A Home at Trail's End

by Melody A. Carlson

  “Oh, I’m sure Aunt Lavinia will have stocked her candy case by now,” Amelia told her. “I can’t wait.”

  “I just hope she’s got some of the household items I’ll be needing to set up housekeeping,” Elizabeth said. “I’ve got quite a list.”

  “Lavinia told me they’ll be taking orders for merchandise,” Malinda said. “Although I’m not sure how long it will take for shipments to arrive.”

  “Eli predicts that the Coquille River will be used to transport shipped goods from the coast someday.” Just bringing Eli’s name into the conversation filled Elizabeth with a girlish sort of giddiness.

  “John used to say the same thing,” Malinda told her.

  “Imagine how much time that would save,” Elizabeth said wistfully.

  They were just coming up to the church, and it was fun to see others milling about what Elizabeth hoped would someday be considered a real town. She estimated at least two dozen people gathered between the church and the mercantile. Certainly, it was not much by other standards, but it gave one hope.

  After depositing their food baskets at the church and visiting with some of the women there, they ventured over to the new shopping establishment, pausing to socialize along the way. A freshly painted sign was prominently displayed up high on the false front.

  PRESCOTTS’ MERCANTILE

  EST. 1857

  “This is a red-letter day,” Malinda said with enthusiasm as they went into the mercantile. “Our very own store.”

  The place was bustling and smelled of coffee and onions as well as many other pleasant scents. People were chattering happily, and Elizabeth estimated at least a dozen adult customers were perusing the interior of the store. Several children, including her own, were gathered around the candy counter and dry goods, eagerly exploring everything. She had warned JT and Ruth to look but not to touch, and as far as she could see, they were heeding her instructions. However, JT looked as if his fingers were itching to pick up a music book that was in the book section.

  “Hello, son,” she said quietly from behind him.

  “Ma.” He turned eagerly, pointing out the book to her. “That book has fifty songs in it.”

  She nodded. “I see that.”

  “It’s got musical notes for piano, but Mrs. Taylor has been teaching us to read music at school. I think I could learn the songs on my guitar.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder. “Did you bring enough money for it?”

  He nodded, looking up at her with earnest eyes. “But do you think it would be wasteful? I know we need things for our home.”

  She smiled. “Don’t you think music would be good for our home?”

  He grinned back at her.

  “I trust your judgment, son.” She patted him on the back and then went to see what Ruth was admiring.

  “Look, Mama,” Ruth said when Elizabeth joined her. “There’s some really pretty pink calico there.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, Ruth. But we brought a fair amount of fabric from home, remember?”

  “But none as pretty as that,” Ruth told her.

  “Perhaps not. But until we use up our fabric, I don’t see the need to purchase more.” She tweaked Ruth’s braid. “Although I’m sure it would look very pretty on you. Maybe you can find a pink hair ribbon instead.”

  Ruth gave her a surprised look. “I didn’t mean for me, Mama. I meant for you. Wouldn’t it make a pretty wedding dress for when you and Eli get married?”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, my. Well…I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, it would, Mama. I know it would.”

  Elizabeth looked down into Ruth’s sparkling blue eyes. “That’s very sweet of you to think so, dear. But I don’t plan on sewing myself a new wedding dress. I would much rather spend my time sewing curtains and such.”

  Ruth looked truly dismayed.

  “But if there is time to sew a dress, I think perhaps I’ll just use that green calico I brought from home.”

  “Oh, no, Mama.” Ruth looked appalled. “Not green.”

  “Why ever not? Green is a nice, sensible color. One of nature’s favorite shades.”

  Ruth firmly shook her head. “Haven’t you heard the wedding-dress poem?”

  “What?” Elizabeth shook her head.

  “It goes like this.” Ruth stood straight as if she were reciting in school.

  White—chosen right.

  Blue—love will be true.

  Yellow—ashamed of her fellow.

  Red—wish herself dead.

  Black—wish herself back.

  Gray—travel far away.

  Pink—of you he’ll always think.

  Green—ashamed to be seen.

  Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh. “Well then. I certainly won’t wear green!”

  “Or yellow or red or black.” Ruth got a thoughtful look. “And not gray…I don’t want you to go far away, Mama.”

  “So what does that leave me with?” Elizabeth asked.

  Ruth held up three fingers. “White, blue, or pink.”

  Elizabeth thought. “Well, I wore white when I married your father, but I was just a young woman then. Perhaps…blue?”

  Ruth’s serious expression broke into a smile. “Yes, Mama, blue.”

  “And I brought some blue calico too,” Elizabeth told her.

  “But it’s dark blue,” Ruth reminded her. She pointed back at the shelf holding the bolts of fabric. “How about that one on the end? It’s the same color as your eyes.”

  “What about the blue fabric we already have?” Elizabeth asked.

  “It would make pretty curtains and things,” Ruth said hopefully. Elizabeth was about to put an end to this discussion and remind Ruth of the practicalities of living on the frontier when Clara came over to join them. Before Elizabeth could set her daughter straight, Ruth was emphatically explaining her plans for Elizabeth to have a beautiful blue wedding dress. “The same color as her eyes. And when a bride wears blue it means her love will be true.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Oh, Ruth, my love will be true no matter—”

  “You’re right,” Clara said to Ruth. “Your mother does need a pretty blue dress for her wedding day.”

  “But we haven’t even set a wedding day,” Elizabeth reminded her. “For all I know it might not be until next year.”

  Clara waved her hand at Elizabeth. “Now, I’m sure you have shopping to attend to. Ruth and I will take care of this little matter ourselves.”

  Elizabeth just shook her head, and chuckling at how her mother and daughter had just joined forces against her, she went off to see what she could find on her list.

  The men, wanting to make good use of the first part of the day, arrived later in the afternoon—just in time for the potluck picnic. Asa and Matthew came in the wagon, and Elizabeth almost asked why Brady hadn’t come. But then she stopped herself. Of course, she knew. As a colored man, Brady had not been accepted into the community. And although this wasn’t surprising to Elizabeth, she still felt badly for Brady’s sake. His life, it seemed, would continue to be an isolated one. Sometimes she wondered if he missed the old days, when James had kept numerous slaves to help with the farm. But even thinking of this felt foreign to her now. And wrong.

  “I figured you womenfolk would need a wagon to haul all your wares back,” Asa teased as they were sitting out in the churchyard to eat.

  “I still want to go back for a couple of things,” Clara told him.

  “So do I,” Elizabeth said. “I got to thinking they might run out of sugar before the next shipment arrives.”

  “Maybe we should have brought two wagons,” Asa teased.

  Clara gave him a dismissive wave as they walked away.

  “Next year will be different,” Elizabeth said to Clara as they returned to the mercantile. “Besides eggs and dairy products, we’ll have grown our own produce for trading.”

  “And perhaps we’ll have a couple foals by then as well.”

  “You think so?
” Elizabeth wasn’t so sure. Matthew’s stallion and their only hope of a sire had foundered on the rich grass shortly after they arrived. “Isn’t Storm still having trouble with his feet?”

  “He’s much improved, but his back feet are still very tender,” Clara told her. “However, Asa mentioned that the Thompsons have a very nice stallion that he’s considering.”

  “Really?”

  “He’s already making arrangements with Mr. Thompson to take Penny over for a visit. I’m sure he could take Molly too.”

  “Has he seen their stallion yet?” Elizabeth trusted her father’s sensibility about horses, but she was surprised he’d agree to a sire he’d never seen.

  “No. But Mr. Thompson claims he’s a handsome horse.”

  “Well, as much as I’d love a foal by next year, I’d prefer to hear Father’s assessment of the Thompsons’ stallion after he’s seen it.”

  “That’s wise.” She chuckled. “Asa might very well get Penny over there and decide to bring her right back home.”

  “I expect that Storm should be recovered before long.”

  “And we do know his bloodlines,” Clara agreed.

  “It would be so wonderful to have foals by next year.” Elizabeth was well aware of the value of a good horse in these parts. Selling a yearling could be more profitable than a bumper crop.

  They were nearly to the mercantile when Flo came over to speak to them, proudly pointing out where Bert had started to build what would one day be their home and blacksmith shop. “It don’t look like much yet, but Bert says it will have a roof by Thanksgiving. And he’ll put a tall front on it like the mercantile.” She smiled. “Should be right handsome.”

  “Our town is coming together, isn’t it?” Elizabeth said. “The mercantile and the blacksmith…the school and church. We’re off to a fine start.”

  Flo frowned. “Speaking of the church…” She lowered her voice. “Bert flat-out refuses to go no more. Now Ezra won’t go neither.”

  “Oh?” Elizabeth exchanged glances with her mother.

  “Why is that?” Clara asked quietly.

  “Bert says he doesn’t need to give up Sunday mornings just to be yelled at by Reverend Holmes.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together. She was not overly fond of the reverend’s fiery sermons either. At first she’d kept her opinion to herself, but eventually she mentioned it to her parents. Asa had reminded her that sometimes preachers went through a season of fire and brimstone, but perhaps it would pass in time. As a result, they’d all decided to wait and see.

  “I must agree that the reverend’s words can be strong,” Clara admitted.

  “I defended him at first,” Flo told her. “But I’m of a mind to agree with Ezra now. And I hear tell that some other menfolk are quitting the church too.”

  “Oh, dear.” Clara shook her head. “That’s a shame.”

  “The only reason I’m burdening you folks with this is that Bert keeps talking about how much he misses Asa’s Sunday services back when we were journeying here.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, I miss them too.”

  Flo looked eagerly at her. “Bert says if Asa was the preacher, he’d gladly come to church.”

  Clara frowned. “Well, Reverend Holmes is the appointed preacher. Asa can’t possibly replace him.”

  “I know.” Flo sighed and then looked over her shoulder as if worried someone was listening. “But we thought maybe Asa could hold church services somewhere else.”

  “You mean have two churches in our little town?” Clara looked troubled.

  “It don’t have to be in town. Maybe in somebody’s home…or a barn. I recall that party out in Malinda’s barn. It could surely house a church meeting, don’t you think?”

  “Well, that would be up to Malinda,” Elizabeth said.

  “And Asa,” Clara added.

  “Well, I’d be much obliged if you folks would give it your consideration.”

  So before returning to the mercantile, they promised to speak to Asa about the situation. Elizabeth felt sorry for Flo’s dilemma, but she wasn’t certain that Asa starting a church was the answer. If anything it seemed it would divide the community. She remembered a similar situation on the wagon train. But that had been different—or at least it had seemed so back then. While traveling, they had been a temporary community with numerous Sunday worship services throughout their wagon train. As a result, it hadn’t seemed a problem to have more than one group of worshippers in their unit. However, when Mrs. Taylor’s husband died so tragically on the trail, Elizabeth regretted not having spent more time getting to know him…or to understand him.

  On the ride back to Malinda’s, Elizabeth sat in the front of the wagon with her parents. Together they discussed the situation. “I’m well aware that Bert Flanders isn’t the only one who’s unhappy with the church,” Asa quietly told them. “To be honest, I’m not overly fond of anger from the pulpit.”

  “Why do some preachers feel such a need to shout and carry on like that?” Elizabeth asked him.

  He shrugged. “Hard to say. But when I prepare to give a sermon, I usually feel like I’m preaching more at myself than anyone else.” He chuckled. “I s’pect if I was in need of chastising I would stand up and yell from the pulpit too.”

  Clara patted his hand. “I’m most grateful you’re not like that.”

  “So what will you do, Father?”

  He adjusted the brim of his hat to block the late-afternoon sunshine. “I reckon I’ll pray about it. And I’m sure the good Lord will show us the best way to go. Never hurts to wait on him.”

  Elizabeth promised that she would pray about it too. And what he’d said made perfect sense. God would continue to direct their paths just as he always did. And rushing forward without God’s blessing would only lead to trouble.

  Chapter Seven

  Autumn had always been a busy time in Kentucky, and it seemed busier than ever here in Oregon. Elizabeth knew that was to be expected. One couldn’t settle the new frontier by sitting about. But sometimes she found herself longing for the quiet of winter. She remembered the peaceful days when there’d been snow on the ground, and other than the usual daily chores, life slowed down immensely. Would it ever slow down here or become quiet again?

  Of course, Malinda’s house had become even noisier since Will’s daughters joined their household on Saturday. The four girls, soon to become stepsisters, shared the sleeping loft upstairs, and JT and his male cousins were sleeping in the barn loft. However, most of the time—when the children weren’t in school or doing chores—they chose to reside in the house. It was cozy and busy and loud, but Elizabeth was grateful, especially since the weather had turned wet and windy the past few days. Just the same, she was trying not to count the days until she and her children would need to make other living arrangements. The idea of camping in the wind and rain was not appealing.

  “Why don’t you go out to check on your property?” Malinda suggested. “You haven’t been out there for at least a week now.”

  “Ten days,” Elizabeth clarified.

  “Well then, it seems you’re overdue for a visit.” Malinda peered out the window. “And you’re in luck because our little autumnal storm seems to have blown over today.”

  “I am curious to see how Eli’s progressing,” Elizabeth admitted. “The last time I was there, he and Brady were cutting some logs, and it did give me hope. And Father said that Matthew was going over to help this week. It’s possible they’ve made real progress by now.”

  “Go on with you,” Malinda urged. “Take your men some lunch.”

  Elizabeth tried not to feel apprehensive as she packed a basket with food. The last time she’d packed a lunch and trekked out to check on his progress, Eli had been missing. However, he’d had good reason to take off, and if she had been more observant, she would have discovered his note. She decided to ride Molly instead of walking. And she would take Flax with her as well. Eli had mentioned that a bear had been sniff
ing around their property. Maybe with Flax around, the bear would find a more suitable place to live.

  She planned to stop by to see her parents as well. She knew they were close to being done with their cabin—at least done enough to start moving inside before long. On Sunday after church, her mother had spoken of little else. And who could blame her? Elizabeth was still sometimes amazed that her parents, especially her mother, had made the incredible trek to this part of the country. Just thinking about it made her feel proud of them…and thankful.

  Most of the trees that had recently been bursting with colorful autumn foliage were now showing a fair amount of bare limbs. The recent rain and wind had stripped off many of the leaves. The ground was still a bit soggy from the rain, but the air smelled fresh and clean. Elizabeth pulled the collar of her old barn coat up around her neck to keep the breeze out. Certainly it wasn’t very cold, but there was a damp chill in the air.

  As the edge of her property came into sight, she felt a thrill of excitement. Flax ran ahead, barking as if he understood this was going to be his home again. She could hardly believe that someday she and Eli and the children would all be living here. There would be a cabin, which could grow larger over the years. And maybe even a barn by next summer. But nothing prepared her for what she saw as she came around the grove of trees—the walls of her house were fully up, logs on the lower part and milled lumber higher up. It was definitely a house, standing tall and straight as if it had every right to be there. And certainly, it did.

  She hurried to dismount from Molly, rushing up to where Eli and her father and Matthew and Brady were using ropes to hoist up the first of the rafters. “This is amazing!” she exclaimed. “It looks like a real house.”

  “It is a real house,” Matthew called out. “But you better stay out of the way, sis.”

  “That’s right,” Eli warned from where he was pulling the rope hand over fist to get the log up into place. “It’s dangerous in here.”

  She stepped back and made sure Flax stayed out of the way too, just watching as the four men worked together so smoothly. They clearly knew what they were doing. And why wouldn’t they after the building experience they’d gained the past couple of months? As she examined their progress, she realized the house wasn’t set on her stone foundation the way she’d imagined it would be. She wanted to ask why but didn’t want to distract the men. They seemed very intent on getting the big rafter into place. And it did look dangerous.