Crates toppled onto the ground as a piercing cry rose.
“There’s a lad beneath the cart!” someone called.
High-pitched screams raised the hair on Maeve’s neck.
The burly man grumbled and, together with several bystanders, righted the cart back onto its wheels.
“Aren’t you the doctor’s assistant?” a gentleman in a black suit asked the grumbling bear of a man. His face showed noticeable concern. “The lad here’s bleeding.”
“Filthy urchin shouldn’t have been beggin’ on the wharf,” the big man snarled. He picked up one of the spilled crates and headed for the gangplank without a backward glance.
Maeve didn’t hesitate to set the satchel she held at Nora’s feet and rush to the fallen boy’s side. She’d seen more than her share of sickness and injuries over the past few years, and the lack of a proper village doctor had given her plenty of opportunities to pick up numerous nursing skills. She didn’t know if she could help, but she’d do whatever she could.
The scene was alarming. Blood flowed from the boy’s thigh at a steady rate. Thinking quickly, she untied the scarf from around her shoulders, twisted it into a rope and tied it about his leg.
“I have need of a stick,” she called.
“Will this do?” A nearby woman shoved an ivory comb into her hand.
Maeve tied the tails of the scarf around the comb and twisted until the makeshift tourniquet cinched tight and the flow of blood ceased. Certain the bleeding was stopped, she lifted her gaze to the frightened boy’s dirty face. Tears streaked the grime on his pale cheeks, and wide frightened brown eyes appealed to her.
“You’re going to be all right,” she assured him. She glanced into the crowd. “Has someone sent for the doctor?”
“Yes, miss,” a female bystander replied. “My husband alerted the sailors on the gangplank. One of ’em rushed aboard.”
“It won’t be long now,” Maeve assured the boy. “What’s your name, laddie?”
“Sean,” he replied, his lower lip trembling. “Sean McCorkle.”
“Is your family nearby?” she asked.
“Aye. Me two brothers. Emmett be right over there.”
Maeve glanced about and spotted the younger boy he’d indicated standing several feet away, wearing a terrified expression. Both of them appeared dirty and uncared for.
“’Tis the doctor comin’ now,” the woman called to Maeve.
Stepping around passengers, a tall man hurried forward. His chocolate-brown gaze analyzed the scene, taking in the patient, the improvised tourniquet and lastly Maeve. He leaned over the lad, looking into each eye, and then pressing long fingers to the boy’s sockless ankle above his battered shoe. The doctor’s black hair glistened in the morning sun as he bent to examine the wound.
The scent of sandalwood clung to his clothing and drifted to Maeve’s nostrils. His efficiency impressed her.
He raised his head, piercing Maeve with an unsmiling, yet admiring look. “That was mighty quick thinking, miss.”
“I did what I could.”
He knelt and effortlessly picked up the boy. Maeve stood as he did, keeping her grip on the twisted scarf and comb secure. “I’ll take him to the dispensary, where I can treat him.”
“His name is Sean McCorkle. Says he has brothers, but he didn’t mention parents.”
“It will be helpful if you hold the tourniquet in place while I carry him aboard.” He called to one of the sailors. “Find this lad’s family! McCorkle’s the name.”
As dirty as he was, Maeve couldn’t imagine his family or home. “Where’s your mother, Sean?”
“She be with Jesus, miss. Don’t have a da, neither.”
She exchanged a significant look with the doctor.
His contemptible assistant chose that moment to return for another armload. The doctor stabbed him with an angry dark gaze. “What happened here, Hegarty?”
“Filthy beggar got in the way. Shouldn’t be underfoot, that one.”
A man with coal-black hair sticking out from beneath his cap stepped forward. “Takin’ a switch to the mule, Hegarty was,” the man supplied. “Frightened the poor beast into tippin’ goods all about the wharf and spilt the cart right atop the laddie here.”
“Cruelty to animals and children isn’t acceptable behavior under my employ,” the doctor proclaimed, already walking away with the boy. “Pack your belongings and leave the ship immediately. You no longer have a job.”
Hegarty dropped the crate with a resounding crash and brushed his beefy hands together. “You can keep your measly wages. Too many smelly Irishmen aboard this vessel for my taste, anyhow.”
The doctor directed an undiscernable look at Maeve. It was apparent from his speech, he was every bit as Irish as she, though obviously from a higher social class and far more educated. In those brief seconds it didn’t matter. The obnoxious man had insulted the majority of people on the wharf.
“Are you boarding the Annie McGee?” At her nod, the doctor asked, “Can someone see to carrying your belongings?”
“Aye, my sisters.”
“Call to them, if you will, please. All of you can come aboard with me.”
Quickly, she turned and called out before the crowd had time to close in behind them. “Nora! Bridget! Bring everything and follow us!” She addressed the doctor again. “You’re taking him aboard the sailing vessel?”
“Can’t very well leave him here unattended, can I? We’ve no other choice.”
“He said he was with two brothers, but I saw only one, I did. A lad younger than this boy.”
“The crewman will search them out,” he replied. “I suspect if there are brothers, they’ve either sneaked on the ship already or will board as soon as they have the opportunity.”
Maeve left her last footprint on the soil of her native land and stepped onto the wooden gangplank.
Reaching the deck, she kept pace with the long-legged doctor, and they made their way to the companion ladder. He descended ahead of her, and she leaned as far forward as she dared without toppling over to keep hold of the tourniquet.
Once below deck, he led the way along a corridor until they reached a closed door. She had a free hand, so she opened it and stood back. The doctor was so tall, he had to bend to enter the room, but Maeve walked through upright. Her sisters followed, with Nora bending to fit under the doorway.
“Set your belongings inside the door,” he instructed. “I apologize for my lack of manners, ladies. I’m Dr. Flynn Gallagher.”
“Oh, goodness, no,” Nora objected. “You were involved with an emergency situation and could hardly have been expected to tip your hat.”
“He isn’t wearing a hat,” Bridget said with a grin.
Nora ignored her. “I’m Nora Murphy. This is Bridget, and your capable helper there is Maeve.”
He had already laid down the boy and was now washing his own hands in a basin. Beside it was a stack of folded towels and linens. The dispensary was impeccably clean.
“Will you assist me?” he asked Maeve.
Clearly he had no one else to help now. She couldn’t have imagined that Hegarty fellow would have been