A Bride for Donnigan Read online

  “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?”

  Lucas straightened in his chair, but his face did not flush as he again looked straight into Donnigan’s eyes.

  “They come out of need—mostly. For some, adventure. Or because they wish to better their circumstances. And we aren’t fooling ourselves. Some of them come hoping to marry a rich man. But regardless of why they come, no one coerces them. They come voluntarily—of their own free will.”

  “You say ‘they come’ just as though—as though it has been done over and over,” Donnigan observed.

  “It isn’t new, if that’s what you’re thinking. Many young women, and a few older ones, have already come to America as wives for—for the many men who would otherwise not—not have one.”

  “And it works?” Surprise edged his voice at this unheard-of method for finding a wife.

  “Very well—in many circumstances. I checked it out myself.”

  Donnigan should not have been surprised. Lucas was not a man to plunge blindly into any new venture.

  Donnigan straightened his broad shoulders and agitatedly tapped the fingers of his right hand on his leg. He shook his head slowly, but the fire was gone from his eyes, his voice.

  “I don’t know,” he said at length. “It just doesn’t seem right somehow.”

  “Don’t judge too quickly—or too harshly,” the man behind the desk said, reaching for his pencil again. “It is simply a matter of two people—both with needs—taking advantage of circumstances to meet the needs of both.”

  “You really see it—” began Donnigan.

  “I really do,” the older man assured him. “I could sit here and wait until I’m an old man—and never have a family of my own. Or—” He flicked the pencil in his fingers and let the sentence hang in midair.

  Donnigan rose slowly to his full height. He lifted his hat from the floor where he had tossed it and turned it round and round in his hands.

  “So you think Wallis is right to get himself a wife—?” began Donnigan.

  Lucas nodded. “He has as much right to happiness as the next fellow,” he answered evenly.

  “But his place is—”

  “I know,” said Lucas. “Maybe she’ll clean it up.”

  “But it’s not fit—” Donnigan started.

  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.