Mail Order Bride--Latham's new wife

by Kate Whitsby

  “Two black coffees and a deck of cards, please.”

  “What on earth are we gonna do with a deck of cards?” Annis put her hand to her neck and sat down. Closing her eyes she took a couple of deep breaths.

  “I watched some old fellows playin’ this game called Gin Rummy. I think I got the rules down pat.” She began to explain the game and just as Annis was nodding her head that she understood, their coffee arrived.

  “Oh, Sorcha. I don’t think that coffee was such a good idea.” She swallowed hard, blotting the back of her hand against her forehead. “What’s the matter with me?”

  “Well, darlin’, I’m not sure where to start.”

  Annis smiled despite queasiness.

  “Sure. Jokin’ while yer sister is bein’ tortured by nature.” Annis closed her eyes tightly and began to fan herself with her right hand.

  “Do you want a sip of...”

  Before Sorcha could finish the sentence Annis was up and running to the railing. In the most unladylike fashion she leaned over and was sick. Grabbing a blanket that was daintily hanging over the back of her chair Sorcha quickly wrapped her sister in it and pulled her gently away from the rails.

  Within seconds there was the valet, a footman, the First Mate who had just been passing by and a guest of a rather portly nature and a handlebar mustache all offering to assist Annis back to her room.

  “I’ll be fine.” She nodded her head but kept her hand close to her lips. “As soon as I get me self-respect back. “Please take the coffee back.”

  Once an adequate fuss had been made over Annis and the men had all gotten a few moments of her time, gazing longingly into her eyes, smelling the sweet talc that was on her skin and feeling the smoothness of her touch as she shook their hands in gratitude the two ladies retreated back to their cabin.

  “My heavens it does look beautiful on the deck. I can’t go the entire trip like this.” Annis carefully sat down on the soft bed again. “Denholm will think I look dreadful. What if he decides he doesn’t want me? What if I’ll have gone through all this fer nuthin’?”

  “That’s just yer nerves talkin’, Ann. Trust me.” Sorcha gave her sister a wink as she helped her lay back down and covered her with the cloudlike blanket. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “What’r you doin’ that this bobbin’ and rockin’ don’t upset your innerds?”

  “I don’t think about it. There’s too much to see. Too many things to hear.”

  “We’ll go again tomorrow. I’ll eat some soup. But no coffee.”

  “No coffee.”

  And so the sixty-seven day trip passed by with Annis making an attempt every couple of days to stay on deck. The fact the Oceanic ran into two thunderstorms didn’t help the sister’s situation. But Annis did manage to eat and became quite fond of a concoction called ginger tea that eased her troubled stomach immensely.

  Sorcha, although distressed that her sister couldn’t be out and about as Annis was much more of a social creature than she, spent most of her time alone enjoying the continual banter of the seagulls, the majestic escort of dolphins along the side of the boat and she swore, right before their arrival in the port of Boston, off in the distance a whale blew a misty kiss straight into the air wishing her well.

  “Land, ho! Annis! Look! Look!” Sorcha had scrunched up her face and pushed it as far as possible out the porthole in their room. Sadly, from the outside she resembled a gargoyle peering over the spires of Notre Dame Cathedral. “Our new home! America!”

  Annis carefully climbed out of the bed and with her arms outstretched as if walking a tightrope and needed to keep her balance she made her way to where Sorcha was standing. Pulling her sister up to the window she leaned aside.

  “It’s beautiful.” Annis started to cry. “Denholm is there. Sorcha how long do you guess it will take to get there? Another day?”

  “For the love of Pete, girl. With the way this iron beast is partin’ the waters. Only Moses himself could do a better job. My guess is we’ll be there by this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon? Oh, heavens. I’m so nervous. You’d think I was marryin’ a man sight unseen.”

  “I’ll get you a ginger tea and some of those little pastries I know you’re so fond of.”

  “I don’t think I could eat a bite. But, if you think it might be better to have somethin’ in me stomach. Maybe just one little dainty thing.”

  Letting out one of her bursts of laughter that rattled the doorframe Sorcha left her sister and went to the dining area where she absconded with a small white plate decorated with gold leaves around the edge piled high with sugary delicacies. She planned on slipping the plate into her carpetbag, assured no one would miss it.

  It seemed the entire boat was electrified at the sight of the destination. The crew scurried about taking orders passed down from the Captain to his first mate to the ensigns on duty. Gray smoke flowed out of the four red stacks like scarves waving in the breeze. It was obvious the crew below deck in the engine room were working double time, anxious for a respite and perhaps to feel a steady ground beneath their feet.

  As the ship got closer the dock was decorated with flags and ribbons of red yellow and blue. People who looked very similar to the ones who had waved good-bye yelling Bon Voyage were gathering by the hundreds and watching with anticipation as the boat approached.

  The whistle blew every few minutes to indicate their distance and Sorcha wondered if she’d ever again feel that vibration in her chest that the horn had caused. Would she ever go on such a grand adventure as this? Or was her life now about to settle down into a routine as it had in Scotland? A tear came to her eye. In order to keep it from spilling over her lashes she bit her tongue. Sorcha was homely enough but when stricken with a fit of crying she was nearly hideous.

  Laughing at her silly tears she took one last walk along the deck that she had roamed on so many late evenings and early mornings. She whispered passionate good-byes to her imaginary beaus who waved to her longingly, promising to love her always and forever.

  Weaving her way in between the actual guests and staff Sorcha pulled her wide brimmed hat down further so as not to be noticed. She peeked from the shadow over her eyes at all the special places she had claimed as her own. There was a corridor with a particular photograph of the dining room filled with glamorous people smiling, laughing and enjoying themselves. She had stared at the picture for at least a hundred hours over the span of the trip, putting herself in the middle of all the commotion.

  The stained glass mosaic above the grand staircase where the first class passengers went had spread its colors all over the floor like spilled watercolors that Sorcha could wade through. Staring at the patterns and colors she recorded them in her mind. Perhaps when she got ashore she would get paper and paints from a confectionary and recreate the rainbow for herself.

  And then there was the small area of the deck at the front end of the boat just below the bridge where she ended her farewell lap.

  Within the hour their journey would be over. For just a few moments Sorcha closed her eyes and saw the view in her mind, pretending to give commands and steer the boat. Opening her eyes again she saw a handsome older couple had joined her, holding on to the railing and pointing to the dock, the water and then the sky. Their words made no sense to Sorcha. French they were. But as they turned, the man tipped his hat and the woman nodded her head to which Sorcha respectfully did the same.

  Quickly she bustled through the growing crowd of passengers on the deck and back to her cabin. Annis was packed and dressed, every single crumb of the pastries gone and the teapot empty.

  “My heaven’s.” Sorcha gushed as she looked at her sister. “You look beautiful.”

  “You don’t think the red is a bit much.” She smoothed her skirt that popped in a bright red, black and brown plaid print that were the old colors of Denholm’s family crest.

  “Oh, no. I think it’s just right.”

  “Are you going to change?�
�

  “What? And throw Denholm into shock by not lookin’ like me old frumpy self. Not on your life.”

  “Sorcha, you brought that green frock, I never saw you wear it once the entire trip.”

  “I did wear it. You didn’t see because you were too busy hangin’ yer head over the rails.”

  “You stop yer teasin’. I can’t force you to wear nuthin’. Wear what ya got on. But I’m going to be getting married and I better not see you covered in that potato sack you call a frock. Maybe if you show off your figure a little...”

  “Now, darlin’, do you want to see yer fiancé with a black eye or do you want to see him lookin’ as pretty as a postcard?”

  “Oh, please! Daddy isn’t here to protect ya like he used to.” Annis laughed out loud. Then, both women stopped and looked down. Annis turned toward the mirror that was over the nightstand and began to fix her hair, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Daddy’d be so proud of you, Annis.” Sorcha took the silver brush from the table and began to brush her sister’s hair. “He’d be proud of the man ya chose. He’d be proud of ya making this trip. Just remember that ya were his daughter.”

  “Yeah, I was his daughter. But you were the apple of his eye. You just remember that.”

  The sisters hugged each other tightly, laughing at their tears and giggling over finally stepping on dry land. Double-checking to make sure they had all their belongings they straightened the cabin leaving it as perfect and beautiful as when they had arrived.

  Taking their place along the rail with the hundreds of other passengers Sorcha and Annis scanned the dock for Denholm. It didn’t take long to find him.

  The red-headed Scotsman stood almost a foot above everyone else on the pier. He wore a plaid jacket and his whiskers had grown out a little.

  He immediately found Annis and was madly calling her name, waving his arms. Annis cried tears of joy, waving back and blowing kisses.

  Chapter 2

  It was a beautiful sight to see Annis and Denholm reunited. Pushing through the crowd smiling through tears and laughing as they called their names, waving, jumping so as not to lose sight of one another until finally in each other’s arms.

  Sorcha smiled her crooked smile as she struggled with the satchels that held their things. After several minutes Denholm looked up, spied his future sister-in-law and waved to her. Without hesitation he made his way to her and scooped her up in his strong arms, whirling her around and making a spectacle of the whole reunion.

  Denholm was a likable fellow. He was hard working and determined but gentle as a kitten when it came to Annis who would rather bite off her own tongue than say a word against him. Anyone could easily see she had him wrapped around her little pinky.

  “My dearest. Yer here. Yer both here!” He wiped the tears from his eyes in case anyone from the boats where he worked would catch a glimpse of him blubbering like a pansy. “I got every letter ya wrote. And when ya said ya were on yer way to the big boat, I was here almost a week waiting to see those mighty smoke stacks in the distance bringin’ my beloved to me.”

  “I’m so glad to be on dry land.” Annis gushed. “The sea liked to toss me about makin’ me green in the gills, ain’t that right Sorcha?”

  Nodding her head while pulling her plain brown bonnet to conceal her face in shadows, Sorcha studied her new surroundings. This was where she was going to live. This was home now. It was brown like her bonnet, too.

  “Sorcha, now ya give me those satchels and we’ll make our way to the priest. He’s been waitin’ all week, too.”

  With both bags in one arm and Annis safely wrapped in the other Denholm lead the women to a small church with a giant spire pointing straight to heaven. Sorcha walked in behind the bride and groom, clumsily making her way to a pew to sit. The smell of incense and candles filled the air. It was dark and cool and quite soothing although it was a heap different from where prayer services were said back home.

  No, Sorcha. This is your home now. Massachusetts. You won’t be seein’ Scotland ever again so there’s no use comparing the two. It would be like comparing yourself to Annis.

  Straightening her back she watched her sister walk so lightly she seemed to float alongside Denholm. Her delicate arm was linked with his as they approached the small alter and the priest.

  It was not uncommon for couples to come directly to the church after the boats arrived as marriages had to be performed, babies had to be baptized and in some instances last rights had to be read.

  Sorcha had gone to the wedding of one of the Linder sisters back in Scotland when she was just fourteen. It was a grand display. Marjorie Linder had purple thistle through her red hair and her dress, although not white, was simple in a gray color with a hem of lace so wide she started a trend among all the brides to be that they, too, must have an even wider hem of lace.

  There was dancing and all the neighbors mingled with kin making merry into the wee hours of the morning. Food was piled on tables. Songs were sung and did the beer flow. Sorcha remembered she herself had snuck a sip from Collin McDoogal' who was in and out of consciousness by the end of the party.

  Annis and Denholm’s wedding was much different than that event. Private, quick and solemn they made their promises to each other in front of God and were blessed to start their lives as one. Watching her sister, Sorcha could see the tears in her eyes as she looked up several inches into Denholm’s kind face.

  Sorcha didn’t let herself dwell on the idea of weddings. There would be no wedding for her she was sure. No man would ever look to her the way Denholm gazed at Annis, like she were a constellation in the sky or brilliant seashell.

  Before she could start to feel sorry for herself, Annis came running to her sister and wrapped her arms tightly around her neck.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Sorcha. You’re me only kin and now you’re Denholm’s kin, too. Our home is your home, Sorcha. Fer always.”

  Sorcha squeezed her sister back but said nothing. She cried a little, tears of happiness for her sister and a small pattering of pity for herself. When she stepped through the door a bird had thought that was the perfect moment to relieve itself.

  “Jings!” Sorcha twisted up her face. Quickly she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped the white goo from her shoulder. It left an unsightly streak on the fabric and a sense of foreboding in her heart.

  As they left the building, the newlyweds hand in hand walked through the church door, Denholm still carrying the bag in one hand and nearly lifting Annis off the ground with the other, they hurried through the street to what would be their new home.

  Sorcha, being portlier than Annis had a hard time keeping up. Perhaps that was for the best. The two would be requiring a bit of privacy once home. But by the time they reached the place Sorcha was sweating through her frock, her feet were screaming at every pebble they flattened and her hair was stuck to the sides of her face making her appear to have a beard.

  “Home sweet home!” Denholm shouted over his shoulder to Sorcha, pointing at a house that was quite lovely, albeit small.

  Dropping the bags on the ground he scooped a giggling Annis up in his arms and carried her across the threshold. Within a minute he was dashing back out the door doing the same thing to Sorcha despite her protests, kicking and wailing.

  Once inside, she saw the house was simply decorated. To the left was a sitting room with a table that had four chairs around it. A fireplace behind that with several cords of wood stacked next to it. The floor was wooden, unlike the dirt floor they had at their cottage back in Scotland. There was glass in the windows that let the light in from all kinds of angles. A kitchen with a china cabinet and wash basin plus a pot bellied stove were just beyond.

  “Sorcha, me darlin’. That is yer room.” Denholm pointed opposite the sitting room to a short hallway. She walked down the corridor, her shoes echoing on the wooden floor. Peeking into the tiny room, she saw that it was about the size of the cabin she shared with Annis on th
e boat. There was a bed and a small night table next to it. A window brought in a bit of light.

  “So, what do ya think?”

  “It’s beautiful, Denny.” Sorcha wiped her eyes. “It’s so beautiful I can’t speak. You done all this fer us?”

  “Aye. Of course.”“Let me see yer room, Sorcha.” Annis said as she peeked into the room and squealed with delight.

  “My! What are you goin’ to do with a room to yerself? I’ll bet Denny won’t mind if we hang a curtain and perhaps get one of those fancy lanterns with the flowers on them for the nightstand. You won’t mind, right, Denny?”

  Laughing loudly he shook his head.

  “No that is what this place needs. A woman’s touch.”

  It was true. Within the next couple of weeks Annis had made the house a real home.

  With mixed feelings Sorcha watched her sister slip into the roll of wife as easily as she did a pair of shoes. Denholm would leave every morning for the dock where he worked. There were dozens of shipping boats looking for a big, strong back like Denholm, so work was always available. It was hard and he’d come home smelling of fish and salt water.

  “Funny how the rock of the ocean made you cowkin’ but the smell of that man walking in the door after huggin’ tuna and mackerel all day makes you swoon.” Sorcha teased when the sisters were alone.

  It was a day for mending clothes and blankets as the colder months would be on them before they knew it.

  “You just wait, Sorcha. T’won be long before you find yourself pining away over some lad thinkin’ the same.”

  “Oh, If only that were true.” Sorcha looked seriously at her sister. A tactic that always made Annis laugh. “You know unless the man be blind there ain’t no chance for me.”

  “Don't be so negative. This is a big place. There are lots of people here and if you’d just show your personality like you do to me you might find that there are good men, smart men who’ll see you are more than just your face.”