by Jody Hedlund
He didn’t see the differences. He saw only the woman he loved.
She realized Joseph had grown into that kind of man too—the kind who’d learned to look past outward appearances and circumstances and value what was in the heart.
Mercy paused to touch the infant’s hand, which had escaped from the tight swaddle. The tiny fingers were each so perfectly formed, with thin fingernails and dimpled knuckles.
Was it possible she could someday give Joseph a child of his own? Even though he’d expressed his willingness to adopt homeless children, perhaps she’d one day hold their child conceived in love.
Whatever the future brought, she was learning to trust that God was with her no matter where she was and no matter how difficult her situation. She had to remind herself of that oft, especially with fresh rumors regarding her and Joseph’s relationship.
Once word of her engagement to Joseph had spread, the bride-ship women had despised her more than before. Mercy overheard their whispers and knew they believed she’d somehow coerced Joseph into a union. Most embarrassing were the rumors that Joseph felt obligated to marry her because she was expecting his child. She tried to ignore the glares and the cold silences, kept herself busy helping Joseph so that she wouldn’t encounter the women, and trusted Joseph and Mrs. Moresby’s assurances that the gossip would soon go away.
Thankfully, Miss Lawrence had been kind and asked her to live with her in an apartment. It was a temporary living arrangement, one that wouldn’t last for either of them. But for now, Mercy was thankful for a reprieve from the condemnation of the other women, the type of censure she and Joseph were sure to face in London.
They were still waiting to hear back from Dr. Bates regarding Patience. Joseph had sent a telegram over a week ago. With the distance his telegram had to travel, Joseph hadn’t expected a return message from Dr. Bates for some time. Even so, he certainly hoped to have heard from the doctor by now.
Mercy guessed Dr. Bates was having a difficult time discovering what had become of Patience. If Patience had left on the Robert Lowe, it was possible the workhouse didn’t have record of it. Worse still was the possibility Patience had died and been buried in an unmarked grave. Without solid news, or even with bad news, it was no wonder Dr. Bates had delayed.
Mercy had told Joseph only yesterday that perhaps they ought to consider marrying without word of Patience. She longed to be with him all the time, never having to part ways again. Whenever they were together, the passion between them flared with growing intensity. And while she was grateful for Joseph’s care in maintaining her integrity by visiting with her only in public places or with chaperones present, she longed to be with him, only him, and wouldn’t be satisfied until she was.
The babe in her arms squeaked and began sucking her little fist. It wouldn’t be long before Mercy would need to awaken the wee one’s mother to nurse the babe.
A soft rap on the shed door was followed by the creak of it opening. Mercy expected to see the scraggly, bearded face of the miner and was surprised to see Joseph’s handsome face instead.
His warm brown eyes found her, and something reserved within the depths of them sent her heart to spiraling.
He had news for her.
“You’re back sooner than I expected,” she whispered, needing to delay his message for as long as possible. “Just admit that, with each passing day, you want to be with me more.”
“More than you can know,” he whispered, his voice rumbling with a need that matched the glimmer in his eyes.
Heat shimmered across her skin and soaked down to her bones. This was how it was every time they were together. It was exquisite torture.
Joseph cast a glance at the native woman still sleeping on the cot before crossing two long strides to reach her. Before Mercy could protest that they weren’t alone, he cupped both of her cheeks and leaned in to claim her mouth in a slow and delicate kiss, one that teased her with promises of what was to come.
At another squeak from the babe, Mercy forced herself back, breaking the kiss. “Joseph,” she admonished, ducking her head as her cheeks flushed. She darted a glance at the mother, who remained motionless.
“Is one week enough time in which to plan the wedding?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back, as if by doing so he could prevent himself from reaching for her again.
“One week?” Mercy’s heart dropped. She knew what was coming and didn’t want to talk about it. Frantically, she looked around the cramped shed, searching for anything else that might divert their attention. “But the Robert Lowe won’t be here for weeks, if not months.”
“Mercy,” he whispered tenderly as if sensing her mounting panic. “Patience is not coming.”
Swift tears filled her eyes. She’d guessed Patience had passed away, had tried to allow herself to grieve. But now . . .
Joseph removed a telegram from his coat pocket. It was dirty and beaten as though it had traveled through a battlefield to reach them. He pried open the envelope and pulled out a sheet filled with small black print.
She had the urge to run from the shed or at least plug her ears. As the infant’s squeaks erupted into a sudden, piercing wail, she turned away from Joseph and the telegram. The mother’s eyes flew open, and she struggled to sit.
Joseph was at the woman’s side in an instant, easing her up even as Mercy placed the babe in her waiting arms. With the sutures in her abdomen, Mercy had no doubt the mother was in extreme discomfort. But other than the slightest wince, she didn’t show it.
Mercy straightened and took a deep breath. She wouldn’t ignore the hard news and the pain that came with it, as she would have done in the past. She had to make herself go through it.
“How did Dr. Bates find Patience?” She forced out the question even though it hurt to do so.
Joseph spoke quietly to the native woman, who understood a little bit of English. Then he rose and reached for Mercy’s hand, drawing her outside the shed and closing the door behind them. The pump at the center of the yard was dripping water into the muddy puddle at its base, and the grass was starting to turn yellow, but the area was deserted, giving them a moment of privacy.
“How did Dr. Bates find my sister?” Mercy repeated. She held her arms tightly to her chest to ward off the cold breeze, forcing herself to stay put even though she wanted to escape.
“Dr. Bates didn’t say how he found her,” Joseph answered, “only that she’s been living at the Shoreditch Dispensary since you left.”
Mercy stared at Joseph, taking in every sincere line etched into his forehead. “She’s living at the dispensary?”
“I’m sorry, Mercy,” Joseph continued. “I know how much you wanted her to come on the Robert Lowe, but she’s still too weak to travel. According to Dr. Bates, she probably won’t ever be strong enough to make the voyage here.”
Mercy couldn’t move as she tried to figure out what Dr. Bates had done. He’d likely gone to the workhouse himself not long after she’d left his office. And he’d done more than help Patience. He’d rescued her out of the bowels of hell and single-handedly saved her life.
A tender, sweet lump in her throat swelled as sudden tears spilled over.
Joseph pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.
“She’s alive, then?” Mercy whispered.
“Yes, she’s alive.”
Mercy buried her face against Joseph and wept. When she finally spent herself, she realized she was trembling—her arms, legs, and hands. Trembling from relief, from hearing that her sister had survived. Trembling because she was overcome with such gratitude for Dr. Bates, who cared enough to help one person at a time, one day at a time.
Joseph pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I can be ready for the wedding in a week,” she said and offered Joseph a tremulous smile.
He used the pad of his thumb to brush away her tears. “I shall understand if you’re not ready so soon—”
“I’m ready now, Joseph.” Aye, she
was ready to spend the rest of her life with the man she loved.
“Are you certain?”
This time her smile broke free. “I’m right certain.” She’d never been more certain of anything in her life.
Author’s Note
When I first heard of the concept of bride ships, I was utterly horrified and fascinated by the idea that women would willingly board ships, leave everything they’d ever known behind, and sail to a strange land, all for the purpose of marrying complete strangers. I couldn’t help but ask myself what kind of woman would do such a thing and why?
In the 1860s, several bride ships left England’s shores with the destination of Vancouver Island and British Columbia, which at that time were both separate colonies of England and not yet part of Canada. As I researched these ships and the women who took the voyages, I looked frantically for the answer to the question: What sort of desperation did these women face that would drive them to take part in one of the bride ships?
Indeed, most of the women were very desperate, particularly the poorest of the immigrants. In this first book in THE BRIDE SHIPS series, I hope I’ve given you a glimpse of the hopeless conditions that existed for the poor who lived in London’s slums. Many of the women on the first bride ship, the Tynemouth, were from London’s poorest areas and faced conditions very much like Mercy did. Without adequate food, lodging, and opportunity for employment, the future was bleak for many women, and often immigration wasn’t something they could afford.
At the same time that well-meaning people attempted to take action to help London’s poor, the colonies of Vancouver Island and British Columbia complained about a lack of women for the many men who lived and worked there. A missionary among the miners of British Columbia, Reverend Lundin Brown, wrote a letter to his sponsors in London, asking for Christian wives for the miners. As a result, the Columbia Mission Society soon began making arrangements for the transport of such women.
The Tynemouth was one of the bride ships to leave England for Vancouver Island and British Columbia. Most of the story of the voyage happened the way I’ve portrayed it. There were sixty women and two very strict chaperones, who cordoned off the women and didn’t allow them to mingle with any of the other passengers or to go ashore for the entire voyage.
The Tynemouth really did experience a gale while in the English Channel, which caused most on board to become terribly seasick. The Tynemouth also met with a hurricane-like storm in the South Atlantic and was nearly sunk by the large waves and high winds. And the Tynemouth experienced several mutinies. The mutineers were subdued, and subsequently the male passengers volunteered to help with the ship’s duties until more sailors could be taken on board.
After the time in the Falklands, the passengers experienced food poisoning from the wild fowl and so all the birds had to be thrown overboard. The ship went through a period of such calm that it began to run out of coal and had to burn furniture and other wood items in order to fuel the engines. One of the bride-ship women did in fact die during the passage. In real life she died before reaching the Falklands, but for the sake of the story’s pacing, I took the liberty of moving the smallpox scare and the woman’s death to a little later in the voyage.
I also portrayed the bride ship’s arrival in Victoria according to the accounts that have been recorded. Hundreds of men really did come down to the harbor to greet the women as they stepped ashore. The women had to walk through a gauntlet of cheering men. And surprisingly, yes, the story of Sophia and Pioneer really did happen. Pioneer proposed to Sophia on the spot, offered her two thousand pounds, and she accepted. The women ran to the government building, where they had to do their washing in front of the ogling men.
Finally, the ship’s surgeon really did leave the Tynemouth once he arrived to Vancouver Island, and he married one of the women from the ship who had possibly helped him nurse the sick while on board the Tynemouth, giving them occasion to get to know each other. The real ship’s surgeon eventually returned to England with his wife and lived there.
While Joseph and Mercy are completely fictional, I did draw inspiration from the love story of the real couple. As with any fiction, I added elements and backstory that helped to explore the great chasm between the social classes of that time. While it wasn’t my intention to portray Mercy as a weak woman, I did want to show how a poor woman of her era would have accepted her position at the bottom and wouldn’t have questioned those in authority over her the way we might today.
As the physical voyage took place, I also took my characters on a voyage of self-discovery. The truth is, we are shaped by our pasts—both the good and the bad influence who we become. But the other truth is, our voyage isn’t over. If we allow God to come in and guide our journey, He’ll give us the courage we need to shift course when necessary, to battle the storms, and to move forward in His strength and with His purpose.
I pray that wherever you’re at in your life, you’ll invite Him in, give Him control, and rely upon Him to steer the course, doing your small part to make a difference with His help and guidance.
Jody Hedlund is the award-winning author of multiple novels, including the BEACONS OF HOPE AND ORPHAN TRAIN series, as well as Captured by Love and Rebellious Heart. She holds a bachelor’s degree from Taylor University and a master’s degree from the University of Wisconsin, both in social work. Jody lives in Michigan with her husband and five children. Learn more at JodyHedlund.com.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Books by Jody Hedlund
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
Epigraph
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5
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Author’s Note
About the Author
Back Ad
Back Cover
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