“I’m not sure.” Elise scrutinized Eb’s work again but couldn’t spot a piece similar to Anne’s. She took it and held it up, frowning.
“That’s the crupper, ma’am.”
Elise jumped and looked up into Eb’s face. He was closer than she’d thought, and she stepped away, bumping the mule’s flank. The animal let out a snort of protest.
“The what?” she asked.
“The crupper. It goes under his tail.”
Elise glanced toward the mule’s rear end. With a grimace she headed back there. Eb seemed amused. He walked to the harness they’d left on the grass and picked up the last bundle.
She could see now one tab of leather on the mule’s near side that must attach to this buckle. But how did one get the tail to lie over the crupper? She stared at Challenger’s rump, frowning.
Suddenly Eb was beside her again.
“Allow me, ma’am.” As he took the offending piece of leather from her, his large, tanned hand touched her fingers. Elise relinquished the crupper as if it had burned her.
“Thank you.”
“Maybe you can bring up the last mule from the back of the wagon.”
Five minutes later, they had all four mules in place, and Eb was making a final check of all the harness connections. Rob Whistler rode up on his horse.
“Eb, where you been?”
“More like where’s their hired man been.”
Eb definitely sounded grumpy. Elise exchanged a look with Anne.
“Costigan’s not here?” Rob asked. “We’re supposed to have pulled out half an hour ago.”
“I know it,” Eb said. “Can’t be helped.”
“Well, it’s often this way on the first day.” Whistler smiled down at Elise and Anne.
“I don’t know about that fella,” Eb said. “I asked about him at the livery. Pottle didn’t seem to think much of him.”
Anne’s eyes widened. “Do you mean Mr. Costigan?”
“He’s the one.” Eb straightened and slapped the near lead mule on the shoulder. “You’re all set, if you have a driver.”
“But…you recommended Mr. Costigan,” Anne said.
“Me?” Eb swung around to look at her. “I never did. In fact, I never saw him before he showed up with your wagon a few days ago.”
Anne looked helplessly at her, and Elise hauled in a deep breath.
“I believe what he actually said the day we met him was, ‘that wagon train fella’ had told him we needed a man to go with us on the journey. He asked for the job.”
Eb pursed his lips then glanced up at Whistler. “Did you talk to him, Rob?”
“I never. Not before he was hired.”
Eb’s eyebrows drew together. “Well, lookee yonder.”
They all turned toward the road. Thomas Costigan walked quickly toward them.
“I reckon your driver’s here,” Eb said. “But I’ll be watching him.”
Rob nodded. “Me, too. Come on, Eb. We need to finish setting the lineup. Miss Finster, have Costigan put your wagon last in line. After we stop at nooning, you’ll move up.” He touched his hat brim and rode off.
“I’ll check in on you later, ladies,” Eb said. He didn’t wait for Thomas to get there but strode away instead.
Elise clenched her jaw. Eb had neglected his usual duties to help them. They’d fulfilled his dire predictions about them—the ones she’d vowed would not come true. She and Anne had delayed the starting of the train and made extra work for the scout. Those reflections did not put her in a kindly mood toward Thomas.
“Mr. Costigan.” She stood in his path with her hands on her hips. “We needed you, and you weren’t here.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I got called away last night, and I thought I’d be back before—”
“Called away? By whom? We have a business agreement.” At least he’s sober, Elise told herself, but she wasn’t going to let him off too easy.
“Sorry, ma’am.” His confident tone had sunk to a mumble. He shot a glance in Anne’s direction. “I couldn’t help it, but I’m ready to go now.”
“I should hope so,” Elise said. “We have four of the mules hitched, as you can see. I wasn’t sure which two you wanted to keep in reserve.”
Thomas did a quick survey of the team. “This will do, except I put Bumper there in as a leader, him being so independent and all.”
“Bumper?” Elise asked.
He slapped the near wheeler on the withers. “This one right here.” He looked over the mules’ backs toward where the lead wagons were rolling out onto the road westward. “No time to switch them now. Probably won’t matter.”
Elise made a mental note to learn the peculiarities of all their mules soon, in case Thomas proved unreliable again.
“Your breakfast is cold, but it’s waiting for you on the other side of the wagon. As soon as you get your coffee, I’ll pack up the coffeepot.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Anne sidled up to her as Thomas disappeared around the wagon. “He seems contrite enough.”
“Yes.” Elise frowned. “I don’t know what to think. It’s too late to change our plans and find another man, but we’d best learn all we can about caring for mules.”
“Yes, and I’d like to learn to drive,” Anne said.
“Excellent idea.”
More than half the wagons had lumbered out of the field onto the roadway. Rob Whistler cantered toward them on his chestnut horse.
“You ready?”
“Next to it.”
“Where’s Costigan?”
Thomas came around the back of the wagon carrying his tin plate and cup. “I’m here.”
“Get your wagon into the last place in line. Let’s not have any stragglers the first day.”
Thomas shoved his empty plate into Elise’s hands. “Thanks, ma’am. Not half-bad this morning.”
Elise supposed that was a compliment. “Just don’t be tardy again.” She hurried to put the dirty dishes away. No time to clean them now. They’d have to do them at noon, and she hoped the egg wouldn’t stick too badly.
To her surprise, Anne was dumping the dregs of the coffee onto the smoldering remains of their campfire.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
“Just that box. I hung the grate on the wagon.”
Elise flung the dish box in over the tailboard as the mules leaned into their collars and pulled. The two women stood for a moment catching their breath and watching their wagon pull away from them.
“Oh.” Anne looked down at the coffeepot in her hand.
“Come on,” Elise said. “I don’t suppose it will take us ten seconds to catch up.”
They set out on their first day on the Oregon Trail, walking fifty feet behind the last wagon.
Elise heard a commotion behind, and she swung around.
“Oh my! Hurry, Anne.”
The herd of milk cows and extra oxen and mules surged up the trail from the corral. Elise and Anne turned and ran for the back of their wagon.
CHAPTER 14
Elise sat on the wagon tongue, finishing her sewing before the last rays of daylight faded. They’d been on the trail three days, and she was weary beyond expression. Anne had already retired inside their tent.
“Everything all right over here?”
She looked up to see Rebecca Harkness approaching with Mrs. Legity, a widow traveling with her daughter, son-in-law, and their three children.
“Yes, thank you,” Elise said.
Rebecca nodded. “Thought I smelt something burning over here earlier.”
“Oh, well…” Heat rushed to Elise’s cheeks. “Miss Stone and I are still learning to use the dutch oven to good advantage.”
Rebecca smiled, and it transformed her careworn, critical visage into the pleasant face of a friend. “Would you like another lesson? Tomorrow evening if we stop in good time, perhaps we could bake gingerbread after supper.”
“That sounds lovely.”
Mrs.
Legity snorted. “Don’t know why you two thought you could head out for parts unknown without knowing so much as how to bake biscuits.”
“There now, Agnes, likely these ladies had people to do for them back in England.”
Elise swallowed hard. She didn’t want to go into their former situation. “We would both like to increase our knowledge of household tasks.”
Mrs. Legity snorted again, but Rebecca smiled.
“There now. When you talk, Miss Finster, it’s like music. And Miss Stone—why, her voice is like honey.”
“She is sweet,” Elise said.
“Yes, and Wilbur’s like a bee drawn to her,” Mrs. Legity said.
Elise stared at her for a moment then averted her gaze. “Wilbur has been nothing but courteous in our presence.”
“That’s good to hear,” Rebecca said. “I’m sure Miss Stone does seem like an angel to him. She’s so pretty and dainty.”
“She’ll never make a farm wife.”
Mrs. Legity’s sour comments hurt, but Elise knew better than to show her reaction. In England, she’d have given any woman who spoke so a proper set-down. But these women, rough and dour as they were, held a trove of wisdom Elise envied. She had to live with them for the next five or six months, and she could either learn from them or turn up her nose and be snubbed. She chose to make friends.
“Mrs. Legity, I admire the fine stitching on your buttonholes. Did you make them yourself?”
“Aye. And I see you’ve been sewing this evening.”
Elise nodded. “A small mending job. I tore a sleeve yesterday.”
“You’d do well to take up your skirts while you’re at it.”
Elise hesitated, unsure how to respond. The pioneer women all seemed to wear their skirts scandalously short, exposing their ankles. Lavinia Harkness’s were among the worst, but her mother didn’t seem to care that Lavinia and her sisters sometimes showed the edges of their petticoats and even a bit of stocking.
“The fashions do change,” she murmured.
“It’s nothing to do with fashion,” Mrs. Legity said. “If you’re going to walk miles every day and cook over an open fire, you’d best have skirts that won’t get in your way.”
Elise recalled her near accident with the fire the week before, and the way Eb Bentley had hauled her away from the blaze with his well-muscled arms. Her face flushed anew.
“Perhaps you are right.” Climbing in and out of the wagon was another activity where full skirts hindered her, and she’d noticed Anne impatiently yanking hers upward before she mounted the wagon step. A couple of inches off the hemline might in reality allow them more modesty if it meant less hiking up their skirts. “I shall speak to Anne about it tomorrow.”
Rebecca nodded. “That’s the spirit.”
Mrs. Legity had found the charred pot Elise had set aside. She’d hoped Thomas would carry the heavy iron kettle to the stream and scour it out with sand, but Thomas had disappeared as soon as he’d eaten. That seemed to be his pattern, and Elise had mulled how to keep him around camp for a few chores each evening, but she hadn’t worked up her courage to speak to him about it yet.
Now Mrs. Legity peered into the dutch oven and wrinkled her nose. Elise felt compelled to say something.
“I hoped to take care of that earlier, but I needed to use the daylight for my sewing.”
“Have you plenty of water?” Rebecca looked pointedly at the nearly empty bucket by the wagon’s rear wheel.
“Uh…Mr. Costigan…” Elise glanced about, but Thomas was still absent.
“Don’t go to fetch water by yourself,” Mrs. Legity said darkly.
“Do you suppose we’ll be able to do a washing soon?” Elise asked.
“It might be weeks afore we do,” Mrs. Legity said.
Rebecca shrugged. “Mr. Whistler won’t want to stop long enough for that until we get to Fort Kearny, I’ll wager.”
“Oh.” Elise didn’t consider herself overly fastidious, but already she was running out of clean stockings and underthings. Lady Anne had certainly never been so long without a bath.
“Well, we’d best get back to our wagons,” Rebecca said. “Take care, Miss Finster, and do come by tomorrow evening if you’re not too busy. We’ll do a baking.”
“Thank you, and perhaps you can share that knitting pattern you mentioned to me.”
“I’d be happy to.”
As the two women turned away, Elise caught an incredulous glance from Mrs. Legity. Probably she couldn’t believe Elise actually knew how to knit, though it was something she’d learned in childhood.
Mrs. Legity offered not so much as a farewell, and the two walked away in the twilight. Elise sat down again and took up her needle, but it was so dark she couldn’t see the thread against the fabric. With a sigh, she stuck the needle through the cloth, rose, and tucked the dress inside the wagon.
The next morning Thomas brought up the two mules that pulled in the wheel position while Elise stood over the bacon and Anne set out the dishes.
“Thomas, we’ll need more water,” Elise called.
“Got to get these mules hitched.”
“But toting wood and water is part of your job.”
Thomas frowned. “Don’t remember that.”
Elise gritted her teeth. No use asking him to clean the burned-on dutch oven. He would surely balk at that. “It is indeed part of the job, and if you need to rise earlier to do those chores, then so be it, but I’m sure you could bring a little extra fuel and water in the evening.”
He tied the two mules to the wagon frame and walked out into the center of the camp again, where the loose livestock were confined at night.
“That man is starting to irritate me,” Elise said to Anne.
“I understand, but here’s the rub—he’s the only man we’ve got or are able to have at this point.”
“Yes. I’m beginning to feel he’s taken advantage of us. He does hitch the team each morning—aside from that first day—and he drives all day, sitting on the wagon seat, while we have to walk. Then he unhitches at night, eats his supper, and disappears.”
Anne carefully removed the coffeepot from the fire. She set it down on top of the dish crate and turned to Elise.
“We must learn to drive well. Both of us.”
“I’ve been thinking the same.” So far Anne had not asked Thomas to teach her, and neither of the ladies had taken the reins of the mule team. “It would be wise of us to master the skill—and any others we might have to perform if our hired man abandons us along the way.”
Anne’s forehead wrinkled. “Where would he go? We’ve passed a few farms and that one little village yesterday, but I believe we’re quite beyond civilization now.”
“He says he knows people along the trail. There must be trading stations. And—and forts.”
Anne nodded. “I did hear Mr. Whistler mention some forts. He said our first major destination is Fort Kearny. We’ll stop there a few days to rest and trade, he said.”
“Ma’am?”
Elise whirled to find Thomas standing behind her. With each hand he held the halter of another mule. His shirt was fastened by the two top buttons but hung open below them.
“Really, Thomas, your shirt,” Elise said.
“Yes’m. Bumper here took off a couple of buttons. Thought maybe you could help me out.”
“Do you have the buttons?”
He shook his head. “No chance to look for ’em.”
Elise sighed. The buttons in her limited sewing kit were mostly small mother-of-pearl disks for mending her own clothing and Anne’s. She also had a few cloth-covered ones that matched some of their dresses.
“Change your shirt after you hitch the mules. I’ll see what I can come up with.”
When he was out of earshot, Anne said, “I think he’s only got two shirts to his name.”
“And I’ve no masculine shirt buttons.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Harkness would trade for something,” Anne suggested. �
�She has several men to sew and mend for.”
“That’s good thinking. What shall I offer in trade?”
Anne smiled. “A yard of lace to put about the neck and sleeves of one of her dresses. She may fuss about fripperies, but I daresay she’d love to have some.”
“Perhaps you’re right. If that doesn’t do the trick, I’ll see if she has plenty of spices. I really think we purchased more than we’ll use between here and Oregon.”
“Yes, but if we’re going to trade our supplies for Thomas’s upkeep, we need to come to an understanding with him.”
“True.” Elise looked toward where he was fitting Challenger’s collar over the mule’s head. “I believe I can do that now. Mending wasn’t mentioned when we hired him. But I shall be glad to do it—after I see a full water pail and a good-sized woodpile this evening.” She turned over a slice of bacon. “I’m getting the knack for this, Anne.”
“Wonderful! And I believe we should use our bargaining position to make Thomas agree to driving lessons as well.”
“Hmm.” Elise turned another piece of bacon. It looked quite appetizing, and the smell of it cooking made her stomach rumble. “Perhaps the time to broach that subject is when we present him with a large slice of hot gingerbread.”
“My dears, I’m so worn out, I’ve got to go to bed after this batch is done baking, whether it’s edible or not.” Rebecca eyed the dutch oven doubtfully.
“I’m so sorry I ruined the last batch,” Anne said contritely.
“There, there, it wasn’t your fault.” Rebecca patted her shoulder.
“That’s right. Anyone might mistake saleratus for salt,” Lavinia said stoutly, though Elise didn’t see how that could be true. Still, she admired Lavinia for sticking up for Anne. The poor young lady’s confidence was now lower than Bumper’s shoe nails.
“We wanted a good batch tonight, so we could bribe Thomas,” Anne confessed, “but he’s probably asleep by now.”
Rebecca laughed. “So that’s why the baking lesson was so important. Well, it’s a shame you ruined two cakes’ worth of supplies, but I do believe this one will turn out all right. If he’s gone to bed, you can give it to him at nooning tomorrow. He’ll be surprised, you can be certain of that.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 15