Janette Oke - A Bride for Donnigan

Again the man interrupted. Donnigan wondered if he had been allowed to finish one sentence since he entered the room.

“They try their best to match the young woman with the man,” Lucas said quickly. “ ’Course, there are no foolproof ways of doing that. But they try. And if a man has special requests—he is free to express them when he applies.”

Donnigan stood, hat still circling his hands. For one brief moment he was tempted to ask Lucas what kind of woman he had requested, but he swallowed the words. It really was none of his business. Instead, he nodded and placed his hat back on his head.

“Well,” he said honestly. “I still don’t like the feel of it all—but you’ve put my mind at ease all the same. If Wallis is—”

“Donnigan,” cut in the other man and his voice was low and confidential. “You’re still a young man with lots of years ahead to meet and marry—if the right girl happens to come along. But there aren’t many girls in this town. I know that and you know that. On the other hand—you might just happen to get lucky.”

He stopped and fiddled with the pencil, then looked straight at Donnigan. “Wallis and I are getting on. There won’t be many more chances.”

He stopped and tossed the pencil aside again, then shifted his position in his leather chair. “But there might not even be as many chances for you as you’d like to think.” His voice lowered and Donnigan had to strain to hear. “I happen to know they aren’t all spoken for—yet. If you were smart, you’d think about it. It only takes passage money and a small fee to the broker.”

Broker? Was that what they called him? Donnigan winced.

“I don’t think—” he began.

“Gonna be a long, cold winter,” Lucas remarked, lifting his eyes from the ledger sheets and studying Donnigan coolly. “If you change your mind—come see me. Could be a real answer to some woman’s prayer.”

Donnigan turned and left the room. Answer to some woman’s prayer, indeed. What a self-righteous way of looking at peddling human life.

He didn’t even step into the hotel dining room to have himself a decent meal as he usually did when he was in town. He was too worked up. Too riled. Instead, he headed for the bank to withdraw the money to pay Wallis for the two sows, stuffed the money in his pocket, and went to get his horse.

As he mounted the black his thoughts were still dark and brooding. He turned the horse toward home and gave him his head. He knew the horse would want to run, and he figured a bit of wind in his face might serve to blow away a few cobwebs. Cool his agitation some.

At last he reined in the stallion and coaxed him to settle for a fast trot.

“We’ll be home soon enough,” he told the horse. “No use winding you.”

He wished now that he’d stopped in town for a good meal. He was already feeling hungry, and he hated the thought of getting out the frying pan when he got back to the house. He was sick of salted pork and fried beans. He was sick of tough biscuits and stale coffee. Maybe he was just sick—he didn’t know.

He stopped by Wallis’s to leave off the money. The man grinned his pleasure as he reached for the coffee can stuck inside the fireplace chimney and added the dollars to his stash.

“Got it all now,” he said, showing the gap in his front teeth. “I’ll hustle it on into town first thing tomorrow.”

Donnigan found himself wondering just what kind of woman Wallis had “ordered.”

“When do you want me to pick up the sows?” he asked to shake his mind free of the nagging thought.

“I’ll bring ’em on over. When ya wantin’ ’em?” asked Wallis—but he was still smiling to himself.

Donnigan could hardly wait to leave, but he replied as evenly as he could, “I don’t have a pen and farrowing sheds ready. I can work on them tomorrow. Should have them ready in a day or two.”

“Friday? Ya be ready by Friday?” asked Wallis.

Donnigan nodded. He should be ready by Friday for sure.

“I’ll bring ’em over on Friday, then. Seeing I can get into town tomorrow and take care of everything—I won’t need to go Friday.”

Donnigan had never seen the man so excited.

“Just think of it,” Wallis said as he carefully recounted his money. “The ship will have her over here this fall. Fact is, it leaves next week, if I remember rightly.”

“Do you—do you have any idea—who it is that you’re—you’re getting?” Donnigan didn’t know if he had worded his question right, but he could tell Wallis wanted to talk about his plans.

“Sure do,” said Wallis with another wide grin. “Sure do. Got her name and all the particulars right here.”

He pulled a worn piece of folded paper from his shirt pocket and spread it out on the table.

“Name is Risa. Pretty name, don’t ya think? Risa—can’t say this next name.”

For one moment Donnigan wondered how the man who could not read even knew that the name was Risa. Though perhaps he had been practicing the single name after being told what it was.

Wallis passed the paper to Donnigan. “See fer yerself,” he said.

Donnigan turned his eyes to the sheet. Her name was Risa, all right. It gave her last name too, but Wallis had been right. It was a difficult one to figure. Donnigan made no attempt to pronounce it.

“Tall—five feet six inches. Blond hair, blue eyes. Pleasant disposition. Likes children. Good housekeeper. Excellent cook. Good seamstress. Likes to garden. Likes animals.” The description ended, and as Donnigan read the last words he lifted his eyes to the shining face of the man before him.

“Pretty good, huh?” Wallis prompted.

Donnigan could only nod. She sounded too good to be true. Perhaps , he found himself thinking, perhaps she was too good to be true. Maybe all the descriptions of the new wives-to-be said the same positive things.

But Donnigan did not voice his questions. He did not want to dampen the spirits of the other man.

“Sounds real good,” he said again, folding the paper and passing it back to Wallis.

Wallis was still smiling.

Donnigan cast one look of apprehension around the untidy small cabin. Risa sure had her work cut out for her. He shook his head and started for the door.

“See you Friday,” he tossed over his shoulder.

He was about to step through the door when Wallis called out to him. He turned. The older man moved across the cabin floor and joined him in a few quick strides. “Iffen—” he began. “Iffen you’d like to get yer name on thet there list—I’d be glad to help ya out some iffen yer cash-short just now.”

The words surprised Donnigan. Wallis had just sold him two sows to pay for his own “purchase,” and here he was offering to help his neighbor so he wouldn’t be left out.

“Thanks. Thanks, Wallis,” he managed to stammer. “I think I could handle the passage money if—”

“Then ya really outta be thinkin’ on it,” said the other man. “Fella don’t get hisself a chance like this every day.”

Donnigan nodded and moved out the door.

He unsaddled his mount and gave him a good rubdown, made sure the trough had plenty of water, and measured out the oats before he turned to the house to fix his own supper.

He had never enjoyed the cooking chores at the best of times, but tonight they rankled him more than ever. He rattled pans and stomped around the kitchen. The fire was out and he was in no mood to rebuild it. He ended up eating some dry biscuits and cold beans. It all tasted like sawdust in his mouth.

He lit the lamp and picked up an old paper that lay on the floor by his chair. He wished he had remembered to purchase a more up-to-date version while in town, but he hadn’t even thought of it. He’d already read this one over and over. There was nothing new or appealing on the inked pages. He ended up tossing it into the corner in exasperation.