A Bride for Donnigan Read Online Free PDF

troubled thoughts.
    Morning came all too soon, and Kathleen was reluctant to climb from the warm bed and stoke up the fire in order to make the breakfast porridge.
    She was busy in the kitchen when the door opened and Madam herself appeared. She was enveloped in a warm, new-looking robe, her cheeks void of their usual rouge and her hair wrapped in bits of rag curlers.
    “I know you must be wondering about your circumstance,” the older woman began without preamble. “You have two choices. I don’t wish to dictate your fate. After all, you are not my child.” Nor my responsibility hung unspoken but unmistakable in the air between them. She hesitated ever so slightly.
    “If you wish to come with us to the countryside,” she continued, “I’m sure we will be able to find some position for you as household staff. You are quite useful in the kitchen. Mr. Withers would be willing, I am quite sure, to accommodate a—a family serving girl.”
    The words stung Kathleen but she held her tongue.
    “Or—if you wish to remain in London—you have your job. No doubt the baker will allow you to continue to work for him.”
    Kathleen still said nothing—just stirred the porridge round and round with the heavy wooden ladle.
    The woman muffled a yawn. “There,” she said, as if she had discharged all obligations. “It will be up to you.” Then she turned and started from the room.
    “I feel particularly weary this morning,” she said as she left. “I won’t be up for breakfast. Have Charles bring my tea and porridge to my room.”
    Kathleen continued to stir—looking deep into the porridge pot as though searching for an answer to her problem.

    Her feet slowed as she walked by the posting, but she did not intend to stop. She knew the words by heart anyway. “Ladies! The opportunity of a lifetime.”
    Her eyes glanced at the words as she moved to pass by. Then she hesitated. Had it indicated anything about when one must decide? She stopped just long enough to glance over the words one more time to try to catch a date. She saw none.
    Just as she moved away, a man stepped suddenly into her pathway. With a startled exclamation, Kathleen stopped.
    “Are you joining our adventure?” he asked her in an accent Kathleen could not identify.
    “Sure now, and what adventure are you speaking of?” Kathleen responded hesitantly, her voice lilting with her Irish tongue.
    “Why, going to America, Miss—just like the sign says. Wonderful opportunity. Wonderful. And only a couple passage tickets left. If you want one you—”
    “No,” said Kathleen, shaking her head nervously. “No, I’ll not be wanting one.”
    The man stepped forward and reached out a hand to tip her face toward the light from the lamppost. Kathleen felt a moment of panic.
    “It’s a shame,” he said candidly. “A face as pretty as yours would be welcomed in America.”
    Kathleen angrily twisted away from his hand. He seemed to sense her annoyance.
    “Pardon, Miss,” he said, but his words and his tone contradicted each other. “I didn’t mean to offend—just wished to see your face more closely.”
    Kathleen stepped back, her Irish temper quickly cooling.
    “I thought you might be interested,” the man went on as though to excuse himself. “That’s all.”
    “And if I am?” The words had left Kathleen’s mouth before she even knew she would say them.
    “If you are—then come into my office and we’ll talk about it.”
    “I’m lame!” Kathleen spat out, her anger flaring again. “I’m lame. No man—even in the Americas—would wish a lame bride, and that’s the truth now.”
    But the man seemed not to notice her angry words. Instead, he studied her flushed face and sparkling eyes, and a smile crossed his features.
    “Why don’t you come in for a minute and we’ll—”
    “I’m a cripple!” she shouted at him again, and moved to pass the man. “See for yourself, sir,” she flung back over her shoulder. And she began to clump