Chapter 12
“Third-class passengers, line up here,” an older man in a uniform bawled. “Produce your documents as I come to you and be quick about it.”
Kathleen stood on the quay, huddled amidst hundreds of other people. It was drizzling now, and the crowd pressed closely together as they slowly inched forward on the wooden pier.
“First-class passengers may board immediately,” the official called, cupping his hands to be heard over the din of the crowd.
Groups of wealthy-looking passengers shielded by parasols and dressed in smart clothing strolled past them, followed by a cart loaded with piles of suitcases and trunks.
The first-class passengers strolled down a wide iron plank that led onto the Cedric’s top deck, but the cart moved farther down the pier, where the luggage was being unloaded onto a different gangplank.
The early-morning air was chilly and smelled of coal and salt water, as well as the unwashed bodies of all the third-class passengers pressed close together.
An hour passed, and then another. Kathleen’s legs and back ached and her stomach growled.
She remembered the sandwich that Mr. Donovan had given her, and she retrieved it from her valise.
She had no idea if or when food would be served once she boarded the ship, so she nibbled cautiously at the crust of the thick brown bread.
A tired-looking girl, reed thin, with hair scraped into a severe bun but who looked to be the same age as Kathleen, stood close by, with a redheaded little girl probably not older than four or five, who clung to the woman’s skirt.
The child had been sucking her thumb, but now her huge brown eyes were fixed on Kathleen.
“Mum,” she whimpered, tugging at the woman’s hem. “Mum, I want some bread too, please.”
The woman looked at Kathleen, who flashed an apologetic smile.
“No, Dolly,” she said softly. “There’s no bread right now. Maybe later, after we get on the boat.”
Hundreds of people were queued up around them. It could be hours before it was their turn to board. The chatter from the waiting passengers was ear-rattling. Young children darted in and out of the line and babies wailed in their mothers’ arms.
Kathleen tore off a portion of her sandwich. “Here now,” she said, stooping down to hand it to the child. “I’ve enough to share.”
The woman’s face pinked. “You don’t have to…”
“I want to,” Kathleen said, tearing off another bit and offering it to the woman. “It could be a long time yet.”
The woman shrugged and took her portion. “I’m grateful to you, Miss…?”
“Kathleen Connor.”
“Well, I’m Maggy Perkins, and this is my Dorothy, but we call her Dolly.”
The girl was still happily chewing on the bit of bread, but smiled shyly, then buried her face in the folds of her mother’s skirt.
“Have you come from far away?” Kathleen asked.
“Not so far,” Maggy said. “My uncle brought us. And now Dolly and me, we’re going to America. My husband’s there already. What about yourself?”
“The same,” Kathleen said, not wanting to share that her only living relative was her nine-year-old brother.
“You have family in America, do you?” Maggy inquired.
“Not that I know of.” Kathleen wrapped the napkin around the remains of her sandwich and stowed it back in her valise.
The young mother looked surprised. “What’ll you do when you get there? Where will you stay?”
“I’ve the name of a priest who knows I’m coming, and he’s to help me find a place to live and a job.”
“That’s awfully bold of ya,” Maggy said admiringly. “I don’t know that I’d be brave enough to make this trip without knowing what’s waiting for me over there.”
“There’s nothing for me here, now,” she said with a shrug.
Suddenly, the line was moving, snaking forward.
“All right now,” the official hollered. “Tickets and papers ready, and be quick about it.” He thumped the head of a wizened old man near the head of the line. “Move along now, granddad, we leave in an hour.”
Kathleen handed over her papers, and Maggy Perkins did the same. They were herded across the gangplank and onto the deck of the ship, which was already belching clouds of black from the two huge smokestacks.
When they were assembled on the deck, another official took over, sorting the crowd into groups.
“You single gents,” a short fat man with a red face called, “down the stairs, and to the bow. Families with kids, your berths are midship. Down the stairs now, and someone will sort you out. Single ladies, wait up here.”
Maggy Perkins turned a stricken face to Kathleen. “Do you think they’d let me stay with you? All those kids, crying and carrying on … Dolly. She’s sensitive, gets upset.”
“Stay by me,” Kathleen said. “She’s such a quiet little one, maybe they’ll make an exception for you.”
When the only ones left on the deck were the single women, the red-faced man began shooing them down the stairway. “Not you,” he said, grabbing Maggy roughly by the shoulder. “You and the kid belong with the families.”
“Please,” Kathleen said, placing herself between the official and the young mother. “This lady is traveling alone, without any other family. Her little girl is no bother at all. Can’t they stay in the women’s group?”
The man stared up at her, his stiff gray mustache quivering. “Who’re you?”
“Her friend,” Kathleen said quickly. “Please? I’ll be responsible for helping look after her.”
He considered. “No matter to me. But if that kid starts whining and raising a ruckus and them other women complain, she’ll have to move.”
“She won’t,” Maggy assured him. “She’ll be quiet as a mouse, won’t you, Dolly?”
The little girl nodded solemnly.
“Go on, then,” the man told them, with a brusque wave of his hand. “Your berths only have two bunks, so you’ll have to share yours with the kid. Tell Miss Cawthon, she’s the matron, that Farrell, that’s me, said it’s all right.”
Miss Cawthon was a physically imposing woman with jet-black hair gathered into a tight bun. She wore a shapeless navy-blue dress with a cap perched low on her forehead. She pursed her lips as she considered Kathleen, Maggy, and Dolly.
“Last berth on the left,” she said finally, pointing down the long, low-ceilinged hallway. “We sail in an hour. Loo is on the right. Tidy up after yourself, because I’m not a maid. All meals in the dining hall. Dinner is at six. Sharp.”
Maggy gathered her little girl into her arms and hurried down the hallway, followed by Kathleen.
Their room, or berth, was tiny and cramped. A porcelain sink separated the two wall-mounted bunks. Each was made up with a small, flat pillow and a coarse woolen blanket. There were hooks on the wall for their clothing, and a single narrow shelf mounted near the ceiling.
The women stowed their belongings beneath the bunks. “I’ll just take Dolly down to the loo now,” Maggy said.
The moment the door closed behind her new roommate, Kathleen pulled out her valise and checked the contents.
Lady Delia had packed it tightly with Kathleen’s cotton nightdress, woolen stockings, underclothes, and a plain shirtwaist and dark skirt.
There was a day dress, as well, and a hairbrush, bar of soap, and her toothbrush.
She took out the nightdress and hung it on a hook, then placed the toiletries on her side of the sink.
She found the jewelry and pound notes tucked beneath the case’s leather bottom. All seemed as it should be.
She sighed and stretched out on the thin mattress, closing her eyes.
Just for a moment, she thought. Not long after, she felt the ship’s engines shudder to life.
They were moving. Heading across the ocean, leaving all that was known, all that was familiar.
Her stomach cramped, hard. She turned and faced the wall, her legs pulled up to her chest, and dozed off.
Someone was shaking her, pulling at her arms. “Miss, miss. Wake up. It’s supper, and we won’t get no food if we’re late.”
She tried to sit up, but the boat rocked violently and her stomach lurched. Kathleen turned and vomited into the sink, once, and then once again.
“Seasick,” Maggy said. “Poor dear.” She wetted the small linen towel folded near the washbasin and gently dabbed at her new friend’s face.
“I’ve never…” Kathleen turned and hurled again. She groaned and leaned her head against the cabin wall. “Been seasick before. But then, I’ve never been on anything larger than a rowboat on a pond before.”
“Well, I have,” Maggy said. “My brother was a fisherman and sometimes I’d go with him on the boat to help out. I’d get awful sick. But my mum would fix me ginger tea.”
Maggy sat on her own bunk and rummaged through her suitcase, finally bringing out a small glass vial. “Lucky you. Mum made me bring some of her ginger syrup. There’s a kettle on in the dining hall. If you’ll look after Dolly, I’ll pop over and brew you a cup.”
“No. Don’t worry about me,” Kathleen urged. “You heard what the matron said about supper time. You two go and eat. I’ll be all right.”
“Mum? I’m hungry,” Dolly whispered.
“And I’m not.” Kathleen managed a weak smile. “Go. And after you eat, if you bring me a cup of tea, I wouldn’t say no.”