Into the Storm by Avi Page B

beams. She felt the swaying of the boat, and while she knew they were going to America, she had no idea what America was, only that her mother said they would be happy there. Bridy was not sure she knew what being happy meant. Taking a deep breath, she wondered if she would ever know anything. So much seemed uncertain.
    Deciding to ask her mother about America, Bridy made her way to her family’s berth. Her father and two brothers lay asleep. Her mother was not there.
    In the dull light, she studied her father’s face. It was a face she loved: the heavy-lidded eyes, the soft cheeks, the curve of his lips. Though Bridy often sensed his disappointment — and knew how tired he most always was — she never knew his anger. Now, as she looked at him, she saw that his sleep was restless and that there was sweat on his brow.
    Her brothers — fourteen-year-old Brian and fifteen-year-old John — were thinner, taller than their father. They were the best of friends, always together, whispering off in corners, full of private jokes. She loved them too.
    Bridy reached over to stroke her father’s brow. It was hot. At her touch, he opened his eyes, saw her, made a small grimace — Bridy was sure it was a smile — then dropped back into fitful sleep. Bridy let him be.
    Half an hour later her mother returned. She stood at the foot of the bed and stared fixedly at her husband, unaware of Bridy sitting in the shadows. From the way her mouth was working, Bridy knew she was saying prayers. “Mother …,” Bridy spoke softly.
    Mrs. Faherty looked about.
    â€œI’m here,” Bridy said.
    Mrs. Faherty beckoned the girl to her side. Then she sighed. “Come now, Bridy,” she said, touching her daughter on the shoulder, “we’ll take a bit of a walk.”
    They went along the central aisle, then up the steps to the crowded main deck. There were the inevitable long lines for food, for the fireplace, for the privies. Ignoring them, Mrs. Faherty led the child into a corner, from which the quarterdeck rose. It was a gray, cloudy day, and seas were low. Now and again the sails above fluttered languidly.
    Bridy, knowing her mother had something to say to her but would speak only when she was ready, waited patiently, staring out at the waves.
    â€œBridy, love,” her mother said at last.
    The girl looked around.
    â€œFaith now, are you still fairing well with that Maura O’Connell?”
    Bridy nodded.
    â€œAnd is she kind to you?”
    â€œShe’s very kind,” Bridy said. “And, Mother, they do share their food with me.”
    â€œAnd her brother?”
    â€œHe’s fine too.”
    â€œWhat about the other one, the Englishman?”
    Bridy considered a moment. “I don’t always understand the way he talks.”
    For a while Mrs. Faherty said nothing. Then she said, “Bridy, you need to know. Your father is doing poorly.”
    Bridy stared up at her mother.
    â€œAiling. Not well at all,” her mother said. “But you mustn’t tell a soul. Begorra, I wanted you to know, but I’m also wanting it to be a secret. Can you keep it?”
    Bridy nodded.
    â€œDidn’t I hear a priest say once, ‘When an angel speaks, it’s silence you hear, ’cause it speaks to your heart and not to your ear.’ It was a fine thing to say.” Mrs. Faherty sighed, then went on. ’Cause most of what people like us hear is silence. Sure, isn’t it a great comfort to know it’s God who’s speaking so much to us.”
    Bridy pressed her face against her mother’s belly. “You’ll do fine, Bridy Faherty,” her mother said, squeezing her close. “Just fine.” Then she pushed the girl away. “Look at me, love.”
    The girl looked up.
    â€œYou must keep away from us. Even from me who loves you so. You must. If it’s a sickness we’re having, you need to keep yourself clear of