“Well, now, what have you got there?” his father boomed.
“The hurt man’s little boy.” James looked down at Sam and realized he was shaking. James put a hand on his shoulder. “Sam, this is my pa.”
“Howdy, young feller.” Pa clomped across the floor and bent over, sticking out one of his huge hands. Sam crowded against James’s leg and looked up at him with terror in his eyes.
“It’s all right,” James said, crouching beside Sam. “My pa’s a big man, and his name is Wolf, but he doesn’t bite. Once you get to know him, you’ll like him.”
Sam put out a trembling little hand, and Pa shook it solemnly and released it.
“Glad to meet you,” Pa said. “And I’m sorry about your pappy.”
The door opened behind them.
“Take him out back and clean him up,” Pa said. “Then I’ll need you in here.”
James hustled Sam through the door behind the counter, leading through the storage room and into the family’s living quarters. He set a basin of water on the seat of a chair so Sam could reach it.
“Here’s soap. Go ahead and wash your hands. I’ll get a cloth for your face.”
A few minutes later, he took a pink-faced Sam back through the storeroom toward the front part of the trading post. As they walked, Sam’s eyes grew wide. Even though this was the end of the season and the stock of goods was getting low, the array of merchandise must seem vast to the boy. Crates and barrels lined the walls on each side, and harnesses, tools, lanterns, and kettles hung from the rafters.
“We keep everything back here. When people tell us what they want out front, we come and get it for them,” James told Sam. “Would you like to help me fetch stuff for them?”
Sam nodded, eyeing a pair of snowshoes hanging on the wall.
James led him into the trading room. People from the wagon train crowded the open space before the counter. When he came to the Nebraska Territory to open his business, Wolf Lassen had learned that it was best to keep the merchandise where the customers couldn’t handle it. Some of the settlers passing through were so worn down and desperate that they weren’t above pilfering, and the Indians—well, James knew his pa liked to trade with the tribes, because it meant they were friendly to the trader and his family, and they’d see no trouble for the most part. Pa got along fine with them. Even so, one of the first things James had learned in the business was to lock everything up at night and not turn your back when you had merchandise laid out on the counter.
“What do you need me to do, Pa?”
His father was opening a crate of tinned beans with a crowbar, and he looked up at James. “About time. Bring out a ten-pound sack of sugar and a set of tug lines.”
For the next twenty minutes, James and Sam were kept busy, fetching items from out back and taking them to Pa, who amassed each customer’s pile of goods and figured how much was owed.
Every time they went into the storeroom, James let Sam get the items low enough for him to reach and light enough for him to carry. James collected the hanging things and heavy items. The boy seemed happy to be helping, but after a while, his steps began to flag.
“Tired, Sam?” James asked.
Sam shook his head, clutching a cone of twine and a can of cinnamon to his chest. James smiled and hefted a sack of cornmeal. “Come on, pard. I know a place you can rest your legs a bit.”
Behind the counter, they kept a tall stool so that Ma could sit down when she totaled up the bills. After depositing his load, James pulled it forward and lifted Sam, sitting him squarely on top, close behind the counter.
“Now I’ll get you that peppermint stick we talked about.”
James brought it from the crock out back and placed it in Sam’s hand. The boy’s eyes widened.
“Thank you, Mr. Lassen.”
“Call me James. My pa is Mr. Lassen.” James continued to dash back and forth to fill orders. Most of the travelers bought only a few necessities—a strap to replace a broken piece of harness, or a small amount of flour or cornmeal. Prices were high at the trading post, and most of the emigrants had bought as much food as they thought they would need back East. Even so, they always ran out of something.
A middle-aged couple stepped up to the counter.
“What’ll it be?” Pa said in his naturally loud voice.
The woman flinched, but her husband said, “Half a pound of tea and a pot of axle grease.”
“We’re out of tea,” Pa said. “Sorry. End of the season, you know. I have some coffee left.”
Of course, he didn’t mention the tea he had put away for the family’s use over the winter. All of the Lassens understood that their personal supplies were never on sale. When he brought the freight wagons full of goods in the spring, Pa had measured out their own stockpile and stored it in the lean-to behind the kitchen. That way no one would ever mix up their food with the supplies in the storeroom.
The woman’s face fell. “We’ve got coffee. I was hankering for a cup of tea. Oh well.”
“I’ll get you the grease,” James said.
When he emerged from the storeroom with the tin in his hand, his mother was coming through the trading post door. Her apron was bloodstained and her face gray. She beckoned to him. James set the grease pot on the counter and joined her near the door, behind the travelers still waiting for service.
“What is it?”
“Can you get me more gauze?”
James nodded. “He’s bad, isn’t he?”
“Very. I’m afraid he won’t make it, but the girl, Beryl, won’t give up hope. How’s the little boy doing?”
“Fine.” James looked toward the counter. Sam still sat on the stool behind it. “He sure is enjoying that candy.”
“Probably the first he’s had in some time,” Ma said. “The train’s moving out in the morning.”
James frowned. “What about Mr. Jenner?”
Ma shook her head. “He can’t travel. Beryl begged the wagon master, but he says they’re late as it is. If they stay here even a few days, they might not get over the mountains before snow sets in.”
“He’s right.” James shrugged. Every year the trains passed through all summer long and then dwindled to a few last stragglers. Wagons that hadn’t made it this far by now surely risked not making either California or Oregon by the time the passes were filled and crossing was impossible. “Will they stay here? She can’t be over at the encampment all alone.”
“There’s that spot near the pasture where people have camped before,” his mother said, “but it’s going to be hard for her, tending to her pa and having her little brother to mind.”
“Aren’t there any brothers and sisters between them?” James asked.
“No. Beryl’s nineteen and Samuel’s four. Beryl said there were two girls who died of fever when their mother went, and a brother who lived to eight years old died of smallpox some time ago.”
“What a shame,” James said. “I’ll get the gauze. Anything else?”
“She’ll need laudanum.”
James nodded. “Mr. Etherton bought some to replenish his supply for the train.”
“Well, Beryl will need her own. Take the things out to the wagon. I’m going to get her a plate of leftovers from our dinner. Poor child hasn’t had a bite all day.”
When James had retrieved a length of rolled gauze and taken a small bottle of laudanum from the locked cupboard in the back room, he went to the stool where Samuel was still sucking his peppermint stick. Pa was waiting on the last customer.
“Sam, did you have any dinner?” James asked.
Samuel shook his head.
“Well, you wait here with Pa.”
The boy looked up at Pa with wide eyes, but his fear seemed to have dissipated.
“I have to go outside for a minute. When I come back, we’ll get something to eat.” James considered asking Sam to give up the candy stick until after he’d had dinner but changed his mind. With that in hand, Sam seemed content to stay i
n the trading post.
He went out and hurried to the back of the Jenner wagon. The wind blew strong off the prairie, keeping the heat down.
“Ma?” he said.
No answer.
“Ma, I’ve got the things you needed.”
Rustling sounded inside the wagon, and the floorboards creaked.
“Mrs. Lassen went inside.”
He looked up in surprise at the young woman who peered down at him. Somehow, he’d got it into his head that a girl whose name sounded like “barrel” would be plump and round. She was just the opposite—slender, though not to say spindly. And her hair! Even though she probably hadn’t washed it for weeks, the braid hanging over her shoulder and the wings that swept back at her temples shone a rich brown, with a glint of red in them. James sucked in a breath and made himself look away.
“Here. Ma said you need these.”
“Thank you.” She bent to take the bottle and the roll of gauze. “Is my brother all right?”
“Sam? He’s doing fine. If you don’t mind, I’m going to feed him.”
“That would be very kind of you.”
James stole another glance at her face. Her eyes were brown, or golden, or maybe hazel. When she tilted her head, the color seemed to change.
“Uh, you’re welcome.”
From within the wagon came a low moan. Beryl nodded and turned away from the opening, and James stepped back.
He saw lots of ladies from the wagon trains, but they only stayed a few minutes in the trading post, and he usually never saw them again. Was this beauty really going to camp in their dooryard for days on end?
Chapter 2
Beryl watched the wagons roll out of their encampment one by one. Her family’s wagon sat behind her, in front of the trading post. The mules grazed in a pasture with Mr. Lassen’s livestock, and her father lay in a laudanum-induced sleep under the canvas cover.
As she watched the train pull away, Beryl tried to still her heart, but the fearsome future yawned before her. A woman walking beside the last wagon waved. Beryl recognized the faded green calico dress of Mrs. Markham, who had befriended her family over the past two months. Numbly, Beryl lifted a hand in farewell. She would never again see the people in those thirty-six wagons.
Wolf Lassen came from the barn and ambled toward her.
“I’m sorry your friends are leaving you behind, Miss Jenner, but your pa surely couldn’t stand to travel any farther.”
Beryl blinked back the tears that sprang to her eyes. “I hoped they’d stay a day or two, but Mr. Etherton said they can’t.”
“Well, the scout said there’s another train behind you, and they’ll be here soon.” Wolf ran a hand over his luxuriant beard. “I think your pa would be more comfortable if we got him out of that wagon and into a proper bed.”
“Thank you, sir, but I can’t impose on you.”
The big man shrugged. “No imposition. There’s a little cabin beyond the barn, where I lived the first year I came here. The crew I hired stayed in it while they built the post and the barn.”
“You did a good job,” Beryl said.
“It kept me busy between emigrant trains. I’d brought three wagons full of goods that first year. Sold nearly all of it and went back for my family that fall. Clara and James and I came out in the spring, and we’ve been here ever since. They stay winters, and I go to St. Louis for the next season’s goods. Anyway, the cabin’s empty. You might as well use it.”
“I hope Pa will get better and we can go on.” Beryl hated the quiver that crept into her voice.
“I hope so, too, miss.” His sober eyes told her he knew that Pa wasn’t going to get better.
“I … couldn’t move him by myself.”
“James and I will do that. It’ll be better for you—it’s getting chilly at night now, and you’ll have a little stove in there to cook on. Be better for the boy, too.”
Beryl knew the truth of that. Samuel had come to the wagon last night, his eyes full of fear, and asked her where he was to sleep. She had reached for his bedroll.
“Curl up under the wagon, Sam. I’ll have to sit with Pa again tonight.”
“Mrs. Lassen says I can sleep in the trading post if you don’t care.”
Beryl had hesitated, but she let him go in the end. The wagon that held their father smelled of blood and worse things, and she knew it frightened Sam to see Pa’s drawn, white face. She hoped he had slept well—was still sleeping now, carefree and unaware of Pa’s pain.
At dusk two days later, the sounds of a large wagon train reached James as he tended to the stock in their corrals—the creak of wheels and harness, the occasional lowing of oxen, and the shouts of the teamsters. A large cloud of dust drifted over the trail and the encampment spot. They’d had no rain for nearly a week, and the travelers would find only a little dry grass for their livestock.
He walked past the barn to the little cabin where they’d settled Mr. Jenner. At his knock, Beryl opened the door and gave him a tired smile.
“I thought I heard the train coming in.”
“You did,” James said. “I’ll give them an hour to get situated and let the dust settle, and then I’ll go over and ask if they have any medical help.”
“Thank you.”
“How is he?”
Beryl glanced over her shoulder. “He’s failing.”
“I’m sorry. I pray they have someone who can help.”
James walked to the camp without much hope. He recognized the scout, Frank Collier, from his previous visits to the trading post. Every year he accompanied a train to Oregon. He had staked out his paint gelding on the edge of the campground nearest the post and was arranging his bedroll.
“Mr. Collier, good to see you,” James called out.
The scout lifted his head. “Hello, James. Has your pa got anything left in his storehouse?”
“A few things. We’re cleaned out of some though. No sugar or molasses or tea left.”
“Well, I reckon we’re the last train through,” Collier said.
“Do you have a doctor with you? We’ve got a man here who needs one bad.”
“Doc Burgess.” Collier eyed him keenly. “Not your pa, I hope?”
“No, it’s a feller off the last train. Hunting accident. I’m afraid he’s done for, but his daughter is nursing him and hoping.”
Ten minutes later, James carried the doctor’s satchel as they walked past the trading post to the little cabin beyond the barn. Beryl, when she opened the door, looked so desperate, James almost thought she would seize the doctor by the hand and drag him into the room.
Tears glistened in her soft brown eyes. “Thank you so much for coming, Doctor. I’ve prayed a man of your skill would be on that train.”
Burgess, who was a man of about fifty and graying at the temples, cleared his throat. “Where’s the patient?” He gazed about the one dim room of the cabin.
Beryl led him toward the narrow bunk on the east wall.
To James’s surprise, his mother stood up from the bedside chair.
“Welcome, Doctor,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Lassen. I came over to see how Beryl was doing and to offer to take Samuel to the post while you examine his father.”
James saw Sam then, huddled at the foot of the bed, clutching a little wooden animal to his chest and gazing anxiously at the newcomer. He walked over and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Come over to the post with Ma and me, Sam.”
“Did you eat yet?” Ma asked Beryl.
“No,” Beryl said as Sam climbed down from the bunk, “but you mustn’t feel you have to—”
“Nonsense.” Ma reached for Sam’s hand. “We’re neighbors now, if only for a short time. James can bring him back in a half hour, and I’ll send a plate over for you.”
Beryl’s tears spilled over. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”
James forced a smile when he gazed down at Sam. “What’s that critter you’ve got?”
“
J’raff,” Sam said.
“Oh, a giraffe.”
“Pa made it,” Sam whispered.
“Ah. Very nicely made, too.”
The doctor had already moved to the bedside and opened his bag.
“All the folks from the new wagon train will be coming in to trade tomorrow,” James said. “You can help me and my pa.” He steered Sam toward the door as the doctor turned back the bedclothes.
“Mrs. Lassen sent me,” Beryl said with a weary smile.
James and his father were seated at the kitchen table, enjoying their pie and coffee. Perched between them on a stool, Sam also had dessert before him, and half a glass of milk.
“Welcome,” Mr. Lassen boomed. “Roast pork today, and plenty of it. I finally butchered a hog.”
“How is your father?” James asked.
Beryl had come to dread the question. “He’s weaker.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I could only get him to take a few spoonfuls of broth today.” She sighed, not happy with her bleak prospects. “I hoped, after the doctor dressed his wound and left more medicine, that he was doing better, but I fear it’s only a matter of time.”
Dr. Burgess had told her a week ago not to hope, but on days when her father seemed to rally, Beryl couldn’t help thinking the best. In spite of the encouraging signs, her father had had too much damage to his organs, the doctor had said.
Mr. Lassen pushed back his chair. “I’m sorry. Now, young Samuel, are you going to help me load my pack?”
“Yes, sir.” Sam scrambled down from the stool.
“You’re leaving us soon, then?” Beryl asked.
“In the morning.” Mr. Lassen glanced at his son. “I was saying to James I wish I could wait and take you and the boy with me, but I’m usually gone by now. I need to get as far as Independence before a heavy freeze.”
“I understand,” Beryl said. She had refused to make the final decision of whether she would go on to Oregon, as her father had planned, or back East. Nothing waited for her and Sam back there. Their grandparents were dead. One uncle had been killed in the War between the States, and their two surviving aunts had families of their own to worry about and hadn’t stayed in close contact with the Jenners. Returning seemed pointless. But they couldn’t continue westward until the spring, when the trains started coming through again. And what would they do once they arrived in Oregon? She had no home, no relatives, no job awaiting her.
The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West Page 8