Читать книгу The Legacy - Kate Hoffmann - Страница 9

14 April 1845

Today is my wedding day. My name is Jane Flaherty— now Jane McClary for I have married Michael McClary this morning at our parish church. I begin this diary so that I might look back in years to come on the early days of my marriage, so that I might tell my children of the tiny details of my life. And here I begin. This book was given to me by the lady who employs me as a seamstress. Her name is Mrs. Grant and she tells me I am a fine talent with needle and thread. She said it would be useful to have a place to keep my household accounts, and made of this small book, a wedding gift. But instead, I will write my thoughts and my dreams on these pages. It is for her kindness that I am able to write and read at all, for she taught me when I first went to work for her. And I will teach my daughters and they will teach theirs. Then they may all see the world in the pages of great books. My Michael has come home for his supper and I must end here.

“AMERICA?”

Jane McClary slowly sank into the rough wooden chair, placing her hands on the table. Her heart felt as if it had dropped to the floor and she stared at her husband. His eyes were bright with excitement, a quality that had made her fall in love with him the very first time they’d met.

“Surely you see.” Michael reached out and took her hands between his, the calluses rough against her skin. “Our future is there. There are jobs and good land to farm. People are leaving every day, from Dublin and from Cork. The boats are full to Liverpool and still more want to go.”

“But, our home is here,” Jane said. “Our families are here.”

Michael shook his head. “But not our future.” He glanced around the sod house. “I work until my back aches and my fingers bleed and we never get ahead. And you, you sew into the wee hours, your eyes straining to see the stitches, and for nothing more than a few shillings. How much longer can you do that, Jane? And what will happen when we have a family? It will be even more difficult to leave then. If we are to go, it must be now.”

“But we can’t afford one passage, how could we afford two?”

“We won’t,” he said. “It’s three pounds ten. We have a bit saved and Johnny Cleary says that he’ll loan me the rest for he’s taken his entire flock of sheep to market just today. And when I get there, I will find work and send for you. Our babies will be born in America, Jane, and they will grow up fine and strong. They will have a future that they could never have here in Ireland.”

Jane drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had seen friends and relatives make the same decision, and though she’d heard harrowing tales of the dangers of crossing the Atlantic, all that she knew had arrived safely. And Michael was right. Ireland offered nothing to an ambitious man and he had always been that. A bit of a dreamer, too, she thought to herself. But how could she deny him this? She was his wife and bound to follow where he led, like Ruth from the Bible. It was her duty.

“When will you go?” she asked.

“In a week’s time,” he said.

“That soon?” Jane dropped her hands to her lap, twisting her fingers together nervously. They’d been married not yet three months and now he would leave her to live alone.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of newsprint. “There. Read that. Johnny gave that to me. He says there’ll be jobs waiting for us. Good jobs with good pay.”

Jane picked up the paper and read the advertisement. “Strong Irish Lads Wanted,” she said. “Railroad work. A dollar a day, room and board included. Call at 17 Carney Street, Boston, upon arrival.” She glanced up at Michael. “And how long until I might join you?” she asked.

“They say the passage is six or seven weeks, eight if the weather turns bad. I will work through the winter and send for you in the spring. The time will fly by and you will barely know I’m gone. And during that time, you will sew curtains for our grand new house in America. I promise you, Jane, it won’t be a dark and tiny stone cottage with a leaky thatch roof. It will be a grand house made of wood, with real glass windows and a marble fireplace to keep you warm at night.”

Jane put her hand on her belly. The baby would be born in the spring, March if she counted correctly. She hadn’t told Michael yet. She’d wanted to wait just a bit longer to be certain. But now, she would keep the secret from her husband, for if he knew, then he would never leave.

She pushed away from the table and walked to the dry sink, then pulled down the small butter crock from the shelf above it. Inside was their life savings, enough to buy a pretty dress, new pair of shoes and perhaps dinner at a fancy hotel in Dublin. Jane crossed to the table and dumped the money on the scarred surface, then counted it out. “One pound, nine,” she murmured. “We can sell the cow. You’ll have to have food to eat, and a warm coat. I hear that winters are fierce in America and I won’t have you getting sick for wont of decent clothing.”

“And what will you do for milk and butter if we have no cow?”

“I will buy it in town. Mrs. Grant pays me enough to feed me. And Jack Kelly has always coveted this plot of land. He’ll be happy to take it over after I harvest the crop. I can sell the potatoes you won’t be here to eat and the garden will provide the rest. I will do quite well for myself,” Jane said with a weak smile. “You married a clever girl, Michael McClary, and you would do well not to forget that.”

Michael nodded, then rose to stand beside her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, kissing her softly on the forehead. “We’ll have a fine life in America,” he said. “I’ve seen it in my dreams.”

Jane closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his chest. His heart beat, strong and sure, and Jane tried to memorize what it felt like to be held by him. There would come a night when she’d reach across the rope bed and he wouldn’t be there. But she would be brave, for she loved this man and would follow him to the ends of the earth if he asked.