Through the haze of small bonfires, the encampment of refugees along the river was more deplorable than Zaira had imagined it would be. She had to breathe through her mouth in order not to gag from the reek of rubbish as well as human waste. The Mississippi River, under the hot July sun, was sluggish and contained a stench all its own.
Some of the immigrants had canvas tents held up by ropes. Others had constructed makeshift shacks out of boards and crates and scraps of material. Still others seemed to be living out in the open without any shelter.
Zaira was trying to wait patiently on the edge of the camp as Bellamy had instructed her, but she’d steadily crept closer and now swatted at the flies and gnats swarming the air and feasting on the refuse littering the ground.
She’d heard a toddler crying—one too young to be Moya. Zaira had also heard shouts of children playing, but the group that had passed by had been mostly older boys, and she hadn’t seen anyone who looked like Seamus. However, from the lead Bellamy had gotten a short while ago, a boyand a girl who fit the ages of Seamus and Moya had been spotted among the river camps.
Bellamy hadn’t wanted Zaira to come to this part of the city at all, the area worst affected by the cholera. Apparently, two wagonloads of dead had been carted away from the river camps just that morning.
Already she’d seen a man lying face down in the long grass close to one of the tents, and he hadn’t moved since she’d noticed him. His clothing was worn and stained, and if he was sick, no one seemed to be taking care of him. Maybe he’d lost his family already. He could be Seamus and Moya’s father, or someone very much like him.
Zaira might not be able to help that particular man, but she had to help the children, at least until their father was found.
She stood on her tiptoes and scanned the camp again for Bellamy. With his tall, lean body and dark hair, he was easy to spot. He was talking with a woman sitting against a rock, a babe in her arms, and the woman was pointing upriver. Bellamy responded, then reached into his pocket and handed the woman something.
As he moved away, the woman lifted the item, and Zaira recognized one of the biscuits Gavin had made for the noon meal. Bellamy must have stuffed extras in his pockets, having anticipated handing them out. Or perhaps he’d brought them along for Seamus and Moya.
He was a kind man to give one to the woman. Over the past couple of days, Zaira was glimpsing a side of Bellamy McKenna she hadn’t seen often, and she liked it. A lot. Not that she hadn’t already liked many things about him, because she had. She’d always known he was kind and giving andfriendly. But this compassion showed that he cared more deeply about things than he’d let on.
He’d been really sweet during the confrontation with her da earlier in the day too. Surprisingly so. Had he even kissed her on the head? Or had she merely dreamed it? Either way, he’d been noble to take the blame upon himself for the kiss in the pub, especially because Da had been so angry about it.
She’d been afraid that she’d lose her position as the sweet and easy daughter who didn’t cause any problems. If only she really was as sweet as they believed. But of her brothers and sisters, she was probably the least perfect, and she was the most duplicitous—with her writing, with her recent publications in the newspaper, with her research that included a lot of sneaking around, and now with her pretend match with Bellamy.
She knew God could see all her lying and deceiving and rebellion, and she certainly didn’t have His favor. Once her parents learned about all her lying and deceiving and rebellious ways, she wouldn’t have their favor anymore either.
For now, though, she’d averted another crisis. Her da had accepted Bellamy’s apology and had been open to forming the match. Of course, she’d been flustered that the men had moved forward with a match instead of the courtship she and Bellamy had privately agreed upon. But she hadn’t been able to stop the process.
During the ride home after plucking the gander with Oscar and Bellamy, Da had been in a congenial mood. Wascongenialthe right word to describe him? Maybe relieved? Reassured? Allayed?
Aye.Allayed. She liked that word the best. It was a good, strong description. Da’s worries had all been allayed.
At some point in the future, whenever it seemed best to both her and Bellamy, they would have to let their families know they were parting ways. Perhaps they could stage a big fight or a disagreement to make the dissolution of their match believable.
In the meantime, the rumors that she was marrying the matchmaker would spread around St. Louis, and soon people would forget all about the inappropriate kiss she’d shared with Bellamy. She would become the envy of every single girl in the city, but that was just fine with her. She would enjoy her claim to Bellamy while it lasted. Secretly, of course. She couldn’t chance him discovering that she was pretending to dislike him.
As he made his way toward her, his eyes narrowed in a way she was learning meant he wasn’t pleased with her. “The devil, Zaira. I told you to stay on the edge of the encampment,” he said when he got close enough.
“If you can traipse through the camp, why am I not allowed to stand here, where I’m mostly still on the edge?”
“Because I don’t want you to catch the cholera.”
“And what?” She lifted her brow at him. “Are you invincible?”
“Oh aye. I’ve been around people over the past few months with cholera, and I haven’t been afflicted with it yet, so I haven’t.”
Bellamy had been there for her brother-in-law Riley when he’d battled cholera. He hadn’t caught it then, so maybe he would be okay.
They returned to their horses and a well-worn path that bordered the river. It wound through shrubs and tall grass, with insects flying up in the air as they led the horses on foot.
During the past hours of searching, she and Bellamy had already discussed the growing problems with the city not being able to keep up with the swelling number of immigrants who came north by steamboat every day.
Many of them had come from Ireland because of the blight that had destroyed potato crops over recent years. Bellamy claimed that most had become reliant upon the potato for daily sustenance. The problem was that after an unusually wet and cool year in 1845, much of the potato crop had rotted in the fields, leaving people without food. The blight had persisted for the past few years, continuing to ruin potato crops.
The prime minister had imported corn to provide relief and avert starvation. But when the poor—many of whom were tenant farmers and laborers—couldn’t keep up with paying rent, they were evicted from their homes, adding homelessness to the problem.
Charities and soup kitchens were helping, and the government had tried to provide employment for men in building roads and other public projects. But Bellamy believed the assistance to be grudging and ineffective, and he had expounded on how much more could be done to alleviate the problems.
Bellamy had been more knowledgeable about the issue than she’d expected. Clearly he soaked up a great deal of information in his line of work from the diverse people who came in and out of the pub. And he was bright and articulate in addition to being compassionate.
