A Bride for Donnigan

by Janette Oke

  Perhaps other girls were grieving over lost homelands as well, for as the days passed, tempers became short and occasional disturbances erupted. One ended up in a hair-pulling duel, and two other girls were found rolling around on deck, skirts flying along with screams of obscenities. Kathleen had never seen anything like it—not even in the streets of London where such things were said to occur.

  And then there was the girl from the Continent who changed her mind about going to America after taking up with one of the deckhands aboard ship. The whole incident was rather scandalous, to say the least, and Mr. Jenks had a good bit to say about it.

  Kathleen waited impatiently for her appointment with Mr. Jenks. She noted that she was the last name on his posted list. It didn’t surprise her. After all, she had signed up very late.

  However, she was not ignored. Several times during the voyage the man sought her out. Once he even invited her to his cabin to share his dinner. Kathleen was uneasy about the invitation and sent word that she was not feeling well—which, because of the tossing sea at the time, was no exaggeration.

  Still he continued to seek her. It began to be noticed by the other women, and Kathleen found herself the butt of crude jokes. From henceforth she tried her hardest to avoid the man as much as possible.

  As they neared the end of the journey, anticipation ran at fever pitch. Kathleen walked about the deck, enjoying the brisk wind that reddened her cheeks and whipped her hair. But even as she wished solitude, she felt drawn to the others as she heard their high-pitched, excited voices. She drew near to a noisy group in time to catch a comment.

  “The marriage ceremony comes first,” a tall, bony-looking girl was declaring. “I’m not putting one foot in the door until I hear the words. No fallin’ into that trap. I’m not leaving it so he can show me the door again if it suits his fancy.”

  “And I’m telling you, I won’t stand for one minute of tomfoolery,” a big girl named Mary added. “I didn’t come all this way to be somebody’s serving girl.”

  A few girls hooted in agreement.

  “An’ I don’t plan to be slopping pigs—even if I marry a farmer!” shouted another.

  “No. Nor a milkmaid, either,” called Peg.

  “I’ll cook—providing, of course, he gives me the makings,” said a brassy older woman with a painted face and tinted hair.

  “I’m hoping for a man rich enough to provide a young wench or two to help with the house chores,” ventured a woman with blond hair piled haphazardly on the top of her head.

  There was another shout of approval.

  “Tell you one thing,” a short, stout redhead said as she lifted her skirt to hike up her hose. “If I don’t like what I find—I’ll not be stayin’ long.”

  A chorus of agreement followed the comment.

  “And what will you do, lovey?” asked another.

  “Aye—don’t you worry none about Rosie. She can handle herself,” replied the redhead with a wink of her eye and a toss of her skirts.

  Kathleen moved away. “Marriage is a permanent thing,” she argued to herself. “One doesn’t pull out just because there are a few more household chores than one had hoped there would be.” The whole conversation disturbed her.

  Right then and there Kathleen made herself a pledge. She would stay with this arranged marriage no matter what it turned out to be. She would make it work. She would. She had agreed to it and would stick to her agreement.

  She walked away from the shifting, chattering group and sought the stinging sea breezes to blow her discomfiture away.

  She jumped at a touch on her arm, then saw that it was Erma who had joined her.

  “Don’t pay no attention to ’em,” Erma said close to Kathleen’s ear so that the wind wouldn’t whip the words away. “It’s all just nerves and bravado. We’re all getting a little tight strung.”

  Kathleen nodded. She was certainly tight strung.

  “Most of ’em are good, clean, hard-working girls who’ve never been away from home before. They’re scared to death and that’s the way it really is.”

  Erma moved closer to Kathleen and the smaller girl took comfort in her presence.

  “Let’s walk around to lee side so we can talk out of this wind,” Erma suggested, and Kathleen followed with no hesitation.

  They found a small bench sheltered from the wind and took refuge, wrapping their shawls tightly around their shoulders for warmth.

  “There now,” said Erma, giving Kathleen a forced smile, “this feels better.”

  Kathleen nodded, watching the rise of distant waves and feeling the pitch and roll of the sea.

  “We’ll be docking tomorrow,” said Erma. “Have you seen Jenks yet?”

  “In the morning,” replied Kathleen.

  “He sure has held you off,” observed the other girl. “Yet at the same time, he’s been almost courtin’ you the whole passage.”

  “Courting?” echoed Kathleen. She had not felt courted—only harassed.

  Erma nodded. “Why do you think the teasing from the others? They noticed all the attention. The ‘How are you? Can I get anything for your comfort? Would you join me for dinner?’ ” Erma chuckled softly at Kathleen’s shocked look.

  “I don’t think—” began Kathleen. Something about Mr. Jenks made her feel dreadfully uncomfortable. But she couldn’t put it into words. Not even to Erma.

  “Well, no matter,” went on Erma briskly. “We’re almost there now. Not much chance for courtin’ from now on, is there?”

  Then, to Kathleen’s relief, Erma changed the topic. “See all the gulls? That means we’re getting near land.”

  Kathleen lifted her face and studied the birds circling overhead. She could hear their cries and it awoke some deep, distant memory. Had their Irish farm been by the sea? Then her thoughts were interrupted as Erma spoke again.

  “So you still don’t know—?” she began, then stopped, knowing that Kathleen would be able to finish the question.

  Kathleen shook her head. “Sure, and the suspense is givin’ me goose bumps, and that’s the truth,” she answered with a shiver.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes listening to the cry of the gulls and the swell of the seas.

  “If you could wish—and have it come true—what would you wish for?” asked Erma softly.

  “That he be Irish,” responded Kathleen with no hesitation.

  “And his trade?” asked Erma.

  “I wouldn’t care. He can be anything—just as long as he—” She didn’t finish her statement.

  “And what would he look like?” asked Erma, seeming to enjoy her little game.

  Again Kathleen did not hesitate. “Dark wavy hair coming down at the sides with curling sideburns, with laughin’, teasin’ eyes, and a dimple in his chin.” She had described her father just as she remembered him.

  “I’d like a tall blond rancher with broad shoulders and a straight nose and even teeth with a—just a small, carefully trimmed mustache,” laughed Erma.

  “Oh, Erma!” cried Kathleen, laughing too, and then adding in sudden anguish, “And what do you think they are hoping for in us?”

  Erma shrugged, then answered thoughtfully, “Companions. Cooks. Housekeepers. Someone to share laughs and—and trials. Someone who won’t nag or chatter too much or complain over wet firewood or footprints across the kitchen.”

  Kathleen shivered.

  “At least—I’m hoping that’s what he’ll want. I could be that, Kathleen. But if he wants more—then …” Erma let the sentence slide away to join the cry of the gulls and the sighing of the wind.

  Kathleen reached for her friend’s hand.

  “The biggest wish of all”—her voice was a whisper—“is that you will be wherever I am, and that’s the pure truth of it,” she said with feeling.

  Chapter Eight

  Meeting

  The next morning Kathleen went promptly for her appointment. Mr. Jenks rose to meet her as she entered the room and took the liberty of
using her first name. “Kathleen,” he beamed, taking her arm and steering her to a chair placed a little too close to where he himself had been seated. He reclaimed his chair, so close to Kathleen that she feared they would bump knees. She drew back in her seat as far as she could.

  “And are you feeling quite well now, my dear?” he asked solicitously.

  Kathleen assured him that she was fine.

  “You are such a delicate little thing,” he said smoothly, “that I feared for you on this arduous journey.”

  “I’m stronger than I look, sir,” Kathleen responded a bit curtly.

  He nodded and changed the subject. “We dock this afternoon.”

  Kathleen nodded her head.

  “I was hoping that we would have some time to—to enjoy each other’s company on the voyage, but the heavy seas—”

  Kathleen shifted uncomfortably and broke in. “I’m anxious to hear where I’ll be going, sir,” she dared to say.

  “Oh yes.” He came back to attention and placed his hands on his knees. “Well—that, my dear, is still a matter of concern for me, as well.”

  Kathleen did wish that he would stop calling her his dear.

  “As a matter of fact,” he went on, “it has still not been decided.”

  Kathleen frowned.

  “Oh, never fear,” he said reaching to take her hand. “You will have a place, I can assure you. Even if I have to take care of you myself.” He winked and grinned and Kathleen felt terribly annoyed.

  “Why am I here?” she asked boldly. “Why make an appointment just to tell me that there have been no arrangements?”

  “There have been arrangements,” he said, and reached to give his mustache a twitch. “I would like you to take dinner with me tonight at my hotel. I’m staying at a rather elegant place downtown. I think you will like it. Perhaps without the tossing of the sea we will have better opportunity to—”

  “That is unthinkable,” said Kathleen, standing to her full five feet two inches. Her face flamed with her disgust. “I will stay with the others—wherever they are staying.”

  His face grew dark with anger. “You are a proud one, aren’t you!” he spat at her. “And after all I’ve tried to do.”

  “Sure now, and I was of the impression that my passage was paid by an American gentleman,” Kathleen reminded him heatedly.

  “Yes, Miss,” said the man, his anger now matching her own. “And he shall have you—pity him, whoever he is. I wouldn’t want to deal with such a temper every day for the rest of my life.”

  Kathleen spun on her heel and left the room.

  “Stay with the others,” he called after her. “I want you around to take the orders of where you are to go.”

  Kathleen didn’t answer. She needed to get into the wind to cool off her hot cheeks.

  But she would be there when it was time to find out where she would be going. And she hoped with all her heart that it was a long, long way from Boston and Mr. Jenks.

  There was much commotion when the ship finally pulled in and docked in Boston Harbor. The women milled around, squealing and shouting and clutching belongings. Kathleen crowded close to her cabin mates, her dark eyes big, her face pale. As crowded as the cabin had been, she wished for just a few more days of feeling secure there.

  Their names were called out and they walked the gangway by groups of four. As her feet touched the firm dock, Kathleen nearly lost her balance. Erma, close beside her, giggled.

  They were all placed into carriages and taken through the streets to a large hotel. It felt strange to be back in a city again. Kathleen noticed that it was much newer, much cleaner, than her familiar section of London. She wondered if it would be possible for her to stay on here. She felt a drawing to this new American city. A feeling that she might soon be able to “belong” here.

  But the very next day they were called to a drawing room where Mr. Jenks presided.

  “Ladies—we are about to the end of our journey together,” he informed them as though this were a matter of deep sorrow to all. “You will be heading west—to one point or another. From here to Chicago you will share a train. There you will be met by a gentleman by the name of Mr. Henry Piedmont. He will give you your final tickets and send you on the last leg of your journeys. From Chicago on, you will be fanning out and heading in different directions—though still westward.

  “I do wish each of you every happiness in your new land—and your new unions.”

  He bowed low and gave them one final grin, smoothed his mustache, and then said firmly, “Miss Kathleen O’Malley—you will need to see me for final instructions.”

  He turned on his heel and was gone.

  All eyes seemed to fix on Kathleen. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and followed the man from the room.

  He must have expected her to do just that, for he went only a few steps beyond the door and turned to wait for her.

  “This way,” he said with a nod of his head, and Kathleen obediently followed him.

  They crossed the hall and entered a small room, and he motioned toward a chair and turned to lift a sheet of paper from his pocket.

  “Before I hand you this,” he said, looking straight at her, “might I say that I am a tolerant man. I am staying on in Boston. I am quite willing to forget your outburst of last evening—should you have changed your mind.”

  For one moment Kathleen frowned, not understanding his words. When the truth finally dawned, she rose quickly from the chair, her face flushing, her eyes flashing anger. Without one word she reached out and snatched the paper from his fingers before he had a chance to react.

  “You may be sorry, you know,” he called after her as she moved from the room as quickly as her limp would allow.

  Kathleen did not return to her room immediately. She had to find some privacy before she dared look at the paper she held. At last she found a chair tucked in a rather dark corner of a distant hall and dropped onto it, trying to still her anxiously beating heart.

  Carefully she unfolded the bit of paper.

  “Donnigan Harrison,” said the paper. “He is a late signer like yourself. Not much is known of him. I hope you will not be sorry.”

  Kathleen crumpled the paper in her hand and then felt immediate remorse. Carefully she placed it on her lap and tried to smooth out the wrinkles. She would need that piece of paper. It was all she had.

  “Donnigan Harrison,” she repeated. Then her eyes lit up. She wasn’t really familiar with the surname, but Donnigan did sound rather Irish. For the first time she felt some hope.

  The train ride was long and stuffily hot. Kathleen had thought the boat trip had been difficult—but at least then they had enjoyed the crispness of the ocean winds. Not given the luxury of berths, they were crammed together in seats with hard straight-backs and no place to put their tired heads. The long nights were spent in restless shifting to try to find some way to relax tired bodies.

  At last they reached Chicago. Kathleen may have been interested in studying the city had she not been so totally exhausted.

  The man called Piedmont was on the platform when they arrived. As they stepped off the train, he rounded the women up and hustled them to a side room, much like herding cattle, and grinned at the group nervously as he called out names and passed out tickets. Kathleen had not felt particularly close to many of the women, but as she sat and watched group after group being hurried out to catch this coach or that train, she felt panic tighten her throat.

  At last her own name was called along with a number of others, and she stood up and walked numbly past the man and accepted the ticket along with its instructions of where to go and how to get there.

  She was more than a little relieved to look around her and find that Erma was also in the group.

  But Peg was gone. As were Nona and Beatrice. There were just Erma and her and four other women whom she didn’t know well. All four were from the Continent. She wondered if they spoke English. They seemed so shy and frightene
d. Kathleen moved closer to Erma, drawing some assurance from the presence of her friend.

  Quickly they compared sheets and found to their relief and excitement that they shared a common destination. With excited cries they threw their arms around each other and wept unashamedly. It would be so wonderful—so wonderful to know someone, to have a friend in the new, strange land.

  Soon they had boarded another train and were chugging their way out of the station. Though still not given a berth, they were not so crowded. By now they were so weary that Kathleen felt they could have slept almost anywhere.

  She was right. The girls from the Continent fell asleep almost as soon as they boarded the train, the oldest of the group soon snoring loudly.

  Kathleen did not stay awake to see if it annoyed other passengers. She rolled up her shawl against the coolness of the window, laid her head against it, and fell asleep.

  She was stiff when she awoke in the morning, but at least she felt somewhat better.

  “And how long are we to be on this train?” she asked Erma.

  “I’m not sure. Someone said three days.”

  Kathleen winced. She was so tired of travel. Travel and heat and people and dust. It seemed that it all went together in America.

  After the train came the stagecoach, which they met in a small, dusty frontier town of gray wooden buildings and gray wooden boardwalks. The sign at the post office indicated that it was Raeford. Kathleen felt that they must be going to the end of the world. She had given up craning her neck to look out the window. There were so many miles of the same thing. She did find the herds of deer and antelope and buffalo rather exciting. She had seen no such animals on the back streets of London.

  But for the most part, they rode in silence. There was really very little to talk about.

  When they reached a small station by the name of Sheep’s Meadows, one of the girls from the Continent was separated from them and sent in another direction on another stage. Kathleen could sense the girl’s panic. She felt her own hand go out to grasp Erma’s. She was so thankful that she would not be going off all on her own.