Voyage of Midnight Read Free Page A

hot water, gasping, for it smarted. Once I was scrubbed clean and decently covered with bubbles, Mrs. Gallagher brought a tray of food—ham, bread, eggs, and potatoes. Then the two of them left me alone as I ate the most glorious meal of my life, never having known before that food could taste so scrumptious.
    If ever there were two angels on earth, they were Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher.
    My new clothes smelled of soap. I was allowed to keep a candle burning all night. They
tsked
and shook their heads when I told them the story of my life. “Such a shame,” they said, their foreheads creased with sympathy.
    I gladly went to work in their chemist’s shop on Rue du Dauphine in the French Quarter. The shop was below and the living quarters above, and so it was a cozy arrangement. Every day (except for the Sabbath, of course, when we attended Mass), I ground powders with a mortar and pestle as my body grew strong (owing to Mrs. Gallagher’s fine and generous cooking). I labeled bottles and made deliveries. I even learned to help customers, for Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher said that I was a polite and pleasant-looking lad, and therefore well suited for customer service. After a while, I knew enough to be able to compound simple prescriptions.
    Mrs. Gallagher doted upon me, calling me her “little English boy.”
    Meanwhile, Mr. Gallagher tried to locate my uncle, but no one seemed to have heard of a Mr. Isaac Smythe, a sailor by trade.
    Months passed, and though all should’ve been well, though to complain would’ve made me an ungrateful wretch, still, as I lay awake at night, covers kicked off in the New Orleans summer, a part of me was unsettled. Where on this vast planet was my only living relative, the only family left to me? For wherever Uncle was, that’s where I longed to be.
    I leaned across the counter and handed the customer his parcel. “Stir half a teaspoonful of the wine of antimony into a tumbler of flaxseed tea,” I told him. “Drink it often. Should loosen the congestion straightaway.”
    The customer thanked me, paid his bill, and left the shop to the jangle of bells.
    Mr. Gallagher had been standing beside the scales, deciphering a prescription. Now he removed his spectacles and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. The day was hot as scorched gruel. Flies buzzed, landing on soaps, bins of dried herbs, andbottles filled with vinegar, wine of tar, and iodine. “Philip? A moment, please, if you will.”
    I put the coins in the till, then stood beside him, expecting him to give me a prescription to fill, a powder to weigh, or a delivery to make.
    Instead, he replaced his spectacles and said, “Mrs. Gallagher and I have noticed you’ve been downcast of late.” I must’ve flushed a brilliant red and looked dreadfully guilty, for he hastened to add, “No, no, don’t misunderstand me, lad. We’ve no complaints, certainly; we love you like a son, indeed we do.” He smiled and patted my shoulder. “And you’ve a home with us so long as you need it or want it, you know that.”
    “Thank you,” I replied, wondering where this was leading. “You’ve been quite generous. You saved my life, surely, you and Mrs. Gallagher both.” Though I’d lived with them for months, though they’d invited me more than once to call them by their Christian names, Sean and Mary, (Mrs. Gallagher had even asked me at times to address her as “Mother”), still I’d never been able to call them anything other than Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher. Anything else seemed odd, as if I’d be telling a lie. “I’m forever in your debt, Mr. Gallagher. When my uncle finds me, or when I find him, I’m sure he’ll pay you for your troubles. He’s quite well-off.”
    “Uh, no need for that. You’ve repaid us tenfold just by being here. Don’t know how we got along without you before. Well, my point is, we’ve given it a lot of thought, Mrs. Gallagher and I; you’re a bright lad, and it seems to us that a lad such as yourself needs