Joseph looked on in shock and horror as the horse stumbled around. What Henry had called a waltz was actually an animal that was inherently unable to walk properly. There was no way it could move with any kind of alacrity and definitely no way it could run a race. After the horse was done, Henry was beaming and Joseph couldn't help but bolster the young man's confidence.
"She's a beaut," said Joseph. "You can keep her in the barn. Any word from this mysterious suitor?"
"Oh, yes," said Henry, and he tied Matilda's reins to a hitching post, even though Joseph was sure she wasn't going anywhere. Henry handed him an envelope.
"Excellent," said Joseph. "Oh, it says here she'll be arriving with two young people. I guess I'll need to make rooms ready for them, too. It looks like I'll go from being alone to being surrounded by people."
"That's a good thing, isn't it? It's what you wanted," said Henry.
"I suppose," said Joseph, though the idea was starting to turn his stomach. He had no idea if he was ready for any of this, but he knew deep down that it was all he had ever wanted. He smiled at Henry. "Well, get that old nag to the barn. You need to help me with these rooms."
Jeanne had been assured that the ship was far safer than it looked, but that didn't stop her from standing on the docks and looking at the ship called the Sweet Mary and thinking that it was a barely floating death-trap. It was once used for expeditions to the tropics she had been told, and had gone around the African coast dozens of times. In comparison, a trip across the Atlantic was child's play.
"It'll be about two weeks' time, weather permitting," said the captain, a man named Ralph Stevens. "We're thinking it'll be clear this time of year. A good time for some sailing to be honest, and the weather'll be good for your little one. You ready to ship off?"
"I am," said Jeanne. Thackery was there to see them off and she turned to him and said, "Thank you so much for all of this. I'll write you when I get to California."
"I'm expecting a wedding invitation," said Thackery. "It would do me good to see you happy again, Missus Harrow."
"Of course," said Jeanne, maintaining a straight face. She boarded the ship with Francine, who had proven a likeable companion and they forced Horace to carry their entire load of luggage up the gangplank. Due to space constraints, Jeanne and Francine were sharing a cabin, while Horace had to make do with some space in the galley.
Jeanne hoped it was very uncomfortable. As the ship raised anchor and started sailing away from the English harbor, Jeanne watched her birthplace as it seemed to sink into the waves. It struck her that she may never again set foot in England and never again breath the London air.
"Good riddance," she said and the wheels in her head continued to turn. There was nothing that would stop her from starting a new life in America and there was no way she was actually going to allow herself to remarry. She had better things to do with her life than marry some simpering farmer.
"Excuse me, but these came for you before we left," said Horace. He was visibly exhausted and holding an envelope and for a moment, Jeanne almost felt sorry for him. Then she remembered that this was all basically his fault and she took the letter and waved him away.
He walked away and she could tell he was trying to remain positive but failing. She didn't care. She opened the letter and found that it was from the Joseph Clauson she was supposed to marry. She read the letter and it was a simple thing, and reminded her of her husband's love letters to her before they were married.
It had the same clumsy use of metaphor and some blunt declarations and she wasn't sure if she was becoming nauseous by the sweetness of the letter, the rocking of the ship, or the baby in her womb. She decided that it didn't matter and spent some time bent over the rail. It was not going to be a fun trip.
Joseph was in town running some errands, when he saw Henry sitting in the saloon. He looked as if he had seen something terrible and Joseph sat next to him and ordered two sarsaparillas.
"What's wrong? You look as if you saw coyotes steal your mother," said Joseph.
"One of your horses was doing awful things to ol' Matilda," said Henry. "Never have I seen such a thing, nor do I wish to ever again."
Joseph laughed. "I guess it's that time of year. Tell you what, would it make you feel better if I promised you the foal if there's a foal to be had?"
"A little," said Henry. "Do you think I'd be able to train it to race?"
"I don't see why not," said Joseph diplomatically. "You're more than welcome to try, at least, just know that it might be the wrong kind of horse. Might be a riding horse or a work horse"
"I see," said Henry. "There's a lot of different kinds of horses, aren't there?"
"I guess," said Joseph with a shrug. "You can tell by the hooves. I have a riding horse in there, strong enough to be a workhorse sometimes. Your nag looked like she was a work horse too, so I wouldn't put much money in training any foal to race."
"I'm going to train it to race," insisted Henry. "There's nothing I want more than to race that horse, and by God, I'm going to race it until it's the best racing horse California had ever seen!"
"All right, I'll support you in this, but don't come crying to me when the horse runs about ten miles an hour. That's not very fast for a horse."
"More than fast enough for me. You'll see, Mister Clauson. You'll see!"
Joseph chuckled and took a drink of the sarsaparilla that had finally arrived. He hoped the nag wouldn't foal.
The only place where Jeanne felt relatively safe from the waves was locked inside her cabin, and even that was a half-effort at best. She could still feel every sway, every motion and the child inside of her wasn't making things any better. She was lying on her bed with a blanket over her face and hoping against hope that the trip would be over soon.
Once, she had looked outside but all she could see was the sky and sea for miles in every direction. There were no landmarks, there was no way of knowing where America was, no telling where anything was.
It was all just sameness stacked upon itself.
The door cracked open and Francine asked, "Jeanne, are you all right?"
Jeanne moaned, "No." The part of her mind that was still able to think wondered why Francine was suddenly being so familiar with her but she let it slide. She had to worry about keeping the terrible breakfast down.
She could also tell that Francine was closer now and the girl asked, "Can I get you anything?"
"No," repeated Jeanne. "How long?"
"We've been sailing for five days," said Francine. "The captain said that, if the seas are good, we should be there within a few days, a week at most. You don't have to worry for much longer!"
"Okay," said Jeanne and she rolled over and fell asleep. She dreamed that she was no longer on the Sweet Mary, but was on the boat that took her husband to his death. He was sitting on the edge of his bed and he put his hand on Jeanne's knee and mouthed something to Jeanne. Then the ship cracked in half and he walked calmly into the sea.
Jeanne's half of the ship stayed afloat, but then quickly started taking on water. She was unable to move, the weight of the thing inside her keeping her stationary and she started yelling for help but no words came out. As she panicked, two people came to help her.
It was Horace and Francine and they helped her to another ship that had mysteriously appeared. They tried to help her onto it, but they were unable to, even though Thackery was in a nearby lifeboat commanding them to. When it looked as if all hope was lost, someone reached down from the new ship and easily pulled Jeanne up.
She looked at him and didn't recognize him, but he led her to another cabin. This one became stationary once she was inside and as she laid in that bed, her baby was suddenly in her arms and the new man sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Jeanne's knee. She woke up after that; completely unaware of what the dream meant, but it was the best rest she had gotten since the trip began.
The next morning, Joseph was sitting on his bed and musing on what his dream ha
d meant. He dressed and went outside to find Henry waiting for him, with another envelope. Jack was there, too, and he was quietly demanding the mail. Henry, despite being only half Jack's size, was steadfast in his refusal. This did Joseph some good and as he got closer to Jack and Henry, he could hear what they were arguing about. Neither one had seen him approach.
"Give me the mail," growled Jack and Joseph was sure he used a slur against Henry.
"I was told to make sure Mister Clauson gets this mail, not you," said Henry, ignoring the slur. "You just back off. My daddy say you got up to some bad stuff in the war and I owe you for that."
"My daddy owned your daddy," muttered Jack. "I could do whatever I wanted to him and I'll do whatever I want to you if you don't give me that envelope."
"No," said Henry. Joseph could hear the angry quiver of his voice and he decided that it was time to make his presence known.
"Hey there, fellas," said Joseph, with a wave. "What brings you here, Henry? Here to check on Matilda?"
"I am," said Henry, not taking his eyes off Jack. "I also have some mail for you."
"Let's have it then," said Joseph. "Jack, there's some sheep that need shearing. Why don't you do that?"
"Sure thing, boss," said Jack and he walked away, but Joseph kept a careful note to keep an eye on him. There was the usual bit of mail. Bills from various feed suppliers and some letters from other ranchers in the area. There was also an envelope from the bank and Joseph expected it to be bad news. He opened it with apprehension, but instead found a letter and a check.
It was a check from the caretaker of the woman coming to meet Joseph and it was for a hefty sum. The letter simply asked Joseph to ensure that things were in order for her and to make sure that he wrote to a man named Thackery when Jeanne arrived. Joseph wondered why Jack wanted this envelope so badly. It wasn't as if he could cash the check, after all.
Henry broke him out of his reprieve. "Everything all right, Mister Clauson?"
"Oh yes," said Jack. "If I wasn't looking forward to this Jeanne Harrow arriving before, I certainly am now. Do you think I could send a message for her? The immigration office could give it to her, maybe?"
Henry scoffed, "How the heck would I know? Just do it."
"All right," said Joseph, and he did.
The last thing Jeanne wanted at this point was to meet anyone and as she huddled in the corner of her cabin, looking and feeling like a mess, Francine entered once again. There was exuberance to her entrance that Jeanne currently couldn't stand. If she wasn't happy, why should someone else be? Then Francine, having learned that approaching Jeanne in this state was like approaching an angry dog with a bone, stopped and said, "Jeanne! They've spied land! We'll be in America soon! You should come see. It's beautiful!"
"All right," grumbled Jeanne and after Francine helped her stand up, the pair of them found a pair of chairs to watch America come ever closer. Horace also pulled up a chair and Jeanne couldn't help but notice that his hand sought and easily found Francine's. She regretted being stuck in her cabin for the duration of the trip, but it was better than vomiting over the edge every half hour.
America was still far in the distance, though Jeanne fancied that she could almost make out the famous New York skyline on the horizon. That was the plan after all, and Jeanne sincerely hoped that she would be able to ditch Horace and Francine in New York. She doubted she'd actually be able to, of course, but there was a chance. Then she could head west in peace.
The trip from that point was oddly smooth and as they approached the dock where the three immigrants would be processed, Jeanne felt the baby kick. It hit her that there was something alive inside of her and that it needed to be taken care of and what was she doing here? She should have stayed in London where it was safe. She was still fretting when the three of them were escorted through the immigration office.
Horace and Francine were giggling and they went ahead of Jeanne.
"Name," said the immigration officer, a solid man with a sour look.
"Horace Johnson," said Horace.
"Immigrating from?"
"London. Here to escort Missus Jeanne Harrow to California. Here are my papers, as well as the papers for these two ladies."
The immigration officer stamped another paper and Horace was shepherded through. He grinned, as it was Francine's turn.
"Name," said the officer.
"Francine Johnson," said Francine and Jeanne was instantly intrigued.
"Paper says Francine O'Reilly," said the officer, more annoyed than anything else.
"We married on the boat," said Francine. "There was a priest and everything!"
The officer sighed and stamped a paper. "As you will. Next." Francine ran to Horace and leapt into his arms. Jeanne couldn't help but smile. The officer repeated, "Next."
Jeanne stated her name, "Jeanne Harrow."
"Harrow. Sounds familiar," said the officer. "Wait here."
He stood up and Jeanne started to worry. She looked towards Horace and Francine, still embracing, but confused and frightened instead of exuberant and passionate. The officer came back with an envelope and he handed it to Jeanne. She took it, and the officer stamped her papers and she went through.
Horace asked, "What was that all about?"
Jeanne opened the letter and read about how much Joseph Clauson was looking forward to meeting her and eventually, her child. He had rooms all ready and there would be a party when they arrived. She felt her heart soften towards the mystery man whom she was supposed to marry and she decided that she would at least meet this man who so wanted to meet her and take care of her and her child. She looked at Horace and Francine and told them what the letter said and then asked, "Is it true? Are you married?"
"Yes," said Francine. "We're going to find rings in New York before our train leaves. I wanted you to be there."
"I told her you needed your rest," said Horace. "You were awfully sick the entire time. It wouldn't be right to take you out of your cabin for a thing like that."
"I feel terrible," said Jeanne, and to her amazement, she did. "When I get married, I'll talk to Joseph and you'll join our ceremony. It'll only be right."
Francine asked, "You'd do that for us?"
"I would," said Jeanne and she was surprised that she meant it. Something was happening to her, something she wasn't entirely sure she liked, but it was happening regardless. Francine and Horace both hugged her and Jeanne hurried away once they got off yet another boat that carried them from the immigration office to the mainland.
She sat down on a bench and a nun sat next to her, carrying a bag of corn to feed the birds. She tossed some on the ground and several birds flew down and pecked it up. The nun offered Jeanne the bag, and she took a handful and tossed it on the ground. She had never been a fan of animals, but she laughed a little when the corn hit the ground and the birds rushed over to eat it up.
"You seem troubled," said the nun.
"I am," said Jeanne. "I'm changing."
"I can see that," said the nun. "A young British woman in America, carrying a child. I've never seen such a change. Tell me about it."
"It's not all that," said Jeanne. "I just feel softer. I came here to get married and now I'm finding myself filled with all these hope and emotions I never thought I'd have. What's wrong with me?"
The nun chuckled. "Nothing, child. I think you're just getting a healthy dose of optimism. You're here, in the land of new lives. So, start fresh."
"Yes," said Jeanne. "Yes. I know what I have to do. Thank you, sister."
Jeanne rushed off to the telegraph office to send a message to Joseph Clauson, to tell him how happy she was that she was on her way to California. It was a foreign feeling, but one she was really starting to enjoy.
A few days later, as Jeanne and her crew were on a train headed across the country, Joseph received his telegraph. He was reading it over when a shadow passed over him. He barely had time to turn around when a sack was tossed over his head and he was
carried off. He had no idea where he was being taken, but once he was there, they removed the sack after binding his arms and legs. It was too dark to get a good look at who had done this to him, but he could see another human being in the room with him.
Joseph hissed, "Who are you?"
A hesitant Henry asked, "Mister Clauson?"
"Yes, Henry," said Joseph. "Do you know what this is all about?"
"No," said Henry. "I was hoping you would. I was just coming to check on Matilda and someone trapped me and put me here."
"We have to be able to escape," said Joseph.
"The door is locked and I think the rope's reinforced with wire," lamented Henry. "I think there's also barbed wire all over the place."
"Dang it," said Joseph. "Well, we'll think of something. We have to."
The train ride from New York to California was almost overwhelming in its tediousness. Jeanne spent most of the time in their sleeper car, falling asleep when able and trying very hard not to vomit as the train ride was less than smooth. She would look out the window and other than the cities that become very scarce, there was just trees and deserts. None of it was how she pictured America, or how it was portrayed in the novels. She hadn't seen a single outlaw or buffalo and she hadn't seen a single thing that was very romantic or adventurous unless you counted Horace and Francine, who were snuggling and spending every waking moment together.
At the beginning of their trip, she would have relished their closeness and she did take some pride in pushing them slightly towards that direction. Now, she was just lonely and while she felt very odd doing it, she started talking to her child.
"Well, dear, at the very least we'll be far away from the water," said Jeanne. She put her hand on her stomach, which was now visibly fuller than it had been. "You must never go to the water. No, no. If I forbid you, you'll just go to the water anyway. Now then, you must at least be careful around the water. I don't want to lose you like I lost your father though I suppose you'll have a new father. He'll be different and I'm sure he'll be a good father, but someday I'll tell you about the man who helped create you."
Mail Order Bride: Bitter & Pregnant, An English Widow Heads Off to Her Cowboy Rancher In California (A Clean & Wholesome Historical Romance) Page 2
