Marybeth frowned, surprised at the sudden show of feeling in the woman’s voice. She realized Ella missed Ireland as much as she did. “I wouldn’t know,” she answered quietly. “I only pray they’re right.”
The woman resumed packing. “Well, we’ll find out, won’t we? Now finish your packing. We have a lot of other things to do. Mac and Bill Stone have gone to get the wagons. John will be driving yours.” The woman turned to face her. “John’s a good, strong young man like Dan was. Some day he’ll make a fine replacement for Dan—a fine father for little Danny. I know you’re mourning Dan right now, but when we reach Oregon, you’ll understand how much you need a man, Marybeth; how much Danny needs a father. It’s no good a woman being alone out there. You’ll have all of us until we get there, and it will make things a lot simpler for the whole family if you let John take over for Dan in your life.”
Marybeth felt her heart pounding with dread. “But…I don’t love John enough to marry him.”
Ella looked startled at the remark. “Love?” She let out a little chitter. “Did you love Dan?”
Marybeth reddened. “I…I married him, didn’t I?”
“That is not what I asked you. And I already know the answer.” Ella stepped closer. “You married him to help your mother. I know that. I knew it from the beginning.” That said, she turned away, walking over to look down at Danny. “My marriage to Mac was arranged. I quickly learned love is just a frivolous and unnecessary ingredient to a woman’s life, Marybeth. We can love our children, but it isn’t necessary to love the men who bed us. We do our duty. Even for women who think they love their men before they marry them, it ends up the same way—a woman makes a home for a man, cooks for him, gives him sons. It’s that simple. She does what is expected of a woman, what she was put on this earth to do. And I’ll not have you shame this family by being too long a single woman, or deny my grandson his needs by raising him without a father. We both know the right thing you should do after a matter of time. And in the meantime, you watch yourself on this journey. You’re a beautiful woman, Marybeth.”
She returned to packing, her back to Marybeth. “I was not a bad-looking woman once myself. But beauty fades fast, young lady, and if a man marries you just for your looks, he’s quickly disappointed. So don’t be thinking about things like love. And don’t be giving the eye to any strange men on this journey. You stay close to us and mind yourself. You’re a MacKinder now. Dan may be dead, but that doesn’t change your station with us. You remember that, and you remember who is looking after you, putting food in your mouth.”
Marybeth closed her eyes and turned away, realizing there was no sense expressing any of her personal feelings to the woman. Her miserable loneliness had only grown worse with every passing day, and she was almost in pain from a need to just sit down and cry. But she had to force back the tears. MacKinder women were not supposed to cry. It was a sign of weakness and displeasure. It was forbidden. Marybeth wondered when the last time was that Ella MacKinder had wept. Perhaps it was on her wedding night.
Chapter Two
The rain poured down so hard that Marybeth wondered if God intended to break His promise that He would never again flood the Earth.
“Come on out, Marybeth,” she heard John shout. “We need everybody to push!”
Marybeth pulled her wool, hooded cape around herself, praying little Danny would not get sick from the cold, wet weather. John helped lift her down from the wagon, his big hands more familiar with her body than necessary.
“Every man and woman on this wagon until we get through this muck,” he shouted at her above the thunder.
John and Mac each took a wheel, while Bill Stone tugged at the mules from the front of the wagon and Marybeth and Ella pushed at the back. The men had got Bill Stone’s wagon through the muddy hole of the road by themselves, but now the MacKinder wagon was stuck deep. Marybeth pushed with everything she had, her feet sinking almost to her knees. The wagon gave way and Marybeth fell forward into the muddy mire, holding back an urge to scream. So far the trip had been miserable. The weather had been cold and rainy most of the way, and they were only as far as a place called Ohio, about half way to St. Louis. Already Bill Stone was telling them that this was the easiest part of the journey; the real problems would come after they left Independence.
“At least here we hit a town every few miles,” the man had told them over a campfire the night before. “But you’d better be sure to have plenty of supplies once we leave Independence. Supply stops are few and far between then.”
Marybeth liked him less and less for getting all of them into this, but Mac considered Stone his best friend since coming to America. Bill was an “American.” He had been to the “great west.” He knew where the opportunity lay in this country. He was not prejudiced against the Irish, and he actually seemed to look up to the MacKinder men, which Marybeth knew fed their great egos.
A strong hand grasped Marybeth’s wrist and she felt herself being pulled from the mud. John MacKinder laughed at her.
“Aren’t you a pretty sight now?” he said with the same robust Irish accent as the rest of the MacKinders.
“And I’ll be thanking you not to pull my arm from its socket, John MacKinder,” Marybeth answered with an equal Irish roll to her tongue.
John just laughed, pulling her close as though she belonged to him. “I like when you get angry, Marybeth. You get all pouty. What did my brother do with you when you got like that?”
Marybeth pushed him away. “It’s none of your business.” She trudged off to catch up with the wagon, and John MacKinder watched, wishing there was no such thing as a “proper mourning time.” He didn’t miss his brother at all. In fact, if Marybeth and his parents knew the truth…
He shook off his thoughts. Dan was gone, and that was fine with him. What more logical thing should Marybeth do than turn to John? He reasoned that after a time she would begin to need a man, want a man. When that happened, he would be more than ready.
Marybeth reached the wagons, shivering. Mac and Bill had pulled both wagons under a tall stand of pine trees, which gave only a little shelter from the rain. Marybeth longed for a hot bath; sometimes she even longed for the dreary little apartment back in New York. At least it was warm and dry.
“We’d best get inside the wagon and get into dry clothes,” Ella told her, walking up beside Marybeth. “The men are hungry. All we can eat right now is some of those leftover biscuits from this morning.”
Both women climbed inside Marybeth’s wagon and quickly changed. Marybeth hung her wet muslin dress outside the wagon so it wouldn’t drip all over things inside, but already a few blankets and other belongings were wet and muddy. She longed for warm, dry shoes, but as long as the ones she wore were already soaked, she decided to leave them on and keep her other pair intact. She winced at the squishy feeling inside them. She pulled on a black calico wrapper dress, having trouble with the arms when the material stuck against her damp skin. She wrapped a dry shawl around her shoulders, hanging her wet cape outside the wagon.
The rain continued to pour, and Marybeth checked little Danny, making sure none of his bedding was damp. Ella dug some biscuits out of a leather bag and called to her husband, who left a spot under a huge pine tree where all three men were huddled.
“Eat these biscuits for now,” she told Mac.
The man took one from her and studied it, water dripping from his hat. “After all the work me and John and Bill have done this morning, us sitting out here in the cold rain—and you give us cold biscuits?” His blue eyes lit up in a rage.
Marybeth knew the look well. She had seen it many times in Dan’s eyes, and often in John’s. Murray MacKinder was just as big and dark as his sons, only graying at the temples, his belly beginning to sag. He liked his whiskey; Marybeth didn’t know many Irishmen who didn’t. But whiskey didn’t seem to affect all of them the way it affected Mac and John; the way it had once affected Dan. Mac and John and Bill had been guzzling whiskey a
ll morning “to keep their blood warm” while they trudged through the mud, and the alcohol was catching up with them.
Mac threw two of the biscuits to the ground and squished them into the mud. “You know we need more than this, woman!” he shouted to Ella.
“And how can I be expected to cook you a meal in that rain, and with no fire?” she asked.
Mac’s eyes widened, and he reached up and grasped her hair at one side of her head, making her wince. Marybeth looked away, anger burning in her soul.
“Are you talking back to me, woman?”
“I’m only stating a fact, Mac,” she answered. “I can’t cook without a fire.”
The man let go of her, giving her a little shove as he did so. “I don’t want to hear any complaints about the inconvenience of this journey,” he told her. “You’ll have your fancy do-dads when we get to Oregon and get all that land. You’ll have a place to cook, and maybe then you won’t be talking back. Bill got some dry wood he’s been carrying in his wagon and he’ll get a fire going under that tree over there. When you see it burning good, you come out and cook us a proper meal.” The man moved his eyes to Marybeth. “And you help. If we’re going to feed you all the way to Oregon, you do your share around here.”
“You know I’ve done just that so far,” Marybeth said sharply. “I never meant to be a burden to any of you! And do you consider little Danny a burden also—your own grandchild?”
The man just glared at her, hating the way his daughter-in-law had of not only talking back but making sense. He didn’t like women who knew how to think for themselves. Somehow they seemed a threat to his manhood. Women like Marybeth were nothing but a burden to a man. It seemed that since Dan’s death, she had become more obstinate and independent, and he didn’t like it one whit. “You go help your mother-in-law,” he repeated.
“I’ll help her—but because I want to help her and because she shouldn’t have to go back out in the rain, not because you’ve ordered me to help.”
MacKinder glared at her a moment before trudging back to the other two men. Bill had a fire going and the three men warmed their hands over it.
“Mother going to fix us some supper?” John asked his father.
Mac looked at his son, scowling. “She’ll be along.” He shook his head, looking back at the fire. “It will be a good thing when you marry that daughter-in-law of mine,” he added. “She needs a man to put her in her place.”
John only laughed. “Her big ideas will get her no place where we’re going, Father.”
“Me, I’m glad I have no women hanging around my neck,” Bill Stone put in, lighting a thin cigar. He dipped his head and water ran off the brim of his hat. Stone was a short, pouchy man who always looked as though he needed a shave. He admired the MacKinder men, big, brawny, sure of themselves. Being Murray MacKinder’s friend had made him feel more important back in New York. People were afraid of MacKinder. Now, to have these two big men looking to him to guide them to St. Louis only enhanced Stone’s feeling of importance.
“Ah, my Ella is no problem,” Mac told the man. “She knows her place. She gets a little spicy once in a while, but a good whack knocks it out of her. Marybeth could use a good wallop herself, but she’ll come around, especially when she’s got a man in her bed again. John will take care of that part of it before this trip is over, I don’t doubt.”
John watched Marybeth climb out of the wagon then. Sleeping in Bill Stone’s wagon every night and thinking of Marybeth lying asleep in the other wagon was a source of torment for him. Every day he worked beside her, ate beside her; his hands were caloused from helping drive the team of mules that pulled his father’s wagon, a wagon in which Marybeth often rode with Danny when it was feeding time. During the day they were almost like man and wife. But then would come the nights, the teasing, provocative nights—sleeping in separate wagons.
“Yes, Pa, you can be sure I’ll take care of it,” he answered, slugging down some more whiskey. All three men chuckled, waiting for their meal.
Every mile of the journey Marybeth feared for Danny. The weather remained miserable, as did Marybeth’s spirits. Each mile took them all deeper into a muddy wilderness, and Marybeth felt more and more isolated, realizing little Danny was truly all she had and all she cared about. She could not imagine what she would do if anything happened to him.
All through Ohio and Illinois the canvas-topped wagons creaked and jolted their way along rough roads mucky with spring thaw. Marybeth began to wonder if her bones would ever again enjoy any warmth or if her feet would ever again know comfort. A combination of blisters and cold made walking a painful burden, but walk she did most of the time, for the animals were not to be overburdened with extra weight.
Sometimes Marybeth was sure the MacKinder men were more concerned for the mules than they were for their women, and she began to feel like little more than a plow horse herself, trudging on mile after mile, often carrying Danny in her arms or picking up firewood along the way, trying to keep clothes and bedding clean, helping with meals. There was always water to fetch, fires to make, clothes to be washed, small animals to be skinned and cooked. The chores were endless. She had never minded work, but she did mind being ordered about like a servant, with never a word of gratitude.
If this life bothered Ella, she refused to show it. There were days when Marybeth was sure Ella did not feel well, when the woman looked as though she was ready to drop. But she carried on silently, afraid to speak up for fear of offending her husband. Watching her, remembering the unhappy years of her own marriage, only made Marybeth more determined she would not marry John MacKinder and spend her whole life being little more than his slave. She began to wonder if Ella was right—that all men turned out the same, no matter how a marriage started. If that was true, Marybeth planned never to marry at all.
For now she could only be grateful for the difficult journey, for it kept everyone too busy and tired to talk about personal interests. April finally brought some warmth, but it also brought an unexpected heat wave to the Ilinois prairie, which awakened what seemed millions of insects. The men spent most of their time cursing at bites, and Marybeth spent most of her own time trying to keep mosquitoes and other pests off of Danny.
The first of May brought drier, more comfortable air to the land, and the MacKinders arrived in St. Louis just in time to join a line of at least seventy wagons lined up in front of the domed courthouse near the Mississippi River. Arriving at the bustling, rapidly growing frontier city helped ease Marybeth’s concerns.
St. Louis was fascinating, much more pleasant than New York, although many times smaller and much less developed. Most of its streets were still dirt, many of its buildings made of logs. The most beautiful and modern building was the courthouse, and while the MacKinders and Bill Stone met with other travelers to get information on what to do next, Ella stayed with the wagons and Marybeth walked with Danny in her arms, studying the great dome of the courthouse, led by curiosity through its doors.
Inside it was cool. She could hear the voices of hundreds of travelers echoing in a central room surrounded by a railing. She walked to the railing, leaning over and peering upward to a great, golden dome rising what seemed to her a hundred feet high. The walls of the dome and of several upper floors that circled it were painted with beautiful artwork. Marybeth stared in awe at the lovely structure, wondering what it would be like to climb the circular staircase past the several floors to the very highest platform and look down.
She looked around for the stairs, then walked over to the wrought iron steps and began ascending them. She shifted Danny to her right arm, her left arm aching from holding the growing baby boy. “Look at this, Danny,” she told her son, kissing his forehead. “Isn’t this a beautiful place? Bill Stone says this is where all the emigrants meet to go to Oregon and California. It’s a long journey we have ahead of us, isn’t it, child? But Mama will see that you get there safely. I’ll not let anything happen to you.”
She rea
ched the first landing and stopped to catch her breath. “I only wish you could see Ireland some day, Danny boy, but I’m afraid that will never be. We’re far, far away from your mama’s homeland, and going farther still. This is a very big land, this America. I didn’t know it would be this big. And Mama will make sure life is good for you once we get to Oregon.”
She proceeded to the next landing and peered over the railing. “Would you look at that? See all the people down there?” She spotted Mac and John, more by their loud voices than by sight. She shook her head at the realization she could easily find them even in a crowd because they talked louder than anyone else there. “They don’t even know we’re watching them, Danny,” she told the boy. She looked down at her son and kissed his cheek. “That John MacKinder will never be your father, Danny, I promise. I’ll not be pushed into marrying a man I don’t love again, even if it means Mama has to raise you alone.”
She climbed to the top landing and looked down, the dome just above. Everyone looked so far away and unreal. How she wished she could stay under the shelter of the dome, stay in this beautiful, cool building and stay away from John MacKinder forever. She thought about staying right here in St. Louis, but she owned next to nothing, and she was a foreigner with a tiny baby to care for. She was not yet sure enough of herself to consider staying anywhere in this new country alone, and she thanked God for Danny, her only comfort, the only thing that kept her sane.
“Well, then, we’ll be traveling with your train, my friend.”
Marybeth could hear Mac’s voice all the way to the top landing. She wondered if her father-in-law would chide her for being here, but she didn’t much care. It was fun to be doing something daring without his knowledge, to be going against his wishes.
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