The afterglow of the setting sun spilled across the Atlantic, painting the horizon in streaks of gold and crimson. Shane and his sister Mary stood side by side at the bow, their hair and scarves fluttering in the crisp sea breeze.
Mary inhaled deeply, as if trying to capture the taste of freedom in the salty air.
Shane's fingers tapped absentmindedly on the cold railing. His eyes fixed on the meeting line of sea and sky, but his thoughts were already in New York—a city teeming with opportunity and danger alike. Once they set foot on its shores, everything from their old life would be left behind.
The sun sank further, and the sky deepened from orange to violet. Shane's hand rested on Mary's shoulder. "Come on," he whispered. "We have work to do tonight."
Mary nodded reluctantly, stealing one last glance at the vast horizon before following her brother back inside.
...
Inside their cabin, Shane moved quietly, making sure no one noticed. From under the bunk, he retrieved a worn leather suitcase, dark brown and scratched, its brass clasp gleaming faintly in the dim light. He had bought it from a crew member disposing of old goods for next to nothing. The man had laughed at the suitcase's age, but Shane had only smiled.
Opening it, a faint musty odor escaped. Inside, he carefully arranged his backpack, then began placing several boxes of medicine, a few small pieces of jewelry, and tightly wrapped rolls of US dollars. Each item went into hidden crevices sewn into the suitcase lining, pressed with scraps of cloth so nothing looked out of place.
Next, he folded their worn clothes—a few faded shirts and jackets, a long skirt, and old shoes—along with everyday necessities: soap, towels, and small personal items. With a gentle click, the suitcase closed. Shane slid it under the bed and covered it with a blanket.
"Brother… are you sure this will be safe?" Mary asked softly, her voice tinged with worry.
Shane leaned close, lowering his voice. "It's just an old suitcase. No one will pay attention. Once we dock, you'll take it with Mr. and Mrs. Parker. I'll handle the rest and join a different queue. No matter what, don't panic."
Mary's eyes reflected her trust in him. Shane had always found a way through trouble.
The next afternoon, the steerage corridors were alive with smells and sounds: the sour tang of sweat, faint perfume, greasy odors from stewed meals, mingling in the humid air. Passengers moved in small clusters. Irish women mended clothes, a Jewish elder read a tattered Bible, and two Italian youths squatted in a corner playing a coin game. From a cabin, a baby cried, its wail rising over the hiss of the steam pipes.
Shane moved among them, carrying a cloth bag that clinked softly with the glass bottles inside. He offered nods and smiles to familiar faces, subtle signals in a network of trust he had built over weeks aboard the ship.
Turning into a narrow "Crew Only" passage, his expression shifted to caution. Thomas, the steerage steward, was inside. A faint Irish folk tune hummed from the room as Shane tapped lightly on the door.
"Come in," Thomas's deep voice called.
The room smelled of tobacco, leather, and black tea. Thomas, burly and bearded, sat with a steaming cup in hand. On the table lay a well-kept Colt revolver, a recent trade Shane had facilitated.
"I need your help," Shane said, placing his bag on the table so the bottles clinked audibly.
Thomas's sharp blue eyes studied the bottles. "You've got nerve," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Liquor is valuable—still in demand."
Shane offered half a pack of Lucky Strikes. "I know it's risky. I'll pay your share when we dock."
Thomas examined the bottles, then nodded. "Tomorrow after breakfast, put them in my laundry basket. Smart lad."
Shane smiled in relief. Thomas added quietly, "Tell Mary to stay off the starboard deck tonight. There's a surprise inspection."
In this floating world, trust and profit were intertwined delicately. Shane repeated similar trades over the next two days, securing the rest of the whiskey in hidden spots.
At dawn, Shane awoke to faint footsteps outside the cabin. Light was creeping through the porthole, softening the darkness. Carefully, he woke Mary and tucked her blanket around her, then slipped onto the deck.
The sea breeze hit him, bracing and fresh. A sailor called, "Look! Over there!"
Through the morning mist, the Statue of Liberty emerged, her torch cutting through the fog like a beacon. Behind her, New York City gradually revealed itself: a sprawling metropolis of steel, smoke, and sunlight.
Shane felt a lump in his throat. All his planning, every risk he had taken, had led to this moment. He ran back to Mary, lifting her carefully.
The deck was crowded, passengers murmuring in dozens of languages, faces turned toward the statue. Mary's pale face brightened as she gazed up at Lady Liberty. "It's… so beautiful," she whispered.