Journey to Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #3) (7 page)

Though she herself suffered no such physical abuse, though she herself experienced no deprivation of home or food, she paid the price for her femininity in many ways. While James worked and made the living, she was reduced to sitting home, waiting, as it were, for some other male to come along and offer
his provision, his protection, his name. In Binkiebrae, as in most of the world, this was her option.

As she made a parcel of Anne’s things, Tierney’s thoughts turned from the limitations of Binkiebrae to the nearby city of Aberdeen. Women worked there. Oh, not the respected and the cultured—she had seen the ragged, sometimes scurvy lot that could be found around the streets of the city, doing all manner of things—selling flowers, peddling odds and ends of cooking pots, offering secondhand clothing for a few pennies. Tierney shivered at the prospect, considering her present lot much preferable, though it wasn’t productive.

There was work on the wharves, in the fish markets—Aberdeen was an important fish-trawling center—and many women could be seen on the docks. Too, Aberdeen had a flourishing trade, with many mills manufacturing woolens, linens, paper, even combs. Tierney had seen women coming out of these vast buildings in long, weary lines. Women did char work in the granite buildings of the city, perhaps in the granite works themselves. Called “Granite City,” Aberdeen was known for its granite, and many people were engaged in its hewing and polishing. There were fine docks and a good harbor, and Aberdeen did a large import and export trade, being the leading port for the White Sea and Baltic trades. Surely, somewhere in this thriving city there would be something a healthy, strong, willing girl could do.

Tierney sighed, close to feeling defeated before she ever began; it was an unexplored frontier for women she contemplated entering. And did she have enough gumption to get out of Binkiebrae, with its familiar environment, and try to fit into the enterprising competition of the masses of people on the streets of Aberdeen?

By any chance, would Anne throw in her lot with her? With the possibility of Anne’s agreeing, what was just a vague dream with shadowy dimensions in Tierney’s thinking took on possibilities, if not probabilities. Nothing ventured, nothing gained! Perhaps she was more of a modern woman than she had known!

Women everywhere were becoming restless, aware of opportunities for their gender where doors had been shut before. True, it would be hard to be a pathfinder, but someone had to break ground! Someone had to dare to break free! In an impossible situation, almost literally thrust out of home and croft, Anne might indeed be amenable to . . . at least . . . listening.

And listen she did. With her poor eyes half shut and the skin around them turning greenish blue, with her arms scratched and one ankle painfully swollen, Anne listened.

Tierney had returned home to report to Anne her father’s reaction and message. Anne’s puffy face crumpled, her slitted eyes leaked tears, and her broken lips twisted to think she would be expected to return, and to the same impossible situation.

But what else was there for her? She couldn’t go on sharing Tierney’s small loft, sleeping in her narrow cot while Tierney slept in a pallet on the floor beside her. She couldn’t expect James to provide for her, though he had been kind, expressing shock at the sight of her injuries, and assuring her that she was welcome at his fire and table.

But Anne had seen Phrenia’s expression when she stopped by—first blank and questioning, then coolly accepting. But it was clear it troubled her to have another female under the same roof with her intended, and Anne and Tierney both caught numerous pointed references to the marriage that would take place “as soon as it seemed a’reet.”

Sitting together at the fireside with the inevitable “cup o’ tae,” Tierney talked about what had occurred to her—a solution not only for Anne but for herself.

“Ye know, Annie,” she said, “that I dinna relish livin’ here with me brother and his new wife. But what is there for the likes o’ me to do? I’ll never marry . . . na, never. Dinna expect it o’ me, Anne! It’s an auld maid I’ll be, and that for all o’ me days. I canna imagine wha’ ’twoud be like to live here wi’ a growin’ family, and the bairns not mine. I’d be in the way—for there’s no’ enow room—helpin’ raise another woman’s lads and lassies. Nae, thank ye, I’ll not! So, ye see, Annie, I’m fightin’
to have some kind o’ a life o’ me own. I’ll live in a tenement or wheree’er I can, if ’tis clean, and do what I hae tae do to make a livin’, so long as it’s honest.”

“I know how ye feel,” Anne said softly, as though her injured mouth hurt to make the sounds. “I hae no’ place o’ me own, either. It’s a harsh life, Tierney, and a pitiful one for many in our shoes.” Glancing down at Tierney’s castoffs on her feet, she added ruefully, “E’en our shoes are apt tae no’ be our ain.”

Many hours were taken up with restoring Anne’s despoiled clothes. They were laundered and ironed and mended and patched. Though they resembled nothing better than rags, there was no way they could be consigned to the rag bag while there was a day’s wear in them.

“We better take the opportunity to let oot the seams,” Anne said practically. “I’ve been wearin’ this gown for three years, and have done a bit of . . . growin’ in that time.”

Even with Tierney, her natural reserve brought a flush to Anne’s cheeks as she referred to the natural development of her body from age fifteen to eighteen.

Tierney, not quite so self-conscious, or perhaps with a more teasing nature, said, “Aye, and very nicely, too.” Growing serious, she added, “An’ it’s one reason that Lucian canna stay awa’ from ye.”

Now Anne’s face flared crimson. “Beast that he is! At any rate, we best let these seams oot . . . maybe put a wee bit o’ lace here in the bodice.”

No matter what they did, nothing would disguise Anne’s lovely womanhood, Tierney knew, and she worried for her friend. Tierney’s own build was slender where Anne’s was rounded. Not the beauty Anne was, Tierney’s chief attraction was her wide and ready smile, her golden-brown eyes usually lit by a sparkle of life, and the abundant auburn hair that glinted fire so readily.

Again and again, no matter what they were doing—mending, making bannock, cleaning neeps or tatties, washing each other’s hair, eventually venturing out in the evening’s gloaming
to walk a bit—they came back to thoughts of moving away, obtaining work . . . finding a life somewhere other than in Binkiebrae.

There came a day when Sam, Anne’s brother, stopped by “to see how ye be.” Before his short visit was over he made it clear that Da was making noises about Anne getting home again. “He’s gettin’ verra restless aboot it. Think ye that ye’ll coom back anytime soon?” he asked her.

“Not yet, Sammie,” Anne pleaded. “Tell him not yet. Soon . . . perhaps soon. See—there’s still signs of bruisin’—”

Sam looked gravely at the cheek that was blossoming pink and fair and said sturdily, “Aye, I see it. I’ll tell ’im, Annie. But look fer him to coom hisself one o’ these days.”

With these words of warning Sam took his departure; Anne sank onto the settle, with some difficulty controlling tears and a fit of the shakes.

“How can I go back? Oh, ’tis dreadful, dreadful to think on! ’Tis time, Tierney, to do more than talk aboot leavin’ Binkiebrae! It’ll ne’er happen if we don’t do somethin’!”

And so it was decided to go to Aberdeen as soon as a ride could be obtained, though “we could walk it,” Anne persisted.

“Na, na, Annie. Ye’re still shaky and summ’at weak. I’ll see if there’s a cart goin’, and we’ll ride along.”

It was the custom; within a day such a ride was available. Tierney said nothing beforehand to James, hoping they would be home before he was—the weather being advantageous for fishing, the boats out long hours—and have tea ready at the usual time. Nevertheless, she left a brief note:
Anne and I are out for a change. Home soon
.

They reached Aberdeen in less than two hours, travelling deep into the heart of the city. Thanking the old huckster, a neighbor who was trundling sacks of new onions to sell at a market where stands of such merchandise were displayed, the girls struck out on their own.

“If ye’re here aboot four o’clock,” they were advised, “ye can ride back tae Binkiebrae wi’ me. Else, ye’ll hae tae walk it.”

“We’ll be here, and thank ye, thank ye verra much,” Tierney said warmly.

“I hardly know where to begin,” Tierney said, more independent than Anne and therefore the expected leader. “Let’s ask around.”

Inquiries at the stalls brought no results. Even the red-faced, plump-bodied women who surely understood the need, seemed too busy to give the girls more than a brief hearing, responding with a discouraging shake of the head, and a quick return to their tasks.

“Try the docks,” one said.

Tierney sighed; it was a long walk. “We’ll head that direction,” she said, “and see what might turn up as we go.”

Walking and asking, the distance went by slowly and the time rapidly. Finally, tired and footsore, the girls found an upturned box, rested their feet, and ate the bannock and cheese they had brought with them.

One woman, not much older than they, turned from the cart she was pushing along the street, to offer them a drink. Unscrewing the glass jar, she listened patiently as Tierney explained their purpose.

“Losh now,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow, “if ’twas me, I’d go see that woman around the corner . . . over there. But I have a hooseful of bairns,” and sighing, “so I’m fer Aberdeen and the streets all me days, it seems.”

“What woman is that?” Anne asked, as she and Tierney studied the corner and could see nothing out of the ordinary.

“There’s a sign hangin’ there, around the corner; it’ll tell ye all aboot it.”

Their benefactress, having said her bit, screwed the cap on the jar, tucked it back among the apples on her cart and, without another word, went her way.

“I suppose we might as well look into it,” Tierney said, weary of walking, hot and dusty and discouraged, but determined to make the most of their day in the city, the only place there was any hope at all of a change for them.

The sign was easy to spot. Fastened to the front of a shop that offered books and other reading material, it was set over a table on which rested a stack of pamphlets. At its side, disregarding the straight-backed chair available at the side of the table, stood a tall, abundantly endowed woman. Her hair was piled tidily atop her head and supported a serviceable hat. Her dress was neat, her shoes sturdy. Her voice was resolute; no one, surely not the seedy collection of females before her now, would doubt her authority.

BRITISH WOMEN’S EMIGRATION SOCIETY, the sign read. Beneath it was tacked a large poster. It was like nothing the girls had ever seen. The first line caught their attention, and the further they read, the more intrigued they were.

Four or five women, having read the catchy advertisement and obviously interested, had sidled up to the woman in charge of this display, and a conversation was in progress. Tierney and Anne edged near. When pamphlets were offered, their hands went out for them. It seemed to be promotional material explaining all about employment possibilities for women in—of all places—Canada.

“Domestic Servants Wanted,” the pamphlet announced, and went on to urge the migration of young women of marriageable age. Canada’s federal government, it seemed, was actually recruiting young females.

The woman, who introduced herself as Ishbel Mountjoy, was saying in beguiling but businesslike tones, “Canada promises greater economic mobility, by far, than you may expect in your homeland. The opportunities are boundless—you see what the poster says. If you are not interested in becoming a wife, take the opportunity to get moved to a new and vital part of our world, where your skills are needed and wanted. And
will be paid for!
You may,” she went on in thrilling tones, “by your choice, elect to have a domestic role in the settling of the far West! Think of it!” More mildly now, but with the power of the government behind her, she continued, “The Canadian government considers women the ‘gentle tamers’ who help to equalize the ratio of women to men on the frontier.”

What a complimentary phrase: gentle tamers. It spoke of the power and strength of a woman, yet the tenderness that accompanied all that she undertook. The two words and the pride they conjured up, it was plain to see, made an impact on the hearers. But it seemed clear, in all she said and did, Mrs. Mountjoy was absolutely serious, a paragon to be trusted, an advisor to be heard.

Not said, but intimated, was the idea that marriage was more than a possibility. But when Tierney boldly asked if that’s what she meant, Mrs. Mountjoy assured her, “No, indeed! Though for those who wish it there is every possibility of it happening. That’s the excellent part of it—a woman is free to make up her own mind. She may work and support herself, helping build the great Canadian North West at the same time, or she may marry, if she so wishes, having her choice of many sturdy, hardworking but lonely bachelors, and becoming mother to the next generation of Canadians.”

Tierney heard only the part “a woman is free to make up her own mind.”

Ishbel Mountjoy was continuing. “At this time, Europe and Britain—including your corner of the world, as you very well know—offer little in the way of economic security, social position, or educational opportunity to the single woman. You will certainly wish,” she said almost sternly, “to choose immigration as a domestic servant over poverty, social ostracism, and unemployment, which are your options in your own homeland. You will certainly wish to choose immigration over subjection to male domination, which is so taken for granted. And you will opt for independence over being ground down as a woman.”