Chapter 1
Liverpool, England
February 19, 1854
The din from the filthy streetsrivaled the chaos of the overcrowded lodging house, and Ann Fowles grimaced as she clutched her coin purse to her waist. Back in Hemel Hempstead, she never would have presumed to leave her house alone this late in the evening, nor would she ever have needed to take such a dangerous outing.
Please, help me find food quickly, Ann prayed as she walked along the paving stones of the narrow avenue, wishing she had a companion with her. Not too long ago, Adelaide would have noticed Ann leaving and insisted on coming.
Sisters look out for each other, she’d say, looping her arm through Ann’s.
Her sister’s weary face and weakening body filled Ann’s mind, followed closely by the memory of her infant niece’s near-constant cries. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave for Zion only a few weeks after little Addy’s birth.
Ann’s mother, who usually managed preparations for meals and had been one of the driving forces of their move, was spending every waking moment trying to preserve the fragile health of Adelaide and the baby. Food had run out again, and Ann knew unless she went now, Adelaide might not have enough strength to feed her baby.
The air of the city hung with an impish coarseness that laughed in the face of propriety. People came and went through the busy avenue before her like mice scurrying through a disheveled larder. The smell was not far better: dirt and sewage accented with brine and dead fish. With every passing moment on the horrid street, Ann’s doubt grew.
They had brought enough provisions for one week in Liverpool. But it had been over two weeks, and still they hadn’t boarded theWindermerefor their crossing to America. The captain and crew had declared the coldFebruary conditions not yet favorable. How much more of their precious savings would be used up while they waited here?
As one of the leaders of the group, Adelaide’s husband, Job Smith, had secured passage for their whole family. Ann’s mother and Adelaide had been thrilled. This was their opportunity to sail to Zion and follow God—and yet—He hadn’t provided a way for them to leave.
Just one more sign that this might be an ill-fated trip.
Ann turned down the street nearest the wharf and analyzed the various vendors. She had to find one who would provide the most food for her meager payment. She saw a glint in a shopkeeper’s eye—as if he smelled desperation and saw a deceitful opportunity. Ann quickened her pace.
“I’d be happy to help you, miss,” offered a plump lady with a dirty mobcap as she held a loaf of bread toward her. “I charge a fair price.”
The woman seemed at least two degrees kinder than the rotten-toothed, greedy-eyed shopkeeper she’d just passed, so Ann hurried quickly toward the women’s cart.
“So, you be here for a crossing then? What else you be needing for your journey?”
Ann was taken aback. Did she really stick out as much as this woman had perceived? Then—tearing through her thoughts before Ann could answer—came the sound of a very real tearing as a lad with nimble fingers maneuvered her coin purse from her grip and ripped it from the ribbon attached to her waist.
“Stop!” she cried, but it was too late. The cutpurse dove under the cart. Barrels blocked the way as she turned to give chase. By the time she’d made it around, the boy was halfway through the alleyway.
“Hold it right there!” A firm voice came from past another cart, and a man emerged ahead of her in the alley. He ran after the lad and within a moment held the neck of the ragged boy’s shirt. Ann raced forward as the man lifted the boy by his dingy clothing and pinned him against a brick wall of the alley.
Ann stumbled to a stop beside them and tried to still her haggard breathing as the man took one glance at her, glared down the alley behind her, and then returned his attention to the boy.
“Oh Scotty, you wouldn’t dare to be thieving on your days off, now, would you?” The man’s face was barely two inches from the boy’s nose. But then he directed his glare to the bread lady, who had turned, like most of the street,to watch the scene. “Surely, your mother knows that you go to sea, give up your childhood, and risk your life just so you can make an honest wage and send it back to her. A sailor is never a thief.”
The boy winced and handed the coin purse to the man. Ann noticed the way the boy’s eyelids drooped, his countenance devoid of light. Something about his look told her he was sorry not because he stole the money, but rather because he’d been made to steal it in the first place.
“Mrs. Rollins,” the man called to the lady with the bread cart; it was then that Ann realized he had an American accent. “This young woman will be needing that bread, free of charge.”
“But—”
“If you wish Scotty to be part of my crew, you will do it and think twice before turning your son into a thief during the few days he’s in port.”
The American lowered the boy to the ground, but as he went to release him, the young boy muttered, “She’ll give me a real nose-ender, sir, if I return home—”
“Go back to the ship, Scotty.” The man pointed toward the docks with a gruff finality.
The grubby young boy strove valiantly to hide his relief, but Ann noticed. The confident American focused his glare on Mrs. Rollins as her son scurried away. “Your best baguette, ma’m.”
The shop mistress looked like she could have hit him with the bread but instead wrapped her largest loaf in a bit of paper and handed it brusquely to Ann before spinning away.
Most of the sellers turned back to their own business, but Ann stood frozen only a few feet from the forceful American man. He’d spoken as though his occupation was a sailor, but his attire—serviceable breeches with a linen shirt and a blue-green waistcoat—hadn’t immediately given away his occupation. But shehadnoticed that the waistcoat was nearly the same shade as the tumultuous harbor a few streets away, and the flash of his angry eyes earlier seemed to match both the sea and his coat perfectly.
