by Jody Hedlund
Against his will, his gaze strayed to Pete, to the hand still pressed possessively against Arabella’s back and the other hand gently cupping her cheek. As Pete’s kisses dropped to Arabella’s jawline, Abe tore his attention away again and cleared his throat.
Pete broke away from his wife, looked at Abe, and chuckled. “That’s how it’s done, my friend. In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” Abe tried to keep his tone dry.
“Then you don’t know what you’re missing.” Pete stole another kiss from Arabella, this one quicker, but nonetheless passionate enough that Abe’s body betrayed him with urges he’d been trying to ignore. If only he’d never had that encounter with Wanda. . . . If only he’d never gone to her house. . . .
Abe lifted a silent prayer of repentance, as he did almost daily, and asked God to deliver him from temptation so he wouldn’t compromise his integrity any further. No, he and Lizzy weren’t officially engaged, but they’d been friends since childhood, and he’d always known she was the perfect woman for him.
When the Society of the Propagation of the Gospel had offered him the five-year position establishing churches in British Columbia, he’d asked Lizzy if she would wait for him, and of course she’d agreed. She’d understood his devastation at the riots and resulting deaths of the laborers in his Sheffield parish. She’d understood his need to take a break from the heartache and gain a new perspective. She’d always understood him better than anyone else had.
From her faithful correspondence, he knew she was keeping busy giving music lessons as well as doing charity work. Lately her letters were so full of all her activities he’d begun to wonder if she missed him. Whenever he doubted her affection, he reminded himself that his letters touted his activities too. With his work in Yale and among the mining camps, he’d had little time to pine away for her. Even though he replied to her regularly, he could admit that sometimes his letters were abysmally short and hurried.
Even so, Lizzy was the love of his life. She was refined, poised, elegant, and soft-spoken. When he sailed home and took another rector position, she would fit into his life seamlessly and would be the kind of helpmate he’d always dreamed of having. Their parents heartily approved of their relationship, and Lizzy’s mother had been planning their wedding for years.
Though he and Lizzy had always been close, he’d never kissed her except for the morning he left England—if the peck on her forehead could really be called a kiss. In hindsight, he wished he’d demonstrated more ardor. Maybe not the way Pete kissed Arabella. Or the way Wanda had kissed him. But surely he could have managed something a little more impassioned.
Abe’s gaze drifted to Arabella’s delicate face, the rosy color in her cheeks, and the delight radiating from her eyes as she peered up at Pete.
Would he and Lizzy look at each other that way, with such longing? Would he hold Lizzy and press her body against his? Would he kiss her senseless?
At such brazen thoughts, heat simmered up his torso and into his neck again again. He and Lizzy were too timid and refined for such displays, and he suspected their affection would one day be contained to kisses under covers in the dark. Even so, he couldn’t deny his urges were intensifying.
As though sensing the direction of Abe’s thoughts—or seeing the flush in his face—Pete arched a brow. “Get on down to the wharf and pick out a bride.”
Arabella had come on the Tynemouth, the bride ship that had arrived in September. Even though Pete had claimed her the first day he’d seen her, it had taken him weeks to win her heart. Now that he’d found marital bliss, he assumed everyone ought to have a woman from a bride ship.
The local newspaper, the British Colonist, had been full of reports of the latest bride ship that was arriving today, lauding the newest batch of women sent by Miss Rye and the Columbia Mission Society as exemplary in character.
Even so, Abe wasn’t interested. “I am doing just fine for now.”
“Someone wise once told me that God said it wasn’t good for man to live alone.”
Abe rued the day he’d spouted the verse to Pete. His friend never failed to remind him of it. “I’m not alone. God’s presence is with me wherever I go. Besides, I have Lizzy.”
Pete’s grin turned mischievous. “Then what are you waiting for? Tell Lizzy to get on the next ship and come marry you.”
Abe straightened to his full six feet, seven inches, his muscles tensing. He didn’t want to admit he’d already invited Lizzy, that he’d sent her a letter last autumn asking her to come and marry him. Then he’d have to explain his indiscretion with Wanda and the desperation that had led him to quickly pen the correspondence to Lizzy.
Once a fair amount of time had passed, he’d regretted his rash letter and wished he’d remained true to his resolution to wait for marriage. After all, he didn’t want Lizzy to experience the dangers of the long voyage. Didn’t want to expose her to the harshness of the mountain wilderness. Didn’t want her to face the deprivations of his humble existence.
But perhaps he’d been wrong to think they needed to wait until he finished his five years of service. If she desired him enough, wouldn’t she be willing to brave the discomforts to be with him? Although he couldn’t picture a woman like Lizzy ministering with him, what if she was willing nonetheless?
With thoughts of Lizzy racing through his head, he said good-bye to Pete and Arabella. Pulling his thick cloak tighter about him, he hunkered down against the winter chill as he slogged down the muddy street. Although he tried to avoid getting splattered with mud from the passing horses and wagons, by the time he reached the end of Humboldt Street, his freshly laundered trousers were hopelessly dirty.
How would Lizzy fare here? What would she think of the mud? It was worse in the mining camps up in the river valley. And what would she think of his tiny log cabin? Or of the rugged town of Yale that served as his home base?
Surely at the prospect of being together she’d overlook the negatives. Besides, in spite of the austere living conditions, the beauty was unlike anything else. He lifted his sights to the distant mountain peaks and began to whistle one of his favorite hymns, “God, Who Made the Earth and Heaven.”
As he turned a corner and the harbor spread out before him, his whistle faded, and he stopped short at the sight of the crowds lining the shore. Men stood on wharfs, waited in moored boats, and perched on fences.
“Lord have mercy.” Abe’s jaw slackened. There had to be at least a thousand men swarming the waterfront. Did every single one of them hope to find a bride? Or were some mere spectators?
As a cheer went up, his attention shifted to two tenders pulling up alongside a wharf that had been cordoned off by constables. A few minutes later, the women climbed out of the boats, and Abe watched with fascination, unable to tear himself away. He hadn’t been in Victoria when the Tynemouth had arrived and had only heard embellished secondhand stories—or at least he’d assumed the tales had been embellished.
Maybe the miners hadn’t been exaggerating after all.
When the women began to make their way down a roped-off path, he half held his breath, wondering if anyone would be brave enough to propose like Pioneer had when the Tynemouth women came ashore.
From what Abe had heard, the young miner had singled out a pretty lass from the group, stepped right up to her, and offered two thousand pounds if she agreed to marry him. Sophia had hesitated only a moment before saying yes. And less than a week later, Abe had performed the wedding ceremony.
Of course, Abe hadn’t approved of the hasty arrangements. He’d had a long talk with Pioneer the morning of the wedding, encouraging him to consider postponing until he had the chance to get to know Sophia. But Pioneer had insisted she was the one.
The last Abe had heard of Pioneer and Sophia, they were living in Johnson’s Creek, where Pioneer had his profitable claim. As far as Abe knew, the couple was getting along well enough, but he wouldn’t know for certain until the spring thaw when he began his circ
uit riding.
“Get on down to the wharf and pick out a bride.” Pete’s teasing from earlier resounded in Abe’s head and kicked him in the gut with the same longing as before. Though he needed to continue on his way to Christ Church Cathedral and his meeting with Bishop Hills, he couldn’t make his feet move and instead studied the bride-ship women.
They wore the plain skirts and cloaks of the poor working class. In fact, their garments were unkempt, making the women appear almost shabby. In addition, the women were pale and thin from their months at sea. Even so, their faces held an innocence and appeal that made them different from the prostitutes who lived in Victoria and the mining towns.
An interaction near the end of the wharf drew Abe’s attention. Someone had stopped one of the brides. From his hilltop position, Abe glimpsed a pretty face with especially fetching eyes. As she smiled at the man talking with her, dimples made a quick appearance in her cheeks.
When the man reached out and tugged off her headscarf, her long dark hair fell forward and framed her face, making her even more beautiful. She batted his hand, and her expression turned feisty. Her reaction must have made her more appealing to the man ogling her, because he yanked off her cloak, giving full view of her womanly figure.
Her dark brows furrowed and formed storm clouds as she jerked her cloak back around herself. She said something to the man, but over the distance and commotion, Abe couldn’t make out the words.
The man tipped his head back and laughed, clearly pleased with the woman’s spunk. As the man exchanged a grin with one of his companions, Abe recognized the swarthy young face—Dexter Dawson. Or Dex as he was known up in the mining towns.
Dex and his men caused trouble wherever they went, carousing, brawling, and stirring up dissension. They never stayed in one spot long enough to strike it rich, but somehow they always seemed to have plenty of gold. Abe couldn’t be certain, but he guessed Dex and his men stole from caravans loaded with gold that were heading out of the mountains back down to New Westminster and Victoria.
With a surge of alarm, Abe watched the pretty woman stride away. Dexter Dawson surely wasn’t thinking about marrying one of the bride-ship women, was he? Dex was handsome and charming and popular among saloon women. But he had no business interfering with these newly arrived brides. They certainly hadn’t come halfway around the world to get tangled up with the likes of him.
Abe lifted his broad shoulders and pressed his lips together. Maybe he needed to seek out the chaperones or speak to one of the members of the welcoming committee and warn them about Dex so that they could encourage the new arrivals to stay away from him.
With so many other God-fearing and upright fellows in the colony looking for wives, the women would have plenty of suitable options. He just prayed they would take their time and choose wisely.
three
Zoe blinked back a wave of dizziness. Her headache wasn’t completely gone, and the jarring of the carriage ride over to the hospital hadn’t helped, but at least the blinding pain had diminished. She’d been able to keep down toast and tea at breakfast, the first meal she’d eaten since setting foot in Victoria two days ago.
“Maybe I shouldn’t leave you here by yourself,” Mrs. Moresby said as the weight of the stairs creaked under her hefty frame. “I don’t think you’re entirely well yet.”
“I’ll be just fine, ma’am.” Zoe paused and gripped the rail. “You needn’t fret about me.”
Mrs. Moresby from the welcoming committee had been a godsend from the moment the brides had arrived at the Marine Barracks. The matron had informed them that the large house would be their living quarters until they found employment or a husband—whichever came first.
She’d also shown them around, provided additional clothing, and patiently answered all their questions. She’d even been there when the ache in Zoe’s temple had finally become so unbearable that she’d collapsed from the pain. Mrs. Moresby had been the one to accompany Zoe to her room, help her don a clean nightgown, and tuck her into bed.
The kind matron had tended her throughout the day yesterday, bringing her tea and warm compresses. When Mrs. Moresby arrived this morning, Zoe forced herself to get up and act normal, desperate to go to the hospital and discover how Jane was doing. No one else had visited the patients, and Mrs. Moresby hadn’t needed much persuading to allow Zoe to go. She’d even arranged to deliver Zoe in her own carriage.
“Maybe while you’re here, we’ll have one of the doctors take a look at you.” She was a giant of a woman with her wide shoulders, thick arms, and broad girth. Her hooped skirts brushed against the narrow stairwell, and the tall, colorful feathers on her hat dusted the low ceiling.
“The headaches just come and go, ma’am,” Zoe said, as she had already a dozen times. “My mum, bless her soul, tried everything she could to ease the pressure, but nothing worked except the passing of time.”
“Yes, but we have such good doctors here in Victoria. They might be able to discover what ails you and find a treatment.”
“I’m more concerned about my friend, ma’am.” Zoe had only needed to step one foot inside the hospital for dread to pound out its ugly rhythm. The dark, damp entryway had greeted her with the stench of death. The silence, the chill in the air, and even the somberness of an attendant on duty had only made Zoe all the more anxious to find Jane and Dora and haul them back to the Marine Barracks. Surely she could coax Mrs. Moresby to take her side. Maybe, with a little charm, she could even convince the woman to arrange the transportation.
At the second floor, she followed Mrs. Moresby down the hallway. They stopped in front of the closed door the attendant had indicated belonged to the quarantined women. In the room across the hallway, a man rested in a bed with a bloodied bandage around his head. At the sound of their footsteps, he opened his eyes and took them in.
“Why, hello there, beautiful,” he said with a weak smile.
“Hello yourself.” Mrs. Moresby paused with her hand on the doorknob and glared down her prominent nose at the man.
“I meant the compliment to the young lady.” He averted his gaze. “But you’re a fine-looking lady too, that you are.”
Mrs. Moresby glared at the man a moment longer before she swung open the door and bustled away in a flurry of swishing skirts and rustling feathers.
Zoe repaid the man’s compliment with a nod and smile before following Mrs. Moresby. At the sight of Jane, pale and motionless on the bed closest to the door, Zoe rushed to her friend, her heartbeat picking up pace. “Jane, I’m here.”
Jane’s eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t open them.
Zoe dropped to the edge of the bed and took her friend’s hand. It was cold and waxy . . . the same way baby Eve’s had been that last morning Zoe had held her. With mounting panic, she shook her friend. “Wake up, Jane. It’s time to be going.”
A breath slipped from Jane’s lips before they curled up just slightly into a smile. “Did you find me a husband, then?”
“Aye.” Zoe kept her voice lighthearted even though the anxiety inside twisted tighter than thread around a spindle. “Found you the handsomest fella in all the colony.”
“Good.”
Zoe’s mind went back to coming ashore two days ago and the fellas she’d seen during the walk to the Marine Barracks. Thankfully, the men hadn’t seemed deterred by the dirty, disheveled state of the women and were now apparently lining up at the door to come calling on the brides.
She’d gladly give them all to Jane. “You’re coming back with me, and I’ll introduce you to your new man today.”
Jane wheezed, coughed weakly, then grew still.
Zoe picked up Jane’s colorful scarf where it had fallen on the floor and gently began to wrap it around the young woman again. Her dear friend was worse. Much worse. How had she deteriorated so quickly in just two days?
“Miss Hart,” Mrs. Moresby said from beside Dora’s bed.
Something in the older woman’s tone drew Zoe’s attention. Do
ra’s body was frozen in place without even the slightest rise and fall of her chest. Zoe lifted her eyes to Mrs. Moresby’s to find somber resignation.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Moresby whispered.
Zoe clutched Jane’s hand harder. “We need to be getting Jane over to the Marine Barracks right away.”
With heavy footsteps echoing ominously, Mrs. Moresby crossed the room, stood next to the bed, and stared down at Jane.
Zoe tugged at Jane and forced a smile. “Or maybe we should go right to the church and have the wedding today.”
Again, Jane’s lips curved, but barely.
“That’s my girl.” Zoe leaned in and brushed a kiss across Jane’s forehead. It was just as cold and waxy as the rest of her, as cold and waxy as the face of her precious niece when Zoe had found her dead in her crib.
Eve had been only six weeks old. Had been so full of life and energy. Had filled Zoe’s heart with such love. And had given her purpose when she’d had none.
The babe had been too young to die. . . .
A sharp pang reverberated in Zoe’s chest, and she took a deep breath to force the pain away. She couldn’t think of Eve right now. This situation was different. Jane was still breathing and talking. With the right kind of care, Jane would regain her strength and be as good as new.
As Zoe sat back up, she caught Mrs. Moresby studying her, the woman’s eyes saying everything Zoe didn’t want to hear.
Zoe smoothed back her friend’s limp hair. “I’m sure your driver would help us carry her out.”
Mrs. Moresby shook her head.
“Please.” This time Zoe reached for Mrs. Moresby’s hand. She would have gotten on her knees and begged the woman, except Mrs. Moresby placed her other hand on Zoe’s shoulder and pinned her in place.
“If we move her,” Mrs. Morseby said softly, “we’ll kill her.”
Zoe’s throat constricted.
“She has to stay here.”
Mrs. Moresby was right. “Then I’ll be staying here and helping her is all.” She jutted her chin and dared Mrs. Moresby to stop her.