A Bride for Donnigan by Janette Oke Page A

met by a gentleman by the name of Mr. Henry Piedmont. He will give you your final tickets and send you on the last leg of your journeys. From Chicago on, you will be fanning out and heading in different directions—though still westward.
    “I do wish each of you every happiness in your new land—and your new unions.”
    He bowed low and gave them one final grin, smoothed his mustache, and then said firmly, “Miss Kathleen O’Malley—you will need to see me for final instructions.”
    He turned on his heel and was gone.
    All eyes seemed to fix on Kathleen. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and followed the man from the room.
    He must have expected her to do just that, for he went only a few steps beyond the door and turned to wait for her.
    “This way,” he said with a nod of his head, and Kathleen obediently followed him.
    They crossed the hall and entered a small room, and he motioned toward a chair and turned to lift a sheet of paper from his pocket.
    “Before I hand you this,” he said, looking straight at her, “might I say that I am a tolerant man. I am staying on in Boston. I am quite willing to forget your outburst of last evening—should you have changed your mind.”
    For one moment Kathleen frowned, not understanding his words. When the truth finally dawned, she rose quickly from the chair, her face flushing, her eyes flashing anger. Without one word she reached out and snatched the paper from his fingers before he had a chance to react.
    “You may be sorry, you know,” he called after her as she moved from the room as quickly as her limp would allow.
    Kathleen did not return to her room immediately. She had to find some privacy before she dared look at the paper she held. At last she found a chair tucked in a rather dark corner of a distant hall and dropped onto it, trying to still her anxiously beating heart.
    Carefully she unfolded the bit of paper.
    “Donnigan Harrison,” said the paper. “He is a late signer like yourself. Not much is known of him. I hope you will not be sorry.”
    Kathleen crumpled the paper in her hand and then felt immediate remorse. Carefully she placed it on her lap and tried to smooth out the wrinkles. She would need that piece of paper. It was all she had.
    “Donnigan Harrison,” she repeated. Then her eyes lit up. She wasn’t really familiar with the surname, but Donnigan did sound rather Irish. For the first time she felt some hope.

    The train ride was long and stuffily hot. Kathleen had thought the boat trip had been difficult—but at least then they had enjoyed the crispness of the ocean winds. Not given the luxury of berths, they were crammed together in seats with hard straight-backs and no place to put their tired heads. The long nights were spent in restless shifting to try to find some way to relax tired bodies.
    At last they reached Chicago. Kathleen may have been interested in studying the city had she not been so totally exhausted.
    The man called Piedmont was on the platform when they arrived. As they stepped off the train, he rounded the women up and hustled them to a side room, much like herding cattle, and grinned at the group nervously as he called out names and passed out tickets. Kathleen had not felt particularly close to many of the women, but as she sat and watched group after group being hurried out to catch this coach or that train, she felt panic tighten her throat.
    At last her own name was called along with a number of others, and she stood up and walked numbly past the man and accepted the ticket along with its instructions of where to go and how to get there.
    She was more than a little relieved to look around her and find that Erma was also in the group.
    But Peg was gone. As were Nona and Beatrice. There were just Erma and her and four other women whom she didn’t know well. All four were from the Continent. She wondered if they spoke English. They seemed so shy and frightened. Kathleen moved closer to Erma, drawing some