“Andrew, come over here. Bring your satchel.”
Annie Kate cradled the baby under her shawl, but another wave crashed over the ship and doused it yet again. Baby Martin cried a weak little mew into Annie Kate’s breast. Andrew crossed from the other side of the ship. The boat’s rocking from a swell knocked him over. He fell onto the deck and the satchel slid over to Annie Kate. A wet potato cake rolled out next to Annie Kate’s feet. She grabbed it.
A bony six-year old boy with sunken eyes and a bulging stomach jumped and tore it out of Annie Kate’s hands before she could give it to the baby. “Mine,” she cried out, “for my baby!”
Andrew grabbed the boy who’d already swallowed the cake. He shook the boy until he vomited on Andrew. Annie Kate cried. That was the last of their food and New York still lay another two days beyond. She looked at Martin, crying from hunger. Annie Kate didn’t yet have milk. The new baby was only four months along.
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