“You can’t miss it,” he concluded.
Elise gathered the reins. With her mouth, she made the clicking sound she’d heard coachmen make many times. When Prince didn’t move, she jiggled the reins and then flicked them so that they slapped against the horse’s thin rump. Prince walked toward the street.
“There.” Elise smiled over at Anne. “We should be there in no time.”
She soon discovered that Prince had a mind of his own. Whenever Elise pulled on one rein, indicating he should turn, he obstinately tried to continue in a straight path. If they came to a broad, open place, he curved around, trying to head back toward the livery stable.
As they reached the outskirts of town, the horse veered to the edge of the road to avoid an oncoming wagon and sent one wheel off the edge and into a shallow ditch. Elise gasped and snapped the reins.
“Get up, you!”
Startled, Prince leaped forward and hauled the buggy back onto the roadway. Elise let him continue at a trot and concentrated on keeping him moving straight. After a few yards, however, he dropped back into his sluggish walk.
She looked over at Anne, who still clutched her hat to her head.
“All right?”
Anne nodded and straightened on the seat. Her countenance smoothed out. “I’m sure we’re fine.”
They continued on sedately, but the moment’s terror was not easily forgotten. Elise’s confidence flagged. Her arms ached from tugging on the lines and flicking them often in her futile efforts to convince the horse to trot again.
They’d been out an hour when Anne looked uneasily toward the small copse of trees they were passing. “Perhaps we missed it after all. They can’t be this far out of town, can they?”
“As soon as I find a place wide enough, I shall turn this animal around.” Elise gritted her teeth. There might be highwaymen lurking about, or even savages. She’d been foolish not to insist on a driver, even if that meant finding a different livery stable. The open country seemed limitless, and she shivered.
She found a place where she could turn safely off the road and guide the horse around in a wide circle. When they had lurched back onto the road, she flicked the reins. Pointed toward home once more, Prince stepped out in a smarter walk.
Eb was checking over a New York family’s oxen when the buggy rolled into the field. He nodded to Mr. Woolman and wandered over to where Rob was talking to the Adams brothers. Eb began whistling “London Bridge Is Falling Down.”
“Hmm?” Rob arched his eyebrows at Eb then looked beyond him. “Aha.” He strolled toward the buggy, driven by a windblown and very attractive Miss Finster.
Eb tore his gaze away and nodded to the Adamses. “So, you got your supplies all laid in?”
“Mostly,” said Hector, the elder brother. “We need to pick up a few more foodstuffs between now and Monday.” The “boys” were in their thirties, and Daniel usually let his brother do the talking while he stood by and nodded.
“Good work.” Eb ambled on to the next wagon, a little closer to where Rob was engrossed in conversation with Miss Finster and Miss Stone. He stooped and pretended to examine the axle nut on the wagon’s front wheel.
“Well, now, Eb tells me he informed you about my rule,” Rob said. “Ladies who haven’t got a man along to drive and do the heavy work for them aren’t allowed.”
“He did mention it,” Miss Finster replied, “but you must have a way for women to circumvent that. There must be women who need to go out and join their husbands, or widows who want to take their families out and begin farming.”
“Not so many as you’d think,” Rob said. “They know how hard it is without a man along. I’ve had a few instances where a man died along the trail and his womenfolk had to continue on without him. That’s a little different. But it’s always hard, and it puts hardship on the others in the train to look out for them.”
“We’re self-sufficient, I assure you, sir.”
Rob shook his head. “I’m sorry, ladies, but it would be asking for trouble. Neither of you has much experience in overland travel, and it would slow us down. Maybe you should think about going downriver to New Orleans and taking a ship.”
“What if we could hire a man to go along and work for us?” Miss Finster asked. “Is that ever done? Get someone who can tend to the animals and do some of the driving?”
Rob pushed his hat back on his head. “Well, yes, it’s possible. You might find a man who wants to go west but hasn’t the money to outfit a wagon for himself. But you need to make sure you get someone you can trust and who’ll work hard.”
Miss Finster glanced toward her companion and cleared her throat. “That’s what we’ll do. Can you recommend someone?”
“Why, ma’am, I don’t live here. I don’t know too many people in town. But you could ask at the livery or put up a broadside at the post office. But you’ll have to get right on it. We pull out Monday morning, no matter what.”
“Oh dear,” said Miss Stone.
“That is soon,” Miss Finster agreed. “What exactly would we need, assuming we found a driver?”
“Well, ma’am, I can give you a list of supplies. You’d have to figure foodstuffs for yourselves and your hired hand. Of course, the first thing you’d need would be a wagon and a team of oxen or mules.”
Eb straightened and stared at Rob’s back. He couldn’t be doing this—but he was. Probably they’d wind up with a couple of old mules with heaves. Someone wanting to unload some bad stock would see them as an easy mark. The swaybacked horse they drove today was proof of that.
Rob left them and strode to where he’d tied his saddled horse. Eb intercepted him while he fished in his saddlebag.
“What on earth are you doing, Rob?”
“I’m getting a copy of the supply list for the ladies.”
“You can’t let them go with us.”
“They said they’d hire a driver.”
“Oh, I suppose they’ll find a man of sterling character on three days’ notice.”
Rob shrugged. “I can’t refuse them if they meet the requirements.”
“Of course you can.”
“I won’t.”
Eb nodded in silence. Rob had tossed his good judgment aside because of a couple of pretty faces with a tragic story. Poor Miss Stone had her heart set on finding her long lost uncle, and they’d convinced Rob that, with his help, they could find him.
“Excuse me,” Rob said with exaggerated politeness. “I need to explain to these ladies what they need to do in order to join this wagon train.”
Eb watched him go. The ladies bowed and simpered when he gave them the paper—or so it seemed to Eb.
Miss Finster’s smile faded as she perused the list. “Oxen? Oh dear. Must we?”
“Or mules,” Rob said affably. “Oxen cost less and hold up better on grass. Mules generally need some grain, so you’d have to buy that and carry it along.”
“Neither of us has much experience with cattle,” Miss Finster said.
Her young companion asked, “Couldn’t we use horses, Mr. Whistler? I’ve been around horses since I was a child.”
Rob shook his head. “Horses don’t generally last well on the trail. It’s a very rough trip, pulling a heavy wagon. They need too much feed and too much rest. Sounds like you’d do best with mules though, if you’ve never been around cattle.”
“Mules would do the job, would they?” Miss Finster asked. “Aren’t they balky?”
“They can be, but generally they’ll follow along if the other animals are moving.”
“Where would we buy a mule team?” Miss Stone asked.
“There’s a couple of livery stables in Independence, and you’ll find other traders about if you look. But be careful they don’t try and fleece you.”
The two women looked at each other doubtfully.
“How would we know?” Miss Finster asked.
“Well, right now a good mule oughtn’t to cost you more than seventy-five or eighty dolla
rs. Oh, they up the prices out here. You might have done better in Saint Louie.”
“Yes, but we didn’t know for certain then that we wanted to make the trip.” Miss Finster looked so sad that Eb almost wished he could cheer her up. But he didn’t really want to mix with them any more than he had to. He still hoped they would see the folly of attempting this adventure and back down.
“Of course, if you use mules, you’ll need harness, too,” Rob said. “All of that costs money.”
“Oh well, that…” Miss Finster threw Miss Stone a quick glance. “I believe we’re all right in that department, sir.”
Rob looked over his shoulder and called, “Say, Eb.”
Eb kicked himself for not making himself scarce. He walked over and touched the brim of his hat.
“Good day, Mr. Bentley.” Miss Finster almost smiled but then seemed to think better of it. No doubt she remembered his words of discouragement.
“Eb, you told me which stores have the packages of supplies all made up for the emigrants,” Rob said. “Whyn’t you tell these ladies so they can save some time over shopping for all the individual items?”
“Well now, that’d be Ingram’s or Blevin’s. Of course, they don’t sell wagons or livestock.”
“No, but once they have their wagon, they’ll need to fill it quickly, so they’ll be ready to pull out with us.”
Eb nodded, still unconvinced. “You ladies sure you’re up to this? It’s an arduous undertaking.”
“Why yes, Mr. Bentley, I believe we are. I guess our ability to find and outfit a wagon in the next few days will be a test of sorts.” Miss Finster’s blue eyes held a spark, or maybe they just caught the glint of the sun.
“I guess it will.” Eb held her determined gaze.
Miss Stone leaned toward her friend and peered at the list. “Bacon. Do we really need that much?”
“Well, bacon will keep a long time if you pack it right,” Rob said. “The men on the train will hunt some fresh meat, but it’s good to have enough staples along in case we don’t get any game for a while.”
“What about chicken?” Miss Finster looked at the younger woman with a worried frown—almost like a mother worrying over her child.
“Some folks take chickens in a coop tied to the side of their wagons,” Eb said. “But are you ladies up to butchering your own fowl?”
Miss Finster glared at him. “We dainty things are up to whatever is necessary, Mr. Bentley.”
“I see.” Eb glared back, until Rob jabbed him in the ribs with his bony elbow.
“One hundred fifty pounds of flour…each?” Miss Stone turned her questioning gaze from the list to the wagon master.
“That’s right.” Rob shrugged. “Of course, that’s an average. You ladies might need a bit less, but to be on the safe side…And that way, if you have a little extra, you can share with those who meet with misfortune.”
“Corn and cornmeal,” Miss Stone muttered. “Saleratus?” She looked up at Rob with a look of confusion.
“For cooking, miss. Baking soda.”
“Oh.”
“And we need all these tools?” Miss Finster asked.
“Every wagon needs to carry spare parts and tools to fix their gear with,” Rob said. “But since you ladies don’t plan to settle in Oregon, you won’t be hauling furniture or farming equipment like some do. You might be able to sleep in your wagon all the way, but I’d bring a tent. An extra wagon cover, too.”
“Such a lot of stuff,” Miss Finster said as she looked down at the paper.
Miss Stone caught her breath.
“What is it?” Miss Finster asked.
Miss Stone pointed to the list. “It says women may take two dresses. Two.” She stared into her friend’s eyes. “And woolen at that.”
“Well now, that’s not chiseled in stone,” Rob said, “though you do want to keep your wagon as light as possible. Woolen material holds up well, and the nights will be cold.”
Miss Finster cleared her throat. “Since we won’t have any furniture or a plow in our wagon, perhaps we’ll be able to expand the wardrobe option a bit.” She and Miss Stone continued to study the list.
Eb turned away, unable to stay put until they read the underwear allowance and howled in protest. Those ladies would probably bring an extra wagon along just to hold their extra petticoats.
As he walked away toward where he’d left Speck, he heard Miss Stone tell Rob solemnly, “I assure you, Mr. Whistler, we shall succeed in being good travelers, and we won’t slow down the wagon train.”
Eb scooped up his horse’s reins and hopped into the saddle, not sure where he was going. Anyplace where those refined, would-be pioneer ladies couldn’t see him steam.
He headed for the path that led to the creek. Before he entered the scattering of trees, he looked back. Apparently Rob was done giving advice. Miss Finster urged the horse into a reluctant walk. The buggy made a wide turn and nearly clipped one of the wagons before they were headed back toward Independence.
Eb shook his head. “Come on, Speck. Let’s get you a drink.” More than ever, he wished he’d stayed in Oregon on his little ranch. But he was in it now.
Rob found him a quarter of an hour later, helping a family completely repack their wagon. The greenhorns had no idea of how to go about it. Heaviest stuff on the bottom, along with the bacon and other food supplies that needed to stay as cool as possible. Lightweight stuff on top. Eb had tried to talk them out of taking a big cupboard, but the wife insisted it was going with her.
“My grandmother brought it from Cornwall,” Mrs. Harkness declared. “If I can’t take it to Oregon with me, I’m not going.”
“Then lay it down in the wagon bed and fill it with your tools and other heavy stuff.”
“Books?” Mr. Harkness asked.
“You’re taking books?” Eb asked.
“Only one crate.” Mr. Harkness touched the wooden box in question with the toe of his shoe.
“That’s a big box.”
“We have to have books.” Mrs. Harkness’s voice grew more shrill each time she spoke. “How will the children do their schooling without books?”
Eb was relieved to see Rob approaching. “Well, whyn’t you ask the wagon master? You folks have three wagons, and you’re loading them mighty heavy. Those river crossings and mountain passes will do you in.”
“Eb’s right,” Rob said, as if he’d heard the entire conversation—but then, he had, a hundred times. “You’d do better to sell some things here and have the cash than to leave them beside the trail in the Rocky Mountains.”
“Oh no, not the books.” Mrs. Harkness put her foot up on the crate and folded her arms across her chest.
“All right then,” Rob said. “Make sure your wagon box is watertight, and stow that crate low in the wagon, like Eb said.”
They helped heft cargo for the Harknesses and walked away a half hour later, tired to the bone.
“Mr. Leonard’s wagon is yonder,” Rob said. “What say we get our bedrolls out and have something to eat?”
They walked to Abe Leonard’s wagon and pulled out their bundles.
“Where you want to make camp?” Rob asked.
“I slept over there last night.” Eb pointed. “Made a fire pit.” As they walked toward it, he said, “You should have turned them down flat, you know.”
“Who? The Harkness family?”
“No, the English ladies. They’ll never make it to Oregon.”
“If they hire a man to handle the livestock for them, I can’t see why we should object to having them along.”
“Oh, you don’t, do you? Isn’t it obvious that they’ve never done a lick of work in their lives? Those are highborn women, used to being waited on hand and foot.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Oh don’t I just?” They reached Eb’s fire pit, and he kicked at the charcoal in the bottom. “They can’t harness a team.”
“Miss Stone said she’d been around horses.”
>
“Oh sure. Likely riding sidesaddle in the park, wearing a fancy velvet habit. And you can bet your boots she had a groom tacking up the horse for her.”
“Well, Eb, they’re healthy women, and apparently they have the means to buy a stout rig. I won’t deny them a place on the train, and I don’t see why you’re so upset about this.”
“I’ll tell you why. You’ve always insisted that the best way to get everyone through to Oregon is to not accept any weaklings in the first place. Those women are trouble. They’ll mean more work for us and possibly tragic results. But that doesn’t matter to you. Two pretty ladies smile at you and charm you with their cute accents, and you’re falling over backward to accommodate them.”
“I resent that.”
“Sure you do. Dulcie would have your hide if she knew.”
“Dulcie knows how hard the trail is, but she wouldn’t deny those women a place in our company. Not if they obey the rules. I expect she’d cheer them on. And I might add, it’s encouraging to me that you noticed how pretty they are. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
Eb scowled at him. “Just watch yourself, Robert.”
Rob pulled his hat off and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “All right, Eb. Let’s leave Dulcie out of this. My wife has nothing to worry about. And if those ladies come back without an able-bodied man, I won’t let them go.”
“Promise?”
“You have my word.”
“All right, but when they need help hauling water or starting a fire or plucking one of their precious chickens, I won’t be the one helping them, ya hear?”
“I hear you. Now, why don’t you fetch us some kindling, and I’ll set up to cook supper. Mrs. Libby gave me some dried apple pastries. Might be a while before we taste that kind of cooking again.”
Eb went off to the edge of the field to look for some dry twigs. Within a couple of weeks, the area would be bare of anything burnable. People would have to buy firewood from enterprising locals who came around to peddle it while folks camped here and waited for their wagon trains to pull out.
He mulled over what Rob had said, and he still didn’t like it. Not one bit.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 7