The Irish Emporium

Chapter 8

I had learnt my lesson from last time, and I stayed wide awake throughout the cart journey. It wasn't hard, I was too excited, worried and sad to be calm enough to sleep. I couldn't believe I was leaving home, possibly for good. Would I ever see Mother alive again? I could write to her, we were both literate, but it wouldn't be the same as holding her bony hand.

It was a beautiful day. The air had a bite to it, turning my cheeks and ears rosy red, and pale winter sunshine highlighted the frosty blanket over the landscape. The winter would become harsh, with rain and slushy snow, as it always did. But for now, I allowed myself to enjoy the scenery without thinking about the boat journey.

The thought of the high seas had originally been an exciting one - the start of a new life beyond the horizon - but I had heard too many stories of families who had lost loved ones at seas. I shuddered at the thought of Mother receiving the news of my death from Mrs O'Reilly. I could just picture their grief, Mother trembling while Mrs O'Reilly tried in vain to comfort her. I had to pinch myself to stop imagining the morbid possibilities.

"How much longer?" I asked the driver, a young man of twenty. I didn't know him very well, but I did know he was much more trustworthy than Sean.

Anybody was more trustworthy than Sean.

"About twenty minutes. You should be able to see the sea in ten." I tore off a chunk of stale bread with a bit of difficulty, and offered another to the driver. He accepted it with a small smile.

"You're a generous girl, that's what you are. We need more people like that, not just during hard times, but all the time. Kindness is rare in this world, spread it." I was about to say something, but instead, I let his words sink in.

Kindness is rare in this world, spread it.

I settled into a comfortable daydream of the future of The Irish Emporium, and what new opportunities might arise. Sure enough, ten minutes later, I saw my first view of the sea. I remembered all the things Father had told me about the sea, and his descriptions came vividly to life when I took in the vast, endless silver expanse.

I wonder if Father felt like this the first time he saw the sea.

My father had done a little bit of travelling before he met Mother. Well, I say travelling, but he worked as a carpenter's assistant and would often sell at markets, sometimes going away for days at a time to sell tables and chairs.

But Father wanted something more delicate to sell, something more decorative. So he taught himself whittling, and once he had the approval of his superior, he sold many of his items alongside the tables, and made quite a bit of profit. He made little farm animals and sold them together as a set, little cows, sheep and pigs with curly tails. He would cut out wooden hearts and engrave sweetheart's initials into them custom to order in fancy scripting, and eventually, he was even allowed to carve swirling designs (not unlike those on my penknife) onto the corners of the tables so they would sell for more.

His superior was very pleased with his work, so Father began earning a cut of the profits from his whittling. Ten years later when he met my mother, he wasn't rich by any means, but he had made enough to pay for their wedding, our cottage and the resources to start my mother's dream - The Irish Emporium. She baked, knitted and crocheted, he carved, whittled and managed the finances. They were a brilliant team, and when my brother John came along, they started passing down their knowledge as soon as he was old enough, and they did the same with me. For a few perfect years, we managed the business together as one happy family.

But then things started going downhill, as they tend to do. Father passed away from a mysterious illness, and the business began to collapse with our financial stability as the famine started. John emigrated to find work in America. People were focused on food and survival, and no longer had time for trinkets. Mother came down with a form of famine fever that was partly caused by stress, and now, I'm emigrating like John did before me.

Could I find John?

The thought took me by surprise. I had always hoped to see John again, but now it seemed impossible. I didn't know much about the rest of the world, but I did know that America was a huge place. What would the chances be of finding John? But I still held onto the hope. I still had hope, and even though the circumstances seemed to be trying to choke it out, I still held on.

I had no idea how much I would depend on hope for the next few months.

"We're here now. Stay safe, trust your instincts, and remember that kindest is rare in this world. Spread it."

"Thank you so much, and I will!" I clutched my meagre luggage and hopped off the cart, faces with the busy port. There were people everywhere, and a lot of them were getting onto a ship. A lot of them looked like me - tired, scared, but hoping.

"Last call for America! Board the ship now, this is your last call for the ship to America!"

I dashed up to the back of the line, and walked up the plank of wood that lead into the ship. But a tall man stopped me.

"Who are you with? We don't allow children to travel alone on the coffin ships."

"I'm fourteen, thank you very much," I said, feeling offended. Something that the man had said was troubling me, but I couldn't figure out what.

"I don't care. If you're not with someone over eighteen, you can't board the ship."

"But I need to go, please!" I begged.

"Sorry."

I stood there and was about to argue again, but it was no use. I turned away dejectedly.

"Wait, she's with me." A tall woman with red hair had come to my rescue. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I had never met her before.

The man raised an eyebrow, but I approached the woman and began acting relieved I had found her.

"Relation to the child?"

"Aunt," she said without hesitation.

He still seemed suspicious, but let us on anyway. As I stepped into the ship, I filled with dread and unease. I tried to run out of the ship, but the mass of people prevented me. The woman pulled me back beside her with a glare, and as I walked deeper into the ship, my panic only increased. It peaked when I saw someone being dragged out of the ship, a child sobbing hysterically behind them.

Why did he call it a coffin ship?

Merry Christmas everyone! If you don't celebrate Christmas, then have a great day :D I know this is a bit of a filler chapter, but I felt like I should post something on Christmas day as a suprise. I'm sorry at how inactive this book has been, and I hope 2019 will be a bit better. I'm also sorry at the amount of backstory in this chapter.

Who is the mysterious woman, and why did he call it a coffin ship? :)