Journey to Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #3) (12 page)

“We look like penguins,” Anne whispered to Tierney, aware of the stares of the great host of people either leaving the ship
or gathered on the dock. For truly the sight of so many women dressed alike did arouse considerable curiosity.

But it was a sight that was recognized for what it was, by certain people. Male people.

As the girls stood, en masse, on the dock, and Ishbel distractedly saw to the conveyances that would transport them to the waiting hostels, one could see—like bees hovering around a bouquet of flowers—a circle of masculine beings. To a man their eyes were fixed on the girls, looking them over much as they might examine a herd of dairy cows about to go on the auction block.

“Look at those men,” someone said in a low voice, and all eyes turned to the circle of males. Some, perhaps, were there because of curiosity; others, it seemed, were there to do serious business.

“What are they lookin’ at?” someone asked uncomfortably.

“Us, silly. We are goods on display, dressed in these ‘costumes’ of ours.”

“Us? Whatever for?” was the innocent question.

“Because,” an impatient voice murmured, “we’re single, and they know it.”

“Oh my goodness! You mean these are bachelors?”

“Probably. I know the world is in terrible condition, sinful and all that, but I hope married men have better sense than to hang around a dock lookin’ over a bunch of females!”

Most of the girls drew together into a close-knit group, casting glances over their shoulders, unsure whether to seem pleased or angry or unconcerned. Anne and Tierney stayed close together, one with her back turned to the circling men, the other peeping over her shoulder and giving a report of what was happening. Pearly hovered nearby.

“You’ll never believe this,” Anne said, looking beyond Tierney’s shoulder. “Or maybe you weel.”

“What? Tell me!”

“Winky, Blinky, and Lucretia are sorta steppin’ awa’ from the rest o’ us and are talkin’ amongst themselves as if no one
else was around. Wait a minute! One man is makin’ a move in their direction!”

“What else! What else!”

“He’s taken off his cap and is holdin’ it in front of him. He’s a sma’ man, with a big moustache . . . has on a suit—sort of a dandy type, I’d say.”

“And?”

“And they’re talkin’. That is, he’s talkin’ with Lucretia. Winky and Blinky are walkin’ up the dock a bit, turnin’, comin’ back—”

Tierney and Anne weren’t the only ones watching the little scene unfold. Mrs. Mountjoy, hurrying back from her distant responsibilities, saw the interchange between an unknown man and one of her charges.

“Oh, oh! Mrs. Mountjoy is stoppin’ dead in her tracks; she’s spinnin’ around . . . she’s stompin’ her way over there.”

Tierney could stand no more. Turning, she too watched what was happening.

Ishbel, flushed and determined, had Lucretia by the arm. Interjecting herself between the two, she spoke to the man. He seemed to blink in the face of her comments, then spoke briefly, and all could see it was mildly, but with a certain defensiveness. Ishbel seemed to be giving him a piece of her mind, speaking scathingly, then turned accusing eyes on Lucretia, giving her arm a shake, and turning the two of them back toward the group. Marching firmly, Ishbel hurried the reluctant Lucretia along. Turning her head toward Winky and Blinky, Ishbel called, and all the girls heard: “Miss Beamer! Miss Daggs!”

“So those’re their names,” someone murmured, as Winky and Blinky moved languidly in the direction of the Society group.

“You have my offer,” the lone man called, lifting his voice above the commotion and confusion around him. Ishbel ignored him and marched on. As they joined the group, the girls could see that Lucretia was in no way cowed; rather, she was flushed angrily. Yanking her arm from Mrs. Mountjoy’s grasp she turned deliberately, looked back, and twiddled her
gloved fingers in the direction of the man who had caused all the ruckus. Then, as though nothing had happened, she joined Winky and Blinky.

“What was that all about, do y’ suppose?” Tierney wondered aloud.

“Robbie, it was as we feared—that man was after a wife. Or that’s what Mrs. Mountjoy told us. Winky—Miss Beamer—said he had come all the way from somewhere up north, figured he’d get in his request before the girls was all ‘doled out.’ What a thing to say! It makes me feel cheap. Have we come this far just to be deceived? Will our opportunities be real ones?

“It truly would seem so, for Mrs. Mountjoy was very angry and told the lot of us to keep to the letter of our agreement. ‘You are not,’she said, ‘to be thrown out like hunks of meat to a ravening pack of wolves! Now behave yourselves, and everything will work out well for you.’ I find myself quite believing her, Robbie. Hunks of meat, indeed!”

The ranks of the Society girls were depleted by one, come morning. Putting her pillow under the covers and plumping it up, Lucretia had taken her bag, slipped out a window of the hostel, and taken her silent departure. If Winky and Blinky knew about it beforehand, they weren’t saying.

Mrs. Mountjoy was white-hot with anger. “What a way to repay the Society,” she gritted to the girls as they gathered for a morning session. “You may be sure we will find her. No matter where she is, we’ll find her. Not that we want her back,” she said darkly, breathing hard, “no, not at all. But we
will
have our money. She is legally obligated to pay that debt. If any of the rest of you think you would be better off making your own plans, slipping
off and finding a job or a husband on your own, I’d think again if I were you. That man may have been looking for a wife, and then again, maybe not.” Winky and Blinky looked a little uneasy at the very idea.

“Girls, listen again to what you promised and signed, of your own free will—”

And Mrs. Mountjoy read the contract aloud.

“Now,” she said, folding the paper and putting it away, “plans are all made for the train trip. Get your gear together, ladies. In a few days we will be in Toronto, where you will be given assignments from the head office, and from there the division will be made—some to go here, some there. But all of you,
all
of you, to the Territories. Now, step lively—”

Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba—which would it be?

T
hey had been in Toronto less than a week and already most of the girls had been placed and were gone.

“It isn’t that places aren’t available,” Ishbel Mountjoy explained to the remaining women, of whom Pearly, Anne, and Tierney were three. “It’s the length of time it takes settling each girl to her satisfaction. With your cooperation, things should hurry along.”

Ishbel sighed; apparently the end of the trip was no more smooth than the rest of it had been.

The trip from the east coast of Newfoundland to Toronto had been a novel experience for the girls, most of whom had never been on a train before. But the novelty wore off quickly. Resting poorly, washing scantily, eating haphazardly, eventually brought frayed nerves, just beginning to recover from the torturous sea voyage, to the breaking point. At the slightest provocation, it seemed, hot words were exchanged, tears
flowed, and fisticuffs, in one instance, were barely averted, before the entourage arrived at its Ontario destination.

In spite of all that, Ishbel reported to her superiors that the trip, in the main, had been the best, the most successful, of any she had yet undertaken. And she agreed, with only a brief hesitation, to do it all over again just as soon as the final girl was situated, and she felt free to leave. To be a female left in a strange city, among people she didn’t know and who yet had the authority to send her whithersoever they pleased, would be a frightening experience; Ishbel understood this. Ishbel Mountjoy, for all that she may have seemed like a martinet, truly cared about the future of the young women she had wooed away from their homeland; she would not desert them now.

Yes, Ishbel would return to the British Isles and would do her best once again to “liberate” helpless and hopeless females. She knew that Europe and Britain offered little economic security, education, or social position to the single woman. Shame! No wonder it wasn’t terribly difficult to persuade girls to choose immigration to Canada over unemployment and poverty, even social ostracism in their homelands. Poor darlings! Ishbel counted the hardships she went through as learning experiences that would help her do a better job next time around.

So Ishbel lingered in Toronto, prodding, advising, encouraging, until each girl was settled, and, hopefully, settled to her satisfaction. Every once in a while there was a hitch, and someone became picky, balky, sorely trying the patience of Ishbel Mountjoy and the estimable Miss Dobrie, who did the prodding and advising, but little encouraging. Still, she got the job done when it came to placing the girls.

Though they were nearly last, Tierney and Pearly would be no trouble to place; they had dragged their feet over signing on for one reason only: Anne.

Anne’s experience with Lucian MacDermott, wrongly or rightly, had left its mark upon her. Every home situation that was presented to her was studied minutely, and if the possibility of trouble was so much as hinted at, Anne refused the job.
In this way she had turned down an opening for a “mother’s helper,” because there were two young men in the family. She had dropped like a hot potato a request for a domestic to keep house for a widower and his three children, because the only woman in the house was his aging and bedridden mother. As frissons of doom played up and down her spine, Anne shivered and handed back the application form and stumbled, trembling, from Miss Dobrie’s presence.

Finally the three girls could hold out no longer. Miss Dobrie, feeling greatly responsible, and frustrated over this particular situation, was looking with more and more coldness on what she called their “fussiness.”

Pearly was called, once more, into the small room that was an “office” and heard an offer that she could not immediately fault, outlined to her with supreme patience by Miss Dobrie, considering Pearly’s previous shilly-shallying.

“It’s past time, Miss Chapel, to make your choice. Now,” Miss Dobrie offered almost wheedlingly, “this one seems ideal, does it not?”