by Kit Morgan
“I’m not starting anything,” she barked. “I’m just saying she looks kind of …” She eyed Honoria carefully. “… weak.”
“Our mother is nothing of the kind,” Colin objected.
“Oh dear me,” Honoria whispered to herself. “Colin dearest, she didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I most certainly did!” Mrs. Dunnigan said, chin in the air. She fixed her steely stare on Colin. “You know how to shoot a gun?”
“Of course. What man doesn’t?”
Mrs. Dunnigan’s eyebrows shot up. “You, a man? What are you, twelve?”
Harrison burst out laughing.
“No!” Colin pointed at his brother. “He is – I’m fourteen.”
“Then act like it.” Mrs. Dunnigan snarled.
“Irene!” Wilfred took his wife’s arm. “I’m sorry, she’s a little on edge.” He began to pull her away.
“Unhand me, Wilfred!”
“Not ‘til you stop acting like you have cockleburs in your skirts!”
Harrison snorted as Mr. Dunnigan pulled his wife down the line of wagons. At Cyrus’s request, they’d come to check Honoria’s wagon and make sure they had all they needed. The Dunnigans planned to open a mercantile in Oregon City – if they didn’t settle someplace else. Families often stopped, fell in love with a place and stayed there. Jefferson had told her stories at lunch the day before, a lunch in which the two of them did all the talking. The boys chose to remain silent throughout the meal.
At least Sam and Jack showed up. Honoria had wondered if they would defy their father. But by the time they got to the café, all five boys were there – staring daggers at each other, but there.
She turned to their wagon. Besides the foodstuffs, they had a broadax, mallet and plane. Jefferson had his food supplies, plus a plow, shovel, scythe, rake, hoe; seeds for corn, wheat and a few other crops; a small herd of oxen, a milk cow and a couple of extra horses. Jefferson told her that by the time they got to the end of their journey, they’d probably just have some oxen, the horses and, if they were lucky, the cow. She detested the idea of killing and butchering animals along the way, but if it meant survival, she’d have to get over it.
They had three wagons between them – Jefferson and Honoria would drive one while Duncan, Sam, Jack and Colin took turns with the other two. Harrison would ride with his mother and stepfather, being too young to drive in her book. Though Jefferson still wanted to teach him.
“Mrs. Cooke!” Cyrus called out. “I’ve got someone else I’d like you to meet!”
Honoria closed her eyes a moment. She’d been introduced to more people that day than she could count so far. But the company was leaving early in the morning and everyone was preparing for the departure. Excitement filled the air and she wondered what tomorrow would be like.
“Mrs. Cooke,” Cyrus said again when he reached her. “May I introduce Dr. Abijah Waller and his wife Sarah.”
Honoria smiled at the couple. They looked to be in their fifties. “How do you do?”
Mrs. Waller grabbed her hand and gave it a healthy shake. “Glad to meet ya, child! Isn’t this exciting? We moved back here after selling our farm near Fort Leavenworth last year, and now look where we’re heading!”
Honoria smiled. “Oh my, that is exciting!” She glanced at the other wagons. Everyone was in a good mood, with the exception of Mrs. Dunnigan. Honoria wondered if that woman knew what a good mood was.
“We’re all set to go,” Cyrus announced. “Are the boys sleeping with your wagons tonight?”
Honoria started at the question. “Oh. I dare say, I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose one wouldn’t want to leave a stocked wagon unprotected.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Mrs. Waller agreed. “By the way, my husband can treat just about anything that ails you.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been married purt near thirty-three years.” She winked at Honoria. “That means we can doctor a few other things that might need mending.”
Honoria could only blink. Whatever did she mean … oh!
“Yep, I hear you just got yourself hitched,” the older woman went on. “If you need any advice, my door’s always open, child.”
Honoria smiled shyly. “Let us hope I’ll not be needing you.”
“No shame in it if you do,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Doc?”
“No, none at all,” he said. He was a thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and a look that said he’d seen it all and wasn’t shocked. His wife was a couple of inches shorter and wider, with a bright smile. Both had sharp blue eyes, the sort that could see through a lie or any other shenanigans. She liked them immediately.
“You coming to the supper meeting tonight?” Mrs. Waller asked.
“Supper meeting?” Honoria said with a hint of panic. “Good heavens, what meeting?”
“Didn’t Jefferson tell you?” Cyrus said. “Mr. Kinzey wants us to have supper together so he can go over last-minute details before we head out.”
Honoria’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why hadn’t Jefferson said anything? Perhaps with all the preparations going on, he hadn’t had the chance. “I’ll speak with him. I’ve not heard about it.”
“He’ll tell you,” Mrs. Waller said. “Say, you have enough blankets?”
“Er … yes, I believe so,” Honoria looked at her wagon. Duncan and Cyrus had taken care of most of the supplies while she’d seen to the packing. Thankfully, they were able to take most of their belongings. The boys insisted on selling some things to Mr. Greenly, who now had them for sale in his shop. She was surprised to find Colin and Harrison, both avid readers, had given up most of their books. For Colin to give up everything but his Bible and his Complete Works of Shakespeare warmed her heart – she knew he was doing it for her.
And what was it she couldn’t live without? She’d been allowed to keep most of what she had, including her chintz tea set and her penny dreadfuls. She adored the silly little stories of adventure, murder and mayhem. Benedict had bought a few out of sheer amusement when they lived in New York, and she’d gotten hooked on them immediately, collecting them ever since. They’d proven especially handy when heading to Missouri, helping her pass the time on the long journey west. Hopefully they would do the same again.
But would she have time to read? Or would her days be so full that all she’d want to do when they stopped was sleep? She’d have to see. She watched the other pioneers checking and double-checking their wagons. Many would sleep in or under them tonight, while others, who wanted to enjoy the comfort of a real bed one last time, had family members staying with their supplies.
What about her – where would she sleep tonight? Yesterday went by like a flash: breakfast, accepting Jefferson’s proposal, the wedding, all before lunch, then planning to leave went into full swing. She and Jefferson had been so tired, neither brought up where they would spend their wedding night – she’d retired to her room at Mrs. Drury’s, Jefferson to the hotel room he shared with his two sons. What, she wondered, would tonight bring?
“Come join us for supper tomorrow night, child,” Mrs. Waller said. “We’ll see how Mr. Kinzey has us lined up.”
Honoria had to think. Didn’t Duncan and Jefferson mention there was some sort of organization upon leaving? The wagons didn’t just roll along willy-nilly, after all. She fought a sigh and realized how little she knew.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Waller asked. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” Honoria insisted.
Cyrus studied her. “I have a few more people I’d like to introduce you too, Honoria, but it can wait if you’re not feeling well.”
Good heavens, was her fear that obvious? No, fear wasn’t the right word – “unease” was closer. She smiled at the three, then realized there were only three. “My word, where are my boys?”
“I saw them head that way when I brought the Wallers over,” Cyrus said, pointing down the street. “Too bad – I would have liked to introduce them too.”
; Honoria turned a full circle, but there was no sign of Duncan, Colin or Harrison anywhere. “Now where did they get to?”
“They’re probably looking at everyone’s wagons,” Dr. Waller said. “Young men about to set out on an adventure often want to see who they’re going to share that adventure with.”
Honoria sighed. “So long as there’s not too much adventure. My youngest is determined to meet some Indians.”
“Oh dear child,” Mrs. Waller said. “I hope he doesn’t get it into his head to go look for some.”
“Let us hope not,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my husband.”
“Of course,” Cyrus said. “I’ll help you look. Doc, Sarah, I’ll see you later.”
“Pleasure meeting you, child,” Mrs. Waller said. “Don’t forget about supper tomorrow night.”
“I won’t.”
“Good – I want to hear all about England!” Mrs. Waller said with a parting wave.
Honoria waved in return before she scanned her surroundings again. “Oh, Jefferson, where did you go?”
“I bet he’s speaking with Mr. Kinzey,” Cyrus said. “Find Kinzey, you’ll find your husband.”
“I hope you’re right. I feel … well, never mind.”
“Scared?”
Honoria stared at him. “No, of course not.”
“I’m petrified myself.”
“What?”
Cyrus shrugged. “I gave up a lot to do this, Mrs. Cooke. But that’s not something you need to share. Polly and I are fine leaving our old life behind. This will be a grand adventure, but it doesn’t mean we aren’t apprehensive.”
“Of course,” she said. “I understand.” She studied Cyrus. The Van Cleets were a wonderful couple and wanted to know all about England, her life with Benedict, her sons. But how much did she know about them? Now that she thought on it, nothing, other than they came from Boston and wanted to go west to build … what? Oh for Heaven’s sake, she couldn’t remember.
“Ah!” Cyrus said, interrupting her thoughts. “Here comes Jefferson.”
Her husband approached, a man at his side. “Now who could that be?”
“That’s Patrick Mulligan. Nice fellow. ‘Lace-curtain’ Irish, as they say. Came to Boston in ’40 – lucky for him and Mary, they missed the Famine.”
Honoria’s eyes flicked between Cyrus and the newcomer. This name, she’d remember – she’d met enough Irish in New York to know they held no love for the English. And with good reason – the Crown had treated them terribly for centuries, culminating in the recent potato famine that had sent millions of starving Gaels streaming to America in search of sustenance. She hoped the Mulligans wouldn’t hold a grudge against her and her sons for the sins of others.
“Honoria, there you are,” Jefferson said. “This is Paddy Mulligan.”
She smiled. She’d been doing so much of it, her mouth was staring to hurt. “How do you do?”
“Couldn’t be better, lass,” Mr. Mulligan said in a thick Irish brogue. “Me wife’s taking care of a few last things, then we can look forward to the crossing. A land crossing for us this time,” he finished with a laugh.
Honoria was relieved – no reaction to her obvious English accent. She glanced at Jefferson, who was laughing happily with the Irishman. Was she happy? She’d been so busy, she hadn’t had time to think about that. Right now, it was all she could do to stay standing. And she was facing thousands of miles in the company of one man and five boys. But at least she knew three of the boys well. Really, Duncan was a young man now and she wondered how soon he would marry once they settled. If there were any women to marry, that is …
“There’s a supper meeting tonight,” Jefferson told her.
“Yes, Cyrus informed me,” she said, bringing her mind back from its wanderings.
“We’ll all be there,” Cyrus added happily. “In the meantime, I’d best go find my wife. She should be done with her errands by now.”
“We’ll see you later,” Jefferson said.
“I need to run along too,” Paddy said. “Mary gets sore at me if I’m not on time for things.”
Jefferson laughed and looked at Honoria. They’d been married only twenty-four hours – she didn’t know any of his habits or preferences, and vice-versa. Their true adventure would lie in getting to know one another, a hard enough task without months and miles of dust, storms, cold, heat and who knew what else. They might kill each other by the end of the journey. They might fall in love. Only time would tell.
“Hungry?” Jefferson asked, turning her face to his with a finger under her chin.
“Famished.”
“Good. Let’s find ourselves someplace quiet and eat.”
“In this chaos?” Paddy laughed. “Good luck to ye.” He walked off, Cyrus joining him after a moment.
Jefferson watched them go, then took her hand. “Where are the boys?”
“I’m afraid I have no idea.”
He smiled and winked. “Aw, that’s all right. Now let’s go find us a spot to spend some time.”
His words made her apprehensive. “All right.” Spend time doing what, was the question.
He led her through the bustle of preparations, out toward a small grove of trees. The staging area wasn’t far from town, but far enough that it was still a bit of a walk. She’d ridden out in the wagon with Duncan and would have to walk back to Mrs. Drury’s, but this wasn’t the way. And her feet hurt already. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see. Not much farther.”
He stopped when they reached the trees. “Wait here.” He ducked beneath some willow branches, rustled around in the brush for a moment, then re-emerged. “Follow me.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Jefferson Cooke, what are you up to?”
He grinned. “Giving my wife a little present.”
She smiled. “Present? You mean … a wedding present?” One more thing she hadn’t thought of.
“No, just a plain old present.”
She followed him into the brush and trees. To her surprise, there was a blanket laid out with a picnic basket in a tiny clearing beneath the foliage. “Oh, Jefferson …”
He took her hand and led her to the blanket. “Sit. Let’s eat.”
She saw the pretty setting, the soft blanket, the basket, and most importantly the man beside her. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I packed the basket, but I borrowed it from the woman that runs the hotel.” He reached inside it and pulled out a bowl of fried chicken.
“It looks wonderful. Did you cook it too?”
“Er, no, I can’t cook. I want a healthy wife, not a sick one.”
She giggled. “Good to know. I admit I’m not very good at it.” She looked at the blanket. “I’m not very good at a few things.”
“You’re good at mothering.”
Her head came up. “Thank you.”
“Those boys of yours have manners, I’ll give them that.”
“I try to instill them in each. But they forget them at times.”
“Jack and Sam forget theirs all the time.”
She didn’t know what to say, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She smiled nervously.
“It’s true. You can agree with me on that. I’m hoping your boys will rub off on them. They’ll be spending plenty of time together.”
“True. Lots and lots of time.”
He gazed at her and handed her a piece of chicken. “Biscuit?”
“You packed some?” she asked as she took the drumstick. “Napkins?”
He froze, then reached into the basket and pulled out the remaining contents. “I’m sorry, I get kinda flustered every time I look at you.”
Honoria’s cheeks grew hot.
“Anyways, I should’ve given you a napkin first.” He handed her one, followed by a biscuit.
She put her food on the napkin. “Are you going to say a blessing?”
He smiled, took her hand and said, “Dear Lord, t
hank you for this woman, this food and for having mercy on an old sinner like me. Amen.” He said it ay-men, not the ah-men she was used to from the Church of England.
Her eyes met his. “An old sinner, is it?”
His eyes softened. “You have no idea.”
Honoria gulped at his words. She really did have no idea about her new husband – and that scared her more than any other aspect of the journey.
Chapter Seven
Honoria lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Jefferson had told her about himself during their private picnic – not a lot, mind, but she now had a better glimpse into the man she married. His wife Mary was from a prominent family in Kentucky, while Jefferson was born and raised in St. Louis. He met Mary at a dance when her family was visiting relatives there. He was smitten with her, he said, and Honoria was surprised at the prick of jealousy she felt. She wasn’t a jealous woman by nature. But yes, like her, this man had loved before.
She got out of bed, lit a candle and went to her small desk. She hadn’t packed her diary yet, planning to make an entry in the morning, but the itch to get words on paper was too much to ignore. She had to write, to speak … to him.
She sat, dipped her pen into the inkwell and began:
My dearest Benedict,
I’ve done it. I’m married. Because of the wedding and all that yesterday brought, I wasn’t able to write. I’m terribly sorry, my love.
I must admit that I worry about our sons, this trip, this man I’m now bound to for as long as we both shall live. On such a journey as this, that might not be very long. But God willing, we’ll make it, our sons will flourish in the new land and I will have fulfilled the dream you so wanted for us. I pray I can make it happen.
Duncan is as stoic as ever, leading us, providing what he can in wisdom and strength. I so wish you could see him. In the months since you left us, he’s become a man. There’s a steel to him now, a determination to make things happen. If not for him, I don’t know what I would do.
Colin still mourns, we all do. I hope and pray this journey calms him, gives him something of substance to think about instead of figuring out new ways to annoy people with his practical jokes. As an aside, I think Mr. Greenly will miss the lad, despite how many times he broke the mercantile’s back window.