The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition)

by Bittner, Rosanne

  He turned and left her, and Marybeth glanced at the riverboat. He was there, watching. Was it foolish to think that Josh Rivers might have stormed right off the boat and come to her aid if John had got rough with her? But she wouldn’t want that. If something happened because of her, she would be devastated and humiliated. She turned back to their camp, to see John walking up to a nearby fire, glaring at a man who was sitting on a log staring at the MacKinder camp.

  “What are you looking at?” John growled, fists clenched.

  The man reddened. “Nothing, Irishman.”

  “You mind your own business! And say the word Irishman with more respect!” John stormed back to his own campfire and plunked down on a log. Marybeth returned to see Ella dishing out pork and potatoes.

  “She doesn’t deserve to eat our food,” John told his mother, indicating Marybeth.

  Ella cast him a look of disapproval. “She’s got a baby still feeding at her breast. She’ll eat.” She looked at her husband, as though suddenly realizing she had better get his permission.

  Mac nodded. He looked over at Marybeth. “Once the boy is weaned, there will be some decisions to make,” he told her. He kept his voice low, but Marybeth detected the cold determination in it. “You’ll have some respect for this family, Marybeth, and do what you know is right; if not, little Danny comes with us and you’ll be left to fend for yourself. Whatever happens, our grandson is a MacKinder and he’ll stay a MacKinder.”

  Marybeth took the plate of food offered by Ella, but she didn’t feel hungry. She boldly held Mac’s dark, determined eyes. She realized what he was telling her, and for the moment she decided not to create a worse scene than had already been created. A long journey lay ahead, and little Danny would feed at her breast through most of it. She told herself no one could take a child from its mother. But Murray MacKinder didn’t care about rules. The only law for him was MacKinder law. If she wanted to keep her baby, she would have to remain a part of the MacKinder family.

  She felt isolated, threatened. She wished this country were not all so new to her. If she had friends in this land, if she knew more about it, she could get away from the MacKinder web. More than that, she didn’t have any money of her own; and with a new baby, it would be next to impossible to find work.

  She took a couple of bites of the pork, suddenly thinking of Joshua Rivers again, realizing that she actually felt comforted when she thought of him.

  She waited until John and Mac were both engrossed in their meals, then turned to look at the riverboat. Why was it so easy to spot him? Perhaps it was because she knew he would still be watching.

  Everything was clamor and confusion when they disembarked at Independence. People came off first, then wagons and belongings, then cattle, horses, chickens and oxen. Horse traders and men with oxen were camped everywhere, ready to do business with the emigrants. John and Mac left the wagon and women on the bank of the river to do some trading, since Bill had already informed them the journey could not be made without oxen.

  Marybeth watched the people who came off the boat, whole families, young couples, old people, little children. She did not miss the lonely looks on the faces of some of the women, and she realized that even if they were from America, the land into which they would travel would be just as foreign and frightening to them as it would be to her. Children ran about excitedly, for the moment little affected by the hardship and danger that lay ahead. For them it was a great adventure.

  Her own heart pounded with a mixture of dread and anticipation. She realized that if she were making this journey with a more pleasant family situation, with a kind husband and dreams of making a home together in the place called Oregon, she would not dread this trip nearly so much. She told herself that at least she wasn’t still in the city, that she was going to a land that was a lot like Ireland; but she was plagued with desperate thoughts of what she would do once the journey was over. How could she get out from under the viselike MacKinder grip on her and Danny without risking losing Danny and being left destitute? Whatever she chose to do, Mac and John would make it as difficult as possible.

  She decided she could only take a day at a time. She still struggled with homesickness, and with missing her mother. She had no place else to turn now, and at least for the next several months the MacKinder men could not bully her too much. There would be too little privacy on such a journey. Her biggest problem would come when she reached Oregon.

  A young couple walked by, looking very happy. Marybeth watched longingly as they passed her, the man’s arm around the woman’s waist. He was a big man, nearly as big as John, but with blond hair and very fair skin. The woman was small like Marybeth, and looked about the same age. She looked up at her husband and said something in a language Marybeth did not understand. But she understood the look, and wondered what it must be like to be married to a good man, to truly want a man and enjoy being with him. She realized she had never held a look like that for Dan. She had tried; oh, how she had tried. She had wanted so much for it all to work. But love and passion were foreign words to MacKinder men.

  She noticed Joshua Rivers then. He was mounted on his horse and rode slowly in her direction. Marybeth looked away, helping Ella tie a barrel of flour to the side of the wagon. She sensed the horse coming closer and could not resist turning to look when she knew he was close. He smiled and tipped his hat, but didn’t say a word. Marybeth was grateful he realized that with Ella there he shouldn’t speak to her. He rode off then, and Marybeth wondered if it was for good.

  She returned to tying the barrel, then watched him once more, studying the broad, muscled shoulders and trying to envision him beating John MacKinder. The thought of it made her blood rush warmer and brought a pull to her insides no man had ever stirred in her. She glanced at Ella, who was diligently working to check the supplies, as ordered by Mac. She took a bucket from the side of the wagon then and walked to a well that had been dug for travelers to load up on a supply of fresh water before leaving for country where fresh water was scarce. She waited her turn in line, telling herself what a fool she was to be allowing her feelings to overtake her better sense. She looked around; Joshua Rivers was a considerable distance away now, heading north. She was surprised at the keen disappointment she felt at the realization he was apparently not heading west with the others after all. He was riding away!

  One wagon train headed out the second morning Marybeth and others had made camp after disembarking the riverboat. They had been told that another had left three days earlier. There were eighteen wagons left along the riverbank. John and Mac had purchased four oxen, and Bill Stone two. Everyone had stocked up on supplies at Independence, according to instructions from an old mountain man who called himself Harley Webster, preferring the title “Cap,” short for Captain.

  Men from the remaining group of travelers had hired Cap, an experienced but aging scout and mountain man, to lead them west. He had brought along two scouts, one called simply Devon, and the other Trapper, a nickname derived from his real name of Jake Trapp. Both men looked fierce enough to give Marybeth the shivers, but Cap insisted they were excellent scouts. Devon had dark hair that hung well past his shoulders. He wore a cloth headband and a calico shirt, a weapons belt draped criss-cross over his chest.

  “Man’s got to be part Indian,” someone had muttered.

  Marybeth studied him curiously. She had heard of Indians in this country, but she had not seen one. They were supposedly a wild, uncivilized people who stole women and babies and killed white men. “Some can be bargained with,” Bill Stone had said. “You never know with an Indian. Can’t trust them, not for a second.”

  Marybeth wondered if they could trust Devon. Still, Cap seemed to trust him completely. The man called Trapper was a burly, bearded man who wore deerskin clothing like she had seen men wear on the the riverboat.

  Marybeth helped pack three more sacks of flour, a hundred pounds of bacon, fifty pounds of coffee beans, two cases of whiskey, ten pounds of tea, a
bushel of dried apples, kettles, a coffee mill, pickles, potatoes, three sacks of beans, yeast, salt, soap and several more necessary items. Ella and Marybeth cleaned out the wagon and repacked bedding and clothing, sewing more pockets into the inside canvas to hold small items like scissors to keep them within easy reach. They arranged tin cups, candles, fry pans, soap, weapons and ammunition in boxes and hung wooden pails on hooks at the sides of the wagons.

  Water barrels were filled at the well, and Devon and Trapper instructed greenhorns on how to handle oxen. John and Mac learned quickly, big men who were good at shouting orders. Marybeth thought how the animals fit the MacKinder men, big, clumsy oxen that knew nothing but brute force.

  With much cursing and shouting at animals, whistles, mothers ordering children to be careful, chickens clucking and cattle mooing, the wagon train got underway May 10—nineteen wagons, including the cook wagon brought along for the captain and scouts; eighty-nine oxen; twenty mules; seventeen horses, either herded or tied to the backs of wagons. Twenty-five men would make the trip, including the scouts and Cap, and the man who would be in charge of the cook wagon for the scouts, Ben Stramm; nineteen women and twenty-eight children, three of them teenage boys who would be men before the journey was over.

  Marybeth walked with Ella, the two women taking turns carrying Danny; Bill Stone, Mac and John took turns guiding the oxen that pulled their two wagons. Today they were fourth and fifth in line. Each day, according to Cap, they would move back a notch, the last wagon taking first place, so that all wagons were rotated daily, giving no one the advantage of being at the front of the line where they didn’t have to put up with choking dust later in the journey; or with the deep muck that wagons ahead would churn up the first few weeks.

  Most of the women walked, to keep wagons as light as possible. For the long journey, the animals would need all the relief they could get, and Marybeth usually rode inside the wagon only when she had to feed Danny.

  On the third day of the journey, as Marybeth scanned the wide, green and gold expanse of land ahead of them, a chill moved through her at the realization that this was indeed a journey into a wilderness. For the moment she could not believe there were mountains ahead higher than she could ever imagine. Nor could she believe there was a place five or six months away called Oregon, a place Bill Stone had assured them he had heard was as green and beautiful and full of rolling hills and rich farmland as Ireland. She felt pulled and driven against her will, not wanting to do this, but having no choice.

  She wanted to hand Danny to Ella to ease her aching arms, but she knew Ella herself was in pain. All the women were already suffering from swollen feet and legs. It would take a lot more walking to break in muscles that were not accustomed to this much exercise. After a while Danny would begin to feel like an anvil. Marybeth noticed Mac was driving the oxen for the moment. That meant John was free to carry Danny for a while. She didn’t like leaving the baby in the wagon. Danny was beginning to crawl, and between her fear of the baby crawling to the back of the wagon and somehow falling out; and the fear that a sudden jolt could cause something to fall on him, left Marybeth no choice but to keep the baby with her while she walked.

  Much as she despised looking to John for any kind of help, Marybeth hurried over to where John walked. “I can’t carry Danny any longer, John, and your mother is in pain, I can tell. Would you take him for a while again?”

  John looked down at her. “On top of having a sassy mouth, you aren’t much on strength, are you?” He took Danny from her and perched the boy on his arm. Danny stared at the man with wide eyes that were a pretty green like his mother’s. “Don’t you cry on me, boy,” John warned. He looked back at Marybeth. “I’m doing this for my brother, and because this boy is a MacKinder. I’m not doing it for you.”

  Marybeth looked straight ahead. “I hardly thought that you would.” Other than having John carry Danny once in a while, Marybeth had refused to speak to him since the argument along the river, and the embarrassment and humiliation it had caused her. It was bad enough that they were talked about because they were Irish, but John and Mac only made things worse by their actions and attitude. Still, to her irritation, Marybeth realized that to survive this journey, she would have to keep things civil between herself and John. Much as she disliked the man, his strength could not be denied, nor the fact that she might need to rely on that strength now and then. She summoned all her courage and humbleness before speaking again.

  “I’m sorry about the argument back at the river,” she told him. “I do my best and do more than my share. You cannot say that I don’t. I cannot abide being ordered about, but I realize everyone is anxious and upset. We have left a lot behind us, John, and we cannot be sure what lies ahead. Tempers are short.”

  They walked on in silence a while longer. “A woman has her place, and you seem to have forgotten that since my brother died, Marybeth MacKinder.”

  Marybeth’s heart felt like lead. There was no getting through to the man, no hope of reaching some kind of compassion and understanding. “You brought it on yourself with your shouting and carrying on, drawing attention to us. I have told you before that if you would learn to speak softly—”

  “Be still! Go back with my mother where you belong.”

  Marybeth closed her eyes and turned away. She tried to reason that if she could learn to love John MacKinder and become his wife, he would be kinder and gentler to her. But she knew better, and it was difficult to even like the man, let alone love him. She wondered if she should have taken the risk of staying behind alone in New York, or perhaps in St. Louis.

  She put a hand to her aching chest, again wondering how she could get free of this family. It was obvious it could not be done while they were on this journey. It would all have to wait until they reached Oregon. Perhaps by then she would know some of these people well enough that one of these families could help her.

  “Hello!” someone called out.

  Marybeth turned to see the young woman heading toward her whom she had seen back at Independence walking with her husband and looking so happy. She noticed the woman’s wagon was two wagons behind the MacKinder wagons. It was easy to spot, because the woman’s huge, blond-haired husband could be seen guiding the oxen. Marybeth waited as the petite, dark-haired woman approached her, dressed in a plain brown cotton dress.

  “Already I can see we must all quickly make friends, for friends will be sorely needed out here, No?” the woman was saying, putting out her hand. “I am Delores Svensson.”

  Marybeth took her hand and squeezed it lightly. “I am Marybeth MacKinder. And I agree about needing friends.” She watched the young woman warily. “We are from Ireland. We settled in New York for a while, but we did not like it there.” She watched for the usual animosity but noticed none.

  Delores smiled, her dark eyes sparkling from beneath her slat bonnet. “My husband, Aaron, and I have come from Indiana, where we were married not long ago,” the woman told Marybeth with a sing-song accent. “We are originally from Sweden. How long have you been married, Marybeth?”

  Marybeth walked on sore feet. “I was married a little over four years. My husband was killed in an accident at the factory where he worked only a few months ago.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry! And you so young! Oh, you poor thing! I would want to die if anything happened to my Aaron.”

  Marybeth felt a piercing pain at the words. How could she explain her own husband’s death had been tragic only as far as no one deserving to die so violently; but in terms of how it had affected her personally, she felt no painful loss. How she wished she did! How she wished she could have just once felt about Dan the way this woman seemed to feel about her own husband. Apparently it really was true that some husbands and wives truly loved each other. Her mother and father had seemed happy. And this woman literally bubbled with love.

  “It was last December,” she told Delores.

  “I am so sorry to know. We thought you were married to the big man w
ho drives your team.”

  “He’s my brother-in-law, John MacKinder. We farmed potatoes back in Ireland, until they were wiped out by disease. Now John and his father hope to return to farming in Oregon.”

  “Ah, yes, that is what my Aaron and I will do.” Delores folded her arms rather nervously then. “I must tell you, I think I am glad John MacKinder is not your husband. He seems, well, not a very kind or patient man.”

  Marybeth smiled, taking an immediate liking to Delores, sensing the young woman’s sincere concern. “It doesn’t take much observing to figure that out,” she told her.

  “I’m very sorry. I must seem very nosy. But, thinking he was perhaps your husband, I thought—well, Aaron and I thought, that perhaps you needed a woman friend. This will be a long and difficult journey. I just wanted you to know you are welcome to come and visit at our campfire any time. I love my Aaron, but on a trip like this the men will have to stick together to keep animals tended and wagons repaired and the like; and we women have our work cut out for us. I can see already there will be none of the pleasantries of home—few baths, no fancy clothes, little chance to make ourselves pretty. Perhaps if we form friendships and share our troubles it will take away some of the hardship. Some of the other women and I will hold a little worship service in the morning, if you would like to join us. Who is the older woman with you?”

  “That’s my mother-in-law, Ella.”

  “Bring her along, and the menfolk, if they will come.”

  “I doubt that. And Ella won’t come if my father-in-law doesn’t want her to go.”

  “What if they don’t want you to go?”

  Marybeth put a hand to the crucifix around her neck. “They cannot keep me from worship.” She looked at Delores. “I should tell you I am Catholic.”

  Delores smiled. “It makes no difference what faith you are. We are all of different faiths. What matters is to have a chance to worship and keep up our spirits.” She tucked a strand of hair under her cap. “Already I am wishing I could set a nice table, wishing for some privacy and solitude.”