Maeve O'Treasaigh

Aye! Wishing you a most happy birthday. 'Tis a perfect day to play hookie down at the local pub. Cheers!

Happy Birthday my dearest love. We have had so many amazing years together and I'm looking forward to 5 times as many more. You are the wind in my sails. Thank you for your constant encouragement and support, and for always making me laugh. Thank you for liking all the things that I like, and for not pretending to be anything you aren't. I'm so very happy to continue sailing this ship with you! All my love and admiration, Maeve O'Treasaigh

Captain J is going to try to do a Skype set-up tomorrow with his computer and wants to know who's interested in having a live conversation with the camp. This is our way of saying hello to anyone who couldn't make it.

The smell of food at once made her queasy even as it awoke her intense hunger. And though she ached to simply make her report to Captain Lasseter and be done with it, she could not brush away his polite and unspoken imploring for just a bit more time before giving him news he did not wish to hear. Also, not understanding the politics in the room and whether or not they had any understanding of Preston's condition, she prudently kept silent. Empathy and sympathy both tempered her response. "Of course, Captain", she said, approaching the proffered chair. "Thank you", she added, and sat, even as Captain Lasseter pushed in her chair. Maeve ate slowly and uncertainly, not sure if her stomach would betray her, giving it time to settle, even as part of her wished to scarf her meal in a most unladylike fashion. She listened politely and intently to the conversation as it picked up around the table of strangers, saying little.

I suppose I've got to get up MUCH earlier in the morning if I intended to be the first one to wish my love the happiest of birthdays. I am grateful to have you as my lifemate, grateful to have been an integral part of your life for yet another year. I look forward to all of the rest of our years together with hope, love, gratitude, and joy. Happy Happy Birthday! :-) You're a true gem!

I'm biased, but I LOVE IT! :-)

Hmmm....my birthday brought this place to a screeching halt. :-( I guess there was an overload of sweetness. Sorry! Can we order up something hearty and salty?

With the captains gone, Maeve finally allowed herself to melt and the weariness she’d been feeling burst the damns. A warning look from Briar, returned by a silent plea from Maeve was all it took for Miss Kildaire to take complete charge of the situation. Enlisting a limited amount of Treasure’s help, the two ladies set about making the patients as comfortable as possible, and began mixing herbs and poultices. Maeve slunk into her quarters and shut the door, not quite remembering the last time she’d been so grateful to be allowed to slip into the oblivion of sleep.

Thank you everyone for all the well wishes! I'm having a wonderful day. 'Tis indeed a shame I have not yet had the fortune to meet many of you. My birthday wish is that it will happen this year :-) And Jenny, I love my octonauts! Thank you :-)

Maeve stood over Ajayi for nearly a quarter of an hour since Eric had discovered the captains and their party recently arrived to the docks. The damage to Ajayi, though not fatal, was extensive and tragic. Maeve was exhausted now by the long wait of a hot day in a hot room and the sudden and intensive care of Mr. Wellings. She was becoming shaky on her feet and began to feel a bit nauseated. She hoped it didn’t show on her face. The doctor chewed her lip as everyone pressed close. Too close it seemed. Captain and Brand stood hard by waiting, taciturn and anxious for his maltreated man while Captain Lasseter spoke in low tones to a very tired Mr. Wellings. "Tis a wonder they didn't kill him", Tudor said darkly. William's eyes glittered in the low light. "They would never destroy property", he said flatly, his voice carrying something unspoken. Gingerly, Maeve finally decided to inspect Ajayi's fingers. The ring and little finger of his right hand had been broken. Ajayi and Maeve both were greatful for the laudinum having had enough time to take effect as she went about that particular business. She carefully sewed up the worst of Ajayi wounds with her finest silk thread. The doctor discovered two cracked ribs as well, but those would have to heal on their own in time. After a time, Maeve stepped back, looking pale, and declared she'd done all she could for now and excused herself to step outside.

Mr. Wellings began to moan and twist a bit as Maeve tried to extract the shot. Tudor couldn’t hold him alone. The ladies didn’t have to ask Mr. Franklin and Jean to assist them in keeping Mr. Wellings still. The moment they heard his moans they were up and over to the tableside. “Thank you gentlemen”, the doctor murmured as she began her efforts again. The piece of lead was buried more deeply than she’d hoped. This wound wasn’t fatal but it would smart him deeply for a while. The effort and humidity of the day beaded up on Maeve’s forehead and began to trickle down her hairline. Without being asked, Tudor mopped Maeve’s sweating brow. The chirurgeon began murmuring encouragingly to Joshua as he was begrudgingly pulled from his exhaustion and rum induced stupor. Just as he began to cry out, Maeve pulled the shot out with a moist ‘pop’. Everyone broke into a smile, even as Mr. Wellings whimpered. “Nice job lass”, Eric complimented. In his enthusiasm, Maeve had the distinct impression he would have clapped her on the back had she been one of the “boys”. “Thank you, Mr. Franklin”, she demurred. “We’ll let Mr. Wellings here rest now a bit far his efforts and make him mar comfertable before I work on his lesser ills”, she added, reaching for a small bottle of laudanum. Tudor let her tired arm set down the lantern and moved to open a few of the windows in the room. She gazed out at the harbor and the softly bobbing lights in the bay, breathed deeply, and smiled thoughtfully to no one but herself.

Darkness had long since fallen when they finally heard the sound of carriage and horses. Together, Mr. Franklin, Tudor and Maeve rushed to the door. Eric reached it first, flinging it open, happy to be in action and have something to do after their long wait. He rushed to the carriage, leaving Maeve and Tudor to linger just outside the doorway as Jack Roberts and Jean emerged from the carriage. The three men hurriedly worked out how the three of them would extricate Mr. Wellings from the floor of the carriage. Maeve turned and headed back inside to hover near her prepared table, absentmindedly brushing the material of her skirts down repeatedly as she waited. Miss Smith followed and had the presence of mind to begin lighting the extra candles and lanterns they had made ready. Jean came through the door first, carrying Joshua’s legs. Eric followed, carrying his shipmate’s torso. An extremely fatigued looking Jack Roberts followed after. He waved off the carriage as his two crewmates carried their burden to the awaiting table. They were still situating him even as Maeve began her precursory inspection, asking for an explanation of his injuries from Jean. The smell of rum wafted up from her patient who seemed to be only vaguely conscious. She carefully studied the horrible welt just under Joshua’s right eye, noting the stippling burns from the gunshot that had miraculously fired just softly enough not to break his skin. But the bruise was angry. Maeve was more alarmed about Mr. Wellings’ left eye and inspected it gingerly as Jack repeated quickly the story of how it had been dashed from Joshua’s socket when he’d hit the ground from a horse fall. It was too early to tell, and there was far too much swelling yet to be certain of whether or not this eye would work properly ever again. It would probably become slightly lazy, at best. She then raised the patient’s left arm and began unwrapping the bandages there as Jean continued the narration of this particular injury and what had been done thus far. She merely nodded as she concentrated on her task. She called to Miss Smith, asking her to bring over the rags and a pot of hot water. Eric walked over to Jean and offered him a cup of water, and a sip of something stronger if he wished. “Oui, sah”, said Jean with a weary smile. He moved off with Eric to join a bone-weary Jack who was already sitting by the fireplace. Tudor came to Maeve’s side with the water and rags, offering her assistance. Together, they carefully re-cleaned Joshua’s wounds. They only oozed a bit of blood now and then. “First thing we need ta do is ta take the lead out”, Maeve said softly, almost to herself. She maneuvered Joshua’s arm until she felt she had the best position to begin extracting the shot. Tudor proved herself to be a competent assistant, already bringing a lantern to bear before Maeve needed to ask for the extra light. Maeve smiled at her. She brought her probe to bear and placed it tenderly against the wound and then jumped, startled out of her concentration as Mr. Franklin exclaimed “whoa!” There was a slight scuffle as she and Tudor turned to see Eric, bent over in a comical pose, holding a cup just inches off the ground. He had caught Jack’s cup of rum and kept the majority of it from spilling. Mr. Roberts was dead asleep in a chair before the fireplace, unconscious to the world. Maeve and Tudor laughed. It seemed to break a tension that was in the room. At that moment, Maeve also knew that Mr. Wellings, though much abused, was going to be just fine. She set about her work with renewed calm and purpose.