Ghost flopped his hat onto his head. “I understand, sir.”
“Understand this. I don’t need a wife to bear children like the farmers and ranchers do. I need a woman who can help save and grow my empire. So under no circumstances are you to bring the McKinnie woman here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ghost slipped away without another word, leaving Ed to face his worst nightmare. Poverty. He’d vowed when he’d left New York as a boy that he’d never suffer the fate of his parents and most of his siblings. He would never have children born into starvation and ridicule, and no matter what, he’d be rich so he’d never have to worry again.
But now he was worried.
Warnings of detention,discomforts, and disaster given by North American Steamship Company didn’t begin to describe Cora McKinnie’s journey from New York to San Francisco. And she’d been one of the lucky ones.
She clutched the letters from her sisters to her chest, allowing herself one last trip back to her former life before the war. With her eyes closed, she pictured her childhood plantation home on the top of the hill above the fields, the babbling, crystal-clear creek along the side of their beautiful plantation home, and the barn off to the side filled with horses and other animals.
Chirps from birds above the canopy of oak trees lining the front path to her home, beyond the sound of the ship’s engine’s roar, sang in her ears. She walked through the fields with a slight breeze whispering over her cheeks, her fingertips tickled by the cotton instead of the stomach-churning rock of the ship. The aroma of fresh magnolias in bloom outside the wraparound front porch saturated the odor of sweat and sickness.
Conversations in the hall drifted into her tiny cabin, breaking her concentration, so she released her hold on the old letters and the joys that came with them. No more time for wishing for a life long gone. According to their own words, her sisters were all safe and secure, so it was time for Cora to accept her own proposal.
The ship’s horn blared, startling her into movement. No matter how many times she told herself she’d made the right decision coming all this way to marry a man, she still doubted her choice.
She set the letters on her pillow and donned her bonnet. It had been a long journey by ship and train and mule and ship again, but she’d been one of the lucky few to make it. She despised idleness and found the lack of purpose more overwhelming than the conditions. Of course, she’d been blessed by traveling in her own cabin compared to the poor people below in steerage, the only place she could have afforded if it wasn’t for her betrothed buying the ticket.
A man she knew little about beyond his description: light hair, above-average height, and wanting a family.
Family.
The one reason she’d selected this specific proposal. This man promised what she’d wanted most since she’d lost her childhood home to Sherman’s fires and her family to hatred, poverty, and marriage—a baby. A start of a new family she’d have for the rest of her days. That would be the right medicine for her lost soul and would fill the emptiness in her heart. She’d missed tending chores and working to run a smooth household with her mother and servants before the war. It had made sense. It’s what she’d known in her youth. Now she had a chance to embrace that life again beyond the heartache of loss.
Being the second to eldest of ten meant her status as a spinster wasn’t lost on her. She had years left to bear children, though. A fact she’d written to her betrothed, William O’Conner. A fine Irish name. She longed to share her roots and find out more about his family. Starting a life together with a connection of a similar Irish heritage had to mean their union would prosper.
The noise in the hallway bubbled with enthusiasm, so she placed her letters carefully into her worn carpet bag on top of the other correspondence. The one she didn’t wish to keep but had promised to deliver.
The letter addressed to Ed Neal, the business partner of her betrothed. Her nerves swished and shifted more than the ship in the bay. How would the man take the news that his betrothed broke their engagement to return home?
Mary Folsom had boarded the ship with a smile, her wealthy parents waving her off with the promise of a great connection with a prominent man in the west. Her smile had faded no more than two hours after leaving port. By day two, she awoke with puffy eyes and confessed to Cora she’d cried herself to sleep. The poor girl had reminded her of her youngest sister Hannah’s innocence, so Cora had taken her into her care, but no matter how much time she spent with Mary, looking over her fashion magazines and her newspapers from home, the girl had continued to decline. She hadn’t possessed the strength needed to make the trip, but she mustered on until she saw a child die in her mother’s arms. Mary abandoned ship before they even made it to the Isthmus of Panama, where the real sickness started.
Cora sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes with hope that the news she brought to San Francisco wouldn’t unsettle her betrothed too much. She didn’t want him to be upset upon their first meeting. For the briefest of moments, she thought about disposing of the letter, but she’d made a promise to Mary that she would deliver it to Mr. Neal, so Cora would see her duty through to the end.
The horn blasted again and the ship slowed, so she slid her gloves on, perched her carpet bag into the crook of her elbow, and abandoned the white, sterile, safe room, ready to find a new purpose in her life.
Crowds flooded into the halls, spilling out onto the upper deck to watch, but there was nothing to see but thick fog. Cora held tight to her bag, not because of her few items of clothing that she’d salvaged from home, but because her only connection to her sisters was in the form of words on a page. And she needed all their strength as the pier came into view and the fog rolled around the bow of the ship as if parting the way to her new life. A life with a means to start a family and have a reason to wake in the mornings. After caring for her sisters, she’d been lost when they’d all departed for their new lives.
Her heart pattered against her chest with excitement. Her breath came in damp, cold puffs. People shouted and cheered. Sailors hollered commands. The rush of it all dizzied her, and she longed to step foot on solid ground again. The letters she’d received from her sister, Francine, spoke of worse conditions on her trip to Seattle than Cora had faced, but exhaustion still took hold of her every muscle and emotion.
Buckboards littered the pier, waiting for merchandise shipped from the east. Beyond the row of madness and fog, Cora spotted the finest carriages she’d ever seen, obviously waiting for the upper-class passengers.
The ship jolted, sending everyone against each other. Women squealed, gentlemen grumbled, and Cora clung to a barrel and waited until the ship settled in its final resting spot. She scanned the carriages, trying to spot her betrothed, but the distance was too great. Worry crept in that he might not be here. What would she do?
She swallowed her worry and remembered all she’d been through. Despite her lack of funds, there was opportunity in San Francisco. Although she couldn’t see the entire town, she could make out the outline of the buildings and hear the chaos of a growing industrial city. A stark contrast from her hometown in Marietta, Georgia, which had decayed since the war.
Once the ship announced debarkation, the crowd squished into a single line and flowed like a wave down to solid ground before dispersing into the madness. Cora turned and twirled and took in the entirety of the world around her. She maneuvered through the unloading and spotted a large building with a sign affixed to the second floor that read “Wool Exchange.” Perhaps that was one of the businesses Mr. O’Conner owned.
At the edge of the carriages, a man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark expression approached. “Are you Miss McKinnie from Georgia? I assume you are, based on your description.” The man stood above-average height, accentuated with his tall hat, and labor-sized shoulders for a well-dressed gentleman.
“I am, sir. Are you here to collect me?” Cora knew this couldn’t be her betrothed. Not based on the description.
“Yes, and no.” The man glanced over her head and searched the approaching crowd. “I’m afraid that your betrothed is no longer with us.”
Cora gasped, covering her mouth with her gloved hand. “He’s dead?” She’d heard of such horrors, tales of arrival to no man waiting. The same fate had befallen her own sister Abigail when she’d arrived to marry their cousin. That had all worked out for the best, though.
