Chapter 13

The Tempest

It took Clare three weeks before she mustered the courage to peer into a looking glass.

The silver-handled mirror was among the few supplies Pierce and Seamus had scavenged on her behalf from the other passengers. These included another dress, which nearly fit and only sported two patches, a brush with stubby bristles, and a yellowed handkerchief, which she used for all of her cleaning.

She was delighted the boys had taken her books out of her pack on the pig farmer’s wagon—they were spared the thievery. They were a delight to have on the ship to whittle away the dreary hours below, even though it strained her eyes to read in the scarcity of light in the hull.

Most cherished was the journal and pen Seamus had bought off another passenger for her. She wrote of her experiences aboard the ship, described in lengthy detail passengers she found interesting, and crafted love letters to an imaginary man she hoped someday to meet.

But the possession she focused on now was the mirror gripped in her hand. Clare chastised herself for being as worried as she was about her appearance. It’s just hair.

At the other end of the hull, the steerage congregants prattled about the impending storm. Hours ago, the tawdry decks had been cleared of all but crew, and the weary passengers were told to prepare for an extended period below hatch. Several were retching from the growing lurches of the Sea Mist and sprawled themselves in their straw mattresses, trying to take refuge in sleep.

A few, including Seamus and Pierce and some of their newfound kindred spirits, distracted themselves by playing cards or casting lots.

Some of the children challenged each other to remain standing on one leg as the great hull heaved in the waters, their resulting merriment grating against the overriding gloom.

Closing her eyes, Clare removed Seamus’s wool cap, which had rarely left her head even as she slept. She positioned the mirror before her face and, after a moment, was resolved to brave what she would see. There in the flickering of candlelight, crystalline blue eyes, timid and weary, peered out of her soiled face. Extending the mirror farther away, she rubbed her hand over her short black hair, soft like that of a baby chick, covering her scalp.

Clare shifted to view her profile. “Not bad for a boy,” she whispered.

When Clare pulled down the mirror, she was startled to see a small girl, no more than four years of age, gazing at her with fascination. This was the tiny dancer who along with her grandmother danced so merrily on the day the ship left dock. Since then, observing her from a distance, Clare had grown concerned as the trip was wearing on the little one. Her joy seemed to be fading, and in some ways Clare saw this as a troubling harbinger.

Reflexively, Clare hid the mirror and hastily put on Seamus’s hat. “What’s your name, little flower?”

The girl only clung tighter to a small, worn doll. Her scraggly, blonde hair reminded her of Caitlin at this age.

The Sea Mist jarred forward and Clare reached for the girl to keep her from falling. The ship steadied and Clare released the uneasy child.

“If you won’t tell me your name, what about your mate’s?”

The girl looked to the cloth doll in counsel and after some consideration spoke in a barely audible, breathy voice. “Mae.”

“Mae. Why that’s a lovely name. Which is befitting such a beautiful friend. I’m Clare. What do they call you, sweet one?”

She ran her tiny, dirty fingers through the yarn of Mae’s head. “Lala.”

“How pretty that is. Is Mae enjoying her voyage?”

Lala sized up Clare, as if to determine whether she was trustworthy. “She’s sad.”

“Mae is sad? That makes me want to cry. Why so sad?”

The girl gazed down at her doll with compassion. “She’s hungry, and I don’t have food for her.”

“Oh my.” Clare set a hand on her chest. “Well, it just so happens I have some to spare. And I’d be happy to share it with my new friend.”

Lala’s eyes lit up and Clare had to restrain herself from embracing her. She reached up for Seamus’s bag, pulled out a cloth package, and unwrapped the thread that bound it. Pulling back the ends of the fabric, Clare was pleased to see the crackers were mostly intact. She held it out to Lala.

“I think it prudent if you were to taste some yourself, Lala. Just to make sure it will please Mae.”

The girl nodded and smiled, and she received one with her slender, scabbed fingers. Lala put it to her mouth, eating it while eyeing Clare all the while.

“And you know what else I think? You should take all of these crackers because little Mae looks famished.”

“Yes. She’s very hungry,” the girl whispered.

“Where’s your ma?”

“Grandmama? She just sleeps.”

“Oh. I see. Well. I hope you visit me again. I get lonely and could use a friend.”

Lala nodded and turned, glancing back a couple of times as she navigated the lunges before folding into the gathering.

Clare couldn’t help but think of her sister and brothers, and she felt deep longing. The thought of the Sea Mist taking her farther away from Ireland was too much to fathom. What wisdom was there in taking her so far from her family? Maybe her father just wanted her to leave.

Through the walls of the ship came a great clamor, raising gasps from the passengers until they realized it was the clatter of thunder. Within a few moments, a heavy pounding of rain against the deck ensued, and Clare lay on her cot, curling, as she tried to paint the faces of Davin, Ronan, and Caitlin in her mind.

But it was Lala’s sad eyes Clare last imagined as she drifted to sleep.

It was another clap of thunder that awoke her sometime later and she sat up just as someone near her was igniting a lantern. Many still slept, but the sound had stirred enough of them so there was anxious movement emanating throughout the hull. The ship bucked as an angry horse, and another clatter arose causing a baby to cry. And then another.

Clare heard many praying and she did as well. These sounds of petitions coalesced into more of a desperate chant as souls clung to one another as the dreary vessel surged through wave and wind, arms raised hopelessly in fending itself from the violent rage of the skies.

Above the heavenly angst came a malevolent noise that could only be the splintering of wood itself. Phwacck!

Several screamed and children cried and through the splashes of dim light below Clare could see nothing but faces of horror.

Something was terribly wrong. The ship was now tilting, and the frenzied shouting of men echoed from above deck.

In a fit of panic, a woman climbed up the ladder and pressed up against the door of the hatch screaming, “Let us out!” She pounded her fists with fury until a couple of men pulled her down with her arms flailing.

One man did climb to the hatch to test it, but he descended in defeat.

They were locked down.