F iona waited in the dormitory on the third floor until the other servants fell asleep, then slipped on her shoes and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. She would ruin her reputation if she got caught sneaking out after bedtime—and maybe even lose her job—but she needed to feel Kevin’s strong arms around her.
Her father had made Fiona come home with him on every half-day since Kevin had proposed three months ago. She’d scarcely seen Kevin since then, and they’d had few chances to kiss. But Kevin had come to her this afternoon as she stood outside beating the rugs on the clothesline and he’d begged her to sneak out tonight and meet him near the hedge.
All the lights in the house had been turned off for the night and the backyard was very dark and unfamiliar-looking. She took small steps, unsure of her footing, and nearly cried out when Kevin suddenly emerged from the shadows.
“Shh…” he whispered, his finger to his lips. “This way…” He took her hand and led her to where he’d spread a blanket and lit a candle for them on a pile of hay in the barn. She savored his kisses for a while, then gently pushed him away.
“Stop that for a minute, Kevin. We need to talk.”
“What about?”
“My father is serious about moving to America. He’s been saving all his money in an old tea box. I’ve watched him counting and recounting it every week. Mam says he’s even skipping his pints down at the pub, so I know he’s serious. Have you been saving your money?”
Kevin looked down at her hand as he caressed it gently between both of his. “It’s hard to save much, Fiona. A man likes his pints after a long day.”
“Ach! Don’t you love me more than your stupid pints?”
“Of course I do! Let me show you how much…”
She allowed him to kiss her awhile longer, but as she felt them both being swept away, she suddenly grew frightened and drew back. “Stop, Kevin. We can’t go any further.”
“But I love you, Fiona.”
“And I love you, too. But the sisters at the convent said it’s a sin to go any further unless we’re husband and wife.”
“If we had a baby, your father would have to let us get married.” Kevin tried to pull her close again, but she pushed him away.
“No, he’d send me to live with the nuns, and they’d take the baby away from me as soon as it’s born. I’ve seen it happen to other girls.” And as hard as it was for Fiona to leave him, she stood and wrapped her shawl around her shoulders again. “I need to go back inside now.”
“Fiona, please stay. I love you.” His eyes looked soft and pleading in the candlelight.
“If you really loved me you would save your money for America.”
The following Sunday when Fiona’s father came to fetch her, he seemed unusually chipper, even without his pints. She asked Mam about it when they were alone.
“It seems you and your father will be leaving for America soon,” Mam said. “He has enough money now, but he didn’t want to tell you for fear you’d run off with that lad of yours.”
“Where on earth did he get the money?” Fiona asked. Her mother replied with a shrug.
Fiona’s heart speeded up. She was going to America! She was really going! She gave a little dance of delight, twirling in a circle, then sank down on a chair. Fiona loved Kevin; she was sure she did. But in the months since her father had come up with his plan, she’d grown to love the idea of being rich even more. She wanted a home like Wickham Hall, and if Kevin didn’t love her enough to follow her to America, then he didn’t love her enough.
Fiona watched her mother wipe the crumbs from the table with a damp cloth and suddenly wondered how she felt about Rory’s plan. “Mam, do you mind that Dad’s taking me to America first and leaving you and the girls behind?”
“No, child, I don’t mind.” She rinsed the cloth in the pan of gray dishwater, then lifted the pan to toss the water out the back door. “It’ll give me a break from birthing babies—and heaven knows I need the rest. Let the man chase his fancies and I’ll chase mine.”
Fiona looked at her mother curiously. Until her father began talking about being rich in America, Fiona had fancied nothing more than marrying Kevin Malloy and living in a little house like this one and raising Kevin’s sweet babies. It certainly had never occurred to her to dream of more—let alone wonder if her mother had dreams.
“If you could have anything you wanted, Mam, what would you fancy?”
“Peace and quiet,” she said with a sigh. “A chance to sit with my feet up once in a while and drink a cup of tea without anyone bothering me. I was never one to chase pipe dreams the way your father does.”
“Is that all it is, Mam—a pipe dream? Will I never have that grand mansion he talks about?”
Her mother looked into Fiona’s eyes, cupping her cheek in her rough hand. “I believe that you will, Fiona. Your dad believes in you—and so do I.”
Later that evening, Rory walked back with Fiona to Wickham Hall as he did on all of her half-days. But as soon as he was out of sight, Kevin sprang from behind the blackthorn hedge where he’d been waiting. “Fiona…”
“Oh! You scared me half to death!”
“Sorry, love. I didn’t think you’d ever come!” He bent to kiss her, but she pushed him away.
“Stop that for a minute, and listen to me. Dad finally has enough money for our passage. I hope you’ve been saving, too.” She knew by his expression that he hadn’t, and it made her angry. “Good-bye, Kevin Malloy.” She strode toward the back steps.
“Fiona, wait! How soon is he leaving?”
“Any day now.”
“I can’t let you go!” He grabbed her arm, turning her around. “Please run away with me! Now—tonight!” She saw tears in his eyes and felt sorry for him.
“Ah, Kevin… I can’t run away with you,” she said, brushing his dark hair off his forehead.
“Why not?”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she let him take her in his arms and hold her close, inhaling the scent of his shirt beneath her cheek. She loved him— but in her heart she knew that her father was right. If they ran away and got married, she’d end up just like her mother in a few years, longing for nothing more than a cup of tea and a few minutes’peace. She felt sad.
“You can write to me, Kevin,” she said after a moment. “We’re staying with Dad’s cousin, Darby Quinn, in New York until we get settled. Here, I copied the address for you when Dad wasn’t looking.”
She pulled the crumpled paper from her apron pocket and handed it to him. Kevin unfolded it, staring at it as if it spelled his doom—but he was looking at it upside down. She turned the paper around for him and saw his cheeks flush, even in the darkness.
“I never learned to read and write, Fiona. I always had to work for a living. My family couldn’t afford to send me to school at the Christian Brothers.”
She felt a rush of love for sweet Kevin. Her eyes filled with tears as he held her in his arms. “I promise I’ll follow you to America,” he said. “Wait for me, Fiona. Please wait for me.”
“I will.” But Fiona knew that he’d never come. She would never see Kevin Malloy again. She wondered if anyone would ever love her as much as he did—and if she could ever learn to love someone else.
A few days later, Rory Quinn walked into Wickham Hall’s scullery in the middle of the working day, towing Fiona’s fourteen-year-old sister, Sheila, by the hand. “Come, girl. Get your things,” he told Fiona. “We’re leaving tomorrow. I’ve arranged for Sheila, here, to take over your job.”
Excitement and sorrow tugged Fiona in opposite directions. She was leaving—right now—and never coming back. “I need to say good-bye to Kevin and—”
Rory shook his head. “Put him behind you, Fiona. You deserve a man ten times better than he is.”
But Fiona didn’t know how there could ever be a man as sweet and loving and dear as Kevin. She began to cry.
“Stop that, now,” Rory said. “You’ll make a mess of your face.”
She wiped her eyes on her apron, then slipped it over her head and handed it to Sheila. “Come on, I’ll get my belongings and show you where to put yours.”
Sheila followed her upstairs to the third floor, gazing around at everything in awe on the way. “It’s a grand big house, then, isn’t it?” she murmured. “Do you really think we’ll have one like it someday?”
“Aye, Dad says we will.” Fiona dumped her sister’s things out of the sack, then stuffed her own meager belongings inside in their place. “You’ll do fine here,” Fiona said as she hugged her sister good-bye. “And we’ll be sending for you girls and Mam before you know it.”
She gazed all around the grounds of Wickham Hall as she left with her father, searching for one last glimpse of Kevin. But the motorcar was gone, and Kevin was nowhere to be seen.
Fiona and her father left early the next morning in a misty rain. She heard the bells of St. Brigid’s church tolling for the early Mass, but thick fog erased all the familiar sights of home from view. Even massive Wickham Hall had vanished in the clouds.
Fiona clung to her mother as they hugged for the last time, finding it harder to leave home than she’d imagined.
“We’ll see you again, won’t we, Mam?”
“Of course, child. Your father says you’ll be sending for us in no time at all.”
“And you can sit with your feet up and drink tea every day in America. We’ll even have servants to fetch it for you.”
“Aye…” Mam said, smiling faintly. “God go with you, Fiona.” The words were meant to comfort her, but instead they made Fiona feel as if she was disappearing into a void with a God she couldn’t see or feel.
A friend of Fiona’s father took them to the nearest town in his jaunting cart, toting what little baggage they owned. From there they took the train to Dublin. Fiona had never seen the city before, and it looked enormous and overcrowded to her, with brick buildings several stories tall stuffed against each other. The narrow, cobbled streets were jammed with people, carriages, and motorcars, their wheels rumbling as they crossed the bridges over the Liffey River. Fiona saw British police everywhere—the Black and Tans, as they were called because of their mismatched uniforms. Barricades blocked many of the streets.
“Dublin is still a mess because of the conflict,” her father told her. “I see they haven’t accomplished much since I came here to fight.” Fiona tried to imagine her father armed with a rifle, taking part in the uprising—and couldn’t.
“Will the Black and Tans let us go to America?” she asked.
He gave a short laugh. “Oh, aye! They’ll be more than glad to see two more Irish leave. They’d be happy to see every last one of us go. And tomorrow morning we will.”
Fiona felt a sense of loss—and yet anticipation. Fear and sorrow and joy were all mixed together in a stew, and she couldn’t sort them out. She also felt very much alone. She had her father, true, but Fiona had never quite learned to trust him.
“God go with you,” her mother had said. Funny, but Fiona had always thought of God as living in St. Brigid’s church, back home. Yet as she stood on the busy street corner in Dublin, feeling lost and frightened, she realized that God didn’t just live in St. Brigid’s church—He was everywhere. Mam’s words reassured her, and Fiona whispered them to herself as a prayer as she prepared to bid good-bye to Ireland.
“God go with me… please…”
They sailed on St. Brigid’s Day, the day dedicated to the saint who was known for her kindness and for her miracles. It was Fiona’s special day, too—February 1, her eighteenth birthday.
“Are you sure the boat won’t sink, Dad?” she asked as she stared up at the huge ship. It lay anchored at the end of a long dock, with a boarding plank for the steerage passengers spanning the choppy gray water.
“What kind of a question is that?” he growled as he tugged their belongings down the pier.
“When I was in school, the sisters told us how a grand big ship sank and all the people died.”
“There was a war on when the Lusitania sank. That war is over with.”
“Not that ship, Dad. It was before the war, when I was nine or ten years old, I think. The nuns at school told us to pray because a big fancy ship full of rich people got stuck in the ice and sank. Thousands of people drowned. Will there be ice on the way to America?”
Rory glanced at her, shaking his head as they waited in line to board. “Fiona, lass—why don’t you put that wild imagination of yours to good use planning our future instead of worrying about things that happened years ago.”
Yes, she decided, she would think about her future. America was the land of promise, a place where she could live in luxury and ease. But first she had to cross the cold, wide ocean. It occurred to her that this journey might be a bit like dying: She would leave the known world and traverse the unknown—and end up in paradise! Yet if this was truly a trip to paradise, Fiona quickly discovered that her voyage must be purgatory.
Nothing Fiona had ever experienced prepared her for life onboard the steamship. Their allotted place in steerage was in an overcrowded, windowless hold packed with hundreds of bunk beds. Many of the families rigged curtains for privacy around the space they’d claimed, but she and her father hadn’t thought of that ahead of time. The other steerage passengers came from a variety of foreign nations and languages, and the babble of voices added to the confusion and chaos. Most passengers had packed food from home for the journey, and the hold soon reeked of garlic and onions and strong, sour cheese. These families seemed even poorer than Fiona’s, with dozens of shabby, howling children. Everyone stank of body odor and sweat. The moment Fiona entered the hold, she longed to turn around and flee outside into the fresh air and sunlight, but she knew she would have to get used to it. This would be her home for the next few weeks.
Once the ship was underway, Fiona spent as much time as she could outside on the steerage deck, even though the wintry air was raw and the tiny deck was nearly as crowded as their space below. Her father began disappearing for long stretches of time; she didn’t know where, nor would he tell her why. Steerage passengers weren’t allowed to roam the ship, but that’s what he seemed to be doing, sneaking off at midday or during the supper hour, then scribbling on a wad of paper he carried in his vest pocket when he returned. Fiona glimpsed the pages over his shoulder one evening and saw incomprehensible lists of numbers.
A week after the ship sailed, Fiona was sitting outside on the steerage deck one afternoon when her father beckoned to her. “Come with me, Fiona. I want to show you something.” He led her inside, then up a forbidden staircase to the deck where the lifeboats were secured. She could glimpse the first-class passengers strolling around on the upper deck.
“I don’t think we’re allowed up here,” she said when she saw where he’d taken her.
“Be quiet, Fiona, and listen to me. Do you know the difference between those wealthy people and us?” he asked, tilting his head in their direction.
She could think of plenty of differences—they had lots of money, plentiful food, a life of ease and luxury… and smooth hands. Their hands weren’t all cracked and red like hers were from scrubbing laundry. But she shook her head, knowing that Rory Quinn didn’t really expect an answer.
“Clothes, Fiona. The only difference between them and us is the clothes they’re wearing on their backs. You and I aren’t dressed in fancy garb the way they are, that’s all.” He turned to her with a rare smile on his lips and gently smoothed her windblown hair from her face. “But if you were to put on a lovely gown like that lady’s wearing over there, with your hair all done up like hers, you would stop the heart of every man on this ship. All we need are the right clothes.”
She watched the rich passengers for a moment, strolling around in their finery and winter wraps. Several wore fur coats. Fiona shivered in her thin shawl and wondered how it would feel to be wrapped in fur.
“Will we buy fine clothes when we get to America, then?” she asked.
“I have a better plan.” He bent his head close to hers and whispered, “I’ve been watching the fancy staterooms, you see—keeping track of all the people coming and going, and counting how many are sleeping in each one.” He patted the vest pocket where he kept the wad of paper with its lists of numbers. “I’ve also been watching to see what time they go up on deck or to the dining room to eat, and how long they’re away. I know exactly which rooms I’m going to tap. But I’ll need your help.”
“Tap? W-what are you talking about?” But Fiona was afraid that she knew the answer. He intended to steal from the rich passengers’staterooms, and he needed her help. She wondered if he had stolen the money for their passage to America, too.
“Believe me, girl, this wealthy lot has so many clothes they’ll never miss the few piddling things we’ll be borrowing.”
“We’ll be giving everything back, then?” she asked hopefully. The idea of borrowing sounded much better than stealing. Rory made a face, waving away her question without answering it. He led her down a staircase and into a forbidden hallway. It was spotlessly clean and smelled of fresh enamel paint.
“Now, I’ll need you to wait in this passageway and keep watch while I slip inside that first room, you hear? Make noise for me if someone comes.”
“Dad, no!”
“Shh… !” He clamped his hand over her mouth to quiet her. “Hush, girl, and do as you’re told. I need you to create a diversion.”
“H-how do I do that?”
“Use your charm and your beauty, Fiona. Flirt with the stewards and distract them. Tell them you’re lost and can’t find your way out. You can do it, girl.”
“But people are sure to make a fuss when they discover that some of their things are missing. What if the stewards search our bags?”
“Don’t worry yourself. I won’t be taking so much from any one room that they’ll even miss it—a tie from one, a shirt from another. Do you see?”
“The nuns said that stealing was—”
“Hush, lass. The nuns don’t need to bother themselves about what clothes they’ll be wearing, do they now?”
Fiona was certain from what she’d been taught in school that stealing was a sin. But another of God’s commandments said that she had to honor her father and mother. What was a girl supposed to do when two of God’s rules disagreed with each other that way?
“Let’s go, lass,” Rory said, nudging her down the hallway. “We have work to do.”
Fiona did as she was told. The first day that she and her father worked together was the scariest, with Fiona jumping at every sound, her heart pounding so hard she was certain it would burst. When they finally returned to their bunks in steerage, Fiona lay down on hers and wept with relief. Each day after that, it became easier and easier for her to stroll down the deserted passageways, looking lost and bewildered while her father broke into the rich passengers’staterooms—especially when she saw the beautiful clothing and jewelry he picked out for her to wear.
Two or three times a passenger exited one of the other rooms while Fiona waited in the narrow hallway, and at first she thought she might faint. But experience soon taught her to smile prettily and say “Good day” as if she had every right to be there. Only once did a steward approach her, and Fiona did exactly as her father had instructed.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” she told the steward, speaking loudly enough for her father to hear. “I’m afraid I’m terribly lost. Could you please show me which passage to take?”
As the days passed and their loot accumulated, a rush of excitement replaced the fear Fiona once felt. Each time she entered one of the narrow corridors and smelled the scent of enamel paint, she would smile and feel the delicious thrill of danger. She felt closer to her father than she ever had, and they returned from their adventures each afternoon laughing with exhilaration from the risk they’d taken. They weren’t even in America yet, and already Fiona’s life was more interesting than it had ever been back home in Ireland. Even so, when Rory came to her one day and said, “We’re done, girl. We have all the clothes we’ll be needing,” she felt relieved.
Her relief was short-lived. The next day the sun shone warmly for the first time in days, and all the decks—first-class as well as steerage—quickly filled with people. “Scrub your face and fix your hair,” Rory told Fiona. “I want you to dress yourself in one of your new outfits.”
“Won’t someone recognize their own clothes?” she asked.
“Not if you pick something plain to wear—like that dark skirt and white blouse.”
“But it’s chilly up on deck. I’ll freeze!” Rory borrowed a beautifully embroidered shawl from a Bohemian woman they’d met in steerage and wrapped it around Fiona’s shoulders.
Even with the shawl, she couldn’t stop shivering with fear.
“No, Dad. Please don’t make me do this. I’m scared to death that we’ll get caught.”
Rory pushed her along, ignoring her protests. “There’s nothing to it,” he insisted. “Just walk up the stairs and onto the main deck as if you belonged there. Hold your head up high. Believe me, everyone will be looking at your beautiful face, not at your clothes. And nobody ever asks a lovely woman such as yourself to show them her first-class ticket, that’s for certain.”
“W-what will I do once I’m there?”
“Stroll around a bit, then come back. That’s all. This is for practice, Fiona.” She was afraid to ask what she was practicing for. She did as she was told, her knees trembling as she climbed the stairs.
The first person Fiona passed was a steward who bowed slightly in respect as she swept past. When she glanced over her shoulder at him she saw that he had turned around to gaze at her. When he saw she had caught him staring, he hurried off, his cheeks bright. Fiona gained courage, pleased with the effect she’d had on him. Next she passed an older gentleman who tipped his hat to her and said, “Good afternoon, miss.” She smiled sweetly in return. At last she reached the ship’s rail, where she paused, hanging on to it for dear life until she could stop shaking.
The salt air was warm, the sky clear, and the first-class deck was so wonderfully different from the overcrowded steerage deck down below that, like her father, Fiona suddenly knew that she wanted this life, not her old one. She drew a deep breath and released her grip on the rail, ready to take a leisurely stroll down the length of the deck and back again.
Fiona walked past people lounging in wicker deck chairs, their legs covered with warm rugs as stewards served them tea and scones. She longed to lounge there, too, but didn’t dare. She kept walking, passing a nanny tending two small boys and then a group of men in overcoats, talking and smoking cigars. The gentlemen tipped their hats to her and said, “Good afternoon.” She noticed that the women all wore hats or carried parasols to protect their skin from the sun. She must tell her father to steal a hat for her. The thought made her smile. She’d been horrified at his plan at first; now she was getting particular about what he stole.
Fiona walked down to the end of the deck as far as she could go, swaying her hips as if she had the entire day at her leisure, then she turned and ambled back. This time she savored the open admiration she saw on all the men’s faces, the envy she saw on the women’s. She was beautiful, welldressed, and they accepted her as one of their own. She inhaled one last breath of sea air, licking the taste of salt from her bottom lip, then swept gracefully down the stairs to where her father was waiting for her.
“Well, lass?”
“I need a hat,” she said. “All of the rich ladies are wearing them.” She held back her smile for as long as she could, then added with a grin, “A slouch hat—made of felt. With a flower on it, if you please.”
Rory Quinn laughed as he lifted Fiona off the ground and twirled her around. “That’s my girl!”