When Gunner, the youngest of Wolf’s men, arrived on horseback to drive her oxen, she took a deep breath and waved him away before he dismounted. “I appreciate all your help, Gunner, but I can manage on my own now.”
The short, wiry man looked uncertain as he glanced from the three yoke of oxen to her. “Pardon me, ma’am, but I has my orders.”
Eirica smiled, showing more confidence than she felt. “You may tell Wolf I’m perfectly able to handle things on my own now.”
Frowning, Gunner scratched his head. “It’s Mr. James Jones who’ll have my head, ma’am. I has my orders from him.”
Eirica frowned and tightened her grip on the leather reins. James again! His continued high-handedness over the last month strengthened her resolve. Though she appreciated all he’d done for her, he wasn’t her keeper. It was long past time for him to know she could take care of herself and her own. Tipping her chin, she replied, “You may tell Mr. Jones I no longer require help during the day.”
Gunner still looked uncertain but he rode back the way he’d come. Eirica breathed a sigh of relief. But when the signal to roll—a loud, piercing whistle—sounded, nervous anticipation seized Eirica. As her wagon had led the march yesterday, today she’d take her place at the rear. The rotation was supposed to give each family a rest from walking in the dust of the preceding wagons, but when the trail narrowed, it made no difference. The dust lingered in the air like a low-floating cloud.
Each wagon pulled out of the circle and lumbered past, falling in line. Today, Elliot Baker, Coralie’s older brother, took the lead. Blond and blue-eyed like his sister, he planned to open a mercantile in Oregon. Lars and Alberik Svensson followed. The Svensson family had two wagons, the only ones in their group to boast spring seats. Most of the time, they still chose to walk rather than ride. Anne followed the wagons, walking between eleven-year-old Kerstin and ten-year-old Hanna, an open book held out in front of them as each young girl took turns reading aloud. In front of the girls, four milch cows swished their tails.
One belonged to Eirica, one to Anne, and the other two provided dairy products for the men driving Wolf’s herd of cattle west. Because the cows gave better milk if they were allowed to walk freely rather than be tied to the back of the wagon and pulled along, each morning the girls gathered the cows and took charge of them during the day. Eirica knew they loved working for Wolf like their older brothers. They, too, were earning money, which would help their family start their new life in Oregon.
Rook, along with Nikolaus and Bjorn, two of the Svenssons’ sons, came next with the supply wagons followed by Rickard, the youngest Svensson boy. At fourteen, Rickard was in charge of the wagon belonging to the Jones siblings, which left Jessie free during the day to gather fuel or hunt for fresh meat. Sofia and Catarina waved to her as they passed by. Sofia led a cantankerous mule. Dante cracked his whip over the backs of the oxen. He nodded to her and Marco ran ahead to join his new friend Rickard. At last, it was Eirica’s turn. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her hold on the reins and snapped the leather. “Gee haw,” she ordered firmly.
Nothing happened.
Chapter Five
Frowning, Eirica repeated the command to the team of oxen, lifting her voice and snapping the reins. The lead ox turned belligerent eyes toward her before swishing his tail and lowering his head in search of grazing.
“Drat,” she muttered, swatting the beast lightly on his rump with her whip. Birk had always been overly cruel to the animals when he wielded his whip, but when her gentle tap produced no results, she swatted harder. “Gee haw!” she shouted. The animals ignored her.
Eirica glanced around frantically, noting that the other wagons were pulling farther ahead, leaving her behind. The fear of falling behind, having no one notice, and not being able to find them later sent blind panic running through her. She snapped the reins hard, jerked on them and swatted the ox. She begged and pleaded to the great beasts, but to no avail. Wiping a bead of moisture from her brow, she relaxed her hold on the reins and gasped when without warning, the ox took off with an angry bellow. The rest of the team, spread out ten feet from each yoke, followed, picking up the pace.
“Good oxen,” she praised. Grabbing the trailing reins, she breathed a big sigh of relief. Elation rolled through her. She’d done it. Pride made her steps light as she walked at a fast clip. Realizing belatedly that the oxen were going too fast, that she’d never be able to keep up this pace, she tugged on the reins. “Whoa! Slow down.”
Eirica’s smile died as once again her efforts to control the team were ignored. They pulled her along as though she were nothing more man a rag doll. Grabbing the reins with a firm grip, she pulled back with all her strength. Scanning ahead of her, she noticed they were fast catching up to the others. “Please slow down,” she moaned, her arms aching from the constant pull of the reins, yet she didn’t dare let go. Her satisfaction gave way to worry.
Maybe she’d been hasty in thinking she could do this, but last time she’d had no trouble. In fact, trudging alongside the beasts all day had been downright boring. Loud, playful shrieks sounded from inside the wagon. Eirica ignored them, all her concentration focused on slowing the six huge animals with minds of their own. But when the noise inside the wagon increased, she turned her head and shouted, “Alison! Lara! You children settle.”
“Yes, Mama.” Lara giggled.
Eirica rubbed her belly when she felt the strong kicks of her unborn child.
“You settle, too,” she muttered, frustrated, already exhausted. The day had barely begun.
The morning sun inched higher into the blue sea spread out from horizon to horizon. James finished saddling his chestnut gelding, snugged his gloves and hung a canteen filled with cool water from the Sweetwater River over the mantel. It wouldn’t take long before the water grew warm, but when a man had a thirst, had a throat clogged with trail dust, even warm water tasted like nectar. With fluid grace, he mounted and gathered the reins in one hand.
The horse perked his ears and shook his head, letting James know he was eager to begin the day’s work. But James hesitated, staring westward where he knew Eirica’s wagon would already be underway. Just thinking about her, knowing she was there, so close, yet, during the day, so far, drove him crazy. What if she fell? Went into labor? He longed to be with her—watching out for her, protecting her, easing the hardships of the day.
Whenever he felt he could be spared for the day, he gave in to his need to be with her, but now that the trail was turning rough again, his duty and responsibility lay with the herd and the ten men he was in charge of. Wolf had hired him and his brothers and eight other men to see the cattle to Oregon. James was in charge—second to Wolf.
With a sigh, he contented himself with the knowledge that he’d see Eirica at day’s end.
“Let’s ride, Mister,” he commanded his horse. With a slight nudge, the animal moved into a slow trot, then into a canter, as James rode alongside the meandering herd. Whistling as he rode, James ran an experienced eye over the livestock, searching for signs of disease and exhaustion. Considering they’d come more than eight hundred miles, they didn’t look too bad. They’d started out with five hundred head and he figured Wolf had lost a few dozen to disease and other trail hazards such as treacherous river crossings and stampedes.
Spaced along the long length, the men were in position, sitting in their saddles, waiting patiently. His brother Jeremy, and another hired hand, Leroy, were positioned in the flank position while Sunny and Claude, farther down the line, rode swing. James rounded the tail end of the herd where Bart sat hunched in his saddle, his hat pulled low over his head. Bart and Gunner rode drag. Their job, to keep the stragglers from falling behind, was the least desirable. This morning, Gunner was absent, as James had assigned him to Eirica’s wagon.
Duarte and Shorty waited several yards away, keeping the herd of horses from wandering. The horses, also called the remuda or remounts, were crucial to the cattle drive. Each hired
hand needed to change his mount at least once during the day, if not more often, depending on trail and weather conditions. Behind the herd, another wagon sat; this one held supplies for the livestock.
Unlike the cattle and the emigrants’ oxen who were hardy and could survive on what grass and forage the trail offered—it was sometimes plentiful but more oftentimes scarce—the horses could not. The wagon carried grain and shoeing equipment. Saul indicated the wagon was ready to roll. Satisfied that everything was in order, James headed back to the front of the herd where Jordan and Wolf, who’d returned, waited.
As he rode up, he noted with envy the relaxed and satisfied grins of both his brother and brother-in-law. Everyone knew Wolf had taken Jessie away last night, and James knew Jordan had returned to Coralie after his watch. A surge of longing took hold. Again, he wished he’d gone to help Eirica instead of sending Gunner. Forcing his mind to the job at hand, he nodded at Wolf. “All set, boss.”
The black stallion Wolf rode pranced and fought the bit. He reared, pawing the air, making it clear he still didn’t like the close proximity of the cattle. Wolf brought him back under control with practiced ease. “Let’s head out.”
Jordan and James singled out the lead steer and a couple of others, waved their hats and shouted. Their loud voices sent the animals surging forward with bawls of annoyance. The bell attached to the lead animal jangled, signaling the rest of the herd. Without a hitch, the cattle followed. Gradually, the herd swelled to six across and formed a column nearly half a mile long.
Wolf eased his stallion alongside James. They discussed the trail ahead. Out of consideration to their fellow travelers, Wolf tried to keep the cattle off the main trail, but oftentimes it was impossible. Also, night stops had to be chosen carefully. Grazing and water availability were deciding factors.
With the day planned, they fell silent, each lost in his own thoughts. James glanced at the wagon tops billowing in the distance. Keeping his distance from Eirica was becoming harder and harder, but it was too early for him to state his intentions, so he had to content himself with seeing and talking to her under the guise of friend and protector. She’d only been a widow five long weeks—he could wait longer, however long she needed. After all, society back home wouldn’t even allow her to consider a new husband for many months yet.
His comfort lay in the fact that this wasn’t some town filled with bored matrons who had nothing better to do than rule other people’s lives. They were heading into unsettled land. Who knew what awaited them in Oregon? But one thing was as clear to him as the sky above: a woman with four children could not make it on her own. She was vulnerable, a target.
Normally James was a patient man. He longed to give her as much time as she needed to come to know and trust him, but feared her wariness and mistrust of men in general would take more time than he had. He wanted to marry her, start his new life in Oregon with her at his side. They’d be a family—she a cherished wife, and he the happiest man alive. He envisioned a house full of children. Her four plus more. His and hers. Black-haired and redheaded. Blue eyes and green. Children who would be loved and treasured.
“Didn’t you assign Gunner to drive the Macauley wagon?”
Wolf’s question drew James from his heartwarming reverie. “Yeah. He and Bart have been rotating.”
Wolf pointed. “Looks like there might be trouble.”
James frowned when he saw Gunner loping toward them. He and Wolf surged forward, riding to meet the young man.
When all three came to a stop, James demanded, “What’s wrong?”
A pained look came over the young man’s face. He grimaced, revealing yellowed teeth. “She sent me back. Says she don’t need help no more.”
James exchanged puzzled glances with Wolf. “Who’s driving her wagon?”
“Um.” Gunner hesitated. “Said she could do it herself.”
“What!” The bellow tore from James’s throat before he could stop it. Unable to believe he’d heard right, he narrowed his eyes. “She can’t handle those oxen in her condition.”
Gunner swallowed nervously, his gaze shifting from James to Wolf who’d remained silent. “I tried to tell her, boss, but she refused to listen.”
Wolf wheeled his horse around with a shake of his head that bespoke his inability to understand women any better than James. “Go,” he ordered. “I’ll stay with the herd.”
Grateful, James rode off, his heart in his throat.
Eirica wiped the sweat from her brow and glanced around, seeking help. In the distance, she noticed a horse galloping determinedly toward her. She groaned and swallowed past the lump of failure lodged in her throat. Though the rider was too far to see who it was, in her heart, she knew. James was coming after her. Truthfully, she expected him to either send Gunner back or come himself. And she’d planned to show him that she was able to take care of herself just fine.
Why, oh why couldn’t things have gone as planned. Of all people to see her predicament! She swallowed a moan of dismay and blinked back tears of frustration. Frantically, she once again yanked at the reins, trying to regain control over the unruly team before he caught up with her.
“Come on, please, don’t do this to me, not now.” Her answer came in the form of one ox’s snort, a baleful glare and no letting up of the pace. Now what? She didn’t want James to witness her dismal failure. Only now did she realize how important it was to her to have him view her as a capable woman, a woman in control, a woman who could manage anything life threw her way—like his sister.
She didn’t want him believing her incapable of taking care of herself or her children. To fail at something so simple as driving the oxen, a task Jessie would have handled without blinking an eye, left a bitter taste in her mouth and ignited frustrated anger inside her. It shouldn’t matter what he thought, but it did. As quickly as that realization hit, she dismissed it, buried it and refused to even examine why his opinion mattered.
A glance over her shoulder confirmed James was nearly upon her, riding as though he were a knight on a white horse out to save a maiden in distress. Once again, she was that helpless maiden, but this time, she didn’t want someone stepping in to make things right, especially James. But what she wanted and what would happen were two different things. She faced forward, determined to keep her pride intact. At that moment, she was very much afraid it was all she had to protect her heart against this big man who seemed determined to play the hero-knight to her damsel-in-distress.
Without a word, James rode up alongside her and jumped off the moving horse, landing on his feet in front of her. He reached out and took the reins without a word. Digging the heels of his boots into the hard, rocky ground, he gave one loud snap and sharply voiced command and snapped the bullwhip in his hand over the heads of the oxen. To Eirica’s consternation, the stupid beasts obeyed. They slowed to a normal, easy walking pace.
Eirica ignored the pain in her side and her breathlessness from running beside the team. She snatched the reins back from James, ignoring the thunderclouds gathering in his stormy green eyes. While some part of her felt grateful for his timely arrival and how easily he’d regained control of the oxen, she resented the fact that he hadn’t asked her if she needed help. Though her reaction smacked of ingratitude, she couldn’t help it. Wolf or Jessie would have asked, even if the answer was obvious. They’d have shown her some consideration, not made her feel incompetent.
She held her head high, her shoulders thrust back. “Thank you, Mr. Jones,” she said, her voice stiff with pride and anger. “I can handle it from here.” To her relief, the oxen kept to a normal walking pace.
James clenched his jaw, led his horse to the rear of the wagon and tied the animal to the back. Eirica knew by his brooding silence he was angry. Fine. That made two of them. Seconds stretched into minutes.
Finally, he rejoined her, frowning fiercely. When he realized he was walking too fast, he slowed his long-legged stride to match her shorter one. He held out his hands for t
he reins, but Eirica tightened her hold on them as if holding on to a lifeline. Her stubborn defiance surprised him.
He dropped his hand to his side. “Want to tell me why the hell you sent Gunner back and what you’re trying to prove? You’re in no condition to handle a team of oxen and you know it.”
Eirica shrank from him, some of her bravado dying. She bit her lip and eyed him warily. Used to gauging the degree of Birk’s rages instantly, she usually only had a few seconds to brace herself or step in front of her children to protect them by taking the blows aimed at them. But to her surprise and relief, she saw no sign of uncontrollable fury or outright rage. And with that realization came another.
With a lifelong fear of angering the opposite sex, she’d always taken the easy route and did whatever her father, brothers or husband demanded. But she felt safe with James, safe enough to rebel. He’d never lash out at her or hurt her. With James, she felt free to express herself, including allowing her own anger to surface instead of forcing it to remain below the surface.
This time, she studied him—really looked. She searched out each line stretched across his forehead, noted the lines bracketing his mouth. His features conveyed concern, a good amount of determination and stubbornness in the hard set of his jaw. But what left her feeling ashamed and guilty was the disappointment lurking in his dark green eyes.
With effort, she tore her gaze from his and stared straight ahead, a thread of worry weaving through her. There’d been something else, some other emotion lurking in the depths of his eyes. She’d seen it before, knew it existed, and so far, had refused to acknowledge it, for the unspoken feelings James harbored toward her were in direct opposition to her own need to be free and independent.
White Nights Page 7