From Her Irish Surrender
One
New
Orleans, January 1871
“A mail order bride!” Adaline Dermont hurried
around the dining table to her aunt’s side. “You can’t possibly be serious!”
“I’m afraid I am, dear. You see your Uncle Charles will take me in,
but not the both of us. I don’t know of any other way.”
“But surely Uncle Charles could find it in his
heart to …”
“No, you don’t know your Uncle Charles like I
do. He always was a stingy old …well, never mind. Suffice to say there’s not much to
be done about it.”
Adaline stared down at her Aunt Priscilla’s
gaunt features. She looked like she’d
lost more weight, something her frail frame couldn’t afford. How could she
leave her?
The tiny woman took one of her hands and gave
it a pat. “Ada, this is for the best. I
know you want to look after me, but you’re young and pretty, and deserve a real
life. Not one made up of babysitting an old woman. Charles and I will get along
fine.”
“But auntie, it’s been you and me for so long
now, I can’t leave you.”
“You can and you must. We’ve had a glorious seven
years together, and I finished raising you the way I thought my sister would
want me to. Now my job is done, it’s
time for you to move on.”
Adaline raised her face to the ceiling and
closed her eyes. “But a mail order bride? Surely I could find some respectable
work somewhere?”
“No, that won’t do. I’m expected in Charleston
in less than a month, and I don’t like the thought of you left here to fend for
yourself. If we had any money left, it might work. But the money is gone.”
Adaline sighed and looked out the dining
parlor’s window. “I know.”
“I … I made you an appointment to meet with
Mrs. Ridgley tomorrow afternoon,” her aunt said in a soft voice.
Adaline sighed in resignation as her head
flopped to her chest. “So soon?”
“We
haven’t much time, Ada.”
Adaline
flopped into the nearest chair. “You think this is the best course of action?”
Aunt Priscilla smiled. “I know it is. Remember
my friend Mrs. Teeters? She runs the Winslow
Orphanage, the one I used to volunteer at? I ran into her last week, and she
suggested the whole thing. I can tell
you, I was at my wits end until I spoke with her. I was so worried about what
you would do, where you could go …”
Adaline held up a hand to stop her. “I
understand, and I don’t want you to worry about me. If you think this is for
the best, then I’ll do it. I’ve always honored your decisions before.”
Aunt Priscilla looked at her, tears in her
eyes. “I want you to be happy, Ada. It’s all I’ve ever wanted …”
“No crying, you know I hate it when you cry,
and then I’ll start, and then there will be a horrible flood, and we’ll both
drown, and …”
“No more, Ada!” her aunt laughed. She smoothed
her skirt as she sobered and sighed. “We’ll write to each other every week, and
you can tell me what a wonderful husband Mrs. Ridgley found for you.”
“That depends on what sort of prospects she
has available.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t time for months of
letter writing. You’ll have to choose quickly.”
“How much time did you say I have?”
“Your Uncle Charles will be here to collect me
in less than three weeks.”
Adaline blew out a breath. “Maybe you should
have made that appointment for this morning?”
Aunt Priscilla laughed before she pulled
Adaline into her arms, and wept.
* * *
“Thaddeus, the answer is still no.” Mrs. Ridgley stated firmly and sat. She folded her hands together on her desk and
waited for the usual explosion to come.
“Eugina, considering our past, I thought you
might see differently,” he said as he glanced about her office. “You used to be
surrounded in splendor, the best money could buy. Now look at you, you’re
surrounded in squalor. Who was your
decorator? This wall paper is ghastly!”
“Never mind about my wall paper, was there
anything else?”
Thaddeus sat on the desk and leaned down toward
her face. “Dinner? For old time’s sake?”
“Absolutely not.”
He hopped off the desk and paced the room.
“Why can’t you see reason? You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met!”
“And you are the most wicked, lost, arrogant,
conceited …”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear.”
She snorted in frustration and shook her
head. “What happened, Thaddeus? Where did we go wrong?”
“Ahhh, you still love me …”
“I didn’t say that.”
He stopped his pacing. “What if I told you, I
still loved you?”
She stared at him. Eugina Ridgley and Thaddeus Slade had been a
force to be reckoned with once. But
their business partnership had vanished the day Eugina found a better partner
and a more worthy cause. “It wouldn’t matter if you did, I cannot be with you.
We have gone in different directions you and I.”
“Very well, you may continue this farce of a
mail order bride business and eat beans and bread the rest of your life, while
I continue in mine, and have steak and champagne.”
“At the expense of the lives of innocent
women? Thaddeus, you used to have a conscious.”
“I’ve never had a conscious. I can’t afford
one.”
“Come to church with me.”
His eyes suddenly widened as he stared at her.
“What?”
“You heard me, come with me on Sunday and
listen, hear what changed my life forever.”
“I’m afraid God and I are not on speaking
terms. I left Him long ago, or perhaps He left me. How do you think I got into
the business I’m in?”
“It’s not too late, it’s never too late. Stop enslaving innocent women, if I can
change, so can you.”
He looked at her, and for a scant second, she
saw a flicker of emotion. “Oh Eugina, don’t be naïve, it’s too late for me.” He
turned, put on his hat, and made to leave.
When he opened the office door, she saw a young woman sitting in the
waiting area.
Thaddeus
eyed her up and down. “You’re not from the orphanage,” he stated more to
himself than the young lady. He turned just enough to speak over his shoulder.
“I see you’ve branched out to more than just helping pitiful orphans. You have
a real lady seeking your services. I congratulate you.”
With that he left, his steps echoing down the
stairwell to the first floor of the building.
Mrs. Ridgley sighed and braced herself against her desk as she stood. Her two Negro assistants, Jethro and Solomon,
were down the street helping Mr. Carson the butcher unload a wagon. They’d both would have come unglued to find
Mr. Slade in her office. The feud
between herself and Thaddeus had gotten quite heated over the last few months,
but he’d backed off momentarily. Now she knew why, he wanted her back in
business with him. But her days as a
madam were far behind her. Rather than
enslaving women to the horrors of prostitution, she did her best to save them
from it, and so started The Ridgley Mail Order Bride Service.
“You may come in,” she told the young woman.
The girl stood. Thaddeus was right, she was a
far cry from the orphans she was used to dealing with. Her beautiful green day
dress was of high quality. She wore gloves and a matching bonnet, her golden
blonde curls shining bright against the dark green of her shawl. Healthy, young, pretty and vibrant was the
woman before her. Eugina smiled as the
girl stood and followed her into her office.
No, it wasn’t only orphans she helped to escape from the horrors of New
Orleans. She also helped women find love, be they from Winslow’s orphanage or a
lady of distinction such as the one taking a seat on the other side of her
desk.
Eugina smiled as she sat. Thaddeus wouldn’t
dare touch this one, in fact he couldn’t. Not without raising the suspicion of
the authorities. “You must be Miss Dermont.”
“Yes,” the girl answered. “I’ve come to look
over what prospects you have.”
Eugina smiled again. “I have several, but
there’s only one I think would suit you.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t
mind.”
“Of course,” Eugina told her as she rifled
through a stack of papers on her desk. “Candidate number one, Horace Simpson.
He hails from Texas and owns a large cattle ranch. He writes here, that he
believes the local women are only interested in his money, so he’s sending away
for a mail order bride.”
“I can understand his logic. Might I ask how
old he is?”
Mrs. Ridgley pushed a small, tintype
photograph across the desk. “I have to say, that Mr. Simpson is not one I would
recommend.”
“As I told you before, I’ll be the judge … oh,
dear.”
Mrs. Ridgley remained silent as the girl
studied the mini-portrait. Mr. Simpson
looked to be at least ninety, though she knew from his application he was a
spry seventy-five.
Miss Dermont set the photograph on the desk
and slid it back to her. “You are right, he won’t suit.”
Mrs. Ridgley went to the next sheaf of papers.
“Applicant number two, a Mr. Bertram Brown, he’s a gold miner in California.”
“Has he struck gold?”
“No, but it says here he owns several of the finest
mule teams in the area. He rents them
out.”
Miss Dermont puckered her brow. “California,
that’s so far away. May I ask if he is
one you’d deem suitable for me?”
“No, but as you indicated, you wanted to see
them.”
“Never mind what I said, what does this leave
me with?”
Eugina smiled. “I saved the best for last.”
She set Mr. Brown’s information aside, and picked up another small stack of
papers. “Here we have, Mr. Lorcan Brody.”
“Lorcan? That’s an odd sort of name, isn’t
it?”
Eugina looked at her. “Yes, I suppose so. I
admit I’ve never heard it before either.”
“Where is he from?”
“Oregon.”
“Oregon!”
“Oregon City, Oregon to be exact. He owns a
book shop there.”
Miss Dermont swallowed hard as her gaze
wandered. “Oregon … it’s so far … and wild.”
“You can choose to wait until I receive more
applicants, you don’t have to pick one of these.”
Miss Dermont looked at her. “I don’t? How often do gentlemen answer your advertisements?”
“We get one or two a month. This time we got three.”
“Oh, dear me … I haven’t the time. My aunt is
leaving for Charleston in a few short weeks.
I’ll need to have left New Orleans by then …”
“Not to worry, Miss Dermont. I think Mr. Brody
will suit you fine. He’s twenty-seven, never been married, and has his own
business in a growing city. You need only make the journey.”
“A simple thing to say, when you’re not the
one who has to make it.”
Eugina smiled again. “No, but you aren’t the
first, and you won’t be the last.” She turned the stack of papers around and
slid them across the desk. She then picked
up a pen, dipped it in ink, and held it out to her.
* * *
“Auntie, what have I done?” Adaline moaned and
sat down hard upon the settee.
Aunt Priscilla looked up from her knitting. “Mrs. Ridgley told Mrs. Teeters that Mr. Brody
was the best possible choice.
“He was the only choice.” Adaline corrected
and picked up her needles. “When did you see Mrs. Teeters?”
“She came by while you were at your meeting
with Mrs. Ridgley, and he was not the only choice, there was another. However,
Mrs. Teeters got him for one of her girls. She’s on her way to a little town
called Nowhere as we speak.”
“Nowhere? There’s actually a place called Nowhere?”
“Apparently so, but enough of that. Mrs. Teeters offered to help you pack. When
do you pick up your train ticket?”
“Next week.
Why do I have the feeling you three had decided on Mr. Brody early on?”
“Because we did,” Aunt Priscilla said as she
giggled. “There were others besides the ones Mrs. Ridgley showed you, but like
them, they were far too old.”
Adaline rolled her eyes and fell back against
the settee. “Oh Auntie, you’re incorrigible.” She sat up. “But I still love
you, and I’m going to miss you.”
“And I’ll miss you, but you know, I think
you’ll be too busy to miss me much.”
“How busy can the wife of a bookstore owner
be?”
“Quite busy, especially if he’s handsome.”
“Auntie!”
Aunt Priscilla smiled. “Oh, what an adventure!
I must admit I’m jealous. I almost wish I were going!”
“And become Mrs. Lorcan Brody? Wouldn’t you
make a fine pair?”
“He’ll be handsome, with a big heart, and love
animals and children,” her aunt reassured.
“He’ll be bookish, wear spectacles, and be
quiet as a mouse,” Adaline countered.
“I suppose it would have been nice to have
seen a photograph of him, but I guess some men don’t send any.”
“Or haven’t any to send. What if I’m a foot taller than he is?”
“Ada, he’ll be fine, don’t you worry. Mrs.
Ridgley knows her business.”
“What if he lied on his application and he’s
not all those things he says he is?”
Her aunt brushed a strand of hair out of her
face and reached for the papers Adaline spread on a small table. “He has lovely
handwriting,” she commented. “Now let me see … here’s my favorite part, I think
this sums him up nicely.” She cleared her throat and began to read:
To my
future bride, whomever she may be, I’m not a prideful man, nor am I a rich man,
but I’m a hard working man in search of my lady-fair, one I can cherish and
love the rest of my life. I can’t wait to make you mine …
“Now isn’t that romantic?” Aunt Pricilla asked
as she set down the papers. “At least he’s poetic.”
“Nothing in that rhymed.”
“Something doesn’t always have to rhyme to
make it poetic. Now stop worrying, he’ll
be wonderful, you’ll see. Besides,
there’s nothing nicer than a man who knows what he wants and seeks it out. He writes here he’d like someone with a
courageous heart, a sweet spirit, knows her own mind and can cook, sew, and who
loves to read. Why, you’re all of those things and more.”
Adaline smiled. “He could be a toad and you’d
still make him sound wonderful. At least
we know he can read and write. And by the way, I don’t cook, remember?”
“You’ll learn. Have you penned your return letter to him?”
her aunt asked as she picked up her knitting.
Adaline cringed. “Yes.” Although she sounded
like she had her heels dug in, she could barely suppress her excitement when
she wrote Mr. Brody to tell him she’d accepted his proposal. He did sound wonderful, almost too wonderful,
and she wondered what the catch was. His
writing was precise, his short description of life in Oregon City delightful,
and the thought of being surrounded by bevies and bevies of books was like a
dream come true. If there was one thing
Adeline Dermont loved to do, it was read.
She should have married several years ago, but
had been loath to search for a beau and leave Aunt Priscilla to the whims of
her failing health. Yet like any girl her age, she often dreamed of marriage
and children, but told herself she would have to wait until she could find a
way to make sure her aunt was well cared for. Adeline thought she would have
time before spinsterhood began to creep up on her. Unfortunately, she hadn’t
counted on her money running out. After her father died in the war, Adaline’s
small inheritance had taken care of both women well enough, or so their
solicitor led them to believe. It wasn’t until last week they’d been informed
they hadn’t the funds for next month’s rent. Thus the reason Uncle Charles was
adamant about carting his sister Priscilla off to Charleston sooner than later,
not to mention firing Aunt Priscilla’s crooked solicitor.
Adaline started to knit. “He’ll be handsome,
with a big heart, and love animals and children, huh?”
Aunt Priscilla smiled. “Even if he is a foot shorter, wears spectacles,
and quiet as a mouse, as long as his heart is in the right place, dear, you
can’t go wrong. Besides, he hasn’t seen a photograph of you either.”
Adaline swallowed hard. “No, you’re right. I
can’t imagine what he thinks I’m like. Maybe he’s picturing a wicked witch with
warts and a broom.”
“I doubt that, Ada. I’m sure he’s dreaming of
his lady-fair and can’t wait until the day you arrive.”
Adaline smiled. “Yes, auntie. I’m sure he is.”
* * *
Oregon City, March 1, 1871
Lorcan Brody barely had time to duck before
his opponent’s fist found his face. It grazed his right cheek and would no
doubt add to his growing list of injuries for the night. But the pot was good, and he’d be bringing
home a decent amount this week once he was paid.
He judged the distance between himself and the
stout Irishman that danced around him. His vision blurred and he shook his head
to clear it before he struck, delivering a quick right hook, knocking the
shorter man to the ground.
A cheer went up from the spectators as the
count began. “That’s showing him, Brody!” someone cried from the crowd.
“Next week I’ll be sure to bring more men for
ye to fight!” another called.
Lorcan smiled and gave them a curt nod. It
hurt, and his vision again blurred. He’d knocked out six men that night and was
still undefeated. Unfortunately, being undefeated meant he would have to fight
again next week. Despite the fact the prize money was good in these local
fights, the conditions weren’t. The ring
was a dirt floor, his fists wrapped in rags, rather than covered by gloves, and
there was no one to officiate. Once in the ring, men simply fought until one
went down. It was as far from his Notre
Dame boxing days as it could get, and far more brutal. But right now, his
family needed the money, and so he’d do what he had to, to get it. Even if it
meant knocking the sense out of the local populace.
“Lorcan, me boy!”
He turned as old man McPhee made his way to
him. “A fine night o’ fighting ye brought to me place! Come to the office, and I’ll see ye get yer
money!”
“Aye, I will. As soon as I get cleaned up a
bit.”
“You do that. That’s quite a shiner yer going
to have tomorrow!”
Lorcan gingerly touched his left eye. “You can
say that again. I’ll be with you shortly.”
Men slapped him on the back as he made his way
through the crowd to an alcove he used as his locker room. He hoped no one took the bucket of cold water
he’d left there earlier. He would need it to get cleaned up, but sometimes it
disappeared during the fights, only to turn up empty later. However, luck was with him, and his trusty
bucket was exactly where he’d left it.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled
to it. He chuckled at the irony of the remark, and unwrapped his hands.
“I can get you fights in Portland,” a voice
said behind him.
Lorcan turned. “Don’t talk to me of Portland,
Finn. My fighting days are about over.”
For emphasis he again shook his head and lurched to one side.
“Whoa there, lad. You can’t be that bad off!”
“Can’t I?
You saw the punches I took from that fourth fellow. He was good.”
“Not good enough! Not like my Lor!” Finn slapped him on the
back.
Lorcan groaned. “Why don’t you go find
yourself a real fighter?”
“You are a real fighter! The best there is!”
“I’m not a fighter, I’m a businessman.”
“You sell books! Why waste your time doing that when you can
be making real money?”
“I don’t care about making money.”
Finn folded his arms across his chest. “Then
what are you doing here?”
Like Lorcan, he’d been raised in Ohio for the
most part, and came out west with his family to settle. He was an educated man,
but also like Lorcan, eked out a living by helping his family run a small
business. In Finn’s case, it was one of the local funeral parlors.
“My mother told me there were extra expenses
this month. I’m only trying to help them out.”
“You could really help them if you took a
fight in Portland.”
“I’ll do no such thing, get the notion out of
your head.”
“Ye can’t blame a man for trying.” Finn said,
his Irish brogue exaggerated as he backed out of the alcove and sauntered off.
Lorcan shook his head as he watched him go, then dipped one of the rags used to
wrap his hands, into the water. He wiped
at his bloodied face, and braced himself for an even bigger fight when he got
home. The minute his mother got a look
at him, there’d be no peace for the next few days. She didn’t mind him boxing in college, but
the cheap fights at McPhee’s were not to her liking, and she let him know about
it in her own, not so subtle way.
But maybe his luck would hold and she’d be
asleep when he got home. She’d been in
an unnaturally good mood of late, and that too gave him hope he’d be spared her
quick temper. Ever since she got a
letter from Uncle Ian in Clear Creek a couple of months ago, she’d been
exceptionally good-natured. Hmmm, what would happen if Uncle Ian and Aunt
Maggie came to visit?
Lorcan smiled at the thought and continued to clean
himself up.
As it was, his mother was fast asleep in her
favorite chair when he got home. With her head slumped to one side and her
Bible on her lap, she was the picture of pure innocence. Such would not be the case when she woke up.
Lorcan pondered whether or not he should help her to bed, but decided instead
to cover her with a nearby blanket, kiss her on the head, and turn down the
lamp. Let the peace of the sleeping
woman last a while longer. And it did,
well into the next day.
* * *
Meara Brody
ran a tight ship, and desertion was not an option. Neither was mutiny, and she kept her crew in
line with two things, her lightning quick tongue, and a trusty apron. If she couldn’t get her way with the former,
she’d whip up a few tears and wield the latter. She knew well that the one
thing the Brody men couldn’t stand, was a crying woman. She’d wrung the life out of many an apron
over the years, and they’d yet to catch on.
Either that, or they were too stubborn to admit it worked at least half of
the time, and knew she had her pride.
But today she vowed not to wring her apron or
lash out with her tongue. Today she
wouldn’t have to. Any sort of protest Lorcan put up, his father Patrick would
handle, and she would be blameless in the eyes of her precious son when he got the
news he was to be married.
She examined her hair in a small hand mirror
as she hummed a merry tune, gave her greying locks one last pat, and reached
for her gloves. “Mr. Brody! Hurry yourself along now. The stage will be here any
minute.”
“I’m comin’ ye don’t have to yell!”
She turned and sighed when she saw him. He was a big man, brawny and strong like her
son, and just as handsome. His dark
hair, now streaked with grey, was thick, his blue eyes as fierce as on the day
they met. He’d been fighting that day,
and it wasn’t until later she found out the fight was over her. She’d ridiculed him for his actions, and he’d
stilled her sharp tongue with a kiss.
After almost twenty-eight years of marriage, he could still kiss her into
submission. When he could catch her,
that is. “You look grand, Mr. Brody.”
“As do you, Mrs. Brody. Tell me, have ye told
the lad yet what’s to happen?”
She turned and put on her hat. “Oh, why upset
the boy with details?”
Mr. Brody’s eyes widened with panic. “Ye mean ye
didn’t tell him?” he squeaked.
She turned. “What’s to tell? He’s getting
married today.”
“Yes, but he
doesn’t know that!”
“Ian told me neither did his Sheriff’s
nephews, and they all got along all right.”
Her husband shook his head. “Lord, woman, ye
need to tell the lad!”
“I’m not going to tell him. You are.”
“Me!
Why do I have to tell him? I’m
not the one that ordered the bride, nor am I the one to put all that blarney in
a letter and send it off!”
“It was the truth, and you know it!”
“Pah! Ye wrote he was looking for his
lady-fair and that he couldn’t wait to cherish her and call her his own.”
“Those were not my exact words, but they were
meant to get a point across. Besides, you
put it in the post, Mr. Brody, and since you were the one that done the
mailing, I assumed you approved of what I wrote!”
He threw his hands in the air, walked to the
bed, and grabbed his jacket. “He’ll be madder than a rattler with us.”
She went to him and wrapped her arms about his
waist from behind. “He’ll thank us later, you’ll see. It’s for the boy’s own good. With a wife he’ll stop fighting, settle down,
and in time, give us grandchildren …”
“Or he’ll run away.”
She pulled him around to face her. “Nay, Mr.
Brody, you’ll see. That boy is smarter
than the both of us. Even he can’t
dispute the logic in it. Where is he, anyway?”
He picked up his hat and smashed it onto his
head. “Gone to help Finn dig a few graves I suspect. They’re short handed
again.” He spun to her. “And I certainly hope you’re right, Mrs. Brody. Because
if he leaves, I’ll not be speaking to you again!” He stomped out of the room and down the
stairs.
“I’m always right, Mr. Brody,” she said with a
smile, and followed him. Together, they left
the house and were off to fetch their son’s mail order bride.
