From a rocker in front of the hearth, his ma narrowed her eyes at him through the puff of her pipe smoke. “Who are you and what do you want?” Her gruff voice stretched across the dimly lit room and socked him.
“It’s me, Eli.”
“Eli who?”
“Elijah, your son.”
“I don’t got no son named Elijah.”
He slipped off his hat and gave his ma a wide view of his face. “Yep, Ma. See, it’s me.”
She squinted, shrugged her bony shoulders, and then took a long drag on her pipe.
His stomach caved in. Why had he come? What had ever possessed him to attempt to say good-bye to her, when she’d all but said good-bye to him twenty years ago?
“How are my sisters doing these days? Seen them lately?”
His ma only grunted, and he knew he wouldn’t get any information about his siblings from her. She didn’t care about them anymore either.
Behind him, Priscilla grabbed onto his arm, her shaking so intense she could hardly stand.
“Look,” he said, slapping his hat back on and taking a deep breath of the tangy tobacco fumes, “Priscilla needs a place to warm up. I’m going to leave her here with you by the fire while I go get our boots.”
“Who’s Priscilla?” The squeak of her rocker halted, and she sat forward.
“She’s my wife.”
A tangle of dark hair streaked with gray dangled across the translucent skin of his ma’s face. Everything about her, even her dress, was pale and colorless, like the listless smoke that hung in the air.
Priscilla stepped to his side. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Ernest.”
His ma’s face turned into chiseled stone. “I ain’t been called Mrs. Ernest in more years than I can count.”
Priscilla’s eyes widened with confusion, and her fingers tightened around his bicep. “I didn’t know—I’m very sorry—”
“Missy, you just take your apology and get on out of here.”
“Now, Ma, settle down.”
Priscilla shrank back.
“Well, look who’s showed up.” At Walt’s voice behind them, Eli spun around.
Standing with feet straddled, Walt crossed his thick arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. His apron stretched taut, giving full display of streaks of blood and slimy gristle.
Priscilla shuddered and edged closer to Eli.
Walt’s gaze journeyed over Priscilla and lingered too long.
Eli tugged her against his side. Without resistance, she burrowed into him and rested her trembling hand against his chest.
“And who’s this little beauty?” Walt’s eyes lit with a lust that Eli had seen all too often over the years, only it had been directed at his younger sisters.
“Told you I was getting married.” His grip on Priscilla tightened. “This is my wife.”
Walt pushed away from the doorway and ambled toward them, his attention fixed on Priscilla’s generous bosom.
Eli’s body tensed all the way down to the marrow of his bones. If Walt laid a hand on Priscilla, he’d beat the man to a mass of bloody pulp. Just one touch and he’d have the justification he needed to repay Walt for all those years he’d had to lie in the dark and helplessly listen to Walt’s grunts and his sisters’ whimpers.
Eli’s fingers rounded into a fist. “We got married last night over in Angelica.”
“That so?” Walt came to a halt close enough that they were enveloped by his putrid odor—a mixture of decaying animal flesh and liquor. “I think you’s lying to me.”
Priscilla’s body turned rigid. “I beg your pardon, but Eli is telling the truth about our marriage. We were indeed married the previous eve.”
She held out her hand and flashed her wedding band in front of Walt. “Eli is one of the most honest, straightforward men I’ve ever met. Even if he tried to lie, I doubt he’s capable.”
“Eli’s no saint. Bet he ain’t told you about his pa—”
“Time to go.” Silent fury swelled through Eli’s chest. Walt had no business telling Priscilla the truth about his pa. He propelled her away, past his stepfather, out the door, and toward the sleigh. “Where are the boots, Walt?”
The man guffawed and nodded toward the tannery.
Eli ushered Priscilla up onto the seat and tucked the blanket back around her legs. He’d have been better off buying the boots from a complete stranger.
And he’d have been even better off if he hadn’t attempted to say good-bye to his family at all.
Chapter
8
Central Pennsylvania
Priscilla knew she’d never be warm, truly warm, ever again. Even though Eli had stopped more frequently in the preceding days as they rode hard through Elmira, New York, and past Williamsport, Pennsylvania, the nagging chill was her constant companion.
She rubbed her hands together under the blanket. She tried to muster enthusiasm for another stop in their journey toward Pittsburgh, but she could hardly find the energy to turn her head and look through the dusk to the two-story house where they had halted.
Eli hopped out, and John and Richard reined in their horses next to the sleigh. Dressed in warm clothes that supporters had donated, the two Indian boys hardly looked like the wild savages who had walked into her church the first time she’d met Eli.
He bounded up the front steps. “If they have room, we’ll stay here for the night.”
So far, he had managed to find willing members of local congregations to house them and provide a meal. But now, after almost a week, Eli had moved beyond the boundaries of his supporters.
As they’d traveled he’d shared tales of the adventures he’d had with Samuel Parker, his companion from his exploratory trip, and the people they’d met, the wild animals they’d encountered, and the beauty of the land they’d traveled.
Eli’s enthusiasm for the West and his excitement about returning was infectious, and Priscilla couldn’t help but get more excited with every day that passed. The more he talked about the details of the clinic he planned to build and the Nez Perce who lived there, the more she wished they were already there.
According to Eli, they wouldn’t arrive in Oregon Country until September. He’d explained that first they had to travel by steamboat from Pittsburgh to St. Louis. And then by steamboat up the Missouri River to the Platte River. Once they reached the Platte, they’d begin the overland portion of their journey.
It would take them six, maybe even seven, months—and that was if they didn’t encounter any problems along the way.
She shivered and hugged herself.
Richard, the older of the two boys, slid from his horse. “Mrs. Doc? Cold?” His ebony eyes narrowed with concern.
She nodded and gave him a tremulous smile, hoping she could convey her gratitude for his consideration. She guessed him to be no more than twelve years old, but he had the maturity of a young man. John was a year or two younger and more spirited but had been equally attentive to her.
“I’ll be very glad when spring arrives,” she said. Now that they’d entered the first days of March, she hoped they’d stumble upon warm weather soon.
Richard cocked his head. “Spring?”
She really must take it upon herself to teach the boys more English. Eli spent too much time trying to converse with them in their native Nez Perce instead of helping them better themselves.
Richard reached for her hands and rubbed them between his.
She’d resisted the first time he’d done it. But she’d quickly realized how much heat the friction brought her and had set aside decorum to allow it.
John jumped from his saddle and draped another blanket around her.
“It will surely warm up once the snow melts.” She gave the boys a grateful smile.
“My home not so cold,” John said.
“Then I shall be pleased to live there.”
The boys didn’t say anything.
Did they miss their family after months of being gone? Now th
at they’d seen the way civilized people lived, would it be hard for them to return to their savage way of living? She bit her lip to hold back her questions. They didn’t need her prying and reminding them of all they missed.
“There’s room,” Eli called, letting the door slam behind him. He raced down the steps, skipping every other wooden plank.
Priscilla rose on trembling legs, and Richard held her arm as she climbed out of the sleigh.
Eli rushed to her. “Let’s get you inside.”
He ushered her into the warmth of the building, which she soon realized was a wayside tavern. The landlord served them leftovers, a lukewarm supper of potatoes, soft carrots, and leathery beef slathered in gravy in which the fat had already started to congeal.
The evening passed in a blur of weariness, and she was grateful when Eli finally indicated that it was time for them to retire.
He led her up the stairs to the sleeping room. When he opened the door, she peered past him but recoiled into the hallway.
Eli glanced over his shoulder and jerked his head for her to follow him.
“I can’t sleep in there,” she whispered.
He backed out of the room and half closed the door. “Would you rather sleep in the barn with John and Richard?”
Though everywhere they’d traveled people were fascinated with the savages, they were too frightened to allow them to sleep inside their homes. John and Richard hadn’t complained about bedding with the animals. She supposed they were used to it. But she was most certainly not planning to join them. Nor was she planning to sleep in a room with a dozen strangers.
She peeked through the door and examined the large room with its rows of double beds, several of which were already occupied. “Why can’t we have our own room like we’ve had every place else?”
“It’s not that bad, Priscilla. In two months when you’re sleeping on the hard ground, this will seem like paradise.”
She’d tried not to complain about the long hours of riding in the sleigh or the cold stiffness of her limbs. She didn’t want to inconvenience him or have him regret his decision to marry her. But this—how would she possibly endure it?
She looked back into the room, swallowed hard, and nodded. What choice did she have? “You’re right. I’ll try to make the best of the situation.”
With a sinking heart, she tiptoed behind him, past the mismatched assortment of beds, until they reached one that was empty.
Through the rumpled blankets and sheets, she could make out the sagging mattress. “It looks like someone has already slept in it. Perhaps they’ll be back?”
Eli shook his head. “This is for us.”
“Us?” Surely he didn’t mean for them to share a bed, not after they’d been keeping the sleeping arrangement they’d chosen the first night—where she slept in the bed and he on the floor?
“You won’t get a bed to yourself here,” he whispered. “If it’s not me next to you, you’ll end up with a complete stranger.”
The man in the next bed shifted his hefty body and released a less-than-graceful bodily noise.
She shuddered.
“We can draw a line down the middle of the bed, and I’ll try not to cross it.” He tugged off a boot and let it drop to the floor with a clunk. “But you might want to sleep with your boots on. That way you can kick me if you need to.”
The grin in his tone made her heart do a funny flip. Would she want to kick him away? “Thank you for the noble warning,” she whispered back. “But I think I shall poke you with my hairpins instead.”
“In that case, I’ll help arm you.” His whisper turned deep. “I’m sure I’d be good at playing hide-and-seek in your hair for them.”
Longing curled in the pit of her stomach, and she couldn’t keep from imagining his gentle fingers burrowing through her hair. Strangely, the thought was a pleasant one.
Eli tossed his other boot to the floor and fumbled at his trousers.
Heat flamed to her face. She turned her back to him and sat down on the edge of the bed. She slipped off the sturdy leather boots Eli’s stepfather had made.
The bed squeaked under Eli’s weight.
She hesitated at the buttons of her dress. She’d never slept in her clothes before, but how could she possibly unclothe now, in the middle of a roomful of strangers and in the same bed as Eli? Especially if he was only half attired?
He gave a long weary sigh.
Gingerly, she leaned back. The pillowslip was greasy, and she wished she could toss it aside and sleep without it. But she was sure Eli already thought she was particular, and she didn’t want to give him more justification.
With a grimace, she settled her head and pulled up the covers. The sourness of unwashed bodies assaulted her. She pinched her eyes closed and tried not to think about who had lain in the bed before her and how long it had been since the landlord had washed the sheets.
Eli stretched.
Her lungs constricted. What if he brushed against her? The full-sized bed back home had always been big enough when she’d shared it with her sister, but this one was entirely too small.
He settled on his side facing her, and the heat of his breath washed over her.
A tiny bud of warmth unfurled in her middle and spread to her limbs. She twisted the band on her finger, and the intricate grooves of the roses caressed her skin. He was her husband, after all. In the sight of God and man, they’d made a lifetime commitment to each other. And so far, everyone believed she and Eli had a real marriage—everyone except Walt.
She stared through the dark at the slanted ceiling. Why hadn’t Walt believed Eli about their marriage? Moreover, why hadn’t his mother acknowledged him? She’d puzzled over his strange family all week, comparing their departure from her family to his. Whereas her family had shed tears and showered her with love, his had only heaped shame upon him and shoved him away with ugliness.
“Dr. Ernest?” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Why was Walt so cruel to you?”
His breathing stopped then restarted faster. “That’s just the way he’s always been.”
She shuddered to think what his life had been like as a child, and she had the urge to reach out and caress his cheek.
“What about your sisters? Where are they?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then the bed creaked as he turned to lie on his back. “Walt used them—took away their innocence. When they were old enough, they got away from him as fast as they could. Married the first boys who offered them a way out.”
“And are they happy now?”
“I don’t think they’ve ever known what it’s like to be happy.” Wistfulness tinged his voice.
She propped up on her elbow and tried to study his face through the dim light filtering through the shabby curtains. “What about your mother? Why didn’t she remember you?”
The blanket shifted with his shrug, but he didn’t offer an explanation.
What kind of mother could forget her own flesh and blood? For a long moment, Priscilla peered through the darkness, her heart aching for him. She wanted to know more but was afraid to ask.
Finally she took a deep breath. “What happened to your father?”
His body stiffened. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He flipped to his other side, turning his back to her.
“I’m sorry.” She wished she could take back her question. She longed to reach out and touch him, to tell him that he could take the pins out of her hair if he wanted. But the words stuck in her throat.
He had scars from his past the same as she did. But he obviously didn’t want her pity any more than she wanted his.
She’d do best to remember why she was traveling west. It wasn’t about them. She was going in answer to God’s calling, and she needed to remain faithful to that above all else.
Stifling a sigh, she lowered her head back to the dirty pillow. If only it were as easy as it sounded. . . .
Chapter
9<
br />
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Do you see our boat?” Priscilla’s heart banged against her chest, and she gripped the seat of the sleigh, praying, as she had the past several days, that they’d reach their steamboat in time.
More gigantic vessels than she could count bobbed in the rushing current of the Ohio River ahead of them. The murky water, swollen from recent thawing, slapped against the levy.
Eli climbed out of the sleigh and scanned the waterfront. The wharf teemed with deckhands hauling luggage and dockmen loading heavy barrels as well as the firewood that would fuel the boats. Passengers clustered in front of gangplanks, waiting to board. And on a nearby three-deck steamboat, a number of ladies disembarked.
At the sight of the crisp silk of their day dresses and the shininess of their fur cloaks, Priscilla clutched a fistful of her wrinkled and mud-splattered skirt and inwardly cringed. In the two weeks since leaving Angelica, she’d dirtied practically every dress she’d packed. How could she make an appearance among such elegance looking as she did?
They had reached Pittsburgh late last night behind schedule. The melting snow and muddy roads had slowed them down—at least that’s what Eli claimed. But if Eli hadn’t taken the time to stop so often to refill the warming box for her, they could have arrived sooner.
If they missed their connection, it would be because of her.
“Oh, God, help us.” She stood and peered at the lines of steamboats, all shapes and sizes, their tall smokestacks belching black billows into the clear morning sky, their enormous paddlewheels churning cascades of water. “How will we ever find our boat and traveling companions in this chaos?”
Eli tipped up the brim of his hat, revealing the worried creases that cut through his forehead. “We’ll find them.”
A breath of spring had hovered around them the past few days. She lifted her face and relished the kiss of sunshine and the embrace of warmth. The mid-March sun dangled above the enormous cliffs on the southern side of the river valley.
She drew in lungfuls of the strange muddy scent of river water mixed with woodsmoke from the steamboats, and surveyed the enormity of the valley where the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers met to form the Ohio. Eli had told her that Captain Meriwether Lewis launched his keelboat Discovery from Pittsburgh only thirty-three years earlier, and they would likely be following much of the same path the early expedition had taken, at least until they reached the central plains.
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