A Bride for Donnigan (5 page)

Her feet slowed as she walked by the posting, but she did not intend to stop. She knew the words by heart anyway. “Ladies! The opportunity of a lifetime.”

Her eyes glanced at the words as she moved to pass by. Then she hesitated. Had it indicated anything about when one must decide? She stopped just long enough to glance over the words one more time to try to catch a date. She saw none.

Just as she moved away, a man stepped suddenly into her pathway. With a startled exclamation, Kathleen stopped.

“Are you joining our adventure?” he asked her in an accent Kathleen could not identify.

“Sure now, and what adventure are you speaking of?” Kathleen responded hesitantly, her voice lilting with her Irish tongue.

“Why, going to America, Miss—just like the sign says. Wonderful opportunity. Wonderful. And only a couple passage tickets left. If you want one you—”

“No,” said Kathleen, shaking her head nervously. “No, I’ll not be wanting one.”

The man stepped forward and reached out a hand to tip her face toward the light from the lamppost. Kathleen felt a moment of panic.

“It’s a shame,” he said candidly. “A face as pretty as yours would be welcomed in America.”

Kathleen angrily twisted away from his hand. He seemed to sense her annoyance.

“Pardon, Miss,” he said, but his words and his tone contradicted each other. “I didn’t mean to offend—just wished to see your face more closely.”

Kathleen stepped back, her Irish temper quickly cooling.

“I thought you might be interested,” the man went on as though to excuse himself. “That’s all.”

“And if I am?” The words had left Kathleen’s mouth before she even knew she would say them.

“If you are—then come into my office and we’ll talk about it.”

“I’m lame!” Kathleen spat out, her anger flaring again. “I’m lame. No man—even in the Americas—would wish a lame bride, and that’s the truth now.”

But the man seemed not to notice her angry words. Instead, he studied her flushed face and sparkling eyes, and a smile crossed his features.

“Why don’t you come in for a minute and we’ll—”

“I’m a cripple!” she shouted at him again, and moved to pass the man. “See for yourself, sir,” she flung back over her shoulder. And she began to clump her way, exaggerating her limp in order to convince the man.

“And what’s a little limp?” the man called after her. “In America we allow people to be—different. We are all lame—in one fashion or another.”

Kathleen wheeled to give him a piece of her mind, but she saw that he was not teasing her. His face looked serious. His hand was stretched out to her. Her rage subsided in spite of herself.

She stopped, swallowed, and took a deep breath.

“And when does this ship sail?” she asked almost in a whisper.

“In a fortnight” he answered.

Kathleen held her breath.

“I already have nineteen fine young women like you signed for the voyage. I need two more to fill the offers I have from America,” the man continued in an encouraging voice.

“Nineteen?”

“Nineteen.”

Kathleen could scarcely believe that nineteen young ladies had already laid their futures in this man’s hands. Had the short, plump girl called Erma joined Peg in adding her name to the list?

“I’ll think it over,” she faltered. “Perhaps—”

“There’s no time for thinking,” replied the man. “I was just coming out to remove the poster. It takes some time to get all the proper papers in order. Anyone sailing on the ship will need to be signed up today.”

“But I—” began Kathleen.

“What is it that gives you doubts?” asked the man.

“I know nothing about—”

He interrupted her, “If you are concerned about the gentleman that you will marry upon your arrival in America, let me assure you that they all have been carefully reviewed and selected. Each one is a law-abiding, proper citizen, well respected in his community and well able to provide, in fine fashion, for his—his bride.”

Kathleen began to shake her head again.

“And if you fear that you would be rejected over a simple little limp, you do the men of America a grave injustice,” he continued. “They are much more sensitive than that, Miss. The true person is found within. In America, we are quite willing to look past the—outer person.”

Kathleen noticed his eyes remained on her face as he spoke. He seemed pleased with what he saw there. She wondered momentarily if his words carried truth. Was he really looking past the outer person—or just past the limp that carried the person along?

“I—I’m late for my work,” she said simply.

“If you wish to sign—I’ll hold the place for you until tomorrow morning. If you stop by tomorrow, I can get right on with the paper work and we should still be able to get you to America.”

Confusion swirled about Kathleen. He was offering her a chance to go. He was saying that her handicap didn’t matter. He was giving her passage away from the dark, cold streets of London. He was releasing her from being a servant to her own kin. She swallowed, then nodded mutely.

“Tomorrow morning?” asked the man.

“Tomorrow,” agreed Kathleen, and she turned and hurried off down the street. She would be late two mornings in a row. The baker would be furious—and it would be all Kathleen could do to keep from responding to his temper. She would have to bite her lip and swallow back the words that she wished to use in response. Her job, her few pennies in wages, would depend upon it.

Chapter Four

Settled

Donnigan allowed Black his head on the trip to town. He felt strangely agitated by Wallis’s report. The man really seemed to believe that he was able to order himself a wife. And from where? And who would she be when she arrived? Donnigan had never heard of anything so foolish. Wives came after the courting of lady acquaintances. You spotted one that was pleasing to you and went about wooing her. Donnigan didn’t know too much about women, he conceded, but he knew that much. No self-respecting woman would allow herself to be purchased like a catalog item. And no self-respecting man would order one up like—like a new plow.

But Wallis was serious about it all. He was busy selling from his stock in order to raise the money. The prank had already gone too far in Donnigan’s thinking. Didn’t the fellas who started it, perhaps harmlessly enough, realize that a lonely man was often gullible and beyond reason?

Donnigan hoped he could keep his agitation well in check as he dealt with the situation. It was cruel to take advantage of a man in Wallis’s position. Donnigan knew. Hadn’t he too felt the pangs of deep loneliness? Didn’t he know what it was like to have no one to share his dreams—his home? A man would do almost anything—within proper bounds—to fill the big, aching void in his life. And out here, miles from real civilization, there simply were not many women to be wooed. Should one actually show up, she had her choice of the whole neighborhood of men and, most often, picked the one with the most coins in his pocket.

Donnigan knew that some of the young men around the area traveled to a city to find their mates. It was one thing if the man—or his pa—was a rancher with lots of hands around to see to the place while he was gone. For a farmer, it was different. Donnigan worked on his own—no hired hands to help with the farm chores or the planting. It wasn’t possible to just pick up and head off to the city for the purpose of finding a wife. Wallis was in the same situation. Donnigan couldn’t really blame the man for feeling desperate.

But surely
no
wife was a better situation than the
wrong
one, Donnigan reasoned, and if there was a smattering of truth to the rumor that one could just up and order one—wasn’t it possible, even likely, that a person could end up with the wrong one?

Donnigan shook his head and put his heel lightly to the black’s side. The horse responded gladly, whipping up dust as his hooves pounded the dirt roadway.

It was in this same dark mood that Donnigan confronted Lucas Stein. He had made inquiry and been told that the little man was busy in his office at the hotel. Donnigan shook the dust from his clothes the best he could and went in search of the man.

His knock on the heavy oak door brought a gruff growl, “Come in.” But when the man lifted his head from the ledger and saw Donnigan before him, his scowl disappeared. “Harrison,” he greeted. “Come in.”

The change of tone was not lost on Donnigan. He did not regard the man as a friend in particular, but they got on well enough.

“Howdy, Lucas,” he said, hoping that his tone held none of the agitation he was feeling.

“Sit down. Sit down,” offered Lucas, indicating a dark leather chair. Donnigan did not have to cast aside broken bridles or other clutter. Lucas kept his office fastidiously.

Donnigan lowered himself slowly to the chair and wondered if he should spend time in small talk or just blurt out the reason for his trip to town. Lucas helped him decide.

“How’re your crops doing?”

Donnigan’s attention was easily diverted to his farm. He recalled the ride of the morning and his pleasure in seeing the crops grow taller and more mature by the day. He thought again of his herds and couldn’t hide the glow in his eyes or lilt in his voice.

By the time Lucas had asked all the right questions and gotten Donnigan’s enthusiastic responses, the men had conversed for some minutes.

“There are times I wish I had taken up farming,” said Lucas, and Donnigan thought that he sounded sincere. “It would be so much more enjoyable to count calves and foals than spend my time adding up these miserable columns in this ledger.” Lucas gave the ledger pages a disgusted flip of his hand.

“Well, a farmer—especially if he’s on his own like me—has to keep a few ledgers, too, if he wants to keep things in order,” Donnigan assured him and thought again of his reason for being there.

“Yeah—I reckon,” Lucas responded. “Be a much better world if one wasn’t so tied to balancing the books.” He sighed.

There was a moment’s pause and Donnigan judged it to be a good time to voice his concern.

“Stopped by to see Wallis,” he said, and watched carefully for a response from Lucas. “He’s in a big hurry to raise some money. Offered to sell me a couple of his young sows.”

Lucas nodded, but the expression on his face did not change.

“Seems to have the notion that—that—well, he seems to have the misunderstanding that he can order himself a wife,” Donnigan finished hurriedly and watched Lucas closely.

The man sat toying with the pencil he held in his hands. His head came up and he looked straight at Donnigan. “No misunderstanding,” he said flatly, his expression still the same.

Donnigan felt his pulse beat faster. He willed his annoyance to stay in check.

“He thinks you told him that he’d just have to raise passage money and send off for one,” he continued in an injured tone.

Lucas looked back down at the pencil. “Didn’t he show you the paper?” he asked calmly.

“What paper?”

“The newspaper with the advertisement.”

Donnigan remembered then that Wallis had mentioned a newspaper, but in his excitement he had not produced it nor had he said anything about an advertisement.

“No.” He shook his head.

“Well, it’s right there in the paper,” went on Lucas.

“Then someone has prepared a—an elaborate hoax,” declared Donnigan hotly.

“No hoax. I checked it out thoroughly. It’s all quite true and legal,” said Lucas calmly, rolling the pencil back and forth in his hands.

“Now just one minute,” declared Donnigan, leaning slightly forward. “Are you trying to tell me that the paper says you can send off for a wife just like Wallis told me and—and just order one in?”

Lucas nodded. “Something like that,” he replied.

Donnigan’s hand slapped down on his knee, making the dust lift and drift in a little cloud in the otherwise spotless room. He did not apologize, though he did feel a measure of regret.

“You order one? Like a—a piece of—of merchandise?” The thought was incredulous.

“Now just hold on, Harrison,” said Lucas, and for the first time his eyes held some emotion. “It’s not like you’re making it sound.”

“Then what is it like?” asked Donnigan, his face flushed.

Lucas laid aside his pencil and leaned forward. “It gets awfully lonely on the frontier,” he explained as though he were talking to a child. Donnigan stirred restlessly in his chair, an expression of disgust and annoyance threatening to escape his lips.

“We need wives. We deserve a wife just as much as the next guy. But where do we get one? I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to head off to the city to pick me up some painted dance-hall girl. I want a real wife. One who will be a fitting mother for my children. One who will be around to share life—not one who flirts a little bit and will run off with the next guy who comes along.”

“And how do you know—?” began Donnigan.

“How do you ever know?” cut in Lucas.

Donnigan knew that Lucas had read his mind—was ready with the answer to his unasked question. How did one ever know if a marriage would be a good one? One that would bring happiness to both partners?

Donnigan took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. For a moment the two men sat in silence, eyeing each other coolly. Then Donnigan asked his last question. “And the women—what about them?”