A Bride for Donnigan (9 page)
“Name—Kathleen O’Malley,” he read aloud and stopped to let the name roll over his tongue a few times before his eyes crinkled in a smile. He liked it.
“Twenty-one. Dark hair and brown eyes. Lots of experience in cooking and keeping house.” That was all.
Donnigan read the paper again and again. He wished there were more—something to give him some—some indication of just what kind of person Kathleen O’Malley was. Was she tall? Short? Sullen? Cheerful? Did she like horses? Hogs? Would she want a garden spot? Hens? Was she—? Donnigan carefully folded the bit of paper and replaced it in his breast pocket. He sighed deeply. He guessed that he should be happy to have her name. At least he could step forward come the important Saturday and say, “Good-day, Miss O’Malley. I do hope your trip wasn’t too exhausting.”
The coffee began to fill the room with its steamy aroma, and Donnigan moved to shift it farther back on the stove.
“One thing for sure,” he murmured, surprising even himself. “I hope she’s not sulky and silent. I couldn’t stand that. I don’t want to have to still talk things over with Black once she gets here.”
And Donnigan moved restlessly to the window to see if Wallis was making an appearance on the country road. He did wish the man would hurry.
His eyes dropped to the flowers he had just planted.
“Those are for you, Miss O’Malley,” he said softly, and it gave him an odd sense of connection. He felt his cheeks warm. But he could not help himself from continuing—from changing his little statement. “For you—Kathleen.”
The name felt new and strange on his tongue, but somehow, in the saying of it, Donnigan felt a stirring of sweet possession.
The troubles on the Atlantic crossing began on their second day out. After the raucous celebrating by the band of women on board, a time of illness followed. Kathleen could have felt that it served them right, but as she observed their intense suffering, she could feel only pity for them as they held their heads and groaned with each roll of the ship. It kept both Erma and Kathleen running to empty the chamber vessels and wipe the brows with cool wet rags.
By the time the women were once again on their feet and ready to take to the decks for walks in the open air, the winds became brisk and the ship began to toss and roll. Even Kathleen had to take to her bunk. Erma was the only one in the little band who did not become seasick.
At long last the storm subsided and the women began to stir and search for fresh air. The cabins were so small—so crowded—that even on the good days the air became stale and close. But on the days of the illnesses, Kathleen had often wondered if she would be able to endure. She longed, at times, for the cold, damp streets of London, where she could at least draw a breath of fresh air.
Though she became acquainted with many of the women heading for America, she really only learned to know well those who shared her own cabin and her own dinner table. She soon discovered that even though they shared the same future destiny, they were varied and different in their personality, background, and outlook. Some of the opinions expressed shocked and horrified the young Kathleen. She found that more and more she chose to walk alone about the decks or share the time with Erma rather than be a part of the chatter of the other women.
Many of the women from the Continent she did not get to know at all. The fact that some of them spoke very little English was of course one factor—but there were other differences, though Kathleen wouldn’t have been able to put her finger on them.
“Some of them are farm women,” Erma had explained, “and shy.”
Kathleen had never lived in the country—at least since she had left Ireland at the age of two. Her father had spoken of the farm. To his dying day he did not cease to grieve that he had lost family property at the time he had fled his country. Always his dream had been to return—to reclaim; and though Kathleen knew nothing of the circumstances, she claimed his dream as her own after he had been taken from her.
“Sure now—and ye’re an O’Malley,” he used to tell her. “Ye’ve nothing to be ashamed of and plenty to be proud of, so hold yerself tall. And maybe someday—when God himself rights the wrongs in the world—ye’ll get back what truly belongs to an O’Malley.”
Kathleen wished later that she had asked more questions. Talked more to her father of his beloved homeland. Now, as the ship bore her to America, she reasoned that she would never have opportunity to see the land of her own roots again.
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.
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.