A Bride in the Bargain (5 page)

THE WALA WALA STATESMAN

Mercer and his bevy of Massachusetts damsels are now anchored off the coast of Rio de Janeiro. It won’t be long before they, armed with green reticules, blank marriage certificates and photographs of Ben Butler—to hang on the andirons to keep their babies out of the fire—will be rounding the Horn and bounding over the watery reflections in search of a market for their kisses.

Seattle, Washington Territory

March 1, 1866

“They haven’t even made it to the Straits of Magellan yet,” Joe said, tossing a newspaper on Judge Rountree’s desk. “It will take them two months at least to reach Seattle, maybe more. I need an extension.”

“Tillney’s not going to be happy about this.”

“I couldn’t care less what Tillney says. I paid Mercer for a bride almost a year ago. He said he’d be back in six months. It’s not my fault he ran into such difficulties securing a vessel.”

“No, it’s never your fault, is it, Denton?”

Joe narrowed his eyes. “As a matter of fact, it isn’t.”

Rountree handed him back the newspaper. “Well, you’d better marry that gal the minute her slippered feet hit this shore. You understand?”

“I understand.”

THE ALTA CALIFORNIA

The only thing Mr. Mercer has to fear, so far as I can see, is that in case the girls are young and pretty, they may be snapped up by some of your wifeless young men in the ports of call. . . .

Lota, Chile

April 13, 1866

Anna tapped lightly on Mrs. Wrenne’s door. “Mr. Mercer has called a meeting for nine o’clock. We mustn’t be late.”

The elderly woman stepped out, her eyes alive with excitement. “Hab you been on deck yet?”

“I have. And you must come and see.” Anna took the lady’s arm, assisting her up the steps. “Lota is a lovely little valley situated between two high bluffs.”

“Oh, I can hardly wait to get off dis boat.”

“Me too. But we shall have to wait in line, I’m afraid. I’ve been made to understand that it is a great market day in Lota. So everyone is determined to go ashore.”

Smiling faces and bursts of laughter greeted them on the hurricane deck. After so many long and weary days of unbroken sea, the sight of land was arousing and invigorating.

Mercer clapped his hands, signaling a start of their meeting. “As you ladies know, I am deeply interested in your welfare. So much so, I cannot bear to have you out of my sight for even a single moment.”

Anna lifted a questioning brow. He’d claimed more than once that no man living was so near Mount Zion as he himself, but she’d had her doubts ever since he’d called the ladies into his stateroom one by one for the purpose of extracting more money.

“I cannot sign a note for two hundred and fifty, sir,” she’d told him when it was her turn. “You promised passage to me for fifty dollars, payable by my employer upon my arrival in Seattle.”

“I’m afraid I miscalculated and have borne great expense on your behalf.”

“I find that extremely hard to believe. In any case, we have a signed contract and I will agree to no more.”

Crossing his hands atop his desk, he offered her a placating smile. “Now, Miss Ivey, I am only asking to be recompensed for actual costs incurred. I cannot see what possible objection you have when in all probability you will get a husband as soon as we arrive at our destination, and he would, I’m sure, be more than happy to cover any incidentals.”

She shook her head. “Two hundred fifty dollars is not incidental. Furthermore, I have no intention of marrying.”

His eyes widened with alarm. “You have no intention of marrying?”

“Certainly not. Nor do I intend to place a more significant financial burden on my employer.”

“But your employer can afford it.”

“I don’t care if his pockets are lined with gold. According to our contract, the cost of my passage is fifty dollars, and fifty dollars it will remain.” Turning, she’d swept out of the stateroom.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Wrenne had not fared so well. Mercer had assured her that he had a nice farmer lined up for her who had promised to take whomever he brought—teeth or no teeth. Mrs. Wrenne happily signed the two-hundred-fifty-dollar note. Just thinking about it rekindled Anna’s anger—and her distrust of the man.

“I have learned,” he was now saying on deck, “that cholera and smallpox are raging in Lota. It would be most unsafe for any of you to go on shore.”

Murmurs of distress rippled through the crowd.

He held up his hands for silence. “Now, as much as I hate to place any severe restrictions upon you, I want you to distinctly understand that you are not to go on shore in the company of any gentleman other than myself.”

Anna frowned. If the conditions in Lota were unhealthy, then having Mr. Mercer with them wouldn’t make an iota of difference.

By afternoon, when a boatload of dashing Chilean officers and gentlemen rowed next to the steamship, Anna realized Mr. Mercer’s objections. The Chilean men would in all likelihood woo his passengers away.

She felt a touch of sympathy for him as he tried to keep the men off the boat. He had, after all, worked very hard on this emigration scheme of his.

“These officers have designs on you,” he frantically told the women. “If you give them any chance at all, it is certain to prove your ruin.”

His warnings did not, however, keep the girls from welcoming the men on board. By the time they were ready to pull up anchor a week later, several had bowed at Cupid’s knee.

THE MORNING CAL

The surplus sweetness of Massachusetts spinsterhood is soon to be wasted on the desert air of W.T. for the relief of territorial bachelors who now darn their buckskin breeches and d—n their hours of solitude. . . .

San Francisco, California

June 4, 1866

Anna rushed to the upper deck with the rest of the ladies for her first glimpse of the promised land. Hanging on to the rail, the wind whipped against her face, bringing the taste of salt with it.

They passed through the Golden Gate and all powers of speech failed her. Not because she was taken by California’s beauty, but because she was horrified.

Nothing but brown in every direction. The hills were brown. The islands were brown. Even the town was brown. It was nothing like the pine forests and rich wilderness she’d imagined.

She scanned the entire coastline but couldn’t spot a single tree.

“I hab neber seen anyting so ugly in my life,” Mrs. Wrenne said.

Anna glanced at the wharves rapidly filling with scruffy-looking miners whooping and waving. “The men or the landscape?”

“Bof.”

Even as they spoke, the men piled into rowboats and began to make their way toward the steamer.

THE IDAHO WORLD

The ship is drawing near Seattle’s port. Notice has been sent to the long-haired miners and rich bachelors of that auriferous section. The girls have been bathed by squads, platoons and brigades; their best raiment has been put on.