by Debra Samms
Molly could only shake her head. "I can hardly imagine what could be worse."
Hattie glanced sideways at her. "You'd be surprised."
The wagon lurched ahead again. Molly followed alongside while William went on ahead where the greatest crowd of loggers still stood gathered in the street. They knew that the wagon would be stopping at the livery stable and the women would be getting out, and the men wanted the best possible view of the new women.
Molly found it hard to believe what she was seeing. The original group of fifty brides had been terrified of the loggers and their bad behavior, and they had wept and tried to hide in the wagons all the way into town. The forty who remained in Sawyerville still refused to associate with the loggers at all.
But these five women – who had arrived of their volition and hadn't even been recruited – had greeted the loggers' aggression and crudeness with nothing but cold resolve, three pistols, a saber, a club, and two shotguns.
And absolute fearlessness.
The wagon stopped in front of the livery stable. After slapping two more of the men with their shotgun stocks, drawing the pistol on one, and kicking three of them down into the street, the women opened the tailgate of the wagon and stepped down – still keeping their various weapons raised.
"I'm sure a couple of you will be glad to carry a lady's bags for her," said the tall one, aiming her shotgun at the crowd. "Just follow us." She and the other four turned and walked past the wagons, weapons held at the ready.
Molly just watched them in stunned silence. Mrs. Mitchell hurried over to stand with her. "Why doesn't your husband do something?" she asked. "Last time, he shot over the men's heads and made them get back!"
Molly looked around for her husband, or for any of the armed men he'd brought with him; but all she saw was Sheriff William Strong and Mr. Mitchell standing near the barn door and watching. William glanced at her and nodded, standing very still with the shotgun pointed down at the ground.
She looked at Mrs. Mitchell, and then at the five women who were now walking right down the center of the street. A few men had actually dared to pick up their bags and trunks from the wagon and were walking at a respectful distance after the five women.
The rest of the men watched closely, and some followed along, but all kept their distance and were largely quiet.
"I think it's going just fine," Molly said to Mrs. Mitchell, and couldn't help grinning. "Our sheriff wants to let the women earn the respect of these men on their own. And that's exactly what these five are doing."
Eventually the newcomers reached the center of the street, in front of the Frost Mercantile where they stood alone, looking around and frowning.
"Isn't there anybody to show us where to stay?" said Maeve, the tallest one. "Or do we just camp out in the woods alongside the men?"
The crowd fell silent. Nobody seemed to know whether they were joking or not – and then, as Molly saw the serious looks on the women's faces, she realized that they weren't joking at all. If they had to, they'd all move into tents right in the middle of the men.
"No, no, of course not," said Molly, hurrying over to them. "Up there, on the high road, is the Sawyerville Ladies' House. I think you'll find it very comfortable."
The group looked up. Forming a line along the high road appeared to be all forty of the remaining brides, watching the commotion down below them very closely. Molly waved up at them, but not one of them moved.
Neither did the five new ones. "Up there? With them?"
"Yes," Molly said, walking over to them. "The Ladies' House is newly built, with fifty rooms! There is still plenty of space, even with the other brides – I mean, the other women already staying there. And it has all the finest furnishings and conveniences. There's even a bathtub."
The five all looked at each other. "I guess it will do," Maeve said. "Even from here it looks nicer than the place we had near the mill, that's for sure." The four other women all nodded in agreement.
Molly stared at them, and suddenly realized that she had something right now that she'd wanted for some time.
She had a gathering of men right here on the main road, and they were behaving with relative calm.
The brides were out of their house and lined up right above the main road.
There were five new women right here in the middle of the road who would take none of the loggers' rudeness and crudeness.
And there were three musicians at the ready.
"Mr. Frost!" Molly called, running over to him. "Listen to me. Get the others and play the waltz again. Play it!"
He looked baffled. "What? Now?"
"Yes, now! Get the other two musicians. Play it right now, while all the men and women are about. Play the Waltz of the Swans!"
His wife began to push him towards the mercantile, where the other two still waited. "Go!" Mrs. Frost hissed at him. "Do it!"
"All right. All right!" Mr. Frost made his way over to the walkway in front of the store and picked up his violin, whispering to the flute player and the drummer as he sat down.
CHAPTER TWENTY
In a moment, the pretty waltz music once again floated across the road. Maeve, Ruby, Hattie, Eulalie, and Jemima all looked up at the sound, and turned to Molly.
"Is that for us?" asked Maeve. "That the welcoming committee, or somesuch?"
Molly grinned. "Well, we hadn't planned it that way, but maybe it is now. Actually, we were trying to have a dance today. I had hoped it might allow the men and the brides to become acquainted. I – that is, we haven't had much luck with that so far."
"I can see why," said Maeve. "The women are sheep and the men behave like wild hogs."
"Well, why don't they come down here and dance?" asked Ruby, looking up at the women on the high road. She kept one hand on the Union Army saber hanging from her belt as she did so.
Molly sighed. "I wish they would. But they're too afraid to come down here when the men are about."
"Oh, babble," said Maeve, and then glanced at the men behind them. "Just drop the bags over by the walkway. My friends and I are going to show the sheep how it's done."
Once their luggage was out of the way, all five of the new women – with weapons still in hand – walked right straight up to a group of men who stood watching and grinning at them from the edge of the road.
"Care to dance, tall and skinny?" one of the men said to Maeve, leering at her.
"Well, thankee. I would."
But the man stepped back from her. "Huh! I wasn't serious. You're too – "
Maeve raised her shotgun and pointed it right at him. "I said, thankee. I would. And I will." And with that, she held the shotgun over her shoulder with one hand and took her partner's grimy fingers with the other. And to Molly's complete amazement, the two of them began a waltz across the road that was only a little awkward.
The other four women, weapons in hand, walked along the side of the road and looked the men up and down. Ruby, with her Union Army saber drawn and held point up, grabbed hold of one man's hand and pulled him out, and was soon waltzing a little stiffly alongside Maeve and her partner.
In a few moments, Hattie with her pistol, Eulalie with her single-barrel shotgun, and Jemima with both her pistol and her club were all dancing well enough with a tall and stumbling logger. Molly could only stand and stare at them with a huge smile forming on her face, glancing over at her husband who seemed equally amused.
Then Molly hurried over to Mrs. Mitchell and Mrs. Frost. "Come on! This is the time to get the rest of those girls down here! Right now!"
As the music continued to play, the three women picked up their skirts and ran up the main road to the switchback, and then up to the high road. "All right, all of you," said Molly, catching her breath as she looked hard at all of the girls. "And I mean all forty of you. You're coming with us right now!"
"But – "
"But they're so dirty!"
"But they're horrible to us!"
"But I don't want to dance with them!"
/> "But – "
"But, nothing! Right now!" Molly cried.
But the girls all stubbornly looked at each other and then began moving back towards their house. "We're not going to dance with those horrible men. You cannot make us. We're going back inside!"
The girls turned away, intending to walk back into the house – but they all stopped very suddenly. "Now, now, dearies," said a woman's voice. "You're not going anywhere – except right back down to that road where the men are."
The whole group, including Molly and Mrs. Frost and Mrs. Mitchell, looked up to see that Maeve and Ruby had also come up the road. The two of them stood there with a wooden bucket in each hand – a bucket that was brimming with water. Or something that was certainly wet, but probably not entirely water.
"If you don't go back down there," said Ruby, "you're going to be wearing this on top of your nice clean dresses."
"Straight from the puddles at the edge of the road," added Maeve, lifting the buckets. "I'm sure it'll look real pretty on all that fresh gingham."
All of the girls looked first panicked, and then angry. "But – "
Maeve and Ruby each set down one bucket and prepared to throw the contents of the other one right onto the girls, who all squealed and started down the high road to the switchback. "That's better," called Maeve.
"And don't slow down. We're right behind you," said Ruby. True to their word, she and Maeve followed the whole group until they were all the way down to the main road and standing in front of the mercantile. The music continued to play and Hattie, Jemima, and Eulalie went on dancing with three of the loggers, even as they kept their weapons close at hand.
Angry, frustrated, and nervous, the eastern girls huddled together shoulder-to-shoulder in the dirt road but did stand facing the men. Maeve stood at one end of them and Ruby stood at the other, still holding their buckets of filthy water.
The music paused. "Come on, you!" Maeve called out to the rest of the loggers. "They're here. Don't you see them? These ladies have all come down to enjoy a dance with you. What are you waiting for?"
Molly quickly signaled to the musicians, and they again started to play. The strains of another waltz once again floated out over the street. This time, all that Hattie and Eulalie had to do was raise the saber and point the shotgun, and a few of the men actually sauntered across to the mercantile on their own and stood before the women.
The first of them was a tall, slim, muscular man with dark hair and blue eyes. He walked straight over to Delilah Michaels. She was a petite blonde and perhaps the prettiest of the brides.
Slowly, she looked up – and up – at him. "You're Beast Bradley," she whispered. Her brown eyes were huge, but she did not turn away. Molly saw her take a deep breath. "I'm Delilah."
"Dance," said Bradley. And to Molly's astonishment and joy, the two of them began an awkward waltz in the road. Delilah barely came up to his shoulder, but they seemed to manage just fine.
Another man walked over to another of the women. This was one of the largest of the men. He was very tall, wider than most of the loggers, and very broad-shouldered with black hair, a black beard, and brown eyes. Molly recognized him as the one known as George the Giant Ox.
The woman he stood in front of was Clara Kingston, a slim brunette of average looks but good spirit – at least, compared to the other Manchester brides. Molly suddenly remembered that George had never been heard to say an actual word to anyone, but only communicated through grunts and gestures.
Clara looked him over, but stood her ground. Then George held out one hand. "Dance," he whispered, in a voice hoarse and creaking as though it had not been used in many years. Clara nodded slightly, and then joined him in something that resembled a waltz.
Then one more man walked over to the women – but not to the huddled group of Manchester brides. This man was probably the tallest one in the camp, whip-thin but immensely strong, with pale skin, red hair, and sharp hazel eyes.
He walked past the girls and went straight up to Maeve, who still stood holding the sloshing wooden buckets. She gave him a sharp eye as he approached.
"So? What's your name?" she said, setting down the buckets.
He looked her over. She raised her pointed chin high, and was almost able to look him right in the eye. "My name's Red Lyon," the man said.
Maeve grinned. Then she laughed. "No, it ain't. What kind of name is that? What's your real name?"
"I told you. Red Lyon. And if you tell me yours, maybe I'll dance with you."
Maeve drew back at that, but looked him over again. "Maeve Harrison."
"Come on, then." In a moment they, too, were waltzing in the street, and doing a fair job of it.
A few more of the men came over and asked a few more of the women, and Molly could only shake her head at the sight of them all politely dancing in the middle of the street.
At last the couples broke up and went back to their respective sides of the street, but Molly could not have been happier. She walked over to Maeve and placed a hand on her arm. "Thank you," was all she said.
Maeve nodded, with a crooked grin that revealed crooked teeth. "Well, girls," she said, glancing at her four companions, "I'd say it's a good thing we decided to come out here. Looks like we're exactly what this place needs."
THE END
JOURNEY TO SAWYERVILLE
Bonus Book 4: Catherine
Mail Order Brides of Oregon, Orphanage Series
CHAPTER ONE
Boston, Massachusetts
March, 1886
"He proposed to someone else, Moira. Someone with a real family – a good family. Something that I'll never have."
In the cold gray light of the late afternoon, Catherine Black closed the iron gate of the Boston Female Society for Destitute Orphans behind her. "Jimmy chose Ursula Schwindler. He's going to marry her."
"Catherine!" Moira Stanley pulled her thin shawl around her and took her friend by the arm. "Come inside. The rain is starting. Come in and tell me what has happened, and why you are back here!"
Together the two young women walked across the small cobblestone yard to the front door of the huge and silent stone building. In a moment they were inside and walking up the stairs to Moira's room.
"Mrs. Grady told me you were coming back here to work," Moira said, as she closed the door of the small room after them. "But I thought it was going so well with the Stevensons! Being a cook in a great house is a very good position."
"It was not the position that did not go well," Catherine said quietly. "It was – "
"Oh! You said – Jimmy is marrying someone else? But how could that be? "
Catherine sighed deeply. "Jimmy wanted a girl from a good family. And that's the one thing girls like you and I don't have."
"But – " Moira sat down on one of the narrow wrought-iron beds. "Many orphan girls have married. There's no reason why you and I should not, someday."
"Oh, yes. They marry. But they end up just like I did with families who said they wished to take me in from this place, beginning when I was ten years old. I was always far more servant than daughter."
She sat down on the other small bed. Tears gathered in her eyes as she fought to hold them back. "And now that we are old enough to marry, the men know that we have little choice. Again, we will only be the servants they are married to – not their beloved wives."
Finally Catherine started to weep. "Jimmy was no different. He chose the girl with good family, and now I am back here . . . still with no family of my own."
Moira walked over and sat down beside her on the bed. "Well, then," she said, as bravely as she could, "we will have to be sisters to each other, and be our own family."
Catherine raised her head, trying to push the strands of her pale blonde hair back into the knot at her neck. "All right," she said. Gathering herself, she took a deep breath. “We've always done that. We can do it again." Just being with Moira, she felt herself settle down. The orphanage had always been her refuge. An
d here she was again in her time of need. She was grateful for her friend and the ability to return. Maybe this where she would always live. It sure seemed like it. And maybe she should just accept this as fact.
"Then, Mrs. Grady has hired you as a cook? And as a laundress, when there are extra girls staying here?"
"Yes. She did. I don't ever want to go back to the Stevenson’s home. Jimmy is still their gardener and I don't want to see him again." She looked up at Moira, and patted her friend's arm. "Thanks you Moira for always being my friend and helping me through life’s struggles. At least now that I am back, we can help each other throughout the day."
"Of course! I am so happy to have you here. Welcome home, Catherine!"
Keeping her own counsel, she wondered if living at the orphanage was her plight in life. Would there be no real family and no husband or children of her own? Sighing, she turned to Moira. With a look of resignation in her eyes, she smiled faintly and whispered, “Thank you, Moira. It's good to see you again and be here with you."
Though it was true that she loved Moira like a sister, Catherine knew that this place – this orphanage, where she had been sent at such a young age – was not her home, and would never be her home. This place smelled like the desperation of broken hearts and abandonment.
***
For the next few weeks, Catherine worked from light to night at the orphanage, toiling in the kitchens and in the laundry alongside her friends Moira Stanley and Bridget Devlin. They, too, had lived there since they were very young. It was the only home that any of them really remembered.
"Maybe we could move to another city," said Catherine, wiping her forehead on her sleeve as she worked over a steaming kettle of sheets and pillowcases. "New York, perhaps. They have many Irish living there. We could all find work in the kitchens and fine houses."
Moira nodded, setting down another armload of laundry. "Maybe so," she said, though she sounded doubtful.
Catherine struggled for breath in the hot room. "We'll look into it, all right? All three of us."
