by Lynn Landes
Heavy boots stomp across the wooden deck of the ship. Bronnah jerks awake and sits up, stifling a groan at the pain in her side. She stares around the cabin in confusion. When her eyes reach the corner, she is stunned. Chase is sitting in a chair with his arms across his chest. His cowboy hat is pulled down over his face, and his rifle is propped in the corner within easy reach.
As quietly as possible Bronnah lifts the blanket and swings her legs over the side of the bed. When she tries to stand and straighten up, pain ripples through her side, reminding her of her wound, once more. She gasps and doubles over, waiting for the pain to pass. Her hand flails out to steady herself and encounters a wall of muscle. She grabs a fist full of his shirt turning into his body and rests her forehead on his chest for a moment.
"Sorry, give me a moment," she whispers. Chase holds her and watches impressed as she straightens inch by inch allowing the muscles to get used to the movement.
“Just take it easy, now. Where are you going?” She releases him and walks around the small room stretching her muscles.
“I was going to take a stroll and stretch my muscles.”
“Well, darling as much as I’m enjoying the view, I’d rather not have to kill all the sailors on this ship,” Chase chuckles.
Standing in a long sleeve button up shirt she would be any man’s dream come true. He is aware of just how little she is wearing under that shirt. Bronnah gasps and tugs on the shirt. It’s down to her mid-thigh, but the pain and early hour had her forgetting her circumstances.
Her blush flares and he's smart enough not to laugh. "I could loan you my coat and walk with you.” He picks up his duster and offers it to her. Bronnah groans in mortification and covers her face.
"Excuse me for a moment." She snatches a blanket from the bed and hurries to the hall bath and returns quickly to climb back into the bed and covers up once more. "Chase, you don't have to watch over me. I'm perfectly fine alone. I'm used to it." The hollow emptiness of the words has him pausing to look closely at her.
Chase walks over to the kerosene lantern and lights it. He sits in the corner and tosses off his boots. His hair falls forward shielding his face from view. Her fingers itch to touch, to run her fingers through his hair and see if he reacts to her touch the way she does to his.
"Since we are both up, we should talk." When his eyes meet hers, Bronnah is stunned by the direction of her thoughts.
"Tell me your story Bronnah." Her tongue flicks out, and she wets her lip causing his body to react. He knows better than to have feelings for a witness. Sitting back, he stares at her, waiting for her to start.
"Where do I start, Chase?" Bronnah hesitates to speak to him. What will he think of her once she's finished? Lifting her head, she remembers her family, and she refuses to walk in shame.
“I was born in Ireland, in a seaside village called Kildaire. I married my sweetheart, Davey when I was fifteen. We were tenant farmers, like my parents.” Bronnah speaks softly in a wistful tone, remembering home, but her voice grows stronger as she speaks of the past. "Davey was seventeen and full of spit and fire," she grins when she speaks of him.
"As tenant farmers, we were not allowed to keep what we farmed, only enough to feed our families. When the famine came, we couldn't grow enough to cover the rent to live on the land. If you couldn't pay, you couldn't stay, and Davey fought back when they came to evict us. He was killed on the spot." Screams fill the night, sobs ripping from her soul and she closes her eyes against the memories pushing them away and looks out the window going silent for a moment.
Clearing her throat, she continues, “I was one of the lucky ones. The Sisters recognized a spark in me for learning and offered to educate me. In truth, they kept me on much longer than they should have. I was taken to England where they educated me and trained me as a nurse. I learned to hide my accent, and after six years I became very good at it, except when my temper gets the better of me.” She smiles at him.
Chase feels ashamed as he listens to Bronnah talk about the famine, death, and tragedy. Yet she smiles when she speaks of her home and family. "When I found out I had to leave, my best friend and I decided to take a chance and come to America as brides. The Chen Matrimonial company made promises that I felt were too good to be true, but desperation makes us do desperate things."
"Why not just marry again? Why come all the way to America to find a husband? You are gorgeous, Bronnah. It should have been easy for you," Chase asked not bothering to sugar-coat his questions.
“Because, Chase, I am Irish. An Irish widow living in England holds no value except on her back. Nothing but a biddy,” she explains bitterly.
“I don’t understand, what’s a biddy?”
"The English believe the Irish to be beneath them, and apparently so do people in this country. I thought I was escaping the prejudice." Her voice grows hoarse, and she stops speaking.
Chase pours her a cup of water, and she sips quietly before continuing.
“This wasn’t about me. I wanted to bring my parents and brother to America with me. The government is offering land for homesteaders.” Excitement fills her voice as she explains the plan to him. “Those who can farm it for five years get to own the land.” Leaning forward she glows when she talks about the possibilities. “It’s my father’s dream to own his own land. To be able to keep what we grow, Chase.” Once more she gets up and waves him off when he tries to help. She paces back and forth careful to keep her voice down.
“You don’t know what it’s like to watch people fade before your eyes. To become living skeletons. My own hunger wasn’t nearly as bad as watching my family suffer, grow weaker, and die. America was supposed to be the land of opportunity and hope.” She is oblivious to the tears tracking down her face.
“I do know the horror of famine, Bronnah. Hunger is something soldiers lived with daily,” Chase replies hoarsely. Her eyes meet his with an intensity he will never forget.
"No, not hunger, Chase. Starvation. The kind of hunger that you would do anything to satisfy. I've never once in all my life been able to just… be. In England, the Sisters taught me to hide my accent, my hair, avoid the women and the men. In America, I'm told I should hide, well, everything. I've grown weary of being a shadow. No more. The knowledge I have can't be tossed aside and forgotten and knowing they're getting away with it, is killing me.
“They lured you here with lies. Bronnah, I promise you they will pay.” She angrily wipes her tears away with the back of her hand.
"There's more to it than that." Bronnah crawls across the bed and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. "Chase, they are luring girls from all over the world with the same lies. We are sorted, drugged, cleaned up, dressed and shipped out, against our will, to become whatever it is they decide we should become. I am no one's plaything, Marshall. I intend ta make sure they are stopped."
"That's why I'm here, Bronnah. Four young women were killed and stuffed into a train with my families' name on it. Each of them wore clothing only a prostitute would wear, and each one of them had a mark on their wrist."
Bronnah lifts her arm and shows him her wrist. “Like this?”
Chase is appalled. “Yes, exactly,” he answers gruffly.
"What does it mean? What is it?" She watches him closely. When he hesitates and looks out of the window, she stands up and moves closer to his legs. Bronnah touches his face, guiding his eyes back to hers.
“Tell me,” she pleads.
“I think it is a way they identify their property.” She flinches and begins to rub violently at it.
“No…” she whimpers and twirls away. “I want it off.” Desperate, she goes to the bowl and grabs the damp rag and tries to scrub it off. Sobbing now, she scrubs harder, trying to wash away to the symbol of her ownership. “They don’t own me!”
Chase steps behind her and his large hand closes over hers, stilling her. He leans down and soothes her as he would a wounded animal. “It’s going to be alright, Bronnah.” With a gentle hand, h
e turns her slowly around. “I promise, they will not touch you again.”
Her eyes are wild with a touch of desperation. The pupils have a shade of copper around them blending into the green. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Chase. They drug us, use us, sell us and throw us away like trash. I will no’ let them get away with it.”
Fire, that's what he sees in her Irish eyes. A fire for justice and it's a sight to behold.
“I know you’re angry. You have every right to be, but I give you my word as a U.S. Marshall that I will bring those responsible to justice.”
Disappointment flickers, he isn't getting it, yet. Bronnah pushes away from him, backing up until she's against the bed.
“Something isn’t adding up, Bronnah. Why are they hunting you so desperately? The others were murdered in cold blood. They slit their throats, tied them up and tossed them in the railcar, but not you. Why?” he asked dreading the answer.
Bronnah chews her lip and wonders how much to tell him.
“When I realized they were drugging us, I… well, I vomited. Repeatedly. To get as much of it out of my system as possible. It wasn’t enough, but it may have saved my life. I had a bad reaction to the opium. They believed me to be asleep, and when they weren’t looking Kai, helped me escape by slipping some into someone’s tea.”
"Brilliant thinking, tell me more," he says, wrapping a blanket around her trembling form and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Thank you," Bronnah whispers. "On the way out of the hotel, I couldn't find my clothes or papers. I needed my bag, my money, they took everything. Desperate, I grabbed blindly at anything that might have my papers in it. I stole a ledger, cash, a gun and a bag of clothes. It wasn't until later that I realized the importance of that book. Names, dates, ships, countries, and… Chase, some of those names are U.S. Marshalls."
"Of course! Now it's all coming together." It doesn't surprise him that some of the Marshall's are corrupt. Running a hand through his hair, he thinks about where to take her until he can call in help.
“There’s more, Chase,” she whispered. “I used the ledger to find out where the next shipment of girls was coming in, and I … stole them back.” Bronnah spills the story of how she saved the girls.
Chase is stupefied. He leaps to his feet, and she crosses her arms over herself.
“Of all the reckless, careless… what on earth were you thinking woman? You could have been killed!” He snarls at her. Bronnah steps in front of him and pokes him in the chest.
“I was helping those who couldn’t help themselves. Just like you do! So, don’t tell me…”
“No!” He grabs her by the upper arms and shakes her gently. “I am trained to do my job. You’re a victim.” She shoves him away from her violently shaking her head.
"I am no one's victim!" Her eyes flash as she tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "I wasn't a victim when I snuck into that hotel room and rescued those young women from a fate worse than death. Nor when I fought back against the Chen, and I will no' stop!" Her declaration touches him and terrifies him. She has no clue what she's up against here.
Chase's hands rest on her waist and squeezes gently.
"So, help me, woman, if you don't stop talking, I won't be responsible for my actions." Desire rages through his body. She doesn't realize the temptation she represents. His instinct is to rip the shirt from her body. She should only be wearing his shirt. Or better yet, his body!
Bronnah is stunned silent at the desire reflected in his eyes and revels in this newfound power. Her hand reaches up, and she does what she has been longing to do. She touches his face and runs her fingers through his hair. Chase steps back and sits hard on the bed, and Bronnah follows him.
In the seated position on the bed, she only has to lean over to taste his lips. Never, not even with her husband has she experienced such a strong physical reaction to someone.
He groans, raging with the instinct to claim, possess and …make her his. When his hand moves from her waist to her bare skin, she leaps at the sensation. Chase pushes her back realizing that he is rationalizing taking her. He snags her discarded blanket from the bed and wraps it around her shoulders.
“Bronnah, hear me. You’re not to put yourself in danger again. You’ve proven yourself to be more than a simple threat. They will send more than Chen warriors after you. That was an attempt to reclaim their property. The next time they will seek to eliminate the threat.”
Bronnah draws the blanket tighter around her shoulders and takes a shaky breath. “I have the ability to save lives, Chase. Would you do any less with that knowledge?” Her voice trembles with too many emotions to count.
“No, I applaud you for caring, but where is the fear for your own life?”
“I have no hope left, Chase. They destroyed it,” she whispered rubbing at the mark on her wrist.
Chase ignores the impact of her statement. It burns its way into his heart, and his soul recognizes a wounded spirit. "I'm taking you to a safe house, Bronnah. Then I will go after them."
“I want to help,” she hisses.
“I respect that, truly, I do, but I can’t do my job and worry about keeping you safe. I need you to promise me that you will trust me.”
"You ask too much, Marshall. I don't even know you, and there is no such thing as a safe house!" She snaps.
"I know of a place. I've used it before. Promise me, Bronnah," he pleads tugging her close to his body once more.
“I will think on it,” she replies and drops her chin.
"Good, now let's go to bed," he replies.
“Chase!” She gasps, blushing.
“I meant you,” he chuckles. “I never mix business with pleasure, Bronnah. You’re safe.” For now, he thinks.
Disappointment flares and she scrambles back into bed. She sighs and relaxes. “Where are we headed?” She whispers in the dark after he settles back into his chair.
“To New Jersey,” he answers. “We can take a train from there.”
“I haven’t felt safe in years. What does it feel like?” She murmurs as her eyes close. Within a few breaths, she is sleeping, and Chase stares out at the night stars.
Chapter 20
Bronnah wakes early to the sound of the captain yelling, “Drop anchor.” The sound of the chain unraveling and splashing into the water is as loud as a cannon shot. When she looked around, she finds a tray with a biscuit and tea. She smiles and climbs out of bed. After cleaning her wound and pulling on the dress, she braids her hair, in one long braid down her back and pulls back on her boots.
"It is time to start planning." New Jersey and New York that is all she knows about the United States. Who better to teach her geography than a ship's captain? She eats her biscuit while digging out the stolen ledger. The information is broken into three sections. The first section is the list of ships coming into different ports and the countries of origin. The second section tells how the girls are being transported, whether, by wagon, boat or train and the third is to whom they are being sent.
Bronnah grins when she scans the second section and finds the city she is hoping for. New Jersey. Perfect. Five French girls are being transported to the Pennsylvania Railroad. They are being sent to… she scans the book and finds matching dates, for Washington. “That can’t be good.”
"I need to find out where I am exactly and how far it is to this New Jersey." As she packs up her things in her bag, she thinks about the five young girls. They must be terrified. How will she pay for them to go home? Surely the U.S. Marshall's office will help them.
Bronnah joins them on deck and finds they are motionless in the water. “Is the ship broken?” She asks Aimee.
"No," she giggles, and Captain Foster grins. "We need the wind to move, and currently that is a problem." They are bobbing in the water with the current and waiting for the wind to return.
“Nothing to do but wait.” He sits back and grins with Aimee tucked close to his side.
“How long d
o you think it will be?” Chase asked sipping on a cup of coffee. Bronnah moves to the edge and lifts her face to look up at the large white sails. The sun is shining down, warming her skin and she sighs.
"No worries. We wait for the wind, and sail as long as she sees fit to breathe on us," the Captain responds.
“Bronnah come rest and eat, out of the sun. Your fair skin will burn up in this attention,” Aimee calls.
“It feels good ta be free,” Bronnah exclaims. Chase glances at her and smiles. Her beauty is deceiving. Beneath that small frame runs a river of steel.
“I’m sure, but you need to eat.” Aimee leads her into the cabin and Allen follows.
Bronnah follows Aimee into the Captain's quarters where she sees a map on the wall. “Could you show me where we are, Captain Foster?”
"Call me Allen," he replies and points to a spot on the map. "You were here, in New York. We are headed here," he drags his finger around the tip of New York to show her New Jersey. "It's only a few more hours, and we should be able to dock at sunset. From there you will be able to board a train."
“That’s wonderful. I’ve never seen a map like this.” Allen shows her some different states. “Maine is where we’ll dock, up here.” He points. “Your Marshall hails from Wyoming, clear over here. No water to be found there as far as I can tell.”
“Oh, she has water, Captain, just not salt water. Clear blue, cold water, full of fish and sparkling from the sunshine.” Chase said listening from the door. “Sky so blue it looks as if it were painted by the heavens. Mountains jut up making you think you could climb them and touch the sky. At the base are rolling green hills as far as the eyes can see.”
Bronnah grins as she listens to him. “You love your home,” she states thinking of Ireland.
“Doesn’t everyone who thinks of home,” Aimee replies. Allen tugs her close and presses a kiss to her temple.
