Journey to Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #3) (11 page)

“The serge skirt, whether black or blue, is the mark of the Society’s army of domestics,” Mrs. Mountjoy was explaining one day as the girls gathered on deck in a sheltered spot to work on the skirts. When someone finished hers, she was assigned to help another girl, a laggard, perhaps, or one who had been indisposed and was badly behind on her assignment. With luck and industry, they would march off the ship clothed in their dark serge skirts and white waists. God grant that it didn’t rain, with the impressive sight covered by cloaks and capes that were ill-matched and would never give the impression that the Society hoped for, and Mrs. Mountjoy in particular.

“You will always be decently dressed in a dark serge skirt and waist,” she was exhorting—again—as she meandered through the seated group, pointing out a puckered seam here, frowning over careless stitches there, “and a good, white waist. Plain white for workdays, trimmed, with good taste, for social occasions. We cannot have you turning up on the prairies in colorful habiliments, in ill-fitting attire, in outlandish costumes. No, indeed! It’s imperative to get the ‘uniform’ completed. It’s important that we all epitomize the dignity of the Society.”

Ishbel Mountjoy glanced oppressively at three rather garishly dressed females whose previous means of livelihood were under suspicion. So tight-knit were the three that Tierney and Anne had named them Winken, Blinken, and Nod. The names had taken hold, and as the three became better known, were shortened to Winky, Blinky, and Noddy. Winky and Blinky
had taken the nicknames with good humor. Noddy, red of face and spluttering angrily, had demanded the use of her proper name, which was Lucretia.

“I’d rather be Noddy, if ye ask me,” Anne had offered in an aside to Tierney. “How can ye shorten Lucretia? I’d hate to be called Cretia, for heaven’s sake, and with the way these girls play around with names, it’ll happen, you’ll see. Lucky for us that there’s no possible way to shorten Tierney and Anne.”

This day Winky and Blinky were seated side by side, sewing diligently, each hemming a portion of a hem that had been turned up and pinned to the correct length. Lucretia, scowling over a knot in her thread, sat at their elbow, a part and yet apart, which seemed to be her usual place.

Turning from her cold glance at the three questionable “ladies,” Ishbel continued with her advice. “All of you must be decent and dignified,” she said firmly. “You probably have no idea how much your appearance affects people. An experienced eye can look at an individual and tell at a glance if she is quality or upstart, one of the respected class or the swinish multitude.”

Mrs. Mountjoy was graphic in her description. Her listeners, some of them, heard with glazed eyes and slack mouth, startled by their options—swinish multitude!

“How you present yourself, as noble or ignoble, will decide how you are treated, whether as a person of some breeding or as a . . . a mushroom.”

Again Mrs. Mountjoy’s choice of words boggled the imagination of her hearers, having the result of diverting the attention of the very ones she wanted most to influence. While a few looked impressed, most of the girls had trouble hiding their grins.

Weary of the same old tirade, Anne—safely obscure in the back row—leaned toward Tierney and whispered, “Who does she think she’s takin’ to the backside of beyond—the Duchess of Binkiebrae? Ha! We’re all jist a bunch o’ hewers o’ wood and drawers o’ water—”

Anne, as well as Tierney, had been helping Pearly with her Scripture reading. Tierney almost choked, highly amused at gentle Anne’s impatience and quotation, and went into a coughing spate that disrupted Ishbel’s current discourse.

That lady looked sternly down the line, drew a deep breath, sighed, and wisely changed course.

“Now,” she rapped out in commanding tones, “we’ll engage in the morning’s calisthenics. Fold up the sewing and lay it aside. Now—stand, please! Get in formation! Formation, if you please!”

Lagging interest sharpened; one thing could be said of Ishbel Mountjoy—she brought things alive; she was impossible to ignore. Like her or despise her, you paid attention.

Young bodies, having been cooped up far too long and having been bent in close attention to sewing for more than an hour, ached for activity, and the girls obeyed with alacrity. Lining up, a few feet began marching in place. The invigorating sea air blew severe hairdos into halos of wisps and curls, and a touch of color began to tinge cheeks pale from life too long below decks.

“All right, now!” Ishbel sang into the wind. “Straighten your shoulders! Lift your head—that’s the way! Pull in your er . . . your
mid-section
! Fine, fine! Shoulders back! Chests
out!
Not
that far!
”

Ishbel, thoroughly dismayed at the enthusiasm of her charges, hastened to see to it that the exercises, as all else, were done chastely.

“Decently and in order!” she rapped out now. “Never forget: decently and in order.”

Ishbel glared around the group now standing perfectly still and totally quiet, not daring to look at each other lest laughter erupt; the wanton display of their “chests” had been the subject of more than one lecture. “It’s imperative,” Ishbel warned them, “that you not taunt and tease; no lady would be found lowering herself thus. Remember, while many of these men you’ll be meeting are bachelors legitimately looking for a wife, some of
them are married men, long separated from their families. A Society Girl is supplied to
help
conditions on the frontier, not provoke them.”

Hilarity at the time of lectures had incurred the dreadful wrath of Ishbel Mountjoy more than once—life was serious! their undertaking was of great consequence!—an experience the girls wisely wanted to avoid repeating at all costs, and the remainder of the time went smoothly.

At last, the moderate and restrained (after all, sailors were watching) calisthenics were called to a halt, due more to the exhaustion of Ishbel Mountjoy than her charges, and the girls were dismissed. Like naughty schoolgirls they trooped below deck, whispering and giggling, invigorated by the sunshine, the exercise, and the entertainment unwittingly provided by their leader.

“Prepare yourself,” a flushed, worn and weary Ishbel, her nerves sadly frazzled, couldn’t refrain from shouting down the ladder after them, “for ten hours a day in a sweltering kitchen, or an icy one!”

Obviously feeling much better about things now, the intrepid leader mopped her face, picked up her instruction manual, and sought her cabin and a return to peace of mind. Her final thought was not a cheerful one. In spite of all she would do to prepare them, some of them were meant as lambs for the slaughter; it was inevitable.

Dear Robbie
. . .

Tierney settled herself at a rather rickety table, having first shoved aside numerous items stacked there—the room was small for the number of occupants it housed—spread the small book of blank pages open before her, licked her pencil, and began.

Here I am in St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada. I wonder if you landed here too. If so, your heart thrilled, as did mine, as you entered the harbor—completely land-locked, it is, being entered by a short passage known as the Narrows. What a sight! Did you, too, feel like a dwarf before those high beetling cliffs? Many are the ships berthed here—from New York, Australia, Liverpool. And of course Glasgow—home, sweet home—will we ever see it again?

Wherever you are, Robbie, I know you are thinking of me, as I think of you. What hopeless thoughts they are! Knowing I may not . . . probably won’t . . . ever see you again, still I long to pour out my heart to you. Knowing you probably will never see this journal, I’m writing it anyway. It helps me just to “talk” to you in this way. Though I sent a letter to James, it isn’t the same. He can write me in care of the Society in Toronto, for we shall be there for a while as our assignments are being made, and you could too, if only you knew it. But you don’t even know about this contract I’ve signed, and the change my life has made. No doubt you think of me back in Binkiebrae, perhaps on my hilltop, while here I am, in Canada. What a miracle
.

So ignorant of where the other one is—it’s so sad, Robbie—but there, I promised myself that this shall be a pleasant journal (or long, long letter), with no need to tell of any dark and desperate days. Or talk about dreary things. I trust I may be able to keep that vow
.

Perhaps you stayed here in St. John’s and went to work; there is plenty of activity going on. Perhaps you are just a stone’s throw from me even as I sit here in this hostel. As we girls walk about the streets, do a little shopping, and a lot of looking, I find myself watching for you everywhere I go. Many places, you could have found employment. There are pulp and paper mills here, several factories, and fish, fish, fish, everywhere. Cod and whale oil are manufactured; codfish is dried—there are great cod-fishing grounds here. You can believe me when I say, and perhaps you already know, that certain parts of the town don’t smell good! You could have worked in the fish at home, Robbie, but I remember you dinna . . . I mean did not, want to
.

And oh yes, sad as it makes me, skins of the hair seal are sold here in great numbers, to be made into leather and fur abroad. All this and more I have learned as I’ve walked around town, asked questions, listened, and read the local paper
.

So happy are we to have our feet on dry ground again that some of the girls have expressed the secret wish just to stay here. It is so fresh and new and bustling, surely there would be work here for us. Some are weary of traveling and dread the trek across the continent. What a huge land it is! We are barely on the edge of it
.

But we cannot stay here, much as we might like to do so. We are pledged to the Society, and we must keep our word. After all, they paid our way over here and have a lot of money invested in us
.

If we didn’t want to work, we could marry! Yes, already the lack of marriageable women is obvious. Some men have come here—from far away, perhaps the Territories—because they hear ships are bringing single women. Why can’t they understand that we came not on a bride ship but as workers, domestics? I, for one, am fiercely determined to make my own way. Me—marry? Oh, my Robbie, how could anyone else appeal to me? Am I not, in my heart, pledged to you? But I hasten on
.

Anne, in particular, draws the stares of hungry-hearted men like moths to a lamp. Lucian MacDermott isn’t the only one to press after her. But her experience in Binkiebrae has made her fearful of any and all attention; she flees from it, has no patience with it
.

Let me tell you about some good that came out of the voyage, Robbie. I studied and read almost continually, there not being much else to do. One of the women, a governess back home, said she’d help with my studies. Oh, how I
benefited—see, I know how to use and to spell that word. Binkiebrae school gave me, as you, a good education insofar as it went, but I want to know more. I shall keep on reading, writing, and spelling, for I find I love it. Perhaps I shall settle where there is a lending library; how I would like that! Of course Mrs. Mountjoy keeps after us all the time about our grammar, and the way we speak in general, and it actually helps, keeping me, at least, aware of my speech. Maybe, Robbie, doing so well myself, I’ll be able to hire on with some family as a teacher of small children. Trouble is, both Mrs. Mountjoy and the governess say it’s my pronunciation that is so bad that at times I’m hard to understand. I canna seem to shake all my accent, probably never shall. I’ll say “dinna” and “canna” all my life, I expect. Ah, well, there could be worse habits
.

Back to the account of our landing. There was much milling and stewing around the dock when we reached it, some girls taking a seat on their baggage, others with nothing on their mind but ogling the surroundings, seeing how they are a great deal different than the “old country.” There was some righting of hats that had been tipped by the crush and straightening of skirts that had suffered this first day’s test. Even the weather cooperates with Mrs. Mountjoy, not daring to disobey, and each girl had put on her serge skirt and white blouse, with her cloak flung over her arm lest the clouds spill their contents before we could get under cover and we all got off together, as planned. Anne and I stayed close to each other, careful not to be separated
. . . .