Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 4

A/N: Here's the next installment; I think it's what you've been waiting for, but not quite what you will expect, lol! Enjoy, and as always, follow, vote, and comment to let me know how I'm doing. Oh, and the music choice goes back aways, but I think it fits fairly well.

She had never realized how bone-wrenchingly weary a cross-country train journey would make her feel when she’d decided on this adventure. But now, after six days on the rails swaying and bouncing, lurching and stumbling for the entire time, Fiona O’Toole wondered if what waited for her at the end of this expedition was worth all the suffering. Or rather, who.

Was any man worth transplanting yourself, severing all ties to what and who you knew, just on the merest hope of companionship and stability? And, in Fiona’s case, money and freedom? She had thought so, until this very morning, when the thin cloth she used to wipe the travel soil off her face and neck came away gray and gritty, and the reflection in the wavy mirror above her tiny wash basin showed a pale, wan face with flat, green eyes and limp hair. Fiona O’Toole was not a good traveler.

She’d known she hated sailing ships; seasickness had plagued Fiona the entire journey from Ireland to America, starting as soon as their ship had left Bantry Bay and not relinquishing its hold on her till she’d set foot in Boston proper. It already dismayed her to know she would have to finish this particular trip shipboard, from San Francisco to St. Helens, Oregon.

 Yes, she’d chosen Edward Townsend. After much reflection, Fiona had decided that becoming an instant wife and mother was not what she really wanted at twenty-three years of age, even if the silversmith lived in a much bigger city than Mr. Townsend. Besides, there had been something about the Oregon man, some special spark between them that went beyond humor and flirtation. A glimmer of attraction that Fiona, no matter how naïve, couldn’t ignore.

But she hadn’t realized that travelling by rail would be nearly as stomach-roiling as voyaging by sea. That thought had never entered into her decision. By the time she reached her intended Fiona wagered she’d be a bag of bones held together by sallow skin and flaccid muscles topped with straw for hair, but how did one maintain an appetite and exercise while traveling, anyway? She couldn’t even walk from one car to another without slamming into doorways or unforgiving seatbacks. Her body felt like one giant bruise. Tears of exhaustion, pain, frustration and hunger remained Fiona’s constant companion.

This morning, like every other morning on this God-forsaken trek, Fiona once more attempted a cup of hot tea and toast in the dining car designated for traveling “foreigners.” While the elite and well-to-do languished in plushly appointed dining and sleeping cars designed specifically for their comfort, the middle and lower classes stoically endured their plight in bare-bones cars seemingly created exclusively with the most discomfort in mind.

So, after staggering through the rattling and crowded sleeping car she’d been calling home for the last few days, Fiona pushed her way past other grumbling, early morning, immigrants such as herself seeking breakfast outside of their own meager quarters.

The dining car, loosely named that because its only resemblance to one remained the sounds and smells of food emanating from it, seemed to contain most of the traveling immigrants at this early hour of the morning. Long, fastened down tables covered in red-checked oilcloths and their bench counterparts groaned under the weight of all the travellers, and desultory conversations in different languages filled the car with the semblance of camaraderie. But no one made the mistake of thinking they were creating lasting friendships on this journey. It was simply human to want to converse and swap stories, but once people reached their destinations, all ties with the trip would be forgotten promptly.

After grabbing a hot pot of tea and a cup and saucer, as well as a large hunk of bread slathered with butter, Fiona pushed her way past other waiting patrons, making eye contact with no one until she plopped in a small space on a bench across from a middle-aged woman. A family of five took up the rest of the table, the three children pushing and shoving each other like ornery puppies until the harried mother reached out and cuffed them, barking a reprimand in a Greek tongue. Silence ensued momentarily, enough that the older woman across from Fiona introduced herself.