Janette Oke - A Bride for Donnigan

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.

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.