Threads West, an American Saga

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  Catching the look on Reuben’s face, Johannes laughed harder. “I hit the mark, eh?”

  “You did at that,” admitted Reuben, feeling himself flush. “I don’t think we have time to get into the city and back. I’ll tell you what, though, let’s compromise. I will buy us breakfast and a flask of English ale somewhere near the wharf. There should be a restaurant or tavern. I think the English call them pubs. We only have a few hours, and that way we don’t have to worry about missing the ship.”

  “You don’t think they would dare leave without us? If you make that two flasks, you have a deal!”

  The passengers embarking in Portsmouth had begun to make their way up the gangplank. Stepping onto the long wooden walkway, Reuben saw the figure of a dark-haired woman ascending. She was dressed in finery unlike any passenger on the ship. The rich, light blue clothing clung to the sinewy curves of her figure. She was holding the hem of her dress and petticoats above her feet, her eyes fixed on the slatted wooden surface rising from the dock, as she gingerly picked her way up toward the ship. Backing up to let her pass, he bumped into Johannes, who let out a quiet whistle.

  “A princess!” he said in a low tone that hinted of sarcasm. “And dark brown hair, too, Reuben,” he whispered.

  Stepping up onto the deck, she lifted her face, her eyes sliding momentarily across his. Reuben felt himself involuntarily take in a breath. Oblivious to anyone and anything, her chin stiffly elevated, she turned, gliding down the deck toward the direction of the only two staterooms on the ship. Behind her, six porters were huffing and puffing, carrying an array of trunks, valises and assorted baggage.

  Looking at one another, Johannes and Reuben both raised their eyebrows.

  Letting out a long appreciative whistle, Johannes chuckled, “Let’s go get that ale!”

  *****

  Several hours later, the pleasant warmth of the English ale and delicious fish and boiled potatoes under their belts, they returned to the ship. Most of the new passengers had arrived and boarded. There were few people still milling at the bottom of the gangplank or on the walkway itself. The coal and water wagons were empty.

  Johannes and Reuben had begun to board, when a stocky man with dirty blond hair shoved in front of Reuben. “You trying to cut me off? You must be a high and mighty Prussian!”

  There was a definite challenge in his tone. Looking into the man’s angry face, he felt his own jaw tightening and that strange tingle in his iris he had come to recognize as his eyes turning gray. He remembered his father’s words, “Never back down but always choose your fights.”

  “Please, you first,” Reuben said, his voice icy.

  “You’d better make way for Jacob O’Shanahan.”

  Shooting a smug leer at Reuben, and throwing a last contemptuous glance at Johannes, the stocky towhead stormed up the gangplank.

  “Not a particularly nice fellow.”

  Johannes’ usual jovial countenance was strangely serious; his eyes following Jacob’s figure. “Far worse than that, Reuben; he’s far worse than that.”

  CHAPTER 12

  JANUARY 19, 1855

  SARAH

  Twelve miles from the River Mersey and Liverpool Harbor, five counties north of the seedy, foul smelling hallway where Jacob had fleeced Tom of his ticket, the gentle mounds of the entombed bodies lay close together. A smooth mantle of new snowfall, not yet grimy with the ever present residue of Liverpool smokestacks, flowed over the graves reducing the space between the two areas of raised earth to a barely discernible, small depression.

  Stooping to lovingly wipe the week’s layers of soot from the lines etched deep in the small marble tombstone, Sarah’s eyes lingered on the encryption: Nancy Bonney, adoring wife of Richard and loving mother of Emily and Sarah, 1818–1853. Closing her heavy tweed-wool coat and rewrapping her scarf, which fell open as she tenderly cleaned her mother’s headstone, her eyes moved to the companion grave: Richard Bonney, devoted husband of Nancy and dedicated father of Emily and Sarah 1816–1851.

  “I wish we could talk,” whispered Sarah.

  Forcing the tremble in her lips into a soft, wavering smile, she placed a small delicate hand on one, then the other of the headstones. “Even in death you hold one another’s hands. I hope I find the love that you did.”

  She gazed out over the cemetery, a place of solitude and quiet in the middle of the city bustle. She loved to come here, to contemplate life and talk with her parents. Blinking back tears, she looked skyward. Light from the late morning sun elongated the shadows of leafless tree limbs, casting an odd mosaic across the white blanket punctuated by hundreds of grave markers. On the other side of the brick wall crowned by cast iron surrounding the cemetery, she could hear the never-ending noise of the city. It was somehow remote, distant, a part of the past. Tipping her head back, so that the sun could reach her face, she noticed how its rays shimmered auburn across tendrils of red hair that hung in curls across her shoulders.

  Her eyes were drawn to the west where the sky was seething with the excitement of departing clouds, a powerful antidote to the sorrow and loneliness that had gripped her moments before. “A good omen,” she whispered to herself. Taking one long last look around the cemetery, she again gently touched the rounded top of each of the headstones of her parents, wiping tears from her eyes with the alternate sleeve of her coat.

  “Farewell,” she murmured, “it is unlikely that I will ever see you again but know that I am with you and you with me, always.”

  A short while later, she walked back through the door of the shop that she shared with her sister, Bonney’s House of Sewing and Design. The shop had been founded by her mother twenty years earlier, just prior to Sarah’s birth. Her sister, four years older, sharing the same petite curves, lustrous blue eyes and flowing red hair as Sarah, looked up from the cutting table at the back of the shop. Sarah thought Emily’s hands clenched a bit more tightly around the silk fabric she was working with. Her lower lip quivered.

  “Mom and Dad are doing well. I know it,” said Sarah. “I shall miss them and you.”

  Rising from the table, Emily walked quickly to her and the two sisters clutched each other in a tight embrace. “Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Emily, her voice tinged with an equal mixture of hope and resignation.

  Stepping back but allowing one hand to linger on Emily’s arm, Sarah gazed fondly around. “Something calls me, dear sister. I must find out what it is. Aunt Stella’s letters make America sound so intriguing, and working with her will be a bit like having a piece of Mom with me again. There is opportunity there. One day, I will open my own shop, you’ll see.”

  They turned toward the bells tinkling at the front door. Two middle-aged ladies entered, swathed in finery. Thin veils descended from the brims of their hats and they were engaged in animated gossip.

  “Misses Kristy, that dress does suit you, and Misses Gale, that design is perfect for you,” beamed Emily at the two women.

  Bobbing their heads in a flattered fashion, they returned the smile. “Now dearie, they were your suggestions after all, and there is no doubt in our minds that your needles are the finest in all of Liverpool,” cooed Misses Kristy.

  Misses Gale’s ample cheeks were shaking with agreement, “Everyone at our tea parties has asked us where we get our clothes. I have declined to tell them. You girls are so busy that any more customers and we would have to wait months for our next designs.” The two ladies cackled.

  Scurrying across the shop with attempted flair, the heavier of the two women put her arms around the shoulders of Sarah. “And you, my dear—I hear you are leaving us.”

  “Yes, my lady, later this evening in fact. My ship comes into port late today and sails almost immediately thereafter.”

  Blinking, Misses Gale stepped back. “This afternoon? Oh my. And to where are you headed Sarah?”

  “I am going to work with my Aunt Stella, in her seamstress shop in New York City. I am going to America.” She felt the smile on her f
ace growing and a surge of excitement coursed through her as she said the words.

  Cocking her head to one side, the matron regarded her with a dubious look, “You do know my dear that you’re leaving your poor sister Emily in a terrible situation. Why, even with two of you, the shop barely keeps up with its current wonderful business. What is Emily to do without you?”

  Sarah felt her back stiffening and that familiar rush of heat to her cheekbones. My freckles are most certainly showing across the bridge of my nose. “Misses Gale, your concerns are most appreciated but Emily and I discussed this at great length. Emily will be taking on some very talented help, which I have trained over the past several months. She will be able to maintain the schedule and quality; I am quite sure. At this time in my life, I must follow my heart. Also, my Aunt Stella now expects me.”

  Misses Kristy chimed in, “Well, this is all very courageous, young lady, off to see the New World and such and it appears that you and Emily have worked out the business of the shop quite nicely. With whom will you be traveling, my dear?”

  Clearing her throat and thrusting her chin a little further forward, Sarah responded, knowing in advance their reaction. “I will be traveling on my own, Misses Kristy. I am quite capable of looking after myself.”

  Exchanging looks, both women clucked with disapproval. “That’s hardly proper. It’s quite enough that you’re leaving your poor sister and traveling half around the world to wild lands inhabited by rebels against the king and savage Indians. I have read the accounts in the Telegraph. But for a single woman to travel alone is simply unheard of. There are many evil people out there just waiting to take advantage of a young girl, especially one as attractive as you are. Perhaps you should delay your trip so that you can find a suitable traveling companion or two. I’m sure there are other women who, for whatever reason, wish to see America.”

  Drawing herself up to her full height until she felt almost as if she were standing on tiptoes, Sarah spoke slowly and carefully, “I am used to being on my own. I have a good head on my shoulders and I believe I am a better than average judge of character, even if just from my interaction with the different customers of this shop.” Realizing those last words had a bite to them, she steadied her tone, “Father saw to it that I had an education. I have the experience to handle myself capably and most properly in any situation that may arise. I will not delay my trip. My ticket is purchased, my bags are packed, my aunt expects me and I shall go.”

  Misses Gale shook her head and Misses Kristy coughed loudly.

  Purposely allowing their attention to be diverted by a new bolt of cloth that leaned against a wall, they fingered the material, made some further small talk, and left the shop with a cheery but hollow, “We will be back tomorrow, Emily. Good luck in America, Sarah dear. We will miss you.” Their heads shaking negatively at one another, they engaged in animated conversation as soon as the shop door closed behind them.

  Sarah glanced at the ornate wall clock and caught her sister’s eye. They hugged again. “My carriage will be here shortly. Be well, Emily. I love you. I will write often.”

  “Wait, Sarah.” Running to the back of the shop and shooting a furtive glance at the windows to make sure that no one was watching, Emily opened the locked drawer built in a recess below the cutting table. She returned with eight five-pound silver coins and a small revolver.

  “You have a pistol?” Sarah was incredulous.

  “I never told you, Sarah but I have had it here for protection since a few years ago. It is one of the first revolvers to be manufactured. I don’t think I have touched it since I stuck it in the drawer, and I have only the five bullets that are in the cylinder—see how dusty it is? Take it. Put this extra money that I saved for you and this pistol in that secret compartment that you sewed in your satchel.”

  Sarah began to protest but Emily raised a finger to Sarah’s lips, shaking her head firmly. “Take it.”

  She took the weapon and the money, set her satchel on a chair and carefully opening the secret area that she had sewn into the bottom of her bag. The hard board bottom of the heavy cloth completely concealed any evidence of the additional space.

  Embracing again, both tried hard not to cry. A traveling coach pulled to the curb outside the shop windows. Biting her lip, Sarah walked through the doors of the seamstress shop, turned and waved her hand.

  Jumping from the driving seat, the driver bowed to her while swinging open the door to the cab.

  “Thank you so much for being prompt.”

  “My pleasure, milady. I understand you are headed to the harbor?”

  “Yes, I must board my ship…to America.” Sarah felt that surge of excitement again.

  Smiling, the drive cocked his head. “America? That is quite an adventure.”

  Helping her up the steps of the carriage, he fussed for a moment and made sure she was comfortable. With the door half-shut, he leaned his head in slightly. “I shall have you there in due time, milady. On what ship are you making the voyage?”

  “The SS Edinburgh.”

  CHAPTER 13

  JANUARY 26, 1855

  ON THE HIGH SEAS

  The layover in Liverpool had been several hours during which another two dozen passengers boarded, as stevedores and dockhands were loading cargo.

  With no opportunity to get off the ship, Johannes had decided to sleep rather than come on deck. Reuben liked the open air and was curious to see this new harbor, which was considerably smaller than Portsmouth. He had found a spot that he liked on the main deck just a quarter of the ship’s length from the bow. There was a bit less wind than further forward and it still felt to him as if he were at the forefront of the voyage.

  As he focused on the organized commotion of the harbor, he sensed he was being watched. Looking around, his eyes found the gangplank connecting the center of the Edinburgh to the wharf. A slender, shapely woman with unmistakable red hair and a finely tailored billowing dress was ascending the gangway, looking directly at him. As she paused, the three passengers behind her bumped into one another.

  Realizing her stare was being returned, she looked down quickly and almost tripped as she resumed her ascent up the ramp.

  Reuben watched her disappear onto the mizzen deck. Now that was interesting.

  *****

  The plunging bow of the SS Edinburgh kept rhythm with the surging, gray-green swells of the open ocean, mesmerizing Reuben as he leaned against the rail more than a week into the voyage. Raising his face to the sun, he grinned to the sky. Relishing the lick of salt spray on his face, and the way the sea air tossed his hair. Most of the other passengers who had boarded at the various ports were wretchedly seasick. To Reuben, the pitch of the deck underneath his feet seemed the perfect separation between the cramped and crowded world he was leaving, and the promise of space and freedom of the new land he was heading toward.

  The alluring dark-haired woman who embarked in Portsmouth stood further up the deck toward the ship’s bow, the wind pressing her long woolen skirt and petticoats seductively around her legs. She didn’t appear sick. Reuben sensed in her reserved manner a curious mixture of disdain and a masked kindred excitement about things to come.

  He had met her briefly after the Edinburgh departed Liverpool, when the rock of the ship made him lose his balance, causing them to brush against one another as she joined the queue of passengers lined up for dinner.

  Even before he’d realized who had bumped into him, Reuben had sensed a strange current as their shoulders briefly touched.

  Reuben had turned, “Excuse me, I’m…” The words died in his throat. Large brown eyes looked back into his with a reproachful stare.

  Tossing her head back and lifting her nose, the woman said in a cold voice, “You’re excused.” Then she moved on without looking back.

  The others in the line pushed him forward, snapping him from his preoccupation. He asked a friendly old Frenchman with whom he spoke occasionally, “Do you know her name?”


  “Rebecca,” was the response. The old man raised his thumb, middle and forefinger to his lips and blew a kiss with them up toward the ceiling. “She is something, that one, oui?”

  Reuben’s forearms rested against the rail. Shaking his head, he felt a self-amused smile crease his lips as he recalled the scene. She doesn’t even know I exist. Straightening up, he looked again at where the dark-haired beauty had been but she had vanished. No matter, he thought. There will be women in America, if I have time.

  *****

  Standing below the bridge, Sarah’s eyes roved the main deck below her.

  Brushing away strands of red hair that blew across her face with several slow strokes of her fingers, she felt a deep wistfulness at the sight of the well-proportioned man on the deck below her. He was leaning on the rail fixated on points beyond the bow. She had learned that he would be at that point along the rail most middays and occasionally in the evening as the sun died in a scream of color on the horizon of ocean. She found herself drawn by the confident, introspective smile on his square-jawed face. It begs for the stroke of a woman’s hand.

  There is a certain energy about him. She felt her cheeks grow warm remembering how she had stumbled when he returned her stare as she was boarding the ship.

  *****

  Jacob was chewing on the stub of an old cigar, deep in the crowded, smoke-filled, foul-smelling, steerage compartment near the hold.

  Barking at one of the other equally unkempt men sitting around the bunks playing cards, he extended a meaty hand, “Pass me that bottle.” Jacob swilled the cheap whiskey. A dribble of it ran down his chin adding to the stains on his shirt. Throwing down his cards, he reached for the pot.