Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)

"I'm here for every ship," she said. "I'm sure that in the end someone will find him for me." Then she ran and melted back into the crowd.

There was a broad gangway, draped with the White Star Line banners, going up to a deck festooned with flags where a band was playing. I led the little ones toward it. An arm reached out and stopped me.

"Where do you think you're going, then?" A seaman demanded.

"On board. We have tickets."

"Steerage passengers embark down there." He jerked his head to another gangway at the far end of the ship. It wasn't going up onto one of the decks this time, but straight into the bowels. And there were no banners. A long line of scrawny, ragged people were making their way up it, bundles and suitcases balanced on their shoulders, little ones in their arms. From behind closed gates came the sounds of wailing. A crowd pressed against those gates, reaching out arms, holding up babies. Every now and then a voice would rise over the communal wail. "God go with you, Eileen! Conor, my boy. My darlin' boy! May the Blessed Mother bring us together in the next life, if not in this one." A hand reached out and tried to grab me. "If you meet my man, my Mick O'Shae, tell him that his Mary wants to know he's all right. Mick O'Shae--have you got that?"

Bridie grasped my hand tighter. As I led her to join that line up the gangway, I noticed two policemen, standing in the shadows, watching. I had almost forgotten that this wasn't an adventure-- it was a desperate flight. Another few yards and I'd be safely on that ship. I lifted Bridie into my arms, so that her little body hid my face from the police.

Another man was checking names off a list at the bottom of the gangway. "Kathleen O'Connor, son Seamus, and daughter Bridie," I said, loudly. "Here are the tickets."

He checked me off and we went up the gangway, into the ship.

It was dark inside there and the line of people swept us along into a sort of staging area. It smelled unpleasant--the same kind of boiled cabbage and

urine smell as the rooming house had, but with something added that I couldn't quite identify.

"Name?" A uniformed figure barked at me as we drew level with a desk.

"O'Connor. Kathleen, Seamus, Bridie."

"Just yourself and the two children, then?" "That's right."

"And your husband? Where is he?"

I was tempted to tell him it was none of his business. After all, we'd paid for the tickets, hadn't we? "He's in New York. Waiting for us."

"He'd better be," the man said. "If he doesn't come to collect you from Ellis Island, they'll just send you straight home again. They don't want women and children who'll be a burden on the state."

"He'll be there," I said. "It was he who sent us the tickets. Now if you'd please direct us to our cabin, so that we can leave our belongings and then get up on deck to wave good-bye."

The man turned to another who was standing in the shadows behind him. "Hark at her," he chuckled. "Who do you think you are--lady muck? Women's quarters are down that way. Find yourself a bunk. You can take any one that's not occupied. And as for going up on deck--steerage means steerage. Next."

I had been dismissed. The crowd behind me shoved us forward. There was nothing for it but to lead the children down the dimly lit passage. Bridie had begun to get scared. "I want to go back to Mammy," she wailed.

"Remember our little secret?" I whispered. "You have to call me Mammy until we get to New York."

"I want my real mammy."

I looked around, hoping that nobody was listening. The passage was lined with cubicles, half shut off with slatted wooden doors. Inside each cubicle I could dimly make out six bunks-- three on either side. Most of them seemed to be occupied by shadowy figures.

"Is there any space in here?" I demanded several times. At last someone replied, ungraciously. "Top bunk and you're welcome to it."

"Where do we sleep, then?" Seamus asked.

A hollow eyed-woman poked her head out from the bottom bunk. "The children have to share with us, unless the boy is over twelve."

"I'm eight," Seamus said.

"Well, then, he belongs in here," the woman said. "Send him up the ladder and he can lift up your belongings."

"Go on up, Seamus," I said. "Stay up there with our things and I'll go check to see if there's anywhere better."

With Bridie still draped around my neck and holding on for dear life, I went up and down the hallway until I was convinced that there were no better quarters lurking around any corner. I helped Bridie up the ladder and examined the bunk. There was a thin mattress, nothing more. No sheets, blankets, nothing. "Where do we get our bed linen?" I asked a neighbor.

"Bed linen?" Her chuckle ended in a rasping cough. "You're supposed to bring your own, dearie. Didn't they tell you that?"

I opened the bundle and found that there was a sheet in it, but no blanket. My shawl would have to do then. I was just trying to stow away our belongings on the little shelf at the end of our bunk when I became aware of a rhythmic thudding sound that echoed from the very walls. It was the ship's engines, now working up enough steam for us to sail.