He took a brief walk around the farm, hoping that the time under the clear sky and evening stars would help to settle him down.
It didn’t work. The fact was, the more he thought about it, the more he realized how lonely his life had become. Maybe the other men were right. Maybe there was nothing wrong with getting a bride in such a fashion. Was it really that different from picking one out and going about trying to convince her that you were the man for her? Could you really know what people were like until you lived with them? Weren’t even courted women full of little surprises—some good, some maybe not so good?
Donnigan went to his bed. He tossed and turned and fretted and stewed. It was almost morning before he swallowed his pride and made his resolve. Come daylight he would saddle Black and head for town. He would draw out the passage money, sign his name to the proper papers, and wait for the late September ship to arrive.
Chapter Five
No Turning Back
Kathleen stood on the deck of the Barreth Lily and watched the land she’d called home for more than a dozen years slip from her view. She had thought that she would be glad to see the last of it, but she was not. Her emotions were in turmoil, and her whole being yearned to slip from the ship and return to what she knew. Even though she had not been happy with her situation, it was all she had ever known.
But as Kathleen watched the shoreline fade into the morning mist, she went over for the umpteenth time the events of the last few days.
The baker, whom she had viewed as always angry and upset and berating her for not hurrying faster, selling more rolls and pies, being too frail to carry the proper-sized load, had suddenly become snivelling. “If it’s more pennies ya be wantin’, stay and I’ll raise your take,” he had declared, shocking Kathleen with his pronouncement.
She just shook her head slowly. “The arrangements are all made,” she said firmly. “I can’t change my mind now.”
And Madam, whom Kathleen had expected to be relieved that the girl would no longer be her concern, had ranted and raved. It was apparent that the woman had really expected her stepdaughter to concede to being a member of the house staff at the new country home.
“What am I to do?” Madam had kept wailing. “Not one staff member of my own to bring to the marriage. How do I know if the others will properly receive me? How do I know if they will carry out my orders the way I wish?”
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.