A Bride for Donnigan (7 page)

Then she had turned on Kathleen.

“You are most ungrateful,” she had accused, the tears welling in her eyes. “After all these years of giving you a home and shelter—and you reward me in this fashion. How could you? You—you are a most—most unreasonable, unworthy
wench
!” She had spat out the last words, seeming to strain to find something bad enough to say about the slight girl who stood trembling before her.

Only Bridget had been genuinely sad to see Kathleen leave her. “I shall miss you dreadfully,” she had said through unchecked tears.

“And I you,” replied Kathleen, holding the young girl close. And Kathleen’s tears had trickled down her face and fallen in the younger girl’s tumbling hair.

“You will write?” Bridget had begged.

“As soon as I have an address to send you,” Kathleen had promised.

Bridget had pulled back and studied Kathleen’s face, the shock showing in her own. “You mean you don’t even know where you are going?” she asked in a whisper.

Kathleen had shaken her head. “I signed up too late,” she confessed. “There was no time to—to be matched—with an American. But Mr. Jenks said not to worry. He will make all those arrangements once we arrive.”

Bridget’s face had still reflected astonishment as Kathleen pulled her close one last time and patted her shoulder.

“Sure now, and take care of yourself,” Kathleen had managed, her accent heavy with her concern.

Bridget had managed to nod her head as she wiped at tears and then whispered conspiratorially, “When I get a bit older, I’m coming to America too.”

Kathleen had stepped back and looked at her sister.

“I am!” Bridget had declared vehemently.

Kathleen had given Bridget one more hug. “I’ll be waiting for you and that’s the truth of it,” she had whispered against the girl’s hair.

“There you are!”

It was Erma who interrupted Kathleen’s thoughts. Reluctantly she turned from the rail to attempt a smile for her newfound friend.

“Are you still watching jolly ol’ England?” asked Erma, teasing in her voice.

Kathleen shook her head. “There is nothing to see now but fog,” she replied and had a hard time trying to disguise the tremor in her voice.

“Come. We are having a party,” invited Erma.

“A party? What—”

“A celebration really. We have all gathered in a small room down below, and Mr. Jenks is serving wine and cheese.”

Kathleen felt that she would rather stay where she was, the salty sea wind flecking her cheeks and tugging at her hair, but reluctantly she followed the other girl.

She had been more than pleased when they had gathered for boarding to find Peg and the robust Erma chatting and giggling in their excitement over the new venture on which they were about to embark. She and Erma seemed to respond to each other immediately, and Kathleen was glad to discover that she was to share a cabin with Peg, Erma, and two other girls by the names of Nona Paulsen and Beatrice Little.

It was crowded, for sure, but Kathleen was glad for the companionship, at least until she made some adjustments to leaving behind everything that was familiar.

Now she allowed Erma to take her hand and lead her hurriedly along the ship’s polished, slippery planks. They went down a short flight of steps, took a turn down a narrow hallway, a right into another hall, a few more steps, another hall, up five steps, and again a right. Kathleen was beginning to feel dizzy.

“Wherever are we going?” she asked breathlessly.

“This is a special occasion,” laughed Erma. “Mr. Jenks has reserved a special room. This is not where we normally will take our meals.”

“I should hope not and that’s for sure,” responded Kathleen. “I would never find it a second time.”

Erma laughed. “You’ll get used to the ship,” she promised. “They are all laid out generally the same.”

Kathleen was surprised. “You’ve sailed before?” she asked the girl, who was still tugging her forward.

“My father was a captain,” Erma responded. “He used to take us with him on some of his trips. I think he just couldn’t bear to be away from Mum for that long.”

“It must have been exciting,” panted Kathleen.

“Aye. It was. I loved the sea when I was a girl.” Then her voice lowered and her demeanor changed. “And then I hated it,” she declared.

Kathleen stared at her wide-eyed.

“It took my father,” said the girl, her voice flat—empty.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” breathed Kathleen.

Laughter rippled out into the dark narrow hallway and led them the rest of the way to the celebration party.

The whole small room seemed to be filled with swirling skirts and raucous laughter. Mr. Jenks and a few waiters were the only gentlemen present. Kathleen looked about her in stunned silence. Here were the ladies addressed in the posting. Many ladies. Tall ones, short ones, plump ones, thin ones, dark ones, fair ones, young ones and, surprisingly, a few rather old ones.

They were not all pretty. They were not all well dressed. They were not even all well kept. But they all did appear to be celebrating.

As the two girls stood back, taking in the scene before them, Peg stepped from a cluster of laughing women, waved a hand that held a glass of sloshing liquid, and called rather loudly, “Over here. Join the party.”

Kathleen held back but Erma pulled her forward. “Come. Let’s join the fun.”

Someone passed Kathleen a glass filled with—something. She took a tentative sip, didn’t like it, so just held the glass in her hand and tried hard not to look too uncomfortable and conspicuous.

“I thought Mr. Jenks said about twenty girls,” she managed to whisper to Erma.

“Twenty from England. The other twenty have joined us from the Continent.”

“From the Continent? Mercy me!” exclaimed Kathleen.

“Many of the American men came from the Continent,” Erma explained carefully. “They wish wives from their home countries. Only makes sense.”

Kathleen nodded. She supposed it did make sense.

She hardly had time to think about it before a shout was heard over the din. “Here’s to America,” someone called, lifting her glass high in the air. More shouts followed. The party seemed to be getting more and more rowdy.

“Here’s to the men,” came another cry.

“Here’s to their wealth,” called a third girl with a hiccup and a giggle, and such a commotion followed her words that Kathleen could hardly think.

Mr. Jenks stepped forward then. Kathleen wondered if he intended to get control before things were entirely out of hand.

“Ladies!” he called. “Ladies!”

It took several cries before he made himself heard.

“Ladies. I wish I could ask you to take a seat,” he smiled at them. “But as you can see, there are no chairs available.”

“No problem!” shouted Peg, waving her glass in the air, and she plopped down on the carpeted floor, her skirts swirling out around her.

Giggles followed as one by one the women took her lead and settled themselves unceremoniously on the floor. Kathleen stood, her glass clutched in white-knuckled fingers, her eyes wide with shock at the scene. Never had she observed such unruly conduct.

“Ladies,” said Mr. Jenks again. “I know you are all excited about this new adventure. And it
is
exciting. I wish you all the very best as you begin your new lives—in a new home—with a new—” He stopped and raised an eyebrow, then smiled at them all, “—husband,” he finished, and was rewarded with loud cheers and lifted glasses.

Mr. Jenks had to wait further for the commotion to subside.

“We will be at sea for a number of days. I have a cabin located on the lower deck. It is easy to find, and I have posted my name on it in big letters. I will wish to see each one of you individually during the trip to make all the final arrangements.

“Many of you already have all of the particulars about the man you will be marrying, but a few—”

Mr. Jenks was forced to wait while the cheers filled the room again. Some girls pulled forth papers from hidden spots, like pockets, wrist purses, and bodices, and waved them in the air as they hooted. Kathleen even saw one girl raise her skirts and withdraw a paper from her stockings.

When the calls subsided, Mr. Jenks continued. “You will all need to see me. I will post a list with your name and the date and time that you are to appear. Please, try to keep the appointment. It will be most difficult to reschedule and could put your situation in jeopardy.

“You all have your room assignments. I know they are crowded but”—he stopped to smile—“you have good mates. We will do all we can to make the voyage as pleasant for you as possible.

“Now, I do have many duties to see to, so if you will excuse me. Please, feel free to stay and enjoy yourselves as long as you wish. The gentlemen here will be glad to serve you. And will show you back to your cabins, should you need assistance.” He surveyed the group one more time and then added, “Good-day.”

Mr. Jenks bowed and left the room to the cheers of the women.

Kathleen stood looking about her. Many of them were still on the floor. Some were even playfully rolling around, their skirts carelessly flying about them. Kathleen felt a little sick. Was this the kind of girl who “sold” herself to a man in America?
Whatever had she done?

Her face blanched pale and she reached out to clutch Erma’s hand.

“I—I’d like to go to the cabin,” she managed to whisper. “Could—could you show me the way?”

Erma looked at her and her gray eyes widened. “Are you sick?” she asked anxiously.

“I—I think so,” responded Kathleen. “I—I—”

But Erma waited no longer. She took the glass, still filled, from Kathleen’s hand and set in on the table. It was promptly grabbed by another hand even before Kathleen could turn away.

Gently Erma led Kathleen toward the cabin. She did not rush. Kathleen had no trouble keeping up to the other girl as she limped along beside her.

“Here we are,” said Erma as she opened the cabin door with the key she withdrew from her bodice. “Just you lie down, lovey, and get some rest. The feel of the sea is strange to some. I grew up with it—so I never give it a second thought.”

“It’s not the sea,” responded Kathleen before she thought to check her tongue.

Erma’s face showed concern. “Something else, then? Do you have a sickness that you didn’t confess?”

All the girls had been grilled about their health.

“Oh no,” quickly responded Kathleen. “I’m fine—truly. It was just—just—well I’m not used to such—such bawdy behavior. I—I—”

“Oh that,” said Erma with a careless shrug.

“It was—was—oh, Erma, is that the kind of woman they expect us to be?”

“Now don’t you go judging too harshly,” said Erma firmly. “It’s all—well, it’s just a—a cover for their real feelings.”

Kathleen could only stare.

Erma reached out a hand to give Kathleen a boost up on to her bunk. It was too close to the cabin ceiling. Kathleen felt as if she would soon be gasping for air, but she tried to calm her unsettled nerves. Erma sat down on the lowest bunk opposite and studied her hands in her lap before lifting her eyes to Kathleen again.

“We—we might not have come from the best—best circumstances,” Erma began, “but at least we knew where we fit. Now—well, now everything will be different—new—rather—rather scary. For all of us. Oh, we know where we are going. The name of some unknown town. We know if we are to marry a farmer or a rancher or a hotel owner or—” She stopped and shrugged.

“We have been given a piece of paper with a name on it. Maybe a little information. Height, weight, age, coloring. Maybe not even that. But what do we really know? Does he have a temper? Is he quite sane? Will he make unheard-of demands? Use his fists? Drink too much?”

Kathleen drew in her breath. She had not thought of all those horrible possibilities.

“But Mr. Jenks said—” she began.

“Mr. Jenks is a man out to make a profit,” Erma reminded her.

Silence hung heavy in the room as Kathleen absorbed that observation. If she had felt sick before, she felt doubly so now. She rolled to her side on the narrow bed and put her hands over her face.

“I’m not out to scare you, lovey,” went on Erma quickly, “but we’ve all had to face the facts.”

Kathleen began to sob quietly, her thin shoulders trembling against the worn gray blanket of the bunk.

Erma stood to her feet and crossed to the younger girl.

“Why did you sign on?” she asked quietly.

“Because—because Madam, my stepmother, was marrying again. She didn’t want me—or so I thought. Turned out she did. Would have taken me as a housemaid. Oh, I should have gone. I should have,” sobbed Kathleen.

“But you didn’t have it so good, did you now?”

“No-o. No, it wasn’t good,” admitted Kathleen.

“Then you did the right thing. The man you wed might be—might be just the man you’ve dreamed of.”

“I haven’t dreamed of any man,” sobbed Kathleen.

“Then you are a strange lass for sure,” responded Erma with a shake of her head.

“Madam always said no man would want me with my limp,” said Kathleen, wiping at her tears.

“Such utter nonsense!” exploded Erma. “Why, your limp is hardly more than a little tip. And with your pretty face. Why—I’ve already seen the deckhands givin’ you the eye.”