Helping care for a new baby and watching after Danny kept Marybeth busy through the drizzly, dark winter. It seemed to rain more than snow in Portland, warm ocean winds rising over the mountains and dropping rain on the valley. People who had lived in Oregon longer told them that after the winds rose again and moved over the Cascades, they picked up colder air and usually dumped a lot of snow on eastern Oregon. But the weather in the Valley area was not so severe.
Little Stanley Svensson was a delight to everyone, spoiled by all the women in the settlement as winter wore on. Delores had trouble with heavy bleeding after the baby was born, and it took her nearly a month to get back on her feet. By then it was Marybeth who was feeling tired, and when she looked in the mirror, she was glad Josh could not see her now. She had swelled all over, not just in her stomach, and she would be glad when this second child was bom.
She smiled at the thought of how Josh would tease her about how fat she was getting; she knew that he would love her just as dearly in this condition as he did when she was slim. After all, it was his baby she was having.
She managed to waddle to church every Sunday, settling for a Protestant church where people sometimes stared at her when she made the sign of the cross and prayed over her rosary. But going to church was important to her. The prayers and hymns gave her courage, and every week the whole congregation offered up prayers for Joshua Rivers, a man most of them had never even met. But they knew his faithful wife, Marybeth, and prayed the baby she was going to have would have a father to care for it.
Not a few of the single men of Portland were watching and waiting to see if the mysterious Josh Rivers would show up, all of them realizing the beautiful Marybeth would need a husband if he didn’t. In spite of her present bloated condition, they all recognized it was just her pregnancy; the beauty of her face and hair, and her exotic green eyes, were obvious in spite of her condition.
The long, lonely months of winter moved into spring, and Oregon was as beautiful as others had promised it would be. Little Stanley was feeding well and getting fatter, a big baby who would obviously take after his father. Marybeth was so big and uncomfortable, she could do no more than walk just outside the cabin door. She longed to go shopping with Florence and Delores, but when she was on her feet for too long, they became too swollen. She would sit outside, smelling the spring air, pretending Josh was sitting beside her. Sam and Aaron would be leaving for the valley soon to see about some land. They were only waiting for Marybeth’s baby to be born.
If only Josh could be here for the birth. If only Josh was here to go with Sam and Aaron and start building their cabin in the valley. She dared not dwell on the thought and worry too long at a time. Was he alive? Could he walk? Sometimes she felt she would go insane with not knowing, and with the frustration of needing him, missing him. She could not help being plagued with feelings of guilt for leaving him, still unsure she had done the right thing. What if Indians had come and Josh had died some horrible death after all he had already suffered?
The first of April one concern was answered. Marybeth went into labor. She wondered how a woman could so easily forget this kind of pain. Perhaps it was because of the beautiful baby it produced. Now here was the pain again, the terrible clawing at her insides, the contractions over which she had no control. The baby was ready to come, whether she was ready or not. This time the pain seemed worse than with Danny, and she was sure her screams could probably be heard all over Portland. She had planned on just gritting her teeth and not making a sound, but there was no holding back.
“Josh,” she moaned. “If…Josh were here…it would be easier.”
“It’s never easy, Marybeth,” Florence told her. “You just remember that Josh is coming soon, and you want to show him a nice, healthy baby when he gets here.”
The pain brought out all her fears and sorrow. “What if he doesn’t come,” she wept between spasms. “What if he’s dead? I want Josh. I want him to be here.”
Delores and Florence both kept reassuring her he would come, neither of them quite so confident now. It had been seven months since they left Josh behind. They concentrated for the moment on just getting the baby born.
Through the black pain Marybeth could see Josh, his warm, beautiful smile; his teasing brown eyes. She could feel his kiss, remember the feel of his strong arms around her, so reassuring and loving. Oh, how happy she had been in those arms! He had brought her such joy, made her laugh, made her feel so beautiful. Josh, her beloved, the father of the baby now eager to be born. She cried out his name with every gasping breath, as voices told her to push.
Finally she heard the wonderful words—“It’s coming!” She pushed harder, and someone said the baby was out. “Oh, look, it’s a little girl,” she heard Delores exclaim.
Marybeth felt more pain, and couldn’t understand why, until she heard Florence gasp. “Delores, there’s another one! No wonder she got so big!”
“Twins!” Delores exclaimed. Marybeth heard a smack and a little squawl. “I’ll wrap the little girl and clean them both up after the next one.”
“Marybeth, you’ll have two babies to show Josh when he gets here,” Florence told her. “You’ve got to push some more, Marybeth. Another baby is coming.”
It was all like a strange dream. The pain finally faded, and people were laughing and talking. Marybeth could hear Aaron in the outer room. “By God, that Josh went and had twins! He was always joking about Texans doing things in a big way.”
She heard Cap’s laugh, heard babies crying. She opened her eyes and saw Florence, who was gently massaging her belly to work out the afterbirth. “Florence?”
The woman looked at her and smiled. “Marybeth, you’ve had twins—a boy and a girl, and they both seem healthy. Hear them crying?”
Her eyes teared. “I want…to see Cap.”
Florence straightened, seeing determination in Marybeth’s eyes. “All right.” She covered her. “I’ll go get him. Delores is cleaning up the babies for you.” The woman left the room, and a moment later Cap came inside, holding his hat in his hand.
“That’s a couple of fine babies you delivered there, Marybeth. Josh will be one proud man!”
“Cap,” she spoke up, her voice weak. “Go…and get him…please.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Are you able…to go now?”
“Well, I reckon I could start out. It’s a dangerous time in the mountains, what with spring runoff and spring snowstorms, but it won’t be so cold now. I’ve done it before.”
She reached out for him and he took her hand. “Bring him to me, Cap. I don’t care…if he’s crippled. Just…bring him. I need him so much. And I want…him to see…his babies.”
Cap nodded.
“Tell him…I’m naming the babies after his mother and father—Joseph and Emma. He’ll…like that.”
Cap squeezed her hand. “That he will. You take good care of yourself so’s when I come back with Josh, you’ll be all well for him.”
“I will, Cap. God…be with you.”
He gave her a reassuring smile and left the room. Marybeth lay listening to her new babies crying, realizing the hard reality of her situation. She had three children now, and no man to provide for them. She couldn’t stay with Aaron and Delores forever, and the money Josh had given her was slowly being used up. She had insisted on paying her own way, helping buy food and share other expenses. She had no idea what she was going to do if Josh did not get well and come to her. She wanted to be happy about the babies, but her situation was a worry to her, as well as wondering what had happened to Josh. Soon she would know.
Delores brought in the babies, holding them where Marybeth could see them well while Florence finished cleaning her up.
“They’re beautiful,” Marybeth said, the tears coming again. “Oh, if only Josh were here to see them!”
Little Joe and little Emma. God had truly blessed her with such healthy babies, but would He bless her with the return of their father?
Outside Ca
p made preparations to go back to Fort Hall. That very same day, John MacKinder rode through eastern Oregon with his head bent against a sleet storm, determined to get to Portland and find his parents—and Marybeth Rivers.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Without any help from his crutches, Josh walked gingerly toward Frank. The man greeted him with outstretched hand. “How far today, friend?”
“At least two miles, the way I judge it. I think I’m ready to leave, Frank. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Frank laughed lightly. “With a woman like yours, I’d not be wantin’ to wait, either. Think she’s had that kid by now?”
“Most likely.” Josh breathed deeply of the sweet-smelling spring air. “I just hope to hell she made it all right. I don’t know if I’m really well, Frank, or if it’s just the thought of finding Marybeth that makes me feel this good.”
Frank looked him over. “Well, you’re still awful thin, but you’ve kept solid food down now for a couple of months, and you ought to be gettin’ stronger with all that walkin’. I gotta say, I’ve never seen a man try harder. I know them first few weeks after you got on them crutches you were in a hell of a lot of pain.”
“Well, there’s still some. But if Marybeth has had my baby, she’s needing me more than ever, and I know she’s worried. I’d like to leave tomorrow, Frank. Will you help me pack my horses?”
“Sure thing. We’re gonna miss you around here, you know.”
They both started walking toward the building where Josh had lain sick for months. “I’ll miss all of you. But I won’t miss this place, if you know what I mean. Too many bad memories.”
“I can understand that.” Frank shook his head. “I’ve never seen a man as bad off as you were live to tell about it. Just goes to show what love can do for a man, huh?”
Josh grinned. “You bet. What about you? You staying here?”
“Well, I’ve lived in these parts for a lot of years. Been through a couple of Indian wives and one white wife—outlived all of them. I like it here—like to hunt and trade with the Indians. But by gosh, if I ever come to Oregon, I’ll sure look you up.”
“You’d better. I’d be glad as hell to see you.” They stopped at the doorway, and their eyes met, two strangers who had become close. “You’re an even better man than Cap said you were, Frank. I can never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. Without you I’d have died or gone crazy.”
They shook hands again warmly. “Oh, I doubt that. It’s your wife who pulled you through, even though she wasn’t really here.”
“I suppose you’re right there. But I’m obligated to you for everything you had to put up with, sick as I was. I’ll pay you something before I leave, and if you come to Oregon, you’ll always have a place to stay.”
“Well, I don’t want no pay. Hell, you made the winter go by mighty fast. We all enjoyed your company.”
Their hands were still clasped. “I want to pay you something, and I will.” Josh squeezed the man’s hand harder. “Thanks a lot, Frank.”
Frank squeezed back. “By God, you’re gettin’ stronger than I thought,” he told Josh. He laughed lightly. “I sure would have liked to have seen that fight between you and that MacKinder fella.”
They released hands. “Well, if I’m lucky, the man is dead. I know one thing, if I got into the same fight right now, I’d be a sorry man. A few good blows to these insides would put me right back down again. I might be walking and stronger, but it’s still going to be a while before I can exert myself much or take a punch. I’ll feel lucky just to make it on horseback to Oregon.”
Frank scratched at his beard, and Josh secretly wondered when was the last the man had bathed. Clean or dirty, he was one of the finest men he had known, outside of Cap and his own brother-in-law back in Kansas. “Orville Dunne, he’s goin’ to Oregon. Said last night he’d be glad to accompany you. I think you’d be wise to travel with one other man, Josh, just in case you find out you ain’t as strong as you think.”
Josh nodded. “Might be a good idea. Thanks again, Frank. I’m going inside to pack some of my things.”
“Come over to the main cabin in an hour or so. Billy’s makin’ some fine stew.”
“I’ll do that.” Josh went inside the room that had been his prison those first horrible weeks after Marybeth left. He put a hand to his side, where he still experienced odd aches and pains, and where he carried two ugly scars. He knew he would probably always have problems from the near-fatal wound, but he felt strong now, and he could eat just about anything without any trouble. Once he had got on his crutches, he had used them daily, walking and working with himself for hours at a time, the feeling and strength slowly coming back to his limbs. He could finally discard the crutches and now walked a mile or two every day.
His best medicine had been the thought of going to find Marybeth. Old desires swept through him at night, telling him he could be a man for her again. He had been determined from the beginning not to go to her until he could stand on two good legs and hold her in two good arms. He could do all that and more, he was sure, but for a while he would have to pay someone to help him chop wood and build a cabin for his new family. He warned himself he would have to be careful for a long time to come, but to have accomplished this much seemed like a miracle.
“The miracle of Marybeth’s little beads,” he muttered to himself. He had once thought the beads a little silly, although he had never told her. But he had soon realized how strong was her faith, and he had no doubt it was that faith that had kept him from death’s door.
He breathed deeply and flexed his muscles, praying he was well enough to make the journey to Portland. He couldn’t bring himself to wait another month or another week or even another day. The men said April was a dangerous time in the mountains, but others had made it through, and so would he. Besides, the worst of the mountains were behind him. He realized it was their personal mountains that confronted people, that gave them the most trouble—death, heartache, danger. He and Marybeth and so many others had got over those mountains. They had been through so much together. Now Marybeth had had their baby all alone. He should be with her, and the sooner the better. He grabbed a canvas bag and began stuffing clothes into it, wondering how long it would take to again fill out his shirts and pants, which all hung loosely on him now.
Marybeth’s good cooking will help, he thought with a smile.
It was the third week of April when John MacKinder rode into Portland. He saw no familiar faces at first, and wondered what had happened to all the people on the wagon train. In such big country, he knew it would not be easy to find his parents or anyone else, but he felt confident now of his knowledge of survival in this land, and of the strength he had regained over the winter. His arm was healed, and he was itching for a woman, as well as anxious to locate Mac and find out what had happened with Marybeth.
The well-worn trail had been easy to follow, and he had come part way with a Mormon supply train that had come up from Salt Lake City. He had traded the old, slow mare to them for a better horse, a young roan gelding, and he had purchased himself another rifle from them. The old man with whom he had spent the winter had kept his other rifle as payment for putting him up. It was a winter John would just as soon forget—long and lonely, with nothing but a gnarly old man for company. He had ridden on ahead of the supply train, anxious for people who liked to drink and raise hell; anxious to find the traveling prostitutes. But there was only one woman he really wanted now—the one woman who would fight him, who had spurned him.
He rode up to a tavern, deciding the only way to find anyone was to start asking questions. He lumbered inside, figuring he must make quite a commanding figure now that he had grown a beard. He looked like a real man of the mountains. Several gaudily dressed women inside the tavern looked him over hungrily, and he had no trouble being waited on. He ordered whiskey and walked up to a table of men playing cards. “I’d be enjoying a game myself if you can use one more,”
he told them in his Irish brogue.
One of them looked up at him and nodded. “Have a chair.”
John sat down, and a woman brought his whiskey. He looked her over and grinned. “Do you do more than serve drinks?” he asked, putting a hand to her waist.
The woman smiled. “I might. Stay around until closing time and I’ll let you know.”
John laughed his loud, hearty laugh, patting her bottom as she left.
“She gives you your money’s worth,” one of the men at the table told him.
“That’s good enough for me.” John slugged down some whiskey. “My name is John MacKinder, and I am looking for some people who came through here last fall with a wagon train from the east.”
“Wagon trains come through here by the hundreds every year,” one of the others answered. He dealt the cards. “Pretty hard to learn who they all are. Most go on south of here.”
John picked up his cards and studied them. “The ones I am looking for are my parents—Murray and Ella MacKinder. My father is called Mac. They had a friend along; Bill Stone was his name. And my sister-in-law, Marybeth.” He watched their faces. “I believe Marybeth married again—my brother died before we left New York. Marybeth might go by the last name of Rivers now, but I believe she might have been widowed again.”
They all placed their bets. “Portland is getting pretty big now,” one of the others spoke up. “Can’t say as I’ve ever heard of any of those people.”
The man to John’s right looked at him suspiciously as he laid down three cards and asked for three more. “If you left with all of them, how come you’re just now getting here? Why weren’t you with the wagon train?”
John drank some more whiskey. “Got myself hurt—Indians. I had to stay behind while I mended; hurt so bad I couldn’t be moved.”
“You don’t look too awful sick to me.”
John folded. “I spent the winter mending.” His short temper began to rise. “What’s it to you? I was only asking if any of you know where my family might be. Your personal life is none of my business, and mine is none of yours.”
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