White Wolf

by Susan Edwards

Wolf leaned against the rough wood of a supply wagon, his arms folded over his chest. Tipping his chin to the sun, he breathed deeply and felt his blood race in anticipation of the challenging trip ahead of him. He thrived on pitting his skills and knowledge against the outdoor world he knew so well. What he didn’t enjoy was leading unseasoned travelers across the rough and dangerous terrain. Too many of them had heads filled with unrealistic dreams rather than good sense. Often their lack of preparation resulted in death.

  He grimaced. To avoid most of the common mistakes green emigrants made, Wolf insisted on inspecting each and every wagon, draft animal and load before setting off. Nothing brought morale down faster than having to abandon a family along the way. When Rook rejoined him, he pushed away from the wagon and squared his shoulders. All resentment at being saddled with the trip faded. From that moment on, he had a job to do, one that required skill and a clear mind. Hands on his hips, he drew in a deep breath and scanned the lined-up wagons.

  “All set, boss. They’s jest awaitin’ on you now.” Rook waved his pipe in the air. “Only the Macauleys’ wagon is missin’.”

  “How do they look, Rook?” He knew the answer in advance.

  Years of close association showed in Rook’s toothy grin. “Green, boss. All green, but reckon they’ll learn fast enough,” the tough trapper answered, tugging at his bushy white beard.

  “They’d better, my friend. I’m setting a hard pace. We’ve got cattle to deliver by fall.”

  Wolf started with the two wagons belonging to the Jones party. With Jordan and Elliot at his side, he checked the rigging, the condition of the oxen and the wagon from wheel to wheel. Glancing in the back, he ran his experienced eye over the load, mentally calculating the load weight and the food supply.

  Hopping over the wagon tongue, he peered into the front end of the second wagon. One brow rose when he saw Jordan’s bride. Coralie Jones sat perched on a wooden box wearing a fine linen dress of pale lilac. Her skirts fluffed out around her, and a matching frilly bonnet sat upon her head. Glancing down, he noted the thin-soled and spooled heels of her shoes. He bit back a groan. They were totally unsuited for walking. He pulled Jordan aside. “Don’t mean to interfere, Jordan, but your wife is dressed for Sunday church.” A thread of impatience crept into his voice.

  Jordan let out a long, pained sigh. “Yeah, I know, but she refuses to wear anything else.” He sent Wolf a wry shrug. “I packed practical clothing for her for when she’s ready to be reasonable. I figure it’ll only take a day, two at the most, before she realizes I’m right.”

  Wolf nodded his understanding, well acquainted with the stubbornness of the female of the species. Watching Coralie lean out of the wagon to talk to her friends who’d come out to see her off, he felt a small measure of relief that Jordan wasn’t blinded by his wife’s doll-like beauty. “Perhaps you should stay with the wagon for a few days. I can do without you for a bit,” he offered, even though the first three days on the trail with cattle were the most difficult.

  Jordan knew it too. “No need, Wolf. Elliot and Jessie will be here to help Coralie during the day, and I’ll be with her most evenings.”

  Wolf nodded and glanced around in search of the youngest Jones brother. He spotted Jessie patting one of the oxen on the rump. He winced at the idea of Jessie and Coralie being together all day long. The incident he had witnessed from the saloon window was still fresh in his mind; he could well imagine the boy’s idea of “help.”

  No, expecting Jessie to help his sister-in-law was just asking for trouble. Another concern came to mind as he stared at the two teams of oxen. “Elliot’s in charge of one wagon, but who’s in charge of the other one? I can’t see your wife being up to that task quite yet, Jordan.”

  Jordan nodded toward Jessie. “Jess.”

  Wolf frowned and narrowed his eyes at the boy’s slender frame. “The boy doesn’t look strong enough to handle a team of four yoke. It takes a lot of muscle to handle eight oxen.” He kept to himself the thought that Jessie certainly couldn’t be trusted to do the job.

  Shoving his hands on his hips, Wolf glanced around. “I’ll ask Lars Svensson if his youngest boy is free to help Elliot with the other team, unless you’d rather stay with your family instead of riding herd?”

  Jordan shook his head and adjusted his hat. “No need, boss. Jessie’s stronger than s—” Jordan coughed. “Stronger than he looks. He trained and gentled one team of oxen. Elliot will handle them while Jessie breaks in the new ones on the trail. They’ll be fine on their own.”

  Wolf eyed Jessie doubtfully. The older brothers seemed to expect a lot from their young sibling. The feeling that he needed to keep Jessie well supervised made him shake his head. “No. I’m not willing to trust the oxen or wagons to young Jess until he proves himself. Perhaps later, after I’ve had time to observe him working the oxen, I’ll change my mind. For now he travels with Rook.” Wolf turned on his heel, unaware of the look of concern that passed between Jordan and Elliot.

  Wolf stopped a few feet from Jessie and watched silently. The boy ignored him and proceeded to the next yoke, talking in low, gentle murmurs to calm the restless beasts. Wolf studied the rigging, which Jessie had expertly adjusted. He found no fault and had to concede that the boy seemed to know what he was doing and handled the oxen well. But some perverse part of him forced him to keep to his resolve.

  When Jessie glanced up to acknowledge his presence, Wolf hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re riding with Rook. He’ll need your help gathering fuel for the fires and fresh greens when they’re available while we travel. And remember, you do whatever he says.”

  Jessie’s brows drew together. “The oxen—”

  Wolf held up a hand to forestall the protest. With the sun rising at his back, he got his first good look at Jessie. Staring down at the face tipped up toward him, he frowned. Without the dark shadows of the barn or the streaks of mud, Jessie looked different than he’d expected—younger, softer somehow. Not what he’d expect to find in an adolescent boy who should be showing signs of maturing.

  He questioned whether the boy was really fourteen, as Rook had said. All the more reason to veto the idea of his taking charge of the oxen. A plaintive sound of mooing came from behind the wagon. Wolf narrowed his eyes as the Joneses’ cow tried to break free in order to reach the tender shoots of grass. Glancing around at the other wagons, he noticed the Svenssons also had a cow tethered to the back of their wagon, and he knew that the Macauleys, who had small children, would most likely also have a cow. And if he counted the one Rook purchased, he suddenly found himself in need of someone to herd them during the day.

  He snapped his fingers. “In addition to helping Rook, you’re also in charge of the milk cows. You will collect the cows from their owners each morning, drive them on the trail, then deliver them back to the wagons each night,” he finished, pleased with himself. He’d found a way to keep Jessie too busy to cause any mischief while they were on the trail.

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue. I’m the boss.” He paused and carefully enunciated his next words. “You will not drive a wagon until I’m sure you can handle the oxen. I won’t risk any delays or injuries due to your inexperience.” Wolf stared into blazing green eyes. “And a word of warning. Keep that temper of yours under control. I won’t tolerate tantrums or mischief. Got it?”

  Jessie thrust her chin out, glaring at him until the sound of Jordan clearing his throat sent her stalking off, rocks flying out from under her scuffed boots.

  Wolf forced back the guilty feeling brought on by those prairie-green eyes and that stubborn chin. Boys above the age of ten regarded the care of cows to be girl’s work, but Jessie Jones had become a thorn in his side from the first day he’d encountered him. He reached up to scratch his jaw. If the boy learned nothing else during this trip, it would be how to control his temper.

  Leaving Jordan and Elliot to finish getting ready, Wolf went on to the next family, shoving worries over the
youngest Jones from his mind. Lars and Anne Svensson had two wagons with three yoke of oxen each, and six children: two girls ages ten and eleven and four boys ranging from fourteen to nineteen. Alberik, the eldest son, a tall, sturdy blond, and his father were in charge of the wagons, while Nikolaus and Bjorn, ages seventeen and fifteen, had been hired by Wolf to help Rook with two of the supply wagons. “I have need of another driver, Lars. Can you spare Rickard during the day to help Elliot Baker with the Joneses’ wagon? He’ll be paid the same rate as the other two for each day’s work.”

  Rickard, standing next to his parents, stood taller. A wide grin spread across his features. Lars nodded to his son, who replied, “Thank you, Mr. Wolf.”

  Wolf nodded. “Drop the mister. Wolf will do,” he said, dismissing the boy to report to Elliot. He then commenced inspection of the wagons. Finding no fault, he moved on to the Nortons’ wagon. Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Norton were a quiet newlywed couple in their mid-twenties. To his surprise, the new bride batted her long, dark eyelashes at him.

  He ignored her flirting as he checked the outside of the wagon. When he’d finished, he turned his attention to the inside. He lifted a brow. There was only one trunk packed among the stores of food and trail gear. Even the food supply consisted mostly of dried meat, hard bread and crackers with a small amount of bacon, pork and beans. They were also the only family traveling with horses. Rosalyn informed him in a breathy voice that she and Hugh planned to ride most of the way to Oregon, that they’d hired a driver to deal with the oxen and the wagon, as well as the cooking chores. Wolf took note of the long troughs on the outside of the wagon and made sure they had sufficient grain for the horses, as the animals wouldn’t survive the long trip on grazing alone.

  The last wagon rolled up into position, driven by a small woman with golden-red hair. Eirica Macauley had trouble getting the oxen to stop and fall into line. Wolf took over, explaining what to do, then waited for her to lift her three children, all under the age of five, out of the back of the wagon before checking it over. He found no fault with the wagon or the animals. Jumping onto the wagon tongue, he examined the load inside and found the supplies and provisions to be on the meager side. Lifting a quilt, he peered beneath it.

  His brows rose when he found two wooden kegs of whiskey, then discovered two more kegs hidden behind a trunk, and a fifth one buried beneath a gutta-percha sack of sugar. His lips tightened. Food might be in short supply but not the spirits. “Mrs. Macauley—”

  Eirica turned to grab her youngest, a redheaded boy who had toddled too close to the restless oxen. Seeing her in profile, Wolf noticed that she was with child. He did some fast calculations and figured she’d give birth in late summer. He exhaled. Birthing added complications and slowed progress. Glancing around, he realized he hadn’t seen Birk. “Mrs. Macauley, where’s your husband?”

  Eirica lowered her gaze to the toddler she jiggled in her arms and whispered nervously, “He’s still in town.”

  “Which saloon?” he bit out, his voice tight with anger.

  Eirica stepped back, her arms tight around the little boy. “I don’t know.”

  Recognizing her fear of him, Wolf stalked away. Of all the families making the overland trip, this family worried him the most. Untying his horse, he mounted and rode toward the herd of horses grazing to one side of the cattle. Each hired hand brought with him anywhere from one to three mounts, plus Wolf had purchased an extra ten horses for spares, as each animal would be ridden long and hard during the day. He spotted a tough-looking horse wrangler.

  Cupping his hands, he shouted, “Duarte!” The dark-skinned man rode up to him, and Wolf jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the Macauley wagon. “Mr. Macauley has several kegs of whiskey tucked into the back of his wagon. My rules state that each family is allowed only one small cask of liquor. Take the kegs into town and trade them for food rations. While you’re there, fetch Macauley. I believe you’ll find him at one of the saloons. Take Bart and Claude with you. If Macauley objects, tell him he doesn’t go. We leave within the hour, with or without him.”

  Duarte rode off, signaling for the two men to join him. Within minutes, the kegs were unloaded and on their way to town with the three men.

  Jessie leaned forward in her saddle, excitement building within her as she waited for the wagon master’s signal to roll. Watching the young Macauley children run in wild circles across the wide-open land, she smiled. Kerstin and Hanna Svensson ran after them, their laughter mingling with Sadie’s sharp barks. She laughed softly at the sight of her dog trying to run herd around the children. After a few minutes, Sadie gave up trying to corral the high-spirited youngsters and returned to her mistress. She lay panting in the grass, her tongue lolling to one side of her mouth, blissfully unaware that within minutes, they would begin a two-thousand-mile trek across the country.

  Nudging Shilo, Jessie circled the black-, brown- and white-spotted cows as they grazed lazily. From the corner of her eye, she spotted one lumbering beast breaking away from the small herd. A squeeze of her booted heels against Shilo’s side was all the horse needed to move toward the cow. The cow lifted her black nose disdainfully into the air and released a long disgruntled moo when Shilo nudged her back toward the others.

  She scowled. “Sorry, girl. I’ve got orders to keep you away from the wagons.” The cow swished her tail and lowered her head to the tender grass of the meadow. A few minutes later, the same stubborn cow made another dash for a tempting dark green patch of grass near one of the wagons. Jessie whistled and motioned for Sadie to take care of her. “Cows,” she scoffed, shaking her head, her pride still smarting. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t the task assigned to her that left her feeling angry. It was Wolf’s assumption that she couldn’t handle the oxen that rankled and made her feel as though she had to prove herself.

  Shilo pawed the ground, shifting restlessly. Jessie forced the muscles in her thighs to relax and absently patted the mare. Her gaze narrowed with determination. She’d show White Wolf that she was perfectly capable of handling the oxen or any other task this trip required. She frowned at the thought.

  What did it matter what he thought? Taking care of cows was an easy job, one that required little or no skill. She should be content, but she wasn’t. Wolf’s poor opinion of her hurt. Ever since Saturday night, images of the wagon master stalked her like a determined cat fixed on its prey. While she admitted that he was a virile specimen of man, she found him arrogant and vexing. “You don’t have to like the man,” she muttered to herself. “All you need to do is keep your distance and get to Oregon.”

  The sun continued its ascent into the sky and the minutes ticked by slowly. Jessie fidgeted in her saddle. What were they waiting for? When would the signal come? She bit her lower lip, anxious to get under way. Her gaze went back to the wagons and settled on Elliot’s fine figure. He stood beside his team of oxen, reins in one hand, bullwhip in the other. When the blond-haired man looked up and saw her, he waved. She answered with a wide grin and waved back.

  Coralie stuck her head out from under the canvas cover, opened her lacy white parasol and held it over her head to protect her milky-white skin from the rays of the sun. Jessie’s good humor vanished and she turned her back on her unwanted sister-in-law. “I hope you get lots and lots of freckles, Coralie,” she muttered.

  Shifting in her saddle, she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder at Elliot. She hoped to gain his interest on this trip. But glancing down at her baggy shirt that hid her bound breasts, she sighed in defeat. How could she possibly hope he’d notice her when she had to dress as a boy, especially seeing as he could probably have his pick of any woman? Jessie ran one gloved finger along the freckled bridge of her nose. Another sigh of envy escaped her lips.

  Ladies were supposed to have milky-white complexions, not honey-colored skin the result of spending days outside. She wrinkled her nose, thinking about the smattering of small brown spots flagging each cheek and dotting the bridge of her nose. Rem
oving one glove, Jessie stared at the back of her hand. It too was golden brown. Before she could sink into a pit of self-pity, she heard the sound of approaching hooves. Reeling Shilo around, she saw Wolf riding toward them on his magnificent black stallion. He stopped at Rook’s wagon, turned, raised his hand and threw it forward.

  Her heart pounded, and feelings of anger and resentment fled as the command to roll was given. A cheer rose from one end of the wagon train to the other. Jessie held her breath when Rook gave a loud shout, raised his hand and sent his whip cracking through the air. His yells turned the air blue as he cursed and swore at the oxen until the stout beasts trudged forward.

  Rook was followed by the two Svensson boys in charge of the supply wagons. The boys’ parents were next with their two wagons, which were the only ones in the group to boast seats for their drivers. The rest were just rectangular wooden wagon beds mounted on wheels. The Macauleys came next. Birk Macauley cracked his whip over the team of oxen with more force than necessary, his face red with rage from the angry words he’d exchanged with Wolf. Jessie felt sorry for his wife, who walked behind the wagon, carrying her son. Her two little girls skipped beside her.

  The newly married Nortons rode past, then Elliot. Jessie laughed when she heard Coralie squealing and complaining from inside the wagon. As they passed, Jessie glanced into the back and saw her sister-in-law holding on for dear life as the springless wagon bounced over the rutted ground. Jessie twisted in her saddle to watch the departing wagons. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the caravan. The wagons stretched out and rolled across the green carpet of grass toward the clear blue horizon of the West. White canvas billowed in the breeze, and the sound of bellowing oxen and whips cracking the air left her feeling giddy.

  It was Rickard’s turn with her oxen. Resting her forearms across the saddle horn, she watched him try to get the animals moving, but the oxen refused to budge. Rickard yelled at the lazy beasts, pulled on the reins and swatted them with a short stick on their thick rumps, but they wouldn’t move. There hadn’t been enough time for her fully to train or gentle them, as Jordan had purchased them just three days ago to pull the Bakers’ wagon.