkind. More distracted than anything else.
He gave her a brief, formal bow. “Good day, Bridget.”
“Good day. And—” she placed her fingertips on his arm once again “—Godspeed in your search for your bride.”
He stared at her hand for a breathless moment. Then, shrugging away from her, he left without another word.
Not at all offended by his abrupt departure—well, only a little—Bridget watched him work his way toward a small, official-looking building that was most likely the shipping office. Even in his distress, William Black paced through the wharf with those same fluid, masculine, ground-eating strides she’d noticed earlier.
Her heart heavy with the distress of bearing such devastating news, Bridget continued staring after him until he disappeared inside the building. She might have sighed a few times in the process.
What would Will do if his bride was the young woman who had died aboard ship? Why did it matter so much to her? Why did she sense there was more to his story, something tragic that made this news so much worse?
Caught up in her troubling thoughts, she didn’t notice Nora’s approach until a firm hand gripped her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her boots. Spinning around, she glared at her sister. “Nora! You scared me half to death.”
“So sorry.” She didn’t look remorseful in the least. “But I did call your name three times. You didn’t answer.”
“My mind was otherwise engaged.”
“I figured as much.” She hitched her chin in the direction of the building. “How did he take the news?”
“Not well.” Bridget sighed. “Not well at all.”
“I don’t suppose anyone in his situation would.”
“No.” She lowered her gaze and noted that Nora’s arms were empty. Completely empty. Terrible possibilities filled her mind. A wordless cry lodged in her throat. “Where’s Grace?”
“Maeve has her. The two of them are sitting with our luggage while Flynn is over by the street hiring a carriage. Come, Bridget.” Nora tugged on her arm. “Our new home is waiting.”
Their new home. She’d almost forgotten why she was here in America. And no wonder. Her excitement had been dampened by the unfortunate incident with William Black. Or rather, Will, as he’d first introduced himself and then later asked her to call him. Proper or not, she would forever think of him as Will.
Again she wondered why he had sent all the way to Ireland for a bride. What was the rest of his story?
And what will he do if his bride is dead?
Bridget wished there was more she could do to help the man, and perhaps there was. An idea began formulating in her brain, one that might not bring Will the good news he hoped for but at least would give him accurate information. As her dear mother used to say, it was always easier to plan once you had all the facts.
With that in mind, Bridget hurried ahead of Nora, eyeing the pile of luggage where her sister Maeve waited with baby Grace cradled in her arms.
Was someone out there missing the tiny infant? If that was so, why hadn’t she, or perhaps even he, come forward to claim the child? What terrible event had occurred to warrant abandoning a newborn in the ship’s galley?
They may never find a definitive answer.
And Bridget had another pressing matter to address, one she hoped would bring Will certainty if not relief.
As she stopped in front of her youngest sister, Bridget couldn’t help but notice how good Maeve and Grace looked together, how natural.
Maeve had left her hair falling in loose curls down her back. Like Bridget and Nora, she wore her new dress, as well. Hers was a French plaid, the orange, yellow and green setting off her coloring. Her rich strawberry-blond hair had turned a soft ginger in the sunlight and she looked as pretty as a picture as she smiled down at the baby.
Maeve would make a wonderful mother, evidenced by the careful attention she showed Grace now. Bridget once again experienced a pang of regret. Had Daniel wanted to marry her, had he followed through with his promise, she could be holding her own baby right now.
Bridget didn’t take the time to linger over the thought. “Maeve, where’s your husband?” Impatience made her voice just short of shrill. “I need Flynn at once.”
“What’s the rush?” Maeve’s eyes widened. “Has someone been hurt?”
“No, nothing like that.” Bridget shook her head decisively. “But I need Flynn’s help right now.”
“Whatever for?” Maeve’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
Holding on to the last thread of her patience, Bridget quickly explained Will’s situation. Nora added what she thought she remembered about the girl who’d fallen from the forecastle. Between the two of them they laid out the sequence of events as best they could recall.
When they finished Maeve’s gaze turned thoughtful, then sad. From that look alone, Bridget knew her sister remembered the day the girl in question had died. Maeve never forgot a patient, nor did Flynn for that matter, but this one’s death was especially heartbreaking.
“Do you remember her?” Bridget asked, trying her best to keep her voice steady. “Did you ever discover her name? Was she Bridget? Bridget Collins?”
Maeve’s eyes misted slightly, a small switch in mood, easily missed if Bridget hadn’t been looking. “As the ship’s doctor, and custodian of all the medical records on board, Flynn would be the one to ask.”
Bridget wasn’t fooled by her sister’s evasive words. Maeve knew the answer, but wasn’t saying anything more.
“Please, Maeve. It’s important. Will has been searching for his bride all morning, wondering why he can’t find her. Wouldn’t it be best for him to know the truth, whatever it is, even if it’s bad news?”