by Jody Hedlund
She lived up to her name, having the patience of a saint. Twiggy had claimed she’d named her boys after the apostles and her girls with divine traits in the hopes that God might bless her children as a result. As far as Mercy could see, her mum’s strategy hadn’t worked.
In the waning dusk, only a few other residents with visitors sat in the fenced-in courtyard. The evening had taken on a chill, and Mercy watched Patience struggle to regain her breath and suppress the cough that seemed to be getting worse with every visit.
“We should go in.” Mercy started to rise. “It’s too damp out here for you.”
“Come out with it.” Patience laid a hand on Mercy’s arm and held her in place. “I know you have something to say. I can see it in your eyes right so.”
Mercy shifted on the wooden bench. She didn’t want to burden Patience with her problems. Heaven knew her sister had enough of her own. But that was why she’d stopped by the workhouse, wasn’t it? Not only to give Patience the roll but to seek her sister’s advice.
“Twiggy lost her ragpicker job.”
Patience lowered the remainder of the roll to her lap and then swallowed hard, clearly having to work to get her last bite down.
“She told me to get myself a husband.” Mercy blurted the words as if they were a curse. Twiggy had told Patience the same thing several months ago during the bitter days of winter when both food and fuel had been scarce.
“No, no, no,” Patience said, dots of color flaring in her pale cheeks. “She can’t push you out now. Not when I came here so you’d be able to stay at home and be safe.”
At the rushed and passionate declaration, Mercy stared at her older sister. With only two years’ difference in their ages, and even when they’d both been hardly more than infants, Patience had taken care of her during the endless hours when Twiggy had been away at work.
With each new babe that had come along and stolen Twiggy’s time and affection, Patience had never wavered. She’d stepped in and loved Mercy with unending devotion. In some ways, Patience had been more of a mother than Twiggy had ever been.
But this? Coming to the workhouse for her? It was too much.
“Don’t be cross with me.” Patience grabbed Mercy’s hands. “I did what I had to—”
“We could have made it work.” Even as Mercy said the words, she knew there was no other way. Twiggy’s efforts to get Patience a job as a rag girl had failed, as had Ash’s efforts to find Patience work sorting through the piles at the ash yard. There were simply too many laborers needing employment and not enough jobs.
“You have to stay at home.” Patience’s tone was firm.
“And watch the little ones go hungry?” They were already hungry enough. And now, without Twiggy’s meager income, there wouldn’t be near enough to go around.
As if coming to the same conclusion, Patience’s expression crumpled and tears began to slide down her hollow cheeks.
“I’ll come here with you—”
“No!” The word came out shrill. “I won’t let you!”
“At least then we can take care of each other.”
Another fit of coughing wracked Patience. She shook her head adamantly, the tears streaking through the grime, providing the only cleansing Patience’s face had seen in weeks. “You have to get a real job, Mercy,” she said when she could breathe again. “You can find something. I know you can.”
“I’ve tried.”
Patience’s bony fingers dug into Mercy’s hands, as if she could grasp Mercy’s soul through her skin and somehow save her.
“Don’t fret,” Mercy said softly, wishing she could ease her sister’s anxiety.
“The Columbia Mission Society.” Patience sat up taller, a light flaring in her eyes. “You have to go to the Columbia Mission Society.”
She had no idea what Patience was talking about but had the feeling it wasn’t a good idea.
“Several ladies from the Columbia Mission Society came to the workhouse last week looking for women interested in immigrating to Vancouver Island and British Columbia—”
“Stuff and nonsense!” Mercy extricated her hand and jumped up from the bench, drawing the attention of several older residents across the yard. Mercy lowered her voice into a growl. “I’m not leaving you. Don’t even think about it.”
“They want healthy young women of good repute,” Patience continued as though she hadn’t heard Mercy. “But most of the women here are too aged or sickly to qualify.”
“Patience, please stop—”
“But you’re perfect.” Patience pushed herself up and reached for Mercy’s face, holding her cheeks captive. “You’re young and beautiful, healthy and strong.”
The rare words of praise so startled Mercy that her stormy thoughts stopped raging and fell into an eerie calm.
Patience’s eyes glowed with such love and pride that a lump formed in Mercy’s throat. “The ladies from the mission society promised there’d be plenty of jobs waiting for each and every woman.”
Plenty of jobs waiting? For women? Did such a place really exist?
“You need to do this, Mercy.” Patience pressed her hands harder against Mercy’s cheeks. “You have to go to the Columbia Mission Society building at once and ask them to sign you up. Tonight. Now.”
At the anticipation in Patience’s face, Mercy held back her ready protest. Could she make herself consider something so outlandish as getting a job in another country?
“I don’t know where Columbia is—”
“British Columbia,” Patience corrected. “It’s near Australia, right where it’s warm and sunny all the time.”
She’d heard stories of prisoners being loaded onto ships and sent off to Australia, never to be seen or heard from again. “No, I’m not a-going. It’s too far away, and then I’d never see you or anyone else again.”
Patience dropped her hold and took a step back, her expression turning severe. “You listen to me, Mercy Wilkins. You’re going and that’s all there is to it. You’re going, and then when you’ve been working for a mite, you can send me enough of your earnings to pay for my fare.”
The determined set to Patience’s chin told Mercy her sister wouldn’t be swayed. “Why can’t we both go now? You come with me to the society building, and we’ll sign up for the trip together, that we will.”
“I have to get over this cough first. And get strong again.”
“You’re strong enough.” But even as Mercy spoke, she felt Patience letting go and setting her adrift. Murky water opened up betwixt them, and even though Mercy grasped after her sister, the chasm grew wider.
Patience smiled tenderly. “If you won’t do this for yourself, then do it for me. Please.”
“But I can’t leave you here.” Mercy waved at the barren courtyard and the imposing building behind them.
“Do you want to make me happy?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then vow you’ll go to British Columbia. I’ll be happy if I know you’re someplace where you can start a new life for yourself. A good life.”
Before Mercy could respond, Patience started coughing again. The force of the hacks bent her over. Finally, breathing heavily, she straightened. The spots of color in her cheeks had deepened. She pushed against Mercy. “Go. Now.”
Mercy took a step away but hesitated.
“Please, Mercy, go.” The repeated pleas were like an ancient battering ram against Mercy’s remaining defenses, hitting hard and crumbling her resistance. “Vow it.”
“Fine, I’ll go. But you best be ready to follow soon after. D’ye hear me?”
Patience nodded wearily.
There was so much more Mercy wanted to say, but her throat constricted, cutting off her words. Instead, she hugged her sister tightly and left her standing in the courtyard.
five
What did you say your name was?” asked the woman from the opposite side of the desk.
“Mercy Wilkins, ma’am.” Mercy perched on the edge of her
chair, folding the material of her skirt to hide the worst of the stains.
The woman ran her smooth, clean fingernail down a long list of what appeared to be names. “I don’t see that name on our list.”
“No, ma’am.” Mercy tucked her hands out of sight so the woman wouldn’t see the black encrusted into her fingernails. Everything about the room spoke of a standard of cleanliness that was foreign to Mercy, from the shining glass windows to the richly polished desk, with every inkpot, ledger, and paper neatly organized.
The woman finally looked up. “If you’re not on our list, why then are you here?” The words weren’t spoken unkindly, but Mercy couldn’t keep from cowering on the inside regardless.
“I was hoping to get on the list, ma’am. The fine gent I spoke to last night told me to come back this morning first thing. So here I am.” After leaving Patience and the workhouse, Mercy had walked several miles to reach the Columbia Mission Society building only to discover it was dark and deserted. A man exiting the business next door informed Mercy that everyone had gone home for the night.
Darkness had long past fallen, along with a foggy mist. She’d had to make her way carefully through the maze of streets so she didn’t call any attention to herself, especially as she ventured into Old Nichol.
Some claimed the name of the slum was taken after the devil himself, Old Nick. Whatever the case, the Prince of Darkness had made Old Nichol his home, for surely no other place so resembled hell on earth.
As she passed through the bowels of the slum, a deep weariness had cloaked her. She decided she wouldn’t return to the Columbia Mission Society in the morning, that she couldn’t leave Patience or her family. For in spite of everything, they still needed her.
But when she’d climbed to the garret room and found her younger siblings huddled together on the dark landing and heard Ash shouting and Twiggy crying behind the closed door of the apartment, it hadn’t taken her long to realize they were fighting over which of the children had to leave.
At their mention of sending ten-year-old Matthew to the docks to make his way with the homeless boys who lived there, including her other brothers, Mercy finally understood why Patience had so willingly gone to the workhouse. She’d interrupted her parent’s argument and told them that as long as they kept Matthew, she’d be the one to go and make her own way.
Now here she was again, hunger raging around her insides looking for something to devour, except there was nothing. Before leaving home that morning, she’d given her share to the little ones and determined that from now on, she’d find her own grub or else go hungry.
The woman on the other side of the desk shuffled her papers together. “I’m sorry you had to make the trip over here again so needlessly. But I’m afraid all sixty of our spots have already been filled.”
Mercy stood, unsure whether to feel discouraged or elated. She hadn’t wanted to let Patience down by ignoring this opportunity. On the other hand, she hadn’t wanted to leave everything familiar and everyone she loved, even if they no longer wanted her.
At least now she could go back to the workhouse and tell Patience she’d tried but that it hadn’t worked out, that together they’d find a way to survive.
The woman rose from her chair, revealing the full length of an elegant gown. Smiling apologetically, she said, “I’m sorry . . .”
“Mercy Wilkins.”
“Mercy,” she finished. “I do hope you’ll find what you’re seeking elsewhere.”
What exactly was she seeking? Before Mercy could figure out a polite response, the front door opened. A petite lady bustled inside with rustling skirts and a swishing cloak, along with a pleasant scent Mercy didn’t recognize but guessed resembled a bouquet of fresh flowers—though she’d never smelled flowers before.
“Miss Rye.” The woman behind the desk dropped a curtsy. “You’re here early this morning.”
The newcomer untied a large ribbon under her chin and removed her hat to reveal sharply angled features made more severe by the tight pull of her plain brown hair into a coil at the back of her head.
“Good morning, Mrs. Dotta. It is early, but there’s a great deal to be done and such a short time in which to accomplish it all.” She hung her hat on a coat tree next to the door and slid out of her cloak, which was thick and velvety and begged Mercy for one touch of its fabric.
“The women need to be ready to go in less than a week, Mrs. Dotta. Less than a week.” The petite lady spoke just as quickly as she moved, as if she couldn’t bear to lose a single second of her day to idleness. “We must make certain every last detail is in order if we hope to send them successfully on their way.”
Miss Rye draped her cloak next to her hat and then spun. Only then did she see Mercy. “And who, pray, is this?” Her sharp eyes scanned Mercy from her head to her toes.
“This is . . .” Mrs. Dotta stumbled over her introduction, clearly having forgotten Mercy’s name again.
“Mercy Wilkins, ma’am.” Mercy bobbed a curtsy, doing her best to imitate Mrs. Dotta’s.
“She heard about our endeavors,” Mrs. Dotta rushed to explain, “and wanted a place among the women chosen to emigrate. As we are limited with how many spots we’ve been given on the ship, I’m afraid she’ll have to wait for the next group—”
“We have one spot left,” Miss Rye interrupted.
“We do?” Mrs. Dotta reached for the list on the desk and scanned it.
With short, rapid footsteps, Miss Rye approached Mercy. “It became available last night when one of our women was arrested for immoral behavior.”
Mrs. Dotta pressed a hand against her lips as though capturing a gasp. “Oh, for shame.”
“Very much a shame, especially when she had such a good life ahead of her. Why she should throw away such a blessed opportunity is beyond my comprehension.” All the while Miss Rye spoke, she circled Mercy and studied her.
Mercy dug her fingers deeper into her skirt and tried tucking her muddy boots out of sight.
“Are you single?” Miss Rye asked, finally standing back and crossing her arms.
“Aye.”
“Any children?”
Mercy heated at the question but shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
“What are your skills?”
“Skills, ma’am?”
“Well-to-do families on Vancouver Island and in British Columbia are looking for domestics. Do you know how to sew or cook or clean? What type of work have you engaged in?”
“I’m not skilled at much of anything,” Mercy said. “Never been trained, nor have I had a job.”
Miss Rye’s severe expression didn’t change. “And how, pray, do you spend your days?”
The insinuation in the woman’s tone pricked Mercy. “I’m not immoral, ma’am. Not in the least.”
“Then you fill your days with idleness?”
Again Mercy bristled, insulted by the common perception that poor people like her were lazy and would rather spend their days drinking and gambling and thieving than working an honest job. “I’ve been tending my wee siblings while my mum works.”
Mercy couldn’t even begin to explain to these women all the work she did on a daily basis to help her siblings and the other children in her neighborhood. They wouldn’t understand how difficult her life was and how much energy it cost her. If people like her were idle, it wasn’t by choice. They’d gladly take a job if any were to be found.
“So you know a little bit about childcare?” Miss Rye asked.
“Aye, more than a little. If I don’t have one of my mum’s own babes on my hip, I’ve got one of the neighbor babes, that I do.”
Miss Rye nodded brusquely and strode toward a door on the opposite end of the room. “At such short notice, you’ll have to do.”
“Ma’am?” Mercy asked.
“Add her to the list, Mrs. Dotta.”
“But shouldn’t we interview her first?” Mrs. Dotta’s worried expression trailed after her superior. “We also need to confi
rm references, ensure she has no criminal record, and have the physician check her for illness and disease.”
“Have her provide a reference,” Miss Rye remarked as she opened the door of what appeared to be another office. “As for the rest, we simply do not have time.”
“But, Miss Rye . . .”
The petite lady paused and leveled a sharp look at Mercy. “Have you ever committed any crimes?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you sick or diseased?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You’ve been given a great opportunity to start a new life. Don’t squander it.”
“No, ma’am,” Mercy replied quickly as she bobbed another curtsy. “I won’t.”
“There you are, Mrs. Dotta. She’s had her interview.” Miss Rye disappeared into the adjoining room and closed the door.
For long seconds, Mercy could only stare at the door. What had she gotten herself into? Was it too late to back out? All she had to do was leave the office and never return. She could simply pretend this interaction had never happened.
After all, these two women didn’t seem thrilled to have her join the list. They likely wouldn’t notice if she disappeared.
But by disappearing would she throw away her last chance at the great opportunity to start a new life? If she built a new life, then she could eventually rescue Patience from her miserable existence. However, if she stayed, she wouldn’t be able to do much good for Patience except join in her misery.
“Sit down,” Mrs. Dotta said as she lowered herself to her chair. “We have a good deal to accomplish if you’re to be ready in three days’ time.”
“Three days?”
“Yes. Your train departs in three days.”
“I thought I’d be a-going on a ship, ma’am.”
Mrs. Dotta released an exasperated sigh. “Of course you’re sailing by ship.”
The full weight of her ignorance and inferiority slapped Mercy in the face. She lowered her head. What was she doing here? She was just a poor girl from the poorest part of London.
“As you’ll be representing the Columbia Mission Society, we’ll require you to wear clean apparel. You do have a clean skirt and blouse, do you not?”
