Peace has been restored twixt the warring Delaneys. Somewhat restored. Mairead is allowed to stay with me in my cabin, but on deck she is forbidden to go forward of the aftermast and all of the men, save Reilly, Liam, and Higgins, are not to go aft of that same mast, else they will face the wrath of Liam Delaney.
I fit her out with one of my skirts, as Liam will not allow her to be seen on deck in the trousers she wore when she snuck aboard in the middle of the night and dived down into the hatch, where she had stashed a bag I had seen her bringing aboard on that day, a bag I stupidly thought was laundry for Padraic. That bag had held food and a blanket and other things for her to get by on till she was ready to show herself. I found out later that she had gotten on board that night by tossing a can full of pebbles on the fo’c’sle, and when it rattled around up there, the man on watch went forward to investigate. While he was checking for the source of the noise, she scampered up the gangway and down the hatch to hide. I took down that watchman’s name to make sure he would never again be on watch in a tight situation.
Liam fully intends to lock her up and throw away the key when he gets her home. For her part, Mairead remains stubborn and holds to her promise to run away again first chance she gets, but we’ll see. I’ll work on Liam a bit, maybe point up Ian McConnaughey’s more admirable qualities.
Both Liam’s plans for her and her own ideas as to her future depend, of course, on Moira not murdering her outright on our return. Funny thing to remember now, but on the morning we left Waterford, I was on the fantail and happened to look back at the dock we had just left. There stood a figure that I knew to be that of a woman, frantically waving a handkerchief over her head. I couldn’t make out who it was but figured it was just some tearful sweetheart waving a last good-bye to her brave sailor boy, out to make his fortune. But it wasn’t, I know now—it was Moira, trying desperately to signal that her daughter had fled the coop and was, without doubt, on board with us.
The weather turns warm as we make our way south, and Mairead and I loll about in the maintop and talk and sing and dance and play our whistles, and I’m really glad she came along, if only for this one trip. It ain’t very military, the way we act, but what the hell, I am the owner of this bark, and with that comes some privileges.
The maintop is a small platform that goes all the way around the mainmast, the mast that Mairead is supposed to stay behind, about thirty feet up. I have her go up the ratlines and through the lubber’s hole—no sense teaching her the real sailor way since it involves being upside down for a moment, and she being with a skirt on, it would present quite a show to any who might be looking on, and many are looking on, make no mistake about it.
At times, when we have been up in the top, I have seen her wave off to someone up forward and it is not too hard for me to figure out that Ian McConnaughey is up in the foretop waving back at her—out of Liam’s sight, of course. Actually, she does just that, right now, smiling and dimpling up and dancing on her tiptoes. I forgive her, for I know that one does not hear a proclamation of love from a proud young man delivered in front of his friends and all, like Ian did on that day, without it having some effect on a young girl’s heart.
“Jacky,” she says, still looking off at the foretop, while I, like any cat or kitten, lie down below warmed by a patch of sun. “If that part of this maintop is in front of the mast, then would not Ian be allowed to stand right there?” She points at the decking in front of her.
“Maybe,” I say, shading my eyes and turning my head to watch her, “by the very letter of the agreement, but I wouldn’t push it if I were you. Let your father get used to things as they are. After all, it’s only been three days since you were found out. If he catches you and Ian spooning up here, there’ll be hell to pay, count on it.”
She takes a deep breath and puffs out her chest, puts on a pout, and shakes her hair, all wavy and red so that it flows out and floats on the wind. Poor Ian, I think to myself, you are one done-for lad.
“. . . and besides,” I say, a little stuffily, as owner of the Emerald, “Ian has work to do and playing ‘Chase the Colleen Through the Rigging’ ain’t part of it.”
After Higgins is done with dinner and fussing over us, we spend our evenings doing the same singing and talking and fiddle playing and such, but also I read to her and we work on her studies. I have assigned her some work—I cannot help myself—whenever I discover someone in need of schooling, out come the ABC’s and let’s get down to it. It seems I have a need to do this. It also seems that Mairead has had some schooling and can read enough to get along. I am impressed and I tell her so.
When I ask how she came by this learning, she being out on the farm and all, she says, “Well, they had what was called Hedge Schools and what they’d do is set up benches in a field next to high hedges so we could hide and classes would be held and we’d take what we could from the lessons and go back home and study and show the little ones. On slates, or roofin’ tiles, like.”
“But why ever did you have to hide?” I ask.
“Why, it’s against British law to educate Irish kids, surely you know that?” she says, amazed at my stupidity.
“I cannot believe what you say,” I say, firmly convinced that my country would not do such a horrid thing. “England would not do that.” I had heard from Amy back in the States that it was forbidden to teach slave children to read, but here?
“Believe what you want to believe, Miss,” she says, puffing up, “but I was the one there with me butt on the bench and Padraic was the one standing at the back peerin’ over the top of the hedge, him both listenin’ to the teacher and keepin’ an eye peeled for the magistrates. The teacher was dressed as a hog butcher in case anyone should come upon us. Bloodstained apron and all. And him a university man, too. That was the way of it, Miss Faber.”
I am astounded.
Later, when I am in my nightgown and Mairead is wearing an extra one of mine, we climb up on my bed, turn off the lamp, rutch around, and settle in.
After a while, she sniffs and says, “I ain’t goin’ back to that, I ain’t.”
“Even if it’s with Ian?” I ask back quietly in the dark.
She doesn’t answer for a long time. I can hear only her breathing. “On a farm? I don’t know,” she finally says.
I find her shoulder and pat it. “Don’t worry. Just go to sleep. I’m working out a plan and maybe you can be a part of it. We’ll see. Sleep now. I’ve got the Four-to-Eight watch, you know. They’ll wake me by calling down through that tube there,” I say, tapping the shiny brass tube that snakes down over me, “but you can sleep through it. So good night, now.”
I am working out a plan. I just need some more money before I can act on it.