A Bride in the Bargain (4 page)

“I’m Asa Mercer.” He moved toward her.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but this lanky young man with a shock of red hair wasn’t it.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Miss Anna Ivey. I saw your ad in the
Tribune
and am here to inquire about passage to the Northwest.”

He quickly took in her shabby clothing but gave no visible reaction. “Excellent.” He took her bag. “If you would join me in my office?”

His “office” was no larger than the cook’s closet at Pitchawam House. After hooking her bag on a peg, he hurriedly gathered numerous papers from a stool.

He looked to the right and left, but there was no clear surface to set them on. His half desk was completely covered, and rolls of paper had been crammed into every pigeonhole above it. Even the floor was covered with his papers.

Giving her an apologetic grin, he set the stack on the floor next to the stool and held out a hand. Taking it, she picked her way across the room and settled on the stool.

“Now,” he said. “Tell me where you are from.”

“Granby, Massachusetts. I’ve only just arrived, so please forgive my appearance.”

His long legs filled the space beneath his desk. “No need for apologies, Miss Ivey, is it?”

“Yes. Ivey with an
E-Y
.”

Picking up a pen, he wrote her name in lovely script across the top of a fresh piece of parchment. “Tell me, Miss Ivey, why do you wish to emigrate to the Washington Territory?”

“I read your pamphlet,
The Great North-West
, and found myself caught up with the idea of going to this Eden you’ve described.”

Pleasure touched his rust-colored eyes. “You read my booklet?”

“I did, sir. I have it with me now, though it is quite dog-eared, I’m afraid.”

He smiled. “Can you write as well as read?”

“Proficiently.”

He made a note on the paper, dipped his pen in an inkwell, then held it poised. “And your family?”

“My ancestors are Scots, though my parents grew up in England. They came to America in fifty-one. I was four at the time.”

“Your father’s occupation?”

“He stained and embossed wallpaper.” She rubbed her arms beneath her cape. “Actually, he invented a machine that made his handiwork unnecessary. His employer claimed and utilized the invention. So the very thing my father placed all his dreams upon proved to be the rock which destroyed his livelihood.”

“I see.” Mr. Mercer shook his head in sympathy as he continued to write. “What did he do then?”

“He joined the war.”

“Ah. He’s home, then?”

“No, he was killed at Antietam.”

Mercer continued to write. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“How is your family faring without him?”

She lowered her gaze. “Shortly after he died, my brother joined up as a drummer. He didn’t last even a year. But it was disease that killed him, not the rebels. My mother . . .” Anna swallowed. “She never recovered.”

“You are orphaned, then?”

“Quite. And destitute as well, I’m afraid.”

He paused in his scribblings. “You have money for the passage, though?”

She moistened her lips. “I do not.” She had spent a fair portion of her funds for the train ticket and needed more still for lodging.

He laid down his pen.

“I could pay you once I arrived and secured employment, though.”

Mercer began to shake his head, so she rushed on.

“I saw in your ad that work as a domestic, teacher, or nanny was guaranteed. I’m not a trained teacher, though I am very well-read and believe I could teach. But I’d be better suited as a domestic or nanny. You see, I took charge of our home almost from the moment my father enlisted. After he was gone, I held many jobs, the latest as a cook for a popular inn in Granby.”

He’d placed his pen back in its holder and had moved his notes to the side, when her last comment stalled him. “A cook, you say?”

“Yes. I prepared the menu and all courses for the morning, noon, and evening meals, having only Sundays off.”

“You can cook for large crowds?”

“I can. And I’m most accomplished at it.”

Mercer leaned back in his chair. “Well. We aren’t taking any passengers on credit, but there is one man who wanted a br—, a woman who could feed the men who work for him.”

She straightened. “Well, I daresay he’d be very pleased with me.”

Mercer gave her a quick appraisal. “I daresay he would.”

“How many men does he employ?”

“He’s a lumberjack. I’m not sure how many men are involved in his operation. No more than a dozen, I’d say, if that.”

A lumberjack. The word conjured up visions of pine forests, fresh air, and wilderness—something far removed from the bustling city, the aftermath of the war, and Hoke Dantzler.

“Goodness,” she said, a flicker of anticipation whisking through her. “I could feed a dozen men with one hand tied behind my back.”

He rubbed his hands against his legs. “Well, he was very specific with his request. So, if I allowed you passage, it would be on the condition that he paid your fare upon arrival and you would then have to work off your debt for him.”

“I’m agreeable to those terms, if he is.”

Mercer said nothing. Just stared into space. She could see his inner struggle. Was he worried she wouldn’t measure up to her new employer?

Sitting a little straighter, she forced herself not to squirm.

Finally, he turned again to his desk and retrieved his pen. “Very well, Miss Ivey. I will draw up your papers and award you passage to the Washington Territory on the S.S.
Continental
.”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

THE LACROSE DEMOCRAT

At 3 p.m. the noble S.S. Continental left her berth at pier 2 N.R. carrying off a petticoat brigade for the benefit of the long-haired miners and miserable old bachelors of the Pacific NorthWest. The cargo of Bay State Virgins sailed off in black stockings, candlewick garters, shirtwaists, spit curls, green specs, false teeth and a thirst for chewing gum.

First Night at Sea

January 18, 1866

The more the ship rolled, the more Anna’s concern grew. A chopping wind howled against the side of the vessel. Loose hairpins and toothbrushes tumbled to the floor, clattering across it. The greatest noise by far, however, came from the women sharing her cabin. Moans overlaid with anguish filled its narrow confines.

Rising from her bunk, Anna decided if she was going home to meet Jesus, she didn’t want to be in her nightdress. Stumbling about, she located her clothes, pulled them on, and stepped from the stateroom.

A jet of icy water impaled her, stealing her breath and soaking her from head to toe.

Pressing a hand against the wall, she gasped for air, salt stinging her eyes. Then panic shot a rush of energy through her.

Good heavens. Had the ship been hit? Sprung a leak? She looked up and down the passageway. Should she alert the crew or the women?

The sound of retching across the hall decided it for her. Corralling the women above deck without help would be an exercise in futility. She flew down the saloon, up the stairs, and flung open a door of a cabin on the portside.

The ship gave a roll starboard, throwing her into the arms of Mr. Conant, a reporter for the
New York Times
she had seen earlier on deck.

Grasping her around the waist, he pulled her into his cabin and slammed the door shut. The shock of their positions held them both speechless for a second or two.

Mr. Conant recovered first, a look of amusement touching his eyes. “This is what may be called the free and easy style of introductions, but if you have no objection, miss, perhaps I should assist you to your berth.”

Anna sprang from his arms. “Water is pouring in belowdecks.”

“Stay here.” He disappeared, but she couldn’t sit still and do nothing. From the sounds of it, the entire shipload of passengers was seasick. Why she hadn’t been afflicted with the same calamity, she didn’t know. But she knew the crew would have their hands full with the storm. The least she could do was help with the women.

And help she did. The water that had doused her turned out to be no more than a porthole that hadn’t been properly secured. And after the captain changed the ship’s course, the rolling became easier, but the sea was by no means smooth.

They’d been out for three days, and the majority of passengers still suffered ill effects. Even though it was only noon, Anna settled a pale young widow into her berth, then soundlessly closed the door behind her and headed to the upper deck for some air.

Walking along the portside, she took deep breaths. Gray clouds bunched and dipped, spraying the deck with mist. Surely the entire voyage wouldn’t be this unpleasant.

A small, fragile-looking woman who had to be at least sixty staggered into Anna’s path. Placing both hands across her stomach, the woman crouched over.

Anna seized her by the armpits and hurried her to the railing, holding her while she cast her bread upon the waters. After several forceful episodes, the woman finally straightened.

Pulling a handkerchief from her pocket, Anna handed it to her, only then realizing her bread wasn’t the only thing the woman had cast overboard. For her teeth had completely disappeared.

Anna scanned the water several hundred yards below. It frothed and churned, slamming itself against the side of the ship. No false teeth in sight.

“Tank you,” the woman breathed, before slapping a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

Anna swallowed. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m sure there are dentists in the Northwest.”

The woman searched the greedy water below. “Wat am I to do? How will I eat?”

Slipping her arm about the woman, Anna helped her to a chair nearby. “I will speak with the cook right away and make arrangements for you.”

“Oh no, no, no. How will I eber find a husband now?”

Anna choked back her surprise.
A husband?
Even with teeth, this woman would be hard-pressed to find a spouse at her age.

Tiny brown eyes the size of coffee beans looked at Anna from beneath heavily creased eyelids. “Mr. Mercer promised me a husband.”

“Well,” Anna said, scrambling for an appropriate response, “I cannot imagine why he would promise such a thing. Perhaps you misunderstood. The passengers are guaranteed positions as teachers, domestics, or nannies. Not wives.”

The woman waved away Anna’s words. “How can we teach children when dere are none? Only men. Men who want wibes.” Having never considered that bit of logic, Anna didn’t know quite what to say. Relief rushed through her, though, at the realization that her position as a cook was not dependent on children being present. No room for confusion there.

She patted the woman’s hand. “Well, no need to rush into anything. The time it takes for new teeth to be made will be just the time you need to consider your matrimonial possibilities.”

The old woman’s eyes filled. “You don’t understand. My dear husband, Clement, neber came home from the war. I have nutting left. I need a husband right away.”

Anna squatted down in front of her. “Oh, I’m so sorry. My brother and father both died in the war, too, and my mother died not long after.”

“You’re all alone?”

Anna nodded. “I will never forget the day their names appeared on the casualty list in the newspaper. But we aren’t all alone, you and I. We have God, and now we have each other.”

Tears began to stream from the woman’s eyes, branching off into numerous tributaries as they traversed her wrinkled face. “Tank you, my dear.”

“There, there.”

She blew her nose into the handkerchief. “What is your name?”

“Miss Anna Ivey of Granby, Massachusetts.”

“It is so nice to meet you, Miss Ibey. I’m Mrs. Bert-a Wrenne of Lowell, Massa-chewits.”

“A pleasure, Mrs. Wrenne, I’m sure.”