his cradle. The golden heads of Hallie and Georgie and the clever child-play of the twins. And it was her father’s sweet tenor voice she heard singing a gay tune while he stropped his razor before shaving.
A tear of loneliness coursed down the side of her nose, and she quickly brushed it away. What’s done is done, she told herself firmly. There’s nothing to do but get on with it. God willing, she’d be able to send money home to Peggy and Thomas very soon. Cousin Owen, they said, was an accomplished man who would help her find work and look after her.
Paddy squirmed, whimpered in his sleep and then quieted. Callie smoothed his hair tenderly. His head had cooled to the touch and a fine beading of perspiration dampened his hairline. “Dear God,” she murmured, raising her clear, bright gaze heavenward, “help this little child.” Unaware, she was mimicking Peggy’s intonations whenever one of the children was sick. “And help me too, Lord, I’m so scared. I suppose You think this is just punishment for what I did, but You should have known I was only trying to help the little ones.” The heaviness in her chest blossomed to a throbbing ache. She was angry, angry at the injustice of it all. “And don’t think you’re foolin’ me, Lord. This is hell. Liverpool is the real hell.”
Strong white teeth bit into her full lower lip. The salty taste of her own blood did nothing to appease her fright or her anger.
Early twilight gave way to darkness and still her two charges slept. There was no sign of Patrick Thatcher and Callie knew a thrill of apprehension. She’d been out on the streets and knew the dangers. What if someone had slit his gullet and stolen his wallet? Worse, what if Mr. Thatcher decided he didn’t want the responsibility of a wife and child? It would be so easy for a man to board ship and sail away. It had been done, she knew from gossip she’d overheard outside the common house where posters were hung inquiring as to the whereabouts of this man or that.
Not six yards away a card game started up with five men. Callie tried not to watch. Just this very morning she had witnessed a card game, and when money ran out, so did tempers. There were accusations of cheating, and all that remained of that particular game was a sticky pool of blood. It was the winner’s blood that soaked the planks on the wharf. It was obvious to Callie that there were no winners in Liverpool. That was where she had come by the knife. It had been lying off to the side, still stained with the dead man’s blood, unnoticed by the gaping crowd. It had been so easy to pick it up and hide it under her shawl. She hadn’t known why she had wanted it except that she felt so defenseless in this lawless city. Now she was glad she’d taken it and tied it to her leg. It had given her authority when those two louts had tried to steal the Thatcher’s baggage.
The sounds from the card game awakened Beth, and she struggled to a sitting position. Her eyes looked about wildly and calmed immediately when she saw her son nestled in Callie’s arms. The sweetest of smiles touched her lips, and her eyes regarded her new little friend warmly. “Paddy slipped off just after you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t sleep most of the night.”
Smoothing her thick, dark hair and pushing it into a coil at the back of her head, Beth asked anxiously, “Did my husband return?”
Callie shook her head. “There’s so much to see, and everywhere you go the crowds are so thick. And if Mr. Thatcher has gone to the ticket broker’s, there’s no telling how long it will be. People are in line there from early morning through most of the day. Mr. Thatcher wouldn’t have gotten there till late in the afternoon, would he?”
“No. He’d only just left before you came to help us.” Beth’s tired eyes thanked Callie. She knew there was nothing she could do but wait. “I’ll take Paddy now. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Callie lifted the child and placed him in his mother’s arms. “If I’m to sleep, perhaps you’d better keep this handy,” she whispered. She reached for the knife strapped to her leg. Beth’s eyes widened in shock. Now she knew why the two ruffians hadn’t pursued the baggage.
Reaching for the knife with trembling fingers, Beth asked, “You don’t think anything has happened to Patrick, do you?”
Callie forced conviction into her voice. “Of course not. He’ll be here soon, you’ll see.”
That she should rely so completely on this young girl’s opinion was a puzzlement to Beth. Yet Callie seemed so able to take care of herself. She was younger than Beth by at least five years, yet she seemed to know so much and seemed so in control.
“You’re right, Callie,” Beth said with forced brightness. “I’m just being silly. It’s just that Patrick means the world to me. I’m certain nothing’s happened to him. Pat is so smart and so strong.”
Callie wondered if the word “selfish” also applied to Mr. Thatcher. It was unforgivable of him to be gone so long. What if she hadn’t been there to help Beth and Paddy? What then?
“He’s so good, Callie,” Beth said with undisguised adoration. “I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’ll like you, Callie, and he’ll be forever grateful for what you’ve done for us.”
This talk about the absent Mr. Thatcher was making Callie uneasy. Beth was so much like Peggy extolling Thomas’s virtues. Attempting to change the subject, she asked, “What ship are you sailing?”
“The Yorkshire. Patrick says she’s the fastest ship in the Black Ball fleet, and her commander, Captain Bailey, has a reputation for kindness and attention to his passengers. He’s taken the Yorkshire across the Atlantic in sixteen days!”
“I’m sailing the Yorkshire, too,” Callie told her. It would be good to know someone aboard ship. The knowledge calmed some of her fears, and she smiled at Beth with genuine cheer.
“You’re frightened too, aren’t you.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Mum says we’re always frightened of the unknown,” Callie soothed.
“Patrick says we should look upon this as an adventure.” Beth said this with more confidence than she felt. “Going to America is his dream. For years, even before we were married, he’s been talking about it. Now, with the way things are in Ireland, the choice was made for us. It’s all he ever talks about, a new life, a new beginning for us. He’ll make it happen, Callie, I know he will. It wasn’t his fault that we lost the farm. You can’t stop Patrick Thatcher. If he says he’s going to do something, he does it.”
It seemed to Callie that the only time life sparkled in Beth’s eyes was when she spoke of her husband. She prayed she wasn’t a fool about the man as so many women were, her mum included. “He sounds wonderful. A loving man,” Callie said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as skeptical as she felt.
Patrick Willard Thatcher arrived with the dawn, his eyes shining like newly minted copper. The relief on Beth’s face wounded him. He shouldn’t have stayed away so long, but there had been so much to see, so many people to talk to. His glance went to Paddy sleeping in the arms of a strange young girl. Beth nodded to show that it was all right.
Sitting down beside his wife, Patrick spoke in a rush, trying to tell her everything he’d seen and done since leaving her. “We’ve our tickets confirmed for the Yorkshire,” he told her. “That took half the night; the lines at the broker’s office were that long. Beth, I tell you, Liverpool is beyond imagining. It’s a carnival; something is happening every minute. Aren’t you excited, Beth?”
Callie woke at the sound of his voice. Just like a man to ask such a stupid question. Did he really expect her to dance a jig after sleeping on the floor all night? Not to mention worrying about Paddy’s health and being with child to boot! Callie had no illusions about a woman’s role in life, nor about her worries or her heartbreaks. Her lessons were learned early at Peggy’s knee.
Callie sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Quickly Beth introduced Patrick, relating to him the help Callie had been to her. Patrick gravely thanked her and upon learning that Callie was also to sail on the Yorkshire, quickly offered his protection.
Paddy