THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy

by Susan Page Davis

  Where was Thomas, anyway? Maybe he’d gotten used to the idea that she wouldn’t get up until the sun was high above the horizon and figured there was no sense building the fire too early.

  She knelt and blew on the pile but only succeeded in blowing ashes over her precious coals. She brushed them away and blew again. The coals shone brightly while her breath lasted, but the large sticks showed no disposition to catching fire.

  Eb Bentley came around the end of the wagon, strolling as though he had not a care in the world.

  “Morning, miss. Let me make that up for you?”

  Elise clenched her teeth. Why did it have to be him? And if he disdained her and Anne so much, why was he offering to do this for her? Wouldn’t he rather see her fail and give up?

  She rose and brushed off her skirt, resolved to learn to cope, no matter who the instructor. “Thank you, Mr. Bentley. Could you please show me how it’s done? I’d like to become proficient at this, but there don’t seem to be many live coals left.”

  “Oh, they’re in there, miss. You’ve got to stir around in the ashes and pull together any little bits that glow.”

  He reached down and removed the large sticks she’d set in the fireplace. Tapping them together, he let the ashes fall off them into the pit.

  “And you need some tinder—anything small that will burn well.” He looked toward the edge of the field. “Anytime you’re near pine trees, you can usually find little twigs underneath the overhanging branches. They’re small enough to light from a match, and they usually keep dry, even when it’s wet out.” He strode purposefully toward the trees.

  Elise placed her hands on her hips and gazed after him. Should she have offered to go? She probably wouldn’t have been able to find the right twigs.

  She wanted to. She wanted to know exactly what to use. This would make her and Anne more independent. She hurried after him, holding her skirt up and hoping he didn’t turn and see her engaging in such unladylike behavior.

  He reached a pine tree on the edge of the sparse woods. The emigrants were forbidden to cut down the trees. If they did, the man who owned the land would make them leave and would never allow another wagon train to form there. Anne had paid for enough split wood in town to give them a small woodpile. Once they hit the trail, Elise had no idea how they would find more, but they couldn’t haul enough to feed their cook fires all the way to Oregon.

  Eb lifted a low-hanging pine branch and ducked beneath it. Elise came up behind him.

  “Will any pine tree do?”

  He looked up with a flicker of surprise on his face. “Unless someone else beat you to it. See here?” He pointed to some small twigs sticking out from the trunk—smaller around than her knitting needles. “A handful of those will work.”

  “What about pine needles?”

  He shrugged. “If they’re dry, they’ll catch fast, but they’ll burn quick, too. Maybe quicker than you want them to. Get a bunch of these twigs, and then something a little bigger—that’s your kindling—and put your fuel wood on last, once the little stuff is burning.”

  She nodded, hoping she could remember the steps. She would not call him back to demonstrate again. He gathered a few small branches off the ground inside the tree line, passed them to her, and then broke a few more dry twigs off the bole of another pine tree.

  “All right, that should be enough.”

  She tried to match his long strides as they walked back to the wagon. He set down his load and picked up the crooked stick she’d used to stir the fire. Kneeling before the stone circle, he used the stick to probe the ashes until he found the little embers and herded them together. In a couple of minutes, he had a small cluster of them.

  “Tinder.” He held up his hand.

  Elise placed a clump of the pine twigs in it. Eb bent and put them on top of the coals, heaped up above them in a loose bunch.

  “More.”

  When he’d used all the little twigs, he took the larger dead branches, broke them in short lengths, and stood them up in a little pyramid over the pile, like the frames the gardener at Stoneford used to make over the bean plants. Eb stooped low and blew gently on the embers.

  Nothing happened at first. Elise was disappointed. Apparently Eb didn’t have the secret down as well as he thought.

  Suddenly a flame shot up and licked the twigs. Eb kept blowing softly until the whole thing caught. He sat up and watched the kindling begin to burn.

  Elise laughed. “I’m sure I would have given up.”

  “Are you carrying any matches?”

  “Yes, we have a few, and a flint and steel.”

  He reached for some larger sticks from her woodpile. “You never need to be without fire, then. If you’ve got no coals, just set it up and light a match.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not much to it. You’ll be an expert inside a week.”

  “Maybe. I do want to learn how to do things for myself.”

  He nodded. “I see that. It’s a commendable attitude.” He added a few more sticks. “Let that burn down some before you try to cook. You don’t want to put your pots over high flames like that. Wait until it’s settled down and you have a bed of coals.”

  “Yes. Rebecca Harkness showed us what to look for yesterday.” Though Elise still wasn’t completely sure she’d know the exact moment to begin her cooking.

  He stood and glanced toward her wagon. “Do you have a grate?”

  “I…don’t think so. Should I?”

  “It’d make things easier. You can put it on top of the stones if you shape your fireplace right, and your pots will sit up above the fire. That’s good for frying things.”

  She nodded. “I guess we could get one at the general store.”

  “Could be.”

  Anne poked her head out of the tent. “Good morning, Mr. Bentley.”

  He turned toward her and smiled. “Morning, Miss Stone. Miss Finster’s going to have your coffee ready in two shakes.”

  “Oh, Miss Stone prefers tea,” Elise said.

  “Your tea, then.” Eb looked at Elise. “You can set your pot of water in there. Can’t burn water. And while it heats and the fire burns down to where you can cook over it, maybe I can give your wagon a last once-over.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Elise’s urge to defend herself and point out that she was not the one who burned the bacon yesterday dissipated as she took in his last remark. “You intend to look into our wagon?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Rob and I will inspect all the wagons today and tomorrow. We don’t want anyone setting out unprepared.”

  “I assure you, we have all the equipment specified on the list.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Eb said. “And I saw your wagon before you bought it, so I know it’s in good shape. But have you loaded your goods to advantage?”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by that last question, but Thomas had seemed to know how to load a wagon, so she looked him in the eye and said, “I believe we have.”

  “Good. Let’s take a look.”

  He walked to the back of their wagon and stood expectantly, waiting for Elise to open up the rear flap. Elise glanced at Anne.

  Anne shrugged. “If they’re doing this to everyone…I mean, it’s better to know now if we need to buy anything else. Isn’t it?”

  Elise tried to keep a neutral expression as she tied the flap back and lowered the tailboard of the wagon.

  Eb peered inside then climbed up and began poking about.

  Anne came to stand by Elise. “He’s not opening our chests, is he?”

  “No. If he did, I should protest loudly.”

  “I wish we could know that this is worth it—that we’ll find Uncle David in Oregon.”

  “There are no guarantees.”

  Anne let out a sigh. “I suppose not. But it will take us months to make ourselves presentable again when we go back to England. I’ve already broken most of my nails, and I despair of ever feeling truly clean again. And we’ve not even se
t out yet!”

  Elise slipped her arm around the girl—for Anne did seem like a girl to her still. Most days she kept her “mature young woman” mask in place, but Elise knew the child within.

  “My dear, we can’t turn back now. Think of the regret you’d suffer and the renewed agony of not knowing what became of David.”

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  Eb climbed out at the front of the wagon and walked slowly to them, eyeing the buckets and tools they had tied to the side of the wagon.

  When he reached them, he nodded soberly. “You ladies seem to have everything necessary for supplies. I suggest you lighten the load a bit. You’re using mules, and they can only pull so much weight up the mountains.”

  “Lighten the load?” Anne stared at him with round eyes.

  “Yes, miss. If I were you, I’d toss out a couple of those heavy trunks.”

  Outrage welled in Elise’s breast. “Those trunks hold Lady—” She stopped short as she realized her mistake. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and her face felt like it was on fire. “I wouldn’t think of asking Miss Stone to appear in Oregon City society, however provincial it may be, without a proper wardrobe, sir. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  He shot her a keen glance then addressed Anne.

  “I’m not saying you should get rid of everything, miss, but if you want to get to Oregon without killing those mules of yours, you’d do well to reduce your load.”

  Anne swallowed hard and turned to Elise. “Perhaps we should sell some of my clothing and buy plain calico dresses like the other women are wearing. We’ve talked about it….”

  “Yes, we have.” Elise shuddered at the thought of Lady Anne in such drab dresses, but she could see the practicality of getting rid of the laces and flounces. In addition to blending in better with the farmers’ wives, they’d be able to cook and tend livestock more safely in plain clothing. “I suppose we might be able to do with a bit less, and we could buy more once we arrived.”

  “Certainly.” Anne’s face brightened.

  “Besides,” Eb said drily, “Oregon City society may not be all you’re thinking it is.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Elise and Anne went about breakfast preparation with grim resolution. In only an hour, they were able to present Thomas with a plate full of biscuits (left from their lesson the day before), bacon (not burned), and eggs (cooked carefully by Anne in the bacon grease and only a little browned). While Elise took the dishes to the creek to wash them, Anne supervised the unloading of two of her trunks.

  The rest of their morning was occupied in sorting through both women’s gowns. After much deliberation, Anne closed the hasps on the smallest of her three trunks.

  “I suppose if we’re going to try this, we need to do it this afternoon. Tomorrow is the Lord’s Day, and we can’t be transacting business then.”

  Elise nodded. She wished they could have thinned their wardrobes even more. Most of the items they’d agreed to dispose of belonged to her mistress, but she’d added a dress from her own collection that required several petticoats to support it. Anne was giving up five gowns. Between them, they would relieve the mule team of more than fifty pounds of goods to haul, including the weight of the chest.

  “Wilbur Harkness says he’ll take us to town with it in his farm wagon,” Elise said.

  “Should we post a letter to Mr. Conrad or Cousin Randolph?” Anne asked.

  “What for? We’ve nothing to tell them.”

  Anne nodded, but her brow puckered. “I felt a bit guilty not revealing our plans to Randolph before we left.”

  “You told Mr. Conrad. That’s enough.”

  Elise had felt it needful for someone in England to know where they’d gone, in case tragedy befell them during their travels. But Anne hadn’t wanted to broadcast her plans to the world, and so they’d left England quietly. Elise hoped they could complete their mission and return in triumph.

  The Harkness family had two wagons covered with canvas and stuffed with their goods, but Wilbur, the couple’s eldest son of twenty-two years, had convinced his father to hold off on covering the smaller farm wagon.

  “He told his pa they should put the canvas on last thing, and stow the tools and animal feed in it,” Rebecca confided to Elise as they watched Wilbur and his younger brother load Anne’s trunk. “That way we’ve been able to keep using the small wagon to fetch stuff.”

  “That’s been a blessing to others,” Elise said.

  “Oh yes. Several families have needed to go into town for some last-minute business and found it very helpful not to have to take their ox teams and covered wagons.”

  Elise determined to pay Wilbur something and not take advantage of the family’s generosity, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  “We’re neighbors for the next five or six months, ma’am. I wouldn’t think of charging a neighbor when I’m going into town anyway.”

  It was more than most people would do, Elise was sure. Wilbur’s mother and her two eldest daughters, Lavinia and fourteen-year-old Abby, rode with them and the trunk. Wilbur exhibited his courtliest manners, especially when Anne was close by.

  At the general store, the owner reluctantly came out to inspect the merchandise they offered. He shook his head as Elise held up one gown after another.

  “I dunno, ladies. I can’t imagine the women of this town buying such fancy duds. And women going west sure won’t want ’em. I get a lot of stuff people can’t take with ’em, but I don’t know if I can take these. The trunk, maybe, if you want to empty it out.”

  “Why would we want to sell you a trunk and keep the things in it?” Elise placed her hands on her hips and scowled at him.

  He shrugged. “You could set up on the corner and ask folks if they’d like to buy, I s’pose. ’Scuse me, I got payin’ customers inside.” He ambled into his store.

  Anne’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “What shall we do now?”

  “I could ask him if he’d trade these gowns for cotton and woolen dress goods,” Elise suggested.

  “Didn’t sound hopeful.” Lavinia grimaced in sympathy.

  “You could try doing what he said,” Mrs. Harkness told Elise. “Set the trunk down on the boardwalk here and sell to people going into the store.”

  “Ma, I like that lilac dress,” Lavinia said, leaning over the open trunk. “Do you think we could buy it?”

  “Don’t talk nonsense, child. We don’t have a spare nickel. Your father would rant from here to Sunday if we came back with a fancy dress like that.”

  “But Mr. Whistler said maybe there’ll be dancing some nights—especially when we get to Independence Rock.”

  “And you’ll wear your green cotton, not some outlandish fashion from Europe.” Mrs. Harkness gathered her skirt and lifted it slightly. “I wish you good fortune, ladies. Come, Lavinia. Abby. Let’s go get those things we came to get.” They went into the store.

  Wilbur, who’d stood by in silence during this exchange, said, “I’ve got to get over to the wainwright’s and pick up our extra wagon rims. Do you ladies want me to hoist that chest out onto the sidewalk for you?”

  “I suppose we’ve no other option,” Elise said. At least the store owner had given tacit permission for them to set up their clothing business outside his establishment.

  A few minutes later, two women who were walking toward the general store diverted their steps to see what the finely groomed ladies were offering out of a steamer trunk.

  “Oh, how lovely,” one of them said, her eyes softening. She fingered the folds of the golden satin gown Anne had worn to Lady Erskine’s ball the previous spring. “So impractical though.”

  Her companion’s lip curled. “Where would you ever wear it, Mary?”

  “You never spoke a truer word.”

  The two women turned away.

  A man and his wife slowed to take a quick look.

  “Imagine spending good money on something like that,” the man said. “You can’t wear th
at to the chicken coop.”

  One somber woman turned up her nose and muttered, “The idea. Women out peddling their clothing on the street. It isn’t proper.”

  Anne had again reached the verge of tears. Elise handed her a lace-edged lawn handkerchief. “There, my dear. Don’t be discouraged. If no one wants them, you’ll get to keep them—there’s always a bright side.”

  “Oh Elise, you always say the right thing.” Anne gave her a watery smile.

  “Well, maybe I haven’t said the right thing all day.” Elise squeezed her arm. “I should have suggested that we pray about this venture before we ever set out on it. If the Lord wants us to sell dresses, He’ll bring along buyers, now won’t He?”

  “Afternoon, ladies.”

  They looked up into the face of a cheerful young man in overalls. He smiled broadly through his russet beard. “Whatcha sellin’?”

  Was this the answer to the prayers they had not yet voiced? Elise said, “Only the finest gowns you’ll see this side of London. They were made by a fine seamstress there, sir. You must have a lady in your life who’d like to wear a dress of the best quality—something she couldn’t find out here on the frontier.”

  He gulped and stole a glance at Anne then looked at the trunk. “Well, I do have someone, ma’am, but she’s back in Boston. I had to leave her there while I came out to Missouri to start my farm. But I’m ready to go back and claim her now.”

  “How sweet,” Elise said. “And she’s been waiting for you.”

  “Yes’m. Two years. I reckon I’m ready to bring her out here now. We’ve set the wedding for June the twelfth, and I’m leaving as soon as I get my crop in the ground.”

  “Oh sir,” Anne said, reaching into the trunk, “wouldn’t your young lady like to have a pure silk gown? She could wear it when you take her to church in Boston.”

  “Or at the fete her parents throw before the wedding,” Elise said. “Tell me, is she slender like my friend? Anne has the most beautiful gown in there that’s gathered and flounced. The slate-blue one, Anne.”